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pony looks over their shoulders, with a gravity never equal. led, save by the Dapple of Cervantes, and casting a gleam of light on all around, like "heavenly Una with her milk-white lamb." For the freshness of tone in the landscape, and the glee of the sportsmen, -for masterly arrangement of every thing down to its smallest details, (gillies, pointers, game, and eatables,) we look upon this as the artist's masterpiece. That glass of porter haunts us like the memory of a first love!

LEGAL PROCEEDINGS RELATIVE TO MR THOM'S STATUES.-We alluded in a former Number to these proceedings. The papers lodged by the parties, and the interlocutor of the Court, are now before us, and from them we have abstracted the following account of the relative situation and averments of the litigants. Some time in the year 1828, Mr Thom received an order from the Earl of Cassilis to complete for him a group, consisting of Tam O'Shanter, Souter Johnnie, the Landlord and Landlady. About the same time, Sir Charles Lamb gave him an order for copies of Tam and the Souter. In December 1828, Mr Thom entered into an agreement with Mr Dick at Tanfield, near Edinburgh, to complete for him a group consisting of the same figures as that intended for the Earl. Mr Thom promised that these figures should be the first of that description he should finish after those for the Earl and Sir Charles, but declined becoming bound to finish them by a certain day, as circumstances which he could not foresee might occur to retard his labours. Mr Thom did not first complete the four figures bespoke by the Earl of Cassilis, and then apply himself to those intended for Mr Dick, but, according as fitting stones could be procured from the quarry, he worked at one or the other figure for both groups. In this way, he had made, in October 1829, two Tam O'Shanters, two Souters, and one Landlord, with which he was satisfied; one Landlady, which was likewise to his mind, and one which was not. On the 13th of June, he had, at the urgent entreaties of Mr Dick, delivered to him a Tam and a Souter; and, on the 14th of October, he shipped to the address of the Earl of Cassilis, a complete set of four figures. Mr Dick, on the plea that the Landlady, included in this shipment, was the second made, applied for an interdict against her delivery. The pursuer argued That Mr Thom had agreed to deliver to him the first figures he should finish after those meant for the Earl of Cassilis and Sir Chas. Lamb; that Mr Thom had completed two figures of the Landlady; and that, consequently, the first belonged to the Earl, and the second to the pursuer. It was argued on behalf of Mr Thom-That he had never become specifically bound to furnish the pursuer with the second figure of the Landlady he should finish; that having failed in his first attempt, he had never quite finished it, but set about making one more to his taste;-that he was entitled to do this, both on account of the obligation under which he lay to furnish his employer with a good piece of workmanship, and of a regard to his reputation, which might suffer by allowing an imperfect production to go forth to the world; and, that he was still ready to implement his bargain. It was further urged for Mr Thom, that he had been induced to enter into the bargain with Mr Dick, by the latter's represent. ing himself to be employed by a gentleman of fortune; whereas it now proved, that he was one of several partners who wished to get the statues for the purpose of exhibiting them in opposition to the exhibition in which the artist has an interest; and that the two figures delivered, had already been exhibited in Liverpool. It was argued for the Earl of Cassilis, (who was brought into court,)-That he was not obliged to take a first abortive attempt, but was entitled to the first successful one-That the terms of the pursuer's agreement excluded him from receiving any figures until the defender's prior orders had been executed.-Lord Moncreiff refused the complainer's bill of suspension and interdict, on the ground that the statue in ques tion had been delivered to the Earl of Cassilis before the bill was presented. In a note subjoined to his interlocutor, his Lordship declined entering into the merits, as unnecessary in the circumstances of the case. The case was carried before the Inner House by a reclaiming note on the part of the pursuer, but the Ordinary's interlocutor was adhered to.

Theatrical Gossip.-The great event of the week in the theatrical world of London is, Miss Kemble's appearance in her second character-Belvidera. Critics differ a little in regard to its excellence,some are ultra enthusiastic, and others are colder. They who are disposed to be very profound and philosophical, intimate their belief that the truth lies between the two extremes. One of the Correspondents of the Court Journal waxes poetical upon the subject, and as there is something spirited in the following verse, we insert it, He is addressing Miss Kemble:

"O! young inheritor of ancient power!
Thou new-born honour of this laurell'd clime!

been drawing very crowded houses.-The Adelphi Elephant continues to prosper. The sensible animal is said to enjoy the gaping wonder of that many-headed monster-the town.-Elliston, it s said, has cleared L.6000 by the performances of "Black-eyed Susan." -We regret to understand that Pasta is not engaged for the King i Theatre this season-De Begnis, with his Italian company, is at Manchester. We hear that he has changed his mind as to coming here.-Braham is still in Ireland.-Weare informed that Miss Smithson is about to return to Paris, having received an engagement for four-and-twenty nights at one of the French theatres. She is to play pantomime, or parts in which she will have occasion to speak only a few words. She commences, we believe, with Jeanie Deans.-Messn Seymour and Alexander are quarrelling about the patent of the Glasgow Theatre.-Vandenhoff met with an accident at Liverpool on the night of his benefit, to which, however, no very serious con sequences are attached, We believe he will be in Edinburgh soon.

SAT.

MON.

TUES.

WED.

THURS.

FRI,

WEEKLY LIST OF PERFORMANCES,

Dec. 12-18.

The Stranger, No! & The Wedding Day.
The Jealous Wife, &Rob Roy.

Jane Shore, The Rendezvous, & The Falls of Clyde,

(Theatre closed.)

The House of Aspen, & Rosina.

The House of Aspen, & William Thompson.

TO OUR READERS.

Number twice our usual size. It will be the last Number of our seOn Saturday next, we shall publish a double Number, or rather, a cond volume, our last Number for the year 1829, and also our CHRISTMAS NUMBER. It would be easy for us to mention a long list of persons of celebrity, contributions from whose pens, both in prose and verse, will grace our Christmas Number ; but, in order that the contents may lose none of their freshness and novelty, we abstain. Our object, however, is, to present our readers and the pub lic with a little literary banquet, which will make their firesides more cheerful, and enable them to part pleasantly with the departing year, Our labours among them have not gone unrequited, and now that we are in the heyday of our prosperity, we are anxious to prove that our literary friends are as staunch to us, as they were when our bark was first launched, and that we ourselves are determined never to fall asleep upon our oars,

We also expect to be able to mention, in next Number, the improve ments and increased resources with which we shall commence the New Year.

A Title-Page and Index for Volume II. of the EDINBURGH LITE. RARY JOURNAL, will accompany the CHRISTMAS NUMBER.

TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS.

week.
SEVERAL new works have reached us too late for notice this

"Astolpho" shall receive an answer next Saturday,-" Proteus"
place. For the interesting communication from Kirkcudbright we
among our next varieties." Orion, the Younger," shall have a
London Correspondent," J. T." we shall be glad to hear at his best
feel obliged ; we shall make use of it speedily.-From our obliging
convenience.-"A Looker-on", will perceive that we have adverted
to the subject on which he was good enough to write to us.
Escape," by "J. S.," and " Agony," by "V. V." of Glasgow, will
not suit us.

The

"Umphraville" in our next.-" A Day's Fishing" is clever, and we may perhaps brush it up, and insert it one of these days.-"A Lover's Hour" shall have a place." The Bar-maid" may perhaps appear. The following poems will hardly suit us:-"Lines to a Sea-Bird," "The Wife Metamorphosed,"-" Song," by J. C. T. -"Lines," by E. V.," A Ballad" from Glasgow, and "On Joy."

Whose miracles have pass'd the deeds of old

Where mind is rising, like the fabulous tower,

Even to Heaven !-'Tis glory to behold

Thy golden harvest waving ere thy prime:

To thy meridian move, orb of the mind sublime!"

ERRATA IN OUR LAST NUMBER.-In the Review of the Musical Annuals in our last, we made the odd mistake of speaking of Cheru. bini as the author of "Crudel Perche," when we meant to write "Perfida Clori," his beautiful canon for three voices.-In Dr Gillespie's "Letter concerning Burns," for "Wallenhall," read Wallaçı

-Miss Foote has been performing at Covent Garden, but has not Hall,-and for " iron chair," read arm chair.

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TO THE READERS

OF

THE EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL. DEAR READERS-This is our CHRISTMAS NUMBER for the year 1829, and in a most especial and particular manner do we dedicate it to YOU. Every thing we write is for you; but sorry are we to confess, that thoughts of our own profit sometimes mingle with our anxieties for your amusement. It is a weakness incident to mortality, and having frankly owned it, we trust we shall be the more readily believed when we declare, that in this, our last Number for the present year, we have thought only of securing for you a literary banquet of rich and varied excellence, proportionate to the respect we entertain for you, and not unworthy either of the season, or the land we live in. Thanks to the literary friends-talented and eminent as they are who have so nobly and so faithfully rallied round us, we are this day able to furnish forth a feast, where even the veriest epicure will not fail to find something to stimulate and gratify his palate. It is for you, dear readers, that it is spread. May you bring to it as good appetites as we wish you,-and may you partake of it as freely as it is offered!

In sober earnestness, we are proud of our CHRISTMAS NUMBER. We challenge any periodical in the country ✦ produce, within the same space, so bright a galaxy of names;—and not of names alone, but of articles whose intrinsic merits bear them up-ponderibus librati suis.

Where all are so conspicuous, it would be unfair to particularize a few. Were we to indulge in much talk concerning our own affairs, a thousand obligations would occur to us which we might acknowledge, but could not at present repay. We prefer, therefore, limiting ourselves to general expressions of thanks; and wherever we turn, to the south, the north, the east, and the west,—these have to be conveyed;-to some of the most distinguished of the fair sex, (thank Heaven!) as well as to many a manly heart, beating with all the ardour of genius, and a noble love of literature for its own sake. To each and all, we wish, from the bottom of our souls, the merriest Christmas, and the happiest New-Year!

Nor shall we ever be niggard of good wishes when we think and speak of you, dear readers. Many hundreds of you we have never seen in our lives, nor can we tell how our various lucubrations may individually affect you; yet we know that there is a sympathy between us, —that you are disposed to be lenient to our errors, both of commission and omission,—and that, if ever we have brought a smile to your lips, or a gentle tear into your eye, you love us for those smiles and for those tears. If the suspicion should chance to cross your minds that we are occasionally severe, or hasty, or vain, or foolish, we beseech you to believe that we are ourselves deeply, and, at times, painfully, conscious of our numerous deficiencies, and that it is our earnest desire to amend and purify our character, both in the eyes of the public, and of the friends whom

PRICE 9d.

Heaven has given to us, and whose affection we value above all earthly things.

We

As critics, we this week give authors a holiday. shall resume our converse with them on Saturday, the 2d of January, 1830. Nothing but amenity and good humour-" nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles"-shall characterise us to-day; and if, amidst these, a few deeper and more solemn chords be touched, our Christmas gambols will not be the less delightful, that they carry a moral with them.

Dear Readers, we have said our say. Again we offer you our salaam; but instead of wishing, in the language of the East, that you may "live a thousand years," allow us to express the more seasonable, and not less pleasing hope, that you may eat a thousand geese. With this hope upon our lips, we humbly subscribe ourselves,

Yours, with faithfulness and respect,

THE EDITOR.

"THE YEAR THAT'S AWA."
By Dr Gillespie.

"WHATEVER withdraws us from the power of the senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future, predominant over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings." So says one, whose language no man can mistake, and whose knowledge of human nature few will be disposed to question. But of these alternatives, the predominancy of the past over the present appears to be the most purifying and exalting. A submission of present liking to future enjoyments, is nothing more, in its ordinary acceptation, than an enlarged and calculated system of selfishness. In regard, however, to the predominancy of the past over the present, the case is materially different. To the past, considered merely as such, we can never look from selfish or interested views

our trance into these familiar regions is at once voluntary and uninterested. We lose ourselves in recollections, not that we may relieve the present, or influence the future, but merely because such reveries are engrossing and irresistible. Happiness, indeed, and that of the most intense and purifying character, is the consequence--but not the motive, otherwise happiness would just be diminished in proportion to the extent of the previous calculation.

The future often looks up upon us, from the darkened distance, with a forbidding aspect. In spite of the most sanguine and happy temperament, there will be formed, in the distant obscurity, faces and forms, contingencies and possibilities, any thing but pleasing or inviting. But the past is a vast storehouse of good and evil, from which, at will, we can select such materials as we choose. The frost-works of futurity are too frequently like the icy palace of the Zarina, whilst the past is a permanent, though a dilapidated structure. Happy, then, is the man, who can make the enjoyments of the past predominate over the sufferings of the present, who can select such passages from the volume of experience, as will cheer and relieve the present gloom.

Say what we will, and even think as we may, youth is the sun of our being, to which the soul, in its travel, turns from time to time to gaze with renewed and invigorated earnestness. Nay, in proportion as the distance increases, our attachment strengthens ;

tion, to make sure of the usual holidays. His eye glistens and his brow brightens over verb and participle, as, with Horace in one hand, and a Gradus ad Parnassum in the other, he dovetails phrase, idiom, and vocable into a regular petition, on which the Christmas pastimes of the whole school depend. Jack still keeps an eye upon

“We drag at each remove a lingering length of chain." the old corner, and purposes to spend his holidays with

"Scenes that soothed

Or charm'd us young, no longer young, we find
Still soothing, and of power to soothe us still;"

till, on the utmost verge of old age, we cast a tearful eye,
and present a quivering lip, towards that distant horizon
Over
from which the bright sun of our being ascended.
the deep, and, in fact, indelible impressions of youth, other
and more recent characters may from time to time be
traced; but Memory, even down to the latest period, will
be enabled to renew the original impressions. The Ma-
nuals and Psalters of riper years will not be able to unveil
from her eye those latent, but still existing characters,
which form, in fact, the classical page of her record.

At the commencement of a New Year, in particular, when we are about to ring those changes over again, which have been so often, it may be, and unprofitably, rung before, it is scarcely possible for the most heedless to escape reflection. It is at this season, in particular, that memory acts the " Old Mortality" with our early thoughts and feelings, giving them a distinctness, which, at other times, they do not possess. In the midst of company and engrossing enjoyments, it is delightful to revert to our boyish "New Years."

66

Home,

the kindly faces and the warm hearts of home.
of consequence, stares him from every line, converting
the sluggish and torpid pain of prose into "the shep-
herd's" trot of verse.

But Jack is now transformed into John, and has even
been humanized into Joannes. He has commenced his
academical course, and is now spending his first winter
at college. His mother, ever more than careful of her
favourite, has stuffed his trunks with luxuries, under the
designation of necessaries, and his father has not been
November has slowly
sparing of money or good advice.
melted into December, whilst the dreary increase of dark-
ness has made our young collegian dream again and again
But Christmas, though it comes but once -
of home.
It is wet and
year, never forgets its appointment.
windy-yet to him it is brighter and calmer than a sum-
mer eve. It comes intrusted with a mother's embrace,
and a father's cordial welcome, with the cheerful fireside
and merry sisterhood, and with the indefinite and incal-
culable enjoyments of the season.

"Joannes Horner, in classi prima," is now a bustlis? and agitated youth, on the eve of his departure for Indis -for that fairyland of promotion and treasure, from The sunny days of summer are exceedingly pleasant, which men return with castles and commissions in both particularly betwixt sunset and midnight, when the bat pockets. He is engaged in spending his last Christ(like the schoolmaster of late years) is abroad, and the mas previous to his departure for the East. The embry voice of the invisible land-rail is loud and harsh in the colonel is now in full feather of boyhood, and around furrow, and the night-clock is booming on the breath of him are collected those whom friendship and affective Amidst the festivities of the twilight; but then this is the season of repose, and, in have endeared to him. fact, all sensible and well-disposed animals, with the ex- evening there is an overruling spirit of sadness, and the ception of owls and lovers, are now sound asleep. Sun- mother is often observed withdrawing from the view of rise, too, about the twenty-first of June, is, I have been those very gambols which her experience and good-nature had suggested. There is, besides, one of this party, informed on good authority, exceedingly splendid and refreshing; but then, again, it passes unheeded and unap- who, though she can lay no claim to consanguinity, preciated by all whose consciences or evil deeds will per- perhaps dearer to him than a sister! mit them to sleep. Upon the whole, then, summer, after all that has been said and sung about her, is in fact but a sorry substitute for the snug evenings and social comforts of winter-for their multiplied and diversified enjoyments,--over which “ woman," in all the magic of her presence,—over which, lamp, candle, and fire-light, are wont to preside. From the heats and oppression, from the listlessness and langour, of a summer day, it is in vain to attempt an escape; whilst the snows, and frosts, and blusterings of winter,

“But bind us to our cheery hearth the more!"

The storms without "may rage and rustle," and may "define the day delightless ;"—what is that to you and me, over our Christmas pie or our New-year's goose? Put but the poker a second time into that bleezing, sportive fire, and we shall make even winter himself, under the snows of age, sing, and loudly, to

"The year that's awa!"

"The year that's awa!" Ay, thereby hangs a tale, as long as any of Canterbury, -a tale which links the cradle to the sod-the joys of childhood with the sorrows of age-a tale which takes up "little Jack Horner," sitting in his corner, amazingly snug, eating his Christmas pie! And what lady or gentleman is there in this merry Christmasparty who does not envy Jack ?-the little rogue, how knowingly he puts in his thumbs and pulls out the plums, congratulating himself all the while on his good conduct, which he evidently substitutes for his good fortune, “Oh! what a good boy was I!"

But Jack has now entered upon his teens. Associated with his fellows, he is now busy penning a Latin peti

Captain-Major-Colonel Horner, has now, after protracted absence, returned to his home and his friend but the one is in the possession of a stranger, and the fond mother and the provident father of his youth are now sleeping under a marble slab, whilst that warm heart which beat so forcibly, almost so audibly, at his parting has long ceased to experience joy or disappointment.

The present Christmas has arrived. "Colonel Horner's"
hall is filled with guests, and the hours trip gaily along ;
yet still, as from his elbow-chair he casts his eyes over
the merry group that now is, and recalls that which c
was, he sighs for the " that's awa!"
year

The day it is short, and the winds they are chill,
And the mountains are whiten'd wi' sna';
Then fill up your glass wi' a hearty good will,
And," here's to the year that's awa!"

THE FROSTY DAY.

By William Tennant, Author of " Anster Fair,” &c.
Now the skies are clear and fair,
Not a cloud doth harbour there;
Thrilling frost doth purify
All the rheum-engendering sky;
Now heaven's jasper joists are seen,
Now the sun, from ocean green,
Doth his princely head unfold,
Tiara'd with more burning gold,
And, as we sit at breakfast all,
Flings our blithe shadows on the wall.

Now his steeds, with lazy leap,
Seem to slant along the deep;

Gently, gently jogg'd and driven Up their little arc in heaven ; Now he's on his mid-day tower, Yet our windows scoff his power; See the forests rich and fair, Painted by Frost's finger there, How they flourish in his spiteFrozen foliage, wild and white!

Frozen forests only now

Flourish on our panes and grow;

Look! Earth's groves, how lean and bare!
How they shiver in the air!

Fringed with rime all crisp and hoary,
Not a leaf to tell their glory!
Hedges, too, are stripped clean,
Robin finds them now no screen,
But our thresholds ventures near,
Pecking, pecking, without fear.

Hark! how sounds are heard from far!
Clank of hoof and clattering car!
How the sliding school-boy's shout
Rattles in the sky about!
How the skater's iron heel
Grides the ice with sudden wheel!
And the curler's stones rebound,
And the echoes round and round
Shout to the large-orbed sun,
What merry feats on ice are done!

Now the sun is setting fast,
See! his disk, how broad and vast!
Gilding every chimney-head
With his arrows, fiery-red;
Whilst, in contrast with his beams,
Dusky smoke each chimney streams;
Up it rises straight and high,
Pillars joining earth and sky:
Now the sun is down; and all
Curlers court their dining-hall.

Come, my friend, and dine with me,
Or let me banquet it with thee;
Or let us seek some neutral room,
Where fire and candles chase the gloom;
With simple cates and mod'rate wine,
Where Plato's sapient self might dine;
With speech of unprepared flow,
And hearts of ne'er-abating glow,
And childhood's gladsome, guiltless glee,
Mix'd with divine philosophy.

And ever and anon our theme

Be the great Dead, of mind supreme;
The sense of Plutarch, Homer's fire,
Anacreon's feast-rejoicing lyre;
Luxuriant Livy, Tully sage,

Or Shakspeare's passion-painting page;
Wild Ariosto's buxom bloom,
Or Dante's hell-depicting gloom :
(His gloom will but the more up-light
Our spirits with celestial light.)

But should our supple souls unbend,
And Laughter's jolly star ascend,
A thousand themes, as bright as moru,
By every passing day are born;
There's little doubt, I think, we'll find
Rich funds of laughter to our mind;
That Horace' self, were he alive,
And knew he how our humours thrive,
Would leave his Sabine farm to be
The third glad soul with you and me!

A STORY OF THE FORTY-SIX.

By the Ettrick Shepherd.

On the 17th of July, 1746, there was a tall raw-boned Highlander came into the house of Inch-Croy, the property of Stewart Shaw, Esq., in which there was apparently no person at the time but Mrs Shaw and her three daughters, for the Laird was in hiding, having joined the Mackintoshes, and lost two sons at Culloden. This Highlander told the lady of the house that his name was Sergeant Campbell, and that he had been commissioned to search the house for her husband, as well as for Cluny, Loch-Garry, and other proscribed rebels. Mrs Shaw said, that she would rather the rudest of Cumberland's English officers had entered her house to search for the Prince's friends, than one of the Argyle Campbells—those unnatural ruffians, who had risen against their lawful Prince, to cut their brethren's throats.

The Highlander, without being in the least ruffled, requested her to be patient, and added, that at all events the ladies were safer from insult in a countryman's hands, than in the hands of an English soldier. The lady denied it, and in the haughtiest manner flung him the keys, saying, that she hoped some of hers would yet see the day when the rest of the clans would get their feet on the necks of the Campbells. He lifted the keys, and instantly commenced a regular and strict scrutiny; and just as he was in the act of turning out the whole contents of a wardrobe, the lady, in the meanwhile, saying the most cutting things to him that she could invent, he stood straight up, looked her steadily in the face, and pointed to a bed, shaking his hand at the same time. Simple as that motion was, it struck the lady dumb. She grew as pale as death in a moment, and both she and her eldest daughter uttered loud shrieks at the same instant. At that moment there entered an English officer and five dragoons, who hasted to the apartment, and enquired what was the matter.

"O, sir," said Mrs Shaw, " here is a ruffian of a sergeant, who has been sent to search the house, and who, out of mere wantonness and despite, is breaking every thing, and turning the whole house topsy-turvy."

"Oho! is that all ?" said the cornet: 66 I thought be had been more laudably employed with your ladyship or some of the handsome young rebels there. Desist, you vagabond, and go about your business;—if any of the proscribed rebels are in the house, I'll be accountable for them."

"Nay, nay," said the Highlander, "I am first in commission, and I'll hold my privilege. The right of search is mine, and whoever are found in the house, I claim the reward. And moreover, in accordance with the orders issued at head quarters, I order you hence.”

"Show me your commission then, you Scotch dog; your search-warrant, if you so please?"

"Show me your authority for demanding it first." "My designation is Cornet Letham of Cobham's dragoons, who is ready to answer every charge against him. Now, pray tell me, sir, under whom you hold your commission?"

"Under a better gentleman than you, or any who ever commanded you."

"A better gentleman than me, or any who ever commanded me?-The first expression is an insult not to be borne. The other is high treason; and on this spot I seize you for a Scotch rebel, and a traitor knave."

With that he seized the tall red-haired loon by the throat, who, grinning, heaved his long arm at him as threatening a blow, but the English officer only smiled contemptuously, knowing that no single man of that humiliated country durst lift his hand against him, especially backed as he was by five sturdy dragoons. He was mistaken in this instance, for the Highlander lent him such a blow as felled him in a moment, so that, with a heavy groan, he fell dead on the floor. Five horse-pistols were instantly pointed at the Highlander by the dragoons, but

dred dangers, mostly arising from their own friends. particular, the very first night of their flight, in one of t woods of Athol, at the dead of the night, they were « rounded by a party of the Clan-Donnach, and would ha been sacrificed, had not Stewart Shaw called out, lach! Càrdeil Cearlach!" or some words to that effe which awakened as great an overflow of kindness. lonel Roy Stewart and Loch-Garry escaped on foot, a fled towards the wild banks of Loch-Erriched, where th remained in safety till they went abroad with Pra Charles.

It is amazing how well this incident was kept sect as well as several others that tended to the disgrace of t royalists, owing to the control they exercised over t press of the country; but neither Duke William, n one of his officers, ever knew who the tall red-haired S

The ladies of Inch-Croy did not escape so well, Cumberland, in requital for a disgrace in which the were nowise influential, sent out another party, w plundered the house and burnt it, taking the ladies i custody, and every thing else that was left on the la of Inch-Croy and Bally-Beg-an instance of that me and ungentlemanly revenge for which he was so note ous.

he took shelter behind the press, or wardrobe, and with his cocked pistol in one hand, and drawn broadsword, kept them at bay, for the entrance ben the house was so narrow, that two could not enter at a time; and certain death awaiting the first to enter, none of them chose to run the risk. At length two of them went out to shoot him in at a small window behind, which hampered him terribly, as he could not get far enough forward to guard his entry, without exposing himself to the fire of the two at the window. An expedient of the moment struck him; he held his bonnet by the corner of the wardrobe, as if peeping to take aim, when crack went two of the pistols at his bonnet, his antagonists having made sure of shooting him through the head. Without waiting farther, either to fire or receive theirs, he broke at them with his drawn sword; and the fury with which he came smashing and swearing up the house on them appalled them so horri-geant Campbell was, who overthrew their six dragoon bly, that they all three took to their heels, intending probably to fight him in the open fields. But a heavy dragoon of Cobham's was no match for a kilted clansman six feet high; before they reached the outer door, two of them were cut down, and the third, after a run of about thirty or forty yards. By this time, the two at the west window had betaken them to their horses, and were galloping off. The Highlander, springing on the officer's horse, galloped after them, determined that they should not escape, still waving his bloody sword, and calling on them to stop. But stop they would not; and a grander pursuit never was seen. Peter Grant and Alexander M'Eachen, both in hiding at the time, saw it from CraigNeart, at a short distance, and described it as unequalled. There went the two dragoons, spurring on for bare life, the one always considerably before the other, and, behind all, came the tall Highlander, riding rather awkwardly, with his bare thighs upon the saddle, his philabeg flying about his waist, and he thrashing the hind quarters of his horse with his bloody sword, for lack of spurs and whip. He did not appear to be coming up with them, but nevertheless cherishing hopes that he would, till his horse floundered with him in a bog, and threw him; he then reluctantly gave up the chase, and returned, leading his horse by the bridle, having got enough of riding for that day.

The two Highlanders, M'Eachen and Grant, then ran from the rock and saluted him, for this inveterate Highlander was no other than their own brave and admired Colonel, John Roy Stewart. They accompanied him back to Inch-Croy, where they found the ladies in the greatest dismay, and the poor dragoons all dead. Mrs Stewart Shaw and her daughters had taken shelter in an outhouse on the breaking out of the quarrel; and that which distressed her most of all was, the signal which the tremendous Highlander made to her; for, beyond that bed, there was a concealed door to a small apartment, in which her husband, and Captain Finlayson, and Loch-Garry, were all concealed at the time, and she perceived that that door was no secret to Sergeant Campbell, as he called himself. When the pursuit commenced, the ladies hasted to apprise the inmates of their little prison of the peril that awaited them; but they refused to fly till matters were cleared up, for they said, that one who was mangling the red coats at such a rate, could scarcely be an enemy to them. We may conceive how delighted they were on finding that this hero was their brave and beloved CoJonel Stewart. He knew that they were concealed in that house, and in that apartment; and perceiving, from the height where he kept watch, the party of dragoons come in at the strait of Corry-Bealach, he knew to what place they were bound, and hasted before them, either to divert the search, or assist his friends in repelling the aggressors.

THE SEA-Bird wandeRING INLAND.
By Mrs Hemans.

Thy path is not as mine:-Where thou art blest
My spirit would but wither:-my own grief
Is in mine eyes a richer, holier thing
Than all thy happiness.

HATH the summer's breath, on the south wind borne,
Met the dark seas in their sweeping scorn?
Hath it lured thee, Bird! from their sounding caves,
To the river shores where the osier waves?

Or art thou come on the hills to dwell,
Where the sweet-voiced Echoes have many a cell?
Where the moss bears print of the wild deer's tread,
And the heath like a royal robe is spread?

Thou hast done well, oh! thou bright Sea-bird!
There is joy where the song of the lark is heard,
With the dancing of waters through copse and dell,
And the bee's low tune in the fox-glove's bell.

Thou hast done well:-Oh! the seas are lone,
And the voice they send up hath a mournful tone;
A mingling of dirges, and wild farewells,
Fitfully breathed through its anthem-swells.

-The proud Bird rose as the words were said;
The rush of his pinion went o'er my head,
And the glance of his eye, in its bright disdain,
Spoke him a child of the haughty main.

He hath flown from the woods to the ocean's breast,
To his pride of place on the billow's crest!
-Oh! who shall say, to a spirit free,

66

There lies the pathway of bliss for thee!"

CHRISTMAS IN OUR OWN LAND.

By Dr Memes, Author of "Life of Canova," "Histe of Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture,” &c.

Yea, Truth and Justice then

Did down return to men,

Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing,
Mercy did sit between,

Throned in celestial sheen,

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering, And heaven as at some festival,

Did open wide the gates of her high palace hall.

There was now no time to lose. Mr Shaw, Captain Finlayson, Alexander M'Eachen, and another gentleman, CHRISTMAS!-mysterious, but wise and beneficent whose name I have lost, mounted as King George's dra- ming of the heart, over which a single sound can goons, effected their escape to Glasgow through a hun-call into power and efficacy countless sympathies, and

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