EXAMINATION OF THE SCHOOL OF SOUTHSIDE.

BY MR W. W.

Minister. Now, Mr Strap, I well approve the mode
In which your pupils have been taught the first
Fair rudiments of science. 'Tis a task
Of weighty import, thus to train the minds
Of all the youth o' the parish, Mr Strap:
Of weighty import, sir, not unfulfill'd.
Still, there is one small item yet omitted,
Which I, as ghostly pastor, long to prove.
What progress have they made in sacred lore?
Know they aught of the leading principles
Of our religion?-Not one word of that
Hath been this day put to them, Mr Strap!
Strap. Sire, I'm a diffident and modest man,
And wish not to encroach on the department
Of such respected neighbour-well aware
How much adapted to the grateful task
Is his capacious mind. That part belongs
Unto yourself-not me. Besides, I lay
It down as maxim not to be controll'd,
As plain as that the A, B, C, must come
Before that great and fundamental rule
Call'd "The Cat's Lesson," or the glorious square
Of file and column-that eternal base

On which so many fabrics have been rear'd,
Reaching to heaven, struggling with the stars
And planets in their courses-nay, have dared,
As with a line and plummet, to mete out

Seas, orbs, and the most wonderous works of God-
Multiplication table!-that I mean.

Simple it is-nay, almost laughable

Two twos make four! two fours make eight, and so forth;

But what a force springs there! O science! science!

How small is thy beginning! But how vast

Are thy attainments!-Pray now, note but this:

Two ones make two-two threes makes half a dozen.

Ye gods, how beautifully simple 'tis!

Think of it, sire-and of the heights sublime

A Newton gain'd. Yet he began with this

Two ones makes two !-Then of a Napier think,

Where art thou going? Whereto tends this speech?

I ask of thee to hear a specimen

Of the religion taught within thy school;

And lo! thou fliest off at a tangent, like

A schoolboy's rocket-whizz away to heaven

Crack pluff!-then down to earth thou comest again
In trivial flitters. Prithee, Mr Strap,

Where is this speech to end?

Strap.

Where it began,

If so you please, most reverend worthy sir.
I say, I lay it down as maxim clear,
Nor subject to perversion, that, as in
The science of numbers, man must first begin
With trivial things, and move up by degrees,
And only reach to the sublimest last;
So is it with religion-Tis the highest,
The most sublime of all celestial things
Which God hath yet reveal'd to mortal man ;
Therefore, it ought to be the last instill'd

Into his mind, when that hath reach'd the goal
Of its capacity.

Minister.

Ah, Mr Strap!

Wrong, wrong-Sir, thou art grievously wrong.
Hast thou ne'er heard me preach? or has thy mind
Been hunting tropes and figures at the time?
Religion ought to be administer'd

To youthful minds as an emollient;

A seasoning to every mess with which

Their spirits are dilated, that it may

Grow with their growth, and strengthen with their strength.

In a young scion grafted, then its roots

Spread in the earth, its tendrils in the heavens;

But in an old and crabbed stock it dies,

And withers ere it bloom. Strap, thou hast laid
A false foundation on a dangerous base,
And all in poor excuse; because, forsooth,
Thou teachest no religion in thy school.
Go send thy pupils to me, one by one,
That there be no collusion. I have long
Suspected thee a sceptic, Mr Strap;
If I can prove it on thee, I shall rend

The Southside school from out thy dangerous grasp.

Enter a Scholar.

Come hither, little fellow. Thou'rt acute

In all the branching elements of lore.

Now, dost thou know who made thee?

Boy. Yes.

Minister. Who was it then?

Boy. My parents.

Minister. O heavens! I knew it. These brave boys are lost! Lost lost for lack of learning the great truths

Of primitive religion!-My brave boy,

Thou err'st exceedingly. Dost thou not know

'Twas God who made thee, and all things beside?

Boy. That I deny most promptly. True, he made
Adam and Eve, and the first parent pairs
Of every living thing. But since that time
He's left all creatures to make one another,

As best they may. Heaven mend thy wits, good sir,

Think'st thou that God makes all the little brats,
Bastards, and blackamoors; foals, calves, and kids;
The lion's growling whelps; the fox's litter;
The infant whales; the little grovelling moles;

And all the unlick'd cubs throughout the world?

I hold such thoughts as blasphemy.

Minister. Alack the day!-alack the day!-Strap, Strap! Thou art a heathen-a rank renegado

From gospel light!-Still as the old cock crows,

So learns the young!-I have him on the hip!

He leaves the Southside school!-Thou chattering rogue,
So like thy master, hast thou ever read

A plain old fashion'd book yclept the Bible?

Boy. Yes; often.

Minister. So? And how dost thou esteem it?

Boy. A good old book-a very worthy book.

Minister. Ay! say'st thou so? which may your wisdom deem The best book in the world?

Boy. Blackwood's Magazine.

Minister. O hideous, hideous! Most deplorable!

This is the very summit of misrule,

And horrid miscreance. Incongruous elf,

Wherefore this answer? Who taught thee to give
That mass of vile scurrility the preference

To works of sacred worth? Base sciolist,
Your reasons?-Come, most sage philosopher?

Boy. Because I deem that little lightsome work
The greatest bulwark in our native land,
Around its holy faith, its sacred rights,

Its principles of loyalty and truth,

And all that cherishes content and peace

Among a bold, a free, and happy people.

Minister. Ay, ay, brave sir-Tis very well with thee!
Thou'rt in the high way to preferment, master.
Thou'st seen a certain stage of great regard,
Right opposite our good friend David's corner?
Thither thy steps are tending. Fare thee well.
God speed thee to thy venerable goal.
Shake hands, and part we friends.
The worthiest man of the parish?

Whom dost thou deem

Boy. O! Mr Tickler, beyond all compare!

The sage, the gay, the proud, the loyal Tickler!
Minister. Ay, ay! All of a piece! All of a piece!
Like Mr Pringle's butler of the Yair.

Beshrew me, but I smell a vicinal rat!

What is thy name, brave boy?

Boy. My name, sir, forms no portion of my creed; On that alone am I examined here.

Minister. Thou art a dapper fellow-somewhat tall
Too for thy years. Wast thou brought up at home,
Or in a certain cottage at the end

Of a large town, call'd Duddingston? Eh? What?
Have I discovered thee?

Boy. Bid thee, good sir;

Most reverend sir, good day; and thank you, sir.

Min. (solus.) Ah me! What will this wicked world become! I've heard a foolish burden of a song

That runs to the following purport :

"An' eh what a parish! an' O what a parish!
And eh sic a parish as Little Dunkeld !
They stickit the minister, hanged the precentor,
Dang down the kirk steeple, an' drank the bell !”

I cannot get that foolish rhyme cancelled
From out my heart, for O what a parish
Is Little Southside!

Enter a young Lady.
Come hither, pretty maiden, full sore I dread
To ask at so much innocence and beauty,
Of that which most concerns her welfare here,
And happiness hereafter, knowing well
The base pestiferous stuff early instill'd
Into thy plastic mind.

Girl. You may or may not, sir,

As fits your inclination. 'Tis the same.

But I can answer all the pretty questions

Of sound morality, and truth, and love.

Minister. Eh? Love? What love? I shall go mad!
Girl. I hope not now, sir? Not on my account?

First try me ere you turn outrageous,

I'll warrant you shall note me for a tickler.

Minister. A what! a what! there are some words and terms

That make me nervish! But let us proceed.

Which do you deem the best book of the world?
Girl. The Bible, sir. The holy blessed Bible.

What book on earth can e'er compare with that?

Minister. Bless thee, thou lovely one! for thou hast caught

A spark divine amid a hive of sin.

Dost thou believe in all the truth supreme

Within that blessed book?

Girl.

O yes, I bow

To them with reverence, and never let

My heart doubt one of them. And I believe
In that compendium made by holy men,

My little Catechism. Next unto

The Holy Scriptures, I approve of that.

Pray am I right, good sir?

Minister. Right? Yes. Thou art a gem of the first water In God's own sanctuary. Whom dost thou deem

The worthiest and best man of the parish?

Girl. Whom should I deem the best, but him commission'd By One who cannot err, to teach his word,

And keep a watch for my immortal soul?

Minister. Heaven bless

thee, pretty maid, and o'er thee watch For everlasting good! Forgive these tears, The tears of an old man. Here is a purse

Girl. Maids do not always choose to tell their names.

Minister. Where wast thou bred? sure thou may'st tell me that.
Girl. I've heard it said that I was bred with care

And caution, at a place call'd Duddingston.

Minister. God grant me grace! Art thou a Tickler too?

Now I remind thou said'st thou wert a Tickler.

Girl. Ay, so are all the scholars of Southside,
But half of them will not tell thee their names.
Good morrow, reverend sir, and pray accept
A little maiden's thanks.

Minister, (solus.)

"An' eh what a parish! an' O what a parish!
"An' eh sic a parish as little Dunkeld !"

Strap shall not fit. That is decisive now,
And all for sake of that sweet maiden's wit;
That very lovely and ingenious thing.
Strap shall not flit; for if he train the maids
In any path whatever, right or wrong,
They most assuredly shall train the men
Right onward after them. Strap shall not flit.
(Calling in at the window as passing.)
Good morrow, Mr Strap. Farewell, good sir,
To thee and to thy Ticklers. Take good care
Of them and their religious principles.
Take care of their religion, Mr Strap.

ALTRIVE, December 1st, 1824.

[Exit.

LETTER FROM ONE OF THE HUMES.

SIR,-The first edition of Paradise Lost, with a Commentary, was given by a gentlemen who signed himself P. H. (the initials of Patrick Hume,) piλoroinτns, of whom, Bishop Newton says, nothing is known, except that from his name we may conjecture him to have been a Scotchman. His edition-a folio one-appeared at Jacob Tonson's in 1695; and Warton truly observes, in his preface to his edition of Milton's smaller poems, that to it "some of his successors in the same province," (of Commentary on Paradise Lost,) "apprehending no danger of detection from a work rarely inspected, and too pedantic and cumbersome to attract many readers, have been often amply indebted, without even the most distant hint of acknowledgment." Among these pillagers, none is more conspicuous than Callendar of Craigforth, who, in 1750, published a quarto edition of the first book of Paradise Lost, in Glasgow, as has been sufficiently demonstrated in your excellent Magazine some years ago, Vol. IV. p. 658, March, 1819. Todd, in his edition of Milton, appears to have been ignorant of this plagiarism, as he has pronounced a panegyrical sentence on Callendar, expressing his wishes "that the annotator had continued his ingenious and elaborate criticisms on the whole poem."

My object in writing this note to you, is to inquire if anything be known of Patrick Hume, beyond what Newton has conjectured. When and where was he bora?-where did he live?-how did he live?-when and where did he die ?-and, finally, what, you know, is not the least important question among us, What Hume was he?-I am, sir,

Greenlaw, December 2, 1824.

VOL. XVI.

Your humble servant,

ONE OF THE HUMES.

4 P