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fhather's house on the hill of Drumfhamdrum, and they return to the dinner-table.
will kit their phull for te saiffitty of him."
It seems to mean, "Did any person see a little horse,
who had crossed the Dee six days ago; on his back three
pecks of barley meal, two of pease meel, ten hens, five-
and-twenty herrings, and five hard fish." The terms of
the reward I do not understand. *

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE DEAD.

No. II.

HECTOR MACNEIL.

By Derwent Conway.

Macneil was always asked for a song, and he always good-humouredly complied; generally breaking forth, with his rough voice and glee"Whar hae ful face, into the well-known Jacobite song, you been a' the day, bonnie laddie, Highland laddie." Macneil made several additions and improvements to this song. The last verse is entirely his own composition, In the second and it is assuredly one of the best verses.

last verse, the devils eat up the Duke of Cumberland thus:

Then they pat him on a spit

An' roasted him frae head to feet;
They ate him up baith stoop and roop,

The deils themselves could na digest,
The bloody heart o' this vile beast,-
Each stomach sickening, loathed it sair,
FOR A' CULLODEN'S CRIMES WERE THERE.

An' that's the way they served the Duke. ANOTHER individual, who is well entitled to be the sub- But Hector Macneil thought, and very justly, that some ject of one of these reminiscences of my boyhood, is Hecreason ought to be assigned for using his Royal Hightor Macneil, the well-known Scotch poet, and highly-ness so ill-no reason having been given throughout the esteemed author of "Will and Jean, or Scotland's Scaith." song; and so he added this crowning verse: What Macneil's personal appearance may have been in the early years to which I shall presently allude, I cannot tell very different, no doubt, from the figure that now stands before me. My farthest stretch of memory finds him already near the foot of the hill,-and I see him go down-down to his grave. It might be four or five There are some most admirable points in this verse, years previous to his death, when I first knew him: his though to very delicate ears, it may perhaps seem somewhat coarse. There is, first, the idea of the devils being tall and very spare figure was then slightly bent; but less, I think, under the burden of years, than of sorrows; for unable to digest the Duke after they had eaten him: of these he had his full share. In graving the deep what a morsel must that be which even the very devils wrinkles that lay upon his hollow cheeks, time had been loath! Next, we have the heart selected, as the part assisted by anxiety and bitter fancies; and yet, seldom which they were unable to digest-that part, which, in was his countenance seen unenlivened by a smile,—a glee- common parlance, is supposed to be the seat of the affecful, good-humoured smile-not assumed, though little tions. Then there is the choice of the word bloody, which, cause had he to smile, but the offspring of a benevolent besides being in agreement with the common notion of a mind, and borrowing, perhaps, some of its radiance heart, is typical of the blood-thirsty character of the posfrom recollections of far-past days, awakened by the hila-sessor; and lastly, we have in the last line, rity around him. Upon the last day of every year, for some years previous to his death, I regularly met with him at one of those annual meetings of friends and relations, so religiously observed by some. This was a great event in my mind; for it was one of the few occasions upon which I was permitted to go out to dinner; and, being a holiday besides, it was next in importance to New Year's Day, upon which I used to receive a crown to spend as I liked. I distinctly see my mother in her silk gown, and my father with his nicely-powdered hair, and Florentine silk breeches, and silk stockings; and I feel myself in the coach that conveys us; and I see the large blazing fire in the drawing-room, and the ladies seated in a semicircle, and the gentlemen standing in groups talking over the news and every one impatient for dinner; and then, what a sight to a hungry boy was the groaning table, the goose—the mince-pie, and the syllabub in that huge crystal dish!

Hector Macneil was always one of the party; and few men enjoyed a good dinner and agreeable society more than he did. I fear, alas! that his table at home was but scantily provided; and that, in his latter days, when he the most needed attention, his company was but little sought; because declining health and poor circumstances had cast a damp over those spirits that, in his earlier days, as I have been told, were wont to "set the table in a roar." But even when I knew him, he was, in company at least, what I would call a jocose old man; an agreeable companion; his conversation sprinkled with anecdote, and moderately seasoned with wit. He then lived up four pair of stairs in James's Square,-not with the comforts around him that his infirmities needed, and his genius merited-and too much neglected by those even who professed to be the patrons of letters. Edinburgh, which has been christened, or which has christened itself, Modern Athens, certainly resembles the ancient city in But to its too frequent neglect of illustrious citizens.

The meaning seems to be:-" Let any one who has seen him, come to my father's house, and he will be allowed to eat his fill for the tidings."-ED.

For a' Culloden's crimes were there,

a perfect summing-up of the whole story, and a vindication of the proceedings upon the principles of justice; and all this contained in one line of great power, and full of poetry.

I have often, since those days, listened to this song; but never sung with the same effect as Hector Macniel gave to it; peculiarly comic was the expression of his face in singing the line

The deils ne'er saw sic fun before.

His

Macneil's reputation as a poet, rests mainly upon "Will and Jean," and in some degree upon his songs. latest poem, "Bygane times and late come changes," is certainly of inferior merit, though it contains many passages of great pith and point. I have heard Macneil sing several of his own songs, which never appeared in print; but I am unable to present the reader with more Macneil was one of a than a single one of these relics. party made to visit Hawthorndean, and after dinner at Roslin, he sang a little ballad, which was greatly admired, but which, he said, was not suited to his hoarse voice; and he afterwards sent a copy of it to a young lady, who sung it in a very pleasing manner. tune I have not the least recollection :

SONG.

Come, Jessy, come to the rowan bower,
When the bonnie sang o' the mavis is ower;
Come, Jessy, to me, when the sun is takin'
His nightly rest, and the stars are wakin.1

Of the

Lang, lang hae I loo'd ye, though silent I've been,
But though little ye've heard, oh! muckle ye've seen;
And maiden, they say, can tell to a tittle,
Wha loos her weel, and wha loos her little.

When the gloamin is round us, and nane pryin' near,
I'll whisper saft things in your maidenly ear;
But a hand link'd in mine, and your breath on my cheek,
I doubt I'll be blate for what mair could I seek.

Yet, come, Jessy, come, my tryst I'll be keepin',
Wi' the first o' the stars that aboon us is peepin'
And, soon come the time, when, in place o' the mirk,
Our tryst, my dear Jessy, be made in the kirk !

immediate observation, the following will probably be deemed not uninteresting by the lovers of the mysterious.

Many years ago, I was awakened one night from an unquiet sleep, by a feeling of acute pain, and a disagree. able thrilling throughout my whole frame, with the exception of my forehead, which felt singularly chilly, and as if pressed upon by a dead cold weight. I became strangely alarmed; and remained for several minutes After several ineffectual attempts to feel whether there was any object immovable, and at a loss what to think. of terror near, my hand at length encountered, and fell trembling and powerless upon another handa strange, motionless, cold, clammy hand! My flesh crept upon my bones-my hair felt like writhing needles on my head an icy perspiration started out from every pore of my body. I made a violent attempt to scream; my tongue, however, clove to the roof of my mouth, and, shutting my eyes, I gave myself up to despair. But de spair, however it may for a time remain inactive, hath its energies-energies which nothing short of hopelessness can arouse ; and mustering my resuscitated powers, I struggled to remove the horrid hand, for I felt it palpably, in all its cold reality, within mine, and, giving a long and piercing shriek, fell exhausted on my pillow and fainted.

The whole tenor of Macneil's life was altered by one unguarded kiss. He was bred in an extensive mercantile house; and when his apprenticeship was ended, he still continued to reside in his master's family, and by degrees became so valuable an assistant, that there appeared every prospect of his being one day admitted into partnership. His master had married a lady greatly younger than himself, and of extraordinary personal attractions; and young Macneil was upon terms of equal intimacy with the lady as with her husband. It so happened, that upon an evil day, Macneil, who was then scarcely one-and-twenty, was seated upon a garden chair beside the lady while she was reading, and from looking upon the page along with her, his eyes were insensibly withdrawn from it, and fixed upon her face; and, the devil tempting him, as I am bound to believe, he suddenly snatched a kiss. Thus far the story might serve as a counterpart to the story of Rimini; but, unless that "that day they read no more," the resemblance goes no farther. The lady, in virtuous anger, and notwithstanding the protestations of young Macneil that the offence was unpremeditated, acquainted her husOn coming again to myself, I found my bed surroundband with the audacity of his protegé, and the immediate ed by the whole household, with lights and various wa consequence was, the dismissal of Macneil, and a termi-pons of defence; and when, to their hasty enquiries, I nation to the prospects that were brightening around him. shudderingly answered, that a strange and icy hand, the His life was ever afterwards nearly allied to penury; and hand of death, was beside me, and had been upon my I have reason to know that he did not leave behind him forehead, an instantaneous roar of laughter burst upon my astonished senses. Starting up, I looked round, and wherewithal to pay the expenses of his funeral. I was found that a stoppage in the circulation of the blood had about to finish this reminiscence with the words "Poor deadened my left arm, upon which I had beert lying, and that the hand, the awful and mysterious hand that had occasioned all my terror, was my own! W. B. H..

Macneil;" but who knows that the pleasure he felt in the composition of " Will and Jean," which, but for that unguarded kiss, might never have been written, did not more than compensate for all the privations he experienced for many à gloomy solitary hour and sorry dinner?

THE MYSTERIOUS HAND.

AN ANECDOTE.

Or all the mental infirmities of my fellow-beings, there are none that I am less inclined to laugh at, and, in fact, more disposed to respect, than a belief in apparitions and a fear of the supernatural; and one reason is, that although a decided sceptic in those matters, I have never been able entirely to divest myself of the superstitions of my youth; and another, that even at an advanced age, I have been placed in situations, both at home and abroad, where reason,

"That column of true majesty in man,” has been prostrated, for a time, before what seemed the most appalling realities, and I have experienced all the terrors of my childhood revived with undiminished power -the groundlessness of my fear being only made manifest by some desperate effort of courage, or the most patient subsequent investigation. Despite the march of intellect, rapid as it is, such a belief will always more or less prevail; and I am not sorry that it should; for, besides the poetry of the thing, I have always been of opinion, that it has a beneficial effect at least, if not a religious one, upon the credulous and thoughtless, by impressing upon them, if nothing else will, the absolute certainty of a future state, between which and the present spirits must be considered by them as the messengers and connecting link; and, by consequence, lead them, through their fears, to abstain from many sins in which they might otherwise indulge. Be this as it may, there are many things that occur out of the common course of events, having so much the appearance of the supernatural, that, if not rationally accounted for, will produce the most superstitious effects upon the strongest minds. Out of several instances that have occurred under my own

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THE DRAMA.), Pazinu We are credibly informed that Braham is upwards of sixty-five, in which case his voice is the next thing, to a miracle. In speaking of it, however, we have one difficulty to contend with. For thirty years Braham has by universal consent ranked at the very head of English singers; and if we only put the question, Is he entitled to this eminence when considered in comparison with others? we shall not hesitate to answer that he is. But another question forces itself upon us, which, we regret to say, we cannot, after the maturest deliberation, answer so satisfactorily. It is this; granting that Braham is superior to all competitors, is he quite as splendid a singer as it was at all reasonable to expect the last thirty years should have produced in England? To this question we cannot help answering No, or, in other words, that we had imagined that the powers of the human voice in some solitary instance, during so long a period, would have developed themselves in a still more remarkable and surpassing degree. Mrs Siddons, John Kemble, and Kean, have done all that we hoped from tragic actors; Mundell, Fawcett, Mathews, and others, have left us nothing to wish for in the display of comic humour. But when we heat Braham, though we are of course delighted—astonished, yet we are continually saying to ourselves—Is this all the human voice can do? Braham's natural gifts as a singer are great, and by means of indefatigable study, and with the aid of science, he has turned them to the utmost pass sible advantage. Still there would be no difficulty in pointing out several imperfections against which he has always had to contend. The chief of these is, that all his high notes are on a falsetto pitch, and though in general his fine taste enables him to soften them down wonderfully, they yet inevitably want the full clear sweetness of natural tones, for which, if we are correctly informed, Incledon was conspicuous. We conceive this to be the great cause why we are not perfectly satisfied to see Braham reigning alone upon the throne of song. Were

his treble equal to his tenor, which is the finest we ever heard, we should own ourselves at once one of his most leal and willing subjects. At the same time let it not for a moment be supposed that we desire to undervalue Braham's powers. We are delighted both with his science and his voice; and what we desiderate, is something perhaps too near perfection ever to be realized by mortal or gans, and must consequently exist for ever a beau ideal in our own fancy.

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It is in his bravura songs that Braham chiefly excels. In softer melodies, though he imparts to them a thousand graces, which no one but himself ever thought of, and which are yet totally distinct from superfluous ornament, there is a frequent want of that clear, rich, bell-like intonation often heard in female voices, and which, in our mind, gives to such airs, when coming from the lips of a man, half their charm. Thus, for example, we have heard Moore's beautiful ballad, “O the days are gone,' better sung in private, although, we confess, by only one gentleman, who is now dead, than it was sung by Braham on Wednesday evening. Not that Braham did not feel most deeply the sentiment of the song, and in one or two passages gave it a beauty which we did not know before it was capable of possessing, but because there was every now and then a slight huskiness, and a recourse to a falsetto, which jarred upon our feelings. Let us pass, however, to Braham's own peculiar ground, to such songs as," Here's to the King, God bless him,”—“The Austrian Trumpet's bold alarms,"" The Last Words of Marmion," or the national melody of "Blue-bonnets over the Border.". Here we shall find him reigning supreme. He knows his power, and he sports with it as it were. The delightful energy with which he pours forth, in one breath, a whole volume of tone, which rolls upon the ear like thunder that has been set to music, is at once spirit-stirring and overpowering. Were Braham suddenly to start up among a party of the veriest radicals that ever breathed, universal suffrage men, with their whole souls fixed upon liberty and equality were he to start up and sing "Here's to the King, God bless him!" every man in the company would by that irresistible spell be metamorphosed into an ultra-royalist. In the "Death of Marmion," how splendidly does he give the words" Charge, Chester, charge!” and when did ever conqueror upon the field of battle, even in his first burst of wild joy, shout out "Victory!" as Braham in this song shouts it to the crowded theatre? The effect is electrie; there is not a man who hears it who could not at that moment throw himself headlong upon a host of foes, and die imagining that he had conquered. In "Bluebonnets over the Border," although we think that in one er two places, instead of the prettinesses introduced by Brakam, a manly simplicity would have been better, yet is it utterly impossible ever to forget it after once listening to his enunciation of the line,

ແ Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow." Were it only to hear this single line, Braham is entitled to draw crowds every night wherever he may appear throughout all broad Scotland. The song was of course. rapturously encored on Wednesday evening; but encoring was not enough, it should have been twice encored. When Sinclair was here he was made to sing three times almost every night, that silly vulgar thing, "Hey, the bonny breast-knots;" why should not Braham be called upon for a third repetition of that far nobler and more national song, "The Blue-bonnets over the Border?"-As to Braham's acting, it is enough to say that he is the best singing actor with whom we are acquainted, Minute critieism upon it is of course out of the question. It is in the fervid energy and ever-varying expression of his songs that his power lies. To be properly appreciated, he must be heard. He is a stout, rather short man, and his person is by no means particularly elegant. His features, though their expression is pleasing and intelligent, are

withal somewhat vulgar. But these, with such a man as Braham, are minor considerations.

A

Miss Phillips, who accompanies Braham, has a sweet, clear voice, but thin, feeble, and of little compass. great deal of pains has evidently been taken with her, and she labours to do all she can; and what is better, she knows what she should do, though she cannot always accomplish it. Were she to confine herself to simple national airs, either Scotch, English, or Irish, there can be no doubt that she would seldom fail to please; but in attempting to sustain the principal female parts in opera with Mr Braham, she is beyond her depth. Her “Even as the Sun," which Miss Noel used to sing so successfully, and in which she was always encored, was quite ineffective, because her voice wants volume. It strikes us also that Miss Phillips' power of intonation is deficient. She sings too much merely from the mouth and throat; she gives out her notes with too small a quantity of breath. Could she not correct this error? She is pretty, and is a modest, and rather a promising actress.

The Theatre closes this evening till after the November Sacrament. We advise Mr Murray to get a few new scenes painted during the interval ;-he needs them.-We agree with several correspondents, that the style in which some of the Edinburgh critics were pleased to speak of Madame Vestris cannot increase our opinion of their independence. But the subject is somewhat stale, and we have no desire to recur to it. Old Cerberus.

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O stay, lovely vision! I cried;

O stay and depart not away,
I will quickly be there by thy side,
For I'll plunge in the depth of the tide
The form I love dearest to stay.

Just as I made ready to bound,
In ecstasy none can divine,
A shriek in my ears did resound,
And fair arms enclosed me round,

With a dear grasp I could not untwine.

I turn'd, and the maid of my heart,

In terror press'd me to her breast; But I kiss'd her, as well was my part, And, her fears for my life to divert, My love and my vision confess'd.

I said that her form I had seen,

As she stood on the summit above;
That an angel's I thought it had been,
And her eyes were so bright and so sheen,
That I ween'd them the twin stars of love.

And whenever these sweet eyes I view,
Which now I do morning and even,

I think of the Liffey's bright hue,
The clouds and the valleys of dew,
And the stars of that mild lowly heaven.

TO EGERIA.

By Henry G. Bell.

NAY, blame me not, love, should I sometimes seem cold,
When you find me engaged with my book and my pen;
There's a charm in my studies that may not be told,
A magic that links me with mightier men.

Though dearer to me be the love of thy heart

Than all my ambition's wild fancies have sought, There are moments when even, all dear as thou art, Thou art lost in the blaze of some loftier thought.

O deeply I ponder, and brightly I dream,

On all that the soul of man longs most to know; I hang o'er the words, and I burn o'er the theme, Where the minds of the dead still undyingly glow.

'Tis my spirit's vocation-my nature's delight—

From the cares of the world to turn with a smile; And, as others press on for the wrong or the right, To sit by the footstool of Knowledge the while.

To sit by her footstool, and list to the words

Which flow from those lips where philosophy dwells; And sweeter to me than the songs of the birds

Flowers of the Desert, by W. D. Walke, are announced; also, shortly, the Child of Thought, and other Poems, by the same author.

Tales of my Time, by the Authoress of "Blue Stocking Hall," will appear in a few days.

The Memoirs of the Court of Louis XVIII., by a Lady, said to have been in the confidence of his Majesty, will be published in a few days.

Lieutenant Hardy's Travels in the Interior of Mexico are on the eve of publication. He has, it appears, explored many parts of that country never yet visited by any traveller.

Parallel Miracles; or, the Jews and the Gipsies, is announced by Samuel Roberts, who undertakes to prove, that the latter tribe are the descendants of the ancient Egyptians denounced by the Prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel.

Stories of a Bride, by the Authoress of "The Mummy," are announced for speedy publication.

The following works are in the press :-Tales in Vcrse, illustrative of the several petitions of the Lord's Prayer, by the Rev. W. F. Lyte, -Tales of Four Nations,-The Correspondence and Diary of Raph Thoresby, by the author of the "History of Leeds."

PORTRAIT OF OLIVER CROMWELL.-We have seen a very spirited engraving, by Wilson of Edinburgh, of a highly characteristic partrait of Oliver Cromwell, painted by Walker, the fellow-student and contemporary of Jameson, the Scottish Vandyke. It is decidedly superior to Lely's portrait of the Protector, and cannot fail to give additional interest to the forthcoming volume of Dr Russell's Life of Cromwell, for which work it has been engraved by the proprietors of Constable's Miscellany.

ors.

THE SCOTTISH ACADEMY.-It was generally understood some time ago, that a misunderstanding had taken place between the greater body of the artists belonging to the Royal Institution and its DirectThe consequence was, that twenty-four artists, associates of the Royal Institution, instructed their agent, Henry Cockburn, Esq. advocate, to address a letter to George Watson, Esq., President of the Scottish Academy, intimating their desire to be united with the Academy, and their willingness to subject themselves to all its rules. The Academy, having taken this proposal i to consideration, appointed John Hope, Esq. Solicitor-General, as their referee, to confer with Mr Cockburn upon the subject, and it was mutually agreed, that whatever was recommended by these gentlemen should be acceded to by both parties. A copy of their "Award," which has just been printed, and which has been unanimously approved of at a general meeting of the members of the Scottish Academy, has been put into our hands. By this document, we find that Messrs Hope and Cockburn are of opinion that the twenty-four artists who have seceded from the Royal Institution, should be joined to and become members of the Scottish Academy, as at present constituted; and that as the Academy now unites so many men of the highest genius, of established reputation, and of undoubted energy and perseverance in the cultivation and pursuit of the profession which they have chosen, the building or adaptation of Rooms should be commenced immediately, "on a scale suited to the plan of the Academy, so as thereby to be a pledge to themselves and to the public of the spirit with which the objects of the Academy will be promoted, and of the great and splendid prospects for the cultivation and progress of the Fie Arts, which the union so formed holds out to the public of Scotland.” We shall take an early opportunity to state at some length our own views and feelings upon this interesting subject. Meanwhile, we must bestow the highest praise both upon Messrs Hope and Cockburn for the liberal and gentlemanly spirit in which they have entered into the affairs of the Scottish Academy, and upon the Acade

Is the music she breathes, and the truths which she my itself for its clear perception of, and ready acquiescence in, what tells.

Then blame me not, love, that I cannot recall,

In moments like these, my far-wandering mind; I am lost in my dreams-I have broken the thrall That bound me in chains to the rest of my kind.

But like dove to the ark, or like bee to the flower,
Like ship to the harbour, or spring to the lea,
Believe me, the spell will at length lose its power,
And my soul, re-inspired, will return back to thee!

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

was most conducive to the best interests of Scottish Art.

EDINBURGH SURGICAL HOSPITAL.-Till the commencement of the present year, there existed only one Surgical Hospital in Edinburgh. At that period Mr Syme, whose talents are well known to the Medical profession, determined upon instituting a new Surgical Establishment upon a respectable scale. With this view, he took a lease for ten years of Minto House, a large and commodious building, situated in a quiet and healthy part of the city, and in the immediate vicinity of the University. The first quarterly Report of the new Hospital is now published, and we are glad to perceive by it that its concerns are already in a prosperous condition. A highly respectable body of directors has been appointed, the public has contributed liberally towards the support of the Hospital, the vacancies for house surgeons have been well filled up, more clinical students have applied than could be received, and there is good reason to hope that the Col

A TREATISE on the Law of Prescription in Scotland, by Mark lege of Surgeons will speedily recognise attendance upon Mr Syme's Napier, Esq. advocate, is preparing for publication.

Mrs S. C. Hall, the Editor of the "Juvenile Forget-Me-Not," announces for early publication a volume for the Young, under the title of Chronicles of a School Room; or, Characters in Youth and Age."

Hospital as a qualification for obtaining their diploma. During the first three months, seventy patients were admitted, thirty operations were performed, and only two deaths took place. This Establishment has our best wishes, and under its present able superintendence its success seems certain.

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LITERARY CRITICISM.

True Stories from the History of Ireland. By John James M Gregor, author of a "History of the French Revolution," &c. &c. Second Series, containing the Memorabilia of Ireland under the Tudors. One volume, 12mo. · Pp. 412. Dublin. William Curry, jun. & Co. 1829.

Unpublished.

PRICE 6d.

The

ving superior genius altogether out of the question, Sir Walter's traditionary lore has been accumulating in his mind since his childhood; it has been revolved by him till it has assumed a finished and compact form; it has been cherished in his bosom till it has inhaled vitality. No wonder, then, that his stories have a stirring life about them which those of men, who, fired by his example, had first to set about collecting their materials, want. inferiority is scarcely greater than may be traced in some THE great object in the education of children is, to novels of Sir Walter, the materials of which he sought store the mind with such facts as afford exercise for their hurriedly in books not very familiar to him, (as his Anne awakening powers of reasoning and reflection,-materials of Geierstein,) when compared with his Waverley, Old whereon their young feelings and imaginations may work. Mortality, and the Heart of Mid-Lothian, which had It is of the utmost importance that the mind be allowed lain treasured up in his mind for wellnigh half a centufor a while to shoot forth freely. All attempts to incul. ry. Mr M'Gregor has nevertheless executed his task cate principles, however right in themselves, at a period with great ability. We could perhaps have wished the when the intellect is not sufficiently developed to appre-book to have a little less of the air of a common history, hend them, are dangerous; all attempts to cultivate the with its connected series of unimaginative generalities; we sentiments equally so. The former produce the sham- could have wished that the thread of narrative had been bling, rickety motions of a go-cart, the latter a nerveless less prominent, and that the stories it is meant to connect overgrowth; the former freeze up and deaden the mind, had more frequently a strong and individual interest. the latter make of it the rich juicy shoot of an over-for- There are, however, enough to convey to a child such an ward season, doomed to be nipped by late frosts, or to impression as it is capable of receiving of the state of sowither in the adust heats of summer. Give children ciety, and the characters of the leading men in Ireland, something whereon to exercise and evolve their faculties. during the period to which this series refers. As to the spiLet there be something to educate, before you begin edu- rit in which the work is composed, it is impartial and uncating. The veriest fool of a gardener will tell you, that compromising, but tempered with gentleness. We subthe seedling must have a stem and branches before you join one or two of the anecdotes which have struck us most forcibly.

can train it.

AN IRISH CHIEF-THE EARL OF KILDARE.-" But King Henry (VII.) in the interval, perceived that the Earl was a man of an open temper, and of unrefined and simple manners, rather than a cunning intriguer or dark conspirator; and that the crimes charged against him were only such and faction as Ireland had lately been; he therefore resolved as were likely to take place in a country so torn by turbulence to confront his captive with his adversaries, and thus give him a fair opportunity of defending himself. When the day of trial came, Creagh, Archbishop of Cassel, and Pain, the Bishop of Meath, stood forth as his principal accusers. The Earl at first appeared unable to answer a charge brought against him by the Bishop of Meath, that after Plunkett and his followers had been slain by him in an action near Trim, he followed the Bishop into a church with a drawn sword, and dragged him from his sanctuary. The King, perceiving his noble prisoner perplexed, gave him his choice of any counsel in England, and time to prepare his defence.

It is because we entertain this opinion that we think Sir Walter Scott--and we mean any thing but disrespect to him when we say so the most proper person alive to write books for children. He has no first principles, and he has no power of reasoning upon or from them; or, if he possess both, he has a most marvellous knack of hiding them. Facts arrest his attention, and remain in his mind by the hold they take upon his feelings and imagination; not, as is the case with some men, according as they are subservient to a theory, or serve to fill up a chain of argument. They arrange themselves in his memory under the categories of relation in time and space, and of similarity alone. His pictures of the workings of the human mind—nay, his larger compositions, in which he represents the state of society at a particular period, are true to nature; for he has a wide range of vision, a keen glance, and just feeling. But he blunders egregiously, Grant me that,' said the Earl, and I will answer to-mor or is delivered of the most arrant commonplace, when he row; but I doubt I shall not be allowed that good fellow I attempts to reason about either one or other. In his own would choose.' The King gave him his hand in assurance sphere, he is a giant, and "we little men walk under his that he should, and his Majesty asking him when he would huge legs," like the Lilliputians looking up in wonderment left to his choice. - Thou liest, Bralagh bald Bishop,' rechoose his counsellor, Never,' cried the Bishop, if it be at Captain Gulliver; when he ventures out of it, he is torted Kildare angrily; as soon as thou wouldst choose to only a common man-perhaps more justly a blind Poly- break thy vow of chastity, and that would be within an phemus, sublime even in his weakness. There is some-hour.' The King and his lords were convulsed with laughthing amiable in the greatness of this character which fits it admirably for sitting down beside a child, adapting its words and thoughts to his capacity, and, by the gentle warmth of its kindness, expanding the buds of thought

within him.

It is no discredit to say of Mr M'Gregor, that his stories are not equal to those of his great prototype. Lea

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ter at this uncourtly charge against the ecclesiastic, and Henry asked Kildare if he said true? By your hand,' replied the Earl, laying hold of the King's hand, there is not in London a better mutton-master (glutton,) or a more incontinent person, than yon shorn priest is. I know him well enough, and have three tales to tell your Majesty of him, that I dare swear will make every body present laugh. I will now tell you a tale of this vicious prelate.' Of the

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