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JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.

JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART, the biographer of his illustrious father-in-law, Sir Walter Scott, and editor of the Quarterly Review, is author of four novelsValerius, a Roman Story, three volumes, 1821; Adam Blair, one volume, 1822; Reginald Dalton, three volumes, 1823; and Matthew Wald, one volume,

1824.

corner was a stagnant pool of water surrounding an black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the island of muck; there were several half-drowned fowls little light that remained in the chamber. The gloom crowded together under a cart, among which was a that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the miserable crest-fallen cock, drenched out of all life shapeless and almost spectral box-coats of departed and spirit, his drooping tail matted, as it were, into travellers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only a single feather, along which the water trickled from heard the ticking of the clock, with the deep-drawn his back; near the cart was a half-dozing cow chew-breathings of the sleeping toper, and the drippings of ing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, the rain-drop, drop, drop-from the eaves of the with wreaths of vapour rising from her reeking hide; house. a wall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a dog-house hard by, uttered something every now and then between a bark and a yelp; a drab of a kitchen wench tramped backwards and forwards through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself; everything, in short, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a crew of hard-drinking ducks, assembled like boon companions round a puddle, and making a riotous noise over their liquor. The first of Mr Lockhart's productions is the I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the best. It is a tale of the times of Trajan, when that people picking their way to church, with petticoats emperor, disregarding the example of his predecessor hoisted mid-leg high, and dripping umbrellas. The Nerva, persecuted the small Christian community bells ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I which had found shelter in the bosom of the Eternal then amused myself with watching the daughters of City, and were calmly pursuing their pure worship a tradesman opposite, who, being confined to the and peaceful lives. As the blood of the martyr is house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played the seed of the church, the Christians were extendoff their charms at the front windows, to fascinate the ing their numbers, though condemned to meet in chance tenants of the inn. They at length were sumcaves and sepulchres, and forced to renounce the moned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, and honours and ambition of the world. The hero of the I had nothing further from without to amuse me. tale visits Rome for the first time at this interesting The day continued lowering and gloomy; the period. He is the son of a Roman commander, who slovenly, ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along; had settled in Britain, and is summoned to Rome there was no variety even in the rain; it was one after the death of his parents to take possession of dull, continued, monotonous patter, patter, patter, an estate to which, as the heir of the Valerii, he had excepting that now and then I was enlivened by become entitled. His kinsman Licinius, an eminent the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling of the lawyer, receives him with affection, and introduces drops upon a passing umbrella. It was quite rehim to his friends and acquaintances. We are thus freshing (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase presented with sketches of the domestic society of of the day) when in the course of the morning a horn blew, and a stage-coach whirled through the the Romans, with pictures of the Forum, the baths, street, with outside passengers stuck all over it, temples, and other marvels of Rome, which are cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed toge-At the villa of Capito, an Epicurean philosopher, briefly, but distinctly and picturesquely delineated. ther, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats Valerius meets with the two fair nieces of his host, and upper Benjamins. The sound brought out Sempronia and Athanasia. The latter is the heroine from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond boys of the tale-a pure intellectual creation, in which we and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hostler, and that nondescript animal yclept Boots, and all see united the Roman grace and feminine sweetness the other vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an inn; but the bustle was transient; the coach again whirled on its way; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes; the street again became silent, and the rain continued

to rain on.

of the patrician lady, with the high-souled fortitude and clevation of the Christian. Athanasia has embraced the new faith, and is in close communion with its professors. Her charms overcome Valerius, who soon obtains possession of her secret; and after various adventures, in which he succours the perseThe evening gradually wore away. The travellers cuted maiden, and aids in her wonderful escape, he read the papers two or three times over. Some drew is at length admitted by baptism into the fellowship round the fire, and told long stories about their of the Christians, and embarks with Athanasia for horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and Britain. The materials of such a story are necesbreakings-down. They discussed the credits of diffe- sarily romantic and impressive. The taste and rent merchants and different inns, and the two wags splendour of ancient Rome present a fertile field for told several choice anecdotes of pretty chambermaids the imagination, and the transition from these to and kind landladies. All this passed as they were the sufferings, the devotion, and dangers of the quietly taking what they called their nightcaps; that early Christians, calls up a different and not less is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water or striking train of feelings and associations. In his sugar, or some other mixture of the kind; after which serious and pathetic scenes the author is most sucthey one after another rang for Boots and the cham-cessful. In the low humour of his attendants, the bermaid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down into marvellously uncomfortable slippers. There was only one man left-a short-legged, long-bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by himself with a glass of port wine negus and a spoon, sipping and stirring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing before him; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long and

vulgar display of the rich widow, and the servile pedantry of the stoic tutor, there appear to us many sins against good taste. Some of the satirical touches and phrases are also at variance with the purity and elegance of the general strain of the story, and with the consummate art with which the author has wrought up his situations of a tragic and lofty nature, where we are borne along by a deep and steady feeling of refined pleasure, interest, and admiration. One of the most striking scenes in the novel is a

grand display at the Flavian amphitheatre, given by the emperor on the anniversary of the day on which he was adopted by Nerva. On this occasion a Christian prisoner is brought forward, either to renounce his faith in the face of the assembly, or to die in the arena. Eighty thousand persons were there met, from the lordly senators on their silken couches, along the parapet of the arena, up to the impenetrable mass of plebeian heads which skirted the horizon, above the topmost wall of the amphitheatre itself.' The scene concludes with the execution of the Christian. In another scene there is great classic grace, united with delicacy of feeling. It describes Athanasia in prison, and visited there by Valerius through the connivance of Silo, the jailer, who belongs to the Christian party :

window not far distant from that at which I was placed, stretched forth his fettered hand as he spake :-Cotilius! I charge thee, look upon the hand from which the blessed water of baptism was cast upon thy head. I charge thee, look upon me, and say, ere yet the blow be given, upon what hope thy thoughts are fixed? Is this sword bared against the rebel of Cæsar, or a martyr of Jesus? I charge thee, speak; and for thy soul's sake speak truly.'

A bitter motion of derision passed over his lips, and he nodded, as if impatiently, to the Prætorian. Instinctively I turned me from the spectacle, and my eye rested again upon the couch of Athanasia-but not upon the vision of her tranquillity. The clap with which the corpse fell upon the stones had perhaps reached the sleeping ear, and we know with what swiftness thoughts chase thoughts in the wilderness of I had hurried along the darkening streets, and up dreams. So it was that she started at the very mo the ascent of the Capitoline, scarce listening to the ment when the blow was given; and she whisperedstory of the Cretan. On reaching the summit, we for it was still but a deep whisper- Spare me, Trajan found the courts about the temple of Jupiter already Cæsar, Prince-have pity on my youth-strengthen occupied by detachments of foot. I hastened to the strengthen me, good Lord! Fie! fie! we must not lie Mammertine, and before the postern opened to admit to save life. Felix-Valerius-come close to me Caius us, the Prætorian squadron had drawn up at the great-Fie! let us remember we are Romans-Tis the gate. Sabinus beckoned me to him. Caius,' said trumpethe, stooping on his horse, 'would to Heaven I had been spared this duty! Cotilius comes forth this moment, and then we go back to the Palatine; and I fear-I fear we are to guard thither your Athanasia. If you wish to enter the prison, quicken your steps.'

We had scarcely entered the inner-court ere Sabinus also, and about a score of his Prætorians, rode into it. Silo and Boto were standing together, and both had already hastened towards me; but the jailer, seeing the centurion, was constrained to part from me with one hurried word:- Pity me, for I also am most wretched. But you know the way; here, take this key, hasten to my dear lady, and tell her what commands have come.' Alas! said I to myself, of what tidings am I doomed ever to be the messenger! but she was alone; and how could I shrink from any pain that might perhaps alleviate hers? I took the key, glided along the corridors, and stood once more at the door of the chamber in which I had parted from Athanasia. No voice answered to my knock; I repeated it three times, and then, agitated with indistinct apprehension, hesitated no longer to open it. No lamp was burning within the chamber, but from without there entered a wavering glare of deep saffron-coloured light, which showed me Athanasia extended on her couch. Its ominous and troubled hue had no power to mar the image of her sleeping tranquillity. I hung over her for a moment, and was about to disturb that slumber-perhaps the last slumber of peace and innocence-when the chamber walls were visited with a yet deeper glare. 'Caius,' she whispered, as I stepped from beside the couch, why do you leave me? Stay, Valerius.' I looked back, but her eyelids were still closed; the same calm smile was upon her dreaming lips. The light streamed redder and more red. All in an instant became as quiet without as within. I approached the window, and saw Cotilius standing in the midst of the court, Sabinus and Silo near him; the horsemen drawn up on either side, and a soldier close behind resting upon an unsheathed sword. I saw the keen blue eye as fierce as ever. I saw that the blood was still fervid in his cheeks; for the complexion of this man was of the same bold and florid brightness, so uncommon in Italy, which you have seen represented in the pictures of Sylla; and even the blaze of the torches seemed to strive in vain to heighten its natural scarlet. The soldier had lifted his sword, and my eye was fixed, as by fascination, when suddenly a deep voice was beard amidst the deadly silence-Cotilius-look up,

Cotilius!'

Aurelius, the Christian priest, standing at an open

The Prætorian trumpet sounded the march in the court below, and Athanasia, starting from her sleep, gazed wildly around the reddened chamber. The blast of the trumpet was indeed in her ear—and Valerius hung over her; but after a moment the cloud of the broken dream passed away, and the maiden smiled as she extended her hand to me from the couch, and began to gather up the ringlets that floated all down upon her shoulder. She blushed and smiled mournfully, and asked me hastily whence I came, and for what purpose I had come; but before I could answer, the glare that was yet in the chamber seemed anew to be perplexing her, and she gazed from me to the red walls, and from them to me again; and then once more the trumpet was blown, and Athanasia sprung from her couch. I know not in what terms I was essaying to tell her what was the truth; but 1 know, that ere I had said many words, she discovered my meaning. For a moment she looked deadly pale, in spite of all the glare of the torch beams; but she recovered herself, and said in a voice that sounded almost as if it came from a light heart- But, Caius, I must not go to Casar without having at least a gar land on my head. Stay here, Valerius, and I shall be ready anon-quite ready.'

It seemed to me as if she were less hasty than she had promised; yet many minutes elapsed not ere she returned. She plucked a blossom from her hair as she drew near to me, and said, 'Take it: you must not refuse one token more; this also is a sacred gift. Caius, you must learn never to look upon it without kissing these red streaks-these blessed streaks of the Christian flower.'

I took the flower from her hand and pressed it to my lips, and I remembered that the very first day I saw Athanasia she had plucked such a one when apart from all the rest in the gardens of Capito. I told her what I remembered, and it seemed as if the little circumstance had called up all the image of peaceful days, for once more sorrowfulness gathered upon her countenance. If the tear was ready, however, it was not permitted to drop; and Athanasia returned again to her flower.

Do you think there are any of them in Britain!" said she; or do you think that they would grow there? You must go to my dear uncle, and he will not deny you when you tell him that it is for my sake he is to give you some of his. They call it the passion-flower-'tis an emblem of an awful thing. Caius, these purple streaks are like trickling drops; and here, look ye, they are all round the flower. In

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it not very like a bloody crown upon a pale brow? I will take one of them in my hand, too, Caius; and methinks I shall not disgrace myself when I look apon it, even though Trajan should be frowning upon

me.'

I had not the heart to interrupt her; but heard silently all she said, and I thought she said the words quickly and eagerly, as if she feared to be interrupted. The old priest came into the chamber while she was yet speaking so, and said very composedly, 'Come, my dear child, our friend has sent again for us, and the soldiers have been waiting already some space, who are to convey us to the Palatine. Come, children, we must part for a moment-perhaps it may be but for a moment-and Valerius may remain here till we return to him. Here, at least, dear Caius, you shall

have the earliest tidings and the surest.'

The good man took Athanasia by the hand, and she, smiling now at length more serenely than ever, said only, Farewell then, Caius, for a little moment!' And so, drawing her veil over her face, she passed away from before me, giving, I think, more support to the ancient Aurelius than in her turn she received from him. I began to follow them, but the priest

waved his hand as if to forbid me. The door closed after them, and I was alone.

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on the main coast of the Palatinate, and then pursued their course leisurely through a rich and level country, until the groves of Grypherwast received them amidst all the breathless splendour of a noble sunset. It would be difficult to express the emotions with which young Reginald regarded, for the first time, the ancient demesne of his race. The scene was one which a stranger, of years and experience very superior to his, might have been pardoned for contemplating with some enthusiasm; but to him the first glimpse of the venerable front, embosomed amidst its

Old contemporary trees,'

was the more than realisation of cherished dreams.

Involuntarily he drew in his rein, and the whole party as involuntarily following the motion, they approached the gateway together at the slowest pace.

The gateway is almost in the heart of the village, for the hall of Grypherwast had been reared long of dignity to have no humble roofs near their own. before English gentlemen conceived it to be a point A beautiful stream runs hard by, and the hamlet is ancient oaks, and beeches, and gigantic pine-trees almost within the arms of the princely forest, whose darken and ennoble the aspect of the whole surrounding region. The peasantry, who watch the flocks and Adam Blair,' or, as the title runs, Some Passages herds in those deep and grassy glades, the fishermen, in the Life of Mr Adam Blair, Minister of the Gospel who draw their subsistence from the clear waters of at Cross-Meikle, is a narrative of the fall of a Scottish the river, and the woodmen, whose axes resound all minister from the purity and dignity of the pastoral day long among the inexhaustible thickets, are the character, and his restoration, after a season of deep sole inhabitants of the simple place. Over their cotpenitence and contrition, to the duties of his sacred tages the hall of Grypherwast has predominated for profession, in the same place which had formerly many long centuries, a true old northern manorwitnessed his worth and usefulness. The unpleasant house, not devoid of a certain magnificence in its nature of the story, and a certain tone of exaggera- general aspect, though making slender pretensions tion and sentimentalism in parts of it, render the to anything like elegance in its details. The central perusal of the work somewhat painful and disagree- tower, square, massy, rude, and almost destitute of able, and even of doubtful morality. But Adam windows, recalls the knightly and troubled period of Blair' is powerfully written, with an accurate con- the old Border wars; while the overshadowing roofs, ception of Scottish feeling and character, and pas-carved balconies, and multifarious chimneys scattered sages of description equal to any in the author's other over the rest of the building, attest the successive inworks. The tender-hearted enthusiastic minister of fluence of many more or less tasteful generations. Cross-Meikle is hurried on to his downfall by fate Excepting in the original baronial tower, the upper and metaphysical aid,' and never appears in the parts of the house are all formed of oak, but this with light of a guilty person; while his faithful elder, John such an air of strength and solidity as might well Maxwell, and his kind friends at Semplehaugh, are shame many modern structures raised of better matejust and honourable representatives of the good old rials. Nothing could be more perfectly in harmony Scotch rural classes. with the whole character of the place than the Reginald Dalton' is the most extended of Mr autumnal brownness of the stately trees around. Lockhart's fictions, and gives us more of the 'gene- The same descending rays were tinging with rich ral form and pressure' of humankind and society lustre the outlines of their bare trunks, and the prothan his two previous works. The scene is laid injecting edges of the old-fashioned bay-windows which England, and we have a full account of college life in Dxford, where Reginald, the hero, is educated, and where he learns to imbibe port, if not prejudice. The dissipation and extravagance of the son almost ruin his father, an English clergyman; and some scenes of distress and suffering consequent on this misconduct are related with true and manly feeling. Reginald joins in the rows and quarrels of the gownsmen (which are described at considerable length, and with apparently complete knowledge of similar scenes), but he has virtue enough left to fall in love; and the scene where he declares his passion to the fair Helen Hesketh is one of the most interesting and beautiful in the book. A duel, an elopement, the subtlety and craft of lawyers, and the final succession of Reginald to the patrimony of his ancestors, supply the usual excitement for novel readers; but much of this machinery is clumsily managed, and the value of the book consists in its pictures of English modern manners, and in its clear and manly tone of thought and style. The following is a description of an ancient English mansion:-

they sheltered; and some rooks of very old family were cawing overhead almost in the midst of the hospitable smoke-wreaths. Within a couple of yards from the door of the house an eminently respectablelooking old man, in a powdered wig and very rich livery of blue and scarlet, was sitting on a garden chair with a pipe in his mouth, and a cool tankard within his reach upon the ground.

The tale of Matthew Wald is related in the first person, and the hero experiences a great variety of fortune. He is not of the amiable or romantic school, and seems to have been adopted (in the man. ner of Godwin) merely as a medium for portraying strong passions and situations in life. The story of Matthew's first love, and some of the episodical narratives of the work, are interesting and ably written. There is also much worldly shrewdness and observa tion evinced in the delineation of some of the scenes and characters; but on the whole, it is the poorest of Mr Lockhart's ovels. The awkward improbable manner in which the events are brought about, and the carelessness and inelegance of the language in They halted to bait their horses at a little village many places, are remarkable in a writer of critical

Mr

habits and high attainments as a scholar. Lockhart, we suspect, like Sheridan, requires time and patient revision to bring out fully his conceptions, and nevertheless is often tempted or impelled to hurry to a close.

The successive bereavements and afflictions of Margaret Lyndsay are little relieved by episode ar dialogue: they proceed in unvaried measure, with no bright allurements of imagination to reconcile us to the scenes of suffering that are so forcibly depicted. In many parts of the tale we are reminded of the affecting pictures of Crabbe-so true to human nature, so heart-rending in their reality and their grief. Of this kind is the description of the removal of the Lyndsays from their rural dwelling to one of the close lanes of the city, which is as natural and as truly pathetic as any scene in modern fiction:

Mr Lockhart is a native of the city of Glasgow, son of the late Rev. John Lockhart, minister of the College Church. He was educated at the university of his native city, and, in consequence of his superiority in his classes, was selected as one of the two students whom Glasgow college sends annually to Oxford, in virtue of an endowment named 'Snell's Foundation.' Having taken his degree, Mr Lockhart repaired to Edinburgh, and applied himself to the study of the law. He entered at the bar, but The twenty-fourth day of November came at lastwas quickly induced to devote himself chiefly to a dim, dull, dreary, and obscure day, fit for parting literature. Besides the works we have mentioned, everlastingly from a place or person tenderly beloved. Mr Lockhart was a regular contributor to Black- There was no sun, no wind, no sound, in the misty wood's Magazine, and imparted to that work a and unechoing air. A deadness lay over the wet large portion of the spirit, originality, and deter-earth, and there was no visible heaven. Their goods mined political character which it has long main- and chattels were few; but many little delays octained. In 1820 he was married to Sophia, the eld-curred, some accidental, and more in the unwilling est daughter of Sir Walter Scott, a lady who pos-ness of their hearts to take a final farewell. A neighsessed much of the conversational talent, the unaffected good humour, and liveliness of her father. Mrs Lockhart died on the 17th of May 1837, in London, whither Mr Lockhart had gone in 1825 to reside as successor to Mr Gifford in the editorship of the Quarterly Review.

PROFESSOR WILSON.

that had been their boarder for several winters,

bour had lent his cart for the flitting, and it was now standing loaded at the door ready to move away. The fire, which had been kindled in the morning with a few borrowed peats, was now out, the shutters closed, the door was locked, and the key put into the hand of the person sent to receive it. And now there was nothing more to be said or done, and the impatient horse started briskly away from Braehead. The blind girl and poor Marion were sitting in the cart-Margaret Esther had two or PROFESSOR WILSON carried the peculiar features and her mother were on foot. and characteristics of his poetry into his prose comthree small flower-pots in her lap, for in her blindness positions. The same amiable gentleness, tenderness, she loved the sweet fragrance and the felt forms and love of nature, pictures of solitary life, humble affec-imagined beauty of flowers; and the innocent carried tions, and pious hopes, expressed in an elaborate but away her tame pigeon in her bosom. Just as Marrich structure of language, which fixed upon the garet lingered on the threshold, the Robin Redbreast, author of the Isle of Palms the title of a Lake Poet, hopped upon the stone seat at the side of the door, may be seen in all his tales. The first of these ap- and turned up its merry eyes to her face. There, peared in 1822, under the name of Lights and Shadows said she, 'is your last crumb from us, sweet Roby, of Scottish Life; a Selection from the Papers of the but there is a God who takes care o' us a'. The late Arthur Austin. This volume consists of twenty-widow had by this time shut down the lid of her four short tales, three of which (The Elder's Funeral, The Snow-Storm, and The Forgers) had pre-feelings, joyful or despairing, buried in darkness. memory, and left all the hoard of her thoughts and viously been published in Blackwood's Magazine. Most of them are tender and pathetic, and relate to Scottish rural and pastoral life. The innocence, simplicity, and strict piety of ancient manners are described as still lingering in our vales; but, with a fine spirit of homely truth and antique Scriptural phraseology, the author's scenes and characters are too Arcadian to be real. His second work, The Trials of Margaret Lyndsay (one volume, 1823), is more regular in construction and varied in incident. The heroine is a maiden in humble life, whose father foot travellers all the way to the city. Short as the A cold sleety rain accompanied the cart and the imbibes the opinions of Paine, and is imprisoned distance was, they met with several other flittings, on a charge of sedition, but afterwards released. He some seemingly cheerful, and from good to betterbecomes irreligious and profane as well as dis-others with wo-begone faces, going like themselves affected, and elopes with the mistress of a brother down the path of poverty on a journey from which reformer. The gradual ruin and deepening dis- they were to rest at night in a bare and hungry tress of this man's innocent family are related with house. * much pathos. Margaret, the eldest daughter, endeavours to maintain the family by keeping a school; one of her brothers goes to sea, and Margaret forms an attachment to a sailor, the shipmate of her brother, who is afterwards drowned by the upsetting of a boat in the Firth of Forth. Sorrows and disasters continually accumulate on the amiable heroine. Her fortitude is put to a series of severe trials, and though it is impossible to resist the mournful interest of the story, we feel that the author has drawn too largely on the sympathies of his readers, and represented the path of virtuous duty in far too melancholy and oppressive a light.

The assembled group of neighbours, mostly mothers, with their children in their arms, had given the 'God bless you, Alice, God bless you, Margaret, and the lave,' and began to disperse; each turning to her own cares and anxieties, in which, before night, the Lyndsays would either be forgotten, or thought on with that unpainful sympathy which is all the poor can afford or expect, but which, as in this case, often yields the fairest fruits of charity and love.

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The cart stopped at the foot of a lane too narrow to admit the wheels, and also too steep for a laden horse. Two or three of their new neighbours-persons in the very humblest condition, coarsely and negligently dressed, but seemingly kind and decent people-came out from their houses at the stopping of the cart-wheels, and one of them said, Ay, ay, here's the flitting, I'se warrant, frae Braehead. Is that you, Mrs Lyndsay? Hech, sers, but you've gotten a nasty cauld wet day for coming into Auld Reekie, as you kintra folks ca' Embro. Hae ye had ony tidings, say ye, o' your gudeman since he gaed aff wi' that lim mer? Dool be wi' her and a' sic like.' Alice replied

kindly to such questioning, for she knew it was not meant unkindly. The cart was soon unladen, and the furniture put into the empty room. A cheerful fire was blazing, and the animated and interested faces of the honest folks who crowded into it, on a slight acquaintance, unceremoniously and curiously, but without rudeness, gave a cheerful welcome to the new dwelling. In a quarter of an hour the beds were laid down-the room decently arranged-one and all of the neighbours said, 'Gude night,' and the door was closed upon the Lyndsays in their new dwelling.

They blessed and ate their bread in peace. The Bible was then opened, and Margaret read a chapter. There was frequent and loud noise in the lane of passing merriment or anger, but this little congregation worshipped God in a hymn, Esther's sweet voice leading the sacred melody, and they knelt together in prayer. It has been beautifully said by one whose works are not unknown in the dwellings of the poorTired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! He, like the world, his ready visit pays Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes; Swift on his downy pinions flies from wo, And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.

Not so did sleep this night forsake the wretched. He came like moonlight into the house of the widow and the fatherless, and, under the shadow of his wings, their souls lay in oblivion of all trouble, or perhaps solaced even with delightful dreams.

He has edited Gilpin's Forest Scenery, and Sir Uvedale Price's Essays on the Picturesque, adding much new matter to each; and he was commissioned to write a memorial of her Majesty Queen Victoria's visit to Scotland in 1842. A complete knowledge of his native country, its scenery, people, history, and antiquities-a talent for picturesque delineation -and a taste for architecture, landscape-gardening, and its attendant rural and elegant pursuits, distinguish this author.

The Youth and Manhood of Cyril Thornton, 1827, was hailed as one of the most vigorous and interesting fictions of the day. It contained sketches of college life, military campaigns, and other bustling scenes and adventures strongly impressed with truth and reality. Some of the foreign scenes in this work are very vividly drawn. It was the production of the late THOMAS HAMILTON, Esq., who visited America, and wrote a lively ingenious work on the new world, entitled Men and Manners in America, 1833. Mr Hamilton was one of the many travellers who disliked the peculiar customs, the democratic government, and social habits of the Americans; and he spoke his mind freely, but apparently in a spirit of truth and candour.

In 1828 a good imitation of the style of Galt was published by MR MOIR of Musselburgh, under the title of The Life of Mansie Waugh, Tailor in Dalkeith. Parts of this amusing autobiography had previously in-appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, and it was much relished for its quaint simplicity, shrewdness, and exhibition of genuine Scottish character.

Among the other writers of fiction who at this time published anonymously in Edinburgh was an English divine, DR JAMES HOOK (1771-1828), the only brother of Theodore Hook, and who was dean of Worcester and archdeacon of Huntingdon. To indulge his native wit and humour, and perhaps to spread those loyal Tory principles which, like his

In 1824 Mr Wilson published another but ferior story, The Foresters. It certainly is a singular and interesting feature in the genius of an author known as an active man of the world, who has spent most of his time in the higher social circles of his native country and in England, and whose scholastic and political tastes would seem to point to a different result, that, instead of portraying the manners with which he is familiar-instead of indulging in witty dialogue or humorous illustration, he should have selected homely Scottish sub-brother, he carried to their utmost extent, Dr Hook jects for his works of fiction, and appeared never so happy or so enthusiastic as when expatiating on the joys and sorrows of his humble countrymen in the sequestered and unambitious walks of life.

Various other novels issued about this time from the Edinburgh press. MRS JOHNSTONE published anonymously Clan Albyn (1815), a tale written before the appearance of Waverley, and approaching that work in the romantic glow which it casts over Highland character and scenery. Mrs Grant of Laggan (a highly competent authority) has borne testimony to the correctness of the Highland descriptions in Clan Albyn.' A second novel, Elizabeth de Bruce, was published by Mrs Johnstone in 1827, containing happy sketches of familiar Scottish life. This lady is also authoress of some interesting tales for children, The Diversions of Hollycot, The Nights of the Round Table, &c. and is also an extensive contributor to the periodical literature of the day. Her style is easy and elegant, and her writings are marked by good sense and a richly cultivated mind.

SIR THOMAS DICK LAUDER, Bart., has written two novels connected with Scottish life and history, Lochandhu, 1825, and The Wolf of Badenoch, 1827. In 1830 Sir Thomas wrote an interesting account of the Great Floods in Morayshire, which happened in the autumn of 1829. He was then a resident among the romantic scenes of this unexampled inundation, and has described its effects with great picturesqueness and beauty, and with many homely and pathetic episodes relative to the suffering people. Sir Thomas has also published a series of Highland Rambles, much inferior to his early novels, though abounding, like them, in striking descriptions of natural scenery.

wrote two novels, Pen Owen, 1822, and Percy Mal lory, 1823. They are clever irregular works, touching on modern events and living characters, and discussing various political questions which then engaged attention. 'Pen Owen' is the superior novel, and contains some good humour and satire on Welsh genealogy and antiquities. Dr Hook wrote several political pamphlets, sermons, and charges.

ANDREW PICKEN was born at Paisley in the year 1788. He was the son of a manufacturer, and brought up to a mercantile life. He was engaged in business for some time in the West Indies, afterwards in a bank in Ireland, in Glasgow, and in Liverpool. At the latter place he established himself as a bookseller, but was unsuccessful, chiefly through some speculations entered into at that feverish period, which reached its ultimatum in the panic of 1826. Mr Picken then went to London to pursue literature as a profession. While resident in Glasgow, he published his first work, Tales and Sketches of the West of Scotland, which gave offence by some satirical portraits, but was generally esteemed for its local fidelity and natural painting. His novel of The Sectarian; or the Church and the Meeting-House, three volumes, 1829, displayed more vigorous and concen trated powers; but the subject was unhappy, and the pictures which the author drew of the dissenters, representing them as selfish, hypocritical, and sordid, irritated a great body of the public. Next year Mr Picken made a more successful appearance. The Dominie's Legacy, three volumes, was warmly welcomed by novel readers, and a second edition was called for by the end of the year. This work consists of a number of Scottish stories (like Mr Carleton's Irish Tales), some humorous and some pathe

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