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be born a freeman ; the American only is bred a free man. The latter has this blessing in possession ; while the former cherishes a vague tradition of its achievement,

which is contradicted by the records of his country, and Letters from the West, containing Sketches of Scenery, the practice of his rulers." This is trash which, if it Manners, and Customs ; and Anecdotes connected with does not make a man laugh, is very apt to make him the first Settlements of the Western Sections of the angry. We have no objections whatever to hear AmeUnited States. By the Hon. Judge Hall. London: rica lauded as the very pet land of freedom ; but when Henry Colburn. 1828. 8vo, pp. 385.

a Yankee, not contened with this assertion, starts up to

tell us that we ourselves are all bondmen, and that our We do not like the spirit in which this book is writo constitution is a system of despotism from beginning to ten. An American has a right to be as patriotic as he end, we confess we should feel a pretty particular” pleases ; but he has no right to be arrogant or imperti- pleasure in knocking him down with a roll of Magna nent towards that country

from which he and his nation Charta. But it is not on the score of liberty alone, al. have originally sprung. It is true, that North America beit it is a theme on which, we doubt not, Judge Hall is now a great and an independent state ; and it is also could talk till “ crack of doom,” that he thinks it protrue, that it has not unfrequently been made to suffer un. per to attack us. Our national character he conceives der the taunts of narrow-minded and illiberal English. peculiarly obnoxious to the shafts of his wit ; and in men, who visited it with feelings of chagrin and disap- Letter VI., as well as frequently throughout the book, pointment, simply because they were no longer able to he thus writes concerning it :-" The fact is, that Eng. call it their own. But this spirit is rapidly dying out, lish travellers, and English people in general, who come and ought never to have been encouraged. At the very among us, forget that the rest of the world are not as worst, however, it was more justifiable on the part of credulous and gullible as themselves, and are continually any of the inhabitants of the mother country, than of attempting to impose fictions upon us, which we refuse those of its quondam colony. They long stood in a re- to credit. They seem not to be aware that we are a read. lation to each other somewhat similar to that of parent ing people, and would convince us that they are a wise, and child ; and even yet, Great Britain is entitled to all valiant, and virtuous people, beloved and respected by the respect which maturity naturally obtains from youth, all the world ; while we are an ignorant, idle set of booand to the superior weight which a long-established and bies, for whom nobody cares a farthing. John Bull for. admirably balanced constitution must give to her politi. gets that his own vanity is a source of merriment with cal principles and opinions, over those of a people still the rest of the world.” How very cutting this is ! and raw and inexperienced in the art of government. It is | how admirably descriptive of the general dispositions of to Great Britain, indeed, that the United States owe Englishmen! How continually are they trying to im. every thing. They may, no doubt, by their own exer- pose upon the Americans ! and how supreme is the con

tions, ultimately crown themselves with glory; but, tempt with which that “ reading people” listens to their though they are now no longer in leading.strings, it fabrications ! But Judge Hall having thus ably ex. would be worse than ingratitude, were they to turn with pounded the British national character, the reader may, the serpent's tooth upon the nurse of their infancy. perhaps, wish to receive, from the same high authority,

Now, Judge Hall's book is full of petty insinuations a trait or two of American character. In Letter XV. we and sarcasms against the British, which'induce us to meet with these memorable words :-" There is no peothink very favourably neither of Judge Hall's heart nor ple in the world whose national character is better den head. His insinuations are, in most cases, untrue, and fined, or more strongly marked, than our own. If the in all „unnecessary. We shall particularize one or two, European theory on this subject be correct,” (a theory by way of specimen. In Letter I. we informed, that of straw, which Judge Hall very valiantly combats,)“ is " The tumults of Europe have driven hither (to Ameri- it not a little strange, that our Yankee tars, whether on ca) crowds of unhappy beings, whose homes have been board a frigate or a privateer, should always happen to rendered odious or unsafe by the mail ambition of a few play the same game when they come athwart an Eng. aspiring sovereigns. Here is no Holy Alliance traffick. lishman ? Is it not a little singular, that Brown in the ing in human blood, no sceptre to be obeyed, no mitre north, and Jackson in the south, who, I suspect

, never to be worshipped." This is vulgar cant; as if the poor saw each other in their lives, should always happen to emigrants whom poverty drives across the Atlantic had handle Lord Wellington's veterans exactly after the same been frightened out of Europe by the Emperor of Rus- fashion ? Accidents will happen in the best of families ; sia or the Pope ; or as if the greater proportion of the but wben an accident occurs in the same family repeat

unhappy beings" did not know just as little about the edly, we are apt to suspect that it runs in the blood.” "aspiring sovereigns,” and the mad ambition,” of This was, no doubt, considered a very pointed perorawhich Judge Hall complains, as the Red Indians do. tion; but we should just like to whisper“ friendly in But our author proceeds,“ Here they learn the prac. the ear” of Judge (all, that a peroration is always most tical value of that liberty which they only knew before effective when it is based on truth ; and that if he means in theory. They learn here, that the Englishman may to insinuate that an American frigate or privateer always

got the better of an Englishman, or that the soldicrs even heart enlivened by the beautiful symmetry of the Ohio. of the redoubted Jackson proved themselves in fair fight-Its current is always graceful, and its shores everywhere ing at all matches for Wellington's veterans, le unfor- romantic. Every thing here is on a large scale. The tunately lies—under a mistake. But even though he eye of the traveller is continually rcgaled with magnifi. had spoken the truth, what good end would so invidious cent scenes. Here are no pigny mounds dignified with a comparison have served ? Ought it not to be the great the name of mountains ; no rivulets swelled into rivers. aim of all writers upon this subject, to conciliate, as Nature has worked with a rapid but masterly hand; much as possible, two nations which are in many re- every touch is bold, and the whole is grand as well as spects so much alike, which possess the same language, beautiful; whiile room is left for art to embellish and the same religion, the same love of freedom, and which fertilize that which nature has created with a thousand ara sprung from the same common stock ?

capabilities. There is much sameness in the character The chief fault, therefore, of the “ Letters from the of the scenery; but that sameness is in itself delightful, West,” is the exclusive and irritating spirit in which as it consists in the recurrence of noble traits, which are they are composed. But another objection is to be found too pleasing ever to be viewed with indifference ; like in the trilling and almost juvenile vein of writing, in the regular features which we sometimes find in the face which the author frequently indulges. The following of a beauti'ul woman, their charm consists in their own sentences will explain more cxactly what we mean :- intrinsic gracefulness, rather than in the variety of their “ We arrived at Cincinnatii in the morning ; but when expressions. The Ohio has not the sprightly, fanciful I inform you that I remained only a few hours, and that wildness of the Niagara, the St Lawrence, or the Sus. the greater part of this time was spent with a friend, and quelinna, whose impetuous torrents, rushing over beds that friend a lovely female, a companion of my dancing of rocks, or dashing against the jutting cliffs, arrest the days, (the Italics are Judge Hall's,) you will not be ear by their murmurs, and delight the eye with their surprised if I add, that I have nothing to relate concern- eccentric wanderings. Neither is it like the Hudson, ing this town. Those days may be over with me in margined at one spot by the meadow and the village, which the violin could have lured me from the labour and overhung at another by threatening precipices and of study, and the song from the path of duty; but never, stupendous mountains. It has a wild, solenin, silent if I know myself, will that hour come when woman shall sweetness, peculiar to itself. The noble stream, clear, cease to be the tutelary deity of my afections—the house. smooth, and unruffled, sweeps onward with regular ma. hold goddess of my bosom! Think me an enthusiast, jestic force. Continually changing its course, as it rolls or a great dunce, if you please; but never, I pray, if from vale to vale, it always winds with dignity, and, you love me, believe that I could think of statistics avoiding those acute angles which are observable in less with a fair lady at my side, or that I could hoaril up powerful streams, sweeps round in graceful bends, as it materials for a Letter from the West, while a chance disdaining the opposition to which Nature forces it to presented itself to talk over my old courtships, and submit. On each side rise the romantic hills, piled on dance once more my old cotillons.” Now, we do not each other to a tremendous height; and between them object to Judge Hall, or any one else, “ talking over are deep. abrupt, silent glens, which, at a distance, seem old courtships,” and “ dancing old cotillons,” in time inaccessible to the human foot; while the whole is coand place convenient; but we do object to Judge Hall vered with timber of a gigantic size, and a luxuriant fo“ dancing old cotillons," when he ought to be giving us liage of the deepest hues. Throughout this scene there “ Sketches of Scenery, Manners, and Customs.” How is a pleasing solitariness, that speaks peace to the mind, ever, the Judge is a gallant man, and his gallantry is ap- and invites the fancy to soar abroad among the tranquil parent frequently throughout the volume, where no gal- haunts of meditation. Sometimes the splashing of the lantry should be.” “I have always had a wonderful pre oar is heard, and the boatman's song awakens the surdilection,” he gravely remarks in Letter X., “ for hand rounding echoes; but the most usual music is that of some faces ; and I do verily believe, that if my breast the native songsters, whose melody steals pleasingly on were darkened by the heaviest sorrows, the rays of beau- the ear, with every modulation, at all hours, and in

would still strike to its inmost recesses, and there every change of situation. The poet, in sketching these would still be a something there to refract the beams." solitudes, might, by throwing his scene a few years back, This is very poetical in Judge Hall, and is perhaps add the light canoe and war-song of the Indian ; but given to us as one of the “ Anecdotes," mentioned in the peaceful traveller rejoices in the absence of that the title-page, as “ connected with the first settlements which would bring danger, as well as variety, within his of the western sections of the United States."

reach." P. 81-3. We must not, however, close our remarks, without admitting that, in several respects, this work possesses Judge Hall has a great horror of the Quarterly Reconsiderable merit. The first half of the volume is, on viewers ; should they notice him at all, we suspect that the whole, too exclusively topographical, geographical, horror will not be diminished. and Kentuckyish, to afford much interest to a foreigner. But the later Leiters, in which more general subjecis are discussed, though often sprinkled with puerilities and absurdities, contain many good things. We like Christmas ; a Poem. By Edward Moxon. London. best the Letters on the Names of Places in America, in

Hurst, Chance, and Co. 1829. which the subject is treated philosophically and histori. Without any reference to the book before us, it may cally,-on the Back-woodsmen, and the story of the justly be said, that Christmas is a poem. All its old Harpes, the murderers,—on the Missouri Trapper,-associations,-all its harmless revelries,--all its merry on Popular Superstitions, and parts of the epistles on meetings,-all its blazing hearths, and looks and words Emigration, and National Character. As a favourable of domestic love,are full of the very essence of poetry. specimen of the author's style, we select the following The season of the year, too, is full of poetry. The driz. short description of

zling, dull uncertainty of November, that glimmers be

tween Autumn and Winter, has passed away, and hoary THE SCENERY OF THE OHIO.

Winter sits alone upon his throne, in uncompromising “ The heart must indeed be cold that would not glow sternness. True it is that, of late years, a most astonishamong scenes like these. Rightly did the French calling mildness seems to have crept into the winter months, this stream La Belle Rivière, (the beautiful river). The and that they who, in accordance with long usage, bave sprightly Canadian, plying his oar in cadence with the continued to assume the cloak and great-coat, have been wild notes of the boat-song, could not fail to find his heard to complain of the heat of the temperature, even

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in the once nose-biting months of December and Janu- meet again under similar circumstances. Death will ary. Such a thing was unknown to our ancestors. Long destroy, or space will separate, or the world will alienate. periods of hard, black frost, succeeded by still longer Let any one say to himself,—“ How did I spend my periods of snow, three feet deen, to them constituted win. Christmas last year, or the year before,—where, and ier. The north-wind came cuitingly in at every crevice, with whom ?" The answer will show him the change -the skies were blue and cold ; from the tops of the that has taken place. Let him look back through distant hills, down to the very shores of the ocean, all the vista of his life, and he will find that his ChristFas white ; and the sea itself was the only unfrozen, and, mas has materially varied every revolving December. consequently, almost unnatural object in the view. It is Groups will start up before him-scenes and faces that strangely different now. The very climate seems to be know him no more. Yet, in those days that are gone, humouring the oblivion that has fallen upon old customs. the very possibility of future change came over his A snow-storm is a rare occurrence; a regular steady frost, soul like a dark cloud that seemed to shut out the sun changing the smooth surface of lake and pond into com- for ever. pact solidity, is a thing for schoolboys to dream of, -not “ 'Tis strange—'tis passing strange—how soon their to know. All the leading members of the Skating Club will be dead and buried before an opportunity be again Tho' sparkle after sparkle dies on life's o'er-mantling

places are fill'd up, afforded them of exhibiting their accomplishments. Though the sun still “ peeps over the western hills,”

Time and change_how inseparably are they connect. “Like ony timorous carlie,”

ed! How do all the attachments of our early life-our he seems determined to spoil sport, and, as a kind of dry first loves_our enthusiastic passions, die out! Calmer practical joke, sends a beam or two additional towards and more subdued feelings succeed, and continued disthe earth, just to make people wonder what can have be- appointment, going hand in hand with laborious expericome of winter. The mail is never stopped now; villages enca, robs even these of their paler lustre, till life at are never in a state of snowy blockade; Cowper would length sinks into its long and dull December. While, die of perspiration, were he to wheel his “ sofa" so near then, the capability of enjoyment still exists, while the fire as he once did ; and Thomson would look in vain some honest and endobling emotions linger in the bofor the advent of his old friend “ to rule the varied year.” som, let them not sleep in apathy, but with a mirthful It is not to be denied that the world is getting warmer;

seriousness talk over the past, lighten up the present, and we should not be surprised were it to become too and prepare for the future. warm for any of us ere long.

We have not yet said a word of Mr Moxon's poem, Yet Christmas is Christmas, in spite of the atmo. and we do not intend saying many. It is scarcely worsphere. Patriotism, religion, and brotherly love, alike thy of his subject. Mr Moxon is a tolerably pretty ballow its reminiscences. Modern fashion is striving hard rhymester, but no poet. He wants the vivida vis_the to bary them under her tinsel garments ; but let the good fire_the feeling—the inspiration. His muse is a little and the talented of the land resist her encroachments. -ambling pony, and carries him safely enough through Well has it been said by Charles Lloyd,

his descriptions of Christmas and Christmas sports. But

were Mr Moson to mount Pegasus, his feet would be “ My vexed spirit blamed

out of the stirrups in one minute, he would hold by the That austere race, who, mindless of the glee mane for the next, and before the third had expired, he Of gnoul old festival, coldly forbade

would be sprawling on the high-road, and Pegasus Th' observance which of mortal life relieves

would be seen galloping up the mountains in his native The languid sameness, seeming, too, to bring Sanction with hvar antiquity, and years

freedoin, snorting and neighing his contempt. Long past." Were it for nothing else but the sake of childhood,

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE. Christmas should be a season dedicated to mirth. Time, with its ploughshare, may have gone over the heart of eld, and cut down its enjoyments

like the flowers of the field, never to spring again; but in the glad faces of

NOCTES BENGERIANE. youth there is reflected, as in a mirror, the far-back

By the Ettrick Shepherd. scenes of your own early life ; and if such recollections possess a tender and refining influence, streaming in like

(For the Edinburgh Literary Journal.) moonlight among the ruins of the present, why not se- MY DEAR MR JOURNALIST, cure them for the children of your affections ? The joy- A MERRY Christmas to you, and many happy reous and innocent time must soon be past,

turns of the season, not only to you, but to your new "When one day makes them blest for all the year;"

mistress, The Literary Journal, who really looks better

in her monthly lead-coloured gown and slippers, than I but seize it ere it pass, and give them one glorious day ever conceived she could have done when Aying about to travel with them through all the sorrows of after life, the house like the sibyl's leaves. You request me the

- it may save them from crime,-it may redeem them news from Yarrow; but deil a news there are that I can from despair,-it may colour their destiny.

think of. The salmon are swarming, and closetime very Nor would we be mistaken. We advocate no lawless ill kept by our feuars, &c. The hares lave either vanishand enervating dissipation, which, under the pretence of ed from the face of the earth, or have got the way of social conviviality, impairs the health and weakens the ensconcing themselves under the heath and long gra's so intellect. Such excesses are odious at all times, but completely that it is the same thing to us whether they more especially so during the solemnity that must al. are in the country or not. The geese are suffering,—the ways, more or less, accompany a departing year. It sheep thriving,—the ground particularly green,-and has been finely remarked, that in the Scotch national there is a close ryegrass braird an inch and a half long music, an undertone of sadness will be found to pervade on the crown of Henry Young's Siberian bonnet. all the gayest airs; and, in like manner, amidst all the But when I am writing to a friend, whatever is upfestivities of Christmas and the New Year, there ought permost with me must out, let it be as great nonsense as to be " an undertone of sadness." It is no light con- it will. So yesterday, as I was coming home with a good sideration that friends meet now who meet in such long hare over my shoulder, I espied a wight going up circles perhaps only once a-year.

They will never all our haugh in the strangest fashion I ever saw. He had

on a grey hat and a long coat, looking like faded rem. for I never saw ane sae sair reduced, an' as completely nants of gentility; and he was always running one while, daft, unless his ruin had been effected by woman.” and standing still another, and sometimes travelling “ Hilloa ! A hit ! a palpable hit !" cried he, springwith a motion like a pacing horse. It was impossible ing to his feet, and holding his side. “That was an to look at his gait without being moved to laughter, unfair lunge! I was taken at disadvantage there! Was and I thought him drunk. At length he run himself it fair, after challenging me to fight with a cut-and. off the road, and got entangled among the scaurs of thrust, to pull out a pistol clandestinely, and shoot me the river ; and though the way out was quite obvious, to the heart ? Yet that is what you have done. It is he could by no means discover it, until Gordon the inn- a wound that brings a thousand reminiscences to mind, keeper came to him, and set him once more on the high- too scorching to be borne by mortal man.

O woman, road. I came over to Gordon, and asked whether the woman! let no man break his jests or scatter his ge. man was daft or drunk ? Gordon said he supposed he neral and unqualified reflections over thee ; for if thou was both, for he was the queerest fish ever he had seen. art confided in, and trusted with that deference which is

He having gone by my cottage, I did not expect ever due to thy sex and relative situation in life, thou art all to see more of him ; but behold, as it grew dark, the same truth, honour, and fidelity; and sooner will the day wight came and placed hin self down before our kitchen change into night than thy love into laxity and indiffer. fire without any preamble. I went straight to see this ence. And why is it that we rail so much against thee outré person, and certainly his first address to me gave for fickleness and change? Because, whenever we suf. promise of some sport. He looked gravely over his fer from these, we feel that we have deserved it, which shoulder at me," James, bring me my slippers, if you makes the wound fester the more deeply. But if the de. please ?"

pravity of man will still sit like a canker in the flower “Faith lad, I hae nae slippers to mysell, as ye may of thy delicacy, let him feel the ground on which he see,” says I; “ an' I dinna ken where yours are stan- stands with thee,- let him be cast off and abandoned to nin'."

shame and contempt. The world often hears of thy dere. “ I beg your pardon, sir. Are you the master here ?” liction of thine own duty, but seldom of its bitter and “Ay, a' that's for him.”

discordant preludes. I have been a lover-yea, I have “ Humph ! who would have thought it? You are a loved as never man loved before or after me. I have very extraordinary gentleman, it seems ;-a very extra- been a husband_a parent. And what am I now? An ordinary person, indeed : at least so the world takes on outcast on the earth -a vagabond—a madman!” it to say of you."

“ Whisht, whisht! Moderate your vehemence a wee “Only a very plain, stupid, simple man, sir,” return. bit, man,” said I. “ Ye're no just a madman, Gude be ed I.

thankit, but only a wee thing crazed i' the head ; an' Faith, I think so; but I must be wrong. Come, I'm really sorry for't, for ye hae that in you that might sit down here, and sing me a song, and then I'll know hae been metal for the best moulded mind. Come, tell what is in you. Don't think I'll bid you do it for no- us some o' your love adventures; I'm mad fond o' love thing. I'll pay you for it, and that I will. Here's plen stories." ty of money. Why, now, that's too bad, you despise 6 Go to your prayers, James--you have much need ; me; but you do not know who I am, sir? I am ten and pray for an absolute and general indemnity to be times a greater man than you, for I too am an author, extended to all your household as well as yourself, for and besides am grandson to a lord ;—and I'll sing you you are all guilty alike. You think you sit like a little one in return.

prince here. These are all your servants; and you be. I inquired his name, but he shook his head, and re. lieve that you are beloved and respected by them to a plied—That will I never tell in this country. I have most superb degree. You kiss the maids and commend been imprisoned, maltreated, and sent to the house of them, and they laugh at you behind your back. You correction ; and though the mention of my name would scold the men servants and the boys, and think you have made my judges bow down before me, and lick the have cowed them into attention and regular subordina. dust, yet that name have I never mentioned in Scotland, tion; but no sooner is your back turned than they cheat nor would I, were it to profit me a thousand pounds. In you. Every one of the family cheats you. Your hinds the country here I go by the name of TUE MAN; but cheat you—your maids cheat you. Even your children if you have any particular occasion to address me by and your wife cheat you ; and ail your neighbours and name, you may call me Lord Archbald.”

dependents cheat you to a man. Yet there you sit in “What countryman are you?”

stupendous apathy, and will not so much as go to your “What is that to you? Who has any thing ado with prayers. Or could you not divest yourself of all these my name or my country? I am no thief, no murderer, incumbrances, as I have done, and soar away into the no notorious breaker of the laws, either human or di- unutterable regions of delirium, where one day is as a vine ; but I have been very foolish! very improvi- thousand years, and one day's journey as a survey of dent! Mine is a strange story !_But you will not sing immensity, where the spheres are all dancing round you, me a song, won't you? That is rather ungentlemanly. and the elements subject to your control ?" I regret asking you. But my story is soon told ; and “Faith, lad, I wish ye maunna hae been snapping up I am well used to think of it, if not to tell it. I was a doze o' opium, like Maister De-Quincy. But if you'll born to a considerable fortune; although a younger remember, it was a love story that I wantit, an' no a brother, I was independent with economy, and I meant definition o' the fields o' delirium. An' yet it maun be to have been provident and economical outgoing all pre- confessed that there is a dash o' poetry in siccan ex. cedent, had not every one of my whims misgiven. There treme vagaries. I have had dreams like these mysell was no imprudence on my part, for I always meant well sometimes. Have you ever tried your hand at poetry ?” in my speculations. I always meant to increase my “ Often. I have written more poetry than you have fortune ; and who can say there was imprudence in that? done; but my verses were never of that imaginative If matters went the contrary of what I had calculated kind: they consisted of invectives against my race and on, that might be an error in judgment, but not in in- against human nature. The King and his ministers tention. Even at the gaming-table, or on the race- have always moved my greatest indignation ; and my course, or in the lottery, I calculated with certainty on best verses have had their source in contempt of them gaining. But who can stand out against evil destiny !” and their measures."

“Oho! is that the gate how ye hae lost your siller ?" “Od, man, that beats a' the absurdities that ever I said I. “Ane needna be astonished at the result. But I heard uttered by a human creature. Ye maun be a expected to hear that you had lost it in some other way, great deal dafter than I apprehendit. For, in the first

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place, if ye set yoursell up to ridicule an' pour out your your wanderings, and restore that reason, which is only invectives against human nature, what else have you deranged, not blotted out.” that is imposing, grand, or beautiful in the creation of By this time the servants had all come in, and were God? Wad ye set the horses aboon us, as Dean Swift crowding round him, intent on the stranger. “What ill. does in his abominable Yahoo story? or the kye an' the looking fellows are these ?” said he ; " there's one looks cuddy.asses ! What kind o' society wad these form for as if he would storm hell, (turning to Wat Nicol); and a rational an' immortal being ? Or, taking the haill ani- here's another looks as if he had been there already, mal creation together, what kind o' warld wad they and made his escape, (meaning old Donald.) But I make ? Wad they sail the seas ? wad they navigate daresay you are all very good fellows. There are none of the rivers ? or was they Macadameeze their turnpike you major-generals, I suppose. (No, no.) Very well, roads? Deil's i’ the man! Without human nature in come round, and sit down here. Come, old fellow, give its fourfold state it would be nae world at a'. Is it not us a song. What the devil is all this whining sbour.” weel kend to the geologists that the Great Maker o' the Wat Nicol. I canna get a woment's time for thae universe tried this planet twice without the sovereignty beasts if I wad ever sae fain sing. I never saw aught of human nature, an' he had sae little mense o' his like them. They wad just tak a body to work on them handiwark, that he had as aften to overturn the haill night an' day. fabric, leaving nought but the bones of its brutal inha- Lh Archbald. You are working on no beasts just bitants to testify the existence of both ? As for the King now, friend,-only standing chewing tobacco ; I suppose an' his ministers, let folk rooze the ford as they find it. that is the hardest part of your employment. Come, I'm sure they canna hae done less for you than they hae give us a song ! done for me, but it shall be lang afore I either stain

Wat sings. paper or taint the air o'heaven with any obloquy against my Sovereign, whom I know to be the Lord's I'll sing of an auld forbeire of my ain, anointed, and without whose appointment he could not

Tweedlem, twaddlem, twenty-one,

A man that for fun was never out-done, have been placed there. Indeed, I have always thought

And his name was brave John Nicol o' Whun. it argued much in behalf of the virtue of the present

Auld John Nicol he lo'ed his glass, generation, that the Supreme Governor of the universe

Tweedlem, twaddlem, twenty-one, saw us deserving of such a kind and benevolent Prince And weel he likit the toast to pass, to reign over us. And I would have thought that your An' it's hey for brave John Nicol o' Whun ! own state would have led you rather to strains of pathos than invective. Have you never vented your feelings June day to sing ower a' his tricks.

Wat. I hae forgot the rest o't. It would tak me a in any of the former ?” “I have never succeeded much in that way, nor do I

Ld. Arch. Blow up! Prithee go on, old Cappernoity. remember these sort of verses so well as the others. The

Wut. Nah! I canna get a moment's time for thae following are some, among many others, which I com.

confoundit beasts. posed while lying in prison at Fort George ; but they

(Exit Wat, singing “ Hey for auld

John Nicolo' Whun !" are not equal to the worst of my satirical ones." Here he repeated several verses, in the Don Juan style,

Ld. Arch. Come, young man, give us a song. relating to our late and present monarchs, that were

Aye, that I will, man. truly horrible; then on Mr Perceval, Lord Castlereagh,

Sings. and several others, till at last he came upon the Rev.

Here I sit, the king o' the Yarrow, E. Irving, the stanzas upon whom were far too blas

An' lang I hope king to be; phemous to be set down here. The following are some My name it is Will Goodfellow, of the verses he had alluded to previously :

An' wha dare wrastle wi' me?

Stanes an' bullets an'a',
What tongue can speak the glowing heart,

Hammers an' mells an a',
What pencil paint the glistening eye,

At races an’ wrastles I beat them,
When your command came to depart

At hap-step-an'-jump an'a'.
From scenes of triumph, hope, and joy?

Ld. Arch. It is vexatious that your songs should be
Cross'd in life-by villains plunder'd,

so short here, when they are so full of glee. Come, More than yet you've given belief;

you tall girl, that suppose yourself so very handsome, Fortune's bolts have o'er me thunder'd,

will you give us a song ?
Till my very heart is deaf.

Nancy. With all my heart, my Lord.
Hard lives the willow by the strand,
To every pelting surge a prey;

Nor will it leave its native land,

Mary is my only joy,
Till every root is torn away,

Mary is blithe and Mary is coy,

Mary's the gowd where there's nae alloy-
So I, like the poor passive willow,

Though black-yet O she's bonny!
Cling unto my native shore,

Her breath is the birchen bower of spring,
Till the next returning billow

Her lips the young rose opening,
Cast me down for evermore.

And her hair is the flue o' the raven's wing-
Ah! who hath seen the desolation

She's black-but I she's bonny !
Of the earthquake's dismal reign,

The star that gilds the evening sky,
E'er can hope the renovation

Though bright its ray, may never vie
Of his peaceful home again?

Wi' Mary's dark an' liquid eye,
So I, distracted and forlorn,

The gem that cheers our valley.

In yon green wood there is a bower,
Look back upon my youthful prime;

Where lies a bed of witching power ;
And forward to the happy morn

Under that bed there blooms a flower,
That frees me from the hand of time.

That steals the heart unwary.
"Wae's my heart, for thy wounded spirit, poor fel. O there is a charm and there is a spell,
low !" said 1.' “ May he that provides a home for the hat, (and alack, I know too well!
wild beast of the desert, feeds the young ravens, and


that the tongue may hardly tell, tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, be with you in all

Though felt both late an early.

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