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Above we give a view of Dunkeld House, the former seat of the Duke of Athol—a plain comfortable structure, endeared to many of the ancient Caledonians. , About thirty years since, it was abandoned for an establishment less pleasantly situated in its immediate neighborhood, but on a far more magnificent scale. The park and grounds, which are very extensive, are richly adorned with trees of stately and graceful growth, by hill and dale, and lofty craggy rocks majestically rising, thinly shaded with young firs. Along the river, (Tay,) and sometimes diverging from it, the most delightful walks are cut through woods, shrubberies, and cornfields. An intelligent and observing tourist, speaking of this locality says, “the pen and the pencil would fail in giving any adequate idea of Lock Tay, a superb expanse of water, fif. teen miles long and from one to two broad. Neat farms and country residences every where enliven the eye. The road winds through plantations of young beach and oak, beneath the arches of whose branches the lake is seen in a thousand points of varying beauty. A prodigal luxuriance diffuses itself over the fields which line its verdant margin, and high up the sides of the majestic mountains, which, whitened by many a waterfall, are reflected in its mirror; whilst a small island, thickly covered with trees, and supporting the ruins of a priory, the picturesque church-town, bridge and village of Kenmore, embellish its beautiful termination. “The House of Dunkeld, or the Hill of Hazels, has been most justly celebrated by the poet, and formed the subject of the painter.

It was considered to be in the centre of old Caledonia, and is now esteemed to be in the heart of the Highlands. Verbal description can impart but a faint impression of the romantic and exquisite scenery which here every where banquets the eye. Upon the hill descending to Dunkeld, the traveler, if he has a relish for the charms of nature, would be amply rewarded for the toil and labor of a long pilgrimage. I visited the Cathedral, which is a noble Gothic pile, and throws over the town the interesting appearance of antiquity. The choir still remains, and is used for worship. The chancel is now the burial ground. Upon one of the tombstones I read, “Here lies Roy Macdonald, and Eliza Fleming, his wife.’ I was informed that the wife continues her maiden name; and if a widow, and several times married, she may, if she likes it, select the name of the husband she loved best.”


The same pleasant author, speaking of his visit to Killin, says, “I had just mounted my horse to quit this enchanting and romantic spot, when the bell of the church, which stood close to the inn, began to toll, and immediately afterwards a concourse of men appeared, moving with hasty steps to the churchyard, which induced me to follow them. In the middle of the throng I observed four men bearing a coffin to the grave, into which, with great decorum, but without ceremony, the poor remains of mortality were lowered. At that very moment every one took off his blue bonnet, and three of the group advanced to the verge of the grave, where they remained



The Hermitess— Woman.

Vol. II.

until it was filled up, in attitudes of manly and unaffected sorrow. A long roll of green turf was then brought upon a pole, unravelled, and neatly placed over the mound. So rapid was the interment that in about ten minutes, only here and there, a little scattered fresh mould distinguished this from the neighboring tombs. The funeral bell struck but a few strokes. No minister attended—no prayer was said— no anthem sung. The deceased was the daughter of an opulent farmer; and one of those who attended said, that the Highlands could not boast of a lassie more good or more bonny, and that she fell in the bloom of youth —yet no female mourner was there. Such were the features of this solemn scene. Accustomed to see the dead interred with more showy sorrow, at first, I must confess that I thought these Caledonian mountaineers destitute of that sensibility which the memory of the departed inspires in every other country. But a minute's reflection rescued them from this impression—by placing their religion before me, simple and unadorned as it is in all its offices, and by the marks of genuine, though silent, sorrow, which appeared in every countenance:—and I also recollected to have met in my way to Killin, at some miles distant, several of the figures which stood before me, who had assembled from distant villages to mingle in the sad procession. One of the group, after observing me for some time, advanced and courteously asked if I “came from London!” I answered in the affirmative. “That is the place I believe,” said he “where the king tarries.” I told him it was. “Ah!” replied he, “then you must be surprised to see the manner in which we have placed this corpse in the ground, for I have heard ye bury your dead there with more ceremony, but yet YE Do Not FEEL. MoRE THAN we.” I fully agreed with the honest Highlander, who, after a few more words, bowed and withdrew. SiR John CARR.

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Oh solitude I thou'rt now my place of rest,
A sweet and calm retreat—my feeble bark
Long toss'd, and shatter'd by the troubled waves,
And all that made life dear are pass'd away,
And left me lonely on the foamy sea.
How sweet it is to find the little Isle
Of solitude—and there sweet converse hold
With those unseen, not absent, as I trust,
For oft their gentle spirits hover round,
And sooth the loneliness that charms me now.
The world, with its commotion and its noise,
Is heard unheeded;—I would not resign
Thy joys, for all the pleasures earth can boast.
Yet if, perchance, I leave thy calm retreat,

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The intimate relation and mutual dependence of man and woman, is fully declared in their creation. Woman being declared “bone of the bone and flesh of the flesh” of man, plainly establishes the determination of the Deity, that they are destined to be intimately associated, and to exert a mutual influence over each other, either for weal or woe. This point, I suppose, none at the present day are disposed to gainsay. The fact that woman's influence is much greater, and more efficient than man's, is, I think, beyond dispute. To establish this, we have to refer merely to facts in sacred and profane history. Eve's influence over our common father, in inducing him to eat of the forbidden fruit, “whose taste brought death into the world and all our woe,” is an early instance of woman's power. The man, “beloved of God and approved,” David even, the “man after God's own heart,” experienced woman's powerful influence; but why multiply instances ! Facts speak for themselves, and substantially maintain the point.

The natural formation of woman, the delicacy, feebleness, and weakness of her physical construction, obviously manifest her dependence, declare man the protector and woman the protege, as is so beautifully represented by the delightful authoress: “Il faut pour que la nature et l'orde social se montrent dans toute leur beaute, que l'homme soit protecteur, et la femme protegee, mais que ce protecteur adore la foiblesse qu'il defend, et, respecte la divinite sans pouvoir, qui, comme ses dieux Penates, porte bonheur a sa maison. Ici l’on diroit presque que les femmes sont le sultan, et les hommes le serail.

By the original fiat of the Creator, man pos. sesses greater power of body and mind, and the weaker sex naturally regards her more robust companions as her protectors and support. The simple fact that she is the “weaker vessel,” ensures to her that right of protection which her feebleness demands. She

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ciety, and what a wise Providence has seen fit to deny on the one part, is amply supplied on another. He has granted to woman an influence which man can never exert. The relation she bears to her children as a mother, that innate sense of dependence which the infant of the earliest days manifests, the constant hourly intercourse of mother and child, all afford her opportunities for securing an influence which the father can never possess. It is in the early state of society or in unchristianized lands only, that we see woman deprived of that influence which she possesses naturally, and even there, it is felt to a greater or less degree. But, wherever, the benign and happy influences of Christianity exist, woman maintains a powerful, irresistible control over the interests of society and destinies of nations. The inherent possession of grace, softness, and delicacy of person; wit, sprightliness, and vivacity of mind; devotedness, ardor, and strength of attachments; of decision, promptness, and dignity of character; all, easily govern and direct man in the moral and social compact. I intend no insipid compliment, no senseless flattery to woman, when I accord to her the importance and dignity of the situation she occupies in society. As a mother, she forms in the same mould of her own character that of her tender babe, “when prattling at the knee,” she instills those principles which modify and form their after characters and habits. She has in her own hands, as far as human agency dares presume, the immortal destiny of her offspring. Oh! how truly awful the responsibility of a mother Is there one who can think of it, without constantly seeking guidance from that power who overrules all? As her offspring increases in years her influence is strengthening; in maturer years it is felt; in social intercourse communities feel it. Nations and national characters are formed by the influence which the mother exerted over her “prattling babe.” It is of the influence of woman on the moral condition of the community, particularly, that I design to speak. As a daughter and a sister, she may maintain the happiest control over those who come in her circle, by lier amiability, grace, and dignity of deportment; as a mother, she modifies the nature and disposition of her children; as a wife, she unconsciously moves and sways the pursuits and character of her husband; and as a member of society, she encourages by her smiles, and forbids by her frown whatever is virtuous or vicious. Such is woman as she should be, and as heaven destined her to be, but alas! very different from what she universally is. This is true and cannot be denied. When faults are as evident as the noon-day sun, we should not cloak or wink at them, for fear of

wounding where it is our duty to correct. Vices are no less so in the sight of Him, “who trieth the reins, and knoweth the heart of the children of men,” whether they be committed by the most noble, or the most insignificant. With Him there are no respectable faults, no royal prerogatives of vice. The latter consideration naturally leads me to that portion of my subject, to which I attach much importance, and to which I am anxious to direct the attention of those who honor these remarks with a perusal. It is this. The influence of woman as it exists in the higher classes of society, over the moral condition of men who are components of this society. It is well known that however republican and equal any people are, there must and will be different circles among that people—and it is another fact equally obvious, that whatever is patronized and encouraged by the higher class, will be imitated and adopted in the lower; the sanction which they give to vice, will find ready adoption in the more humble grade. Hence it is our design to attack vice in its high estate, to strike at the evil at its root. When we look abroad and observe the awfully devastating and destructive effect which respectable vice is producing, and when we see the servile dependence on popular favor, the miserable want of independence to condemn whatever we may disapprove as immoral and vicious—when we see those of known, notorious immorality, courted, respected, and complimented—we tremble to think of what may be the effect on the community. Who are the men to whom society looks for its comforts and pleasures? Who are the recherches, the distingues 2 Who are they to whom woman, lovely woman, extends her patronizing smile ! Who are the companions which mothers seek and court for their daughters! I say, who are they? Are they not men of notoriously dissipated, vicious habits? Are they less respectable and courted on account of their habits 1 Let the fashionable gentleman, who can speak fluently of “Bulwer's last,” of Boz, of Madam 's singing, of Mr. or Mrs. 's playing; let him be of a fashionable coterie, either by right or by sufferance, either by virtue of his own right, or a mere parvenu attache—anything that is fashionable, and does not she, to whom he is the deadliest enemy, readily, cheerfully, receive, acknowledge—aye, and boast of his attentions! On the other hand, in what esteem is that man held, who acquaints himself with the History of Nations, instead of Bulwer, reads the Bible, instead of Boz, attends the ordinances of the Sanctuary, instead of the Theatre He is voted a bore, low, vulgar, ignorant; ah this “ignorance is bliss, and

'twere truly folly to be wise.” There are intercourse. Is it not time that virtuous women, whose approbation men love to merit, should be aroused to the responsibilities of her station? Is it not time that she should throw off the shackles with which fashionable despotism has enthralled her, and rise superior to the mandates of a depraved society? When can we expect that vice will cease to be respectable? When will immorality and profanity cease to be connived at by fashionable patronage? When woman in her powerful influence, will assume the noble independence to dare “the frowns of outrageous” fashion—when she will refuse her company to, and debar from her association, the vicious—when she shall assume the noble and daring to disown him who is unworthy of her—then, nor till then, shall we have the satisfaction of seeing our young men, (who might be ornaments to society, but whose habits have debased them) such as they were destined to be. Instead of being the distingues, for their personal adornments and fashionable slang, they would be the distingues for their noble virtues and merits. It is woman, “fairest of creation last and best” gift of heaven to man, aided by divine grace, who can effect this consummation most devoutly to be wished. It is to her we turn, as the sheet anchor of the safety of our young men. Let her determination be to produce a reformation in these matters, and the time will soon arrive when it will be done; or an exception to the rule will be established which has never yet happened, viz., that woman has failed in the accomplishment of her determination. Were this the case, would woman but arouse to a sense of the danger which is threatening her son—would mothers be more careful in the selection of companions and associates for their daughters—would the young lady despise him, who holds her virtuous sex in contempt, and receive him who entertains a just appreciation of her worth, then, would be seen a radical, permanent reform commencing; then would be left two alternatives to our youth—virtuous association, or misery with vicious companions. Would woman do this, then “would follow, as doth the night the day,” that men would cease to be what they now are. I deem it entirely superfluous to enter into an argument to sustain the truth of these positicas. It is well nigh an axiom that “woman rules, that man obeys.”

268 To Miss L. J. P.-The Crusades. Vol. II. .# yes, I rejoice to say very many, who For the Ladies' Garland. would court his society and be proud of his TO M ISS L. A. P.,

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Jerusalem! What hallowed associations rush upon the mind at that name! Once Queen of the East, and mistress of the world; unsurpassed in importance, and unrivalled in splendor: the home and pride of Judea's sons. Now, the jackall howls where her kings reigned, and the crumbled marble, once marking where her warriors slept, now mingles with the whirling sands of Arabia.

Roll back the tide of time! Retrace the scroll of history to that epoch when Euro sent forth her noblest and her best, to battle, with the Saracen, to rescue the sepulchre of their Redeemer from defilement and disgrace.

Under the city's walls were encamped the army of the Cross. Companions in former battles, they had come determined to accomplish their errand, or die in the attempt.— There were the flower and boast of Europe's chivalry. Steel hauberk and coat of mail gleaming in the sunbeams, and the trumpet's note of defiance rang on the morning air, with the taunting clash of the Turkish cymbal. That pennon which had floated o'er the head of its gallant lord amid former conflicts of his No. 11.

The Crusades.


house, now danced gaily to an Asiatic breeze. The emblem of an ancient line, it was not there to be dishonored; the cherished relic of past splendor, its fair blazonry was not their to be stained or sullied. Who would blame the enthusiasm which had thus led them forth to battle 4 Who can censure that piety which gave strength and sinew to their arms in the battle's shock, and was their last solace in the hour of danger and of death? Yet, there are those who call the age of chivalry an age of folly—who denounce the crusades but as an act of madness. Madness and folly they may have been; unjust they certainly were; but who of us, had e lived in that day, would not have also bound the sacred emblem to his shoulder, and followed the crusading host to the holy land The enthusiasm of Amiens, the oratory of St. Bernard, and the commanding talents of Fulk, had successfully been used to spur them on for action. The commands of the papal prelate were imperative. Were not these enough to impel them to almost any deed?— But the Saracen's insulting heel was on the very sepulchre of their Lord! The Turk's proud foot spurned the dust once pressed by the meek footsteps of Christ! Jerusalem was captive. Through her courts and palaces a Moslem strode in defiance, and reigned without rebuke. Were they Christians, and could they endure this? Were they knights, and could they brook it! Drawing the avenging steel, they swore never again to sheathe it, till their object was accomplished, or till the last drop of their life's blood had ceased to circle around those hearts which beat only for their honor and their God. But why seek to excuse the Crusades by the motives which led to them . It is their consequences that gave them importance in history, and furnish ample apology for all their follies, if not for all their crimes. Apology:

“Sleep, Richard of the lion heart,
Sleep on, nor from thy cerements start,”

at the wrong done thy memory and thy name. But the age of chivalry has passed, like a bro vision of the morning. f we contemplate for a mornent the dreary picture which the civilized world presented in the age of the Crusades, and compare it with the succeeding, we must allow that the political advantages resulting from them were such as Europe will never cease to feel, so long as her hills shall stand, or her name be known. Torn by intestine feuds, the western world was at that time the scene of the most bloody and atrocious wars that ever disfigured the page of history. The order and beauty of the social compact, like that of the ocean lashed to fury by the raging tempest, was lost in the

wild vortex afraging passions and unbridled licentiousness. w and right were neither respected nor obeyed. The sword was the only passport to greatness, and opened the only path to fortune and to fame. Human life was held but as the sport of any petty tyrant who chose to take it, and the frequent death-cry of the murdered rolled wildly up to an offended God. Then came the Crusades. Glory, immortality, religion, all pointed with imploring finger to the scene of a Saviour's sufferings and death. Fame called upon her votaries to battle till the death with Paynim hosts; Religion upon hers to wipe forever from the escutcheon of the Christian world, the deep and dark disgrace of allowing an unbelieving race to defile the land they loved, the sepulchre they as red. Then warring nations dropped their swords, and gave answer to the cry of vengeance. They came, the noble and the proud, the young and the old, rallying round the crimson standard. Unity of sentiment and community of interest have ever given birth to mutual kindness, and

“All those courtesies that love to shoot
Round virtue's steps, the flow'rets of her fruit."

So was it then; and Europe, purified and enlightened from this and other causes flowing from it, woke from the lethargy which had so long bound her, and advanced rapidly toward that civilization and refinement which now ennoble and adorn her. The effects of the Crusades upon literature, though not immediate, were no less salutary. Philosophers have moralized, scholars have wept, over the deplorable, the degrading ignorance of the tenth and eleventh centuries. Science slept. A death-like lethargy had come over her, which, like the sultry blast of an eastern noon, had palsied all her efforts, and withered all her energies. The spirit of poetry had long since fled. She seemed forever to have forsaken those haunts she once loved so well, till the Troubadours, catching up the lyre, then shattered by Time's careless hand, struck from its long mute strings those strains which roused nations to arms, and a world to madness. Never was music more magically eloquent. The lyre which thrilled beneath a Homer's touch, or the lapses of the cygnet song might have been sweeter; they could not have been more inspiring. All Europe responded to the strains which swept over the land, and echoed through her old baronial halls. Then commenced the restoration of letters in the West. The Troubadour's lay was but the prelude to the diviner strains of Boccaco, a Petrarch, and a Dante. Song again revived, and from the blushing vine hills of France, from the castled crags of Scotland, from the

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