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archness, that no one could look on it without being tempted to smile, even at its quietest expression. Every man was the friend of Phelim, and Phelim was the friend of every Irishman; every woman admired "handsome Bourke," and Phelim adored the whole sex.

Such did Phelim Bourke appear to the dullest observer whom his wit quickened, or his gaiety enlivened. But to the watchful scrutiny of Norman Macalbin, a young Scotch volunteer, he presented something far more strikinga mind of the loftiest order, dallying with its own conscious powers, and mocking at its petty purposes hanging loose on life, and turning, in half-affected scorn, from that high prize of virtuous achievement, which it despaired of attaining. Norman could perceive that the laughing Carlini of the camp had very serious moments; at which times he treated those who depended for amusement on his wit, or his scenic excellence, with caprice equal to any spoiled actress of them all. It could not be doubted but that, with the blood of his ancestors, he inherited that proud hate which, for centuries, they had cherished against those whom boyish folly had made his masters;-circumstances alone could reveal, whether this principle was extinguished, or only smothered in his bosom. But, in his darkest moods, if the trumpet sounded, or woman smiled, the intruding phantoms fled, and glory and gaiety reclaimed their slave.

ungovernable rage against Phelim Bourke, whom he instantly assailed with a torrent of military rhetoric, commanding him to remove from the spot where he sat, and threatening punishment for the excess he had already committed. Phelim disdained to answer; and some of the men having explained the occasion of the festivity, Sir Archibald thought proper to walk on. "I see I'm a prodigious favourite," said Phelim, smiling scornfully, and continuing his song. In a few minutes, the drum beat for evening parade, and Phelim hastened to his place. He had been under arms all the morning; the day had been remarkably sultry, and he was still warm and fatigued. When standing at ease, as it is called, Phelim took off his grenadier cap, and began to fan himself; and, as he was expected to do nothing like sober people, in performing this operation, he displayed all the coquetry and languishing airs of an affected lady. Sir Archibald Gordon was now walking along the line, and, the more enraged that he durst not vent his anger, he sternly commanded the soldier to put on his cap, enforcing his command with the usual accompaniment of oaths, and Phelim obeyed; but, still supporting his assumed character, threw into his fine features so exquisite an expression of mawkish languishment, that his companions burst into stifled laughter. This was throwing the last drop into the cup of Sir Archibald's wrath. Transported with mingled anger and mortification, he repeatedly struck the soldier; while as fast, and as cocall his "damned Irish impudence." It was not easy for Bourke to bear a national reflection from this man ; yet he stood with the coolest indifference, till he saw himself struck a second time. Phelim was a saucy, privileged offender; his birth, and his fascinating qualities, had almost dis. pensed him from the slavish subordination of a soldier. He still, however, moved neither limb nor tongue to defend himself; but, with a look of withering contempt, slightly blew on his arm, as if to puff away the puny strokes. The full force of that emphatic look fell on the exasperated spirit of the baronet, and again he furiously showered his blows on the soldier. Phelim had, on this occasion, great command of temper; he also knew the pains and penalties of his condition; yet thus provoked, he haughtily bowed to Sir Archibald, saying, "Thank you, brave sir; this is the more generous as you well know I cannot pay you back these eight good years." The rage of Sir Archibald was, if possible, redoubled, he rushed upon the soldier; and Bourke being a large and very powerful man, grasped him firmly in his arms, threw him down, and spurned him with his foot!

The careless laugh of this young Irishman, and his frank and graceful salutation, had ever been peculiarly exhilarat-herently as he could, he cursed what he was pleased to ing to the spirits of Norman, for whom he performed many little offices of kindness, and whom he treated with all the respect a nature so gay and so familiar could shew to any one, especially since he understood that Norman was neither a prince of the blood, nor of the half blood, but, like himself, "an unfortunate gentleman." They spent many of their leisure hours together, with much pleasure, and some improvement.

At this time, there was a little black-eyed girl, a kind of toast among the heroes of the camp, to whom Phelim was paying his devoirs, and who had also attracted the regards of his colonel. That a soldier should presume to rival his colonel, was a thing almost unexampled in military annals; and for some time Sir Archibald was lost in astonishment. But when Phelim, though well apprised of the intentions of his superior, showed no inclination to give up the pursuit, a favourite sergeant was sent to admonish him of his duty. Phelim would not believe that the articles of war forbade him to make love to Dora Tracey; so he laughed at the messenger, ridiculed the message, and was more than ever determined on conquest. Sir Archibald was equally resolved. His vanity and other bad passions, were now powerfully excited; from a lover by proxy, he condescended to woo in person; and both officers and soldiers anxiously watched the progress of the contending rivals.

Nature and habit had conspired to accomplish Phelim for enterprizes of this kind ;-his gallantry had ever been found resistless, but he now also contended for the honour of victory, and he proved the happy conqueror. Phelim was not altogether insensible to his triumph; some of the officers ventured to rally Sir Archibald on his disappointment; and all saw the tempest grow darker and darker round the head of the thoughtless soldier.

A portentous week passed over; and Phelim, who neither foresaw, nor dreaded danger, had forgotten every hostile feeling, and even the occasion of animosity. On a fine summer's evening, he sat by the door of his tent, with some of his comrades, gaily tossing off bumpers to "Love and War," and carolling his last new song:

"Such is the love of a true Irishman,

That he loves all the lovely, he loves all he can,
With his slips of shillelah," &c.

Sir Archibald happened to pass. It was the anniversary of
the battle of; and the officers had taken a holyday to
themselves, and given a fête to as many of the soldiers as
had been engaged in that affair. Sir Archibald knew no-
thing about this battle; but he felt his heart boiling with

The officers immediately gathered round; Phelim was surrounded, disarmed, and escorted to prison by a guard of Englishmen, and followed by many of his countrymen.

"What has he done, Pat Leary ?-What has he done?" was the universal cry. "What the devil has he done, think ye?" answered the Irishman who was following Phelim; "Sure it was no great matter to forget he was an English soldier and remember he was an Irish gentleman."

"But, Bourke, they say you put off your Irish impudence to the Colonel," cried another soldier. "Pray, what sort of impudence may that be ?""Pat will tell you,' replied Phelim ; "he has had most experience."“Ay, do tell us," cried all the soldiers laughing aloud. "Is it me?" said Pat; "Why, faith, I fancy, it's much the same as your Scottish soberness, and not very different from your English sincerity.”- "Right, Paddy,” cried Phelim, smiling in his turn; "all national virtues! Poor Ireland has her impudence! Well, England calls her sister ;—— the sister kingdom !"

Pat, who had been anxiously watching his opportunity, pressed up to Phelim, as they drew near the prison-door, whispering, "Phelim, jewel, if you would take leg bail for it now, we make you as welcome as ever you was to your mother's milk!-White be the place of her rest!By the Holy !-it's ourselves would compass our ould shister's boys, and by the same token we have done it before Don't ye mind them." Phelim thanked his countryman,

but he scorned to fly: and, besides, he had more good principle, than to purchase his own safety by the horror and blood which so wild a scheme might have occasioned to its good-hearted, though inconsiderate projectors. When they had seen him lodged in prison, they gave him a farewell cheer, in which they were joined by both the Scottish and English soldiers, to the great joy of Pat Leary, and the infinite indignation of Sir Archibald Gordon.

Bourke was a great and general favourite; but, in a military court, the colonel of a regiment must needs be fearful odds against a private soldier.

The sentence of a general court-martial condemned Bourke to expiate his offence by suffering four hundred lashes! His cheerful and manly spirit was at first completely overwhelmed by the idea of an ignominious punishment; he reminded the court of his birth, he pleaded for honourable death. But he soon appeared to have recovered his customary gaiety; and when Norman visited him in prison, on the evening after his trial, and previous to his suffering, he found him gaily whistling, and caricaturing Sir Archibald Gordon, who at this moment was seen from the window, exercising the drum-boys in flogging a large stone. Bourke was working on the prison walls with a piece of red chalk, which he had ingeniously fixed in his handcuffs; the figures he had sketched possessed great spirit and force of expression, and the explanatory sentences all the points of Phelim's wit, when in his happiest

vein.

"You are a universal genius, Bourke," said Norman, looking with sincere admiration on this bold caricature; “but tais display of your talents will do no good, so you must pardon me if I efface it ;" and he began to rub out the lines with his handkerchief, while Phelim looked on smiling. “Mr. Macalbin," said he at length, in a grave and earnest tone, " you are most kind; I have ever found you all the soldier and the gentleman, and with my whole heart I love and honour you. Were it not for these damned bracelets," and he clashed his handcuffs together, "I hope you will permit me, condemned as I am, to shake your hand, and to bid you think kindly of me, when all is over with me!" Norman clasped the fettered hands within his own, saying, "That shall not thwart our purpose." He perceived the sunny eyes of Phelim glisten for a moment; but he again began to whistle, with his usual thoughtless hilarity, and Norman ventured to allude to his punishment. "I am not only happy, but proud to see you bear yourself so manfully," said he; "you know how much you are beloved,-you may count on every possible indulgence." Phelim made an involuntary start, his features changed with fearful celerity, and he replied, “Yes, 1 know that I am beloved,-I have a stout heart too, yet many a stouter has dishonour broken,-mine, I trust, will bear me out bravely!"—and he struck his fettered hands on the seat of that manly heart; and then, as if ashamed of his emotion, added, laughingly, "I am some times obliged to knock it up, and ask it how it does."

In a few minutes Norman left him; and, when locked up for the night, he was still whistling and caricaturing. Next morning Norman heard, with indescribable concern, that Phelim had attempted suicide during the night, by opening the jugular vein; but that he had been discovered, and that strong hopes were entertained of his recovery. Night and day he was watched,—and he did recover.

At this time Colonel Grant, an old Scotch officer, returned to the camp, much dispirited by the result of a certain trial on which he had been witnessing. Norman knew his abhorrence of that horrid species of punishment, which is alike disgraceful to those who decree, and to those who suffer; and he ventured to plead for Phelim, as he knew a second court-martial was to be held, at which the Colonel was likely to be present. Colonel Grant knew the temper of Sir Archibald Gordon too well to give Norman auch hope; he also knew, that vulgar minds cannot separate the idea of authority from the person in whom it is ted. To render the one contemptible, was to degrade fe other. "Poor Bourke must suffer," said he; and Noran withdrew in bitterness of spirit.

On the day of the second trial, if it may be so called, he hovered round the tent in which it was held, with Phelim's young mistress and her father, a veteran sergeant belonging to his own regiment. When Colonel Grant left the court, the old man accosted him, saying, "Is there any hope for that poor fellow ?"—" None, Tracey, none !" cried the Colonel, in great agitation! "We have ordered him an additional hundred for his second sally;"-and he hastily passed on. The poor girl fell into the arms of her father; and Norman hastened to the sea-shore to vent his feelings in solitude.

Phelim was now declared able to bear the punishment he would have died a thousand deaths to avoid; and, as the day drew near, Colonel Grant sent him a private message by Norman, bidding him be of good heart, as his punishment would be very lenient. Does he think it is pain that I fear?" cried Phelim, indignantly tearing open his waistcoat and exposing his honourable scars. When this was reported to Colonel Grant, his features suffered a sudden contraction; and when the hour arrived which was to expose the lacerated and bleeding back of Phelim to the eyes of his countrymen, the Colonel contrived to be absent himself, though he could not extend the same kindness to Norman. He was compelled to attend. He saw the man, for whom his soul was in agony, brought out heavily ironed, more dead than alive, and brutally stripped to undergo the most horrid of punishments. Nothing could make him witness more of this revolting spectacle. He closed his eyes, but he still heard the soldiers muttering around him: That is the wound he got in Egypt," said one. "I tell you no," whispered another, "it is the sabre cut he got defending the colours at Maida!" Though sights of this kind are unfortunately too common to be much regarded, an awful stillness marked the strong sensation experienced by every individual in the little army when the signal was at last given, and when the leaden bullet,* which he indignantly rejected, was offered to Phelim Bourke. A death-like coldness crept through the veins of Norman; he leaned heavily on his musket ;-in the next moment the rocks of the sea-shore were resounding to the strokes of the lash!—he became dizzy and sick, and heard and saw no more.

When he recovered he found himself supported in the arms of a soldier, and at a distance from the circle. "Bourke is taken down, sir," said the man, who was pleased to see so great sensibility to the sufferings of a soldier; "he had got two hundred, and the flogometer said he must get the rest afterwards."- "What mean you ?” said Norman. "Oh, the surgeon who holds a man's pulse, to see how many lashes he can take at a time, sir; poor Bourke invented that name for him. Well, thank God, he never uttered one groan, nor shrunk a bit. Had he shrieked, we never could have borne it, he was always such a merry fellow."- "What! do they then shriek ?" cried Norman. "Dreadfully, sir, dreadfully !" replied the soldier, evidently shocked by personal recollections; "can you doubt but they must ?"

At this moment some soldiers were seen bearing the mangled and almost inanimate body of Phelim Bourke across the field to the hospital tent. A few days back, and Norman had seen the gallant fellow, so wild with life, so full of talent and enjoyment!" My friend, I am faint again!" said he to the soldier, and he hid his face in the grass.

For three succeeding days Phelim shrouded his head in the bed-clothes, refusing to look on the light which had witnessed his disgrace, and obstinately rejecting food. While in this condition Norman knelt by his bed-side, imploring that he would speak to him, and take nourishment and comfort; but Phelim continued inflexibly silent. Only once did Norman catch a glimpse of his face; and, oh! how changed the once fine features and radiant eyes

In suffering this punishment, a leaden bullet is sometimes kept in the mouth, that the strong exertion of the teeth on this substance may deaden the sensation of excrutiating pain; and perhaps to keep the soldier from biting through his own tongue in his agony.

THE SCHOOLMASTER,

of Phelim ! He sadly recollected of Captain Drummond of
his regiment holding a dispute with the daughter of Colonel
Grant, on the colour of Bourke's eyes, and of that young
lady saying, "They were the colour of gladness."

Norman, though somewhat astonished to find any thing
make so deep, and, above all, so lasting an impression on
his light and joyous nature, still persisted in attending
Phelim, and in attempting to sooth a noble mind, writhing
under unmerited dishonour.
exhausted every argument to console the poor sufferer, who
One evening, after having
continued dumb and sullen, his head wrapt in the bed-
clothes, Norman tried to work on his generous temper by
reproach and upbraiding.

"This cannot be that gay good-natured Bourke," said
he, "whom every one loved.
reject the sympathy of his friends."
He would not thus sullenly

by its aggregate force, subservient to every impulse of perverted power, the blind instrument of pitiful intrigue, or lawless ambition;-an unfortunate, thrust beyond the species;-the limits which separate him from the citizen so obtrusively pointed out, so rigidly maintained;-a creapale of social life, almost prescribed the intercourse of his ture placed beyond the influence of those salutary restraints imposed by the customs of society, and the observing eye of all desire of acquiring the esteem of his fellow-men. Poor the world,-with personal responsibility losing all chance, fellow cruelty and force alone employed in enforcing that blind submission, and in exciting that animal ferocity, which are perhaps incompatible with moral influence, since which seem to comprehend the whole of his duties,-duties I never, never saw it tried !"

the young Scot, accompanied the memorable retreat of Sir John Moore to Corunna. During that miserable period, It was some three or four years after this that Norman, he was often employed on foraging parties, and in reconnoitring, for which his education, and the habits of a HighHelander had peculiarly fitted him.

66 Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Phelim, in a heart-piercing tone, "I am not that happy soldier!-A dishonoured wretch,-insulted degraded,-mangled by a scourge,-all that is man in me brutally violated. Why, then, should I live? Why, if you love me, do you look on me?" immediately relapsed into silence, sullenly turned round, and told Norman to be gone. Catholic priest, who kindly attended him, Norman withRecommending him to a drew, much grieved, and even alarmed at the strange perverseness and ferocity which a brutal punishment had wrought in the generous mind of this gallant Irishman. Next morning, Phelim Bourke was missing. The whole encampment was, for some hours, in dismay and confusion; but the unfortunate soldier was never heard of. rades concluded that he had thrown himself into the sea,— a catastrophe which had sometimes happened in similar His comAt high water, Norman wandered along the shore, with Pat Leary, and some kind-hearted Connaught-men, in hopes of finding the dead body of their friend. The sea rolled in with a heavy wave, but nothing was to be seen. "Ah!" sighed Norman, "many a brave heart lies under thee.-Poor Phelim !"

cases.

When he returned from wandering on the shore, the glories of a resplendent sunset were streaming over the picturesque encampment, and flashing, in a thousand radiant lines from rows of flickering spears. Every soft and every martial form, caught new grace or grandeur from the rich tints of the evening. Groups of females and of military were every where gliding around; and children, born to war, frolicked about with the airy grace of their happy age. At a considerable distance a body of men under arms were still performing their evolutions, and sometimes marching across the plain, in motion measured by a lofty strain of martial music. In its pause was heard the round, fulltoned voice of the commander, or that soothing hum of mingled sounds which fluctuates on a summer air in a still evening. Norman gazed on this fine picture with a cold practised eye; and of all the sounds that wooed his ear, he heard only the sullen murmur of the heavy wave which rolled over Phelim Bourke.

«"Tis a disenchanted scene!" thought he, as he leaned on the entrance of his tent. lows all night, because they presumed to lament their coun"Will they drill these poor feltryman? to play the march he loved too,-cruel !"

He stood wrapt in musing sadness, when darkness had come on, and when the camp-fires ruddied the field, which was still graced by female, and enlivened by infant beauty. His comrades, gathered around these fires, were enjoying the passing hour with all the happy, and thrice happy thoughtlessness of their profession. "Who would wish a soldier to be a thinking creature!" sighed Norman. "Foor Phelim already is he forgotten! How was he wont to fling round his jests at an hour like this!"

""Tis a disenchanted scene!" Again the enthusiast began to ruminate bitter fancies. of their country! How dearly is its defence purchased, if "Poor fellows! defenders this be the price? A soldier,-a being degraded below the level of humanity, a man who has surrendered the high privileges of his nature, and placed his freedom in another's power;-a solitary part of a vast machine, estimated only

ing that the troops left Lugo. On an expedition of this latter kind, he was despatched generally a straggler, wandered after him, espying a cotto some heights on the banks of the Minho, the same morntage smoke, round which cottage some fowls might be He rode, and Pat Leary, or confined in his notions of property; he had no scruple in thrusting into his pouch whatever ammunition he could straying. At this period, Leary was by no means delicate lifting, and on this point they differed, about terms, like find,-fowls,-bread,-indeed food of any kind, clothing, other philosophers. -or even money. souls," said Pat indignantly. Macalbin said stealing-Leary said rob them," said Macalbin; "I command you not to approach that house."--Macalbin had gained the heights, "Sure we came to sarve them, the and Leary was scrambling after him, when both were sud"And if we did, shall we down the opposite heights, while, before the rest, one man furiously pursued an English officer. He soon far outdenly alarmed by a party of the enemy's cavalry, dashing stripped the speed of his fellows, and gained fast on the fugitive.

stump of an ostrich feather ever since we left Salamanca.
The Frenchman will give his plumes a tussel any way."
"That is Colonel Gordon, 1 have knowed him by that
Careless of personal safety, Leary, with delight he sought
neither to suppress nor conceal, enjoyed the probability of
Sir Archibald being made prisoner, while Norman eagerly
looked round for some bridge, some ford on the rapid river ;
but seeing no marks of either, spurred down the steeps, and
plunged into the stream, struggled with its violence, and,
at the risk of life, reached the opposite bank, saw the
sabre of the French officer descending on the head of Gor-
don, and joined the cry he set up for quarter-mercy! That
voice seemed to arrest the death-stroke that hung over Gor-
sword into the river, and exclaimed, "You are the prisoner
don. The Frenchman, however, unhorsed him, tossed his
and before Norman, recollecting for the first time that he
of France." All this passed in the twinkling of an eye,
dragoons, knew which way to turn.
countryman he instinctively turned and alighted. At this
was in danger of being surrounded by a party of French
moment the officer on whom he had not yet looked, sprung
from his horse, dashed sabre and helmet on the frozen
Yet to his prostrate
snow, and leaped forward, exclaiming-
again!"
"Look on me, Macalbin! I am BOURKE ! I am a man

overcome with astonishment to find, not only in life, but
"Gracious God!" cried Norman, receding one
high rank, and decorated with the splendid insignia of the
step,
in an officer of the French Imperial Guard, apparently of
Bourke."
Legion of Honour, his lamented comrade," Phelim

I fought and bled,-insulted, degraded, mangled with
brutal stripes.-Coward and slave," and he turned fiercely
"Yes, I am that Bourke whom the English,-for whom
to Gordon, "you shrink beneath me now!-I am that

Change may already be perceived in the woodlands. The foliage, impaired by the fervid heats of July, now turns dry, rugged, and faintly sallow. The birds have ceased to sing; but the young broods, every where abroad, pleasingly supply the woodland melody. The starlings now congregate in vast flocks, and some of the swallow tribes begin to think of migrating, and may be seen wheeling over head, "as if exercising their wings, and preparing for their long aerial journey." The pre-eminent flowers of this month in Scotland are blue-bells and heather-bells. In the gardens are the capsicum, or Indian cress, African marigold, hollyhocks, golden rods, Guernsey lily, sunflower, common balsams, convolvoluses, the common amaranth, varieties of pinks, several of the finer annuals, and the poetical flower-Love-lies-bleeding. This is the month, when school holydays, too long deferred, commence in good earnest, and when every one hurries to the seacoast, for the healthful enjoyment of bathing, with sailing, paddling, marine weed-picking, and shell-gathering,

Bourke, whose country, kindred, family, and faith, have for six hundred years suffered at the hands of the English every species of cruelty, indignity, and oppression; massacred in hot, murdered in cold blood,-proscribed,-exiled, tortured! I am that Bourke who shed my blood for the destroyers of my race! whose heart lacked gall to make oppression bitter, till their chains corroded my individual soul !" It would neither be agreeable, nor perhaps very prudent to relate that story of country and family which Bourke rapidly and vehemently sketched; and still less so to detail all those motives and imaginary necessities by which he - lulled his better genius to sleep, and fortified himself in error. Yet, let it not be imagined that he thought himself a traitor. He said, he vowed, that his heart glowed with love to Ireland, of which those who live in her bosom can have but a faint perception; and perverted as was that love, Norman could not doubt of its existence. This passion seemed even more ardent than the burning hatred which made him pant to avenge his own and her wrongs-pleasures for every age. en those whom, in bitterness of soul, he termed "the English."

Macalbin had much to say, and to inquire; but the trampling of the horses' feet of that party whom Bourke had out-rode, was now heard rapidly advancing, though the steep banks of the river still screened them from view. "Hark!" cried Bourke,-" Fly, Macalbin!—cross the river!-It will not be known that it is practicable. Fly or I cannot save you!" He eagerly waved his hand. Norman leaped on horseback, exclaiming as he went "I have left a friend in Astorga, the wife of Colonel Monro, in the convent of See her, protect her, tell her that her husband is well."- "I will,-I swear I will. Fly, Macalbin!-that is a vile word,-gallop though." Macalbin plunged into the stream, and got over before the party came up.

AUGUST. NOTES OF THE MONTH,

AND POPULAR ANTIQUITIES.

THE GLOW-WORM, the star of the earth, is often seen in August. In some situations the glow-worms lie as thick on the banks of hedgerows as stars in the sky. This insect has afforded the poets many fine images. Like the more brilliant luminous insects of warmer regions, as the lantern-fly of the West Indies, and the flying lucciola of Italy, its lustre is lost by day :-as morning dawns the glow-worm begins to "pale its ineffectual fires." The luminous flies form beautiful objects in the black profound night of the forests of the West Indian settlements. We have read of a female naturalist there, who imprisoned as many lantern-flies in a small cage, as afforded her light to sketch their own pictures.

Lammas-day-Lammas-tide, the most memorable calendar day in August, is presumed to be derived from LambMass, on which certain kirk tenants paid their quit-rents by a live lamb. Some derive it from Loaf-Mass, i. e. › Bread-Mass, a feast of thanksgiving for the first-fruits of the corn.

Lambs-wool is a kind of beer or sweetened liquor, suppos ed to be so named from its softness.-But we have Yule-ale, Whitsun-ale, why not Lammas-ale ?-easily corrupted into Lambs-wool. Rains are frequent and heavy about this time, and are expected by the name of "the Lammas flood."

the Assumption of the Virgin, to which festival that elegant creeper, the clematis, which shoots up rapidly, and flowers at this season, is dedicated by the name of Virgin's Bower. The 24th, St. Bartholomew's Day, will long be memorable for the most sanguinary scene of atrocity ever perpetrated in the abused name of Christianity. Ten thousand Protestants were massacred in Paris alone, and ninety thousand in the provinces, in consequence of a plan deliberately concerted by the Court, and the higher churchmen, and remorselessly followed up.

AUGUST, the eighth month of the year, is so named in compliment to the Roman Emperor Augustus. By the Sarons and old English (who were Saxons) it was named Arn, or Barn-moneth, as this with them, was then as now MEMORABILIA. The 15th of August, 1769, was the The month of general harvest. In our end of the island birth-day of Napoleon. On the 11th, the Dog-days, which harvest is from a fortnight to three weeks later than in commence on the 3d July, end. On the 12th of August, England, as the tardy Spring does not permit so early sow-1762, George IV. was born. The 15th is the festival of ing. Barley harvest, however, is generally completed in Sotland before the middle of this month, and all CORN, in Avourable situations, is in progress of reaping. "It is a gladdening sight," says Howitt, in his late pleasing book of the Seasons, "to stand upon some eminence and behold the yellow hues of harvest amid the dark relief of hedges and trees, to see the shocks standing thickly in a land of peace; the partly reaped fields, and the clear cloudless sky tedding over all its lustre." The wheat crops shine the hills and slopes, as Wordsworth expresses it, "like piden shields cast down from the sun." This is a sight which may now be enjoyed in high perfection from every ainence in and around the city. This, in Scotland, is ne abundant month of fruits the small fruits, are at its mencement still plentiful, and apples, pears, plums, Paches, apricots, and nectarines, become common, and Tapes cheaper. The summer flowers disappear, but others eless beautiful succeed them. The passion-flower in oured situations, the tamarisk, the trumpet-flower, and edematis, are coming into blossom; and all the heathy ntains and moors of Scotland are waving purple with heather-bells. The grouse are now strong on the wing, the joyous 12th gives the signal for the commencement animating work of destruction. This is the chief wth of insects, and all kind of flies, from the bloated bottle, against whose approaches the careful housepards, to the gay motes which people the sunThe Highlanders name August the Worm month.

THE GLORIOUS TWELFTH OF AUGUST.

Glorious 12th! Mountain holyday! ushered in by a running feu-de-joie from "Lord Reay's country" even down to Lanark Moor, and the heights of Ettrick. But we must draw upon other pens rightly to describe the 12th. Take first the unfavourable side of the picture from a gentle limner :

To man, bird, beast, man is the deadliest foe-
'Tis he who wages universal war.
Soon as his murderous law gives leave to wound
The heathfowl, dweller on the mountain wild,
The sportsman, anxious watching for the dawn,
Lies turning, while his dog in happy dreams,
With feeble bark anticipates the day.
Some, ere the dawn steals o'er the deep blue lake,
The hill ascend. Vain is their eager haste-
The dog's quick breath is heard, panting around-
But neither dog, nor springing game is seen
Amid the floating mist; short interval
Of respite to the trembling dewy wing.

Ah! many a bleeding wing, ere mid-day hour,
Shall vainly flap the purple-bending heath.
Fatigued, at noon the spoiler seeks the shade
Of some lone oak, fast by the rocky stream-
The hunter's rest in days of other years.
Let us now reverse the picture:

High life of a hunter! he meets on the hill
The new-ushered daylight, so bright and so still!
And feels, as the clouds of the morning unroll,
The silence, the splendour ennoble his soul.
"Tis his on the mountains to stalk like a ghost,
Enshrouded in mist, in which nature is lost;
Till he lifts up his eyes, and flood, valley, and height,
In one moment all swim in an ocean of light;
While the sun, like a glorious banner unfurled,
Seems to wave o'er a now more magnificent world.

As his eyes in the sunshiny solitude close,
'Neath a rock of the desert, in dreaming repose,
He sees in his slumbers such visions of old
As wild Gaelic songs to his infancy told.

O'er the mountains a thousand plumed hunters are borne,
And he starts from his dream at the blast of the horn!

So far Wilson's Wild Deer. This is different sport from the wholesale unmanly battue in the aristocratic preserve, where the only glory is the number of birds slaughtered.

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S REVIEW.

"Most lovely Earth! and was it to sustain

This pismire toil; which, bending o'er a heap
Of shining dust and pebbles, straws and grain,
Makes for a shrine the mud where it doth creep;
And blind to broader paths or fairer views,

Crawls, dull and grovelling, to its last poor sleep-
Thy countless stores of scents, and sounds, and hues,
Gush forth, and sing, and glow? was this their noblest use?'

* Sacred Dead! whose words

In Memory's solemn pages shine enrolled!

Was this the spell that taught your thrilling chords
Their deathless tones, their poet-numbers bold?
Did drossy streams defile the liquid springs
Wherewith your eyeballs sprinkled did behold
Riches of endless space and angel wings,

Covering the face of Heaven! were such your precious things?

At the risk of differing with all the admirers of pretty verses in periodicals, we call this poetry; and hope that if any Magazine reader feel it too strong for him just yet, he will learn to like it better by-andby. There are more good verses in this number; but, like wise men, we stick to the best and pass the bonniest. And now for other matters;-A Tale by the Author of the O'Hara Tales-The Family of the Cold Feet, with their great progenitor Tony Nugent, a gentleman every way worthy of the pen that sketched the Nowlans. It is interesting, as is every thing which proceeds from Mr. Banim; but somewhat inconclusive. The writer appears to falter in his stern purpose, and bungles his story, because he has not the heart to make a woman a TAIT'S MAGAZINE, No. V.-August. fiend.-Tony, himself, is a peerless laird's brother :-not that any thing exactly like him is ever seen in this MR. TAIT has just produced his best, or, at all events, country, till one crosses the Highland line, some twenty his most brilliant number. There is, however, still a due miles. Among the other lighter pieces a " A 'Squire, and mixture of the solid and utilitarian. The opening article, a Whole 'Squire" is a happy hit-off. But the flower an exceedingly just and able one, is on the most momen- of The Family of the Light Wits in this month is beyond tous topic that can at present be discussed; the qualities all peradventure Paddy Focrhane's Fricassee. Dear and training requisite to fit men for Parliamentary repre-reader, if you at all value humour, or have any percepsentatives. We would recommend its careful perusal to tion of Irish humour,—not the vulgar blunders and brogue, every elector. With the copious contents of this number and bulls, uncouth words, and perverted orthography, so we know not where to begin; nor among so much that is nick-named; but rich, quiet, genuine Irish humour,-true good, how to make choice. Suppose we give the poets wit, with Irish mannerism,—do peruse Paddy Foorhane, precedence the number is absolutely rich in verse. A the brief story of a party of "good boys," who, after a jubilee song on the passing of the Bill, by the author of funeral take refuge in a shebeen house, “because grief the "Corn Law Rhymes," is not equal to some of the pro- is dry;" and after a long bout at cards and whisky, are ductions of this extraordinary and gifted person, who might at midnight suddenly seized with that horror, the devil twist. himself be made the subject of a most interesting and edi- There is not a morsel of pig meat nor any sort of meat in fying article, but it is a vigorous strain, nevertheless; the house, and the ravenous guests are not the boys, nor and for the sake of those living Scotch Patriarchs of reform, yet in the humour, to be trifled with. In this desperate who may see the Schoolmaster and not the Magazine, we strait the ready-wit of Paddy Foorhane suggests his imquote one verse from the Sheffield workman,—from Ebene- mortal Fricassee. But it is sin to spoil this precious bit zer Elliot-who, in intellectual and poetica! power, far which the Schoolmaster may yet make his own. distances immeasurably far, all our rhyming Lords and Esquires put together.

Oh! could the wise, the brave, the just,
Who suffered died, to break our chains-
Could MUIR, Could PALMER from the dust,
Could murdered GERALD hear our strains!
Death would see, and souls in bliss,

Unborn ages blessed in this!

The Magazine boasts a pretty song enough, by Mrs. Gore; and also a much higher strain, probably from the same source,-Stanzas written in Windsor Chapel-a piece of truly noble musing and moralizing on the vain shows and shadows of a life too high to be happy.Stanxas to the Madonna Alla Seggiola is a gem, steeped in the softest dews of the morn of English poetry. It breathes the tender piety, the sweetness and purity of the muse of Crashaw; and is almost worthy of the divine painting, a copy of which has suggested it—a homage worthy of those "calm-brooding eyes." Those who have not seen the picture, or any copy of it, to understand the poem, should be told that the Infant St. John forms one of that heavenly group. Poetry is not done yet, for Auri Panegyricon is also a poetical piece, and a composition of a very high order and energetic character a noble and dignified flow of sentiment, sustained by powerful thought. We shall all owe Tait's Magazine a debt of gratitude if it proceed unburrowing minds like that which has poured forth these

verses:

Among the grave articles, one on Lord Mahon's War of the Succession, contains an estimate of the moral and intellectual character of the modern British nobility, which they would do well to lay to heart. British Taxation and Expenditure is a plain political sermon, of which the Black Book furnishes the text;-even down, hard hitting the nail on the head, every sentence a new fact, and every fact an argument. There is also a good article on Death Punishments-one on Louis Philippe, who, we hope, is not quite so bad as he is here called; and another short sensible paper on the Bank Charter follows up those of Sir H. Parnell on the same subject in former numbers. We have also another chapter of the Late History of the Bull Family. and a Johannic, shewing John's present dangers, from his natural weaknesses of character, and tuft-hunting propensities. To-day we cannot dip farther, and in this number things are passed over which would have formed the praise of ordinary months. No one, we presume, will doubt the success of the New Edinburgh Magazine now; nor, what some few will be more prone to question, its claims to suc cess. It has only to keep up to its own standard.

We propose giving such brief notices of new publi cations, and particularly of the periodicals, which now em body the very spirit of the time, as may prove both usefu and amusing to general readers. But this cannot be don till our fourth week, in a MONTHLY RETROSPECT O CURRENT LITERATURE.

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