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the mermaids; not a fin from beneath the bank but shivers with apprehension, nor a supple-tailed tenant of the mud but dives to Orcus. The Doctor is now in his element; he rides on the wind, and the inhabitants of earth and air are trembling spectators of his flight; the eagle screams, and is lost in the sun; the ravens croak, and are incontinently on the wing; the very doves and jackdaws desert their outfields and resort to their cots and chimneys. The famous mirk-Monanday was nothing to this. It seems as if a new terror had been discovered, and a mental steam-engine of incalculable power had been set in motion. Imagination herself has run riot, and seems startled at her own imaginings. Involuted, and convoluted, she rolls herself onward, head over heels, till the heads of the spectators are bedizzened with the whirl :

And some say that we wan, and some say that they wan,
And some say that nane wan ava, man;
But of one thing I'm sure, that mid uproar and stour,
A contest there was, which I saw, man.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

T. G.

By J. H. Wiffen, Author of " Aonian Hours," and the Translator of Tasso's "Jerusalem Delivered."

To the greenwoods and waters one midnight I went ; The thoughts of my soul were of memory and grief,All was wet with a cloud, that in misty descent

Feil gloomy and sad on each murmuring leaf ;— But I heard, in the shade of my favourite beech,

A nightingale near, through the storm singing loud,— Like a spirit endued with the accents of speech, Like a rainbow of music adorning the cloud.

In that music was transport! I smiled through my tears: Even now, in dark moments, when exiled from bliss, From the baseless illusions of Hope's coming years,

I turn to the truth and the sweetness of this! Such in life's lonely walk, is a delicate deed; Its music breathes forth in a desolate hour, Surpassing the nightingale's voice in its meed,

Which more sweetly resounded the darker the shower!

TO A LADY, WITH A BOOK OF MANUSCRIPT POEMS.

By Alaric A. Watts.

[This poem, and the one which follows, were both written fourteen years ago, and were presented to us by an early friend of the poet in the author's own handwriting. They have never before been published.-Ed. LIT. JOUR.]

THE gift I have reserved for thee
May well, dear girl, my emblem be;
For, ere my heart had bled to know
The ills that wait on all below,
Life's book its fairest leaves display'd,
Unsullied by the blots of Care,
And not the slightest mark betray'd
That Sorrow's hand had written there!

But oh! not long did thus remain
Each snowy page without a stain;
For Folly, with her sister, Grief,
Soon came and darkened many a leaf;
And though, with fairy fingers, oft
Hope fond devices traced,
Yet were her pencils all so soft,

They quickly were effaced.

Some hours of bliss my bosom knew, As a few scattered leaves will show,

When Love was wont in song to tell
The feelings thou mayst guess so well;
And who, as what he said was sweetest,
Inscribed his characters the neatest!
At length there came a gentle maid,
Who found one page, though ruffled, fair,
And as the book had often stray'd,

She smiled, and wrote a spell-word there,
Which, spite of Folly, Grief, or Pain,
Will never let it roam again!

SONG.

By Alaric A. Watts.

Он, say not, dearest! say not so;
My heart is wholly thine;
And if I ever seem to bow
Before another shrine,

I do but court the Muse's smile,
And sing of love and thee the while!

Beloved, this tender truth believe,
Thou'rt all the world to me;
And if the minstrel-lay I weave,
"Tis but to sing of thee!

And if I seek the wreath of fame,
'Tis but to twine with it thy name!

Then say not, dearest! say not so;
To thee alone belong,

In grief or gladness, weal or woe,

My sweetest thoughts and song; Then fear not I can ever be

False to my heart, my lyre, and thee.

SONNET.

By Thomas Brydson, Author of " Poems," &c. THERE is a happiness we cannot find

When wandering through the crowded ways of men ; Yet day by day it lies in distant ken,— A lovely thing unto the eye of mind: So have I seen amid the summer hills, (In early life) a shade-encircled spot Of sunniness-as 'twere a place forgot When earth was blasted by sin's thousand ills; I bounded o'er the turf with panting haste, As if a kingdom would have been my dower Could I have kiss'd the sunshine from one flower Of that bright fairy-land.-Lo! from the waste Around me, while I knelt, there came a cloud, And blotted out the scene.-I wept-I wept aloud!

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.-It may not perhaps be generally known to our readers, that Mr Jeffrey resigned, a few weeks ago, the Editorship of the Edinburgh Review, which he has conducted with so much talent since its commencement. It is generally believed that the likelihood of a speedy professional appointment is at least one cause which has induced Mr Jeffrey to take this step,-not that he would for a moment compromise his principles, but that it might be prudent and necessary for him to bring them less conspicuously before the public. Mr Jeffrey is probably tired also of the toils of Editorship, and having done all that Editor could do, he may feel disposed to devote his attention to other pursuits.—We are enabled to state positively, that no one has yet been fixed on as his successor; and indeed it will be no easy task to find a successor, especially if the Review is still to retain the character of being a Scotch publication. Mr Rees, of the house of Longman, Rees, Orme, and Co. (who have the principal interest in the work,) is now in Edinburgh, making arrangements; but as these are not concluded, we refrain from mentioning the names of the one or two literary gentlemen who are spoken of as candidates for the situation. If the work is to enjoy any share of its former success, the new Editor must be

an active-minded and nervous writer, well acquainted with the bearings of the times, and prepared to start upon a fresh and vigorous course with spirit and with principle. How would it do to put the Review under commission, as has sometimes been done with Ireland, and other places difficult to manage?

THE ANNIVERSARY.-Extract of a Letter from Allan Cunningham.-"The Anniversary will be published in monthly portions of forty pages each. The first Number appears on the 1st of July, embellished with a Plate, and accompanied by eighty pages of other miscellaneous matter, which will be superintended by Theodore Hooke. My part (adds Mr Cunningham.) will, at the end of a twelvemonth, assume the form of a volume of Poetry and Prose."

We are glad to understand that Mr Sillery, whose name as a young poet is already so favourably known to the public, has nearly finished a new Poem, in two Books, and in the Spenserian stanza, which is to be entitled Eldred of Erin, or the Solitary. We have been favoured with a short and very beautiful extract from this Poem, which we propose laying before our readers next Saturday. Mr Alaric Watts has nearly ready for publication the Second Volume of the Poetical Album, containing a selection of all the best fugitive poetry of the day.

The Rev. Alexander Fleming, A.M., of Neilston, has made considerable progress in revising a new edition of Pardoran's Collections concerning the Church of Scotland; in which will be incorporated the History, Jurisdiction, and Forms of the several Church Judicatories, together with the civil Decisions relative to the rights and patrimony of the established church and her clergy.

Mr Guy must surely be a descendant of Guy Faux, for he seems, with his "combination of talent," to have entered into a conspiracy against the English language.

PORTRAIT OF SIR JAMES MONCRIEFF.-Mr Walker has published a mezzotinto engraving from Watson Gordon's fine picture of this eminent lawyer. The likeness is happily preserved;—indeed, the print almost strikes us as more like than the painting. With regard to the manipulation, it possesses all that delicacy in the management of light and shade, which is the exclusive province of mezzotinto; and has less of that weakness and haziness, which is the inherent defect of that style of engraving, than any works of the kind we have seen lately, except those of Martin. Mr Walker is making rapid progress in his art. Might he not think of publishing a seri:s of our eminent Edinburgh characters? The plate, we believe, is private, and not intended to come into the print shops. HAYDON. We are happy to understand that this able artist's most recent picture has been sold for five hundred guineas. The subject is the death of the heir of Pharoah's throne,-his "first-born,"-at the passover, and the agony of the Queen and Royal Family in consequence. (Exodus, chap. 12.) It is of a small size compared with most of the artist's preceding works of this class; but it is said to possess many striking beauties.

NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY.-This is a new work, to be published in numbers, each number to contain three portraits of illastrious and eminent personages of the nineteenth century, with short Memoirs. The first number contains Portraits of the Duke of Wellington, Byron, and the Marquis Camden. They are, on the whole, well executed, and the publication will be a valuable one, if followed up with due diligence.

The rudiments of Hieroglyphics and Egyptian Antiquities, in a course of Lectures delivered at the University of Cambridge, by the Marchese di Spineta, are about to be published in Numbers, (cach Theatrical Gossip.-Kean has had a dispute with the Dublin Number to contain one Lecture,) by Mr Murray, of London. manager, Mr Bunn, who, it is said, has refused to pay him his stipuThe Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge have just pub-lated salary of L.50 per night, (a most disgracefully large sum,) on the lished an Address, in which they present a rapid and satisfactory retrospect of the progress of their labours, which seems to augur well for the future. The Library of Entertaining Knowledge, (in which the Society is interested) is also proceeding prosperously; 14,000 copies having been already sold of the first volume, and 9000 of the second.

A circumstantial account of persons remarkable for their Health and Longevity, by a Physician, is nearly ready for publication.

We understand, that among other new works, Mr Colburn will speedily publish,-The Marquis of Londonderry's Narrative of the War in Germany and France in 1813 and 1814,-Geraldine of Desmond, an Historical Romance,-The Book of the Boudoir, in two volumes, by Lady Morgan,-Stories of Waterloo, in three volumes, -The Private Correspondence of David Garrick with the most eminent persons of his times,-Memoirs of the Bedouins, with a history of the Wahabis of Arabia, from the original manuscripts of the late celebrated John Lewes Burckhardt,-The History of Modern Greece, by James Emmerson,-Memoirs of the Court and Reign of Louis XVIII., by a Lady,-Recollections of the East, by John Carne, Esq. author of Letters from the East,-Random Records, by George Colman, Esq.-Tales of my Time, by the author of Blue Stocking Hall,-and Stories of a Bride.

The Rev. Robert Everett, A.M., of Oxford, has in the press a Journey through Norway, Lapland, and part of Sweden; with remarks on the Geology of the country, Statistical Tables, Meteorological Observations, &c. To two of these countries Mr Derwent Conway's recent work has been very successful in directing public attention.

The second Number of the London Review, edited by the Rev. Blanco White, has just appeared. The following are its contents: -Mineral Waters-Records of History-Peru and the Andes-Spanish Poetry and Language-Juvenile Library-Fashionable Novels -Mathematical writers-Human Physiology-War with TurkeyGame Laws-French Public Charities-Bishop Heber.

THE TRUE MEANING OF WORDS.-In the twenty-ninth edition of "Guy's English Spelling-Book," just published, revised and improved, and stated in the Preface to be" the result of a combination of talent," we meet with the following definitions, which we beg to submit to the serious attention of our philological readers:

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odd enough plea, that Kean performs in a slovenly manner. This may be very true; but if the manager made a foolish bargain, he must abide by it.-Nothing very remarkable is taking place in the London Theatrical world. Charles Kemble is said to have cleared L.600 by his benefit, and the French actor, Laporte, L.1500. Ducrow is performing more equestrian wonders at Astley's. "His performances," says a critic in the Court Journal, "are the finest things extant, now that Kean is virtually defunct, and Macready asleep."— Pritchard's benefit here, last Monday, was quite a bumper. Madame Caradori renewed her engagement for three nights this week; the houses, however, have not been so crowded as at first. This is to be attributed to the monotony of a concert, where only one person sings a song worth hearing. We are glad to observe that, according to a suggestion made in our last, Madame Caradori is to appear in an ope ratic character this evening, having undertaken to perform Polly in the "Beggar's Opera,"-an arduous task for a foreigner, but which, we doubt not, will be triumphantly executed.-On Monday, Mr and Mrs Stanley take their benefit. Few members of our company deserve better of the public;-Mrs Stanley is a highly respectable actress of all work; and, in his own peculiar line of humour, mixed occasionally with a fine developement of the stronger passions, her husband is unrivalled. Our readers are aware that we do not speak of benefits indiscriminately; and our words, on the present occasion, will perhaps have the more weight.

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TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS.

COMMUNICATIONS from Derwent Conway, Esq., John Malcolm, Esq., and others, together with a very interesting unpublished Poem, by Mrs Elizabeth Hamilton, Authoress of the "Cottagers of Glenburnie," will appear in our next number.

Several poetical pieces, which are in types, are unavoidably postponed.

The "Sonnet to," by "N. C." of Glasgow, shall perhaps have a place when the Editor is next in his Slippers.-" King Edward's Dream," though not destitute of poetical merit, is too long for our pages. We regret we cannot give a place to the lines "On seeing a Picture of Mary, Queen of Scots," nor to the verses of "Zella." Specimen copies of the First Volume of the LITERARY JOURNAL, boarded in a neat and substantial manner, may now be seen at our Publishers'. A few remain on sale.

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LITERARY CRITICISM.

The Scottish Songs. Collected and Illustrated by Robert Chambers, Author of “ Traditions of Edinburgh," "The Picture of Scotland," &c. In Two Volumes. Edinburgh. William Tait. 1829.

The Scottish Ballads. Collected and Illustrated by Robert Chambers. In One Volume, uniform with the Scottish Songs. Edinburgh. William Tait. 1829.

(Unpublished.)

PRICE 6d.

willingly spend years in discussing. We can even read, unmoved, a passage so replete with interest as the following:

But

"I may further venture to express a conjecture, that Trolly lolly is the same song with Trollee lollee lemandow, which is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland, 1549, and also with that which Mr Ritson has printed in his 'Ancient Songs,' under the title of Trolley lollee." if this fails to excite us, it is not long before we come to "metal more attractive." In speaking of a song of unknown antiquity-" The frog cam to the myl dur," and of another, printed in 1580,-“ A most strange weddinge of the frogge and the mouse,”—Mr Chambers introduces the following very amusing nursery tale, for which, it appears, he is indebted to one of those numerous old women, whose reminiscences he can turn to better account than any writer with whom we are acquainted:

upon it by the climate, government, and dispositions of the people. It is labour, therefore, thrown away to talk of its origin ;-one may almost as well talk of the origin of language. It is curious, however, to know, that the earliest Scottish song, of which we have any account, is one composed on the occasion of Alexander III. being killed by a fall from his horse in 1286. The wars with England, the exploits of Sir William Wallace, of Bruce, and other national heroes, also presented fertile themes for song, which, we learn from the old chroniclers, were not A COMPLETE, full, and compact collection of the Scot- overlooked. Mr Chambers enters, with a good deal of tish Songs and Ballads, carefully collected, and judi- antiquarian unction, into an examination of some of these ciously purged of every thing spurious,-was felt to be a early compositions; and perhaps it is in us a grievous fault want; and the present work will supply that want. that we are not moved to great delight by the ingenious Some of our former collections are too voluminous and elucidation he gives of certain obscure points, which many expensive, weighed down and rendered heavy by a pon-worthy members of the Bannatyne Club would, no doubt, derous appendix of pedantic Notes, which, though they may evince the editor's antiquarian lore, are, in point of fact, a mere intellectual lumber-room. Others are too imperfect and exclusive, to present any thing like a satis factory body of national poetry, and are to be regarded in the light of minor, and often injudicious, abridgements from the general store. The work before us is modelled after a plan the most appropriate for such a publication; for while it embraces every thing really worthy of preservation, (erring, perhaps, on the safe side, in one or two instances, by taking in too much,) it excludes all tedious disquisitions, whether historical, geographical, or chronological, and shows a more laudable anxiety to preserve the very best version of a song or ballad, than to make laborious attempts to fix the date of its composition, or ascertain the name of its supposed author. Such of our readers as are at all acquainted with the peculiar habits and talents of Mr Chambers, will have little hesitation in confessing, that scarcely any man living was likely to have entered, with greater enthusiasm and success, into the researches necessary for putting into a proper shape and arrangement the mass of materials which Scottish poetry presents. Himself a poet of no inconsiderable merit, as the pages of the LITERARY JOURNAL attest, and, besides, deeply imbued with a love for every thing Scottish, especially for that "voice of song" which, for centuries past, has been "daily heard on the lea and on the mountain side," Mr Chambers has traced the stream to its source, and followed it thence with patriotic ardour and useful industry, as "it stole along, a little hidden rill of quiet enjoyment, beneath the incumbent mass of higher, and graver, and more solid matters." The result is, that his three volumes bid fair to become the standard book of Scottish song and legendary lore.

By way of introduction, we are presented, in the first volume, with an " Historical Essay on Scottish Song." It is written in that light, popular, and traditionary style in which Mr Chambers has few rivals. It commences with some observations on the origin and early history of our endeared national treasures of song and music, which it, of course, admits to be involved in much mystery. The truth is, popular song, in all countries, springs up with the country itself, and will ever retain, throughout its progress to refinement, the peculiar features stamped

"By the way, the frog seems to have been a favourite character, and a distinguished figurante, in old popular poetry. There is still to be found in the Scottish nursery a strange legendary tale, sometimes called The Padda Sang,' and sometimes The Tale o' the Well o' the Warld's End,' in which the frog acts as the hero. It is partly in recitative, and partly in verse, and the air to which the poetry is sung is extremely beautiful. I give the following version of it from the recitation of an old nurse in Annandale.

"A poor widow, you see, was once baking bannocks; and she sent her daughter to the well at the warld's end, with a wooden dish, to bring water. When the lassie cam to the well, she fand it dry; but there was a padda (a frog) that came loup-loup-loupin, and loupit into her dish Says the padda to the lassie, I'll gie ye plenty o' water, if ye'll be my wife.' The lassie didna like the padda, but she was fain to say she wad take him, just to get the water; and, ye ken, she never thought that the puir brute wad be serious, or wad ever say ony mair about it. Sae she got the water, and took it hame to her mother; and she heard nae mair o' the padda till that nicht, when, as she and her mother were sitting by the fireside, what do they hear but the puir padda at the outside o' the door, singing wi' a' his micht,

Oh, open the door, my hinnie,* my heart,
Oh, open the door, my ain true love;

Honey-a very common phrase of endearment among the lower orders of the people in Scotland. One of the twa mareit women, whose tricks are so deftly delineated by Dunbar, says, on one occasion, to her husband,

My hinny, hald abak, and handle me nocht sair.'

Remember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

"

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Says the mother, What noise is that at the door, dauchter? Hout!' says the lassie, 'it's naething but a filthy padda! Open the door,' says the mother, to the puir padda.' Sae the lassie opened the door, and the padda cam loup-loup-loupin in, and sat doun by the ingle-side. Then, out sings he:

Oh, gie me my supper, my hinnic, my heart,
Oh, gic me my supper, my ain true love;
Remember the promise that you and I made,
Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

Hout!' quo' the dauchter, 'wad I gie a supper to a filthy padda? Ou, ay,' quo' the mother, gie the puir padda his supper.' Sae the padda got his supper. After that, out he sings again:

Oh, put me to bed, my hinnie, my heart,
Oh, put me to bed, my ain true love;

Remember the promise that you and I made,
Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

Hout!' quo' the dauchter, wad I put a filthy padda to bed? Ou, ay,' says the mother, put the puir padda to his bed.' And sae she pat the padda to his bed. Then out he sang again (for the padda hadna got a' he wanted yet :)

Oh, come to your bed, my hinnie, my heart, Oh, come to your bed, my ain true love; Remember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.' Hout!' quo' the dauchter, wad I gang to bed wi' a filthy padda!- Gae 'wa, lassie,' says the mother, 'e'en gang to bed wi' the puir padda.' And sae the lassie did gang to bed wi' the padda. Weel, what wad ye think? He's no content yet; but out he sings again :

'Come, tak me to your bosom, my hinnie, my heart,
Come, tak me to your bosom, my ain true love;
Remember the promise that you and I made,
Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

'Lord have a care o' us!' says the lassie, wad I tak a filthy padda to my bosom, d'ye think?' Ou, ay,' quo' the mother, just be ye doing your gudeman's biddin, and tak him to your bosom.' Sae the lassie did tak the padda to her bosom. After that, he sings out:

Now fetch me an aix, my hinnie, my heart,
Now fetch me an aix, my ain true love;
Remember the promise that you and I made,
Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

childhood, during which, like individual man, it is always an imitator, had now ventured to feel and profess an appreciation of what was originally and truly beautiful in these divine arts; and the Muse of the heart had at length asserted her empire over all ranks of men. Poetry was now no longer supposed to consist in awkward allusions to an exploded mythology, or in accurate versification. Music was not now believed to consist only in an ingenious machinery of collusive sounds. Men had at length permitted themselves, like the Vicar of Wakefield's family, to be happy without regard to system.

proves it to have been designed for the use of the upper "The Tea-Table Miscellany, the very name of which ranks of society, might be said to consist in four different sorts of song.

"I. Old characteristic songs, the productions of unknown poets of the populace; of which kind there were the following: Muirland Willie; Nancy's to the greenwood gane; Maggie's tocher; My jo Janet (probably ;) Peggy and Jockey; Katherine Ogie (probably ;) Jocky said to Jenny; Fy, let us a' to the bridal; The auld gudeman; The shepherd Adonis; She rase and loot me in; John dlen hame; Although I be but a country lass; Waly, waly, Ochiltree; In January last; General Lesley's march; Togin love be bonny; Ower the hills, and far away; Norland Jockey and Southland Jenny; Andro and his cutty

gun.

"II. Songs of the same sort, but altered and enlarged at the discretion of the Editor; of which kind there were the following: Lucky Nancy; Auld Rob Morris; The Ewebuchts; Omnia vincit amor; The auld wife ayont the fire; Sleepy body, drowsy body; Jocky blythe and gay; Hand awa' frae me, Donald; The Peremptor Lover; My Jeany and I have toiled; Jocky fou, Jenny fain; Jeany, where has thou been?

"III. About sixty songs, composed by Ramsay himself, and thirty written by his friends, as substitutes for older compositions, which could not be printed on account of indecency and want of merit. It is customary to hear honest Allan railed against, for thus annihilating so much of the old characteristic poetry of Scotland. But it should be recollected, that, even if preserved, these things could only be interesting in an antiquarian, and not in a literary point of view; and also that the new songs thus projected upon the

She brought the axe in a minute, and he then sang again: public were possessed of much merit. If the old verses had

Now chap aff my head, my hinnie, my heart,
Now chap aff my head, my ain true love;
Remember the promise that you and I made,
Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

I'se warrant she wasna lang o' obeying him in this requeist! for, ye ken, what kind of a gudeman was a bit padda likely to be? But, lock-an-daysie, what d'ye think? she hadna weel chappit aff his head, as he askit her to do, before he starts up, the bonniest young prince that ever was seen. And, of course, they leeved happy a' the rest o' their days.'"

Some interesting notices follow of the "godly and spiritual ballads" introduced at the time of the Reformation, and of many detached songs which appeared at different periods, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; but we prefer descending at once to the commencement of the eighteenth century, when, under the superintendence of Allan Ramsay, Scottish song came at length to have " a local habitation and a name." Of that poet's "Tea Table Miscellany," we have the following account, which will be read with greater interest, when it is known that it was the fashionable work of the day, and was universally in the hands of the fair sex, Ramsay himself having finely said of it,—

"The wanton wee thing will rejoice,
When tented by a sparkling ee,
The spinnet tinkling to her voice,
It lying on her lovely knee!"

ALLAN RAMSAY'S TEA-TABLE MISCELLANY. "The impulse which had been given to the public taste for Scottish song and music about the end of the seventeenth, and the beginning of the eighteenth century, was the proximate cause of this invaluable publication. time had now gone past when the modulations of sound The and sentiment which nature dictated to the simple swain, were esteemed as only fit to charm the class of society which gave them birth, and when music and poetry were only to be relished in proportion as they were artificially and skilfully elaborated. Society, emancipated from its

been better in a literary sense than the new, they would have survived in spite of them. But they were not better; they had no merit at all; and of course they perished. Those who declaim against Ramsay for this imaginary offence, forget that, amidst the poems he substituted for the old ones, are, "The Lass o' Patie's Mill:""The last time I came ower the muir;" "The Yellow-haired Laddie;" "The Waukin o' the Fauld ;" and "Lochaber no more," by himself; "My dearie, an thou die;" the modern “Tweedside;" and "The Bush abune Traquair," by Crawford: "The Broom o' the Cowdenknowes," by somebody signing himself S. R some of Mr Hamilton of Bangour's beautiful lyrics: "Were na my heart licht I wad die," by Lady Grizel Baillie: and a great many more capital compositions, forming, it may be said, a large proportion of what is at present the staple of Scottish song.

"IV. A multitude of English songs, which, of course, it is not necessary to notice in this place.'

Some account of Mr David Herd's Collection of Scottish Songs, published in 1769—of Mr William Tytler's "Dissertation on Scottish Song and Music," published in 1779-of " Johnson's Scots Musical Museum," commenced in 1786-of " Ritson's Scottish Songs," published in 1794-of Burns, his Writings, and his Biographers and of Thomson's" Select Melodies of Scotland," an excellent, but expensive work, brings us down to the present day, and to Mr Chambers's own compilation.

We have already expressed ourselves well pleased with the manner in which Mr Chambers has executed his task. "Books of this sort," he has correctly said in his preface, "are generally crude and hasty compilations, from the most obvious sources, got up without the interculation only amongst the humbler orders of the people.” vention of any responsible Editor, and intended for cirIt has been the object of Mr Chambers, on the contrary, to make a collection which should comprise all our really good songs, accompanied by as much information regarding them as possible, conveyed in short and popular notes,

and put into a shape at once handsome in appearance and moderate in price. This object has been fully accomplished; and the only fault we can find, which is one that "leans to virtue's side," is the insertion of a few songs of little or no merit, which might, with advantage, have been omitted. In one or two instances, our Editor has been led into this error, by his anxiety to preserve every thing, however trifling, which particular associations might render interesting. Thus, at page 62, vol. i. we are presented with the following

FRAGMENT,

Recovered from Tradition by the Editor.
"Dunfermline, on a Friday night,

A lad and lass they took the flicht,
And through a back-yett, out o' sight,
And into a kilogie !"

We confess we are at a loss to discover the merit of this editorial relic. It may, perhaps, be urged by some, as another objection, that there is not the slightest arrangement, either into periods or classes, of the numerous songs which the volumes contain; but we do not know that we are disposed to find fault with Mr Chambers upon this score. A song is song under whatever head it may be placed, and one reads through the work with greater interest, not knowing whether he is to meet with a production of Ramsay, Burns, Macneil, Tannahill, Hogg, or Sir Walter Scott, on the next page.-Mr Chambers's Notes are not the least valuable part of his book: they are at once instructive and amusing. We can afford room for only two specimens. The first is the note on Burns's fine song, "Their groves o' sweet myrtle," &c.

"This beautiful song-beautiful for both its amatory and its patriotic sentiment-seems to have been composed by Burns during the period when he was courting the lady who afterwards became his wife. The present generation is much interested in this lady, and deservedly; as, in addition to her poetical history, which is an extremely interesting one, she is a personage of the greatest private worth, and in every respect deserving to be esteemed as the widow of Scotland's best and most endeared bard. The following anecdote will perhaps be held as testifying, in no inconsider able degree, to a quality which she may not hitherto have been supposed to possess-her wit.

"It is generally known, that Mrs Burns has, ever since her husband's death, occupied exactly the same house in Dumfries which she inhabited before that event, and that it is customary for strangers, who happen to pass through or visit that town, to pay their respects to her, with or without letters of introduction, precisely as they do to the churchyard, the bridge, the harbour, or any other public object of curiosity about the place. A gay young English gentleman one day visited Mrs Burns, and after he had seen all that she had to show-the bedroom in which the poet died, his original portrait by Nasmyth, his family-bible, with the names and birth-days of himself, his wife, and children, written on a blank leaf by his own hand, and some other little trifles of the same nature-he proceeded to entreat that she would have the kindness to present him with some relic of the poet, which he might carry away with him, as a wonder, to show in his own country. 'Indeed, sir,' said Mrs Burns, I have given away so many relics of Mr Burns, that, to tell ye the truth, I have not one left. Oh, you must surely have something,' said the persevering Saxon; any thing will do any little scrap of his handwriting-the least thing you please. All I want is just a relic of the poet; and any thing, you know, will do for a relic. Some further altercation took place, the lady reasserting that she had no relic to give, and he as repeatedly renewing his request. At length, fairly tired out with the man's importunities, Mrs Burns said to him, with a smile, "Deed, sir, unless ye tak mysell, then, I dinna see how you are to get what you want; for, really, I'm the only relic o' him that I ken o'.' The petitioner at once withdrew his request.'

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The following highly interesting and hitherto unpublished letter of Burns is given in a note, on "Scots wha hae:"

"The reader will find Burns's own opinion of this favourite war-song, in the following letter, which was written by him, at Dumfries, on the 5th of December 1793, to a coun

try gentleman of Perthshire, who was residing there in command of a party of Fencibles. I am indebted for this very interesting document, which is here printed with all Dalguise. It is perhaps one of the most characteristic letthe literal peculiarities of the original, to Mr Stewart of ters Burns ever wrote:

"SIR,-Heated as I was with wine yesternight, I was perhaps rather seemingly impertinent in my anxious wish to be honoured with your acquaintance. You will forgive it: 'twas the impulse of heartfelt respect. He is the father of the Scotch County Reform, and is a man who does honour to the business, at the same time that the business does honour to him!' said my worthy friend Glenriddel, to somebody by me, who was talking of your coming to this country with your corps.-Then, I replied, I have a woman's longing to take him by the hand, and say to him, Sir, I honour you as a man to whom the interests of humanity are dear, and as a Patriot to whom the Rights of your Country are sacred.

"In times such as these, sir, when our Commoners are barely able, by the glimmer of their own twilight understandings, to scrawl a frank; and when Lords are what gentlemen would be ashamed to be; to whom shall a sinkgentleman! To him who has too deep a stake in his couning country call for help? To the independant country try, not to be in earnest for her welfare; and who, in the honest pride of man, can view with equal contempt, the insolence of office, and the allurements of corruption.

"I mentioned to you a Scots ode or song I had lately Allow me composed, and which, I think, has some merit. shall be glad to have your opinion of it. Accept of it, sir; to enclose it. When I fall in with you at the Theatre, I as a very humble, but most sincere tribute of respect, from a man, who, dear as he prizes Poetic Fame, yet holds dearer an Independant mind. I have the honour to be, "Sir,

"Your very humble servt.

"ROBг. BURNS."

Of the songs themselves it is needless to say much, familiar as most of them are to the Scottish reader. There are a good number, however, which are less frequently met with, and one or two of these we feel much pleasure in transplanting to our pages. We begin with the following naive and amusing composition, which, it is probable, was written early in the seventeenth century:

ROBIN REDBREAST'S TESTAMENT.
Gude day, now, bonnie Robin,
How lang hae ye been here?
I've been a bird about this bush

This mair than twenty year.
But now I am the sickest bird
That ever sat on brier;
And I wad mak my testament,
Gudeman, if ye wad hear.

Gar tak this bonnie neb o' mine,
That picks upon the corn;
And giet to the Duke o' Hamilton,
To be a hunting-horn.

Gar tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my neb;
And gie to the Lady Hamilton,
To fill a feather bed.

Gar tak this gude richt leg of mine,
And mend the brig o' Tay;
It will be a post and pillar gude,

It will neither bow nor gae.

And tak this other leg of mine,

And mend the brig o' Weir;
It will be a post and pillar gude,
It will neither bow nor steer.

Gar tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my tail;

And gie to the lads o' Hamilton
To be a barn-flail.

And tak thae bonnie feathers o' mine,
The feathers o' my breast;
And gie them to the bonnie lad,
Will bring to me a priest,

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