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ever been more happy in the exertion of his talents, than in the present instances. The bust of Charles Kemble, besides being an admirable likeness, exhibits great power and spirit, and is full of life. The bust of Miss Kemble, though in a different and more subdued style, is one of the most striking likenesses we ever remember to have seen achieved by this art. They have been finished in an amazingly short time, and in every way reflect the highest credit on Mr Macdonald. In connexion with this subject, we may mention that Lauder is at present engaged on a portrait of Macdonald, in the costume of a Greek sculptor, which bids fair to do all honour both to the painter and the sculptor.

CHIT-CHAT FROM LONDON.-The second volume of Moore's Life of Byron will be embellished by a portrait taken by Saunders, when his lordship was only 19 years of age, and which is said to have all the beauty, without the care, which the mental old age of 28 or 30 brought upon his features. It represents him in a sailor's dress, and Scotland, the land of his childhood, is the back ground.-An amusing advertisement appeared the other day in a provincial paper, containing a pretty fair hit at trial by jury, as illustrated on some recent occasions. It is in these words:-"As law cases appear now to be decided more by the state of the stomach than of the conscience, a medical man proposes to take jurymen into training, so as to accommodate their stomachs to undergo any degree of fasting which may be required. When these jurymen shall be trained, they will be let out to hire, at various prices, according to circumstances."-An excellent engraving of Miss Mitford has just been published. She is not beautiful, but there is a great deal of both sweetness and intellect in the expression of her face. It is to be regretted that we have no really good engraved portraits of either Southey, Coleridge, Wilson, Croly, Horace Smith, Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, Barry Cornwall, Allan Cunningham, Alaric Watts, Theodore Hook: and, unless we

have met with the originals, we are also left to conjecture the physiognomies of L. E. L., Mrs Hemans, Joanna Baillie, Miss Edge

worth, &c. This should be remedied.

They

CHIT-CHAT FROM DUMFRIES.-Our Exhibition has closed, and our College is not yet open. The former contained really good pictures from Richardson, Parker, Lauder, Graham, Bonar, Harvey, Scrope, Simpson, Colomb, Dobson, &c. The greatest favourite was Lauder's Quentin Durward, which unfortunately remained too short a time with us. Next in order came Graham's Saints and Roman Ladies. But the pictures which sell best here are landscapes and scenes from domestic life. They are not the worse of being small, and a great deal the better of not being dear. This is only our second Exhibition, and its results have been, on the whole, promising. The county gentlemen have come liberally forward in its support, both in allowing the gratis use of the Assembly Rooms, and in the matter of subscriptions, and the taste will spread with time. Indeed, Mr Dunbar, who took the principal management, has had more reason to complain of over-assistance than of any lack of goodwill. So anxious were some of his friends to aid him in filling up the rooms, that showers of old lumbering family portraits, coloured prints, and the paintings of lady amateurs, fell as thick around the wondering artist, as ever the immortal and victorious shower of gold round Danae. Even Bailie M'George, as soon as he had ascertained that Dunbar was not a Kangaroo, and that Exhibition did not mean a show of wild beasts, favoured them with his presence and advice. The Bailie-a learned natural historian, as you will infer from his doubts-is part-proprietor and occasional editor of our Journal. The able criticisms on the paintings in that periodical are understood to have proceeded from his pen. were composed, as Adam Rankine-the Cato and the Censor of our town-drily remarked, "in a very peculiar style of eloquence." They certainly frightened M'Diarmid from the field, who has scarcely hazarded a remark on this year's Exhibition in the Courier.-I expected to have been able to tell you something about our College, but as I have hopes of official information, you must wait a week or two. There is not much stirring in the literary world here. Mrs G. Richardson is in daily expectation of being delivered of a new volume. Bailie M'Minn's long expected volume of occasional orations has not yet appeared. The Bailie is a man of no common rhetorical powers. He once told me in confidence, that "the laddie Peel owed a' his succes to twa or three hints frae him on his mode of delivery, when he was visiting auld Sir Robert aince-afore he was Sir Robert."-Palmer's Gleaner is going on, although, I fear, scarcely with the success so neat a book and clever a selection deserves, John M'Diarmaid is as full of wonderful stories as ever. The world must not lose the instruction to be derived from his life. I have a short memoir of him by me, which I propose sending to you some of these days. The new editor of the Journal strives hard to emulate John. He reminds one strongly of the clumsy German Baron Jumping over all the stools and chairs in his room, "pour se faire vif."-So much for the present. If you keep my secret, you may hear more anon; but if you let my name slip out, no more dare I venture into Sinclair's back shop,-no more be allowed to beat Adam Rankine at draughts,-no more gratify my palate with M'Diarmid's superlative port; -the Commercial Reading Room will be closed against my approach,—and you may look in vain for more chit-chat from Dumfries.

CHIT-CHAT FROM ABERDEEN.-Two new periodicals are about to be started here, to be published monthly, and sold for sixpence each,-the one, intended for the refreshment of the sober part of the community, is to be entitled the Christian Investigator. Those gentlemen whose choler has almost got the better of their judgment respecting the hackneyed Apocryphal question, will adopt it, it is be hoped, as the vehicle through which to vent their vituperative viru lence, and not cram our newspapers with the offspring of their fantastic brains, as they have been doing for some time back. The other publication is to bear the rather radical-like appellation of the Aberdeen Independent, and is to be of most uncompromising liberal principles, in proof of which, we suppose, it is advertised to make its appearance on the 1st of August, which day unfortunately hap pens to be a Sunday. The Aberdeen Observer has waxed sarcasti on the seemingly immoral conduct of the proprietors of the Indepen dent, but the Christian conductors of the Investigator have also fixed on the same day. A person of the name of Warden is to be the edi tor of the Independent.-The last volume of Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia is very unpopular here, in consequence of its taking no notice of Aberdeen among the "Cities and principal Towns of Scot land."

LINES FOR A YOUNG LADY'S ALBUM. By H. G. B.

these lines, and yet they contain as much meaning as is generally found in compositions of this kind.

It would puzzle the most fastidious critic to point out a fault in

Theatrical Gossip.-The company of the English Opera-house commenced their season at the Adelphi on Thursday last, on which occasion Miss Kelly made her first appearance in London this year. -It is said that Taglioni, the dancer, cleared fifteen hundred guineas by her benefit at the King's Theatre.-Vauxhall has opened under favourable auspices.-A Miss Turpin has appeared at the Haymarket in the part of Polly, in the "Beggar's Opera';" but she does not seem to have a voice of much power.-Charles Lee is said to be so rigid in his economy at Drury-Lane, that performers, who, under other managements, received L.8 per week, are now offered L.3. Morton, instead of Reynolds, the dramatist, is to have the charge of the new pieces at this house.-Sinclair is performing in Liverpool.-Jones, late of the Theatre-Royal here, is about to open the Perth Theatre, of which he is the lessee. He takes with him a good number of the Edinburgh Company.-Miss Kemble and her father were to have performed with Alexander, in Glasgow, on Monday last, but in consequence of the King's death, they did not appear till Thursday. Their engagement was limited to three nights, and terminates this evening, after which they proceed to Dublin.-We observe that a corps de ballet is announced to appear speedily at the Caledonian Theatre, among whom are Madame Vedi and M. Albert. SATURDAY'S PERFORMANCE, JUNE 26.

The Grecian Daughter, & Scape Goat.
(Theatre closed.)

TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS.

We are reluctantly obliged to postpone the excellent article on the "Philosophy of Law" till our next.

We are afraid we shall not be able to give a place to "A Night on Benlomond." The sketch is well written, but is scarcely sufficiently powerful or original.-The essay on "Puppies" must stand over for nearly the same reason; and we regret that we cannot think the same author's recent poetical communication one of his happiest cfforts." The Exile of Eskdalemuir" seems to be a plain unvarnished tale, told with frankness and simplicity.

We had every desire to give a place to "The Poet's Feelings," by "W. M." of Glasgow, but on reperusal, we do not think the poem as a whole quite worthy of him.-We have received the communication from "J W." of Berwick-upon-Tweed. We are afraid that his verses, with some others, must lie over till our next "Editor in his Slippers." When he sends us the manuscript volume of which he speaks, we shall be glad to give him our opinion of it.-The verses by "J. P. B." of Aberdeen, shall have a place.-We cannot greatly encourage "Mejas Ceronam" to proceed with the manufacture of verses. The ballad on the death of M'Kay shall probably have a place in our next." The Advent of Despair," by " a Carmalite," and the "Lines found written on an Elm-tree in Hawthornden," will not suit us.-The lines on the death of the King, beginning, "While straying on Britannia's shore, I heard a mighty lion roar,"

will not do.

THE

EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL;

OR,

WEEKLY REGISTER OF CRITICISM AND BELLES LETTRES.

No. 87.

LITERARY CRITICISM.

SATURDAY, JULY 10, 1830.

An Account of the Great Floods of August, 1829, in the Province of Moray, and adjoining Districts. By Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, Bart. of Fountainhall, F. R.S E. Edinburgh. Adam Black. 1830. 8vo. Pp. 431. WHEN this large and handsomely-embellished volume was first put into our hands, we were afraid that it was out of proportion to the importance of the subject of which it treats. Not having actually witnessed any of the floods in Morayshire in August last, we were not quite prepared to understand how the mere circumstance of a few Highland rivers having overflowed their banks, should elicit an octavo of 430 pagès, embellished with maps and plans, and nearly a hundred engraved drawings. A perusal of the work, however, has put the matter in a different light; and though we still think that the worthy Baronet is rather diffuse in some of his descriptions, and that though his narrative had been more condensed, it would not have been less interesting, we are, at the same time, glad that the book has been written, and are of opinion that its execution, on the whole, reflects no inconsiderable credit on its author. We now feel as if we had indeed been present either on the Spey or the Findhorn, and that, so far from the floods having been of trifling consequence, even without taking into consideration the immense loss of property which they occasioned, they

exhibited as sublime instances of the power and the majesty of the element of water, as can well be conceived, and also placed human nature in so many new and strange situations, that an historian capable of fairly narrating its feelings and conduct when under their influence, was imperatively called for. Sir Thomas seems to have been admirably suited for the task. Himself a proprietor in the flooded district, he thoroughly understood both the people and the country, and had facilities for collecting information of all sorts, which almost no one else could have possessed. We are not even sure but that the very minuteness of the details in which he occasionally indulges, adds to their value as a whole. He presents us not only with a full account, in his own words, of the ravages the flood committed, but by frequently introducing • the ipsissima verba of the people themselves, who were exposed to the devastations, he makes us acquainted with all the emotions they experienced, and thus extends our knowledge of character and of human nature. To many of those "moving accidents by flood and field," of which Sir Thomas may say with Eneas, magna pars fui, there

is attached all the interest of the most highly-wrought romance; and we are confident that many a future writer of fiction will avail himself of the hints which they afford, to give additional attraction to his story.

Our author, in tracing the progress of the floods, commences with the river Nairn, following its course from the mountains to the sea; and so on with the Findhorn, the Divie, the Lossie, the Spey, the Deveron, the Don, and the Dee, always branching off, when any important tributary occurs, to discuss it also. In the course of his

PRICE 6d.

researches, Sir Thomas has not confined himself exclusively to incidents connected with the floods, but having had occasion to traverse many wild and rarely-frequented parts of the country, he has lost no opportunity of picking up curious traditionary reminiscences, which give variety to his volume, and serve to throw light upon the earlier habits and manners of the people. With these, however, we cannot at present interfere, being desirous to present our readers with some of the very graphic and picturesque details of the effects of the floods. We commence with an incident which occurred on the Nairn: JAMES MACINTOSH'S ADVENTURES.

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who, to add to his other misfortunes, is deaf, a circumstance
"I visited this poor man, now above 73 years of age, and
that rendered our conversation loud and long. He took
me into his house, a few yards from the foot of the bank I
have mentioned. It still exhibited wreck and desolation.
The very smell of it was like that of a house newly disin-
terred, after being buried for a century. The old man,
drenched and woe-begone, looked down from the bank on
the utter ruin of his farm, with the expectation of seeing
his house, and all that it contained, borne away by the bil
lows. For two days were he and his family kept out of
their dwelling. At length circumstances permitted them
to return to it, and thanking God for their personal safety,
they set themselves to put matters about the premises in order.
They were beginning to recover from their panic, when
the yet more terrible flood of the evening of the 27th visited
their habitation, and filled the rooms to the height of five
feet, as I ascertained from the stain it had left on the plas-
ter. Being more quickly alarmed on this occasion, their
flight was more precipitate. But,' said Mr Macintosh
to me, as we stood on his damp and disconsolate floor, I
minded me o' something I wad hae done ill wanting,
and so I wade back again, and crap in at that window
there, and after grapin' aboot, and gettin' haud o' what I
was seekin', I was gawin' to creep out again, when I be
thought me o' my specks.'- Specks!' roared I into his ear,
how could you risk your life for a pair of spectacles?'-
Trouth, sir,' replied he seriously, I couldna hae read my
Bible without them, and, mair nor that, they were silver
specks, and they were specks sent me hame in a praisent frae
my son, the yepiscopal minister in Canada.' This was un-
auswerable, and I was glad to learn that the result of his
boldness was the salvation of his specks,' as well as the
purse or pocket-book, into which I presume to interpret
what he called the thing he wad hae done ill wantin'.'
Not a particle of corn was spared to him, and even the
straw was so completely ruined, that he was compelled to
As he told
sell off his live stock, and to give up his farm.
me himself, he was three days on the hill looking over
this disagreeable affair;' yet I heard no murmur of com-
plaint escape him; and all his talk was of thanks to God
for the preservation of himself and family."

The floods on the Findhorn were on a still larger scale, not only carrying away isolated cottages, and breaking down bridges, but overflowing whole villages. The situation into which one family was thrown will serve as a specimen of the disasters which overtook hundreds:

OLD KERR'S ADVENTURES.

"Old Kerr's account interested them all. Seeing their retreat cut off by the flood, they attempted to wade ashore. But the nearer the shore, the deeper and more powerful was the current. The moment was awful. The torrent

increased on all sides, and night, dark night, was spread wuz the feght and struggle she had for life! Willin' wuz over them. The stream began to be too deep for the niece, she to save that! An' her haun', your honor! hoo she a girl of twelve years of age; she lost heart, and began to fought wi' that haun' It wad hae drawn tears o' pity fras sink. At this alarming crisis, Kerr seems to have been a heathen! An' then I had a dreadfu' spekalation for my gifted with preternatural strength and presence of mind. ain life, an' I canna tell the conseederable moments I was He seized the trembling girl, and placed her on his back, doon in the water, an' my aunty abeen me. The strength and, shoulder to shoulder with his wife, he providentially,' the waters at last brak' the bed, an' I got to the tap o't; but with the greatest difficulty, regained his own house. an' a dreadfu' jaw knockit my head to the bed-post; an' I Between eight and nine o'clock, he groped his way, and wuz for some time out of my senses. It was surely the led his wife and niece up into the garret. He could not death-grip I had o' the post; an' surely it wuz the Lord tell how long they remained there, but supposed it might that waukened me, for the dead sleep had cum'd on me, an' be till about two o'clock next morning, when the roof be- I wud hae faun, and been droon't in the waters! After I gan to fail. To avoid being crushed to death, he worked cam' to mysell a wee, I feelt something at my fit, an' I says. anxiously till he drove down the partition separating them to mysell, This is my aunty's head that the waters hae from the adjoining house. Fortunately for him it was com- torn aff!" I feelt wi' my haun', an' tuk haud o't wi' fear posed of wood and clay, and a partial failure he found in it, an' trumlin'; an' thankfu' was I fan I faund it to be naevery much facilitated his operations. Having made their thing but a droon't hen! Aweel, I climbed up, an' got a way good, they remained there till about eight o'clock in the haud o' the cupple, an' my fit on the tap o' the wa', an' susmorning, when the strength of the water without became teened mysell that way frae maybe aboot half past ten that so great, that it bent inwards the bolt of the lock of the night till three next afternoon. I suppose it wuz 12 o'clock house-door, till it had no greater hold of the staple than the o' the day before I saw my aunty again, after we had gane eighth-part of an inch. Aware that if the door should give doon thegither, an' the dreadfu' ocean aboot huz, just like a way, the back wall of the house would be swept down by roarin' sea. She was left on a bank o' sand, leanin' on her the rush of the water inwards, and that they would be side, and her mouth was fou o' san'. Fouk wondered I crushed to atoms, he rummaged the garret, and fortunately didna dee o'cauld an' hunger; but baith cauld an' hunger found a bit of board and a few nails, and, standing on the were unkent to me, wi' the terrification I wuz in wi' the stair, he placed one end of it against the door, and the other roarin' o' the waters aboot me, Lord save me!"* on the hatch forming the entrance to the garret, and so nailed it firmly down. At last the roof of the second house began to crack over their heads, and Kerr forced a way for himself and his companions through the thatch, as has been already told.

"We syne crawled out owre the tap o' the neist house,' said Kerr, in telling his own story, and on our way Jean's leg gaed throu' an awfu' gap atween the lumm and the roof. I then thocht to try Meggy Ross's winda in the front, but Jean wadna let me, for fear I might fa' i' the water, ant syne she thought a' wad be lost. I then gaed to the back, and tried to get into Hugh's house, but I wasna fit to break the kebbers o't, an' it was as weel, for a pairt o' it soon fell. I then teuk for the grun', and drappit down on a wee bit spot, where I fand an auld cupple-log which Hugh had bought for fire. I heezed it up. There was a hunnin' pin in't, and that was like a stap, and sae I got them doon, praised be the Lord!' Here the poor man gave a heartfelt sigh of gratitude.

"I then brak Hugh's back winda, and we got in. Hugh's twa kists war soomin' through the room like ony thing. There was a cauf bed and some claes there, and that keepit huz some warm; and as soon as it was some clear, Jean wadna bide in, for fear o' the house fa'in'. Whan we saw the boat first, we thocht it was for huz; but what was our thocht, when we saw it whurlin' awa doon the water again! "Did you pray at all?' demanded Mr Suter. 'Deed, sir, I dinna ken fat we did, but fan we heard the hooses fa'in' aboout huz, and it sae dark, troth we couldna think o' ony thing but death.""

The following story is of a still more tragical kind. Isabella Morrison was an elderly person, who lived with her aunt, Widow Speediman, an old bed-rid woman, in a hamlet, called the Broom of Moy. Isabella gives an account of the manner in which she and her aunt spent the night of the 4th of August, in these words:

ISABELLA MORRISON'S ADVENTures.

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"It was about eight o'clock, an' my aunty in her bed, fan I says till her, Aunty, the waters are cumin' aboot's;' an' I had hardly spoken, fan they wur at my back. Gang to my kist,' says she to me, and tak' oot some things that are to be pit aboot me fan I'm dead.' I had hardly tukken oot the claes, fan the kist was floated bodalie through the hoos. Gie me a haud o' your hand, Bell,' says my aunty, an' I'll try and help you into the bed. Ye're nae fit to help me,' says I; I'll tak' a haud o' the stoop o' the bed.' And sae I got in. I think we war strugglin' i' the bed for twa hours; and the water floatit up the cauf-bed, and she lyin' on't. Syne I tried to keep her up, an' I took a haud o' her shift, to try to keep her life in. But the waters war aye growin'. At last I got her up wi' ae haun' to my breast, and held a haud o' the post o' the bed wi' the ither. An' there wuz ae jaw o' the water that cam' up to my breast, an' anither jaw cam' and fuppit my aunty oot o' my airms. Oh! Bell, I'm gane!' says she; and the waters just chokit her. It wuz a dreadfu' sight to see her! That

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A scene which occurred on the river Spey, though less horrible, is not less forcibly told :

THE ADVENTURES OF JOHN GEDDES.

"Alarmed by the rapid growth of the river, the people of the other cottages crowded, as night fell, towards that belonging to Geddes, firmly believing that they should be perfectly safe in it. There nine men and women, and four children, sat shivering over the fire in their wet garments. The fagots were heaped high, and, as John Geddes himself says, We soon begud to grow braw an' hearty, when John Forsyth an' me gaed oot to big up the stable-door, an' saw the water growin' terrible! Ye're a' very merry, sirs,' said I, as I gaed in, but ye'll no be lang sae, Ye had better stir your stumps, and put things oot o' the gate, an' look till your ain safety! The words were hardly oot o' my mouth, whan in cam' the river on us. We lifted the mealkist, pat the wife an' her bit weene and the bairnies into the bed, an' the rest got upon kists an' tables. We pat the fire on the girdle, hung the girdle on the crook in the lum, an' stuck the lamp upon the wa'. But the water soon drooned oot the fire, and rose into the bed. I then pat twa chairs i' the bed, and the wife sat upon them wi' the little anes in her lap; but the water soon got up to them there. Syne I cut the ceilin' aboon the bed, pat a door atween the twa chair backs, laid a caff-bed on the door, set the wife an little anes aboon that, and then gaed up mysell to the couple-baulk, an' held the door firm wi' my feet, an' had an axe ready to cut the hoose-roof, in case o' need. The rest o' the fouk stowed themsells awa frae the water as weel as they could, on chairs, on the tap o' tables, an' kists. We were lang in this way, an' I cheered them the best I could, an' telt them the hours every noo an' than by my watch, that I hung upon the couple-leg i' my sight. But the water the lamp, an' left us a' i' the dark thegither. There was a raise an' raise, till aboot twa o'clock, whan it drooned oot groan, an' a cry that there was naething for us noo but death. Trust in Providence,' says I till them; trust in Providence, neebours. But dinna think that ye can be saved, unless ye mak' use o' the raison an' the faculties that God has bestowed on ye. I'll cut the roof the moment I see that naething else will do.' But, in trouth, it was an awsome night, what wi' the roar and ragin' o' the water, the howlin o' the wind, an' the blatterin' o' the rain without, an the cries and prayers o' the terrified fouk, an' the greetin' o' the bairns within, an' a' thing dark; an' me, as a body might say, hingin' atween the twa warlds, ilka moment expectin the hoos to gie way bodily; an' the very tables an' chairs the fouk war standin' on shakin' an' floatin' aneath them. Auld Jean Stronach, fourscore years of age, sat the haill night, amid a' the jostling, wi'a clockin' hen and a wheen chuckens in her apron. Some ane said till her, that she might hae ither things in her mind than a hen an chuckens, when she was on the brink of yeternity. Poor things,

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quo' Jean, I couldna think o' lettin' them be drooned.' one of her daughters had quitted the bridge only a few miAweel! when we war a' in the height o' despondency, nutes before. She was sitting by the fire when she heard Maggy Christie heard tongues thereoot, an', wi' very joy, the terrible crash. Oh, my son! my son!' exclaimed she, she jumpit doon frae the kist she was stanin' on; but, I starting up; 'he's gone! he's gone! my son! my son! I trow, she got sie a gliff o' the water, that she gied a roar, shall never see him again! And, rushing out, she stared an' lap upon the hearth, gruppit at the cruik to save hersell, with a frenzied air on the frightful chasm, wildly repeating an' wi' that she climbed up the lumm, and pat her head oot the same exclamations. Some of those about her would at the tap, wi' her face as black as a suttyman's. Oh! have persuaded her that her son was on the other side of the Jamie Mill, Jamie Mill,' cried she, 'ye're the blythest sight | river, but the awful truth was too apparent to permit so that ever I saw ! Keep us a', is that you, Maggy?' quo' well-meant a fraud to take effect. Jamie Mill; weel, I've seen blyther sights than you are, at this precious moment; but, black though you be, I maun bae ye oot o' that.' An' sae he crap up the roof, an' pu'ed her oot o' the lumm into the boat. When they cam' round to the door, the hoos was sae deep wi' water, that there was barely space to thrust our heads atween the stream an' the door-lintel, so that I was forced to dip the bit bairnies i' the water afore I could get them oot. That did gang to my very heart! Poor Jean Stronach lost five o' her chuckens, as they were draggin' her oot through the water into the boat; an' we war a' sae benumbed wi' cauld an' weet, that, I'm sure, she and the bairnies wad hae died had we been muckle langer there.' The boat was so full, that, to prevent its sinking, some of the men were compelled to creep on the house-top, and to wait there till it could return." We can afford space for only one other extract, which is of a different and grander description. Sir Thomas narrates the incident as usual, graphically and well :

the air.

THE FALL OF Tthe bridge of fochabers.

"The Bridge of Fochabers consisted of four arches, two of 95 feet, and two of 75 feet span each, making a total water-way of 340 feet. The view from it on the morning of the 4th presented one vast undulating expanse of dark brown water, from the foot of the hill Benagen on the one hand, to the sea on the other, about ten miles in length, and in many places more than two miles broad. The floating wrecks of nature, and of human industry and comfort, were strewed over its surface, which was only varied by the ap4pearance of the tufted tops of submerged trees, or by the roofs of houses, to which, in more than one instance, the La miserable inhabitants were seen clinging, whilst boats were plying about for their relief. And still the elements raved with unabated fury, so that not a bird could dare to wing "By eight o'clock, the flood was seventeen feet upon the bridge; but still its giant limbs magnificently bestrode the roaring stream, which, disparted by the opposing piers, closed around them in perfect vortices, forming a high curved crest from one bank to the other. The Duke of Gordon, who was on the bridge several times during the morning, Te had reined up his horse to the parapet, pointed out to his party the cauldrons that boiled about the pillars, and ridden away,-Lord Saltoun, and Mr Macdowal Grant, younger of Aradilly, had just crossed on foot,-the crowds of people who had been looking over the parapets at the wreck, carcasses of dead animals, and other bodies which were hurried through, had all run off to the south end, to see the forester and his men drive piles for the protection of the mound of approach, when Mr Gordon Macewen, a teacher of Fochabbers, and several others, were on their way back from the toll-house, on the red sandstone rock at the north end. It was about twenty minutes past twelve o'clock; suddenly a 1 crack, no wider than the cut of a sword, opened across the roadway, immediately over the second arch from the tollhouse, about three yards before them, and backwards, parallel with the parapet. Good God!' cried Mr Macewen, the bridge is falling; run for your lives! With one cry of alarm, he and his companions sprang forward in the direction of Fochabers. The crack yawned wide ere Mr Russell, one of their number, could step across it. He leaped from the falling ruins, and alighted on that part which was yet firm, with one foot hanging behind him in vacancy. Down went the whole mass of the two arches next the left bank, falling with the loose, shattered, and cloud-like appearance of an avalanche into the foaming surge below. For the fraction of a moment the furious stream was driven backwards with impetuous recoil, baring its channel to the very bottom, and again rushing onwards, its thundering roar proclaimed its victory, and not a vestige of the fallen fraginents was to be seen. "At the time the alarm was given, William Sivewright, mason; John Cuthbert, slater; and John Anderson, a lame young man, only son of Widow Anderson, the toll-keeper, were leaning over the parapet wall. Mrs Andersen and

"I saw them running and waving their hats,' said Sivewright, when narrating the circumstances; bat before I could guess what they meant, the parapet wall folded round before me, and parted from the roadway, which then seemed whole; but ere I had time to cry out, it was falling in a thousand pieces, cracking endlong and across from the centre. I sprang sideways past Anderson and Cuthbert, and leaped from fragment to fragment of the falling roadway, as if I had been flying. When I reached the rock, I was blind for a moment; and when I recovered and looked round, Anderson and Cuthbert were gone. In my confu sion, I had not at first seen Cuthbert, who now appeared, crossing the road. I congratulated him on his escape, and asked him the particulars. When the brig begud to fa',' said he, I made a jump to get past, but the shake jostled me ower to the tither parapet; a stane struck me, and the my hands at the gravel. Luckily for him, it was nearly road gaed awa beneath my feet. I then made a claught wi' as heard as a rock, though he did leave the mark of his fingers in it. When I made the loup,' continued Cuthbert, missed it, and fell on his back. The parapet wall tumbled poor Anderson made a claught at the tail o' my coat. He doon about him, an' I never saw him again.' The poor youth's body was found in the evening, about a quarter of a mile below, lying on his back, his great-coat entangled among some brushwood, and his hands held up, as if to save

himself.

when the bridge fell, was loud and agonizing. People ran
"The shriek that spread along both banks of the river
in all directions, clamorously enquiring for friends and re-
latives. Signals and shouts were exchanged from either
bank, to tell of the safety of individuals, and many were the
joyous recognitions that took place. The Duke rode in
and Mr Grant on the opposite bank, he waved his bat, and
great anxiety to the bridge; but on seeing Lord Saltoun
gave them a hearty cheer. During the afternoon, the peo-
ple crowded to the spot from all quarters, and many could
until they beheld its ruins with their ain een.'
not be persuaded that the Brigo' Spey' had actually fallen,

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There is a concluding chapter written with much sound sense and good feeling, in which a general review is taken of the effects of all these devastations, and in the midst of the distress which they have occasioned, a moral lesson is inculcated of high import. On the whole, we have no hesitation in characterising the work before us as one containing much curious and valuable information, and likely to remain for centuries the standard authority upon all matters connected with floods in this country.

Conversations on Religion, with Lord Byron and others; held in Cephalonia, a short time previous to his Lordship's Death. By the late James Kennedy, M.D. One volume, 8vo. London. John Murray. 1830. Pp. 461. We entertain all possible respect for the precept, "de mortuis nil nisi bonum;" only we do not think that any man is entitled to its protection, when, like the late James Kennedy, he carefully prepares a large work for publication, and then, just in order to muzzle the critics, and out of sheer malice to them, dies before it is printed. We think, moreover, that, independent of this circumstance, we have a good plea in law for treating the Doctor's work as if it were the product of a living author-and we will be judged by the Dean of Faculty, or by Lord Gillies himself, that model of a painstaking judge. Husband and wife are one-such a unity in the moral, as the Siamese youths in the physical, world. Now, putting the case that these interesting foreigners had perpetrated a burglary, and that one of them died before they could be ap

prehended, would it be any sufficient reason why the survivor should not be arraigned at the Old Bailey, that his umbilically-attached brother had to be trundled thither in a wheelbarrow alongside of him, like a lump of carrion? Assuredly no. Mr Justice Best would in all probability tell him—and tell him truly-that he might esteem himself happy that he had a natural make-weight to break his neck the sooner. Now this case is entirely in point. A husband and wife-who have been established to be exactly pari passu with the Siamese twins -meditate and carry into execution a dirty and catchpenny publication. The husband dies when the job is just all but completed, and his better half finishes it off. Shall she not be arraigned at the bar of public opinion? And shall not the corpus delicti, and the merits of the dear deceased, who had a finger in the pie, be thoroughly sifted? The point is clear as the sun at noonday. We move for judgment.

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We have called the "Conversations on Religion" a dirty publication; and we do so on the ground that the same designation has already been most justly awarded to all its noble compeers the books of Gamba, Parry, Blaquiere, Dallas, Beloe, Medwyn, Hunt, and their innumerable anonymous fellow-criminals. They are one and all of them guilty of prostituting their pens to the gratification of an idle and impertinent curiosity. They retail, for the gratification of the great and small vulgar, anecdotes, which the said vulgar have no right to know, and which every person, with the feelings of a gentleman, would have felt himself bound to conceal. Stray jokes, (bad as they generally are,) the free ebullitions of the social board, exclamations prompted by sickness, bodily or mental-all these are foisted in without any connexion among themselves, or any reference to the general habits ands tate of health of the individual, that could make them useful, as illustrative of Lord Byron's character. If we were to single out the late Dr Kennedy, or his disconsolate helpmate, and tell all the little details of their domestic menage, the curtain lectures the gentleman had to undergo, the lady's despair when a candle-end was wasted, or the Doctor (before his conversion) chanced to visit a pretty patient after her health was restored-God help us, what a hubbaboo would be raised! "Calumnies""Fiendlike intrusion upon domestic privacy"—these are sugar-sops to the delicate rebukes we should have to encounter. And yet we would just be doing to them what they have done to one worth ten times themselves, and all their generations; and doing too with much less chance of annoying them, for who the devil would care to read about them? We hold that every man, high or lów, has a right to pass his private hours free from the espionage of panders to a vulgar curiosity, and a man is not to be put under the ban of society, and denied this right, because he is one of those gifted beings whose works can instruct or delight the nations.

We have called the "Conversations on Religion" a catchpenny publication. Had Dr Kennedy lived to complete it, and had he published it under its present designation, the work would have most eminently deserved this title; for in that case Lord Byron's conversations would have constituted but a small portion of his intended book, and his lordship's name would have been hung out on the title-page, to lead the unwary to purchase. As it is, it stands upon a grade of the catchpenny scale not much lower. Mrs Kennedy found among her husband's papers the sketch of a work, with an outline of which we here present our readers. The work was to consist of four parts: In the first, he was to give a series of conversations, held with some friends in the island of Cephalonia, on the subject of religion; in the second, a condensed view of the external and internal evidences of Christianity; in the third, an account of his conversations with Lord Byron on religious topics; and in the fourth, an examination of the extent to which real Christian principles appear to pervade and influence the

different ranks of society; of the causes which have hitherto retarded, and the means which may in future promote, its progress. Now the first question that occurs is, what has Lord Byron done to be pilleried in this manner between the second and the fourth head of discourse? Or, supposing that the Doctor was entitled to dissect him in terrorem, and to take his back-bone, as some wag proposed of old Morton of Milnwood, to make a bridge from the one section to the other, would any man of correct feelings take advantage for this purpose of openings and weaknesses which he had spied out, in the confident intercourse of private life? Indeed, Kennedy seems himself to have had some misgivings on the subject; and he admits, in a letter to a friend, printed at the end of the volume now before us, that he was mainly determined to publihs, from the circumstance of reports having gone abroad respecting his conferences with Lord Byron, in which he did not cut exactly the figure he wished. Well, at the Doctor's death, his relict found only that part of the work which related to Lord Byron ready for the press; and this was exactly the portion best fitted for the market; so published it must be. It contained, indeed, besides her husband's four conversations with Lord Byron, a great many small anecdotes, collected from all quarters, which had no reference to the subject of religion. But even this was not, enough; for the lady, in her zeal to complete the charm, has thrown into her cauldron letters from Lord Byron about shoeing horses-from Colonel Stanhope about Lancasterian schools—from Dr Meyer about communications to a Greek newspaper; and, though last not least, not an account of her own school, for the education of Greek females, or of its success, but of the compliments paid to her on account of it. The lady's friends got alarmed. One of them wrote her a letter, (printed the last in her volume,) praying her in the most soothing terms to desist from her nefarious purpose. She received it (the late Doctor admired Shakspeare) "ere yet these shoes were old,” in which," with most wicked speed," she carried the "sheets" to her publisher; but the cry was still of Mr Moore's second volume-" It comes !" There was no time to be lost, so out starts her book; and thus we bid it welcome.

Since the book, however, is here, and what is done cannot be undone, we may as well enquire into its merits. It is no true wisdom that would reject a pearl because of its being found in an unsavoury local. But, on the present occasion, a short preliminary disquisition will materially alleviate the difficulties of our task of criticism.

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We forget the name of the reverend divine, who, on being petulantly told by some fanatic of his day, that “God had no need of human learning," calmly replied, that "he had still less need of human ignorance.' The class is not yet by any means extinct to which this monition was applicable; on the contrary, its numbers haye, of late years, materially increased. These persons seem to be of opinion that religion is of no avail, so long as it is not purified from the smallest admixture of talent. Speak to them of Taylor, Barrow, Tillotson, they turn up their noses, and refer you to the edifying lucubrations of " Boston's Fourfold State," and the savoury pages of the Tract Society's publications. They have the text, "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings," continually in their months; forgetful that our divine Saviour only meant to direct our attention to the lessons which a well regulated mind might draw from the naïve remarks of the least instructed-from the stammerings of an unperverted, though half-awakened consciousness. We do not deny that true religion can diffuse its benign influence through the breasts of the most illiterate. We merely say that all things else

good faith, conviction, and earnest zeal-being equal, a man of native genius and learning is a preferable guide to a naturally coarse and uneducated mind-that a Hoadley is likely to prove a more trustworthy instructor than a Whitfield. The time has not long passed when the fear. of misconstruction might have made us hesitate to avow these opinions. In the revival of religious ardour which

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