Page images
PDF
EPUB

a staircase ascended from the sea-shore, like the buildings we read of in the romances of Mrs Radcliffe.

We wish that Sir Walter had entered more fully into the subject he touches upon in these his concluding remarks, and we give him fair warning, that if he does not speedily supply the omission, we will do it for him.

Basil Barrington and his Friends. In three volumes. Pp. 300, 311, 314. London. Colburn and Bentley. 1830.

We are not certain that, in point of execution, this work is exactly what it ought to be; and we rather incline to suspect that the author is himself plagued with similar doubts. We must, however, do him the justice to admit that the moral of his tale is excellent. His great object is, to impress upon the minds of his readers the duty incumbent upon every man to try by all means to grow rich. There is no doubt that the first faculty that displays itself in the infant mind is acquisitiveness. No sooner does a baby make the discovery that there is a world external to its little body, but it instinctively attempts to lay hold of every object that presents itself to its senses. Its first attempts, certainly, are not always guided by the best of judgments. We have seen these greenhorns snatch, before now, at the blaze of a candle. Nay, we have seen one, before its experience was sufficiently matured to teach it that the bunch of fingers which it saw, and of whose attachment to itself it was informed by the tingling of its nerves, were one and the same, attempt. ing to catch its paw in its hand. We might go on, after the fashion of Grotius, to prove, by the common consent of all nations, that the full developement of this faculty is the great duty of man. We might quote the nursery books, to prove that virtue is recommended to little boys and girls, not as some pseudo philosophers would do, under an absurd impression that it possesses an inherent beauty of its own, but simply because its practice is the surest way of attaining to ride in a coach. show how instinctively men shrink from the side of a poor man as from one sick of the plague. We might demonstrate that virtue is virtue no longer when seen through the interstices of a ragged coat, any more than Humphrey Clinker's white skin was a beauty when exposed to the discriminating eyes of Miss Tabitha Bramble, through a deficiency in his inexpressibles. But all this array of proof is unnecessary, for that inexorable monitor, of whom Darwin tell us that he

"Such a castle, in the extremity of the Highlands, was of course furnished with many a tale of tradition, and many a superstitious legend, to fill occasional intervals in the music and song, as proper to the halls of Dunvegan as when Johnson commemorated them. We reviewed the arms and ancient valuables of this distinguished family-saw the dirk and broadsword of Rorie Mhor, and his horn, which would drench three chiefs of these degenerate days. The solemn drinking cup of the Kings of Man must not be forgotten, nor the fairy banner given to Macleod by the Queen of Fairies; that magic flag, which has been victorious in two pitched fields, and will float in a third, the bloodiest and the last, when the Elfin Sovereign shall, after the fight is ended, recall her banner, and carry off the standard-bearer. "Amid such tales of ancient tradition, I had from Macleod and his lady the courteous offer of the haunted apartment of the castle, about which, as a stranger, I might be supposed interested. Accordingly, I took possession of it about the witching hour. Except some tapestry hangings, and the extreme thickness of the wall, which argued great antiquity, nothing could have been more comfortable than the interior of the apartment; but if you looked from the windows, the view was such as to correspond with the highest tone of superstition. An autumnal blast, sometimes clear, sometimes driving mist before it, swept along the troubled billows of the lake, which it occasionally concealed, and by fits disclosed. The waves rushed in wild disorder on the shore, and covered with foam the steep piles of rocks, which, rising from the sea in forms something resembling the human figure, have obtained the name of Macleod's Maidens, and, in such a night, seemed no bad representatives of the Norwegian goddesses, called Choosers of the Slain, or Riders of the Storm. There was something of the dignity of danger in the scene; for, on a platform beneath the windows, lay an ancient battery of cannon, which had sometimes been used against privateers even of late years. The distant scene was a view of that part of the Quillan mountains which are called, from their form, Macleod's Dining-tables. The voice of an angry cascade, termed the nurse of Rorie Mhor, because that chief slept best in its vicinity, was heard from time to time mingling its notes with those of wind and wave. Such was the haunted room at Dunvegan, and as such, it well deserved a less sleepy inhabitant. In the language of Dr Johnson, who has stamped his memory on this remote place, I looked round me, and wondered that I was not more affected; but the mind is not at all times equally ready to be moved.' In a word, it is necessary to confess, that of all I heard or saw, the most engaging spectacle was the comfortable bed, in which I hoped to make amends for some rough nights on shipboard, and where I slept accordingly without thinking of ghost or goblin, till I was called by my servant in the morning. From this I am taught to infer, that tales of ghosts and demonology are out of date at forty and upwards; that it is only in the morning of life that this feeling of superstition comes over us like a summer cloud,' affecting us with fear, which is solemn and awful rather than painful; and I am tempted to think, that if I were to write on the subject at all, it should have been during a period of life when I could have treated it with more interesting vivacity, and might have been at least amusing, if I could not be instruct-form of a novel. ive. Even the present fashion of the world seems to be ill suited for studies of this fantastic nature; and the most ordinary mechanic has learning sufficient to laugh at the fig-A ments which, in former times, were believed by persons far advanced in the deepest knowledge of the age.

[ocr errors]

"I cannot, however, in conscience, carry my opinion of my countrymen's good sense so far as to exculpate them entirely from the charge of credulity. Those who are disposed to look for them, may, without much trouble, see such manifest signs, both of superstition and the disposition to believe in its doctrines, as may render it no useless occupation to compare the follies of our fathers with our own. The sailors have a proverb, that every man in his lifetime must ent a peck of impurity; and it seems yet more clear, that every generation of the human race must swallow a certain measure of nonsense. There remains hope, however, that the grosser faults of our ancestors are now out of date; and that, whatever follies the present race may be guilty of, the sense of humanity is too universally spread to permit them to think of tormenting wretches till they confess what is impossible, and then burning them for their pains."

We might

"Holds in the vaulted heart his dread resort," prompts us on all occasions to deny poverty in ourselves, (even at the hazard of a fib,) and to be ashamed to be seen in the company of those who are affected with it. Against this voice of nature, Sir James Mackintosh will tell you it is vain to argue. The conclusion is irresistible:-There is but one unpardonable crime-Poverty. Our author argues the question very ingeniously in the

Biographical Memoir of the late Dr Walter Oudney and Captain Hugh Clapperton, both of the Royal Navy, and Major Alex. Gordon Laing, all of whom died amid their active and enterprising endeavours to explore the Interior of Africa. By the Rev. Thomas Nelson, M.W.S. 12mo. Pp. 150. Edinburgh. Waugh and Innes. 1830.

NOTWITHSTANDING this lumbering title, which seems to have been framed in emulation of certain antiquated models of tombstone eloquence, the work itself will be found to contain a considerable portion of new and interesting information. The author has had access to original letters both of Oudney and Clapperton, and has learned many particulars of their history from conversaThe narrative of tion with their friends and relations. Laing has been compiled from different sources, as an ap

propriate accompaniment to the two which precede it. The style is neat and correct.

Tales of Other Days. By J. Y. A. With Illustrations by George Cruikshank. One volume, 8vo. Pp. 250. London. Effingham Wilson. 1830.

THESE tales are much of the same intellectual calibre with the great majority of those upon which George Cruikshank has squandered away his illustrations. Many a lame dog has he thus benevolently helped over a stile. The best of the engravings is undoubtedly the vignette, in which a fat Dutchman runs roaring, in the agony of mortal fear, from a lathy devil, who gains upon him with prodigious strides. The next, in point of merit, is a little Friar Rush, laughing in the face of a decent elderly gentleman, whom the imp's lantern has betrayed into a bog. Nearly equal to this is the astonishment of the young lady at the surpassing ugliness of her wooer.

[merged small][ocr errors]

THE second part of Colonel Batty's work contains a ground-plan of the peninsula, rock, and fortifications of Gibraltar, together with six views of that key to the Mediterranean. The first view is the rock, as seen from the Mediterranean shore; the second, from the bay side; the third, from the anchorage, in front of the old mole; the fourth, from above Camp bay; the fifth, from Europa point; the sixth, from Catalan bay. In order to identify the views in the recollection of those to whom the place is familiar, and, as far as possible, to convey a similar familiarity to those who have not visited it, the author has etched slight outlines of each, wherein the different objects are numbered, corresponding with marginal references. The engravings are faithful and accurate views of the places they profess to represent; and, after studying them, we are almost as well acquainted with Gibraltar, as if we had visited it. Considered as works of art, the engravings are highly respectable.

There is a great deal of truth to nature in Landseer's sketches.

common-sense exposition of the rudiments of harmony, divested of all technicalities, and, we may safely say, "adapted to the meanest capacity," for every proposition is enforced by judicious examples. Mr Rodwell has devoted a portion of the work to an account of the several instruments used in the orchestra, in which is pointed out the best parts of each, and the keys in which they may be used with the greatest effect. The nature of the work will not permit us to give our readers a specimen of its excellencies, but we have great pleasure in recommending it to their notice.

Models of Modern French Conversation, consisting of New and Familiar Dialogues, in French and English, on the most common and useful Subjects: Adapted to the use of Ladies' and Gentlemen's Seminaries, Private Students, and Strangers visiting Paris. By M. de la Claverie, Professor of the French and Italian Languages in Liverpool. London. Whittaker, Treacher, and Arnot. 1830.

THIS is one of the many respectable introductory works for the use of those who study the French language, with which we are nearly overstocked.

The Anatomy of the Bones of the Human Body, represented in a Series of Engravings, copied from the elegant Tables of Sue and Albinus. By Edward Mitchell, Engraver. With Explanatory References by the late John Barclay, M. D., Lecturer on Anatomy. A New Edition. By Robert Knox, M. D., Lecturer on Anatomy, &c. Edinburgh. Maclachlan and Stewart.

1830.

Plates of the Arteries of the Human Body, after Frederic
Tiedemann, Professor of Anatomy and Physiology in the
University of Heidelberg. Engraved by E. Mitchell,
under the superintendency of Thomas Wharton Jones,
Surgeon. With Explanatory References. Translated
from the Original Latin, by Robert Knox, M.D.,
Lecturer on Anatomy. Edinburgh. Maclachlan and
Stewart. 1830.

Engravings of the Nerves, copied from the Works of Scarpa, Sammering, and other distinguished Anatomists. By E. Mitchell, Engraver. With Explanatory Letter-press, by Robert Knox, M. D., Lecturer on Anatomy. Edinburgh. Maclachlan and Stewart. 1830. THE professors of medical science have agreed that a The Bengal Tigers, in particular, are done to knowledge of anatomy can be obtained only by dissection; the life. There is a grim sagacity in the countenance of but it is also conceded that anatomical plates may be the one that is standing upright, and we almost think studied with advantage. They point out to the student that we hear the yell of his couchant comrade. The Ibex, the various parts which he finds in the real subject ; they with his enormous horns, is one of the most sagacious-restore to his recollection minutiæ that may escape the looking old gentlemen we have seen. The culs-de-lampe are, however, characterised by much of Landseer's wonted exaggeration.

The First Rudiments of Harmony. By J. G. Rodwell, Professor of Harmony at the Royal Academy of Music. London. Goulding and D'Almaine. 1830. Pp. 147. THE theory of music has hitherto made little progress in this country; and we do not wonder that this intellectual and delightful study has been neglected, when we consider how few proper elementary treatises there are on the subject, and the technicalities and pedantry by which these few are disfigured. The consequence is, that a knowledge of harmony is totally disregarded in musical education, and our amateurs are merely drilled into a little mechanical dexterity. Mr Rodwell has done much to remedy this evil by the publication of the work Before us, the value of which is greatly enhanced by its unpretending character. It is an admirable, practical,

most retentive memory; and display the minute ramifications of nerves which are very seldom demonstrated in our anatomical theatres. No anatomist, however attached he may be to the scalpel, can examine the splendid engravings of Sue, Albinus, Cheselden, Caldani, Scarpa, Tiedemann, or Cloquet, without being satisfied of the advantages that may be derived from the occasional inspection of such plates; but these works have been necessarily published in so costly a style, that those who principally require to consult, can seldom afford to purchase them. Under these circumstances, the junior members of the profession are indebted to the editors and publishers of the anatomical plates before us, which preserve faithfully all the accuracy and spirit of the original engravings; and are at the same time so cheap as to be accessible to every student. The first series of plates represents the anatomy of the bones. These are copied from the tables of Sue and Albinus. The second series exhibits the anatomy of the arteries. These are copied from the very fine folio work of Tiedemann. The third series

[ocr errors]

These are

A school of taste based upon a false theory, tickling itself with worthless and transient emotions, could not last. The days of Louvet, Kotzebue, and Monk Lewis, (for its disciples were not confined to France,) have long passed. But, coinciding in point of time with a great political revolution, and the predominance of a fashion

presents us with the anatomy of the nerves. copied from the works of Scarpa, Sommering, Walther, Fischer, and Charles Bell. These have all been drawn from the originals, by the eidograph of Professor Wallace, and engraved by Mr Mitchell. Having attentively examined them, we can bear testimony to their accuracy; and without any hesitation, recommend them to the pro-able philosophy, these new canons of taste aided in fession, as the best and cheapest anatomical engravings that have been published in this country.

FRENCH LITERATURE.

Anthologie Française; or, Specimens of the Poetry of the Augustan Age of France, and of the Eighteenth and present Century, including Selections from the most eminent Living Poets. With Notes and Illustrations; a work equally adapted to the Library and to Schools. Post 8vo. Pp. 290. London. Treuttel, Würtz, and Co. 1830.

emancipating the national mind from the yoke of old
opinions. They died themselves, but not till their ephe-
Imeral popularity had destroyed their predecessors.
seemed, like the lightning, framed not to exist itself, but
to destroy other existences.

They

The ferment has not yet entirely subsided in France, are again making themselves heard. That country, howbut the worst hour is past. Good sense and just taste ever, although she has already produced several who may be regarded as standing high in the poetical profession, (if given birth to one who deserves to be termed, in the high such a tradesman-like phrase be admissible,) has not yet

and exclusive sense of the word-a poet. But we have no doubt the day is coming.

THE character of the Belles Lettres in France has been, if possible, more effectually revolutionized than even the form of government. The literature of the age of Louis We have been anxiously waiting, some time back, for XIV., with all its beauties and with all its defects, is at an opportunity of submitting to our readers some specithis moment, to the great body of the nation, as effectmens of modern French poetry, and we opened the book ively an antiquated literature as that of the Greeks and now before us with considerable hopes of being at length Romans. The grandeur of Corneille, the delicacy and able to satisfy our longing. To a certain extent we have tenderness of Racine, the devotional grandeur of Rous-been disappointed. The editor says in his preface," Le seau (Jean Baptiste), the manly sense of Boileau, and seul arrangement que l'éditeur se soit préscrit dans la the envenomed playfulness of Voltaire, are still admi- succession des pièces c'est le retour périodique de celles red, and will continue to be so, not only in France, but qui devaient former un cours de religion et de morale." in every nation where the capacity of appreciating true And again," L'éditeur s'est imposé le soin le plus scrugenius exists. But they now give pleasure to the reader, puleux de ne rien introduire qui pût blesser la pureté des in virtue of those traits of natural and eternal beauty mœurs, ou qui ne conservât un parfait accord avec les which are recognised by the mind in every state of so- pièces expressément consacrés aux préceptes de morale," ciety. They are no longer buoyed up by their accordance The consequence of which determination is, that he has with conventional feeling, but must rest upon their own executed his task in rather a puritanical spirit. For exintrinsic merits. We read Racine as we would read Vir-ample, not one poem of De Béranger is allowed to sully gil. We are overpowered by the simplicity of true passion wherever it speaks out; but, in order to understand his works as a whole, we must constantly refer to that state of society of which he formed a part,- -we must call upon our antiquarian knowledge to lend the key to many dark passages.

his immaculate pages; and in his selections from other popular writers, he seems to have been determined by a wish to exemplify their preaching powers, rather than the peculiarities of their genius.

genius.

De la Martine possesses more exact graphic power, and more impassioned imagination, than any of his competitors. The following verses are selected from his ode entitled Bonaparte. It is of no importance whether his conception of that chief's character be just or not, it is delineated with true poetic fervour. The image in the last verse we have quoted, suggested by the picture of the exiled warrior, musing on the events of his past life, is poetical in the true sense of the word :

In order, however, to make the best of a bad bargain, we present our readers with a few extracts from three of The disciples of Rousseau, and also those of Diderot, the most popular French poets of the day,-De la Maraffected to speak of the old literature of France as cold tine, Casimir Delavigne, and Alfred de Vigny. They and foreign to the business and bosoms of men. If there are not, it is true, exactly such as we would have selected were any truth in the assertion, it applied, not to the great for the purpose of conveying a just impression of the full masters of French poetry, but to the dabblers in criticism powers of these authors; but they will at least serve to who pretended to adore them. This superficial race, in convince such as are not familiar with the modern literaFrance as in all countries, mistook the letter for the spi-ture of France, that it is graced by men of no ordinary rit of the law. Worse than the prodigal, they voluntarily champed upon the husks, while the kernels were free to their choice. But their antagonists erred as widely from the truth as they did. These latter argued justly, that a common citizen was subject to the same passions as a great monarch or warrior; but when they attempted, upon the concession of this point, to establish the possibility of finding materials for the higher kinds of poetry in domestic life, they overlooked the important truth, that poetry is something which carries us out of, and raises us above ourselves, and that the dull recurring details of domestic duties, and privations, and petty squabbles, are incompetent to such a task. Kings and generalsmen in public life—are the heroes of epic and tragic poetry, not because their office is more poetical than that of the lowest drudge in the machine of society, but because the interests about which they are conversant are more general, and leave the mind more room to expand itself. In like manner, when our reformers complained of the coldness of their immediate predecessors, they were in the right; but when they proceeded to elaborate their own poetry exclusively out of a class of feelings, which, however disguised and modified, are still essentially material and sensual, they yet more unequivocally degraded poetry." Tu grandis sans plaisir, tu tombas sans murmure, They rendered it of the earth earthy. Rien d'humain ne battait sous ton épaisse armure:

"Ta tombe et ton berceau sont couverts d'un nuage;
Mais, pareil à l'éclair, tu sortis d'un orage;
Tel ce Nil dont Memphis boit les vagues fécondes
Tu foudroyas le monde avant d'avoir un nom:
Avant d'être nommé fait bouillonner ses ondes
Aux solitudes de Memnon.

"Tu n'aimais que le bruit du fer, le cri d'alarmes,
L'éclat resplendissant de l'aube sur les armes :
Et ta main ne flattait que ton léger coursier,
Quand les flots ondoyants de sa pâle crinière
Sillonnaient comme un vent la sanglante poussière,
Et que ces pieds brisaient l'acier.

Sans haine et sans amour, tu vivais pour penser.
Comme l'aigle regnant dans un ciel solitaire,
Tu n'avais qu'un regard pour mesurer la terre,
Et des serres pour l'embrasser !

"Oh! qui m'aurait donné d'y sonder ta pensée,
Lorsque le souvenir de ta grandeur passé
Venait, comme un remords, t'assaillir loin du bruit,
Et que, les bras croisés sur ta large poitrine,
Sur ton front chauve et nu, que la pensée incline,
L'horreur passait comme la nuit !

"Tel qu'un pasteur debout sur la rive profonde
Voit son ombre de loin se prolonger sur l'onde,
Et du fleuve orageux suivre, en flottant, le cours;
Tel du sommet désert de ta grandeur suprême,
Dans l'ombre du passé te recherchant toi-même

Tu rappelais tes anciens jours."

Delavigne is always vigorous, and often elevated; but he wants the rich sentiment of De la Martine, and is

addicted to antithesis; sometimes he even condescends to

conceits. His Napoleon, placed beside the other's Bonaparte, will show the different characters of their poetry: "Dieu mortel, sous tes pieds les monts courbant leurs têtes, T'ouvraient un chemin triomphal,

Les élémens soumis attendaient ton signal;
D'une nuit pluvieuse écartant les tempêtes
Pour éclairer tes fêtes,

Le soleil t'annonçait sur son char radieux;
L'Europe t'admírait dans une horreur profonde,
Et le son de ta voix, un signe de tes yeux,
Donnait une secousse au monde.

"Tu régnerais encor si tu l'avais voulu.
Fils de la Liberté, tu détronas ta mère,

Armé contre ses droits d'un pouvoir éphémère,
Tu croyais l'accabler, tu l'avais résolu :

Mais le tombeau creusé pour elle

Dévore tot ou tard le monarque absolu :

Un tyran tombe ou meurt; seule elle est immortel!

"Laissant l'Europe vide, et la Victoire en deuil,
Ainsi, de faute en faute et d'orage en orage,
Il est venu mourir sur un dernier écueil,

Où sa grandeur a fait naufrage.

La vaste mer murmure autour de son cercueil.

Une île t'a reçu sans couronne et sans vie,

Toi, qu'un empire immense eut peine à contenir;
Sous la tombe, où s'éteint ton royal avenir,
Descend avec toi seul toute une dynastie;
Et le pêcheur le soir s'y repose en chemin ;
Reprenant ses filets qu'avec peine il soulève,
Il s'éloigne à pas lents, foule ta cendre, et rêve
A ses travaux du lendemain.”

The poetry of Count Alfred de Vigny is scarcely so energetic as that of his two compatriots. The following extracts are from his little piece entitled, "La Frégatte la Sérieuse." Some of the passages seem to us worthy of Campbell, and, national partiality apart, we suspect that is no trifling eulogium. The ". Description" reminds us of Cooper :

DESCRIPTION.

"Qu'elle était belle ma Frégatte,
Lorsqu'elle voguait sous le vent!
Elle avait, au soleil levant,
Toutes les couleurs de l'agate;
Ses voiles luisaient le matin
Comme des ballons de satin;
Sa quille mince, longue et platte,
Portait deux bandes d'écarlate
Sur vingt-quatre canons cachés;
Ses mâts, en arrière penchés,
Paraissaient à demi couchés.

DEPART DE LA FREGATTE POUR L'EGYPTE.
"Quand la belle Sérieuse
Pour l'Egypte appareilla,
Sa figure gracieuse
Avant le jour s'éveilla;
A la lueur des étoiles
Elle deploya ses voiles,

Leurs cordages et leurs toiles,

Comme de larges réseaux,
Avec ce long bruit qui tremble,
Qui se prolonge, et resemble
Aux bruit des ailes qu'ensemble
Ouvre une troupe d'oiseaux."

*

LE COMBAT.

"N'importe! elle bondit dans son repos troublée,
Elle tourna trois fois jetant vingt-quatre éclairs,
Et rendit tous les coups dont elle était criblée,
Feux pour feux, fers pour fers.

"Ses boulets enchainés fauchaient des mâts enormes,
Fesaient voler le sang, la poudre et le goudron,
S'enfonçaient dans le bois, comme au cœur des grands ormes *
Le coin du bûcheron.

"Un brouillard de fumée ou la flamme étincelle

L'entourait; mais, le corps brûlé, noir, écharpé,
Elle tournait, roulait, et se tordait sous elle,
Comme un serpent coupé.

Ce jour entier passa dans le feu, dans le bruit;
"Le soleil s'éclipsa dans l'air plein de bitume.
Et lorsque la nuit vint, sous cette ardente brume
On ne vit pas la nuit.

"Nous étions enfermés comme dans un orage:
Des deux flottes au loin le canon s'y mêlait;
On tirait en aveugle à travers le nuage,

Toute la mer brûlait."

We hope to be able, ere long, to take up this interesting subject more in detail.

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

MY FIRST VISIT TO LOCH LOMOND.
By Henry G. Bell.

I HATE a hackney'd, drivelling invocation

Of heathenish muse, whom Grecian poets feign'd, As if, forsooth, by such mad adoration,

Any advantage had been ever gain'd,—
These fickle gipsies I despise, 'od-rot-'em!
I always choose to write on my own bottom.

Or if, at any time, I seek a muse,

I look for some divinity in petticoats,
Whose eyes, of diamond light, new fire infuse,

And cram my brain chokeful of witty thoughts, And bright ideas, and amusing fancies,

Till all my page in its own glory glances.

It was a lovely morn: the rising sun,

Snuffing again the light and balmy air, His "coat of many colours" had put on,

And golden breeches, none the worse for wear; And for a morning draught, to wet his gills, He sipp'd the dewdrops of a thousand hills.

[blocks in formation]

Ye swains of Leven! are ye turn'd to stones?

Ye who were made immortal by the poet, Have ye no reverence for his mould'ring bones?

Of a good landscape they could tell by roteBesides, they all had read Sir Walter Scott;

And if you have—why, then, in God's name, show it His "Lady of the Lake," I mean, and therefore knew

In some less barbarous and doubtful fashion, And do not put the bard's ghost in a passion.

Yet fear not, Smollett! for thy name will last;
Thy monument is not of stone and lime;
And as for him who dared his hands to cast

On this poor safeguard 'gainst the wreck of time, I'd fell him to the earth-the unletter'd tinker— With an old copy of your "Humphrey Clinker!"

We reach'd the steam-boat, and Loch Lomond then
Burst on our view, in all its glory lying,
Border'd by hill, and rock, and wood, and glen,

And charms, like these, substantial and undying;
Lovely alike when cloudy or when sunny-
The steam-boat people must be making money.

But, oh! how much they would require a treatise On the sublime and beautiful, who come to see This land of Nature-fresh from bustling cities,

Before their minds can from the thrall get free Of low-born thoughts, mix'd, by the will of fate, With the dense air of Glasgow's Gallowgate!

We got on board (the boat was call'd the Marion);
And on the deck a motley group there stood
Of numerous passengers, who seem'd to carry on
Various discourse, as people always should
On similar occasions; to be affable
Is always wise, and to be shy is laughable.

But I, who often have a different way
From other people, chose to stand apart;
And in the sunshine of that glorious day,

A thousand fancies rush'd upon my heart;
I thought of all the pleasure-all the pain
Which I had known, and yet might know again.

I look'd upon the lake, in radiance glancing—

I look'd on many a rock, and many an islandI look'd on gay clouds through the air advancing— I look'd on Nature's face, and Nature's smile; and Seeing all this, 'twas surely not uncommon To sigh-and sigh-and think of darling woman.

Oh! could I find a woman with a soul,
With one bright spark of intellectual fire,
Soaring superior to the weak control

Of womanish prejudice, by which expire
All manlier, nobler thoughts-high born and free,
Breathing of heaven, and wing'd with ecstasy!

Oh! could I find a woman such as this,

Methinks I have a heart she would not scorn To call her own-a heart that knows the bliss Which love can give, when, like the light of morn, O'er all the mental world its rays diffuse The brightest sunshine, and the richest hues.

While thus, like wise Æneas, "multa gemens,"
I pensive stood, and no doubt was esteem'd
"homo demens,"
By the good people near me,
At once upon my gladden'd eyes there beam'd
Ben Lomond, prince of mountains! towering far
Into the regions of the highest star.

I gazed delighted; so did all the strangers,

And some of them were connoisseurs in scenery; In search of Nature's charms they came as rangers From Charing-Cross, aud now all the machinery

Something about the Trosachs and Loch Katrine, And they could talk, too, about Roderick Dhu,

And hoped, at Aberfoyle, to find a better inn Than that in which the Bailie's courage rose, When the red poker flash'd among his foes!

And they had also heard of mountains, and

Were all prepared for something very strikingSomething-not like St Paul's-more wild and grand,— In short, Ben Lomond seem'd much to their liking; So much, indeed, that several from the City Politely said, "they thought it vastly pretty!"

[blocks in formation]

At Rowardennan, eager to escape

From animals like these, I got on shore; Alone and happy then, my course I shape

To where the inn, with hospitable door,

Shows, among some old trees, its whitewash'd face-
A sweet, romantic, solitary place.

If ever you should spend a summer's day
On Lomond's fairy lake, be sure to land,
When evening falls, in Rowardennan Bay;

And then at last your heart may understand,
Why he the sage of Ferney-loved so well
On the green banks of Leman's Lake to dwell.

If, as it did to me, the sun should set

In cloudless glory, whilst its golden rays Fall not, indeed, on dome and minaret,

But lighten up, in one rich amber blaze, Mountains and waters, cliffs, and isles, and woods, Glens and green fields, and rocks, and falling floods;

If o'er the heavens its lingering beams diffuse Streams of soft light, that paint the glowing skies With all the rainbow tints and lovely hues

The varying dolphin shows before he dies,
Then, as you gaze on these immortal scenes-
Then will you know what inspiration means!

It means, you'll find, a sort of queer sensation
About the heart, and all the inner man-
A sort of odd and fluttering agitation-

Much like the flapping of a lady's fan,
Or like our feelings when we read the Iliad,
Or take some of the "Cordial Balm of Gilead."

After these strong emotions, how enchanting

Were the refreshments which the inn afforded! How sweet to watch John as he stood decanting "Whitbread's Entire," and all its praise recorded!— They had no wine, which some might think a pity, But, then, I never saw such aqua-vitæ !

The fish was excellent; and then the chicken

So white and tender, and the sauce so brown,

« PreviousContinue »