Astarte, or Derceto, men have named,
And Venus, queen of love. Around her waist
A girdle, glittering with all radiant gems,
Seemed heaving to her breath. Behind the car,
Full in the centre, on the ebon ground,
Fiamed forth a diamond sun; on either side,
A horned moon of diamond; and, beyond,
The planets, each one blazing diamond.
Such was the chariot of the king of kings.
'Himself in dazzling armour stands aloft,
And rules the fiery steeds. His shield of gold,
His spear, his helm, his bow and quiver hang
Within the roomy car. Thus, like a God,
From forth the gates he comes,—and every knee
Bends to the ground, and every voice cries out,
"Long live Sardanapalus, king of kings!
May the king live for ever!" Thrice he smiles,
And waves his hands to all; and thrice the shouts
To heaven go up. Then on his starting horse
Springs every rider; every charioteer

Leaps to his car; and through the sounding streets
The pageant flames, and on the dusty plain
Pours forth and evermore, from street to street,
Runs on the cry, "The king! the king comes forth!
The king of kings in his war chariot comes!
Long live Sardanapalns, king of kings!
May the king live for ever!"

'To the walls
The cry flies on,they hear it on the plains,-
The plains cry out,-they hear it in the heavens.
On through the bowing host the monarch drives;
High over all conspicuous, the bright crown,
Like an ethereal fire, through all the field
Flashing perpetual light. From rank to rank,
From nation unto nation, goes he on;
And still all knees are bent, all voices raised,
As to a deity.'

Nehushta's Bower.

"Twas a spot
Herself had chosen, from the palace walls
Farthest removed, and by no sound disturbed,
And by no eye o'erlooked; for in the unidst
Of loftiest trees, umbrageous, was it hid,-
Yet to the sunshine open, and the airs
That from the deep shades all around it breathed,
Cool, and sweet-scented. Myrtles, jessamine,-
Roses of varied hues,-all climbing shrubs,
Green-leaved and fragrant, had she planted there,-
And trees of slender body, fruit and flower ;-
At early morn had watered, and at eve,
From a bright fountain nigh, that ceaselessly
Gushed with a gentle coil from out the earth,
Its liquid diamonds flinging to the sun
With a soft whisper. To a graceful arch,
The pliant branches, intertwined, were bent;
Flowers some, and some rich fruits of gorgeous
hues,

Down hanging lavishly, the taste to please,
Or, with rich scent, the smell,-or that fine sense
Of beauty that in forms and colours rare
Doth take delight. With fragrant moss the floor
Was planted, to the foot a carpet rich,
Or, for the languid limbs, a downy couch,
Inviting slumber. At the noon-tide hour,
Here, with some chosen maidens would she come,
Stories of love to listen, or the deeds

Of heroes of old days: the harp, sometimes,
Herself would touch, and, with her own sweet voice,
Fill all the air with loveliness. But, chief,
When to his green-wave bed the wearied sun
Had parted, and heaven's glorious arch yet shone,-
A last gleam catching from his closing eye,-
The palace, with her maidens, quitting then,
Through vistas dim of tall trees would she pass,-
Cedar, or waving pine, or giant palm,-
Through orange groves, and citron,-myrtle walks,—
Alleys of roses,-beds of sweetest flowers,-
Their richest incense to the dewy breeze
Breathing profusely all,—and, having reached
The spot beloved, with sport, or dance awhile
On the small lawn, to sound of dulcimer,
The pleasant time would pass; or to the lute
Give ear delighted, and the plaintive voice
That sang of hapless love: or, arm in arm,
Amid the twilight saunter, listing oft
The fountain's murmur, or the evening's sigh,
Or whisperings in the leaves,-or, in his pride
Of minstrelsy, the sleepless nightingale
Flooding the air with beauty of sweet sounds:
And, ever as the silence came again,
The distant and unceasing hum could hear
Of that magnificent city, on all sides
Surrounding them. But oft with one alone,
One faithful, favoured maiden, would she come;

At early morn sometimes, while every flower,
In diamonds glittering, with its proud weight bowed;
When through the glistering trees the golden beams
Aslant their bright flood poured, and every bird
In his green palace sitting sang aloud,
And all the air with youthful fragrance teemed,
Fresh as at Nature's birth :-her pastime then,
The flowers to tend,-to look upon the sky,-
And on the earth,—and drink the perfumed air,-
And in the gladness of all things be glad.
But in the placid twilight hour of eve
Not seldom came they: Dara then the harp,
Or dulcimer would touch; or, happier still,
His words of love into her listening ear
Distil with sweeter music than from string,
Or breathing pipe, though sweet.'

After quoting the above, our readers will be enabled to judge of the author's power of language and versification. Mr. Atherstone is evidently a writer of the first ability, and the design of his present Poem appears to be a great and happy one. We warn him against aiming too much at smoothness in over-ornamenting his verse. An epic poem must entirely depend for success on a sort of regal grandeur in its language, and the most noble simplicity of exalted sentiment. The taste of the age is, perhaps, unfitted to give extensive popularity to a composition, depending for its praise on such characteristics; but no epic can be tolerated without them; and it would be a hopeless task in an author to endeavour a successful union between the style which would please popular readers and that fitted for an epic. Mr. Atherstone, we doubt not, will be found, when his poem is complete, to have avoided the errors of such an attempt; and we look forward with pleasure to the appearance of the remainder of his Nineveh.

CHRONICLES OF THE CANONGATE.

Chronicles of the Canongate. Second Series. By the Author of Waverley,' &c. 3 vols. Cadell and Co. Edinburgh, 1828.

We have never been among those who considered that the Author of Waverley' was overwriting himself, or giving more of his productions to the public than satisfied public curiosity. In the writings of no one author is there so much variety of description; and, notwithstanding all that has been ever said to the contrary, so many different characters delineated with equal power and vivacity. There is something very absurd in the manner in which several of his latter novels have been judged of, and assigned a place very inferior to that occupied by his first. It is, however, a circumstance of which few authors are able to consider themselves proud, that Sir Walter Scott has been always measured by himself alone, and his works compared with each other instead of with those of other authors. But whatever opinion may have been entertained of the tales which more immediately preceded the one before us, the second series of The Chronicles of the Canongate,' may fairly be ranked as equal with the best and most admired productions of the author. The true excellency of this most exquisite novel, can only be either understood or enjoyed by a complete perusal of its contents. With our best efforts, therefore, to afford our readers a taste of the banquet it promises, we will not deceive them by leading them to suppose that it is more than a taste, or that they ought to be satisfied with what we are able to offer them. The following extracts, however, are as admirable as the detached portions of any work can be. We therefore give them, and beg to assure our readers, that, in giving them, we have been particularly careful to avoid the barbarous practice of tearing out, as it were, the last leaf of the book for them, and spoiling their future pleasure in reading the novel by letting them into the secret of the plot. With inferior novels it is merciful to do it, because it saves them the trouble of reading pages of insipid nonsense; but to do so with a Waverley novel, would

be the perfection of barbarism. For the understanding of the following passages, it will be sufficient to inform the reader, that the time of the story is the reign of Robert of Scotland, and the principal personages the young Duke of Rothsay his son; Ramorny, a pander to the pleasures of the latter, but afterwards his deadly enemy; Dwining, a physician, and the confederate of Ramorny in his schemes; Simon, a glover, of Perth, and his daughter Catherine, the heroine; and lastly, Henry of the Wynde, a stout noble-hearted armourer, who aspires to Catherine's hand; and Conachar, at first Simon's apprentice, but afterwards found to be the son of a highland chieftain- The following introduces us to the scene where Ramorny, having lost his hand in a midnight scuffle with the armourer, and in endeavouring to assist Rothsay in carrying off Catherine, thus submits himself to the cunning but proud physician.

'We have shown the secrets of the confessional; those of the sick chamber are not hidden from us. In a darkened apartment, where salves and medicines showed that the leech had been busy in his craft, a tall thin form lay on a bed, arrayed in a night-gown belted around him, with pain on his brow, and a thousand stormy passions agitating his bosom. Every thing in the apartment indicated a man of opulence and of expense. Henbane Dwining, the apothecary, who seemed to have the care of the patient, stole with a crafty and other, busying himself with mixing medicines and precat-like step from one corner of the room to anparing dressings. The sick man groaned once or twice, on which the leech, advancing to his bed-side, asked whether these sounds were a token of the pain of his body, or of the distress of his mind.

"Of both, thou poisoning varlet," said Sir John Ramorny "and of being encumbered with thy accursed company.'

"If that is all, I can relieve your knighthood of one of these ills, by presently removing myself elsewhere. Thanks to the feuds of this boisterous time, had I twenty hands, instead of these two poor servants of my art, (displaying his skinny palms,) there is enough of employment for them; well-requited employment, too, where thanks and crowns contend which shall best pay my services; while you, Sir John, wreak upon your chirurgeon the anger you ought only to bear against the author of your wound."

"Villain, it is beneath me to reply to thee," said the patient; "but every word of thy malignant tongue is a dirk, inflicting wounds which set all the medicines of Arabia at defiance."

“Sir John, I understand you not; but, if you give way to these tempestuous fits of rage, it is impossible but fever and inflammation must be the result."

"Why then dost thou speak in a sense to chafe my blood? Why dost thou name the supposition of thy worthless self having more hands than nature gave thee, while I, a knight and gentleman, am mutilated

like a cripple?"

"Sir John,” replied the chirurgeon," I am no divine, nor a mainly obstinate believer in some things which divines tell us. Yet I may remind you that you have been kindly dealt with; for, if the blow that has done you this injury had lighted on your neck, as it was aimed, it would have swept your head from your shoulders, instead of amputating a less considerable member."

"I wish it had, Dwining-I wish it had lighted as it was addressed. I should not then have seen a policy, which had spun a web so fine as mine, burst through by the brute force of a drunken churl. I should not have been reserved to see horses which I must not mount-lists which I must no longer enter-splendours which I cannot hope to share-or battles which I must not take part in. I should not, with a man's passions for power and for strife, be set to keep place among the women, despised by them, too, as a miserable impotent cripple, unable to aim at obtaining the favour of

the sex."

The patient had raised himself on his couch to listen with some anxiety for the solution of the physician's enigma. He laid himself down again as he heard it explained, and, after a short pause, asked, "In what Christian college learned you this morality, good Master Dwining?'

"In no Christian college," answered his physician; "for, though it is privately received in most, it is openly and manfully adopted in none. But I have studied among the sages of Granada, where the fierysouled Moor lifts high his deadly dagger as it drops with his enemy's blood, and avows the doctrine which the pallid Christian practises, though coward-like he dare not name it."

"Thou art then a more high-souled villain than I deemed thee," said Ramorny.

"Let that pass," answered Dwining. "The waters that are the stillest, are also the deepest; and the foe is most to be dreaded who never threatens till he strikes. You knights and men-at-arms go straight to your purpose with sword in hand. We, who are clerks, win our access with a noiseless step and an indirect approach, but attain our object not less surely."

"" And I," said the Knight, "who have trod to my revenge with a mailed foot, which made all echo around it, must now use such a slipper as thine? Ha!" "He who lacks strength," said the wily mediciner, "must attain his purpose by skill."

"And tell me sincerely, mediciner, wherefore thou wouldst read me these devil's lessons? Why wouldst thou thrust me faster or further on to my vengeance, than I may seem to thee ready to go of my own accord? I am old in the ways of the world, man; and I know that such as thou do not drop words in vain, or thrust themselves upon the dangerous confidence of men like me, save with the prospect of advancing some purpose of their own. What interest hast thou in the road, whether peaceful or bloody, which I may pursue on these occurrents?"

"" In plain dealing, Sir Knight, though it is what I seldom use," answered the leech, "my road to revenge is the same with yours."

"With mine, man?" said Ramorny, with a tone of scornful surprise. "I thought it had been high beyond thy reach, Thou aim at the same revenge with Ramorny!"

"Ay, truly," replied Dwining; " for the smithy - churl under whose blow you have suffered, has often done me despite and injury. He has thwarted me in council, and despised me in action. His brutal and unhesitating bluntness is a living reproach to the subtlety of my natural disposition. I fear him, and I hate

him."

around them."

"Then shalt thou arise above the press, mediciner, as high as gold can raise thee. This purse is weighty, yet it is but an earnest of thy guerdon."—Vol. ii. pp. 79-88.

The consequence of the conversation above related, was a determination that the armourer should be way laid and murdered. Happily, another citizen is mistaken for him; but the report of his being killed reached the ears of Catherine, who had just before shown him some little pettishness. Her hasty flight to his house is thus related:

'While the trusty Dorothy was putting her prudent resolve into execution, Catherine ran through the streets of Perth in a manner, which, at another moment, would have brought on her the attention of every one, who saw her hurrying on with a reckless impetuosity, wildly, and widely different from the ordinary decency and composure of her step and manner, and without the plaid, scarf, or mantle, which "women of good," of fair character and decent rank, universally carried around them, when they went abroad. But, distracted as the people were, every one inquiring or telling the cause of the tumult, and most recounting it different ways, the negligence of her dress, and discomposure of her manner, made no impression on any one; and she was suffered to press forward on the path she had chosen, without attracting more notice than the other females, who, stirred by anxious curiosity or fear, had come out to inquire the cause of an alarm so generalit might be to seek for friends, for whose safety they were interested.

'As Catherine passed along, she felt all the wild influence of the agitating scene, and it was with difficulty she forbore from repeating the cries of lamentation and alarm, which were echoed around her. In the mean

dream, with a strange sense of dreadful calamity, the precise nature of which she was unable to define, but which implied the dreadful consciousness, that the man who loved her so fondly, whose good qualities she so highly esteemed, and whom she now felt to be dearer, than perhaps she would before have acknowledged to her own bosom, was murdered, and most probably by her means. The connection betwixt Henry's supposed death, and the descent of Conachar and his followers, though adopted by her in a moment of extreme and engrossing emotion, was sufficiently probable to have been received for truth, even if her understanding had been at leisure to examine its credibility. Without knowing what she sought, except the general desire to know the worst of the dreadful report, she hurried forward to the very spot, which of all others her feelings of the preceding day would have induced her to avoid.

'Who would, upon the evening of Shrove-tide, have persuaded the proud, the timid, the shy, the rigidly decorous Catherine Glover, that, before mass on Ash Wednesday, she should rush through the streets of Perth, making her way amidst tumult and confusion, with her hair unbound, and her dress disarranged, to seek the house of that same lover, who, she had reason to believe, had so grossly and indelicately neglected and affronted her, as to pursue a low and licentious amour! Yet so it was; and her eagerness taking, as if by instinct, the road which was most free, she avoided the High Street, where the pressure was greatest, and reached the wynd by the narrow lanes on the northern skirt of the town, through which Henry Smith had formerly escorted Louisa. But even these comparatively lonely passages were now astir with passengers, so general was the alarm. Catherine Glover made her way through them, however, while such as observed her. looked on each other, and shook their heads in sympathy with her distress. At length, without any distinct idea of her own purpose, she stood before her lover's door, and knocked for admittance.

'The silence which succeeded the echoing of her hasty summons increased the alarm, which had induced her to take this desperate measure. Open, if you "Open, open, Henry!" she cried. “ yet live!-Open, if you would not find Catherine Glover dead upon your threshold!"

'As she cried thus franticly, to ears which she was taught to believe were stopped by death, the lover she invoked opened the door in person, just in time to prevent her sinking on the ground. The extremity of his ecstatic joy upon an occasion so unexpected, was qualified only by the wonder which forbade him to believe it real, and by his alarm at the closed eyes, half-opened and blanched lips, total absence of complexion, and apparently total cessation of breathing.

'Henry had remained at home, in spite of the general alarm, which had reached his ears for a considerable time, fully determined to put himself in the way of no brawls that he could avoid; and it was only in compliance with a summons from the Magistrates, which, as a burgher, he was bound to obey, that, taking his sword and buckler from the wall, he was about to go forth, for the first time unwillingly, to pay his service, as his tenure bound him.

""It is hard," he said, "to be put forward in all the town feuds, when the fighting work is so detestable to Catherine. I am sure there are enough of wenches in Perth, that say to their gallants, 'Go out-do your devoir bravely, and win your lady's grace;' and yet they send not for their lovers, but for me, who cannot do the duties of a man to protect a minstrel woman, or of a burgess who fights for the honour of his town, but this peevish Catherine uses me as if I were a brawler and bordeller !"

'Such were the thoughts which occupied his mind, when, as he opened his door to issue forth, the person dearest to his thoughts, but whom he certainly least expected to see, was present to his eyes, and dropped into his arms.

'His mixture of surprise, joy, and anxiety, did not deprive him of the presence of mind which the occasion demanded. To place Catherine Glover in safety, and recall her to herself, was to be thought of before rendering obedience to the summons of the Magistrates, however, pressingly that had been delivered. He carried his lovely burden, as light as a feather, yet more precious than the same quantity of purest gold, into a small bedchamber which had been his mother's. It was the most fit for an invalid, as it looked into the garden, and was separated from the noise of the tumult. "Here, Nurse-Nurse Shoolbred-come quickcome for death and life-here is one wants thy help! "If it should but prove Up trotted the old dame. any one that will keep thee out of the scuffle" for she also had been aroused by the noise,—but what was her astonishment, when, placed in love and reverence on the bed of her late mistress, and supported by the athletic arms of her foster-son, she saw the apparently "Catherine lifeless form of the Fair Maid of Perth. Glover!" she said; "and, Holy Mother-a dying woman, as it would seem!

"

the ""Not so, old woman," said her foster-son; dear heart throbs-the sweet breath comes and returns! Come thou, that may aid her more meetly than Ibring water-essences-whatever thy old skill can devise-Heaven did not place her in my arms to die, but to live for herself and me."

'With an activity which her age had little promised, Nurse Shoolbred collected the means of restoring animation; for, like many women of the period, she un

derstood what was to be done in such cases, nay, possessed a knowledge of treating wounds of an ordinary description, which the warlike propensities of her fosterson kept in pretty constant excrcise.

"Come now," she said, "son Henry, unfold your arms from about my patient-though she is worth the pressing and set thy arms at freedom to help me with what I want.-Nay, I will not insist on your quitting her hand, if you will beat the palm gently, as the fingers unclose their clenched grasp.'

"I beat her slight beautiful hand!" said Henry; "you were as well bid me beat a glass cup with a forehammer, as tap her fair palm with my horn-hard fingers. But the fingers do unfold, and we will find a better way than beating ;" and he applied his lips to the pretty hand, whose motion indicated 'returning sensation. One or two deep sighs succeeded, and the Fair Maid of Perth opened her eyes, fixed them on her lover, as he kneeled by the bedside, and again sunk back on the pillow. As she withdrew not her hand from her lover's hold or from his grasp, we must in charity believe that the return to consciousness was not so complete as to make her aware that he abused the advantage, by pressing it alternately to his lips and his bosom. At the same time we are compelled to own, that the blood was colouring in her cheek, and that her breathing was deep and regular, for a minute or two during this relapse.'-Vol. ii. pp. 194–202.

press

In the mean time her father arrives, and ing through the crowd which surrounds the door, makes his way into the house :

'Unrestrained by the considerations of doubt and hesitation which influenced others, he repaired to the parlour; and, having overheard the bustling of Dame Shoolbred, he took the privilege of intimacy to ascend to the bed-room, and, with the slight apology of-"I crave your pardon, good neighbour," he opened the door, and entered the apartment, where a singular and unexpected sight awaited him. At the sound of his voice, May Catherine experienced a revival much speedier than Dame Shoolbred's restorative had been able to produce; and the paleness of her complexion changed into a deep glow of the most lovely red. She pushed her lover from her with both her hands, which, until this minute, her want of consciousness, or her affection, awakened by the events of the morning, had well nigh abandoned to his caresses. Henry Smith, bashful as we know him, stumbled as he rose up; and none of the party were without a share of confusion, excepting Dame Shoolbred, who was glad to make some pretext to turn her back to the others, in order that she might enjoy a laugh at their expense, which she felt herself utterly unable to restrain, and in which the Glover, whose surprise, though great, was of short duration, and of a joyful character, sincerely joined.

666 'Now, by good St John," he said, "I thought I had seen a sight this morning that would cure me of laughter, at least till Lent was over; but this would make me curl my cheek, if I were dying. Why, here stands honest Henry Smith, who was lamented as dead, and toll'd out for from every steeple in town, alive, merry, and, as seems from his ruddy complexion, as like to live as any man in Perth. And here is my precious daughter, that yesterday would speak of nothing but the wickedness of the wights that haunt profane sports, and protect glee-maidens-Ay, she who set St. Valentine and St. Cupid both at defiance,-here she is, turned a glee-maiden herself, for what I can see! Truly, I am glad to see that you, my good Dame Shoolbred, who give way to no disorder, have been of this loving party."

"You do me wrong, my dearest father," said Catherine, as if about to weep. "I came here with far different expectations than you suppose. I only came because-because-"

“Because you expected to find a dead lover,” said her father," and you have found a living one, who can receive the tokens of your regard, and return them. Now, were it not a sin, I could find in my heart to thank Heaven, that thou hast been surpised at last into owning thyself a woman-Simon Glover is not worthy to have an absolute saint for his daughter.-Nay, look not so piteously, nor expect condolence from me! Only I will try not to look merry, if you will be pleased to stop your tears, or confess them to be tears of joy."

"If I were to die for such a confession," said poor Catherine, I could not tell what to call them. Only believe, dear father, and let Henry believe, that I would never have come hither, unless-unless-"

"Unless you had thought that Henry could not come to you," said her father. "And now, shake

"Meantime," said Henry, "I will claim, as your host, what you will not allow me on other terms.' 'He folded the fair maiden in his arms, and was permitted to take the salute which she had refused to bestow.'-Vol. ii. pp. 208-213.

The following is a noble description of the funeral of Conachan's father, the Highland chieftain:

Simon Glover being thus left to his own painful reflections, nothing better remained, after having seen after the comforts of the dumb companion of his journey, than to follow the herdsman's advice; and, ascending towards the top of an eminence called Tom-an-Lonach, or the Knoll of Yew Trees, after a walk of half an hour he reached the summit, and could look down on the broad expanse of the lake, of which the height commanded a noble view. A few aged and scattered yew trees, of great size, still vindicated for the beautiful green hill the name attached to it. But a far greater number had fallen a sacrifice to the general demand for bow-staves in that warlike age, the bow being a weapon much used by the mountaineers, though those which they employed, as well as their arrows, were, in shape and form, and especially in efficacy, far inferior to the archery of merry England. The dark and shattered individual yews which remained, were, like the veterans of a broken host, occupying, in disorder, some post of advantage, with the stern purpose of resisting to the last. Behind this eminence, but detached from it, arose a higher hill, partly covered with copse-wood, partly opening into glades of pasture, where the cattle strayed, finding a scanty sustenance among the spring-heads and marshy places, where the fresh grass began first to arise.

The opposite, or northern shore of the lake, presented a far more Alpine prospect than that upon which the Glover was stationed. Woods and thickets ran up the sides of the mountains, and disappeared among the sinuosities formed by the winding ravines which separated them from each other; but, far above these specimens of a tolerable natural soil, arose the swart and bare mountains themselves, in the dark grey desolation proper to the season.

Some were peaked, some broad-crested, some rocky and precipitons, others of a tamer outline; and the clan of Titans seemed to be commanded by their appropriate chieftains-the frowning mountain of Ben Lawers, and the still more lofty eminence of Ben Mohr, arising high, above the rest, whose peaks retain a dazzling helmet of snow far into the summer season, and sometimes during the whole year. Yet the borders of this wild and sylvan region, where the mountains descended upon the lake, intimated, even at that early period, many traces of human habitation. Hamlets were seen, especially on the northern margin of the lake, half hid among the little glens that poured their tributary streams into Loch Tay, which, like many earthly

things, made a fair show at a distance, but, when more closely approached, were disgustful and repulsive, from their squalid want of the conveniences which attend

even Indian wigwams. They were inhabited by a race who neither cultivated the earth, nor cared for the enjoyments which industry procures. The women, although otherwise treated with affection, and even delicacy of respect, discharged all the absolutely necessary domestic labour. The men, excepting some reluctant use of an ill-formed plough, or more frequently a spade, grudgingly gone through, and as a task infinitely beneath them, took no other employment than the charge of the herds of black cattle, in which their wealth consisted. At all other times, they hunted, fished, or marauded, during the brief intervals of peace, by way of pastime; plundering with bolder license, and fighting lic or private, upon a broader or a more restricted scale, with embittered animosity, in time of war, which, pubformed the proper business of their lives, and the only one which they esteemed worthy of them.

'The magnificent bosom of the lake itself was a scene to gaze on with delight. Its noble breadth, with its termination in a full and beautiful run, was rendered yet more picturesque by one of those islets which are often happily situated in Scottish lakes. The ruins upon that isle, now almost shapeless, being overgrown with wood, rose, at the time we speak of, into the towers and pinnacles of a priory, where slumbered the remains of Sibilla, daughter of Henry I. of England, and consort of Alexander the First of Scotland. This holy place had been deemed of dignity sufficient to be the deposit of the remains of the Captain of the Clan Quhele, at least till times when the removal of the danger, now so imminently pressing, should permit of his body being conveyed to a distinguished convent in the north, where he was destined ultimately to repose with all his ancestry.

'A number of boats pushed off from various points of the near and more distant shore, many displaying sable banners, and others having their several pipers in the bow, who, from time to time, poured forth a few notes of a shrill, plaintive, and wailing character, and intimated to the Glover that the ceremony was about to take These sounds of lamentation were but the place. tuning, as it were, of the instruments, compared with the general wail which was speedily to be raised.

A distant sound was heard from far up the lake, even, as it seemed, from the remote and distant glens, out of which the Dochart and the Lochy pour their streams into Loch Tay. It was in a wild and inaccessible spot, where the Campbells, at a subsequent period, founded their strong fortress of Finlayrigg, that the redoubted commander of the Clan Quhele drew his last breath; and, to give due pomp to his funeral, his corpse was now to be brought down the Loch to the island assigned for his temporary place of rest. The funeral fleet, led by the chieftain's barge, from which a huge black banner was displayed, had made more than twothirds of its voyage, ere it was visible from the eminence on which Simon Glover stood to overlook the ceremony. The instant the distant wail of the coronach was heard proceeding from the attendants on the funeral barge, all the subordinate sounds of lamentation were hushed at once, as the raven ceases to croak and the hawk to whistle, whenever the scream of the eagle is heard. The boats, which had floated hither and thither upon the lake, like a flock of water-fowl dispersing themselves on its surface, now drew together, with an appearance of order, that the funeral flotilla might pass onward, and that they themselves might fall into their proper places. In the mean while, the piercing din of the war-pipes became louder and louder, and the cry from the numberless boats which followed that from which the black banner of the Chief was displayed, rose in wild unison up to the Tom-an-Lonach, from which the Glover viewed the spectacle. The galley which headed the procession, bore on its poop a species of scaffold, upon which, arrayed in white linen, and with the face bare, was displayed the corpse of the deceased Chieftain. His son, and the nearest relatives, filled the vessel, while a great number of boats, of every description that could be assembled, either on Loch Tay itself, or brought by land-carriage from Loch Earn and otherwise, followed in the rear, some of them of very frail materials. There were even curraghs, composed of ox-hides stretched over hoops of willow, in the manner of the ancient British; and some committed themselves to rafts formed for the occasion, from the readiest materials that occurred, and united in such a precarious manner as to render it probable, that, before the accomplishment of the voyage, some of the clips men of the deceased might be sent to attend their Cland tain in the world of spirits.

When the principal flotilla came in sight of smaller group of boats collected towards the foot o lake, and bearing off from the little island, they ha,'.

each other with a shout so loud and general, and te-r minating in a cadence so wildly prolonged, that not only the deer fled from their caves for miles around, and sought the distant recesses of the mountains; but even the domestic cattle, accustomed to the voice of man, felt the full panic which the human shout strikes into the wilder tribes, and like them fled from their pasture into morasses and dingles.

held the office of Secretary to the Royal Society, who early relinquished the practice of his profession for other pursuits, but whose name is identified with the history of modern chemistry, and will live as long as science shall be cultivated.

'From what has been stated of the condition to which I was now reduced, it will be inferred, that it was chiefly from the position which I occupied in the corner of the room in which Dr. Baillie received his patients at home, that I became at all acquainted with what was going on in medicine.

'My present was the very reverse, in almost every particular, of my early master, Dr. Radcliffe. In person, Dr. Baillie was considerably below the middle size, with a countenance rather plain than prepossessfirst address, nothing could be less imposing; and yet, before he had been in company with you for five minutes, he would have convinced you that he was one of the most sensible, clear-headed physicians you had ever listened to.

'Summoned forth from their convents by those sounds, the monks who inhabited the little islet, began to issue from its lowly portal, with cross and banner, and as much of ecclesiastical state as they had the means of displaying; their bells, at the same time, of which the edifice possessed three, pealing the death-toll over the long lake, which came to the ears of the now silent multitude, mingled with the solemn chanting, a Scotch dialect, and blunt manners. Than his of the Catholic church, raised by the monks in their procession. Various ceremonies were gone through, while the kindred of the deceased carried the body ashore, and, placing it on a bank long consecrated to the purpose, made the Deasil around the departed. When the corpse was uplifted to be borne into the church, another united yell burst from the assembled multitude, in which the deep shout of warriors, and the shrill wail of females, joined their notes with the tremulous voice of age, and the babbling cry of childhood. The coronach was again, and for the last time, shrieked, as the body was carried into the interior of the church, where only the nearest relatives of the deceased, and the most distinguished of the lead-growing extent of his practice, it continued to be of ers of the clan were permitted to enter. The last yell of woe was so terribly loud, and answered by so many hundred echoes, that the citizen of Perth instinctively raised his hands to his ears, to shut out, or deaden, at least, a sound so piercing.'-Vol. iii. pp. 77-86.

The reputed author of the present volume, (Dr. Macmichael,) appears to have taken considerable pains to embody, in a work of fiction, much historical information founded on facts. The following notice by the Editor will account for its appearance:

A short time before the opening of the New College of Physicians, Mrs. Baillie presented to that learned body a gold-headed cane, which had been successively carried by Doctors Radcliffe, Mead, Askew, Pitcairn, and her own lamented husband. The arms of these celebrated physicians are engraved on the head of the cane, and they form the vignettes of the five chapters into which the present volume is divided.'

The following extract from the last chapter of the work, relating to the last possessor of the gold-headed cane, Dr. Matthew Baillie, will be perused with interest, even by unprofessional

readers :

When I (the Gold-headed Cane) passed from the hands of Dr. Pitcairn into the possession of Dr. Baillie, I ceased to be considered any longer as a necessary appendage of the profession; and, consequently, the opportunities I enjoyed of seeing the world, or even of knowing much about the state of physic, were very greatly abridged and but of rare occurrence.

Once only was I introduced into a large party. It was on a Sunday evening, when I was taken to one of the scientific meetings, held at the house of Sir Joseph Bankes, in Soho-square. How different from the gay conversaziones in Ormond-street, in the spacious library of Dr. Mead, filled with splendid books, and ornamented with antiques of the most costly description. On entering the house of Sir Joseph, I was ushered up a sort of back staircase, and introduced into two gloomy apartments, in the further corner of the first of which sat the President of the Royal Society, wearing the red ribband of the Order of the Bath, in a gouty chair. Here I was passed from one to the other, and considered rather as a curious relic, than regarded, as I was wont to be, as the support and ornament of the Faculty. My only consolation arose, as I was handed about, from the observation, which it was impossible not to make, that among the philosophers present there was a great proportion of medical men, who examined me, as may be supposed with more than ordinary interest. Among others, I did not escape the keen and scrutinising eye of a physician who then

According to the commencement of chap. i. p. 1, it was deposited a day before the opening of the New College of Physicians, namely, June 24, 1825.

From his habit of public lecturing, he had acquired two great advantages; first, a minute and accurate knowledge of the structure of the human body, and, second, the most perfect distinctness and excellent arrangement, in what may be called the art of statement. For this latter quality he was very remarkable; and, even when he was compelled to relinquish lecturing, (by which he had acquired it,) in consequence of the

daily advantage to him. In examining a patient for the purpose of learning the symptoms of the complaint, the questions he put were so few as to give an impression of haste and carelessness; in conversing on the case with the physicians whom he met, in consultation, he was very short and clear; and it was not until the relations or friends of the patient were admitted, and he proceeded to communicate to them the result of the consultation, that he appeared to full advantage. He then gave a short practical lecture, not merely on the symptoms of the patient, but on the disease generally, in which all that was known on the subject was brought to bear on the individual case; and, in doing this, his utterance was so deliberate, that it was easy to follow him. His explanations were so concise, that they always excited attention, and never tired; and the simplicity of the language in which they were conveyed, where all technical terms were studiously avoided, rendered them perfectly intelligible.

'During his latter years, when he had retired from all but consultation practice, and had ample time to attend to each individual case, he was very deliberate, tolerant, and willing to listen to whatever was said to him by the patient; but, when in the hurry of great business, when

his day's work, as he used to say, amounted to seventrayed a want of temper in hearing the tiresome details of an unimportant story. After listening, with torture, to a prosing account from a lady, who ailed so little that she was going to the Opera that evening, he had happily escaped from the room, when he was required to step up stairs again. It was to ask him whether, on her return from the Opera, she might eat some oysters. "Yes, Ma'am," said Baillie," shells and all."'

teen hours, he was sometimes rather irritable, and be

The present edition is much enlarged, and, in addition to the former biographical sketches, it now contains the lives of Dr. Linacre,* Sir Hans Sloane, Dr. William Pitcairn, Dr. Warren, Dr. Heberden, and Sir George Baker. It is embellished with portraits of the eminent characters of the professional as well as the general reader. who are described, and is well worth the perusal

SCOTT ON DISEASES OF THE JOINTS.

Surgical Observations on the Treatment of Chronic Inflammation in various structures, particularly as exemplified in the Diseases of the Joints. By John Scott, Surgeon to the London Opthalmic Infirmary, and Assistant Surgeon to the London Hospital. 8vo. Pp. 291. Longman and Co. 1828.

WHEN we consider the great success that has attended the practice of Mr. Scott of Bromley, in diseases of the joints, we can only feel surprised that he should have kept his method of treatment a secret; more especially as he could not be unacquainted with the number of his fellow-creatures, who constantly fill the wards of our hospitals, in the hopes of obtaining relief, if not a cure, of the lingering diseases under which they labour. It is, therefore, with pleasure that

* The founder of the Royal College of Physicians.

we perceive the son stepping forward on liberal principles, and imparting information to his professional brethren, on a subject particularly interesting to the welfare of the community at large.

The object of this work,' observes our author, 'is to communicate that mode of treatment which my father, Mr. Scott of Bromley, has, for many years, employed in diseases of the joints, with complete success, in a vast number of cases, in which the methods ordinarily employed had proved ineffectual. It is now many years since I learnt it from him. I have seen its efficacy verified in numerous cases; first, under the care of my father, and since under my own; and I feel it to be too important to be confined to an individual.'

This is the intention of our author; and we can only express our wish, that the medical director (a Mr. Whitlaw) of an institution founded under royal patronage (we believe) at Bayswater, which is said to be very successful in the cure of scrofula, considering the many thousands in Great Britain who are afflicted and daily fall victims to this disease, will copy his example. We consider it not only a species of quackery, but cruel, to keep those remedies a secret, which would benefit a suffering community.

We insert this, as a hint to the subscribers to that institution, to imitate the noble example set them by Mr. Scott, and to compel Mr. Whitlaw and his colleagues to throw open their practice to the medical profession generally, and to let all those suffering under this malady stand a chance of obtaining a release, by those means said to be successful in the hands of the individuals already mentioned, and which, doubtless, would be similar in the hands of their contemporaries.

In conclusion, we beg to observe, that Mr. Scott, jun., deserves the thanks of a liberal public, and we most cordially recommend a perusal of his interesting volume to our professional readers.

The History of London, &c. By Thomas Allen. 8vo. 8s. 6d. each vol. Cowie and Strange. London, 1828.

MR. Allen has laboured very successfully in his researches into the antiquities of the Metropolis, and his work is valuable for the curious as well as useful information it contains. He has commenced his narrative with the earliest records, and continued it through the reigns of the different monarchs to modern times, no ting every thing that can be amusing to the general reader, or useful for the more inquisitive inquirer. The publication is altogether one of great merit, and is well calculated to become one of popular reference. The Wards of London; comprising an Historical and Topographical Description of every Object of importance within the boundaries of the City, &c., &c. By Henry Thomas. 8vo. J. Gifford. Numbers 1-12. 1828.

THE present Numbers form a part of very brief but interesting history of London, being arranged alphabetically, so that the account of each Ward is comexhibits much historical research, and the wood-enplete in itself, and can be purchased separately. It gravings are excellent.

Principles of Self-Knowledge. By the late Stephen Drew, Esq., Barrister-at-Law, Jamaica. Longman and Co. 2 vols. 8vo. Price 20s. London, 1828. THIS publication originated in the author's observation of the course taken by Mr. Carlile in the defence he set up on his late trial. Mr. Drew conceived his pen might be usefully employed in meeting Mr. Carlile on his own ground, and replying to the theological part of his defence. The work which was the consequence of this idea, is now before us, and deserves praise of the highest kind, both for the piety and learning displayed in its pages. Mr. Drew died, we lament to say, before its publication; but the Editor has done it justice by his attention to its correctness and appearance.

The College Album, a Selection of Original Papers, edited by Students in the University of Glasgow. pp. 216. Smith. Glasgow.

WE had occasion, on the appearance of a little volume similar to the one before us, to express our approbation of the good taste which the Scotch Students were evincing in their lucubrations. In looking over the present collection of their essays, we have found no reason to pass a different opinion. They show a good feeling and literary ingenuity; and the College Album, we predict, contains papers that will be one day valued as the juvenile productions of well known authors.

WITHIN the compass of a single folio plate of about 20 inches by 14, Mr. Britton has brought, with great taste and effect, a collection of the most striking architectural beauties that our country can produce. The scale is sufficiently large to admit of a perfect elevation, and even to allow the introduction of the picturesque ; while the space allotted for the plans and arms being taken from portions of the plate that could not be well occupied by the views, does not at all intrude on the general effect, though seeming to give great additional interest to the whole. It is, in short, as pleasing an addition to the portfolio of the artist or amateur as any collector could make.

The Bride, engraved by David Lucas, after a Painting by J. J. Masquerier. Brooker, Southampton-row, London, 1828.

THE intention of this Picture is to represent the extreme of contented happiness,and joyous satisfaction, resulting from the complete fulfilment of human wishes:

'Her's is the sunshine of the breast;'

And both the painter and engraver have succeeded in accomplishing that end. In the figure, there is a union of grace and repose, which is quite in harmony with the situation of the lady pourtrayed, and the face is full of benignity and sweetness, yet totally exempt from any but the most chaste expression of delight. The fine disposition of the lights and shadows add greatly to the general effect, and the whole is well worthy of general approbation.

Venus and Hebe. Engraved by J. Thomson, after Drawings by T. Harper. Brooker. London, 1828. NOTWITHSTANDING the thousand-and-one representations of these beautiful mythological personages, which have appeared in all countries and in all ages, there appears to us to be something new in the manner of treating them here, and that is saying a great deal in their favour. The Venus, with her lower half obscured in a cloud, has, in the upper portion of her form, as much youth and loveliness as can be desired, and a voluptuousness of expression in the face that suf ficiently betokens the predominant sentiment, without the index of the cooing doves, which she holds by a silken cord, in amorous captivity. The Hebe, though still represented as the cup-bearer of Jove, and feeding the immortal Eagle, is also new in form and expression; and, both taken together, form as interesting a pair of prints as we have for some time seen. It should be added, that the engraving, which is in the steppled manner, is of the very highest excellence in that style, and so finely wrought as to fall little short of the best line-engraving in the bolder parts, while it possesses a softness that line-engraving cannot reach in the more delicate portions of the fleshy surface.

Salvator Mundi, from the Original, by Carlo Dolci. Engraved by H. R. Cook, and printed in Gold, by J. G. C. and Co. Published by J. W. Cook, 37, London Road. London, 1828.

THE act of rendering the surface of paper as hard, as smooth, and as finely polished, as that of the most beautiful porcelain, and then of printing it in gold, instead of ink or colours, is one of recent introduction, and was first used in some of the most popular Annuals, for titles and dedication-pages. It is here appropriated to a more elevated class of art, as well as of subject, and, we must say, successfully so appropriated. The original we should conceive to be among the very first rank of human productions. The copy is is quite worthy of the original; and it would be difficult to conceive a form, a face, and an expression of greater beauty and benignity combined, than this exquisite Engraving presents; while all the subordinateparts of the picture are in the chastest style, and most accurate keeping.

The Guardian Angel, designed and executed by D. Morrison, Modeller to the Royal Family. Published by Thomas Flint, 28, Burlington Arcade. London,

1828.

THIS is an extremely beautiful medallion, of a circular form, about four inches in circumference, with the subject in a bold alto-relievo, sufficient to give the details with all the fineness of sculpture, and yet preserve the character of a medallion. The figures represented are a lovely and innocent female, attended by its

guardian angel; and, both for beauty of form and delicacy of expression, they are unexceptionably perfect. Being framed in a style to harmonise with miniatures, or enamel paintings, we do not know of a more appropriate ornament to any collection of this description.

NEW MUSIC.

No. I. of the Musical Album, for the Piano Forte and Flute (ad libitum); containing the Fairy Rondo, composed by J. B. Cramer, Published by the Author. 3s. 6d.

THIS very pleasing production has also the following title prefixed to it :-Lord Mornington's favourite Glee, 'Here in cool grot,' arranged and dedicated to his much esteemed friend, Miss Stephens, by J. B. Cramer. These descriptions may be quite sufficient recommen dation to the work, without any additional compliment on our part. The whole is not difficult of performance, and is truly English, whether we take the well known and admired theme, or the Rondo worked from it; in keeping with this, Cramer generally employs the words 'slow,' 'lightly,' and 'in a lively manner,' to indicate the time and character of the different movements, instead of the Italian phrases usually employed for the purpose; so that we almost wondered at meeting afterwards with the words 'simplice,' 'scherzando,' &c. The air chosen is of the very description suited to Cramer's taste, and he has illustrated and adorned it most successfully.

'The Tyrolese Peasant's Song,' arranged by Joseph Hart; the words written by Harry Stoe Van Dyk. Mayhew. 28.

A VERY graceful 'andante con expressione innocente,' and one of the prettiest Tyrolean melodies. The same air was exceedingly popular as far back as the year 1826! when it was introduced in a piece called "The Sleeping Beauty,' written by the Hon. Lumley St. George Skeffington, and sung as a duett to the words commencing Our sweet dancing days,' by Mrs. Mountain, and Miss De Camp (now Mrs. C. Kemble.) The present revival is well adapted to the words, is easy to be sung, and has over its title a pleasing lithographic vignette.

Rossini's celebrated Quintetto, 'Oh! guardate che accidente,' arranged as a Concertante Duett, for Harp and Piano Forte, with an Accompaniment (ad lib.) for the Flute. Composed for, and inscribed to, Miss Grant and Miss Isabella Grant, by N. B. Challoner. Cramer and Co. 6s.

THIS very delightful composition of Rossini's, which was so excellently performed by De Begnis and his wife when they first appeared in this country, and which always commands admiration on account of its singular playfulness, melody, and taste, is excellently fitted for the purpose of a Duett for Harp and Piano Forte; and with, or without the addition of the Flute. The adaptation now offered is peculiarly interesting. The arrangement is well fitted for the respective instruments, and the work exceedingly well engraved and 'brought out.'

Dressler's Selection of Beauties, with Embellishments, for the Flute. Dedicated to Amateurs. (No. 2.) Cocks and Co. 3s.

IN our last review, we experienced pleasure in recommending the first number of this very desirable, cheap, and pleasing work; and now fulfil our promise of giving a notice of the pieces offered in the second book, which is equally worthy of patronage with the first. No. 1. With verdure clad; Hayden's beautiful song in the Creation, arranged by Dressler. 2. An Allegro Scherzando, by Berbiguier, (a very playful, characteristic piece.) 3. 'The Blue Bonnets over the Border,' very tastefully embellished by the editor. 4. A German Air, in F, 6-8, with four variations, also by Dressler. 5. 'O Dolce Concento,' with six shewy variations, by Berbiguier. 6. 'Il plu bergere,' varied by Farrenc. 7. Cease your Funning,' with four variations, by Dressler. 8. A pleasing Melody, varied by Tulon, and presented as performed by him. self. A note informs us, that, to the last piece, 'An Accompaniment for the Piano,' may be had for 1s. 6d.

Duetto, My Ornaments are Arms!' A Martial Air; the Words taken from Bouring's Romances of Spain; the Music by a Lady. Ewer and Johanning. 1s. VERY short, very bombastic, and deserving of very little description; it requires a singer that can reach the note A on the ledger-line above the stave, and, therefore, we apprehend but few can attempt the task successfully.

Folly and Feeling; a Ballad. Written by F. Thornhill. Composed by Josiah Ferdinand Reddie. Dale. 18. 6d. A PRETTY Song, and easy of performance; (the highest note where it ought to be, for the generality of vocal performers, especially amateurs, viz.-F on the fifth line.) The thema commences so immediately similar to Robin Adair,' as to destroy its claim to originality; but it is still a very pleasing ballad.

POETRY.

When the lamp is shattered

The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scattered

The rainbow's glory is filed. When the lute is broken

SHELLEY.

Sweet sounds are remembered not; When the words are spoken Loved accents are soon forgot. THROUGH the clouds the lightnings glide, The arrow through the air; Ships cut through the ocean tide, Yet not a trace is there. When the sun is set and gone, The blush of day is o'er; And when beauty's song is done, The strain is heard no more.

But the heart doth not forget

Time may come and go :
And there are things in memory yet,
Like living spirits glow.

The vivid joys of youthful days-
The happy school-boy spot-

The room, the time, his songs and plays,
No, never are forgot.

The parting look, the endearing word.
Of her, the best loved one-
Still, still is seen, and still is heard,
Though she for aye be gone.
The brightest visions of our youth,
When all things yet were new,
Of friendship, love, and endless truth,
Our ardent fancy drew;

The blighted hope, the vain regret,
The grief, the tear, the sigh;
Oh! that I could all forget-
Oh! would that these could die.
MAN'S FIRST LOVE.

PI.

He oped his eyes at first upon a land
That was surcharged with beauty-in the air,

And on the earth, all fragrant was and fair;
While with a sweet sound o'er the golden sand
Gush'd forth the living founts of Paradise ;

And there were forms of blameless loveliness Floating in light around him, who did bless With the fond languor of their glancing eyes His joy-bewilder'd spirit. Upon one

He turn'd his gaze, and passion's headlong power Came like a tempest o'er him-'neath the sun,

He valued nothing, save her beauty's dower,And this was bliss!-o'ercharg'd though this may

seem,

Many have known the madness of such dream.

THE CORONAL. (Translated from a Sonnet written, in Modern Greek, by the late Ugo Foscolo, and Addressed by him to Lady FAR from my native Heaven, a wreath I wove Of mingled odour, and of various hue. Smiling and sad-my own heart's emblem trueThe violet pale-the rose that blooms for love. The delicate hyacinth, and myrtle green, Embracing the soft lily's virgin sheen. And, oh! still dearer, from Hesperian bower, The laurel shadowing each subject flower, My Heliodora! thou wilt haply wear This votive coronal I wreathed for thee, To twine the tresses of thy golden hair, Thy sunbright locks, proudly and gracefully, Bright as thy polished brow, and perfumed as thy sigh. CARLO PACE,

A youth of thirteen years of age, has just appear ed as an Improvisatore at Naples, and has astonished all who have listened to him by his remarkable performances. He was presented to the King and Queen, when his Majesty gave him as subjects of dissertation, "The Sacrifice of Abraham,' "The Meeting of Æneas and Anchises in the Elysian Fields,' and 'Coriolanus at the Gates of Rome.' He treated each theme with admirable skill, eloquence, and taste, and concluded with extemporaneous and happy compliments to the Royal family. He was handsomely rewarded by their Majesties, who have further assured him the means of improving, if it be possible, the wonderful talent he

possesses.