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to Europeans, amid all their minuter differences, a strong on in their institutions that upheld the power of the Ossimilarity of character. But the character of the people inhabiting the East has been developed under different auspices. It shows how different a thing human nature may be made. It shows us people influenced by opinions and habits so materially dissimilar to our own, that it is more likely to excite a spirit of self-scrutiny, and to dissipate false views, to which custom alone may have reconciled us, than any thing else we know.

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

manlie. But these institutions have at length been overturned. The present Sultan, Mahmoud II., felt that the safety they insured to the governed was not shared by the head of the state, and to secure himself, he destroyed, in the persons of the Janizaries, the peculiar constitution of his nation. It remains to be seen whether he has power to give it a new one; or whether the old adage 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'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.

the whole nation. In the continuation of his work, Mr Fugitive Pieces and Reminiscences of Lord Byron; con

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 unruly 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. It has 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.

taining an entire new Edition of the "Hebrew Melodies," with the addition of several never before published; the whole illustrated with Critical, Historical, Theatrical, Political, and Theological Remarks, Notes, Anecdotes, 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 certainly 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 proHeaven forgive Mr voking, than an amusing, kind. Nathan for his "critical, historical, theatrical, political, and theological remarks!" But, though Heaven may forgive him for these, (intolerably inane as they are,) it is impossible that Lord Byron ever can, for the "interesting conversations" he has published in his name ;—the very sweepings of the illustrious poet's mind!—the nothings 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? except, 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 conversahis name. His Lordship's family have differed; some calling it Byron, others Byron. On his entering the room, while this was the subject of conversation, his own pronunciation 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, BŷOh, Byron, certainron 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 gallantAt a party where his Lordship was present, a reference to those elegant lines commencing with,' If that high probable nature of happiness in a future state, and occaworld,' had given rise to a speculative argument on the sioned a desire in one of the ladies to ascertain his Lordship's opinion on the subject; requesting, therefore, to

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 perma-TY. nency 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

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"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:


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.


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, or fictitious persons who are supposed to have lived during some interesting period of history. The great aim of the 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 subdues the figures in the foreground. This causes the interest of the story to flag occasionally, especially in 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 she sometimes indulges in a strained language, which can her anxiety to express her fervid ideas with equal warmth, 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 beYes, I adore thee, William Lamb, come interwoven with the political broils of their counBut hate to hear thee say, God d-: try; and the misadventures of two ill-starred lovers, Frenchmen say English cry d— d—, But why swear'st thou ?-thou art a Lamb! whose parents are at the head of the opposite factions. 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 his eulogium.

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:

It nar

which some novelists communicate to theirs, the loss is, in a great measure, compensated by the high poetical feel

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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,


sermon will explain more fully the nature of the Society:

Meanwhile the contest of O'Nial and Thurles continued within a few yards of the precipice that yawned out-provision is made by any of the existing institutions of pub side 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 expression of ironical scorn, that writhed him to torture, while the words," You spare me! You!" broke forth in a stifled 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,

"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 lic 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 ticular attention is paid to those discharged from the Royal the prospect of getting their wants supplied. The most parInfirmary.' 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.



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.

The Nature and Obligations of Christian Benevolence, a Sermon, preached in St John's Episcopal Chapel, Edinburgh, on Sunday, 15th December 1828, when a Collection was made in aid of the Funds of the Edinburgh Benevolent and Strangers' Friend Society. By the Reverend E. B. Ramsay, B. A. F.R.S. E., &c. Assistant Minister of St John's Chapel. Edinburgh. 8vo. 1829.

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 care. The following extract from Mr Ramsay's able

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, wor

shipping 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 self from top to toe. As attitude is every thing, I, that 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."

Alas! how little did I then suspect that I had met with a prophet in my path!

Having reported my arrival at head-quarters, and waited upon the Colonel, I was forthwith introduced to my brother officers, with whom I dined at the mess; and the following day I was given over in charge to a drill sergeant, in order to receive my first lessons in military education. From that day I date the commencement of my troubles. My progress, I must say, was slow. I went through my facings with reluctance, and but indifferently. The manual and platoon exercises seemed altogether too low and mechanical for a gentleman-and the goosestep I considered a downright insult to human nature. "Little things might be great to little men;" but a genius like mine, I conceived, was meant to command armies. The sergeant thought differently; and declared that he had more trouble with me than with the whole awkward squad together. But this I considered a compliment, having heard that your great generals had been, for the most part, but indifferent subalterns.

At length, I was attached to a company, and took my post upon parade, where I was completely bewildereddressing my company from the wrong flank—and at every movement committing a blunder. "Rear rank, take open order," exclaimed the Colonel. "What am I to do now, Sergeant?" exclaimed I. "Step out to the front, sir." Col." What are you about there, Mr Gay?—you are out of the line altogether-dress by the right." “Rear rank, take close order-march.”—“ What am I to do now, Sergeant?"

"Face to the right, sir, and step to the rear." (Laughter among the men.)" Some of the men are laughing, Sergeant. Mark them down for drill; and, in the meantime, tell me who they are."-" The whole regiment, sir, including the Colonel."

In this way did I struggle through the difficulties of my profession, until the regiment received orders to hold itself in readiness for foreign service, when I obtained a month's leave of absence, to pay a farewell visit to my friends.

Great was the attention which I received upon arriving at my native village. I was adored by the women, and envied and hated by the men. My red coat was too much for them. However, I was not satisfied with be ing the first man in the village, but resolved to extend my conquests to the neighbouring towns-at one of which, about six miles distant, I had promised to open a ball with the then reigning belle of the place-to which, having forwarded a pair of snow-white inexpressibles, and some other ball-room requisites, (reserving my red coat to walk in,) I proceeded towards the scene of elegant gaiety in the evening.

I had travelled about half the distance, when, at a solitary turn of the road, which winded along the foot of a hill, I suddenly popped upon a bull, who, far from being infected with the general partiality for scarlet, no sooner beheld the colour of my coat, than, setting up a wild roar, he instantly gave chase, and came after me at full gallop. I had fancied myself a hero. I thought I could march up unshrinking to the cannon's mouth; but, like many other gentlemen of the sword, though proof against a charge of cavalry, I could not stand a charge of horning; so, leaving the main road, I dashed along the foot of the hill towards a swamp, with the recollection and geography of which my good genius at that moment supplied me. Meantime, the bull came roaring after, and was rapidly gaining ground, while I, (oh, humbling thought to the pride of valour!) the love of the ladies, and the envy of the men, was running in mortal fear, like a hare before the hounds.

The bog was now close before me, and the bull close behind my bane and antidote and yet the swamp might be soft enough to drown me—( -(what a death for a soldier!)-so, betwixt the bog and the bull's horns, I felt myself betwixt the horns of a dilemma.

The animal was now at my back, foaming and fuming, I heard and fancied that I felt his hot breath behind me, just as I reached the margin of the bog. There was no time to hesitate so I made a leap, and lighted on the quaking quagmire, in which I sunk to the knees.

My enemy having an instinctive feeling that he was treading upon tender ground, suddenly came to a halt; but, by scraping the earth with his feet, and eyeing me with orbs of flame, gave manifest symptoms of unabated fury, and showed no disposition, by retiring, to release me from "durance vile."

Alas! what we suffer for our country! (thought I, as I stood cold and wet, without prospect of release ;)—my fair partner will now be in the ball-room-all smiles and blushes, and gentle tremors-waiting for my arrival, and wondering at my delay. Anon, her young heart will palpitate with fears of illness, or some fatal accident; but, could she see her Lothario, in full uniform, stuck kneedeep in a bog, with a bull standing sentry over him, it were death to romance, and could call forth no tears but those of laughter.

At length I was observed by some pedestrians, passing along the road, who came to my assistance, and succeeded in driving away the bull, and relieving me from my ludicrous misery; but the story got abroad in the neighbourhood, and, embellished with numerous facetious additions, became the subject of village mirth ;—my rivals gloated on it, and the old maids, whom I had incautiously neglected, caught the echo, and carried the tale from house to house. I was saved, however, from the agony of encountering the public gaze and mock sympathy, by being suddenly recalled to the regiment, then about to proceed on foreign service from Dublin, where I arrived a few days previous to embarkation.

Among the many ways in which I had paid for the pleasure of wearing a red coat, I had, somehow or other, neglected the trifling one of paying my tailor; and one day, while sporting my figure, and escorting a fashionablé beauty along Dame Street, just at the most interesting moment of a most tender and interesting conversation, I received a somewhat unceremonious slap on the shoulder, and turning round, in no very gentle mood at the impertinent interruption, was thus accosted by the vulgar intruder:-" By your lave, sir, and begging your pardon, I arrest you at the suit of Mr Tick, the tailor, for a regimental coat,-the same, I suppose, at present on your back."

To have knocked the fellow down would, doubtless, have been my first impulse; but of all power of action and thought I was, for the moment, utterly deprived by the shock of such a dreadful exposure.

A flash of fire shot through my brain, the sight forsook my eyes, and the last sound of which I was conscious, after the words of the accursed dun, was a loud burst of laughter, amidst which my fair friend vanished like a witch in a clap of thunder. Upon recovering my senses, I made the tipstaff call a coach, in which we proceeded to the barracks, where my debt was discharged, pro tempore, by the paymaster, and the following day saw me fairly afloat upon the wide ocean.

Once more behold me restored to my country, after being baptized with fire, of which I bore a certificate in the shape of a bad wound. Upon arriving at my native village, I received a friendly visit from the doctor, who made many kind enquiries after my health, and expressed a curiosity to look at my wound, which had only just healed. He gazed upon it in mysterious silence, and upon being asked what he thought of it, replied, that a gun-shot wound was a very complex thing, combining in itself the nature of three different mischiefs, viz. a cut, a tear, and a bruise; and before he could give any opinion, it would be necessary to lay it open from the bottom-a piece of kindness on his part which I begged leave to de

cline. He put in an account, however, charging an exorbitant fee for his gratuitous call, and (I suppose) for not performing the operation, thinking, no doubt, that the intention was equivalent to the act, the non-performance of which was not his fault, but mine. I paid his demand, and took my revenge by making him the theme of some doggerel verses, the two last of which, touching the most prominent features of his countenance and character, namely, great goggling eyes, and most unconscionable cupidity, run thus:

Far out the doctor's large eyes lolling
Seem as about to leave their sockets;
Like billiard balls they still are rolling
About the corners of the pockets.

If bleeding good for health thou deemest,
And dost consult this doctor bold,
Thou'lt find in him the true Alchymist,

Who makes thy vein a vein of gold.

Such, reader, are a few of the miseries arising from my red coat. Its brightness has now faded like the hopes to which it gave rise, and is, indeed, so very dark, that I fancy it is going into mourning for all the ills of which it has been the cause.


The next is Tam Watt, who is grieve to the Laird,―
Last Sabbath, at puir me a sheep's ee he threw ;
But Tam's like the pickters I've seen o' Blue Beard,
And sie folk's no that chancie, if what they say's true.
Then there's Grierson the cobbler, he'll fleech, an' he'll beg,
That I'd be his awl in awl, darlin', and doo;

But Grierson the cobbler's a happity leg.

And nae man that hobbles need come here to woo.

And there's Murdoch the gauger, wha rides a blind horse,
And nae man can mak' a mair beautifu' boo;
But I shall ne'er tak him, for better, for worse,
For, sax days a-week, gauger Murdoch is fou.
I wonder when Willie Waught's fayther 'll die,
I wonder how that brings the bluid to my brow;
I wonder if Willie will then be for me;

I wonder if then he'll be coming to woo.

"It's your turn now to sing, Tammy," said Robin, "although I dinna ken that ye are very gude at it." "Me sing!" cried Tammy, "I canna even sing a psalm, far less a sang; but if ye like, I'll tell you a story."

"Come awa then, a story is next best; but haud a' your tongues there, you chiels,” cried Robin, giving the wink to his cronies, " we a' ken Tammy is unco gude at telling a story, mair especially if it be about himsell."

"Aweel," said Tammy, clearing his throat, “ I'll tell you what happened to me when I was ance in Embro'.— I fancy ye a' ken the Calton hill ?"

"Whatna daftlike question is that, when ye ken very

A Chapter from an unpublished Novel, by the Authors of weel we hae a' been in Embro' as weel as yoursell?" the "Odd Volume," "Tales and Legends," &c.

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On the evening of that day which saw Mrs Wallace

"Weel then," began Tammy, "I was coming ower the hill-"

"What hill ?" asked Jamie Wilson.

hill ?"



Corstorphine fiddlestick!" exclaimed Tammy; "did enter Park a bride, Robin Kinniburgh and a number of ye no hear me say the Calton hill at the first, which, ye his cronies met at the village alehouse to celebrate theken, is thought there the principal hill?" happy event. Every chair, stool, and bench, being occu- "What's that ye're saying about Principal Hill ?” pied, Robin and his chum, Tammy Tacket, took posses-asked Robin; " I kent him weel ance in a day." sion of the top of the meal girnel; and, as they were elevated somewhat above the company, they appeared like two rival provosts, looking down on their surrounding bailies.

"It's a gude thing," said Tammy, " that the wives and weans are keepit out the night; folk get enough o' them at hame."

"I wonder," said Jamie Wilson, "what's become o' Andrew Gilmour."

"Hae ye no heard," said Robin, " that his wife died yesterday?"

"Is she dead?" exclaimed Tammy Tacket: "faith," continued he, giving Robin a jog with his elbow," I think a man might hae waur furniture in his house than a dead wife."

“That's a truth,” replied Jamie Wilson, “as mony an honest man kens to his cost.-But send round the pint stoup, and let us hae a health to the laird and the leddy, and mony happy years to them and theirs."

When the applause attending this toast had subsided, Robin was universally called on for a song.

"I hae the host," answered Robin; "that's aye what the leddies say when they are asked to sing." "Deil a host is about you," cried Wattie Shuttle; "come awa' wi' a sang without mair ado."

"Weel," replied Robin, "what maun be, maun be; so I'll gie ye a sang, that was made by a laddie that lived east-awa; he was aye daundering, poor chiel, amang the broomie knowes, and mony's the time I hae seen him lying at the side o' the wimpling burn, writing on ony bit

paper he could get haud o'. After he was dead, this bit sang was found in his pocket, and his puir mother gied it to me, as a kind o' keepsake; and now I'll let you hear it, I sing it to the tune o' I hae laid a herrin' in saut.'


It's I'm a sweet lassie, without e'er a fau't;
Sae ilka ane tell's me,-sae it maun be true;
To his kail, my auld fayther has plenty o' saut,
And that brings the lads in gowpens to woo.
There's Saunders M'Latchie, wha bides at the Mill,
He wants a wee wifie, to bake and to brew;
But Saunders, for me, at the Mill may stay still,

For his first wife was puishioned, if what they say's true.

"Now, Tammy," cried Willie Walkinshaw, "can ye no gang on wi' your story, without a' this balwavering and nonsense about coming ower ane o' our Professors; my faith, it's no an easy matter to come ower some o' them." "I'll say

"Very well," said Tammy, a little angrily, nae mair about it, but just drap the hill.” "Whare, whare?" cried several voices at once. "I'm thinking," said Robin, drily, “some o' the Embro' folk would be muckle obliged to ye if ye would drap

it in the Nor' Loch."

"Ye're a set o' gomerils!" exclaimed Tammy, in great wrath, "I meant naething o' the sort; but only that I would gie ower speaking about it.”

"So we're no to hae the story after a'," said Matthew Henderson.

"Yes," said Tammy, " I'm quite agreeable to tell't, if ye will only sit still and haud your tongues.-Aweel, I was coming ower the hill ae night—"

"Odsake, Tammy," cried Robin, "will ye ne'er get ower that hill? ye hae tell't us that ten times already; gang on, man, wi' the story."

"Then, to mak a lang story short, as I was coming ower the hill ae night about ten o'clock, I fell in—" "Fell in!" cried Matthew Henderson, "where? was't a hole, or a well?"

"I fell in,” replied Tammy," wi’ a man—”

"Fell in wi' a man!" said Willie Walkinshaw; "weel, as there were twa o' ye, ye could help ane anither out." "Na, na," roared Tammy, "I dinna mean that at a’; I just cam up wi' him—”

"I doubt, Tammy," cried Robin, giving a sly wink to his cronies," if ye gaed up the Calton hill wi' a man at ten o'clock at night, I'm thinking ye'll hae been boozing some gate or ither wi' him afore that."

"Me boozing?" cried Tammy; "I ne'er saw the man's face afore or since; unless it was in the police office the next day."

"Now, Tammy Tacket," said Robin, gravely, "just tak' a frien's advice, and gie ower sic splores; they're no creditable to a decent married man like you; and dinna

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