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A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.
GLASGOW, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1832.
PEPTIC PRECEPTS FOR PERIPATETIC POLITICIANS.
Our fathers, good men, were simple ninnies, who never thought of making inventions, and little dreamt of the wonders to be produced by the progress of civilization. They knew nothing of steam coaches, railways, or unknown tongues; and, if you had talked to them about the march of intellect, or the schoolmaster being abroad, they would have stared at you with uncomprehending amazement. The present age is the reverse of its predecessors in all this. It is an enlightened age, a moving age, and a supremely wise age; but the point in which it chiefly excells, is, that it is a talking age. By some strange anomaly every man is now born with it greater quantity of tongue than his progenitors possessed, and the world seems, all at once, to have been visited with the mania of loquacity. What is stranger still, this uncommon abundance of the faculty of speech, has been directed, as if by unanimous agreement, to the promulgation of theories, lectures, and orations upon one perpetual subject—politics. It might be thought from the numerous disquisitions which have been written and spoken upon the different forms of government, that one could not go wrong in choosing a new constitution for a nation, or in patching up the defects of an old one. Yet, some men there are, who, setting at nought the sapient advice of the thousand political maxims delivered down from antiquity, have taken a strange fancy into their heads that they are the only physicians qualified to minister to the distempers of a state, and are so possessed with this idea, as to sweat night and day, for the purpose of impressing it on the conviction of others. In our own country, and in our own neighbourhood, these self-inspired geniuses are so common, that we have thought fit to class them under one head, and style them by the general name of Peripatetic Politicians
We apprehend that there are few readers who will inquire, What is a peripatetic politician? But, in order that we may avoid all mistakes, it will be as well to describe the meaning of that term. A peripatetic politician is a man who is always moving from one place to another, with a pamphlet in his pocket, and a speech upon his tongue. He rides fast because his brains are light, and he isconstantlyshifting upanddown because he cannot keep steady anywhere. Nature has given him, at his birth, a certain propensity to restlessness, which characterizes him through life. Such a man is known in his school-boy years, by the floggings which he is perpetually receiving for robbing orchards, and other mad pranks; and it is always remarked of him '* That boy will never come to any good." It would SLeem, indeed, that the discipline to which he is then subJ*cted renders him unable ever after to sit still with a*ny comfort. As a youth, he distinguishes himself by »*n utter recklessness of the world's opinion. If he is P»oor, he hurries himself into some wild misadventure, a—nd procures occupation for his activity in the galleys or the tread-mill; or, if he is rich, he drives over old "^omen with his tandem, and generally contrives also to drive through his pockets. When this happens, his agility takes another bent, and he turns from despising the world to courting it. He writes speeches upon free trade or the corn laws, puffs himself off as Sir
Oracle Orthos, and appears upon the stage in a new character, as the great speaker of every great meeting. His restlessness is now transferred to his brains, which are set a-working with all the rapidity of a steamengine. His fire is etherialised into the sulphurous vapour of party spirit. His acting power is changed into an esteem of himself, and a contempt of all the world besides. He is seen hurrying along with wild and distracted looks, one hand in his pocket and the other sawing the air with vehemence. His step is enlarged to twice the length of which it formerly consisted. His muscles work with tenfold rapidity, and he seems to consider that, by the service of his limbs, the whole business of the nation is carried on, and that, just in proportion to the vehemence of his movements, he is to be accounted a consummate politician. As a man, then, he undergoes harder labour than he ever did before; for he frets, fumes, gasps, spits, stutters, all in one breath ; and, without being able to command the St. Vitus with which all his organs are affected. He spins from one town to another, till his brain reels with excitement, and throws off, in electric sparks, the terms of that logic with which it is always busy. He bounces into a public assembly, brimful of rhetorical words and phrases, and casts from his tutored lungs a quantity of unfinished sentences before the clock has twice told an hour. Quick as thought, he springs off again, to enlighten another part of the country with his presence; and, while he is even babbling over the roll of often-used expressions, his mind is labouring big with the prospect of another journey.
Poor man I how can he stand it? You see, by his cadaverous face and sunken eye, that the exhaustion is preying upon his enervated frame. Why, then, does he persevere? His ambition is gratified. He is proud even when he walks arm in arm with a tradesman, though himself descended from noble blood, because he can trumpet to the world that he has sacrificed the prejudices of his station. He is proud, although exposed to the mockery of wise men, because he is fortified by self-esteem, and by the adulations of the peripatetic disciples. But, when mounted on his serviceable steed, and prancing proudly along the crowded street, who shall describe his complacency? He is then as proud as the swarthy personage, at whose approach the streets of a city in the Western Indies used to echo with the cry, " Clear the road, clear the road, John the Barber's coming along."
Having now described the symptoms of the malady, under which peripatetic politicians labour, it becomes us, in due order, to prescribe a few peptic precepts by way of cure. That the disease is not inveterate, is amply proved by cases on record, and it may bo worth while to mention a few of these for the example of others.
Some politicians have been cured of their peripatetic habits, by a sound pelting of rotten eggs and oranges in an election mob; while others, undaunted by this treatment, have never ceased to exercise their vocation, till they were soused, by some offended rival, in a ditch or horse-pond. To be pulled by the nose, or spit in the face, is a thing which very often produces no effect upon these restless spirits, but few have had courage to pursue their career after being exposed to the aim of au adversary's pistol. A bucket of water has sometimes sobered an enthusiastic peripatetic; and it maybe remarked, in general, that cooling medicines are the most effectual. Thus the feverish excitement produced by the external application of the foot, to the nether extremities of such an individual, may only increase his mania, while the cold and clammy effects of fear will operate as a sovereign panacea. Flannels are bad articles of clothing for such temperaments, and all warm and close meetings should be avoided, as tending to pernicious results. It would be much better if the wives of the peripatetics would shut them out some cold December night, when they are returning home after delivering a furious harangue. For the same reason, the peripatetic should be limited in his diet, and never permitted, on any account to taste such stinging viands as make the blood course wildly, or induce an extraordinary flow of animal spirits. Upon this principle also depends the last and great cure, which is to be resorted to when all the others are found to be unavailing. The method of treatment alluded to, is this: That the patient should be placed in solitary confinement, where he will have ample opportunities for reflection, but none for haranguing. His head may then be submitted to the razor of a skillful practitioner, and it will be ascertained whether the tenement of his pineal gland receives any restoring effect from its naked exposure to the cool atmosphere. Several hot brains have been checked in this way, and it is even said, that the men of the class to which we are alluding, have been found to possess peculiar conformations of the skull, which are not discoverable without this experiment. (By the bye, we advise every incipient orator to try himself by such a test.) The peripatetic after having his head shaved, must not be debarred altogether from exercise; for it is the characteristic of his mind that it must always be actively employed. Dumb bells, or some such harmless instruments may therefore be provided for his use, but caution must be observed that no dangerous weapons are allowed to get within his reach. With these remedies, there is little doubt, but that a recovery may, in time, be effected, especially if internal reflection accompanies the use of them. When the peripatetic, debarred from the influence of hurried movements, and of the concourse of agitated minds, begins to conaider seriously, the infatuation with which he has wasted his mental and bodily energies upon the pursuit of an airy nothing, he is not long in discovering that he has never been in his right senses. Upon consulting a mirror, he will recognise the traces of insanity in his wild expression; for it is not the first time that madmen have regained their wits by seeing the reflection of their frightful faces. And, when this happens, it only requires a cautious treatment of the patient to expedite his final recovery. We have only to recommend, in conclusion, that the Board of Health should immediately devote some of their attention to this unsuspected malady, and that asylums should be opened for the treatment of all afflicted with it, since, if steam coaches increase the rapidity of travelling as universally as they threaten to do, peripatetic politicians will exceed all bounds, and reduce themselves to a state, beyond the reach of our peptic precepts.
To the Editor of The Day.
Sir,—I was much pleased with the remarks which appeared in
The Date of No. 31, on the crime of Plagiarism—a crime, as you justly observe, as common as it is mean. As you have discovered virtuous indignation at the enormity of the offence, I trust that you will not fail, as occasion offers, to bring to light the guilty perpetrators of it. I address you, at present, not so much to aid you in this good work, as to bring under your notice, and that of your numerous and respectable readers, a glar
ing instance of the crime alluded to. The delinquent having screened himself under the cloak of a fictitious name, the publication of his tbel'tuous deed may not have the desirable effect of bringing upon him that obloquy which he merits; but it may, ne~ vcrtheless, be productive of two good results :—
let, It may teach the public rightly to estimate the merits of a certain class of periodicals, of which the press has, of late, been too prolific, and whose tendency, not to speak of the positive mischief which they produce, is, assuredly, neither to promote the cause of religion, nor to inculcate sound morals, nor to improve the public taste. And let it not be thought, Sir, that this is an end unworthy to be aimed at: it is of no little importance to the interests of society, that people sboulil have correct notions respecting the conductors of those infamous effusions which pander to the prejudices, and foment the worst feelings and passions of the soul. Sometime ago you announced to your readers your success in extinguishing some of these, and the announcement gave no little satisfaction. No one, indeed, who has the good of his fellows at heart, and who knowa the baneful influence which the scurrilous writings that have issued from the press in such abundance of late, exert on the public mind, will withhold from you his gratitude and good wishes. Yours, Sir, Is it triumph of no little importance ; for it is a triumph of virtue over vice. Go on, then, and prosper. The field is now almost your own.
But a Second result which may be expected from an exposure such as that recommended, and indeed it is a corollary of the First, is, that the public will be led to a more pure and healthful fountain. The thirst for reading is, at present, unprecedentedly great; and, if it be true that the character of the people is influenced by that of their literature, happy is that community which is supplied with instruction and amusement, without immorality and without scurrility. Glasgow has long been unfortunate in this respect; but she feels and gratefully acknowledges that all solid grounds of complaint vanished with the dawn of "The Day."
Without further preface, I take leave to introduce to your notice, what, I am sure, you will acknowledge to be as barefaced an act of literary theft as ever was perpetrated. The Edinburgh Review, for March last, contains an article entitled " Reform and the Ministry," and the OssEavER, a Glasgow periodical, which, I believe, some time ago, finished a short and ignominious career, contains an article headed "The State of Parties," which is little else than a transcript of the other. I shall set down a few passages from each opposite to one another. It is amusing to see the attempts of the plagiarist to disguise his theft. His efforts are exceedingly feeble. The omission of one word and the substitution of a synonimous one, or the transposition of the words of a sentence, seems to be the utmost he had courage to venture upon. The ideas are not only precisely the same, but follow in precisely the same order. This arch Plagiarist assumes the classical name of Argus. Should any of his numerous eyes fall upon this, may he learn henceforth to refrain from employing his superior vision for the unhallowed purposes of plunder and deception.
If you think this worthy of a place in your paper, it is at your service. Though you should think otherwise, you will not thereby lose the esteem and good wishes of
Glasgow, 1th February, 1832.
The Statesmen, who preside at the helm, knew too well their duty to give the least information of their intentions.
Not only the details were utterly unknown, but the general outline was as much kept in the dark as the most minute of the shadings and fillings up. No nan could tell in what direction it went, or to what extent.
That the great Towns would be endowed with the electivefranchise, and that something would be dune with some of the decayed Corporations—was, no doubt, confidently expected.
Had any one, of known opinions, shewn the least symptom of hit satisfaction, or dissatisfaction with the measure, the slight degree of reflection would have led to a pretty accurate notion, at least of the extent to which it vent.
No one had the least knowledge even whether the plan was Iprye and sweeping, or a moderate, or an imperfect kind of Re
At length, the important period of disclosure arrived
and the communication of the plan produced a more universal nd a more heartfelt satisfaction than ever yet attended the promulgation of any measure.
All agreed, that the Ministers had redeemed their pledges.
The first remarkable effect produced by the promulgation of the measure, was the complete reconcilement and union of all classes of Reformers.
p. S I might go on making i
Tire Working Man's Companion—The Physician, No. I.— Cuolsra. Charles Knight, London, 1832.
Now that Cholera has actually made its appearance among us, the upper and middle classes of our inhabitants are thrown into a state of considerable alarm. Anxiety is depicted in many a countenance, wonted amusements are neglected, or engaged in with fear and trembling, the social meetings of friends, after the business and toils of the day are over, are dull and uninteresting. Whether in the street, the counting-house, or the parlour, the whole conversation turns upon the progress of Cholera, and the most approved means of preventing and treating it; and, although the same story may have been repeated twenty times to the same persons, yet, such is the strength of their evil forebodings, it is listened to with the most marked and breathless attention.
Whoever has paid any attention to the subject, cannot fail to feel a dread at the visitation of that disease which has so unceremoniously launched thousands into a world of spirits; but we would ask, has it not happened, in too many instances, that this dread has been allowed to overstep the boundaries of reason, benevolence, and even of self enjoyment? We are afraid the strict seclusion which many families are adopting—the active preparations which others are making to flee into the country-—the discontinuance of employment to those who have the misfortune to reside in, or near the affected districts—the desertion of innocent recreations—too Plainly tell us that this is, really, the case. So far as we can Judge, this illiberal and irrational dread has arisen from mistaken ■"■(ions of the contagiousness of the disease, and the particu'*i r kinds of person that it is most apt to affect. That the ChoJ' ■ in is not so contagious as the typhus fever, which, of late has so ^ctensively and fatally prevailed in this city, may be learned from * very simple statement:—The Cholera has now affected above
3000 individuals in Britain, and, although it is a disease that requires the medical practitioner to visit those who are affected with it by night and day, to hang over them for a greater length of time—to touch their bodies more frequently than in almost any other disease, yet there has been reported only a single case of its
affecting practitioners. Compare this with typhus fever: Since
the 15th August, 1831, out of the 12 district surgeons of this city, four have been affected with fever, of which one has died, and the other three have had R most narrow escape for their lives.
Now typhus requires only to be visited during the day-time the
practitioner needs not remain more than five minutes at the bedside, and the touching that is necessary is trifling indeed. This is a simple statement, but we think it every way sufficient for our purpose. If no person in this city thought of barricading their houses, of refusing to take in the work of the weavers of Calton and Bridgeton, of clouding the gaiety of social intercourse. Although typhus, the most contagious of diseases, was raging to such an extent, that, for several months, between 20 and 30 persons affected with it, were daily refused admittance into the Infirmary—why all this unmeaning and unmanly conduct about the invasion of Cholera, which is very far from being so infectious? Conduct which, by refusing to come in contact with the lower classes, and to furnish them with means to earn a subsistence, must add tenfold to the extent and virulence of the disease.
There is another consideration which ought to lessen this dread, viz. :—Cholera does not attack persons indiscriminately; for it is only those whose mode of life is of a peculiar kind that it singles out as its prey. Those who are most addicted to intemperance in eating or drinking, who live in damp or ill ventilated houses, who keep their persons in a state of filth, who expose themselves to the night air, who are ill clothed, and exhausted from any cause, are most liable to be affected with the disease. When these are the circumstances under which an attack may be dreaded, surely the middle and upper ranks of this city have little occasion for such an unbounded alarm, as they have it in their power to shun them all. By so doing, it fortunately happens, that no disagreeable restraints are imposed, but that enjoyment, arising from health and personal comfort, is the natural result. Viewing the disease in these aspects, let it not be said that any of us would forsake the poor, who seem to be its devoted victims. We would blame no man for a regard to his personal safety—this is natural, but when this oversteps the limits which are warranted by circumstances, this over-regard assumes the appearance of heartless selfishness which has no other effect than to aggravate the distress of his suffering fellow-creatures who might be benefited by his assistance. A friend of ours informed us, of an extensive manufacturer in this city, who, being wondered at for giving employment to the weavers of Kirkintilloch, said, "What! do you think this is a time to act in such a way—to be adding famine to pestilence; I consider it every man's duty to be found at his post, ready to do all the good he can." We would like that this praiseworthy example were followed by all, and that the apprehension! of danger which are be misplaced, were thrown aside, and that only active exertions were made to feed, clothe, and lodge the poor.
We are led to make these remarks, after perusing the small tract which the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge has just published, and which stands at the head of this notice. It is so very moderate in its price, and so lucid and accurate in its information, that we think it ought to be in the possession of every one. The work in question contains a complete history of the disease, from its commencement in the East, down to its arrival in England. The symptoms, and the preventiveand curative means are so plainly pointed out in it, that he who runs may read.
While Moore's immortal verse survives to tell
Farewell Waltzes, composed by the late R. A. Smith, during his last illness, and Dedicated as a Parting Memorial to his Friends.
We think it was Mozart who devoted his last hours to Music, and whose love of musical composition did not forsake him until the band and the eye refused to do their office.
Mere are three Farewell Waltzes, written in circumstances nearly similar, and forming a melancholy, yet pleasing memorial, of their modest and meritorious author.
The remembranceof R. A. Smith is now identified with Scottish song, and will not readily be forgotten, as long as our countrymen shall relish pure, simple and touching melody; while, we are bappy to understand, his anthems have recently become popular, and, we are confident, wherever tbey shall be known, will add to the high character of their composer. But, a memorial not less honourable to Smith, will be more especially found in the bosoms of those who had the pleasure of sharing his friendship and of knowing his worth.
We are happy to speak favourably of the Farewell Waltzes, more especially as we observe the object of the publication. In hurriedly looking over them, we recognise a favourite air gliding smoothly along in the first, some very effective modulations in the second, and, in the third, a very pleasing specimen of its peculiar style of music.
We can heartily recommend the publication as a useful lesson for the young performer on the piano-forte, and as equally well adapted to accompany the gaieties of the1 ball-room.
FOREIGN LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.
It is intended to form an Ethnographical Museum at Paris, under the direction of the indefatigable Baron de Ferussac. The object of this establishment is to preserve from the ravages of time such memorials of the present nations of the world as are peculiar to them, in their arts, costumes, arms, buildings, &c. &c Those nations in particular, that are in a savage state, or are but imperfectly advanced in the social scale, will form the chief object of attention, as, from the rapid extension of modern civilization, the manners and primitive character of such nations, or tribes, are daily losing their original features. A large building, divided into many distinct apartments, will be devoted to the objects of this institution, and will contain the specimens and memorials alluded to.
A. M. Ddssumier, of Bordeaux, has made six voyages to India, and each time has brought back collections of rare and curious animals, which he has presented to the Museum of Natural History. None of his voyages, however, has equalled his last, and he has been fortunate enough to bring all bis specimens safely home. Catalogues of I he various collections have been drawn up by Messieurs Isidore Geoffroy, Valenciennes, and Victor Audouin, assistant naturalists to the Museum.
The second volume of Hain's Repertorium Ribliographieum will shortly be completed, by the publication of the second part.
Kird's Guide to the Surrey Zoological Gardens, with illustrative Engravings, by G. W. Bonner, is in the press.
The Stranger's Pocket Dictionary to the Amusements of the Metropolis, with Engravings, by G. W. Bonner, is about to be published.
It is proposed to publish, by subscription, twenty-eight of Capt. G. F. Lyon's Mexican Drawings, descriptive of the Scenery and People at and near the Mines of Bolanos and Real del Monte, in four numbers, at ten shillings each number. The drawings in each number to be eight inches by six inches in size, and to comprise a Vignette, four Views or Costumes, and two illustrative of the processes for extracting the Silver from the Ore.
Bibliograpbia Inedita, or a Catalogue of Books not printed for Sale, with some Account of them, by John Martin, is in the press.
The Cholera.—It has been remarked in Bohemia, that ths animal kingdom has suffered great mortality since the prevalance of the Cholera in that quarter. Vast numbers of fish and hares, in particular, have been found dead, and these species have consequently been banished from all Bohemian tables.
Cobbett's Otinion In 1797 or The Scottish Nation They
arc a nation I respect above any other, except my own. For prudence, perseverance, integrity, courage, and learning, they are above all praise. And as to loyalty, by no means the least of virtues, the great body cf the nation are far more loyal than their neighbours in the South.—[How often has this writer made declarations the very reverse ! ]
A man, whose reputation is suspended, and who is conscious of his innocence, does not waste bis precious time in the pointing of a thought, or the rounding of a period. Truth needs no embellish, inent.—Cobbett.
Bonaparte In 1795 At that period of his life, Bonaparte
was decidedly ugly. He afterwards underwent a total change: I do not speak of the illusive charm which his glory spread around him; but I mean to say that a gradual physical change took place in him in the space of seven years. His emaciated thinness was converted into plumpness, and his complexion, which had been yellow, and apparently unhealthy, became clear and comparatively fresh. His features, which were angular and sharp, became round and filled out. As to his smile, it was alwayi agreeable: the mode of dressing bis hair, which now has auch s droll appearance, as we see it in the prints of the passage of the bridge of Areola, was then comparatively simple; for the mmcadins, whom he used to rail at so loudly at that time, wore their bair very long. But he used to be careless of his personal appear, ancc, and his hair, which was ill combed and ill powdered, gave him the look of a sloven. His little hands, too, underwent ai great a metamorphosis as any other part of his body. When 1 first saw him, they were thin, long, and dark; but he was subsequently vain of the beauty of bis hands, and with good reason. In short, when 1 recollect Napoleon entering the court-yard of the Hotel de la Tranquillite in 1795, with a shabby, round hat drawn over his forehead, and his ill powdered hair hanging orer the collar of of his grey great-coat—that great coat which afterwards became as celebrated as the white plume of Henry IV.— without gloves, because he used to say they were a useless luxury, with boots ill made and ill blackened, with his thinness and bis sallow complexion—in fine, when I recollect him at that tiroe. and think what he was afterwards, I do not see the same man in the two pictures.—Mad. Junot.
A letter from Palermo of the 3d ult. states that in the place of tbt volcanic island which had existed for some months betweeu Sciacco and Pantelleria, and disappeared lately, is now seen a column of boiling water about twenty-four feet in diameter, rising from between ten to thirty feet above the surface of the sea, and exhaling a strong bituminous odour.
Unnatural Characters In Fiction.—No character can enter a human imagination which is not within the compass of Nature's possibility, but there is such in nature which has never entered the imagination. What imagination ever conceived any thing so outrageous as Jack Mitford's acknowledgement that his love of gin was so great, that if his soul were on one table and a gin-bottls on the other, he would barter the former for the latter?
A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.
GLASGOW, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1832.
TALES, SKETCHES, AND TRADITIONS OF THE GAEL No. II.
A MODERN HIGHLAND TALE.
The incidents mentioned in the following little sgeul, or tale of the mountains, may, perhaps, recall to the memory of some of the older inhabitants of the shores of Lochfine, a circumstance which, at one time, furnished a subject for fire-side commentary to many a domestic circle in the glens and carries of the country. From a deference to the feelings of any of the relations of the parties, who may still be surviving, the writer has, very judiciously, thrown some of the particulars into shade, and, by also introducing a few embellishments, the story, we conceive, may now be read without giving the slightest uneasiness to any individual :—
A "trip to the Highlands" is now such a commonplace occurrence, and possesses such a variety of pleasures and advantages, that I would incur the sneers of the "gentle readers," did I suppose they had not embraced them; but, among the various routes proposed to the eight-days' tourist, that by Inveraray and Oban, probably stands unrivalled. Inveraray, in itself furnishes attractions which few places can command, whether we contemplate its pleasant situation, or its past history: in the one we see nature, with bounteous hand, lavishing charms with maternal distinction, while, in the other, we behold the nursery which reared a noble line of profound and fearless Statesmen, who disregarded the frowns of a Sovereign when the honour of their country was lightly treated. About a mile from the village, stands Dun-na-cuach,on a conical hill of considerable height, which, though steep to ascend, fully repays the toil of the visitor from its extensive and commanding view. He sees Lochfine at his feet, checkered with its bustling fishing crafts, the hills on either side possessing an agreeable variation of heath and verdure—the village, with its whitened walls, reflected on the glassy surface of its mirrored harbour—the "castle," with its tasteful avenues and fragrant gardens emerging from among the giant trees with which it is surrounded. Ary, forgetting the noisy tenor of its earlier steps, sweeps along, calm and undisturbed, in which the stately swan may be seen laving its snowy bosom, or, with majestic pride, spreading its downy sails to the rippling zephyr; on its velvet banks may be seen the nimble roe and the wanton hare, as they leave their heathy couch to sip their morning beverage from its crystal stream, while, on a fine summer evening, the concert of nature's songsters, which is heard from every thicket, reminds us more of the fancied Elysium of Eastern tale, than the real enjoyments of a Highland glen.
Leaving Inveraray, with its charms, we enter the romantic Glenary, and ascend, by a fine road, which winds along the course of the stream from whence the glen derives its name; the scenery here is neither strikingly bold nor meanly tame; thriving enclosures of oak, in many parts, line the way, from among which may be heard the song of the cheerful woodman, as he lightens his labour by chaunting the melodies of his country, while cottages, occasionally, meet the view, around which the chubby offspring of the Gael may be seen pursuing their puerile sports, or ga
thering together in groups to make remarks on the stranger.
Poor Matilda! these hills have been the witnesses of thy virtuous love, though soundly thou sleepest, far from the land of thy nativity and the sepulchre of thy fathers, without a friend to soothe the pillow of thy distress, or a relation to drop a tear over thy untimely fate.
About half a century ago, a small party of soldiers were stationed at Inveraray, and, attracted by the scenery and the hospitality of the inhabitants, often visited Glenary. William Munro was corporal of the party, and, with some of his comrades, had been pursuing their usual walk along the banks of the river and marking the gambols of the finny tribes at the bottom of a limpid pool, when their attention was drawn to three young ladies, who, mounted on little shelties, attempted to cross the ford opposite Manse. The
two first gained the opposite bank in safety, but the pony, which carried the youngest of the three, refused to pass the middle of the river, and, on its rider attempting to urge it forward, she was thrown, and, instantly, swept away by the stream. One minute more and safety was hopeless, when Munro, with a degree of humanity and intrepidity, not uncommon to those of his profession, plunged into the current and brought to shore the dripping treasure. By this time, the inhabitants at the Manse had notice of the accident, and Mr. F came, in person, notwithstanding
his age, to thank the generous youth who had risked his own safety to preserve his daughter's. As may be supposed, the young soldier was requested to visit the family after, and was always kindly received, when, unfortunately for their peace, Matilda's protracted farewell-walks assumed a suspicious appearance and obliged the father to interdict their growing intimacy, and the coolness which could not now be concealed, soon convinced William that he was no longer a welcome guest. Though a stop was thus put to their intercourse, it was not put to their growing affection, and, if we forget his humble station, William, indeed, deserved to be loved. In his youth he had received a liberal education, was devoid of all the follies which are often ascribed to the soldier. He possessed a handsome person and insinuating address, and, when to that was added, gratitude for the past, let the prudish not wonder that Matilda's young and unsuspecting heart had fallen a victim to his attention. About
a mile from Manse, stood the third mile-stone
from Inveraray ; to it Matilda was often seen to repair, but, as her walks were always strictly watched, that created no suspicion till time afterwards disclosed that behind this stone was the repository of a correspondence, where the parties received and left letters for tho other. One morning she was absent from the breakfast table, which created some uneasiness. She was often in the habit of visiting an old woman, a dependent on the family, who lived at some distance from the Manse, but she had not been there; they went to her bed-room, but every mark convinced them that her gentle head had not pressed the pillow the previous night, when, on opening her trunk, the absence of her best apparel threw some light on her mysterious disappearance. William had received leave of absence and was to have joined his party at Glas