Good hroth and good kecping do much now and then :
Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man,
In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best;
In sickuess, hate trouble ; seek quiet and rest.
Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail ;
Make ready to God-ward , let faith never quail;
The sooner thyself thou submittest to God.
The sooner he ceaseth to scourge witn his rod.

Morat Reflection on the Wind.
Though winds do rage, as winds were wood, (1)
And cause spring-tides to raise great flood;

lofty ships leave anchor in mud,
Bereaving many of life and of blood;
Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud,
Am trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud,
Except wind stands as it never stood,
It is an i!l wind turns none to good,

SCOTTISH POETS. The difference between the English and Scottish languages has now become decided. In Barbour and Wyntoun, the variation is very slight; but before another century had elapsed, the northern dialect was a separate and independent speech. This distinction had probably existed long before in the spoken language of the people; but it was only developed in poetry in the writings of Henryson, Dunbar, and Lyndsay. The Anglo-Saxon element predominated in the north, and it was proved to be not unfitted for the higher purposes of poetry. Dunbar is a vigorous imaginative poet, greater than any that liad appeared since the days of Chaucer, and only wanting a little more chivalrous feeling and a finer tone of humanity to rival the father of English verse.

JAMES I OF SCOTLAND. This chivalrous Scottishi prince was born in 1391. In order to save him from the unscrupulous hands of his uncle, the Duke of Albany, James was privately despatched to the court of Charles VI. of France, but the vessel in which he embarked was seized off the coast of Norfolk, and the young prince, then in his eleventh year, was forcibly detained by Henry IV. of England This act of gross injustice completed the calamities of the infirm and imbecile King Robert III. of Scotland, who sank under the blow, and it led to the captivity of James for more than eighteen years. Henry, however, furnished the captive prince with liberal means of instruction. In all the learning and polite accomplishments of the English court he became a proficient, excelling not only in knightly and athletic exercises, but in the science of music and in acquaintance of the classic and romantic poets Chaucer and Gower he studied closely. Original composition followed; and there are few finer strains than those with whichi

James soothed his hours of solitary restraint within Windsor Tower. His description of the small garien which lay before his chamber windowo-once the moat of the Tower--and the first glimpse he there obtained of his future queen, the Lady Joan Beaufort, form a beauti: ful and touching episode in our literary anuals. Jumos obtained his release, married the Lady Joan in February, 1424, and in May of llie same year was crowned King of Scotland--the most accomplished prince of his age, to rule over a turbulent and distracted country. lle set himself vigorously to reduce the power of the profligate nobles, and to insure the faithful administration of justice, resolving, as he said, ibat the key should keep the castle, and the bush secure the cow. The sentiment was worthy a prince; but James pursued his measures in some instances, too far, and clouded the aspect of justice with ineffaceable stains of cruelty and vengeance. A conspiracy was formed against him (the chief actor in which was his uncle, Walter Stuart, Earl of Athole), and he was assassinated ai Perth, on the 20th of February, 1437.

The principal poem of James I. is entitled “The King's Quhair.' meaning the king's Quire, or Book. Only one Ms. of the pou (which extends to nearly 1400 lines) is extant, preserved in the Bodlleian Library. Oxford, and was printed in 1783, edited by William Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee. The subject is the royal poei's love for Lady Joan Beaufort, described in the allegorical style of the age, in the manner of Chancer, and with much fine description, sentiment, and poetical fancy. It places James liigh in the rank of romantic poets. Two humorous Scottish poems are also ascribed to him –

Christis Kirk on the Grene,' and 'Peblis to the Play,' both descriptive of rustic sports and pastimes, and the former ridiculing the Scot. tislı want of skill in archery. They are excellent thougli coarse, lillmorous poems. The claim of James to the authorship of either has, however, been disputed, though it seems supporied-at least in the Case of Christis Kirk on the Grene'-- by good testimony: The style las certainly a more modern cast than would be looked for, but no claimant more probable than James I. has yet been named; and Sir Walter Scott--as well as Tytler and others—unhesitatingly ascribes

Christie Kirk on the Grene' to the royal poet. In the following quotation, and subsequent extracts, the spelling is modernised: James I. a Prisoner in Windsor, first sees Lady Joan Beaufort, who

6

Now was there made, fast by the Towris wall,
A garden fair; and in the corners set
Ane arbour green, with wandis long and small
Railed about, and so with trees set
Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet,
That lyf was none walking there forbye,
That might within scarce any wight espy.
So thick the boughis and the leavis green
Beshaded all the alleys that there were,
And mids of every arbour might be seen
The sharpe greene sweete juniper,
Growing so fair with branches here and there,
That as it seemed to a lyf without,
The boughis spread the arbour all about.
And on the smalle greene twistis (1) sat,
The little sweete nightingale, and sung,
So loud and clear, the hymnis consecrat
Of lovis uge, now soft, now loud ainong,
That all the gardens and the wallis rung
Right of their song.

Cast I down mine eyes again,
Where as I saw, walking under the Tower,
Full secretly, new comen here to plain,
The fairest or the freshest young flower
That ever I sa.v, methought, before that hour,
For which sudden abate, anon astart, (2)
The blood of all my body to my heart.
And though I stood abasit tho a lite, (3)
No wonder was; for why? my wittis all
Were so o'ercome with pleasance and delight,
Only through letting of my eyen fall,
That suddenly my heart became her thrall,
For ever of free will--for of menace
There was no token in her sweete face.
And in my head I drew right hastily,
And eftesoons I leant it out again,
And saw her walk that very womanly,
With no wight mo', but only women twain.
Then gan I study in myself, and sayn: (4)
* Ah, sweet! are ye a worldly creature,
Or heavenly thing in likeness of nature ?

Or are ye god Cupidis own princess, And comin are to loose me out of band ? Or are ye very Nature the goddess, That have depainted with your heavenly hand, This garden full of flowers as they stand? What shall I think, alas! what reverence Shall I mister (5) unto your excellence ? If ye a goddess be, and that ye like To do me pain, I may it not astart: (6). If ye be wardly wight, that doth me sike, (7) Why list (8) Göd make you so, my dearest heart, To do a seely (9) prisoner this smart,

That loves you all, and wot of pought but woe ?
And therefore mercy, sweet sin' it is so.'

Of her array the form if I shall write,
Towards her golden hair and rich attire,
In fretwise couchit (1) with pearlis white
And great balas (2) leaming (3) as the fire,
With mony ane emeraut and fair sapphire;
•And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue,
Df plumis parted red, and white, and blue.
Full of quaking spangis bright as gold,
Forged of shape like to the amorets,
Bo new, so fresh, so pleasant to behold,
The plumis eke like to the flower jonets, (4)
And other of shape, like to the flower jonets,
And above all this, there was, well I wot,
Beauty enough to make a world to dote.
About her neck, white as the fire amail, (5)
A goodly chain of small orfevory, (6)
Whereby there hung a ruby without fail.
Like to ane heart shapen verily,
That as a spark of low. (7) so wantonly
Beemed burning upon her white throat,
Now if there was good party, (8) God it wot.
And for to walk that fresh May's morrow,
Ane hook she had upon her tissue white,
That goodlier had not been seen to-forow, (9)
As I suppose; and girt she was alite, (10)
Thus halflings loose for haste, to such delight
It was to see her youth in goodlihede,
That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread.
In her was youth, beauty, with humble aport,
Bounty, richess, and womanly feature,
God better wot than my pen can report :
Wisdom, largess, estate, and cunning (11) sure,
In every point so guided her measure,
In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance,
That Nature might no more her child avance!...
And when she walked had a little thraw
Under the sweete greene boughis bent,
Her fair fresh face, as white any snaw,
She turned has, and furth her wayis went;
But tho began mine aches and torment,
To see her part and follow. I na might;

Methought the day was turned into night. Of the lighter poems of King James, we subjoin a specimen. The following are the opening stanzas of Christ's Kirk of the Green':

They were so nice when men them

nicht, (6)
They squealit like ony gaits (7)

Sa loud
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.
Of all their maidens mild as mead,

Was nane so jimp as Gillie,
As ony rose her rood (8) was red,

Her lyre (9) was like the lily.
Fu' yellow, yellow was her head,

But she of love was silly ;
Though all her kin had sworn her dead,
She would have but sweet Willie

Alane
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.

At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.
To dance thir damsellis them dight,

Their lasses light of laits, (3)
Their gloves were of the raffel right, (4)

Their shoon were of the Straits (5)
Their kirtles were of Lincoln light,

Weel prest with many plaits.

BLIND HARRY,

The ‘Adventures of Sir William Wallace,' written about 1460, by a wandering poet usually called BLIND HARRY, enjoyed great popiilarity up to our own time. Of the author, nothing is known but that he was blind from his infancy; that he wrote this poem, and made a living by reciting it, or parts of it, before company, It is said by himself to be founded on a narrative of the life of Wallace, written in Latin by Arnoki Blair, chaplain to the Scottish hero, and which, if it ever existed, is now lost. The chief materials, however, have evidently bein the traditionary stories told respecting Wallace in the minstrel's own time, which was a century and a half subsequent to that of the hero. In this respect, “The Wallace resembles "The Bruce;' but the longer time which had elapsed, the unlettered character of the author, and the comparative humility of the class from whom he would chiefly derive bis facts, made it inevitable that the work should be much less of a historical document than that of the learned archdeacon of Aberdeen. It is, in reality, such an account of Wallace as might be expected of Montrose or Dundee from some unlettered but ingenious poet of the present day, who should consult only Highland tradition for his authority. Harry's Wallace is a merciless champion, for ever hewing down the English with his strong arm and terrible sword, and delighting in the suffering of his enemies. In the following passage, we have this relentless spirit blazivg forth:

Storming of Dunnottar Castle.
Wallace on fire gart set all hastily,
Brunt up the kirk, and all that was therein.