Mr. Anderson has displayed much luxuriance of fancy and a keen relish for the beauties of nature, which he describes with singular fluency of versification, though throughout the volume, and in every one of the fifteen separate pieces which it contains, uniformity of measure is preserved, a circumstance that must produce in some degree the effect which monotony of expression and sound never fails to create. The plates that embellish the volume, which is quarto in form, are gracefully wedded to the verse; and indeed, in more senses than one, the whole performance, literary and artistic, might pass for one of the Annuals. Our first specimen shall be taken from Summer :

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Decay should seem unknown

But spiteful time its certain change prepares :
Light has its shade, and pleasures has its cares:
Music its saddened tone:

Summer its springing weeds,

And trodden flowers, that tell of bygone joys,
And thoughts long since forgotten, 'mid the noise
That from man's haunts proceeds.

How beautiful the sight!

Why should we think of change for scenes like this?
Fair as a poet's thought, when thought is bliss,
And all he sees is light!

Let but the enraptured eye

Once look upon the landscape's gorgeous train,
And, like a kiss upon the brow of pain,
That brings a solace nigh,

In after years 'twill rest

Within the memory, with bloom and balm,
Refreshing to the soul, like a sweet calm
On ocean's troubled breast."

Another sample from one of the lyrics which has Autumn for its subject, will show how happily the author can entwine pretty or delicate incidents.

The Missel-Thrush sings most heartily during the tempest, is a fact in natural history, as Chanticlear has beenknown to crow with all his might amid the roar and tumult of bale. Other circum

stances familiar to those who have made nature and rural scenery their study are sweetly and gracefully introduced by our poet :

They plunge in stream retired,—despoil a nest,—
Or ramble far and near.

How oft, when changeful time

Has sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads,
Remembrance brings to mind-and gladness sheds--
The pastime of our prime !

The lowing of the kine,

In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear,"
With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheer
Of rusticks, as they join

The merry dance at eve;

Each rural sound has in it joy and health:

Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth,
And gladly truth receive,

The calm and picturesque;

The foliaged cedar, and the wreathed beech,
More glowing thoughts and impulses can teach
Than learning from his desk!”

We have had an opportunity before this, in reviewing a volume of songs and ballads chiefly in the Scottish dialect, to admire and praise Alexander Rodger's hearty and healthy muse, whose vein of humour is quite national as well as natural. Some pieces in the present collection have been published before, others appear for the first time. Two specimens will do more in the way of explaining our author's forte and particular qualities than pages of remark.

Here is a specimen, consisting of a fragment left by the lamented Tannahill, who was a deservedly popular writer of Scottish songs; indeed one of the very best that have ever warbled in the Doric dialect. This fragment, like several others which Mr. Rodger has completed in a manner which we think not unworthy of the deceased songster, consists of four stanzas, composed to the Air "Whistle an' I'll come to you, my lad.”

"Come hame to your lingels, ye ne'er-do-well loon,
You're the king o' the dyvours, the talk o' the town,
Sae soon as the Munonday morning comes in
Your wearifu' daidling again maun begin.'
Gudewife, ye're a skillet, your tongue's just a bell,
To the peace o' guid fallows it rings the death-knell,
But clack till ye deafen auld Barnaby's mill,
The souter shall aye hae his Munonday's yill.'
Come hame to your lap-stane, come hame to your last,
It's a bonnie affair that your family maun fast,
While you and your crew here a guzzling maun sit,
Ye daised drunken guid-for-nocht heir o' the pit;
Just leuk how I'm gaun without stocking or shoe,
Your bairns a' in tatters, an' fatherless too,
An' yet, quite content, like a sot ye'll sit still

Till your kytes like to crack wi' your Munonday's yill.'
'I tell ye gudewife, gin you handna your clack,
I'll lend you a reestle wi' this oure your back;
Maun we be abused an' affronted by you,
Wi' siccan foul names as loon, dyvour, an' crew?'
'Come hame to your lingels, this instant come hame,

;

Or I'll redden your face, gin ye 've yet only shame
For I'll bring a' the bairns, an' well just hae our fill,
As weel as yoursel, o' your Munonday's yill.'

'Gin that be the gate o't, sirs, come let us stir,
What need we sit here to be pestered by her?
For she'll plague an' affront us as far as she can-
Did ever a woman sae bother a man?
Frae yill-house to yill-house she 'll after us rin,
An' raise the hall town wi' her yelpin' an' din
Come, ca' the gudewife, bid her bring in the bill,
I see I maun quat takin' Munonday's yill.'"

;

The second specimen is full of a healthy tenderness, of which the author is as much master as of that national vein of humour which the above stanzas exhibit. We might also pitch upon examples of deep pathos as well as of effective description, had we left ourselves room for their insertion. But Mr. Rodger, whose happiest efforts will chiefly interest his countrymen, to whom his subjects, style, and prevailing dialect are familiar, has already secured for himself the rank of a true bard in national estimation, and therefore there is the less occasion for us doing much more than announce the republication of many of his best productions, together with the opinion that what is new in the present volume fully sustains his established fame. Now for " My Bonnie wee Wifie."

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My bonnie wee wifie and I hae been wed

For thretty lang years-yet our time has sae sped,
That she still is as kind, couthy, canty, and fain,
As on that happy day when I made her my ain;
And a brow fruitfu' vine' my wee wifiê has been,
While around her own tendrills entwining are seen,
And though some be nipt aff, yet she still smiles on me,
Wi' the sweet blythsome blink o' her bonnie black e'e.
My bonnie wee wifie to cheer me at e'en,
Has a canty bit in'gle, a hearth white and clear—
A weel redd-up housie, a snug elbow chair,
And a lightsome bit supper o' clean halesome fare;
Around our fire-side, sit the bairns wi' their beuks,
On whom wi' a mither's affection she leuks-
Then turn frae them smiling, to smile upon me,
Wi' the kind blythsome blink o' her bonnie black e'e."

138

NOTICES.

ART. XII.-Diet and Regimen, Physical, Intellectual, and Moral, as Means in the Prevention and Cure of Disease. By R. DICK, M. D. Glasgow: Symington. 1838.

ALMOST innumerable and intricately complicated are the influences which affect man's entire nature. One thing is manifest that unless the physician has patiently studied the human consitution, and accustomed highly cultured and enlarged powers of mind to close observation in regard to the intellectual and moral as well as the physical phenomena around him, his advice and prescriptions can never be safely followed. When a medical practitioner places his opinions, his theories, and his system of Dietetics and Regimen, for instance, upon record, subjects which have a most extensive bearing in physical, mental, and moral science, the thinking and well informed portion of society are enabled to judge of his skill and competency. When viewing Dr. Dick guided by such means, we must pronounce him to be one of the most enlightened and philosophical writers of his class. We are glad to see that he purposes to pursue his present line of investigation in a future work. In the meanwhile one or two passages will convey a favourable impression of what he has already written, at the same time that they possess a popular interest. We have been much struck with the following observations concerning English authorship and

manners:

In England, it is almost necessary, in order that an author obtain attention, that he connect himself with some religious, political, or philosophical sect, and make his speculations have a greater or less reference to the principles of the particular sect which he may see it to be his interest or duty to join. This necessity exists much less on the Continent. Now the existence of this necessity in England, while it discountenances and fetters liberal philosophy, proves that prejudice and a want of intelligence prevail among the people. The only subject on which the lower ranks of the British people are thoroughly [perseveringly ?] instructed is religion; and even this important subject, being presented to them in the form of abstruse system, their intellects are not exercised or improved by it, and consequently, their intelligence is not promoted. And as the expense of living in this country renders our people laborious, and therefore somewhat unsocial, and as from the unfounded prejudices fomented against dramatic entertainments, &c., the people do not avail themselves of the opportunities which these present of agreeably refining and informing the mind and softening the manners; from these causes, I say, it results that our population is a less intellectual, intelligent, and polished one than that of France, and our writers are obliged to conform to this lower standard."

This conclusion is not very flattering to our vanity; still we fear that in regard to the bulk of our population compared with the similar multitudes in France and Germany, the doctrine is but too well founded. Dr. Dick admits that we have more animal ardour than the Germans, though less intellectual and imaginative vivacity than the French; and "also from the less social turn and graver temper of the people," there is not the same facility of giving vent to exuberant feeling as exists among our light-hearted neighbours. Our very language, it may likewise be remarked, is destitute