صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني
[ocr errors]

English language formed. In this process, there was no remains untouched. To give an example or two of the yielding of the one language to the other, but a direct and truth of these remarks. The word “harness" is, in moliteral incorporation. Each party advanced half-way; dern English, applied only to horses. In German, the and, by mutual concession, a language was at last form- word " harnisch" is in common use to signify “a man's ed, neither pure French, nor pure Saxon, but a mixture armour,” which is a signification in which it occurs in of both.

Shakspeare. In the same author we read of terror which From this short sketch, it is easy to see the connexion makes which the German has with the English. It is the root

" the fell of hair -the original source of our language. Whilst in Sax

Rise as if life were in it." eny, and other parts of Germany, the Old Saxon or Teutonie has remained pure and unmixed, in England its The expression," fell of hair," is not used in modern Engprogress was early cut short by the French, which has lish, and would not likely be intelligible to the ordinary gradually made greater and greater encroachments, and reader. “ Fell,” in German, is "skin." The expression thus given a Latinized cast to our tongue. On this point, therefore signifies, as Johnson has already remarked, the Germans have not been slow in recognizing their su- my hairy part, my capillitium.” priority, and holding it forth to the world :-“ Whilst The same connexion and relationship of the two lanall the other languages of Europe,” says Adelung, with guages which makes it so useful to the student of Engexultation, “ have been lost in the Latin, or at least lish, contributes much to make the acquisition of German corrupted by an admixture with it, only the German lan- easy. Perhaps the reason why this language has been so guage, with her northern sisters, has known how to little studied may lie partly in the general belief that it maintain herself in her own purity, and has rather cho- is extremely difficult. But though it must be confessed sen to enrich and cultivate herself by her own treasures, that, to an Englishman, and especially to one who has than meanly to stand indebted for her culture to another." learned Latin, it is much more difficult than French and Thus writes Adelung, the greatest of German gramma- Italian—the two living languages most studied with us rians; and he speaks the voice of most of his philological yet it is by no means so difficult as is commonly imagined, brethren-many of whom, indeed, have carried the doc- Though the two languages, as already remarked, differ in trine of purism to an extent at once absurd and impossi- respect of compound words, yet there exists the greatest ble. Still the boast of Adelung is not without the best similarity in the roots, and in some parts of the flexion foundation. Well may the German pride himself in the of the language. A glance at a German dictionary will purity of his language. Unaided by any polished and prove this to any one who is unacquainted with the lanalready formed tongue, it possesses a rich and expressive gụage. Many of the words are almost identical ; others vocabulary of primitives, which are, with the greatest have only suffered the common change by which consoease, capable of the most multifarious composition—to nants pronounced by the same organ of the voice are insuch a degree, that it has been allowed, in this respect, terchanged with each other. The change of a T into a to equal, if not to excel, the power of the Grecian tongue. D, or a B into a V, and such like, are quite familiar to Our language, on the contrary, has not preserved even every one who has at all attended to the formation of lanthat degree of purity which was left to it after its ad-guages. Such is the similarity of the German and Engmixture with the Norman, but has gradually lost more lish languages, that, should an Englishman be thrown and more of its Saxon roots ; so that, for example, those into Germany without any knowledge of the language, words of Saxon origin which were used by Chaucer, had he might make his way not badly by using his own become obsolete by the time of Shakspeare, while many tongue. At all events, he would be in no danger of starof his words are at present unknown in the English lan-ving for want of the necessaries of life; for he who guage, or unintelligible to the ordinary reader. As to should call for “flesh, bread, beer, wine, milk," would composition, in which, as I have mentioned, the modern be easily understood by those who express these eatables German rivals the Grecian, we have altogether lost such and drinkables by "feisch, brod, bier, wein, milch." a power in our language. All our compound words, and If" wasser ” does not appear so like our word " water," most of our terminations, are Latin or French. We are it must be remembered that in Low German this best of not poor in Saxon primitives, but we have lost the power drinks is likewise expressed by “ water," precisely as in of using them for the enrichment and improvement of English. In general, those English words which are our language. To give an example, we, as well as the considerably changed in High German, the language of Germans, have the root, G. " frey,” E. " free.” From this literature and polite society, remain almost the same as the German language produces, with the greatest ease, English in Low German, the language of Northern Ger“ Freygebigkeit,” literally “ freegivingness," a word quite many and of the common people. Sometimes, though foreign to the genius of the English language, which is the German word is evidently the same as the English, obliged to form a liberality" from the Latin root “ liber." | yet its signification, being somewhat modified, causes raThis may sufice to give a general idea of the difference ther ridiculous associations. One can hardly refrain from between the two languages in this respect.

laughing when, in the description of some German beauty, From the connexion above stated, it is quite evident he hears her “haut" (E. hide) extolled as the most fair how necessary it is that he who would understand his and beautiful. We use “hide” for the skin of a beast, own language fully, should be acquainted with German. the Germans for that of a human being. Here he will find, in classical and general use, those Much as this similarity must aid an Englishman, it is words which form the basis of the Engiish language. of yet greater importance to a Scotchman, whose language Particularly useful will an acquaintance with the Ger- possesses many remains of the Old Saxon, which one seeks man language prove to him who would study our older in vain in the present English. Many of our common authors. There many words occur which an English-vulgar Scotch words are in classical use in Germany, and man would make nothing of, but which a German, who used in the most polished and refined society. This aphad studied English, would recognise as old friends. Not pears very strange to one who has been accustomed to asto mention Chaucer and our oldest writers, how much sociate vulgarism with such expressions. If, then, it be would we profit by an acquaintance with German in the confessed that one who has studied Latin finds comparainterpretation of our great tragedian, Shakspeare ? an tively little difficulty in French or Italian, does it not author whom all Englishmen profess to read, but not all follow, by the same mode of reasoning, that one acquaintunderstand. It is not Greek or Latin that will assist us ed with English and Scotch should find proportionably here. True it is, that these are exceedingly useful in gi- little difficulty in studying German ? ving an Englishman a command of his tongue; but the But this is not the only advantage which Scotchmen work is only half done if the German or Anglo-Saxon possess over their Southern neighbours in learning this


language. Another and a most decided advantage which us, contains also drawbacks, which give no small trouble we enjoy, lies in the similarity of our pronunciation to to the student. One of the greatest of these is the entire that of the Germans. If there has arisen a complaint want of all rule and analogy in forming the genders of that the German pronunciation forms one of its greatest nouns. To this neither the signification, nor the origin, difficulties, this has, in all likelihood, come from the Eng- nor the termination of words, forms any tolerable clew. lish, who are often very hard pressed to bring forth the Not only are things without life made masculine and ferough and guttural sounds in which the German abounds minine, according to no discernible analogy which they -for that this is too much the character of the language possess with the sexes of the animate creation, but many must be confessed, however much some of the Germans living creatures, even of the most dignified kind, are, by may be inclined to deny it. It is certainly a pity that the application of the neuter gender, degraded into the High German, which, since the time of the Reformation, rank of things. Though one might perhaps tolerate that has been the reigning dialect, should not be the softest | “ weib,” a contemptuous appellation for a woman, should that Germany can boast of. This may appear clearer by receive this gender, yet it is certainly very absurd that we a few examples. When, for instance, our language is should be compelled to address a dignified lady (das Fraucontent with the letter “p," the Germans regularly add enzimmer) and a beautiful virgin (das Fraulein) in the an “f," which two letters produce together a sound at same debasing manner. One would think that the early once harsh to the ear and difficult for the organs to pro- Germans must have had a true Miltonic contempt for the

Our words “ pillar, pool, pipe, pepper,” are, in female sex, and, to make this their contempt visible to all German, “pfaler, pfuhl, pfeife, pfeffer.” Our t also they the world, had interwoven it with the very nature of change into ts, a sound by no means agreeable. “Toll,” their language, by making some of the most common apfor instance, is “ zoll," pronounced "tsoll.” Zimmer-pellations of the sex belong to the neuter gender. Besides pronounced tsimmer—is, in English, “ timber," in Scotch this, the Germans and their Northern neighbours have and Low German, “timmer." The Germans have also had the presumption to alter the order of nature, which that well-known mark of a rough language, the concur- the Greek and Roman poets had established, by making rence of many harsh consonants, with very few vowels. the sun a lady, and the moon a gentleman ; which conIn the words “ Pfingst,” "--a contraction from Pentecost – duct, besides the open insult it implies against the dignity and “ furcht” (fruit), this is very manifest. In the lat- of Apollo and Diana, has unspun the theories of those ter example, occurs that sound which Englishmen learn grammarians who have unwarily asserted that the sun, with difficulty to pronounce, though it is quite familiar from its majesty and superior dignity, has, by all nations, to Scotchmen. He who finds such an insurmountable ob- been made masculine, while the moon, which performs stacle in pronouncing “ Loch Lochy,” or “ Auchter- only an inferior part, and disperses only a borrowed and muchty," will certainly not feel quite at home in reading a weaker light, has been as universally considered as a the two following lines of Schiller's Mary Stuart : female. So difficult is it to give general rules for the “ Nimmer lud Lie

capricious operations of the human mind in affixing genDas Joch sich auf dem ich mich unterwarf.

ders to inanimate things. Kält ich doch auch anspruchen machen können;"

But while this irregularity in the genders of nouns

must be a great difficulty to him who would speak and where the unlucky guttural sound of ch occurs only nine write the German language with classical accuracy, it is times ! An Englishman will either slip over the Ger- manifest that it does not in the least degree stand in the man ch altogether, or make a k of it. A Frenchman way of those who study the language (as many do) only finds himself equally at a nonplus here; and will cera with the view of being able to consult the works which tainly convert this sound into sh.

it contains, belonging to their peculiar vocations. To One circumstance that greatly facilitates the acquisi- such I can say from experience, that the German lantion of a true German pronunciation, is the regularity of guage, if studied with any tolerable degree of diligence the principles on which it depends. In English pronun- and zeal, will be very easily acquired; and when it is alciation, though a vowel or consonant have a certain pro-quired, the way is open to an excellency and an extent of nunciation in one word, it is by no means certain that it genius and learning, which will amply repay any pains will be pronounced so in another. This is a great grie- taken in the acquisition. Of this, indeed, our literary vance to foreigners, especially to Germans, who complain men are becoming more and more convinced, and the greatly of the difficulty of acquiring a good, or even a to study of this language, long neglected, is now beginning lerable pronunciation of our language. No pronuncia- to be more general—the language itself is no longer contion, on the contrary, is more easy than the German. sidered as a barbaric tongue, unworthy the attention of Each vowel, diphthong, and consonant, has a certain de- civilized nations and its literature, though long despised, terminate sound, which it retains in almost all situations. is now looked upon with the admiration and the esteem No language possesses more than the German that great which it deserves. That the state of public opinion in perfection in orthoepy, that the words are pronounced as this matter may still continue to improve, is the sincere they are spelled.

wish of

J. S. B. But while I thus assert what, I believe, every one will find to be true, that the German language is, on

Gottingen, 17th July, 1829. many accounts, by no means so difficult as it is often represented, I would not be understood as representing a

ANTIQUARIAN SCRAPS. knowledge of it attainable without considerable labour. The Germans themselves say that their language is Start not, gentle reader, at the sombre, uninviting title amongst the most difficult of cultivated European tongues. of these brief notices. Antiquarian pursuits, it is true, Let not, then, the student suppose that he will master it are often but a species of laborious trifling, yet they somein as short a time, and meet in it with as few difficulties times present points of interest and humour, and should as he may have found in the study of French or Italian. not be condemned en masse. There is an indescribable Both these languages are a mere trifle to a tolerable clas- pleasure in striving to dissipate a portion, however small, sical scholar. In studying German, the student does of that mist which mantles between the land of oblivion not find that assistance from a knowledge of Latin which and the region of authentic record; and, though it is he experiences in studying those languages which are perilous in some companies to avow a lurking fondness formed on that of ancient Rome. Nor would I conceal for mouldy parchments and faded ink, I confess I must; that this language, besides the difficulty which arises as Mrs Malaprop says, “ own the soft impeachment." from its being unconnected with Latin, and the two mo- Life has few things better than a quiet chamber, a clear dern European tongues which are generally studied with coal fire, a glass or two of racy port, and a midnight spell,

by the light of a pair of tapers, over a venerable tome or pigs, goats, kids, lambs, calves, capons, hens, pullets, pian ancient manuscript.

geons, and other birds ; conies, wild beasts, eggs, salt, In assisting a legal friend in some enquiries relative to hay, straw, timber, wood, underwood, billets, coals, and a disputed election case in an English burgh, I was other utensils and victuals.” Edward VI., " in consideramused with the variation in the style and wording of ation of rents owing by the dissolution of the abbeys," old charters and public documents. The most ancient released about 40s. of the annual-rent.

Elizabeth seems charter extant, is that of the city of London. It was barely to have recited and confirmed the former charters, granted by William the Conqueror, and forms a striking Charles I., in language worthy of his father, “ of his spe- , contrast to the copia verborum in which our modern law- cial grace, and certain knowledge, and mere motion,” givers and jurisconsults love to luxuriate. The following granted fresh charters to most of the burghs, defining translation is froin the pen of an able antiquary, Mr more clearly and definitely their respective immunities; Bailey, one of the present keepers of the records in the and, in several instances, incorporating the ruling powers Tower :-" William the King friendly salutes William under the title of “Mayor and Aldermen," instead of the Bishop, and Godfrey the Portreeve, and all the the old title of “ Bailiffs and Burgesses.” We may here Burgesses ( Burghwaller') within London, both French close the list, for but little alteration was made by subseand English, and I declare I grant you to be all law- quent monarchs, and the practice of renewing burgh worthy, as you were in the days of King Edward, and charters has, as our lawyers say, fallen into desuetude. I grant that every child shall be his father's heir, after Fresh light might still be thrown upon our Constituhis father's death, and I will not suffer any one to do you tional history, if the ancient returns of members of Parwrong. God preserve you.” The brevity of Domesday liament, made by the Sheriffs, were printed and publishBook, with its enumeration of taini_villani-milites ed. Among the records in the Tower, there are returns and homines, is well known. King John improved upon for some of the burghs, in regular consecutive order, from. the style of his royal predecessors. The following full the twenty-third of Edward I.--the earliest epoch of acand flowing enumeration, I copy from a charter of date knowledged representation. It is well known that, for 1206 :-“ The same borough and burgesses shall have several centuries, the office of member of Parliament was and hold the same liberties and free customs as any other eagerly avoided, on account of its being considered an inborough and free burgesses of England do have, well and tolerable burden; and, to release themselves of the tax in peace, freely and quietly, entirely, fully, and honour of two shillings per day, which the burghs were bound ably, in wood and plain, in ways and paths, in meadows to pay their members, many of the corporations wholly and pastures, in fees and lordships, in waters and mills, neglected the precept, and made no return, or prevailed in vivaries and fisheries, in moors and marshes, within upon the Sheriff to get them exempted, on the plea of borough and without, and in all places and things.” For poverty and incapacity. Some of the old returns have this comprehensive grant, the monarch took care to ex- the names of sureties indorsed on the writ, in order to act " the ancient fee-farm rent, with L. 10 of yearly in- secure the attendance of the members. I have seen a crease, payable to exchequers; to wit, one moiety at Easter, written agreement, between the major part of the burand the other moiety at St Michael.” As these fee-farm gesses of a borough and their representatives, so late as rents added considerably to the revenue of the crown, 1645, in which the member stipulated that he would each succeeding monarch was careful to have the burgh serve in Parliament, “ without requiring or demanding charters renewed immediately on his accession, generally any manner of wages or pay from the electors.” The raising the amount of each, as the clergy still strive to do patriotic Andrew Maxwell, member for Hull, in the the tithes on their induction.

reign of Charles II., is commonly said to have been the The following curious notice occurs in a charter of last who received this honourable salary. Edward I. :-" In his well-known hatred to the enemies I shall close these Scraps, with an extract from an anof the Christian faith, the King also grants the burgesses, cient will, registered, with many others, in the office of from every Jew or Jewess passing over the bridge on the Archdeacon of Huntingdon :-“ William Ferrers, korseback, one penny, or on foot, one halfpenny.” In late Prest and Parsone of the parishe churche of Seynt those days, the poor Jews were indeed a doomed race. John the Baptiste in Huntyngdon, (the church, by the Three years before the date of the charter alluded to (in way, in which Oliver Cromwell was baptized,) bequethes 1277), fifty were drawn at horses' tails and hanged, and to the parishe churche of Seynt John thirteen shillings all the synagogues ordered to be destroyed, in consequence and fourpense, to be bestowede abowte most necessarie of some of their number having crucified a child at the things ther needfull to be don ; and to bye and proviede town of Northampton. In 1287, they were all banished, a canapye of silk for the holie sacramente ther, and that and their property confiscated; at this time there were they may provide for the Bybullis, a desk, and a chayne, 15,600 Jews resident in England. They remained ba- after the honeste manere ; to the four parishe Clerks fournished for upwards of three centuries, till Cromwell re- pense everie one of them; to every poure housholder in stored them; in return for which, the Rabbis wished to my parishe, at the day of my buriall, fourpense; to thirprove that Oliver was the new Messiah, or the Lion of teen bedemen, holding thirteen tapirs abowte my beryse, the tribe of Judah.

to the honoure and glorie of Almyghtie God, at dyrge In the charters of Edward III. frequent mention is and masse, fourpense to everie one of them.” The will made of the “mortal pestilence," and " dire adversities,” is dated in 1542-two years after the date of the royal in consequence of which the King had to lower his fee- proclamation, enjoining every curate and parish to profarm rents. The awful calamity of the plague disappear-vide themselves with the Bible of the largest size. « It ed almost as soon as the city of London had been rebuilt, was wonderful,” says Strype, " to see with what joy the after the great fire of 1666 ; so the land-scurvy, and, be- book of God was received, and what resort there was to fore that, the beprosy, became gradually extinct, when the the places appointed for reading it.” So eager, indeed, reformation of religion and improvements of agriculture were the people to see and hear the blessed Book, that it had removed the necessity of eating salt fish and salted became necessary to fasten the Bybullis" with a chain meat during the greatest portion of the year.

to the desk, after the “ honest manner" alluded to by the But to return for a moment to the burgh charters.— priest of Huntingdon. Richard III. was laudably minute in his enumeration of the exemptions and privileges granted to the burgesses

SOME ACCOUNT OF MY OWN LIFE. on the payment of their fee-farm rent; they were duly assoilzied from “all prisages, chiminages, and taking of

An Article by a New Contributor. carriages, horses, carts, waggons ; and also of wheat, The precise day and place of my nativity is of little barley, rye, oats, beans, pease, oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, consequence. I was approaching the years of confirmed manhood when the principles of the French Revolution plan of defending themselves by carrying the war into first began to be disseminated in this country. Of an the enemy's country. They were resisted at first by the ardent disposition, and totally unacquainted with the military alone. The civil population received thein as world, I was intoxicated with the proud hopes for society apostles of a new and better order of things. But they which they held out. Nature had endowed me with a soon experienced, that whatever the projectors of the Refacility of expressing myself, and, borne up by my enthu- volution might be, and however fair the protestations of siasm, I soon became a leading orator in the numerous their invaders, the mass of the French nation had learned clubs formed by those who held like principles with my- nothing of the universal philanthropy of the new philoself. It is not unlikely that my reckless disposition might sophy but its language. They oppressed the inhabitants, have involved me in some deeper plots, but my career and ravaged the countries, as unphilosophically as any was luckily put a stop to before I had engaged in any army that ever marched through them. treasonable enterprise. An attempt was to be made to The consequence was, that at the time my friend Von rescue some of the most marked English democrats, who Wolfram and I reached his native place, a pretty strong had been arrested for the purpose of having them tried reaction was beginning to be felt. It was the time of for high treason. Our Scottish leaders recommended me vintage when we arrived at his estate in Upper Saxony. to their southern correspondents, as one whose fearless The festivities of the season, heightened by the joy difcharacter might render him of use. My services were fused at his return, engrossed us for a while. The necalled for, and I agreed to lend them with an ardour and cessity of arranging his affairs, which had got into consingleness of purpose, of which, although long satisfied of siderable confusion during his absence, –a matter in the folly, not to say the criminality, of the scheme, I have which, as much from a sense of friendship as from a de not, even at my advanced age, learned to be altogether sire to get a more intimate acquaintance with the comashamed. Our attempt was frustrated. Some of my mon business of human life, I lent him my assistance comrades were tried for it; but as my family, besides be- sufficiently occupied us during the winter months. But

, ing wealthy and influential, had been uniformly distin- on the approach of spring, the renewal of hostilities, and guished for their loyalty, a friendly hint was given that their nearer approach, drew our attention to the state of I was in danger if I remained in the country. I was the country. The re-awakening national spirit carried willing enough to quit it. My father was of opinion Wolfram along with it ; and an unwillingness to part that sending me to the continent of Europe, with the from him, joined to man's natural love of fighting, led nee sentiments I then entertained, would only be exposing on to unite my fortunes with his. We joined the army me to greater dangers. I was therefore sent to America, of the Archduke Charles, I hope it will not be ascribed to keep me quiet and out of harm's way.

entirely to the vanity of an old soldier, when I say that A branch of our family had emigrated some forty years | I served not altogether without distinction. We fought before that time, and their descendants were living pros- it manfully, until the reverses of Wagram and Austerlitz perously in Virginia. To Virginia I was dispatched, compelled Austria to sue for peace. My friend retired with a liberal allowance, and letters of introduction to to his paternal estate, and I, in hopes that my long exile some of the best families in the state. I took up my had sufficiently atoned for my youthful indiscretions, reabode, at the old man's earnest request, with a cousin of turned to England. my father's, a man who had travelled much. He was I found that I had nothing to fear ; but, on my reachone of those who, to the most sedate and correct notions ing Scotland, I found not what I had Jeft. My parents of life, unite the power of entering into, and making al- were dead; my youthful friends had either left the counlowance for, the enthusiasm of youth. Under his gui-try, or had forgotten me. I had acquired the habits of a dance, and with the example of his truly great and good foreign land, and there was little sympathy between me friend Washington before my eyes, I was taught, though and my new acquaintances. Never—not when yearning with all the reluctance natural to wrong-headed youth, for my native vales at midnight, on the banks of some lona to see the folly and impracticability of the principles I American river—not when, on the eve of battle, I had none had imbibed.

near me who spoke the language of my fathers did the There is no country worse adapted for a man who has cup, which my own folly had brewed, taste more bitterly

. no business to attend to, than America. Every one is I had wilfully torn myself from the soil on which I grew, so engrossed with his own pursuits, that an idler can and could not strike root again. I had cast myself befind no way of killing time. I traversed, during the six fore the unpausing car of destiny ; its wheels had passed years that I remained there, almost every state that then over me, and crushed the affections of my heart, the housebelonged to the Union, and even made some excursions hold loves in which man breathes and lives. into the forests which were still the exclusive habitation The moment I had brought my possessions into order, of the natives. Tired at last of being the only idle man I applied for a commission, instigated to this step by the in the nation, I embarked for Hamburg, in company vacuity I felt at home, and the predilection which habit with a friend of my relative, a German, who had joined had given me for a military life. It was readily granted the standard of Washington along with Lavalette. to me on the strength of the testimonials I had from my

The French Revolution, as it is commonly called, might several commanders. Never have I experienced an emo, with more propriety be designated the European Revo- tion, like that which thrilled through my frame when I lution. The principles which gave birth to it had been heard, for the first time, the banner of 'my native land disseminated over the whole Continent; they had been rustling over my head. I was again a Briton! The adopted and patronized by many crowned heads, who did stirring times gave me employment enough. I have folnot foresee the consequences of their dissemination. The lowed Wellington in every campaign he made till the state of society, too, which awakened them into such fear- first abdication of Napoleon, when, warned by the increaful activity in France, was not without its parallel in sing infirmities of age, I retired. I have no reason to other countries. The declaration of hostilities by the complain of my success. In our service, a man of comsovereigns of Europe, under the direction of the Duke of petent fortune, who has a decent share of talent, and does Brunswick, was not an uncalled-for interference with his duty faithfully, never fails. the internal arrangements of another state, but a na- After I laid down my commission, I made a short es. tural attempt to extinguish a spirit, which they saw cursion through France and Italy; and since that time waiting but a successful example to break out in a simi- my residence has been, the greater part of the year, in a lar manner in their own territories. The injudicious small villa about half a mile out of Edinburgh. I come operations of the aggressors taught France her own into town every good day, chiefly for the purpose of hastrength ; and the consciousness of the sympathy of a ving half-an-hour's talk with my amiable and conversa large portion of every nation in Eurore, suggested the tive friend M

I may be generally seen about

Adown thy hills run countless rills,

With noisy, ceaseless motion ; Their waters join the rivers broad,

Those rivers join the ocean: And many a sunny, flowery brae,

Where childhood plays and ponders, Is freshen'd by the lightsome flood,

As wimpling on it wanders.

Within thy long-descending vales,

And on the lonely mountain,
How many wild spontaneous flowers

Hang o'er each flood and fountain ! The glowing furze-the“ bonny broom,”

The thistle, and the heather ; The blue bell, and the gowan fair,

Which childhood loves to gather.

three o'clock walking along Princes' Street, towards the Calton-bill, where it is my delight to contemplate the magnificent views which it commands on every side. When the Exhibitions are open, I am generally to be found in one of them, sitting before some favourite picture. I am also a great frequenter of dioramas, panoranas, and popular lectures. When the rheumatism permits, I am frequently to be seen in the theatre. These indulgences ot'a desire to feel myself in a crowd, without being of it, are the only remains of my Continental habits; in every thing else I am a very Englishman. When the theatre is closed, or when the state of my health is not such as to admit of my visiting it, three or four friends of my own age to dine, and spend the evening in conversation, or at a quiet game of whist, are indispensable. My forenoon is spent in reading, except once aweek that I devote it to regulating my household affairs and other business. My books consist of a pretty extensire collection of English literature, from the time of Shakspeare down to the writers of Queen Anne's age, the classics, the best French authors, and books of voyages and travels. These were the favourites of my younger days,—my noon of life was too earnestly employed to leave me much time for study, and I am now too old to enter into the spirit of the literature of the day, so different in its tone from my accustomed habits and tastes.

I can tolerate all opinions, but hold fast to my own. I think this world, with all its faults, a vastly good one ; but hope to be able to quit it when the time comes, and it cannot now be far distant, with resignation. I do not trouble my head with politics, but I believe I am, if any thing, a whig of the old school, and a loyal man. I am a sincere, though faulty, son of the Episcopalian church ; although I reckon among my most esteemed and tried friends, some of our Preshyterian clergymen. Finally, I am, if you, respected Editor, whose Journal is the only one that crosses my threshold, think an old man's prattling about what he has seen, felt, and thought, likely to be at all interesting and instructive, your very humble servant and contributor,

A. H. M.

Oh, for that pipe of silver sound,

On which the shepherd lover, In ancient days, breathed out his soul,

Beneath the mountain's cover !
Oh, for that Great Lost Power of Song,

So soft and melancholy,
To make thy every hill and dale

Poetically holy !

And not alone each bill and dale,

Fair as they are by nature, But every town and tower of thine,

And every lesser feature; For where is there the spot of earth,

Within my contemplation, But from some noble deed or thing

Has taken consecration

First, I could sing how brave thy sons,

How pious and true-hearted, Who saved a bloody heritage

For us in times departed;
Who, through a thousand years of wrong,

Oppress'd and disrespected,
Ever the generous, righteous cause

Religiously protected.



By Robert Chambers. SCOTLAND! the land of all I love,

The land of all that love me; Land, whose green sod my youth has trod,

Whose sod shall lie above me! Hail, country of the brave and good,

Hail, land of song and story; Land of the uncorrupted heart,

Of ancient faith and glory!

I'd sing of that old early time,

When came the victor Roman,
And, for the first time, found in them

Uncompromising foemen ;
Then that proud bird, which never stoop'd

To foe, however fiery,
Met eagles of a sterner brood

In this our northern eyry.

Next, of that better glorious time,

When thy own patriot Wallace Repellid and smote the myriad foe

Which storm'd thy mountain palare; When on the sward of Bannockburn

De Bruce his standard planted, And drove the proud Plantagenet

Before him, pale and daunted.

Like mother's bosom o'er her child,

Thy sky is glowing o'er me ; Like mother's ever-smiling face,

Thy land lies bright before me. Land of my home, my father's land,

Land where my soul was nourishd; Land of anticipated joy,

And all by memory cherish'd ! Oh, Scotland, through thy wide domain,

What hill, or vale, or river,
But in this fond enthusiast heart

Has found a place for ever?
Nay, hast thou but a glen or shaw,

To shelter farm or shieling,
That is not garner'd fondly up

Within its depths of feeling ?

Next, how, through ages of despair,

Thou brav'dst the English banner, Fighting like one who hopes to save

No valued thing but honour. How thy own young and knightly kings,

And their fair hapless daughter, Lest but a tale of broken hearts

To vary that of slaughter.

How, in a later, darker time,

When wicked men were reigning, Thy sons went to the wilderness,

AU but their God disdaining;

[ocr errors]
« السابقةمتابعة »