sent some time to Edinburgh; but while she was only sixteen, her mother died, and the whole cares and duties of the household devolved on her. With these she was incessantly occupied for four years, and at the expiration of that time she was married to the Rev. Mr. Brunton, minister of Bolton, in Haddingtonshire. In 1803 Mr. Brunton was called to one of the churches in Edinburgh, and his lady had thus an opportunity of meeting with persons of literary talent, and of cultivating her mind. Till I began Self-control," she says in one of her letters, I had never in my life written anything but a letter or a recipe, exceping a few hundreds of vile rhymes, from which I desisted by the time I had gained the wisdom of fifteen years; therefore I was so ignorant of the art on which I was entering, that I formed scarcely any plan for my tale. I merely intended to shew the power of the religious principle in bestowing self-command, and to bear testimony against a maxim as immoral as indelicate, that a reformed rake makes the best husband.' 'Self-control' was published without the author's name in 1811. The first edition was sold in a month, and a second and third were called for. In 1814, her second work, 'Discipline,' was given to the world, and was also well received. She began a third, Emmeline,' but did not live to finish it. She died on the 7th of December 1818. The unfinished tale, with a memoir of its lamented authoress, was published in one volume by her husband, Dr. Brunton. 'Self-control' bids fair to retain a permanent place among British novels, as a sort of Scottish Cælebs,' recommended by its moral and religious tendency, no less than by the talent it displays. The acute observation of the authoress is seen in the development of little traits of character and conduct, which give individuality to her portraits, and a semblance of truth to the story. Thus the gradual decay, mental and bodily, of Montreville, the account of the De Courcys, and the courtship of Montague, are true to nature, and completely removed out of the beaten track of novels. The plot is very unskil fully managed. The heroine, Laura, is involved in a perpetual cloud. of difficulties and dangers, some of which-as the futile abduction by Warren, and the arrest at Lady Pelham's-are unnecessary and improbable. The character of Hargrave seems to have been taken from that of Lovelace, and Laura is the Clarissa of the tale. Her high principle and purity, her devotion to her father, and the force and energy of her mind-without overstepping feminine softnessimpart a strong interest to the narrative of her trials and adventures. She surrounds the whole, as it were, with an atmosphere of moral light and beauty, and melts into something like consistency and unity the discordant materials of the tale. Sensations on Returning to Scotland. With tears in her eyes Laura took leave of her benevolent host; yet her heart bounded with joy as she saw the vessel cleaving the tide, and each object in the dreaded e swiftly retiring from her view. In a few days that dreaded land disapa few more the mountains of Cape Breton sank behind the wave. The of autumn wafted the vessel cheerfully on her way, and often did Laura r progress. frosty morning towards the end of September she heard once more the d!' now music to her ear. Now with a beating breast she ran to gaze e of mountains indenting the disk of the rising sun; but the tears of rapd her eyes when every voice at once shouted Scotland!' Laura remained on deck, oft measuring with the light splinter the vessel's ngh the deep. The winds favoured not her impatience. Towards evening vay, and scarcely did the vessel steal along the liquid mirror. Another morning came, and Laura's ear was blessed with the first sounds of her The tolling of a bell was borne along the water, now swelling loud, and softly away. The humble village church was seen on the shore; and distinguish the gay colouring of her country-women's Sunday attire; the 1, transmitted from generation to generation, pinned decently over the coif; the bright blue gown, the trophy of more recent housewifery. To orm in the well-known garb seemed the form of a friend. The blue in the distance, the scattered woods, the fields yellow with the harvest, arkling in the sun, seemed, to the wanderer returning from the land of airer than the gardens of Paradise. my affections!-when I forget thee, may my right hand forget her cunssed be thou among nations! Long may thy wanderers return to thee and their hearts throb with honest pride when they own themselves thy · ELIZABETH HAMILTON. SETH HAMILTON (1758-1816), an amiable and accomplished eous writer, was authoress of one excellent little novel, or e, The Cottagers of Glenburnie,' which has probably been ve in promoting domestic improvement among the rural n of Scotland as Johnson's 'Journey to the Hebrides' was aging the planting of trees by the landed proprietors. In s there was some exaggeration of colouring, but the pictures provokingly true and sarcastic to be laughed away or dehey constituted a national reproach, and the only way to ff was by timely reformation. There is still much to acbut a marked improvement in the dwellings and internal of Scottish farm-houses and villages may be dated from cation of The Cottagers of Glenburnie.' Elizabeth Hamilborn in Belfast. Her father was a merchant, of a Scottish nd died early, leaving a widow and three children. The e educated and brought up by relatives in better circumElizabeth, the youngest, being sent to Mr. Marshall, a farmer gshire, married to her father's sister. Her brother obtained ip in the East India Company's service, and an elder sister ned in Ireland. A feeling of strong affection seems to sted among these scattered members of the unfortunate Elizabeth found in Mr. and Mrs. Marshall all that could desired. She was adopted and educated with a care and s that has seldom been equalled. 'No child,' she says, nt so happy a life, nor have I ever met with anything at all resembling our way of living, except the description given by Rousseau of Wolmar's farm and vintage.' A taste for literature soon appeared in Elizabeth Hamilton. Wallace was the first hero of her studies; but meeting with Ogilvie's translation of the Iliad,' she idolised Achilles, and dreamed of Hector. She had opportunities of visiting Edinburgh and Glasgow, after which she carried on a learned correspondence with Dr. Moyse, a philosophical lecturer. She wrote also many copies of versesthat ordinary outlet for the warm feelings and romantic sensibilities of youth. Her first appearance in print was accidental. Having accompanied a pleasure-party to the Highlands, she kept a journal for the gratification of her aunt, and the good woman shewing it to one of her neighbours, it was sent to a provincial magazine. Her retirement in Stirlingshire was, in 1773, gladdened by a visit from her brother, then about to sail for India. Mr. Hamilton seems to have been an excellent and able young man; and his subsequent letters and conversations on Indian affairs stored the mind of his sister with the materials for her Hindoo Rajah,' a work equally remarkable for good sense and sprightliness. Mr. Hamilton was cut off by a premature death in 1792. Shortly after this period commenced the literary life of Elizabeth Hamilton, and her first work was that to which we have alluded, connected with the memory of her lamented brother, "The Letters of a Hindoo Rajah,' in two volumes, published in 1796. The success of the work stimulated her exertions. In 1800 she published The Modern Philosophers,' in three volumes; and between that period and 1806, she gave to the world 'Letters on Educa tion,' Memoirs of Agrippina,' and 'Letters to the Daughters of a Nobleman' In 1808 appeared her most popular, original, and useful work, The Cottagers of Glenburnie;' and she subsequently pub lished 'Popular Essays on the Human Mind,' and 'Hints to the Directors of Public Schools.' For many years Miss Hamilton had fixed her residence in Edinburgh. She was enfeebled by ill health, but her cheerfulness and activity of mind continued unabated, and her society was courted by the most intellectual and influential of her fellow-citizens. The benevolence and correct judgment which animated her writings pervaded her conduct. Having gone to Harrogate for the benefit of her health, Miss Hamilton died at that place on the 23d of July 1816, aged fifty-eight. "The Cottagers of Glenburnie' is in reality a tale of cottage-life. The scene is laid in a poor scattered Scottish hamlet, and the heroine is a retired English governess, middle-aged and lame, with £30 a year! This person, Mrs. Mason, after being long in a noble family, is reduced from a state of ease and luxury to one of comparative indigence; and having learned that her cousin, her only surviving relative, was married to one of the small farmers in Glenburnie, she agreed to fix her residence in her house as a lodger. On her way, she called at Gowan-brae, the house of the factor or land on the estate, to whom she had previously been known; have a graphic account of the family of this gentleman, one se daughters figures conspicuously in the after-part of the [r. Stewart, the factor, his youngest daughter, and boys, acy Mrs. Mason to Glenburnie. e of Glenburnie and Scottish Rural Life in the Last Century. ad not proceeded many paces until they were struck with admiration at nmon wildness of the scene which now opened to their view. The rocks med to guard the entrance of the glen were abrupt and savage, and apso near each other, that one could suppose them to have been riven asunder passage to the clear stream which flowed between them. As they ade hills receded on either side, making room for meadows and corn-fields, which the rapid burn pursued its way in many a fantastic maze. ad, which winded along the foot of the hills, on the north side of the glen, ittle to art as any country road in the kingdom. It was very narrow, and cumbered by loose stones, brought down from the hills above by the winter Mason and Mary were so enchanted by the change of scenery which was ly unfolding to their view, that they made no complaints of the slowness of gress, nor did they much regret being obliged to stop a few minutes at a ere they found so.much to amuse and delight to them. But Mr. Stewart had ce at meeting with obstructions which, with a little pains, could have been obviated; and as he walked by the side of the car, expatiated upon the inof the people of the glen, who, though they had no other road to the market, tentedly go on from year to year without making an effort to repair it. tle trouble would it cost,' said he, to throw the smaller of these loose to these holes and ruts, and to remove the larger ones to the side, where ld form a fence between the road and the hill! There are enough of idle he glen to effect all this, by working at it for one hour a week during the But then their fathers must unite in setting them to work; and there is the glen who would not sooner have his horses lamed, and his carts torn to han have his son employed in a work that would benefit his neighbours as himself.' was speaking, they passed the door of one of these small farmers; and tely turning a sharp corner, began to descend a steep, which appeared so at Mr. Stewart made his boys alight, which they could do without inconveand going to the head of the horse, took his guidance upon himself. e foot of this short precipice the road again made a sudden turn, and disto them a misfortune which threatened to put a stop to their proceeding any For the present evening. It was no other than the overturn of a cart of hay, ed by the breaking down of the bridge, along which it had been passing. for the poor horse that drew this ill-fated load, the harness by which he was to it was of so frail a nature as to make little resistance; so that he and his aped unhurt from the fall, notwithstanding its being one of considerable st, indeed, neither boy nor horse was seen; but as Mr. Stewart advanced to whether, by removing the hay, which partly covered the bridge and partly spended on the bushes, the road might still be passable, he heard a child's the hollow exclaiming: Come on, ye muckle brute! ye had as weel come 1 gar ye! I'll gar ye! That's a gude beast now. Come awa! That's it! e a gude beast now!' e last words were uttered. a little fellow of about ten years of age was seen from the hollow, and pulling after him, with all his might, a great longclumsy animal of the horse species, though apparently of a very mulish have met with a sad accident,' said Mr. Stewart; how did all this hap'You may see how it happened plain eneugh,' returned the boy; thel brig d the cart coupet.' 'And did you and the horse coup likewise?' said Mr. Stewart. 'O ay, we a' coupet thegither, for I was ridin' on his back.' 'And where is your father and all the rest of the folk?' Whaur sud they be but in the hayfield? Dinna ye ken that we 're takin' in our hay? John Tamsan's and Jamie Forster's was in a week syne, but we 're aye alint the lave.' All the party were greatly amused by the composure which the young peasant evinced under his misfortune, as well as by the shrewdness of his answers; aud having learned from him that the hay-field was at no great distance, gave him some halfpence to hasten his speed, and promised to take care of his horse till he should return with assistance. He soon appeared, followed by his father and two other men, who came on stepping at their usual pace. Why, farmer,' said Mr. Stewart, you have trusted rather too long to this rotten plank, think' (pointing to where it had given way); if you remember the last time I passed this road, which was several months since, I then told you that the bridge was in danger, and shewed you how easily it might be repaired.' It is a' true,' said the farmer, moving his bonnet; but I thought it would do weel eneugh. I spoke to Jamie Forster and John Tamson about it; but they said they wadna fash themselves to mend a brig that was to serve a' the folk in the glen.' But you must now mend it for your own sake,' said Mr. Stewart, even though a' the folk in the glen should be better for it.' 'Ay, sir,' said one of the men, that 's spoken like yoursel'! Would everybody follow your example there would be nothing in the world but peace and good neighbourhood.' The interior arrangements and accommodation of the cottage visited by Mrs. Mason are dirty and uncomfortable. The farmer is a good easy man, but his wife is obstinate and prejudiced, and the children self-willed and rebellious. Mrs. Mason finds the family quite incorrigible, but she effects a wonderful change among their neigh bours. She gets a school established on her own plan, and boys and girls exert themselves to effect a reformation in the cottages of their parents. The most sturdy sticklers for the gude auld gaits are at length convinced of the superiority of the new system, and the village undergoes a complete transformation. In the management of these humble scenes, and the gradual display of character among the people, the authoress evinces her knowledge of human nature, and her tact and discrimination as a novelist. We subjoin a Scottish song by Miss Hamilton which has enjoyed great popularity. My Ain Fireside. I hae seen great anes, and sat in great ha's, 'Mang lords and fine ladies a' covered wi' braws, At feasts made for princes wi' princes I've been, When the grand shine o' splendour has dazzled my een; But a sight sae delightfu' I trow I ne'er spied As the bouny blithe blink o' my ain fireside. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, O cheery's the blink o' my ain fireside; My ain fireside, my ain fireside, O there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain fireside. Ance mair, gude be thankit, round my ane heartsome ingle, Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad, I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad. |