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opinion of these connoisseurs—to me that difference of opinion manifested the merits of my work. Their observations quite neutralized each other, so I repacked my picture without its being diminished in value by all I had heard against it. I thought jealousy was at the bottom of the whole affair. My picture was sent off by Howie & Co.'s waggon: I taking a receipt for the same.

Julia and her sisters went to Edinburgh about the beginning of February. I learned from a friend, whom I had requested to wait the arrival of my picture, and to see it safely deposited in the exhibition rooms, that they would open on the fifteenth. I therefore left town on the previous day, and on my arrival in Edinburgh, immediately called at the house where my Julia and her sisters resided. There was a large party quadrilling when I entered. I found my name, as that of a contributor to the exhibition, already well known, and, as I passed the dancers, I could occasionally hear these soul enchanting words pronounced, "the young artist"—" the handsome young painter" —" the Scottish Rubens."

The evening's amusements concluded by a determination, that the most of the ladies present should accompany me to the opening of the exhibition in the morning. We accordingly met at breakfast and proceeded thither, and never was there greater homage paid to art. A lovely girl leaned on each arm and listened, with anxiety, as I entertained them with a description of my picture, on our way to the exhibition rooms.

We now entered the largest room, but I did not observe my picture there, when I recollected being informed, that sometimes the best pictures were placed in the smaller apartment. I dragged the ladies towards it, but neither was my landscape visible there, when I heard a member of the Glasgow Dilettanti Society, who happened to be also in the room, say, that he thought all the best things were beside his own in the Vestibule. I hurried, with my fair friends thither —but no—I could not see my picture. At length, we met the Secretary. I addressed him, and stated, that a friend of mine had sent a large sunset from Glasgow, where is it? He thought for a moment—" sunset, sunset," he said, "a scene with distant hills," " Oh! yes," I cried, "and an old castle?" the same !" and a pond?" "the very picture," I exclaimed, "and two lovers on the foreground." "Yes," said Julia, smiling in my face—but she, her sister, and three young ladies beside us, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, (shame to them) as he added, "Oh! I remember it well, it was the most absurd attempt the hanging committee had ever seen, it was placed amongst the rejected pictures, and christened ' Colour Mug Park.'"


We have scarcely yet recovered, from the alarm into which we were thrown, by reading in the Glasgow Chronicle of Wednesday evening, a recommendation to throw nitrous gas into the lungs of the unfortunate sufferers from Cholera. This, the scientific contributor of that advice calls a self-evident remedy, and so it is, when the object is to end at once the sufferings of the patient; for a draught or two of that gas would soon terminate both his troubles and his existence.

But Mr. R. J. Hamilton does not mean to poison the puir bodies in the Goosedubbs, whatever the inhabitants of the Bridgegate may think of other learned Doctors, and whatever his own words may seem to indicate. A little chemistry however, is a dangerous thing, unless the possessor can at the same time estimate its amount. By careful reading, it is plain, that he means to give them, not nitrous gas, but nitrous oxide—the intoxicating gas—which is fortunate for Mr. Hamilton; because any fatal result from such a

prescription, will produce a verdict, only of manslaughter. Nitrous gas, we must' inform the correspondent of the Chronicle, is not " the protoxide of nitrogen," but the deutoxide.

Mr. Hamilton has also discovered a key to the general health of the inhabitants, and therefore, to the prevention of disease. The elixir of life is not oxygen, as some chemists would have us to believe, it is azote. The proofs are these:—

Man is a carnivorous animal—so animal food is good for him. But animal food contains " azote or nitrogen :" ergo, "azote or nitrogen/1 is the principle of vitality.

Mr. Charles Mackintosh mentions, " that when the plague was in London, all those who were employed in working in articles manufactured from horn escaped the contagion;" but horn con tains azote, and when burnt, it produces "hartshorn or ammonia, or azoted hydrogen:" ergo, 11 nitrogen or azote is absolutely requisite as a preventative of Cholera, and all low diseases whatever."

On the same principle, " nitrous gas" (nitrous oxide,) "or protoxide of azote, appears an almost self-evident remedy for Cholera." But, unfortunately,

Nitrous gas instantly destroys animal life, and so does prussic acid; but nitrous gas and prussic acid both contain a trifle of nitrogen: ergo, one would think, "azote or nitrogen" must choose its companions before it can be styled the principle of vitality.


Spain In 1830. Br W. D. Inglis, London, Whit taker & Co. 1830.

There are few individuals who do not feel a more than ordinary interest about all that appertains to Spanish scenery, customs and manners. Whether the feeling arises from the pleasure and curiosity which the adventures of Don Quixote, Gil Bias and the Diable Soitet/x, may have excited within us in youth, it is of little moment to enquire, but it will scarcely be denied by most readers—and who in this age does not read—that any tales connected with the land of the cork tree, and the once fearful Inquisition, that any descriptive scenery, associated with the feats of the Cid or the prowess of the Moors; or that any stories relating to the Hidalgos of Castile, and the I >ulei Leaof Andalusia, have always obtained a species of regard which bespeaks for them, at least, a fair and attentive hearing. The volume which is now before us, and which has been sometime before the public, is one, the perusal of which will well reward its reader. It is replete with many curious historical and political reminiscences, with much information, touching parties and society, as now existing in the Peninsula—with many most amusing anecdotes, for the most part told with great shrewdness and great good sense. It is a work, in fact, of no pretensions, and yet perhaps it affords a better key to the realities of Spanish life and feeling, than any publication that has lately issued from the press. As a fair specimen of Mr. Inglis' style and manner of writing, we beg leave to present our readers with his account of the

CEREMONY OF TAKING THE VEIL "At the hour appointed, the abbess entered the room on the other side of the grating, accompanied by all the nuns, and by several ladies, friends and relatives of the novice. She entered a moment after; and immediately knelt down, with her face towards the grating, so that I had a near and distinct view of her. She was attired in the novice's robe of pure white, and wore a crown of flowers upon her head. She seemed scarcely more than sixteen. Her countenance was gentle, sweet, and interesting; there was an expression of seriousness, but not of sadness, in her face; and a skin, fairer than usually falls to the lot of Spanish women, was sensibly coloured with a fine carnation—the glow of youth, and health, and happiness, yet lingering on her cheek ; and connecting her with the world of light, and life, and freedom, about to close upon her for ever.

"The administrator now entered by the chapel, and placed himself in a chair close to where I was stationed, and at the side of an opening in the grating of about a foot square. The novice then rose, and walking forward to the grating, presented him with a paper, which he read aloud; this was the act of renunciation of all property, then and forever; and during this ceremony the novice retired and knelt as before, holding in her hand a long lighted taper, with which the abbess presented her. The preparatory service then commenced by reading and chanting; and this, although monotonous, was pleasing and impressive, according well with the solemnity of the scene that had introduced it; and in this service the novice joined, with a clear sweet voice, in which nothing of emotion could be distinguished. When this was concluded, the novice again rose, and advanced to the grating, and pronounced slowly and distinctly the three vows that separate her from the world,—chastity, poverty, and obedience. Her voice never faltered; nor could I perceive the slightest change of countenance; the colour only seemed to be gradually forsaking her. The lady abbess, who stood close by her side, wept all the while. Ah! if each tear could have told why it flowed, what a history might have been unfolded. Indignation was the feeling produced in my mind. I wished for the cannon of the Constitutionalists, to throw down these most odious of prisons; and even to the priest, who stood by me in his crimson and gilded surplice, I could not restrain myself from saying, half audibly, ' Que infamia I' "When the vows that could never be recalled had been pronounced by this misguided child, she stepped back, and threw herself prostrate upon the ground—this is the act confirmatory of her vows—symbolical of death, and signifying that she is dead t0 the world. The service was then resumed—a bell continued slowly to toll ; and the priest read; while the nuns who stood around their new-triade sister, responded—■' dead to the world— separated from kitfdred—bride of Heaven !' and the nun who lies prostrate is supposed, at the same time, to repeat to God in secret, the vows she has already pronounced aloud. When this was concluded, a slow organ peal, and a solemn swell of voices rose, and died away ;"and the abbess then raised the nun from the ground, and embraced her; and all the other nuns and her relations also embraced*her. I saw no tear upon any cheek, excepting upon the cheek of the abbess, whose face was so full of benignity, that it half reconciled me to the fate of the young initiated who had vowed obedience to her. When she had embraced every one, she again knelt for a few moments, and then approached the grating along with the abbess; and the priest handed to the abbess through the opening, the vestments of a nun. Then came the last act of the drama :—the crown was lifted from her head ; the black vestment was p ut on, and the girdle and the rosary; and the black hood was drawn over her head ; she was nowa nun, and she again embraced tb e abbess and all the sisters. Still I could not discover a single tear, excepting on the cheek of the abbess, who continued to weep almost without ceasing to the very end: the countenance of the young nun remained unmoved. The crown was again replaced upon her head, to be worn all that day; the sacrament was administered, and one last embrace by friends and relations terminated the scene." • • • •

"The priest who had led me to hope that I might be permitted to visit the interior of the convent, did not disappoint me. This convent is one of the most complete, and the best fitted up of any in Madrid. r*Jo one enters it who cannot bring to its treasury a considerable fortune; and its accommodations are accordingly upon a scale of corresponding comfort. In company with the priest and the portcress, an old nun, I went over the greater part of the building. The accommodations of each nun consist of a small parlour and a dormitory adjoining, and a small kitchen. The nuns do not eat in company. The dinners are separately cooked, and the whole is then carried to a public room, where it is blessed; and again carried back to the separate apartments, where each nun eats alone. The little parlours of the nuns are plain and clean; the walls white-washed, and the floors generally matted; but the room is without any fire-place, and contains a table and two chairs. The beds are extremely small, and extremely hard; and upon the table, in every dormitory, there is a crucifix. Among other parts, I was conducted to the chamber of the new-made nun. The bed was strewn with flowers, marigolds, and dahlias, and a crown of jilly-flowers lay upon the pillow. Here every thing was new; yet all would grow old along with the inmate. A new bright lamp stood upon the table; and as I looked at it, I could not avoid

the picture that presented itself in fancy—the dull light falling upon the white wall; and the silent inmate of the chamber with her book and rosary, through the long chill evenings of winter;— what a contrast from the picture of a cheerful home!"


Author of " The Orientalist."

THE OPIUM EATING PEDAGOGUE Thus I have heard, that there is a village called Lukhnauty, and a boy was studying with a certain teacher there. Now, his pedagogue was an opium-eater, and, after the opium had been swallowed, drowsiness came upon him, and he began to nod. If, when he was in that state, any one said any thing to him, or a scholar asked a word of the lesson, he immediately became enraged, and having beat the scholar well, he would say, "O! blockhead, you ought first to have studied in the school of good manners; for, from that certainly, many advantages would have been derived."

In short, he was every day in the habit of giving this injunction to the scholar. "If ever again, without being asked, you make any speech to me, or offer to stir me up from sleeping, then, inflict, by continual beating, I will murder you." The scholar testified his repentance by saying, that he would never again do such an action. One day, after it was dark,* when the lamp had been placed before him, he was going on causing that same scholar to read, and in the meantime, when the intoxication came upon him, the shawl of his turban fell, accidentally, upon the flame of the lamp, and the turban began to burn. When the heat reached him, he immediately started up, and began to say to the scholar, "O! scoundrel, didst thou not perceive that my turban was burning? Why, then, didst thou not offer to stir me up?" Having said this, he gave him a good beating. The scholar, while crying, replied thus—11 Your honour's self, indeed, assuredly gave me this prohibition, that no one should stir you up during the time of sleeping, and that no person should interfere in the matters of great people without being desired, for this would be unmannerly. On this account I did not stir your honour up." The pedagogue replied thus, "there is neither strength, nor authority except in God. (- I certainly did not give any prohibition in this matter, in order that, when damage happened to any one in your presence, you should not give him any information, but continue sitting looking on."

* Literally—when it was night
f A common form of swearing in the East.



Our signal, in love, is a glance of the eye,

And every one tutored by Cupid should know

By the eye-lids, or lips, by a look, or a sigh,
Although we are silent that love is below.


Renown.—Errors of life, as well as follies of character, are often the real enhancers of celebrity. Without his errors, I doubt whether Henri Quatre would have become the idol of a people. How many Whartons has the world known, who, deprived of their frailties, had been inglorious! The light that you so admire, reaches you only through the distance of time, on account of the angles and unevenness of the body whence it emanates. Were the surface of the moon smooth, it would be invisible.—Eugene Aram.

First Love In the pure heart of a girl, loving for the first

time—love is far more ecstatic than in man, inasmuch as it is unfevered by desire—love then and there makes the only state of human existence which is at once capable of calmness and transport.—Eugene Aram.

If a pirate, who robs upon the sea, be hanged for his robbery every body is satisfied with the death of the offender; but, if the action be avowed, and he produce a commission, the state that gave it becomes answerable Gordon. *

A good magistrate is the brightest character upon earth, as being the most conducive to the benefit of mankind. A bad one is an enemy and traitor to his own species. Where there is the greatest u ust, the betraying it is the greatest treason—Trencliard.


The cognoscenti have, for some days, been peculiarly pleased with the beautiful collection of cast-iron works of art, which are now displayed in Mr. James Lumsden's warehouse, in Queen Street. The various busts, figures, and particularly the equestrian statue of Frederick the Great, prove to what a high pitch of perfection the art of casting has arrived at in Berlin. The latter statue gives a most characteristic idea of the celebrated soldier and philosophe. It is, in fact, a masterpiece of art, and is well worthy of a place in any collection. We understand Mr. Lumsden selected the various specimens, now exhibiting, when, on a tour through Germany, he visited the Kb'niyl: Eisengiesserei, or Royal Foundry, in the Prussian capital. We recommend to our Dilettanti an immediate sight of these casts. They are well worthy of examination.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. We understand that the Geology and Zoology of Capt. Beechv, is about to be published.

Sismondi has in the Press " Histoire de la Renaissance, de la Liberie en Italic, de scs Progrcs de sa Decadence et de sa chute."

Professor Rossetti is about to publish a Work, Sullo Spirito Antipapale che produsse la Riforma, e sulla segreta influenza eh' escrcito nella littetatura d' Italia, come risulta da molti suoi Clas•ici, e spccialmente da Dante, Petrarca, Boccaccio, Disquisizioni.


The following Boarding School Circular, for which we are indebted to an antiquarian friend, will show the various items of education, that were thought requisite about sixty years ago, to form what was considered an accomplished young lady. We question, but in real usefulness the system of Miss McDonald and her friend Miss Drummond will stand a comparison with those of many of our modern seminaries.

Glasgow, 15th May, 1771.

To the PUBLIC.

MISS MCDONALD and MISS DRUMMOND think it Proper to inform the Public, that they have opened a Boarding School for Young Ladies, in a large and commodious house in the Gallowgate, where the Young Ladies under their care are instructed in the principles of the French and English languages, in Tambour Dresden and all kinds of fashionable Needle work, in the making up their own millenary things and in several instruments of Music, viz. the Harpsicord, Guitar and Psaltery, as likewise in Singing, Miss M'DONALD proposes teaching the Ladies to write, and they will be attended with a proper Master for dancing. Miss M'DONALD and Miss DRUMMOND are very sensible that the charge of Education is both important and difficult, and they flatter themselves that they are not altogether unqualified for it. They can at least promise that they will exert their utmost endeavours to discharge their trust with fidelity and care, and upon these grounds, do they solicit and hope for the friendly countenance of the public.


The following little sprightly sketch of a Metropolitan JarveyDriver, we extract from a weekly periodical called the Parrot :— One would believe that the life of a hackney-coachman is a very extraordinary one. Not at all; It is the life of the fashionable company.

In the intervals of his fares, he has all the manners of the world.

He rises at the break of day; on putting on his jacket he goes to the stable door, looks what sort of weather it is. "The deuce take such a day," says he, gaping, "it is beautiful weather or else, " Success! it will be, all day, devilish bad weather." Does not the publican say the same when he reads the papers? if there be a prospect of peace, he is suffocated: if of war, he rubs his hands with delight.

The coachman rubs down his horses, swearing; puts them to, threatening: and goes to the stand, whipping. But his coach, which has no feeling, he cleans it, whistling. So it is in the world: furniture is respected; servants are killed.

A citizen arrives at the stand: it is soon seen that he wants a coach. Six coaches go otf full gallop to meet him. He takes the one with the best horses; but he takes it by the time and the coach can hardly crawl on. In the same manner men run after places, and fall asleep when in office.

The citizen pays a visit. In coming out he finds the horses unbridled and the coachman in the public-house. Is it not the same in offices? If the chief is absent a single moment, the clerk is so too.

The hackney-coach is run against on the right by a waggon, but on the left it runs against a cab; system .of compensation. Observe well the jostlings you receive and, give, and you will see whether you do not act as hackney-coachmen.

As to his fares, it is clear that he goes only where one goes, and that one goes only where he drives to.

At nine o'clock he has to choose between the candidate of the Royal Institution who goes to distribute, In one hundred and forty-four visits, not the books he has written, but the prospectus of those he intends to write; and the broker who runs to offer paper for money and who asks money for paper.

At twelve o'clock, other business: a rendezvous for an affair of honour; a duel with swords or pistols.

At five o'clock, dinners; now is the time for hackney-coachmen to be in the city; they are sure of a fare to the west end.

At eleven o'clock, the theatres close. Visits continue till twelve. Balls till one. Gaming-houses all night.

Therefore nothing grand or imposing takes place in this new Babylon, in' which hackney .coachmen do not concur. Add to that, that they are now on a par with the equipages of masters, they enter courts, they almost enter rooms. The masters of modern carriages and old hackney-coachmen are old acquaintances, and have good reason to esteem each other.


Population Of England, Wales And Scotland.—The follow. ing is the summary of the several returns in 1801, 1811, 1821, and 1831, made by Mr. Rickman, to Parliament: —

In 1801 10,942,646

In 1811 12,609,864

In 1821 14,391,631

In 1831 16,537,398

Some men, especially great men, would never hear of their faults, were it not for their foes; and princes might often have learned better lessons of government from the satires made upon them, than from their many panegyrics. Their panegyrics consecrate their worst actions, and never find any thing to be mended; but in satire, there is always some truth, and often a great deal; and where there is no truth, there is no satire.— Trenchard.


"O. L. ON' communication has been received, and will appear immediately.

We have put the " Adventures of a Pair of Spectacles" into the hands of our own " Spectacles," for his perusal, who will perhaps take a glance at it in the course of a day or two.

"Houas or Leisure, No. II." will appear on Saturday.

We have not received "Lines to a Robin Red Breast," and we must inform our correspondent that, although we had, w« could not return it.

Primus's " Wild Conjured Phantom of the Brain" would, we suspect, rather terrify than interest our readers.

Angelica's communication will appear in our Saturday's number.

(yjr In future all communications for the Editor of " Thk Dat" are requested to be left with our Publisher, Ma. John Pinlat, No. 9, Miller Street.

Having still great demands for No. 33, containing the Article ou the "Cure and Prevention of the Cholera," and as all the Editions are sold off, this article, in a separate form, will now be found with our Publisher, at No. 9, Miller Street.

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's

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The traveller, who crosses the country between Inveraray and Oban, will observe a beautiful lake, called Lochawe, of twenty-four miles in length, and about two in breadth; its waters are the accumulation of a thousand little tributary streams, which may be seen gushing down the sides of the lofty hills, with which it is almost encircled; and were the scenery on its picturesque shores eulogised by the pen of a Scott or a Moore, it would at least share the admiration which is bestowed on the boasted grandeur of Loch-Lomond and Loch-Catrine: if the first view of it is obtained from Monadh Lacanach, a hill above denary, nothing can be more irresistably striking; numberless islets, covered with trees of most luxuriant growth, study its bosom, and rise above its surface in clustering profusion; CruacAan, with his crown of mist like an aged monarch, throws a venerable halo over the perspective: where- ever the eye lights upon it, it meets verdure and fertility. Rockhill on the one side, and Hayfield on the other, seem to vie in their elegant improvements: even the cottage of the peasant, with its whitened windows, gives testimony of the blessings of civilization and intercourse; before his door is seen his little garden, with its fragrant blossoms or ripening fruit, smiling upon his industrious labours, while the joyful countenances, blooming with health and beaming with contentment, which reconnoitre the gazer as honest "Bran" announces his approach, forces us to the conclusion, that happiness is in a measure dependent on ourselves, and is confined to the cottage of industry a9 often as the palaces of the great.

On a small island about half a mile from the shore, stands Caolchairn Castle, in mouldering sadness. Before the introduction of artillery, it might be possessed of considerable strength, and although its now cheerless halls and blackened hearth furnish matter of little interest to the mere spectator, the lover of antiquity will feel a sacred awe, while with noiseless step he enters the portals, from which have often issued "heroes bold and ladies gay," and will feel his mind reverting to bygone years, when might usurped the throne of right, when justice was often strangled on the threshold of power, and when our Highlanders, blind to the advantage of enterprise and independence, were left a prey to the bewildering horrors of despotism and anarchy.

Few who have traced the history of their country two centuries back, but will recollect the cruel persecution to which the noble Macgregors were for years subjected, from a wealthy and powerful clan. They were reduced to the extremity of wretchednes, their lands were forfeited to an unholy faction, who had leagued together to extirpate their very name; they were hunted from hill to hill, and from glen to glen, few daring or caring to aid or protect them, the heath became their couch, the canopy of heaven their covering, the mountain eagles their companions, and their swords their only friends; and, finding every ear deaf to their tale, every avenue to redress shut up, we need not wonder that their actions were at times characterised by cruelty, when they found an opportunity to retaliate on their barbarous oppressors.

Among this heroic, though proscribed clan, there was one, whose arm was seldom idle, and whose blade was often dim. Gregair Glun-dubh* had never led his followers but to victory, and even then, though a homeless fugitive, the well-known blast of his horn could summon together two hundred undaunted heroes, on whose unbending souls the rod of their tyrants had failed to make impression; but, finding force of no avail, he daily diminished their number. Some, under feigned names, sought shelter under those very men whose cruelty had deprived them of the means of using their own; while others penetrated farther into the recesses of the Highlands, and bade a lingering adieu to the hills of their childhood, and, at the time when the following incident commences, Gregair was wandering on the shores of Lochawe, with a retinue of twelve faithful adherents, who had served him in his prosperity, and from whom adversity could not sever them.

Foremost among the ruthless association for the destruction of the Macgregors, stood the powerful Earl of Breadalbane.f He had been allied to the Colquhouns, on whose account the persecution began, and therefore felt an interest in avenging them; but there was another reason, which had equal weight with him. He had participated largely of the unhallowed spoil, and, in order to secure it, had added murder to rapine; consequently, he became an object of the fellest hatred to those who were entitled to look upon him as their deadliest foe, and the dread of his power prevented them from taking any open measures. No private opportunity was left unimproved, in which they could wreak their hatred on his property or his partiBans. Some cabinet business, of pressing importance, having forced the Earl to leave the country, as the greater security to his only daughter, who was betrothed to his kinsman of Argyle, he left her at Caolchairn Castle, in charge of a small party of confidential vassals, with strict injunctions not to leave the island, or admit a stranger, till his return. Gregair was apprised of the Earl's absence, and instantly repaired to Lochawe, where, for a day, he concealed himself in the woods, hoping that some of the inmates of the Castle would have the temerity to break through the commands of the Earl ; but he waited in vain, and, impatient to finish his enterprise, he took the desperate resolution of swimming across, which, having accomplished, he unmoored one of the boats, landed his followers at night, and, as the inmates, from the precautions they had taken, dreaded no attack, they were easily surprised, and the Castle was taken and plundered with scarcely a blow of resistance. When the Earl was made aware of the loss he had sustained, he posted home in the greatest haste, breathing vengeance against the perpetrators; but his rage knew no bounds when he understood that Gregair's visit would, in a few months, probably, make an addition to his fading clan, that his family was dishonoured, that his daughter would soon be a mother. A price was set on the outlaw's head, every measure was taken, which ingenuity could adopt or power accomplish, to bring himself and accomplices to punishment; but the vigilance of the Macgregor baffled every pursuit. If they were a small

• Gregor of the black knee.

f At the time alluded to, the proprietor of Caolchairn Castle was only known as the Laird of Glenurchy.

party, he attacked and routed them; if a large, he retired to fastnesses, where, to follow him was destruction, from which he often sallied against his pursuers, and few returned to tell the tale of their unhappy comrades' fate.

Ewen Roy Cameron, a noted freehooter, through some quarrel with his chief, to whom he rendered important services, left his native Lochaber and settled in the wilds of Rannoch; to him the Earl was advised to apply under his distressing emergency. A messenger was instantly dispatched, and few days had elapsed when the "Cameron's gathering" announced, that he had arrived with twelve of his clansmen and waited the Earl's commands. The business was soon told him; countless wealth and numberless advantages were promised him, provided he accomplished the capture of Macgregor; he, on the other hand, set forth the peril of the undertaking. However, to satisfy the Earl, he would attempt the task, having first bound him under a promise, that if successful, whatever boon he would ask would, on no account, be denied. He instantly set out with his followers in search of his powerful adversary, and, after several days' fruitless labour, had notice, that, with a small party of men, he was lodged in a little inn near Callender, in Perthshire, at which he arrived and sought accommodation for the night for himself and his men. The only room in the house was in possession of the Macgregors. The landlord, therefore, went to inquire if they would object to additional company. Gregair instinctively grasped his dirk and sternly asked what their number was; being told there was thirteen, he looked round upon his men with a chieftain's pride, "we are the lame here," said he, "admit them, the thirteen are not born whom the Macgregors need fear." For a time, the courteous manner of the strangers belied any hostile intention, and, it was not till after they had pledged each other repeatedly from the sligechreachainn, or drinking-shell, that Cameron laid his hand on Macgregors shoulder and told him he was a prisoner. As may be expected, this step was instantly resented; however, with the exception of the leaders of the parties, the others kept their seats, each, with anxious eye, watching the different motions of their respective champions, in whose personal prowess both were equally confident, but the struggle did not last long, Gregair was obliged to yield to the superior strength of his rival, but, having pledged his honour that he would not attempt to escape, he was instantly unhanded, and, once more, seated beside his confiding conqueror.

Ewen Roy did not hesitate to inform him of the errand on which he had sped so well; a deadly paleness sat, for a moment, on Gregair's cheek, but it instantly gave way to a proud determination. "I am your prisoner," said he, "but I did not think that Scotland could produce the man who could master Gregair; fate has not ordained that he has fallen into the hands of Ewen Roy Cameron from Rannoch." "Then, replied the other, you see before you Ewen Roy, who never yet met a foe on dishonourable terms." Next morning both dismissed their followers and set out for , where Gregair was ushered

into the presence of the haughty Earl. "You are there, Macgregor," raid he, gazing on him like the vulture about to pounce on his prey, "thou art seized at last, and thy weight of gold will not procure thy liberation." The proud bearing of the Earl seemed to give the prisoner little uneasiness; his glances of scorn were answered by a look of stern defiance, and the only emotion appeared was, the proud curl of his lip as the domestics were ordered to lead him away to execution. "Hold," said Cameron, " ere you remove him I first crave my boon." "Name it, my brave fellow," said the Earl, "and it is instantly granted." All present were fixed in breathless suspense; riches and distinction were at his command, but, when these are placed in the scales with honour, the High

lander shrinks from the unequal comparison !" Macgregor's pardon" was the boon, and the Earl, finding he could not retract his word, could only say, "'tis given," waved his hand to the parties to retire, and, with the weight of conflicting passion, he fell senseless on the floor.

Gregair afterwards distinguishd himself in the general turn-outs which distracted the country ; he lived to old age, and it is hoped to regret the barbarous traits which stain the history of his earlier years.


Probation, And Other Tales. By the Author of " Selwyn

in Search of a Daughter, "Tales of the Moors," &c Adam

Black, Edinburgh, 1832.

The tale which is announced in this title, by the name of " Probation," is certainly an interesting one; and, for that reason, it will please the generality of readers. We confess, for our own part, that we are a little puzzled to account for its power in affecting the mind, as we cannot discover any merit which it possesses, except the drawing of character. In this one respect, it certainly does excel in a measure which may be conceived, when we say that, with defects which nothing but the highest talent could redeem, this narrative is even rendered agreeable, by the interest with which it invests the persons introduced in it. The portrait of the warm-hearted old maid, Mrs. Sidney Hume, is one that no ordinary writer could have designed or painted with such nature and expression. Her social conversation and parental manner are so strikingly characteristic, that the reader fancies her smiling before him in every page, and cannot help participating in the wish that he could testify his affection for her, by a filial embrace. The young and handsome Pauline Clitheroe, in like manner, pleases without any attempt to please; and her modest and winning behaviour enchants the imagination so completely, that it pictures to itself the graces of her person and the charms of her countenance, with very little help from the describer. The hero himself, Mr. Edmund Meredith, is a youth who claims the attention with no bad grace, and into whose success in love, we enter with an interest somewhat akin to his own. In pursuing him through life, however, we are too frequently struck with improbabilities, which jar with our sympathies, and remind us that the tale which we are perusing is no more than a faulty creation of the mind.

The author of " Probation" has certainly laid himself under great disadvantages, in endeavouring to make more of his story than it would warrant: for the incidents with which he has filled it uparefar from being successfully connected. He probably thought that the history of a foundling, who inherits great riches, and, after being a spendthrift, is changed to a virtuous man, by the influence of love, was not sufficient of itself to furnish materials for a novel, and he has therefore endeavoured, by collecting a number of extraordinary occurrences, to relieve the tameness of his narrative, and to keep the mind of the reader occupied with some strong excitement. For this purpose, he makes his hero be miraculously preserved from drowning, at a shipwreck, by a sailor, in whose house he is educated till he is again marvellously saved from death by a lady, who turns out to be his grandfather's widow. Through her he becomes rich, and requites his own escapes by similar good turns. First of all, he saves a lady, with whom he afterwards falls in love, from being killed in the upsetting of a coach. After that, he accidentally saves a mysterious old gentleman from being burnt, whom he accidentally finds to be connected with his family: And, finally, he accidentally saves from starvation the old sailor who had accidentally saved him from drowning. These are but specimens of the marvellous spirit with which the book is throughout embued. Many of the other rencontres are equally absurd; such as that which attends Mr. Peregrine

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