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SIR RICHARD MAITLAND.

217

[His poems of which several had been published by Pinkerton, were more recently printed for the Maitland Club, a literary association which assumed his name. EDITOR.]

On the New Tein.

In this new yeir I sie bot weir;
Na caus to sing.

In this new yeir I sie bot weir;
Na caus thair is to sing.

I cannot sing for the vexatioun

Of Frenchmen, and the Congregatioun,
That hes maid troubil in the natioun,
And monye bair bigging,

In this new yeir, etc.

I have na will to sing or dans,

For feir of England and of France,

God send thame sorrow and mischance,

In caus of thair cuming,

In this new yeir, etc.

We ar fa reulit, rich and puir,

That we wait not quhair to be suire,

The Bordour or the Borrow muir,

Quhair sum perchance will hing

In this new yeir, etc.

And yit I think it best that we

Pluck up our hairt, and mirrie be.

For thoch we wald ly down and die,

It will us help na thing.

In this new yeir, etc.

Lat us pray God to staunche this weir;

That we may leif withoutin feir,

In mirrines, quhil we are heir,

And hevin at our ending.

In this the new yeir.

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AUTHOR OF "THE LIVES OF THE POETS," ETC., ETC.

DAVID MALLOCH was, by the penury of his parents, compelled to be janitor of the high school at Edinburgh; a mean office, of which he did not afterwards delight to hear. But he surmounted the disadvantages of his birth and fortune; for, when the Duke of Montrose applied to the college of Edinburgh for a tutor to educate his sons, Malloch was recommended; and I never heard that he dishonoured his credentials.

Of his works, I know not whether I can trace the series. His first production was "William and Margaret; of which, though it contains nothing very striking or difficult, he has been envied the reputation; and plagiarism has been boldly charged, but never proved.

Not long afterwards, he published the "Excursion," (1728); a desultory and capricious view of such scenes of nature as his fancy led him, or his knowledge enabled him, to describe. It is not devoid of poetical spirit. Many of his images are striking, and many of the paragraphs are elegant. The cast of diction seems to be copied from Thomson, whose "Seasons" were then in their full blossom of reputation. He has Thomson's beauties, and his faults.

His poem on "Verbal Criticism" (1733) was written to pay court to Pope on a subject which he either did not understand, or willingly misrepresented; and is little more than an improvement, or rather expansion, of a fragment which Pope printed in a miscellany long before he engrafted it into a regular poem. There is in this piece more pertness than wit, and more confidence than knowledge. The versification is tolerable, nor can criticism allow it a higher praise.

He took upon him to change his name from Scotch "Malloch " to English "Mallet," without any imaginable reason of preference which the eye or ear can discover. What other proofs he gave of disrespect to his native country, I know not; but it was remarked of him, that he was the only Scot whom Scotchmen did not commend.

DAVID MALLET.

219

A new edition of the works of Bacon being prepared (1750) for the press Mallet was employed to prefix a life, which he has written with elegance, perhaps with some affectation; but with so much more knowledge of history than of science, that, when he afterwards undertook the life of Marlborough, Warburton remarked, that he might perhaps forget that Marlbourgh was a general, as he had forgotten that Bacon was a philosopher.

When the Prince of Wales was driven from the palace, and, setting himself at the head of the opposition, kept a separate court, he endeavoured to increase his popularity by the patronage of literature, and made Mallet his under-secretary, with a salary of £200 a year.

He was employed to turn the public vengeance upon Byng, and wrote a letter of accusation, under the charactor of a "Plain Man." The paper was with great industry circulated and dispersed; and he, for his seasonable intervention, had a considerable pension bestowed upon him, which he retained to his death.

Towards the end of his life, he went with his wife to France; but after a while, finding his health declining, he returned alone to England, and died in April, 1765.

Extract from "A Funeral Hymn."

YE midnight shades, o'er nature spread!
Dumb silence of the dreary hour!
In honour of th' approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour,
Yes, pour around,

On this pale ground,

Through all this deep surrounding gloom,
The sober thought,

The tear untaught,

Those meetest mourners at the tomb.

Lo! as the surpliced train draw near
To this last mansion of mankind,
The slow sad bell, the sable bier,
In holy musings wrap the mind!
And while they beam,
With trembling stream

Attending tapers faintly dart,

Each mouldering bone,

Each sculptured stone,

Strikes mute instruction to the heart.

SIR THEODORE MARTIN, K.C.B. LL.D.

1816.

BY WALTER J. KAYE, M.A.

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SIR THEODORE MARTIN, son of the late James Martin, Esq., solicitor in the Supreme Court of Edinburgh, was born in that city September 16th, 1816. He received his education at the High School, and at the University, and adopted the profession of a solicitor, forming a partnership with Mr. Robert Roy, W.S. He, however, only followed this profession until 1846, when he proceeded to London and established himself as a parliamentary agent. In this capacity he made considerable headway, and in a few years was recognized as one of the leaders of the body of able men in whose hands is the conduct of the business of promoting private bills in Parliament. Immediately prior to this he became the literary partner of the late Professor W. E. Aytoun, D.C.L. [q. v.] and commenced contributing to "Fraser's Magazine" and "Tait's Magazine," the well-known "Bon Gaultier " Ballads. In 1857 he married Miss Helen Faucit, a distinguished actress. He became acquainted with this estimable lady from his translation of the Danish poet Henrik Hertz's fine lyrical drama King Rene's Daughter," the principal character "Iolanthe," being taken by Miss Faucit. On March 20th, 1880, Sir Theodore Martin received from the hands of Queen, the honour of Knighthood, and was invested with the insignia of a Knight Commander of the Bath. This well-merited distinction was conferred in recognition of Sir Theodore's work, "The Life of His Royal Highness the Prince Consort" which he wrote by command of Her Majesty. On November 25th the same year he was elected Rector of the University of St. Andrews'. He received the Honorary Degree of LL.D. from Edinburgh University in 1875. Sir Theodore lives principally in Denbighshire, where he has considerable property, and of which county he is a Justice of the Peace. The works of Sir Theodore Martin are many and varied; several of them have been published in the United States, where they still enjoy a wide popularity. Amongst the works he has written are the following:-'Poems and Ballads of Goethe' 1858, 'Corregio,' ' Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp,' 'Odes of Horace,' 'Horace's Life and Writings,' Ancient Classics for English Readers,' 'Catullus,' Poems, Original and Translated,' in addition to numerous translations, and a 'Metrical version of Faust.' Sir Theodore's last work is The Song of the Bell, and other Translations from Schiller, Goethe, Uhland and others.'

6

SIR THEODORE MARTIN.

221

The Interment of Thomas Campbell

See, where eager throngs are pouring inwards from the busy street!

Lo, the Abbey's hush is broken with the stir of many feet!
Hark! St. Margaret's bell is tolling, but it is no common clay
To that dull and rueful anthem shall be laid in dust to-day!
In yon minster's hallow'd corner, where the bards and sages rest,
Is a silent chamber waiting to receive another guest.
There is sadness in the heavens, and a veil against the sun,-
Who shall mourn so well as Nature when a poet's course is run?
Let us in and join the gazers, meek of heart and bare of brow,
For the shadows of the mighty dead are hovering o'er us now!
Souls that keep their trust immortal, dwelling from the herd
apart,

Souls that wrote their noble being deep into a nation's heart, Names that on great England's forehead are the jewels of her pride,

Brother Scot, be proud, a brother soon shall slumber by their side!

Ay, thy cheek is flushing redly, tears are crowding to thine eyes, And thy heart, like mine, is rushing back where Scotland's mountains rise.

Thou, like me, hast seen another grave would suit our poet well,
Greenly braided by the brecken in a lonely Highland dell,
Looking on the solemn waters of a mighty inland sea,
In the shadow of a mountain where the lonely eagles be;
Thou hast seen the kindly heather bloom around his simple bed,
Heard the loch and torrent mingle dirges for the poet dead.
Brother, thou hast seen him lying, as it is thy hope to lie,
Looking from the soil of Scotland up into a Scottish sky.
It may be such grave were better-better rain and dew should
fall,

Tears of hopeful love to freshen Nature's ever-verdant pall;
Better that the sun should kindle on his grave in golden smiles,
Better, than in palsied glimmer stray along these sculptured
aisles,

Better aftertimes should find him-to his rest in homage bound,
Lying in the land that bore him, with its glories piled around.
Such, at least, must be the fancy that in such a time must start-
For we love our country dearly-in each burning Scottish heart;
Yet a rest so great, so noble, as awaits the minstrel here,
'Mong the best of England's children, can be no unworthy bier.

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