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is no less than the sage Jerdan of the Literary Gazette. It is rather hard, to be sure, for an old man to find fault with R fascinating creature, especially when she worships his critical puffs as much as De Stael did those of Schlegel; but really for one who is ever declaring his critical honesty, it is rather too much to read what he is daily throwing out about his fair favourite. The fact is, Miss Landon is a lively little girl, and a sweet enough versifier, one who in early days we might have tried to compliment, in expectation of beholding a smile on a pretty face, or in the hope of whirling her round in the intoxicating waltz, and one whose dreamings would have been certainly acceptable to us, when we were suffering from the cruelty of some hard-hearted flirt, who fairly laughed at the boyish vows which, we verily believe, were too easily made to be lasting. The general characteristics of Miss Landon's poetry are, that they are unreal, sentimental and exciting. Her poems are like certain of Moore's, the embodiment of passion attired in a silver veil, which makes it float so gracefully before the young and innocent, as to seem to them a creature of light. Miss Landon, however, in the present volume, has given up her lively tripping and flippant style, and after the example of the author of the " Loves of the Angels," has taken to a serious key, and, as she says herself, has written this Easter Gift, in a spirit of the deepest humility. "The pictures are entirely sacred subjects, and their illustration has given me the opportunity of embodying many a sad and serious thought that had arisen in hours of solitude and despondency. I believe I myself am the better for their existence; I wish their effect may be the same on others. In this hurrying and deceitful world, no page will be written utterly in vain, which awakens one earnest or heavenward thought, one hope, or one fear, in the human heart."

The following poem will best illustrate Miss Landon's new style, which, we gravely suspect, will at least be found as useful to the fair susceptible readers, by whom she is most eagerly read, as any of her former passionate lines on love and friendship.

THE INFANT ST. JOHN.

Lo .' on the midnight winds a young child's voice

With lofty hymn,
Calling on earth and heaven to rejoice

Along with htm.

Those infant lips are given from above

A spirit tone,
And he speaks out those words of hope and love

To prophets known.

He is a herald, as the morning star

Brings daylight in,
For he doth bring glad tidings from afar

To man and sin.

Now let the desolate earth lift up her head,

And at the word,
Wait till the mountains kindle with the tread

Of Christ the Lord.

And earth was conscious of her God; he came

Meek and descried,
Bearing the weight of sorrow, sin, and shame;

And for us died.

Twice shall he come; even now the appointed hour

Is in its birth,
When he shall come in glory, and in power,

To judge the earth.

Not as before, to win mankind and save;

But in ire,
When earth shall be but as a mighty grave

In that red fire.

Do we not live now in those evil days

Which were foretold
In holy writings and inspired lays

Of prophets old?

There Is a wild confusion in the world,

Like the vexed sea; And ancient thrones are from high places hurled.

Yet man not free.

And vain opinions seek to change all life,

Yet yield no aid
To all the sickness, want, the grief and strife,

Which new pervade.

Are not these signs of that approaching time

Of blood and tears, When thou shall call to dread account the crime

Of many years?

Then who shall bide before thee? only he
Who is all thine,
Who hath stood fast, amid iniquity,
In faith divine.

Oh, Lord ! awaken us; let us not cease

To look afar;
Let us not, like the foolish, call it peace

When there is war.

Oh ! teach us to believe what thy blest word

Has long declared,
And let thy second advent, gracious Lord,
Find us prepared.

MISCELLANEA.

Hunting by Steam.—A friend of mine startled me a little by stating that he occasionally took the same horse ninety miles to cover, and after a day's hunting, brought him home a like distance. "Unless you huut by steam," I exclaimed, "it is impossible!" "Why," says he, "that's the whole secret. I go with my horse on board the steamer at Quebec, and reach Trios Riviere in good time to breakfast, hunt with my father-in-law, who keeps a pack, and return to Quebec by the afternoon boat." —Ferguson's Notes on a Visit to the United States and Canada.

Unrequited Love—She tried, by repeating bis last words, to produce the same effect they had once had on her heart, and wept in indescribable agony at feeling those words had no meaning now for her. When lips and passion have thus rejected us, the backward steps we are compelled to tread towards the path we have wandered from, are ten thousand times more torturing and arduous than those we have exhausted in their pursuit. Hope, then, supported our hands every step we took. Remorse and disappointment scourge us back, and every step is tinged with tears or with blood ; and well is it for the pilgrim, if that blood is drained from his heart; for then his pilgrimage will soon be terminated. —Maturin.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE CIGAR.

Hail! to thee, product of a distant clime,
(Born not in this our chilly, northern land ;)

As yet unlauded by the scribbler's rhyme,

Praise to his name that brought thee to our strand,

And gave his grateful countrymen the test,

Of the high blessings of the sunny west.

By thee, the jilted lover cures his pain,

And, in thy soothing fragrance, finds relief;

The cruel fair seems to grow kind again,
And smile upon him as the cheering leaf

Steals on his senses, like a minstrel's lay—

And in smoke, and in perfume, dies away!

Ambrosial herb! whose fragrant fumes divine,
Can soothe, alike, the pains of love and war;

For mortal cares we have no nurse like thine
To cure, from Cupid's bow, or sabre's scar—

Brought to our northern shores by Raleigh's baud,

The soothing offspring of a warmer land.

Sir Walter Raleigh! glory to thy name!

The first to bring to Albion's sea-girt coast, The weed narcotic! deathless be thy fame! I

Thy country's thanks attend thee! proud the boast! Live in the mem'ry of the good and brave, Whose grateful tears bedew thy peaceful grave!

Tobacco! solace of the poor and great,

That cheers the soldier, tired of strife and war;

The politician, with his cares of State,

To soothe them all, demands a good cigar—

And, take my word for't, that the Hebrew's manna,

Can never equal a well rolled Havannah!

THE PLAYGOER.

Our little friend, Spectacles, has not been idle this week—what with Cunningham's ball and Sapio's engagement, he has had quite enough to do—still he murmurs not—on the contrary, he openly avows his having received full recompense, for the necessary trouble and expense of his outfit for the assembly, by smiles from coral lips, glances from coal-black eyes, pressure from lily hands, and all the other delightful et ceteras attendant on such joyous occasions. Our Spectacles is the most amorous little soul in the world, and is sure to be found wherever female loveliness appears. We are, truly, sorry, he is so very seldom gratified in this respect at our theatre, and cannot at all blame him for deprecating the taste of the Glasgow ladies, who, notwithstanding the powerful inducement held out by the engagement of that Prince of Song, Mr. Sapio, prefer the delights arising from a decoction of Scbouchong, or a hand at whist, to his melodious warblings; but we hope they may atone for this neglect of so clever a stranger, by supporting his benefit, which, we observe, is fixed for this evening. This gentleman has been performing the parts of Prince Orlando, Rodolpb, Young Meadows, ami Henry Bertram, with great effect. As to his taste and execution we have already given our opinion. His fame has owed little to provincial critics—he has passed through the fiery ordeal of the metropolitan Theatres, and has there been, for many years, "a favourite." This is saying more for Mr. Sapio, than if we had the possibility of setting apart the whole of our paper to his praise. Our Spectacles speaks highly of of the " Meg Merrilees" of Miss Richardson, the " Dandie Dim. mont" of Mr. Alexander, and the " Hodge" of Mr. Lloyd: we perfectly agree with him. Miss Richardson has all along proved herself to be a credit to the establishment to which she is attached —she is a clever actress, possessing, alike, a just conception of her author, and a rigid attention to costume. Mr. Alexander's Dinmont is excellent; indeed, we believe, he is the original, and he, of course, looks upon this as one of his pet parts. If this gentleman would confine himself to his own particular walk, in the drama, and which is by no means a limited one, he would give the public prints more frequent opportunity of making honourable mention of his name. We are sure Mr. Alexander will forgive this hint, when we ask, if it be possible for any man to shine in every department of any art; where can a painter be found, who is alike successful in historical painting, landscape, portraiture, and still life? and, to find an actor fully competent to play tragedy, genteel and low comedy, melo-drama, opera, pantomime, is equally impossible; let him, therefore, play such parts as Dandie Diumont, Weillibald, Lung Tom Collin, Peter Pullhall, &c. and he will soon find his name stand high in the profession, and his respectability as manager increase. The " Hodge" of our little favourite Lloyd is excellent; indeed, we do not remember ever having seen a better. Mr. Alexander might, with a little addition, not forgetting a little subtraction, render his establishment very respectable.

GLASGOW RELIC OF THE YEAR 1745.

HINDOO HONOUR. A Loo Hara, one day, returning homeward from the chace, was accosted by a Charun, who, having bestowed his blessing upon him, would accept of nothing in exchange but the turban from his head. Strange as was the desire, he preferred compliance to incurring the viserwa, or " vituperation of the bard;" who, placing Aloo's turban on his own head, bade him " live the thousand years," and departed. The Cbarun immediately bent his steps to Mundore, the capital of Maroo; and as he was ushered into the presence of its prince, and pronounced the byrd of the Rahtores, he took off his turban with the left hand, and performed his salutation with the right. The unusual act made the prince demand the cause, when in reply he was told " that the turban of Aloo Hara should bend to none on earth." Such reverence to an obscure chief of the mountains of Muwar enraged the King of the Desert, who unceremoniously kicked the turban out of doors. Also, who had forgotten the strange request, was tranquilly occupied in his pastime, when his quondam friend again accosted him, his head bare, the insulted turban under his arm, and loudly demanding vengeance on the Rahtore, whose conduct he related. Aloo was vexed, and upbraided the Charun for having wantonly provoked this indignity towards him. "Did I not tell you to ask land, or cattle, or money, yet nothing would please you but this rag; and my head must answer for the insult to a vile piece of cloth: for nothing appertaining to Aloo Hara shall be insulted with impunity even by the T'hakoor of Marwar." Aloo forthwith convened his clan, and soon five hundred *' sons of one father" were assembled within the walls of Bumaodo, ready to follow wheresoever be led.

When the Rebels threatened to burn Glasgow, in the year 17sV5, it is stated by Gibson, in his History of the City, that the Magistrates received a letter from the Pretender's son, demanding from the Corporation, £15,000 in money, with all their arms, and all arrears of taxes then due to Government; but that this demand was disregarded by the Magistrates, as they were in hopes of being speedily relieved by Sir John Cope, who was then on his march from the north. However, upon the 2<3th September, Mr. John Hay, writer to the signet, came to Glasgow with a party of horse, and being met by Glengyle, chief of the M'Gregors, with a great part of his clan, he produced another letter to the same effect with the former, but containing a power to treat with the Magistrates, in case of " their being unable to comply with the first demand;" and Gibson farther states, that a compromise accordingly took place by the payment of Je5,000 in money, and 4.'500 in goods, which sums were borrowed upon the credit of the corporation.

This transaction has never been so satisfactorily explained by any of our City Historians as it ought to be, and we have just now before us an original document from which we would be inclined to infer, that this money was raised by contributions made by the most wealthy inhabitants, although the document is silent on the subject, being in the following terms :—

Glasgow, Sept. 1745. Gentlemen,—Whereas the City of Glasgow is in danger of being attacked, by a force which they are in no condition to resist, and that the inhabitants and their Trade may be exposed to many inconveniences,—These are therefore Beseeching you, Andrew Aiton, Andrew Buchanan, Laurence Dinwoodie, and Richard Oswald, Merchants in Glasgow, Allan Dreghorn, Wright, and James Smith, Weaver in Glasgow,—In case any Such force Shall approach the City, and require to be Lodged therein, that you meet with the Leaders of the said force, and make the best terms you possibly can, for saving the City and its Trade and Inhabitants.

William Crawford, George Murdoch,

Alexander Stirling, Richard Allan,

George Bogle, Lawr. Colquhottn.

Gavin Lawson, ytfxTT" John Murdoch,
Thos. Scott, ','\ Robt. Luke,

Robt. Christie, If; .".] John Bowman,

John Graham, V, > .-"*•'•/ John Brown,
Ja. M'Call, v<tJ'. J°nn '5oS,e>

Thos. Woddrop, And. Cochrane,

Matthew Bogle, Jas. Coulter,

Robt. Boyd, John M'Endoe.

Andrew Ramsay,

The above document is endorsed "Sept. 1745. Agreement among the Principal Inhabitants of Glasgow, to make terms with the Rebels, to prevent the City being plundered." The original is in fine preservation, and, as already observed, although it throws no new light upon the transaction in question, yet we think that a perusal of it may gratify some of our fellow citizens, by shewing them who, in the year 1745 were the influential inhabitants of Glasgow.—From the Scots Times

ODDS AND ENDS.

A Gentleman tome years since, bought a pointer dog, who was a remarkable prognosticator of bad weather. "Whenever I observed him," said his master, 11 prick up his ears in a listening posture, and rearing himself up to look to windward, though it was the finest weather Imaginable, I was sure of a succeeding tempest."

DELIGHTFUL SEA-BATHING RESIDENCE TO LET,—Partly Furnished, or Unfurnished,—FAIRY KNOWE COTTAGE, close to Helensburgh; containing Five Rooms on the ground floor, Kitchen, Servants' apartments, Larder, Cellar, &c. on the under floor; and the Attics might be used as Sleeping apartments if required.

The COTTAGE is most delightfully situated in an elevated situation, commands an extensive and beautiful prospect, and is within about two minutes walk from the sea. There is an Acre or more of Ground around it, laid out with great taste, and stocked with a profusion of Shrubs and Flowers; also, a small GARDEN, planted with Kitchen Herbs, &c.

Apply at the COTTAGE, or to CHARLES STEWART, Writer, Glasgow.

Published, every Morning, Sunday excepted, by John Finlay, at No. 9, Miller Street; and Sold by John Wylie, 97, Argyle Street; David Robertson, and W. R. M'phun, Glasgow, Thomas Stevenson, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh : DaVid Dick, and A. Gardner, Booksellers, Paisley.- A. Lus» Greenock; and J. Glass, Bookseller, Iiothsay.

PRINTED BY JOHN 0 HA HAM, MELVILLE PLACE.

THE DAY,

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.

CARPE

GLASGOW, TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 1832.

FOREIGN SKETCHES No. II.

FRENCH SPLEEN TOWARDS THE ENGLISH, AND ENGLISH OPINION OF THE FRENCH.

"C'est une belle et respectable nation que la Nation Anglaise" was the opinion of the French people in the days of Florian; but, how much has our national character fallen, in the same people's estimation, during the 19th century! An Englishman finds now in France but little which does not pourtray sentiments the most opposite to those of their favourite novelist. If he enters a theatre, instead of finding his countryman holding in the comedy (as he was wont to do,) the character of every thing that is amiable, virtuous and generous, he will meet with "Les Anglaises pour rire," or " Les deux Anglais;" if he enters the public promenades, he will find them decorated with caricatures of " Milord and Miledi Goddem," and crowds of most respectable Parisians searching through the vast collection, to find if there be any thing new to tell of "Monsieur Rosbif" at the restaurateurs. If he walks the streets, he will discover that politeness itself can hardly hide the envious sneer, and when that is awanting—which, however, is rarely the case—anger is too often exhibited in giving vent to a hearty sacre. In Britain, if such feelings of animosity exist, they are confined to vulgar minds; but in France the spirit of envy seems to rankle in minds of a very superior cast, coupled with that innate feeling, that every Frenchman possesses, of undervaluing others, for the purpose of raising himself, and, steady to the egotistical idea, that no nation is so far advanced in science, in literature, and in manners, as his own—nor no individual more enlightened than a Frenchman—and, finding that the English, as well as others, are fast treading on their heels in many things, and far surpassing them in others, his politeness and his philosophy are too often sacrificed to that spirit of spleen and envy which a pride, injured by contemned genius, has engendered. We can well enter into the French feeling of hatred towards the English, on the ground of being conquered by their politics—dare we say, by their prowess? For, had a French army ever taken possession of our Capital, or had a regiment de la veille garde stood centinel on our palaces, and garrisoned our citadels, a spirit of hatred not only, but a spirit of extermination, would have burned in every bosom. This spirit of patriotism and nationality is so far commendable, that the want of it is the most degrading character with which a nation can be branded; yet why should it be carried so far, as to extend its influence over every branch of science, of politics, of life, of manners, and of general comforts? to that point indeed, of being blinded to every improvement in these, on the part of others, and, especially, of being sceptical to any thing like advancement on the part of the nation, which has, from its peculiar circumstances, been the object of its patriotic enmity. True it is, that an Englishman finds, every moment in France, something said in the shape of insinuation or actual assertion, upon each and all of these points, to hurt his feelings and provoke his resentment. He will find his country's military tactics held in derision, by those who have been defeated by their excellence. He will find our Spanish victories denied, and even the battle which, by one stroke, settled the fate of Europe, stripped of its honours by the sup

posed undeniable fact, that VEmpereur etoit trahi. He will be obliged to listen to the ridicule which the infamous Pillet has attempted to throw upon our customs, and be assailed by the jokes of the author of Quinz Yours d Londres. He will hear English politics branded with every thing but Europe's advantage, and Britain, who alone stood out against tyranny, loaded with the charge of being hostile to the liberty of the world. Let an Englishman, in conversation with the generality of the individuals he meets in Paris, touch upon the arts, literature or philosophy, and the same enmity towards his nation's claim to any thing even like equality is combated. If painting, for instance, be the subject, and if any of our heroes of the pictorial art be brought forward in support of our pretensions to possessing that art, they too often receive the appellation of Barbouillers. The Wests, the Turners, and the Lawrences, because forsooth they have not figured in the Journaux de Paris, must be far inferior in every point to the Davids, Girodets and Guerins of France. If sculpture be treated of, it finds an equally biassed reception; and although Canova almost worshipped the statues of Flaxman and Chantry, their merits will most probably be held in competition with the petty sculptor that has scarcely modelled any thing but the marble head of Louis XVIII. and Charles X. Talk of the theatre, our plays are accounted little better than melo-dramas, and Shakespeare, the mighty Shakespeare, is condemned unknown, subjected to the borrowed criticism of inferior minds, while Racine and Coreille are held up as the standards of the legitimate tragedy. Speak of poetry, Milton's sublimity of soul is insulted by wittlings, who attempt to mimic the flippancy of Voltaire. Touch on philosophy, our country is hardly allowed to claim Newton as her son, and the excellence of our manufactures is said to depend on foreign ingenuity. In a word, England is disliked and envied, and, excepting a few great minds, to whom the world is indebted, and whose understandings are above the paltry bias that their countrymen have submitted to, there are few found in France ready to acknowledge the glory which Britain is entitled to.

It requires but a very short residence, indeed, to discover that the French nation is at one in their opinion of themselves and others. Upon common subjects you hear the same string of observations, and upon higher topics, similar sentiments echoed and reechoed from every mouth. Anxious to know, without taking pains to understand—to appear wise, without traversing the laborious tract that leads to that elevated situation—and to know every thing of France, without wishing to be acquainted with the affairs of other countries—the knowledge of the whole nation in general is derived, not from their own observation, or from opinions formed upon data of their own, but by giving up their understandings to be guided by a few great minds, to whom it has looked up, and still regards as beacons, to guide it in their opinion; and whose powerful words have spread, and still spread, like electricity, throughout all the country. This will account for the universal similarity of opinion which is sported to the English in France.

Public opinion, in a talkative nation, is easily discovered, and may at once be decided on. With respect to the manners and peculiarities of the various ranks in society, that is what a stranger will be long of forming a proper judgment of. To describe les moeurs des Salons, et les moeurs de Bourgeosie, would require a residence similar to the Baron de Grimmcs, and, to trace the latent springs of these, would require the penetrating eye of a Mad. de Stael. Enough of folly has been advanced on these points, from want of consideration, to warn others from falling into the same error, and too many opposite opinions have been sported by those who have made a journey to Paris, to warn others from trusting to what may meet the eye of the passing traveller. There are a few peculiarities, however, which must strike even the most careless observer, and upon which there can be little diversity of opinion. He will'find the French generally more patriotic in sentiment than his countrymen the English, but less so, when brought to testify it by action. He will find them more clamorous about their national glory, but not go zealous to establish it—moreskimmingly acquainted with various subjects, and less informed on any one in particular—more anxious to appear learned, with less pretensions to be called savans. In matters of literature, more united in opinion, and in the knowledge of their own country more intimately acquainted. In every day transactions, more interested, and in national politics, less informed and less anxious. In the liberal arts, more generally and technically learned, and in the useful arts less practically informed. In luxury more gaudy, but in comfort inferior. In manner more pleasing, but in friendship less steady. In religion more splendid, and in morality less strict. To strangers more affable, and in intercourse with the unknown less suspicious. In humour and wit more natural, but in argument less powerfull In temper more cheerful, and under difficulties and afflictions far more resigned. In defending national peculiarities more clamorous, while in fashion and manners more changeable. As acquaintances of a day infinitely more amusing, but as friends for life too volatile to be ever the bosom companion of him who confides his secrets to but one individual in the world. With respect to variety of manners, these must always be gathered from being placed in particular situations, and should not be laid down as parts of a national character, except a long residence has stamped them as universal. There is contrariety in the character and manners of every nation, but none more so than in the French, and, hence, a great difficulty for a stranger, and especially for an Englishman, who is almost looked upon as an intruder, to judge of what he finds under so very opposite aspects. We find, in Paris, the most frivolous and the most sage leagued together—the seemingly utter want of morality, conjoined with the greatest sensibility and tenderness. We see the motto of "enjoy the present hour" at every corner of the city, and the future moments inculcated, with all the earnestness of entreaty, in the garden of Pirela Chaise. We find the greatest apathy testified for lost friends, while affectionate regard, and kind remembrance of departed worth, are seen exemplified intliehundreds that weep over the tombs of Mount Louis. But, should such remarks,hurriedly made, and taken either separately or conjoined, at once make us judge of a nation's character, so as to brand it with immorality, or blazon it for peculiar sensibility? Yet, it is almost in this way that we hear French manners, and public opinion, decided on by English travellers. It is from considering what the stranger sees around him, to be the actual epitome of the feelings, the per culiarities, and the ways of the whole, when it is only that of individuals or families, that we can at all account for the vast variety of sentiment which we hear offered by Continental travellers. It is from this alone, that he, who has spent the greater part of his residence in the Palais Royal, who dined at Verit, breakfasted at Tortonis, attended No. 9, took a private box at the Theatre Franpais, walked the passage of the panoramas, and the galerie de bois, returns to England, raving against the expenses of France, and against the

immorality, licentiousness, and frivolity of its inhabitants: while he who has resided in the Rue dEnfer, attended the schools of the Pays Latin, and made his stated appearance at the sittings of the Institute, returns home in extascy with the literary and philosophic delights he has enjoyed, and is apt to conceive nothing of Paris, but its the abode of the mathematician and the chemist. It is thus, we hear the cry of want "of comfort, by the person who travels with his family and suite, and the pleasure of whose tour is alone to arise, from change of situation, finding comfortable lodgings and good fare j while he, on the other hand, whose object is information, who contents himself with the diligence, dines a la table d'hdte, in company with the natives, is praising France and the cheapness of French living. It is thus that the man, who attends court and parties of le grande monde, is in raptures with the luxurious and elegant pastimes of Paris, while a thorough-bred cockney sighs for the je ne sais quois of good old London. It is from particular situation alone, that we hear him, who has entered into the family circle, telling of the delights, the charms, les agremens, of French society, while another is whispering of Boudoirs, or raging against the total want of matrimonial felicity; and, it is from this, coupled with a wish not to be behind their neighbours, either in point of advantages, or in point of supposed ability, that we hear so many of our countrymen, return from the French capital, with the exclamation Goldoni has put into the mouth of Lord Ernold, in his comedy of Pamela:—" Parigi, oh il mio caro Parigi! per la galanteria, per tamore. Bel conversare senza sospetti! Cfie beWamarsi senza larve di gelosia f Sempre fesle, sempre giardini, sempre allegrie, passatempi, tripudj.oh che belmondo! Oh che belmondo! Oh che piacere, che passa tutti i piaceri del mondo!

A TRIP TO B

As your little Journal is alike open to articles on science, literature, morality, poetry, &c. if the following sketch of a short excursion to B be as interesting to your numerous readers, as it was to the friends who accompanied me, you are welcome to insert it in your columns. On one of those delightful days with which we were lately favoured with, a friend requested the company of a banker, a man of letters and a bibliopole, to enter his carriage and visit, with him, the village of B-, —, and inspect the delightful

and romantic policy of Lord D , which was no

sooner suggested, than heartily agreed to, without ever dreaming of encountering a storm, or finding mine "hostess to be ane most original character"—a real Megg Dodds, a faithful description of whom would require the graphic and powerful pen of our country's boast, Sir W. Scott, to do her full justice. It would occupy too much of your valuable space to attempt a description of our feelings, excited by the admiration we all felt and enjoyed, as we passed along the winding streams of our own river the Clyde, that

"Pure stream! in whose transparent ware,
My youthful limbs I wont to leave."

Suffice it to say, that they were, in proportion to the varied and beautiful scenery through which we passed, and heightened as we drew up, and alighted on the grounds of the Nobleman already alluded to. We had

but reached the famed B castle, when we were

arrested by heavy rain, which urged us forward to the

village of B , to which we had sent a messenger

to prepare dinner for four; but, ere we arrived, we were drenched, and in a state far from being enviable. However, we arrived and entered our hospitable landlady's house, whom we found to be advanced in years, and in strength decayed, yet cheerful and content, with a flow of animal spirits always pleasing in old age. She had a wonderful confidence in her looks, and her visage occasionally glowed with anxiety, "to

do every thing in its proper time, and to keep every thing to its proper place." Maxims she had long learned and practised—all around her was clean, neat and elegant, even to the most fastidious taste— 11 Xhe white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, t The varnished clock, that clink'd behind the door."

From the condition we were in on entering*—more befitting her sympathy than her reproaches—to our astonishment we were hailed with, "Hoot awa,' glide folks, ye're welcome, but aff wi' yer coats, and dry them," evidently alarmed lest the neat and clean appearance of her parlour should be thrown into confusion, or the bright polish of her hardwood chairs and table be injured; "an' if you, Sir," addressing the banker, "will put on ane of my bed-gowns, ye're welcome, and gang your ways up stairs, an' take your dinner while 'tis warm; and, aiblins, ye may get dryer under it than o'er my fire, and no gie us any more fash ye now." The sternness of our lady hostess seemed to strike our friend the banker with awe and astonishment, and, after doffing our upper garments, we ascended her upper apartments, where we found the best fare and entertainment her establishment at the time had. After enjoying dinner, we were again hailed by our landlady, who did not appear to be troubled with too much ceremony—"just come yere ways down the stairs, now since you've got dry and warm inside, an' take your toddy, (which startled one of our friends, being a temperate member, but who had not courage to resist such a formidable entreaty, and remained mute,) at the fire-side, while your coats are drying." Our friend, whose carriage brought us thither, with a shrewdness and knowledge of human nature to which we were no strangers, discovered that our hostess would add much to our enjoyment did we but accommodate ourselves to her humours and freaks, to which we all agreed, remembering that, "if we would have the kindness of others, we must endure their foibles." When she appeared, our friend the banker inquired, "when the Kirk was to be finished in the repairs now going on ?" Tweel a wat," she replied, "'twill be some time yet, but sic a loss I hae suffered by it you'll no guess I have na, she added, had a sacrament in our Kirk for the last four years, which has been a gae sair heart to me." The banker seemed to enter into her feelings with much kind sympathy, regretting, at same time, the loss which, to her, under her advanced years, must have been very painful; "but, Sir," she replied, "ye dinna seem to understand me : do you no ken, Sir, that I used to draw twelve or fifteen pounds at each sacramental occasion, for refreshments ; but, for these four years, as I was saying, all that is lost." This again astounded us in our good opinion we had formed of our hostess, when we discovered that she calculated her loss not so much in the want of her sacramental duties, as in her loss by profession since the repairs on the Kirk had comment,ed. This led to a gentle remonstrance, when she immediately shut our mouths by assuring us, that they who are most faulty are the most prone to find fault with others. As it was evident we could make no impression on her mind, or give her views a more correct turn, as, from her volubility, she was of opinion with the poet, that

"If no basis bear my rising name"

But the fallen ruins of another's fame,
Then teach me, heaven, to scorn the guilty bays,
Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise;
Unblemi&h'd let me live, or die unknown, ...
O, grant me honest fame—or grant me none.

we suggested her preparing tea ere we departed, to which she immediately directed her attention, and much to our satisfaction, and, on the banker paying our "bill," we bade her adieu, she expressing a desire of expecting again an early visit, which, of course, we promised. Our reflections, on returning homewards, were of a varied kind, and it was agreed that an account of our perambulation of the day might be hand

ed over for some other "Day," perhaps to the amusement of others, as it had certainly been to ourselves —that task was shouldered on me, which I have thus so feebly attempted.

MISCELLANEA.

Hindoo Opium Eater Narayn-das became celebrated for his

strength and prowess. He was one of those undaunted Rajpoots who were absolutely strangers to the impression of fear, and it might be said of danger and himself, "that they were brothers whelped the same day, and he the elder.' Unfortunately, these qualities were rendered inert from the quantity of opium he took, which would have killed most men; for it is recorded " he could at one time eat the weight of seven pice." The consequence of this vice, as might be expected, was a constant stupefaction, of which many anecdotes are related. Being called to aid the Rana Raemull, then attacked by the Patbans of Mandoo, he set out at the head of five hundredselect Haras. On the first day's march, ha was taking his siesta, after his usual dose, under a tree, his mouth wide open, into which the flies had unmolested ingress, when a young taiiani came to draw water at the well, and, on learning that this was Boondi's prince on his way to aid the Rana in his distress, she observed, "If he gets no other aid than his, alas for my prince!" "The umuldar (opium eater) has quick ears, though no eyes," is a common adclage in Rnjwarra. "What is that you say, rand (widow)? roared the Rao, advancing to her. Upon her endeavouring to excuse herself, he observed, " do not fear, but repeat it." In her hand she had an iron crow-bar, which the Rao, taking it from her, twisted until the ends met round her neck. "Wear this garland for me," said he, " until I return from aiding the Rana, unless in the interim you can find some one strong enough to unbind it."

Musical Pulmonics.—A Highland piper having a scholar to teach, thus initiated him into a knowledge of semibreves, minims, crotchets and quavers:—M You see that fellow with the white round open face (pointing to a semi-breve, between the two lines of a bar) he moves slowly from that line to this, while you beat one with your foot, and take a long blast. If you now put a leg to him, you make two of him, and he'll move twice as fast. If you blacken his face thus he'll run four times faster than the first fellow with the white fHCe. And what think ye? After blackening his face thus, if you bend his knee, or tie his legs, he will hop you still eight times faster than the white-faced fellow I showed you first. Now, whenever you blow your pipes, Donald, remember this; the tighter those fellows legs are tied, the faster they will run, and the quicker they are sure to dance.

The following is a literal copy of a hand-bill, actually circulated by a French emigrant in Philadelphia:—

I, Jean de Meriou, bein trnu necessity oblige to teach la langue Franc/oise to de peuple, I be glad you send your childs, and I dwelle toder ind, Second Street. All my oder hour I make Sausage a Vend.

POETRY.

A TALE.
Thus, saith the Prophet of the Turk,
Let Musselmen beware of pork;
There is a part in every swine,
No follower, or friend of mine,
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.

Such was Mahomet's mystic charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part exprest,
They might, with safety, eat the rest;
But, for one part they thought it hard,
From the whole bog to be debarred.

Much controversy, therefore, rose;
These chose the back, the shoulder those,
By some 'twas confidently said,
He meant not to forbid the head;
Whilst others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail:
Thus conscience, freed from every clog,
Amongst them they ate up the hog.

You laugh—'tis well—the tale applied
May make you laugh the other side.
Renounce the world, the preacher cries:
We do, a multitude replies,
While one, as innocent regards
A song and friendly game at cards,
And some, whatever you can say,
Can see no evil in a play.

*

Some love a concert, ball, or race,
And others, shooting, or the chace:
Revil'd and bor'd, renoune'd and follow'd,
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd;
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

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