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wildest caprices;. Sir Douglas's obstinacy melted before one glance of those passionate eyes, whose rarely-lifted lashes_black, long, and silken -made them seem so much more soft than they really were; and within a year of their arrival, and exactly six months before the birth of Græme's little girl Jeanie, Sir Douglas folded to his heart, with all the rapture and energy of a doting father, the child of his old age—the joy of his withering autumnal years -Douglas Antonio Scott Græme !-and in that embrace, as in the coil of a snake, lay crushed all the faint, lingering, half-confessed hopes still cherished for his children by the unhappy Græme of Aberfoy.

From the hour of her birth, Jeanie Græme never saw the smile of welcome on a human face. Whether it was that his temper was altogether soured br the events of the last few years, or that the presence of the little infant continually reminded him of the contemporary production at the castle, or a mixture of both causes, certain it is that Aberfoy disliked his daughter, even before her dawning intellect taught her to shrink from his eye and dread his anger-or before constant rebuffs and ill-usage had given her little delicate face the expression so well described by the French phrase " l'air de souffrance." Her brothers took the tone of the household with respect to her, and shunned the feeble creature who haunted their sports without strength of body or elasticity of mind sufficient to enable her to partake of them. Her mother, disturbed in her repose by the eternal rebukes of Aberfoy to the little girl, and her shrill cries when the young boys, with the tyranny natural to their age, used force to compel her to relinquish a toy, or obey a command, bestowed as much dislike as her passive nature could afford ;-and the servants saved themselves a vast deal of trouble in the minor concerns of household, by sending Miss Jeanie to collect the eggs for breakfast, to fetch up milk from the farm, or go a message to the village of Pid-Muddie, three miles beyond Aberfoy. It has been said, and I believe with some truth, that “ they whom none love, love none;" but to this rule Jeanie Græme must form an exception. She not only was affectionate, but she bestowed the chief part of her affections on the very individual who seemed most to repel them—she loved her father, that little deserted, mournful girl ! and she would steal round to meet him when the report of his rifle warned those at home of his approach, without daring to question him, with the natural inquisitiveness of a happy child, as to his day's sport; and feel a sort of pleasure in seeing him sit down to rest, and lift his blue bonnet off the short thick hair which time and vexation had as vet only partially changed. Sometimes, if he seemed very weary, she would venture timidly to propose mixing him some whiskey and water or Atholbrose, by way of refreshment; and when the permission was granted, it was a great satisfaction to her to “ see papa so thirsty.” Gradually, too, she learnt to make herself at least not obnoxious—she no longer followed her brothers when they drove her back; she wept softly, or choked back her tears, or wandered out-far, far, and alone-to some spot on the purple hill, where heaven only could witness her weeping. She arranged the folds of her mother's shawls, and comprehended her languid signs, which the Scotch servant-girls always required to be rendered into words, and meekly, if not cheerfully, she bore to be commanded hither and thither by all who had, and by all who had not, a right to do it.

Meanwhile Aberfoy's affairs grew more and more enibarrassed, as he Oct.–VOL. XXXIX. NO, CLIV.

seemed less able to meet his embarrassments. From his uncle he had ceased to have any hopes, and, reckless and half ruined, he defied his creditors, and oppressed his small scattered tenantry. For some time past he had, with one of those desperate and vexatious efforts at petty économy, gone to spend a week here, and a month there, in houses where, as the frank-hearted heir of the Douglas, he had been accustomed to meet a hearty welcome. Sometimes his wife accompanied himsometimes the terms of the invitation civilly but pointedly excluded her; he was asked as “ a bachelor," as “my good fellow,” or “to meet a few friends who were coming to shoot ;and from these visits, where he had been daily drunken, mortified, and wretched, the ruined laird used sullenly to return to his comfortless home-to gloom over the days when his songs and his jokes were reckoned best at the board, and when his presence, like Virginia's," made a little holiday.” - One cloud still darker hung over him. Antonia, the beautiful mother of Sir Douglas's child, seemed at first willing to show him kindness; but there was a sudden coolness, a sudden ceasing even to mention his name, and strange rumours went abroad of his having endeavoured, in a letter, to poison his uncle's mind against the partner of his home, by wild and vague accusations; and still stranger reports were circulated in his defence, as if Antonia had tempted him for the express purpose of being able more entirely to embitter against him every latent feeling of dislike and resentment in the heart of the jealous old man.. Aberfov became more sullen ; his house was poorer ; his comforts decreased; while the heir of Græme Castle grew strong and lovely-more lovely even than the favourite Douglas of Aberfoy. From time to time his sisters, Margaret, Ellen, and Catherine, endeavoured to make a temporary residence in their own homes agreeable to him, or they asked one of the boys at a time on a long visit; but dependence is at best a bitter thing, and when he saw his wife universally disliked, and taking all favours as if it was she who conferred them; when he felt his popularity declining, and saw his sister's husbands severally begin to show that they were weary of helping one who in no way contributed, as formerly, to their amusement; when he knew that his fine-spirited, noble boys, worse dressed, worse clothed, worse 'fed than their cousins, were twitted with their misfortunes as faults, and laughed at for the disclosures they made of the poverty of their own home; when, in short, he observed the impatience of continúed misery which exists in the hearts of the generality of men, and which prompts that most ridiculous reply, daily made to the appeal of the houseless beggar, “Why I gave you a penny yesterday!"-Græme of Aberfoy felt that he could struggle no longer; and he was preparing for his return home, with the sullen determination of an animal creeping back to its hole to die, when Catherine's husband (his host at the time) said carelessly as he pushed the silver-wheeled decanter stand down the polished mahogany table, "I wonder how, you don't let, or rather sell Aberfoy.” Sell Aberfoy! The thing had never entered his brain-never struck him as possible. Sell Aberfoy! where his father, grandfather, great grandfather, were born and died ! the home of his childhood —the home he had thought to transmit to his children's children-sell Aberfoy! At first å flush of anger passed across his brow at the suggestion ; then, as he gazed round the table at the unsympathising faces of his stranger-friends, and saw only an expression of curiosity as to how he would receive the proposal, and of eagerness, as he fancied, to determine what chance they had of being rid of himwhen he saw the coral lips of his own sister Margaret part as if to persuade him, he could maintain néither fortitude nor anger; his nerves were weakened by habitual excess and unceasing anxiety, and to the surprise and embarrassment of all present, the ruinéd laird leaned back in his chair, and, covering his face with his hands, he wept.

Bút bitterer tears were yet to flow at Aberfoy. The misery of poverty and struggling against petty privations; the dissensions at home and mortifications abroad, were to be whelmed in one awful irremediable stroke. The merry lads, whose spirit privation could not tame, whose - growth privation could not check the bright-eyed, fearless boys, so - loved, so idolized by their father, were to be taken from him “both in one day.” Attempting to ford the ferry at the stream by Ben Cruach (a feat which they had performed hundreds of times before by the aid of their Shetland pony). they were carried down by the rapid violence of the waters. Far below the ford they were found, locked in each other's arms; and the schemes which affection or ambition had planned for a future they were destined never to see, crumbled into dust! Long, long was it before the father would believe that both-both his sons were gone from him in a day, in an hour ; delirious with agony, he tossed his arms wildly in the air, shouting alternately the name of one and of the other , calling to them to come back--promising pardon to the survivor for his carelessness in not having been able to prevent his brother's death. Then he would make a desperate effort at calmness, and repeat, in a woeful tone, “ Hush ! let me understand-let me understand ; it is not Douglas who is lost! it is poor Malcolm-poor little merry Malcolm! And yet one would have thought Douglas could have procured assistance in time!". And so, with incoherent sentences, he vented his grief, at intervals reproaching Heaven for having bereaved him so entirely-for not having spared him one child to close his eyes and comfort his old age. And little Jeanie stood apart, listening and weeping, but not daring to

fling herself into his arms, and weep there ; for her existence there was ano rejoicing in the hour of joyono memory in the hour of sorrow! siu It was many days after this event, that the dark-eyed foreigner who Anów governed all at the castle paused by the rapid stream of Ben Cruach, where, lost in miserable thought, Græme of Aberfoy sat, unconscious of her presence. “Mr. Græme," said she, in her broken tones, “ I am grieved for your grief, indeed: oh! do believe that I am. And I came,” continued she, after à pause, “I came to ask you whether I could do anything,”—(her voice faltered as she attempted to take his hand, and the tears fell fast from her eyes,) “ that is, whether I could not say anything to Sir Douglas for you.”

The bereaved father turned and looked at her, as if seeking to read in her countenance the meaning of her words. His face was drawn and haggard; his hair was as grey as the locks of old Sir Douglas himself. He gazed on the Italian for some minutes; and then, fixing his eyes - vacantly on the waters, he said, in a listless tone, “ Tell my uncle

Aberfoy's for sale by public roup. I'll just sell Aberfoy, and make mysel' a little comfortable. Maybe he'll like to buy it;-ony way, ye'll - tell him Aberfoy's to be sold.”

C. E. N. (To be continued.)


This is no temple where I stand, and thou
Art but the workmanship of human hands;

bakmanship of human hands;... ET
Yet, as I gaze upon that lofty brow,
Where the undying bay its leaf expands, .' -.

ond before some holy shrine . I seem to bend before some holy shrine,

$10 Such homage yields my spirit unto thine ! . . .

Shadow! whose silent grandeur stirs my heart,

Canst thou unfold the records of thy day?
Or from thy sleep of death one moment start,

To wake again the rapture-breathing lay?
Pouring impassion'd words upon my ear,
While I am thrill'd with joy akin to fear!
Speak! I adjure thee by the living lyre,

Whose earliest music was Creation s hymn ;- .
Speak! I invoke thee by the sacred fire.

Which, heaven-descended, never can grow dim;
Ay, by that radiance of the mind, whose rays,
Concentred round thee, shine with quenchless

By these which I have worshipp'd from my youth ,

27: I do entreat thee to disclose the strife . Which thou wert wont to wage in search of truth, 19 ??

I TI In the dim dream of years, miscalled thy life! g i :

When thou wert passion-haunted, and aspired

To fame-by every child of song the all-desired!
. Still thou art silent. But thy forehead high

Has furrow'd traces of deep grief and thought ;
And there's a history in thine eloquent eye

? Of years with sorrowful emotions fraught:400
roh Compress'd thy lips; yet do they seem to tell if ou a

h. What cares of earth upon thy genius fell.2492500 bar . ; 1 ' And to have wooed the Muse proclaims thy doom ? Vi - - M A lot of anxious joy and bitter care;

bunday , *in .. . The thrill of inspiration, and its glooms for starten :

Pro And after-languor ; and the heart's despair, isito lo .
As a cold world beheld thee waste thy fire

suster ! To warm their clay, yet reverenced not thy lyre, it i s 1.. What was 't upheld thee through this weary state ? - on ir s.? The bright revealings which thy spirit had into

Of its high origin and future fate.
į. For thus doth Genius make her children glad .. .
Giving oracular dreams of joy to come
To cheer the worn soul longing for its home!


NO. III. .in The only points in the musical progression of England (during the period we have undertaken to review) that remain to be illustrated, are the scientific attainment and character of our artists.

Three distinct schools of vocal science have been established, though something mixed in performance.

1. The Ecclesiastical and Orchestral.
2. The Theatrical.

3. The Italian. But it must be remembered, that all the followers of either of them, who can lay any pretensions to science, have resorted to the Italian methods of vocalisation, (or forming the voice,) with one single and great exception. The ecclesiastical and orchestral school of England, par éminence, was founded by Joah Bates, with his wife, (Miss Harrop,) and Mara as examples; and, by a later descent, by Greatorex, Harrison, and Bartleman, both as examples and instructors. Mr. Bates was an amateur (we must again retrograde a little) who planned and executed the great meetings in Commemoration of Handel, at Westminster Abbey. These, after the introduction of the Italian opera, gave the impulse; we feel it now in all our music, but most in our provincial festivals. The Abbey performances gave this country a character no other has ever yet achieved for vastitude, precision, and excellence in the grander demonstrations of musical art.

The foundation of the style of this school is laid in the union of the church and the oratorio; for although Mr. Greatorex, its real head, studied at Rome under Santarelli, almost the last of the Roman musici; and there obtained the final polish, his taste was decidedly formed in the church, under his first preceptor, Dr. Cooke. His early and deep study of the old masters, but especially of Handel, imbued his mind not only with the feeling, but the manner. His engagement at the Ancient Concerts confirmed and fixed his predilections; and however sensible of the merits of the Italian method, he adhered to the original distinction of the only school that could lay any real claims to be English, and, at the same time, scientific. This distinction is that single word, compounded of so many attributes,--EXPRESSION,—a word which conveys every thing, but defines nothing. We may be pardoned if we endeavout to help the reader to a more precise apprehension of its meaning when thus applied. Expression has, indeed, been defined to be “the best adaptation of sound to sense;" and this axiom was the principle of this, the best school of English singing.

It must never be forgotten, that the compositions chiefly cultivated were grave in subject, strict in treatment; a purity of enunciation, avoiding theatrical inflation, but maintaining a sufficiently emphatic and characteristic dignity—a rejection of all glittering and false ornament-a certain refinement, chastening even the contrasts and transitions of tone which give not alone the lights and shadows, but the more delicate shades of feeling—the absolute avoidance of every thing bordering on

* Continued from Vol. xxxyur., p. 229.

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