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Now in there cam my Lady Wren,

Wi' mony a sigh and groan,

O what care I for a' the lads,

If my ain lad be gone!

Then Robin turn'd him round about,
E'en like a little king;

Gae pack ye out at my chamber-door,
Ye little cutty-quean!

We recommend the following elegant and spirited composition to the especial attention of all our fair readers. It breathes sentiments which every man ought to feel, and which, we believe, every man, in a greater or less degree, does feel:

I DO CONFESS THOU'RT SMOOTH AND FAIR.
By Sir Robert Aytoun, Secretary to the Queen of James VI.
I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,

And I might have gone near to love thee;
Had I not found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak had power to move thee:

But I can let thee now alone,

As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind,

That kisses every thing it meets.
And since thou can with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none.

The morning rose, that untouch'd stands,
Armed with her briars, how sweetly smells!
But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with her dwells;
But scent and beauty both are gone,
And leaves fall from her one by one.

Such fate, ere long, will thee betide,

When thou hast handled been a while;
Like sere flowers to be thrown aside,

And I will sigh while some will smile,
To see thy love for more than one

Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

The finest song, without exception, which has been written within the last century-perhaps the finest song in the language-is " Bonnie Lady Ann," by Allan Cunningham. We are astonished that it has not long ago been set to an air worthy of it, and sung on the stage,in the drawing-room,-at the social-board,-everywhere. We request that each of our readers will peruse it three times, and then say whether or not he is of our opinion:

BONNIE LADY ANN.

By Allan Cunningham.

There's kames o' hinnie 'tween my luve's lips, And gowd amang her hair:

Her breists are lapt in a holy veil;

Nae mortal een keek there.

What lips daur kiss, or what hand daur touch,
Or what arm o' luve daur span,
The hinnie lips, the creamy lufe,

Or the waist o' Lady Ann?

She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rose,
Wat wi' the blobs o' dew;

But nae gentle lip, nor semple lip,

Maun touch her ladie mou.

But a broidered belt, wi' a buckle o' gowd,
Her jimpy waist maun span:

Oh, she's an armfu' fit for heaven-
My bonnie Lady Ann.

Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers,
Tied up wi' siller thread;

And comely sits she in the midst,
Men's langing een to feed:

She waves the ringlets frae her cheek,

Wi' her milky milky hand;

And her every look beams wi' grace divine;
My bonnie Lady Ann.

The mornin' clud is tasselt wi' gowd,

Like my luve's broideredcap;

And on the mantle that my luve wears,

Is mony a gowden drap.

Her bonny ee-bree's a holy arch,
Cast by nae earthly han'!

And the breath o' heaven is atween the lips
O' my bonnie Lady Ann.

I wonderin' gaze on her stately steps,
And I beet a hopeless flame!

To my luve, alas! she maunna stoop;

It would stain her honoured name. My een are bauld, they dwall on a place, Where I darena mint my hand; But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers O' my bonnie Lady Ann.

I'm but her father's gardener lad,
And puir puir is my fa';

My auld mither gets my wee wee fee,
Wi' fatherless bairnies twa.

My lady comes, my lady gaes,
Wi' a fou and kindly han';

O their blessin' maun mix wi' my luve,
And fa' on Lady Ann.

We have met with few sea-songs more spirited than that which we subjoin, and we should like to know something more of the author:

THE ROVER OF LOCHRYAN.

By H. Ainslie.

The Rover of Lochryan he's gane,
Wi' his merry men sae brave;

Their hearts are o' the steel, and a better keel
Ne'er bowled ower the back of a wave.

It's no whan the loch lies dead in its trough;
When naething disturbs it ava,

But the rack and the ride o' the restless tide,
Or the splash o' the grey sea-maw;

It's no when the yawl, and the licht skiffs, crawl,
Ower the breast o' the siller sea;

That I look to the west for the bark I loe best, And the Rover that's dear to me.

But when that the clud lays its cheeks to the flood,
And the sea lays its shouther to the shore,
When the wind sings high, and the sea-whelps cry,
As they rise frae the whitening roar;

It's then that I look through the blackening rook,
And watch by the midnicht tide;

I ken that the wind brings my rover hame,
On the sea that he glories to ride.

O, merry he sits 'mang his jovial crew,
Wi' the helm-haft in his hand;
And he sings aloud to his boys in blue,
As his ee's upon Galloway's land:

"Unstent and slack each reef and tack,
Gie her sail, boys, while it may sit :
She has roared through a heavier sea before,
And she'll roar through a heavier yet!"

Having dwelt thus long on the songs, we must speak very briefly of the ballads. It is a very excellent collection; made up principally of the best things to be found in Sir Walter Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Jamieson's Popular Ballads, Finlay's Historical and Romantic Ballads, Kinloch's Ancient Ballads, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern, and Buchan's Ancient Ballads of the North of Scotland. This country possesses, altogether, about two hundred distinctly different ballads, but some of these have been laid before the public in no fewer than six different forms. Mr Chambers has aimed at condensing the diffused merit of all his predecessors. "I have not only made a careful selection," he says, "of what appeared to me in every respect the best of the whole mass of published ballads; but, by a more daring exertion of taste, I have, in a great many instances, associated what seemed to me the best stanzas, and the best lines

nay, even the best words, of the various copies extant." In some hands, this would be a very dangerous sort of tampering; but we have good confidence, both in the experience and judgment of the present Editor. He divides his Ballads into four classes:-I. Historical Ballads; II. Ballads supposed to refer to real circumstances in Private Life; III. Romantic Ballads; and IV. Imitations of the Ancient Ballads. This arrangement is very satisfactory; and, whilst we observe no omissions of any consequence, we scruple not to say, that, in many instances, we find better versions of our popular ballads than we have met with any where else. We may conclude, therefore, as we began, by expressing our conviction that this work, which is just on the eve of publication, must speedily win for itself a large share of popular favour and applause.

(one of the hottest that has ever been known since the descent of Phaeton) in making a peregrination over the country. We understand, however, that the manner in which this book has been received, leaves the author no cause to regret his exertions. In 1827, his "History of the Rebellion of 1745-6," and in 1828, his "History of the Rebellions, under Montrose, from 1638 to 1660," appeared in Constable's Miscellany. He has now two other works on the eve of publication-the Songs and Ballads, which we have just reviewed, and a History of the Re| bellions in 1689 and 1715," for Constable's Miscellany. We may likewise mention, that a translation of the two former "Rebellions" has been announced in France; and what is of greater importance, that Mr Chambers is to be engaged immediately with a still more voluminous work than any he has yet produced. It is to be called, "The Before concluding, we are desirous of giving our read- Domestic Annals of Scotland," and, beginning with the ers some little personal information concerning Mr Cham- era of the Reformation, it is to contain every thing about bers, whose name has, of late years, been a good deal in Scotland, except the political history, of which there will the mouth of the public, and in whom the readers of the be no more than enough to make the rest of the contents LITERARY JOURNAL, in particular, can scarcely fail to be intelligible—a wire strong enough to support the stories somewhat interested. Although his productions are and anecdotes which are to be hung upon it. It is to already so numerous, and have been, for the most part, so bring into view all those private transactions and familiar popular, Mr Chambers is only twenty-seven years of age. circumstances which lie beneath the stream of history, and He was born at Peebles in 1802, his father having been are therefore generally overlooked. It is to contain, among a cotton-manufacturer, and the descendant of a line of other things, accounts of all remarkable criminals, curiworthy burgesses of that town. There was a peculiarity, ous notices of costume and manners of former times, and worth mentioning, in our author's person at birth ;-he innumerable amusing stories and traditionary anecdotes. had six toes on each foot, and six fingers on each hand. It will be chiefly compiled from the public records, and A blundering country surgeon attempted to reduce them the pages of the early simple historians and diarists. For to the ordinary number, by means of a large pair of scis- the convenience of both author and purchasers, it is to sors; but he performed the operation so awkwardly, that appear in numbers, under the auspices of our enterprising the greater part of the superfluous toes still remained. and successful Edinburgh publisher, Mr Tait. It is exIn one view this was a grievous calamity, for it not only pected that the work will extend to five or six octavo vorendered his infancy one of tears, and prevented him from lumes; and Mr Chambers has himself informed us, that participating in the usual sports of boyhood, but it has he intends it to be his opus optimum et maximum,—the had the final effect of making him slightly lame. In work to which he will point, in future years, when he another view, however, the accident had its advantages, wishes to tell what he did in his youth. since to it is to be attributed the acquirement of those studious habits, which, in their subsequent application, have enabled Mr Chambers to gain for himself a name. Before he was ten years old, he had read the greater part of the Encyclopædia Britannica, in twenty volumes. Perceiving his attachment to books, his parents destined him for the church, and he accordingly went through a course of classical literature. Circumstances, however, afterwards occurred, which prevented his entering the Divinity Hall; and at fifteen he found himself in the disagreeable situation of a person who has lost one aim in life, and not found another. Eventually he determined on becoming a bookseller, to which profession he has since steadily and successfully adhered. Mr Chambers' first attempt in literature was a little volume, entitled, “ Illustrations of the Author of Waverley, being notices of the real persons and scenes supposed to be described in his works." It was published in 1822, when he was twenty years of age. His second effort was the "Traditions of Edinburgh," published in Numbers, and completed between March 1824 and November 1825. Such a work, to use the phrase of the trade, " had long been wanted;" and it therefore succeeded amazingly. We believe so many copies of any local or topographical work have seldom been sold in this country. The book was enriched with anecdotes by Sir Walter Scott, Charles Sharpe, Esq., and other eminent literati; but we are inclined to think that the chief cause of its success was the unblushing tone of agreeable gossip and garrulous oldwifery which pervaded it. In 1825 and 1826 Mr Chambers published two small works, subsidiary to the "Traditions," namely, "Walks in Edinburgh, or a Guide to the Scottish Capital," and "The Popular Rhymes of Scotland." His next work of any magnitude was "The Picture of Scotland;"-a work which none but an enthusiast would have undertaken, and to do justice to which, he employed the whole summer of 1826

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We have made this statement, with regard to Mr Chambers, with no view but that of doing justice to a deserving and able man. He has already done more work as an author, than, we believe, any other person living of the same standing. He has to write, too, under many disadvantages; and the light and anecdotal character of many of his works has been a matter more of necessity than of choice. When it is known that he is obliged to attend, during the whole day, to the concerns of a retail business, and that it is only little nooks and odd corners of his time that he can allot to writing, the wonder must be, how he has been able to achieve one half of what he has done. We suspect there are many, who, from not taking this view of the case, hardly do Mr Chambers justice. Can a man stand behind a counter, and think poetically? Can a man go by fits and starts into his back-shop, and abstract himself sufficiently for a sustained effort of thought? Yet he has, in more instances than one, actually done so ; and we do say, that, all these things considered, we know of few men, under seven-and-twenty years of age, more remarkable, or of better promise, than Robert Chambers.

History of the Ottoman Empire, from its establishment till the year 1828. By Edward Upham, Esq. M. R. A. S., Author of the History of Budhism, &c. In two volumes, (forming Vols. XL. and XLI. of Constable's Miscellany.) Edinburgh. Constable & Co. 1829.

AN acquaintance with the public and private history of Oriental Nations, although perhaps of less practical importance to the statesman than a knowledge of European history, is more calculated to enlarge the views of the scholar. The common religion of Europe-the common source from which its nations have derived their political science and a community of feeling produced by the general diffusion and rival cultivation of science, have given

to Europeans, amid all their minuter differences, a strong on in their institutions that upheld the power of the Os. similarity of character. But the character of the people manlie. But these institutions have at length been overinhabiting the East has been developed under different turned. The present Sultan, Mahmoud II., felt that auspices. It shows how different a thing human nature the safety they insured to the governed was not shared may be made. It shows us people influenced by opinions by the head of the state, and to secure himself, he deand habits so materially dissimilar to our own, that it is stroyed, in the persons of the Janizaries, the peculiar conmore likely to excite a spirit of self-scrutiny, and to dissi- stitution of his nation. It remains to be seen whether he pate false views, to which custom alone may have recon- has power to give it a new one; or whether the old adage ciled us, than any thing else we know. holds true here, "that he may destroy a palace who has not the art to build a hovel." If he succeed in organizing a new form of military government, the Ottoman Empire may yet weather the storm impending over her: if he fail in this, she may be looked upon as speedily destined to be blotted from among the nations.

Mr Upham has very properly prefaced his History of the Ottoman Empire with a brief sketch of the progress of Muhammedan doctrine, and of the various nations which embraced it. He then proceeds with the history of Othman and his descendants. We could have wished that he had marked more minutely the character and earlier fortunes of Othman-for, in the individual character of the mighty mind that plans and executes the foundation of a dynasty, may not unfrequently be traced those peculiarities which his institutions afterwards stamp upon the whole nation. In the continuation of his work, Mr Upham presents us with a succinct but spirited account of the progress of the Ottomans in subduing both Mussulmans and Christians; and of the management and adventures of their empire down to the present time.

The spectacle is, on the whole, a magnificent, if not always a pleasing one. The doctrines taught by Muhammed were, in all probability, inculcated by that extraordinary man, as much with a view to the moral improvement of his countrymen, as to his own aggrandizement. But the conscious want of that supernatural authority to which he laid claim, together with an impatience of character, which made him spurn the slow and narrow workings of the mere teacher, led him to a spirit of compromise. In order to secure the obedience of men

in several important points, he left them to indulge, to the utmost, some of their most dangerous passions. The consequence is, that the Muhammedan belief has evolved, in minds of superior power, a character made up of the strangest inconsistencies, even when approaching nearest to the ideal it recommends. There is a mixture of high feeling and self-indulgence,—of ferocity and benevolence, even in the best Mussulman. Their creed knows nothing of restraint and self-denial, and thus all the energies of their nature grow up to their full strength.

The power of the Ottoman Empire is lodged in the hands of one, who, for the time of his sway at least, is obeyed in every thing. The rest of the nation may be divided into those whose sole trade is war, and those

whose business it is to feed and clothe them. The whole
empire, in short, is one vast encampment.
The precepts
of their religion enjoining the conquest of infidels; the
want of any engrossing employment at home; and the
natural turbulence of their character, render war to them

a necessary of life. A kindred spirit in their rulers, and
the necessity of employing in external aggression those un-

It has

ruly spirits, who would, if inactive, turn like ban-dogs and throttle each other, keep them perpetually at loggerheads with one nation or another. The Ottoman Empire is the thunder-cloud of nations-it exists but to explode, and after a short calm to gather again into darkness. swallowed up in its career all the disorganized states which have come in collision with it; and the only countries which have stood firm against its aggressions, are those in which law and government were so established, that even when thrown into temporary confusion, there was, in the common feeling, a principle of vitality which re-united again.

Such is, or rather such has been, the Ottoman Empire. It rose and spread itself with the same rapidity as that of the Saracens and the Moguls. Its character was the same; the principle of its success the same. Its greater permanency is owing to this, that its founders transferred to the laws the power of enforcing discipline, which in the shorter-lived dynasties was attached only to the individual. It was the spirit of Othman and Amurath living

Mr Upham's history of this remarkable people is composed with much candour and impartiality; and contains a great deal of information not to be met with in any other English book with which we are acquainted.

Fugitive Pieces and Reminiscences of Lord Byron; con-
taining an entire new Edition of the "Hebrew Melo-
dies," with the addition of several never before publish-
ed; the whole illustrated with Critical, Historical, Thea-
trical, Political, and Theological Remarks, Notes, Anec-
dotes, Interesting Conversations and Observations, made
by that Illustrious Poet; together with his Lordship's
Autograph; also some Original Poetry, Letters, and
Recollections of Lady Caroline Lamb. By I. Nathan,
Author of an "Essay on the History and Theory of
Music,"
," "The Hebrew Melodies," &c. &c. London,
Whittaker & Co.

1829.

POOR Mr Nathan! what a nest of hornets this book has brought, and will bring, about his ears!

It is cer

tainly one of the silliest we have had the happiness of
meeting with for some time; and though it is a good
natured piece of drivel, it is, nevertheless, rather of a pro-
Heaven forgive Mr
Voking, than an amusing, kind.
Nathan for his "critical, historical, theatrical, political,
and theological remarks!" But, though Heaven may for-
give him for these, (intolerably inane as they are,) it is
impossible that Lord Byron ever can, for the "interest-
ing conversations" he has published in his name ;—the
very sweepings of the illustrious poet's mind!—the no-
things which all men must say every day of their lives,
but which Nathan "conned and got by rote," and now
What is it possible that any man,
gives to the world!
with such a name as Nathan, could know of Byron? ex-
cept, indeed, that a parrot once pecked at his lordship's
toe, and that the author of "Childe Harold" was par-

tial to crust!

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tion with the noble author relative to the pronunciation of
"This composition brings to my recollection a conversa-
his name.
His Lordship's family have differed; some call-
ing it Byron, others Byron. On his entering the room,
while this was the subject of conversation, his own pronun-
ciation was asked. He replied, somewhat indifferently,
'Both were right:' but catching the eye of a very beautiful
young lady near him, he said, Pray, madam, may I be
allowed to ask which you prefer?'
ly.' Then, henceforward,' exclaimed his Lordship, Bŷ-
Oh, Byron, certain-
ron it shall be!' If the foregoing anecdote is illustrative of
his Lordship's attention to the fair sex, the following is,
perhaps, not less characteristic of the poetical feeling which
usually accompanied his complimentary effusions of gallant-
ry. At a party where his Lordship was present, a refer-
world,' had given rise to a speculative argument on the
ence to those elegant lines commencing with, If that high
probable nature of happiness in a future state, and occa-
sioned a desire in one of the ladies to ascertain his Lord-
ship's opinion on the subject; requesting, therefore, to

know what might constitute, in his idea, the happiness of the next world, he quickly replied, The pleasure, madam, of seeing you there.'

The subjoined anecdote of Kean may amuse our read

ers:

"When Kean was first introduced to Lord Byron, his previous intercourse with refined society had been only limited, and, meeting the first poet of the age, he appeared rather abashed in his presence, till the pleasing urbanity of his lordship's manner gave courage to the tragedian, and rendered him in a short time quite at his ease, and the moments passed in the most social manner. Kean, after relating many anecdotes, with which Lord Byron was highly delighted, performed a simple, but truly ludicrous exhibition, at which his lordship was convulsed with laughter, and threw himself back upon the sofa quite in ecstacy, Kean, with a burnt cork, painted the face and body of an opera-dancer upon the back part of his hand, and making his two middle fingers represent the extremities, the upper part the thighs, the lower part the legs, and having painted the nails black to represent shoes, he wrapped his handkerchief round his wrist as a turban: the dancer, thus completed, commenced an opera with great agility and effect; the ludicrous attitudes and nimbleness of the fingers gave such zest to the increased laughter, that his lordship encored the performance with the same enthusiastic rapture as if Kean had been actually engaged in Richard the Third."

There is something more worthy of preservation in the two following songs, which have not before been published:

I SPEAK NOT-I TRACE NOT.

By Lord Byron.

I speak not-I trace not-I breathe not thy name,"
There is grief in the sound-there were guilt in the fame;
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thought that dwells in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours;-can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent-we abjure-we will break from our chain,
We must part-we must fly-to unite it again.
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt;
Forgive me, adored one-forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which I bear shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it-whatever thou mayest.
And stern to the haughty-but humble to thee,
My soul in its bitterest blackness shall be ;

And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee by my side, than the world at our feet.

One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove;
And the heartless may wonder at all we resign,-
Thy lip shall reply not to them-but to mine.

SONG.

They say that Hope is happiness;

But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bliss-
They rose the first, they set the last;
And all that Memory loves the most,

Was once our only hope to be;

And all that Hope adored and lost,
Hath melted into Memory.

Alas! it is delusion all:

The future cheats us from afar; Nor can we be what we recall,

Geraldine of Desmond; or, Ireland in the Reign of Elizabeth. An Historical Romance. In three volumes. London. Henry Colburn. 1829.

GERALDINE OF DESMOND is evidently the work of an Faults author whose powers are considerably above par. it has, but they are compensated by the beauties which crowd around them, and by the indications of mental capabilities, both intellectual and imaginative, which promise yet better things in future.

The object at which the fair author aims is stated, in the Preface, to be the production of a modern historical romance, possessing a character of solid excellence, and avoiding that slip-shod flimsy style, of which we have of late had so many specimens. This is a highly laudable object; but, nevertheless, some of the most striking faults of the book have originated in a partial misapprehension of this excellent principle. The historical romance takes for its subjects either persons who have figured in history, ring some interesting period of history. The great aim of or fictitious persons who are supposed to have lived duthe author ought to be to concentrate the interest on his characters, and to introduce surrounding events, only with a view of showing how they modify or illustrate the peculiarities of the dramatis persona. Now, Miss Crumpe, in her anxiety to give solidity to her work, has brought the state of the country far too prominently forward, by which means, in the first place, she has deviated into the province of political history; and, in the second, she has given to her background a force and prominence that subterest of the story to flag occasionally, especially in the dues the figures in the foreground. This causes the in

Another

The

first volume, and the first half of the second.
objection that we have to the book is, that the principle,
though good in itself, is too much forced upon our notice.
We see the labour which ought to be glossed over.
authoress is continually bracing her nerves to some great
exploit. This conscientious labour is the vital principle
of a book, but it ought to rest unseen, like the foundation
of a house, or like the inward workings of vegetable life,
visible only to the eye of the contemplative beholder in
the compactness of the building and the richness of the
foliage, not bare like an anatomy, so that he who runs
may read all the hidden economy of nature.

Having premised thus much with regard to the plan of the work, we add a word or two as to its execution. Miss Crumpe has brought to her task abundant stores of reading, reflection, and imagination. She is evidently well versed in the history of Ireland, as was, indeed, implied in our complaint that she had obtruded it too much on our notice. Many of her occasional disquisitions afford proofs both of power and delicacy in investigating the recesses of the human heart; and there is a warm glow of poetry struggling through the whole book, and bursting forth, not unfrequently, in the most beautiful flashes. Our authoress, however, is not yet sufficiently au fait in her profession, to have learned the art of making all her abilities work with due subordination to each other. The one or other of them starts every now and then into an undue prominence, which mars the harmony and unity of the work. It may also be observed, that in her anxiety to express her fervid ideas with equal warmth, she sometimes indulges in a strained language, which can scarcely be called English. As to the story, its scene is laid in Ireland during the reign of Elizabeth. rates the feuds of two noble families, whose fate had become interwoven with the political broils of their country; and the misadventures of two ill-starred lovers, whose parents are at the head of the opposite factions. But why swear'st thou ?-thou art a Lamb! We do not think that Miss Crumpe (would to Heaven People of genius should be careful whom they admit she had another name!) discovers a very acute perception into their society, for we can conceive of few things more of the outward differences of national or individual chaannoying, than to be tossed on the rack of a fool's ad-racter; but if her personages want that air of reality miration, and held up to the public gaze as the object of which some novelists communicate to theirs, the loss is, his eulogium. in a great measure, compensated by the high poetical feel

Nor dare we think on what we are.

The "Recollections" of Lady Caroline Lamb are, if possible, still more contemptible than those of Byron. The following Epigram may serve as a specimen. It is

addressed to her husband:

Yes, I adore thee, William Lamb,
But hate to hear thee say, God d-:
Frenchmen say English cry d-d-,

It nar

ing which is inherent in them, and a purity, such as could be communicated by woman's mind alone. We have room for only one extract. It describes, in vigorous terms,

THE DEATH OF AN IRISH CHIEF.

Meanwhile the contest of O'Nial and Thurles continued within a few yards of the precipice that yawned outside the chapel. They wrestled until they reached the very edge of the cliff. At the moment when they did so, the Chief, in endeavouring to evade a well-directed stroke from his opponent, made one false step, and staggering back, fell flat upon the ground. Thurles sprung forward, laid his right foot on the chest of O'Nial, and holding the point of his sword above the body, gaspingly exclaimed," Rash man! force me not to murder! Resign the Lady Geraldine, and I will spare your life." For a second there was stillness. The clear radiance of the moon streamed full upon O'Nial, as he fixed the blaze of his eye on the figure that stood over him. The Chieftain's body strained in a mighty but vain attempt to rise. His hair stood erect with rage as he fell back to the earth, and a sort of ghastly grin convulsed his face with an expres sion of ironical scorn, that writhed him to torture, while the words," You spare me! You!" broke forth in a stified groan, like that of death's last agony.

"Your answer!" cried Lord Thurles, in a voice of thrilling energy.

"See it!" gasped the Chief.

He felt about with his hand, drew a dagger from his vest, and aimed a furious plunge at his victor, before the latter was aware of the intent.

An involuntary start, which moved him some steps backward, saved our hero from the stroke. On seeing this,

sermon will explain more fully the nature of the Society: "I cannot, perhaps, do better than state the object of the charity in the simple statement made in the third general rule of the Society, which is as follows:- That the object of this Society shall be, to give temporary relief to such cases of distress in Edinburgh and its vicinity for which no provision is made by any of the existing institutions of public charity; more particularly, to assist strangers, who can satisfy the committee that their circumstances require aid— to get them, and also those in Edinburgh who belong to distant places, removed to their friends, or to where they have the prospect of getting their wants supplied. The most particular attention is paid to those discharged from the Royal Infirmary.' And that the Society," adds Mr Ramsay, "has fully performed this part of its intentions, so far as means have been afforded, will appear when I mention, that, during the last year, the number of cases visited and relieved amounts to 750, which, upon an average of the number in each family, will amount to between two or three have been enabled, in part or entirely from the funds of thousand individuals. Of these, 227 were strangers, who the Society, to reach their homes.”

We are glad to aid Mr Ramsay, and the other friends of this institution, by giving, through the medium of our pages, a more extended publicity to the laudable objects

it has in view.

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

THE RED COAT.

of Field and Flood," &c.

O'Nial raised his hand still higher, uttered a second fiend- By John Malcolm, Author of " Scenes of War," " Tales like laugh, and, preferring death to submission, plunged the dagger through his own heart. An ejaculation of horror broke from Lord Thurles. Every feeling of his soul was swallowed up by that of humanity, and he was in the act of springing back to wrench the weapon from his side, when O'Nial, perceiving the intention, in a transport of desperation, thrust both his hands into the clayey soil that was dabbled with his blood, and collecting all his strength in a last convulsive effort, the dying Chief heaved his body so close to the edge of the precipice, that it fell over the brink, and, with an appalling sound, dropped heavily from point to point of the projecting rocks beneath.

On the whole, this book is one which, with not a few faults, does credit both to the head and heart (we cannot find a more original phrase) of its authoress.

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Ir is pleasing to think that the humane and generous institutions which exist among us have always found able and eloquent advocates to bring their claims before the public. Mr Ramsay, in the discourse before us, has proved that few could have pointed out, with more effect, the merits of the excellent institution in whose behalf the sermon was preached. Mr Ramsay's talents as a clergyman are well known in this city; as well as his unwearied zeal in the discharge of his duties, honourable at all times, but especially praiseworthy in a man of birth and family. We sincerely recommend this discourse, which is now published in the hope of aiding, by its sale, the funds of the Society for which it was preached. We know of few institutions which have greater claims on the generous and humane. At first established by a few philanthropic individuals, it has been the means of affording relief to many who might otherwise have perished of want. It is a Society which belongs to no religious party: the widow, the fatherless, the stranger, and the destitute, of all creeds and countries, are objects of its

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THE proudest and happiest day of my life-says the unpublished autobiography of Captain Gay-was not that on which I first received a bow from Lord B., and a smile from Lady C. as her carriage whirled past-nor that on which I first discovered, what I had long suspected to be true, namely, that I was a genius-nor even that on which the hope that I was not indifferent to the object of my adoration was crowned with conviction, by her returning my emphatic squeeze of the hand. No, reader! these were all doubtless happy days-too happy ever to return; but the proudest and happiest one of my life was that on which I found myself fixed, as by a spell, in a reverie of self-admiration before a huge mirror, worshipping my own image as it first met my eye, arrayed in a red coat; and the deepest transport with which I ever gazed upon a fair girl was faint indeed to what I felt upon that blessed occasion, while surveying my own fair As attitude is every thing, I, that self from top to toe. morning, devoted several hours to the study of the graces and practised, at my rehearsal in private, what I intended to act in public. I then held imaginary conversations with ladies of rank-handed them their fans, which they had dropt, with an air altogether irresistible— promenaded them to the dinner table-bowed them to their carriages and spouted extempore verses composed for future occasions.

My red coat was to me a mantle of inspiration, prompting a thousand romantic visions of "love and glory "—of laurels won in the battle and the ball-room-and of conquests over England's foes and England's fair.

I had obtained my appointment in consequence of the retirement of an old subaltern, disgusted with a service in which he had grown grey; but which, in other respects, had left him without any memorials except his wounds and half-pay.

Upon the eventful day of which I have been speaking, he met me at the gate of the barracks occupied by my regiment, and thus accosted me:-" Young man, make the most of this day, and enjoy it as you can-it is destined to be the happiest of your life. I have only had two happy ones in the course of sixty years the one was, that on which I put on a red coat for the first, and the other, that on which I put it off for the last time."

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