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a man whom he had so deeply injured, own life to the law to avenge his sisand conscious as he must have been ter's wrongs by the murder of Macthat the truth was known to many; but lean, if he could have obtained his if he did so, it appears still more strange object by legal means ; nor would the
cause to repent his base dissimula. have condescended to an alliance with tion. It is however unquestionably a man in disgrace. The opinion which true that Maclean received no injury the world cntertained of Maclean’s at that time from Argyle, his son, or murder at the time, may be gathered any other; and it is equally certain from the following fragment of a ballad that he was soon thereafter married to composed on that occasion, and quoted a 'daughter of Campbell, of Auchnan- in a manuscript bistory of the Argyle breck, then the second family of that family : name, in power and splendour.
Fie, John, for shame! ye're sair to blame, Argyle was chancellor of Scotland
Ye played an ugly prank o't, and justiciary of the Isles; and if To steal so wily to his bed Maclean had attempted to put his And prick him in bis blanket. daughter to death without due cause,
Had ye sae thick been wi' auld Nick it was his duty as a parent, a magis Afore ye gaed to Cawdor, trate, and a judge, to have brought him Ye might return into your den,
Without Morilla Calder. have escaped condign punishment. This John was the first Campbell This, however, was not done; but of Calder, and the last lines allude to Maclean was afterwards murdered in the extraordinary manner in which he his bed in Edinburgh, in the eighty- obtained possession of that heiress and ninth year of his age, by the son of her estate. This marriage is not Argyle, denominated John of Lorne mentioned in any printed account we in the “ Family Legend.” It seems have seen of the Argyle family, and therefore reasonable to inser, that the the Lady is now denominated Helen. conduct of Maclean to his Lady, harsh as it was, must have been considered * The history of this abduction of the heiress of justifiable in him as a feudal baron.
Cawdor was narrated in a former Number of these
Traditions, in the story of Morilla Calder. John would never have forfeited his
(Blackwood's Edin. Mag.)
SPANISH AIR.* OH! sweet 'tis to wander beside the hush'd wave, But sweeter the hour, when the star hides its gleam, When the breezes in twilight their pale pinions And the moon in the wa.ers bath bath'd her white lave,
bean, And Ecbo repeats, from the depths of her cave, And the world and its woes are as still as a dream; The song of the shepherd's returning !
For then, joy the midnight is winging : And sweet 'tis to sit, where the vintage festoon, my Then, comes to my window the sound of thy lute, love,
my love, Lets in, like snow-flakes, the light of the moon, my Come tender tales, when its thrillings are mute, my love ;
Oh, never morning smil'd
On visions bright and wild,
When wakes the dewy breeze,
Along the misty seas ;
Outshines the day.
* From Croly's new Comedy.
(Blackwood's Mag.) COUNTRY CHURCH-YARDS.
M ANY are the idle tourists who prove the custom, rare in this country,
have babbled of country church- but frequent in many others-of plantyards-many are the able pens which ing flowers and flowering shrubs about have been employed on the same sub- the graves. I am quite sure that I hate jects. One in particular, in the delightful all the sentimental mummery with olio of the “ Sketch-book” has traced which the far-famed burying-place of a picture so true to nature, so beauti- the Pere Elysée is garnished out. It fully simple and pathetic, that suc- is faithfully in keeping with Parisiani ceeding essayists might well despair taste, and perfectly in unison with of success in attempting similar de- French feeling ; but I should wonder scriptions, were not the theme, in at the profound sympathy with which fact, inexhaustible, a source of endless numbers of my own countrymen exvariety, a volume of instructive re- patiate on that pleasure-ground of cords, whereof those marked with least Death, if it were still possible to feel incident are yet replete with interest surprise at any instance of degenerate for that human being who stands alone taste and perverted feeling in our traamongst the quiet graves, musing on velled islanders-if it were not, too, the mystery of his own existence, and the vulgarest thing in the world to on the past and present state of those wonder at any thing.' poor relics of mortality which every The custom, so general in Switzerwhere surround him, mouldering be, land, and so common in our own prioneath his feet- mingling with the cipality of Wales, of strewing flowers common soil-feeding the rank church- over the graves of departed friends, yard vegetation--once sèntient like either on the anniversaries of their himself with vigorous life, subject to deaths, or on other memorable days is all the tumultuous passions that agi, touching and beautiful. Those frail tate his own heart, pregnant with a blossoms scattered over the green sod, thousand busy schemes, elevated and in their morning freshness, but for a depressed by alternate hopes and fears little space retain their balmy odours, - liable, in a word, to all the pains, and their glowing tints, till the sun the pleasures, and - the ills, that flesh goes down, and the breeze of evening is heir to."
sighs over them, and the dews of night The leisurely traveller arriving at a fall on their pale beauty, and the wi. country inn, with the intention of tar- thered and fading wreath becomes a rying a day, an hour, or a yet shorter yet more appropriate tribute to the si, period, in the town or village, gene. lent dust beneath. But rose-trees, in rally finds tiine to saunter towards the full bloom, and tall staring lilies, and church, and even to loiter about the flaunting lilacs, and pert spriggish spisurrounding graves, as if his nature rafrutexes, are, methinks, ill in har: (solitary in the midst of the living mony with that holiness of perfect recrowd) claimed affinity, and sought pose, which should pervade the last communion, with the populous dust resting-place of mortality. Even in our beneath his feet.
own unsentimental England, I have Such, at least, are the feelings with seen two or three of these fower-pot which I have often lingered in the graves. One in particular, I remember, church-yard of a strange place, and had been planned and planted by a about the church itself- to which, in- young disconsolate 'widow to the medeed, in all places, and in all countries, mory of her deceased partner. The the heart of the Christian pilgrim feels tomb itself was a common square erecitself attracted as towards his very tion of freestone, covered over with a home, for there at least, though alone slab of black marble, on which, under amongst strange people, he is no stran- the name, age, &c., of the defunct, ger : It is his father's house.
was engraven an elaborate epitaph, I am not sure that I heartily ap- ommemorating his many virtues, and pathetically intimating that, at no dis- inscribed thy gentle name. And those tant period, the vacant space remain- fragile memorials ! were there none to ing on the same marble would receive tend them for thy sake !” Such was the name of “his inconsolable Euge- my sentimental apostrophe ; and the pia.” The tomb was hedged about by unwonted impulse so far incited me, a basket-work of honeysuckles. A Per- that I actually pelted away the sheep sia, lilac drooped over its foot, and at from that last resting-place of faithful the head, (substituted for the elegant love, and reared against its side the cypress, coy denizen of our ungenial trailing branches of the neglected lilac. clime,) a young poplar perked up its Well satisfied with myself for the perpyramidical form. Divers other shrubs formance of this pious act, I turned and flowering plants completed the from the spot in a mood of calm plea ring-fence, plentifully interspersed sing melancholy, that, by degrees, with “ the fragrant weed, the French- (while I yet lingered about the churchman's darling," whose perfume, when yard,) resolved itself into a train of I visited the spot, was wasted over the poetic reverie, and I was already far whole cliurchyard. It was then the full advanced in a sort of elegiac tribute to flush of summer. The garden had been the memory of that fair being, whose planted but a month ; but the lady had tender nature had sunk under the tended, and propped, and watered stroke " that reft her mutual heart," those gay strangers with her own deli- when the horrid interruption of a loud cate hands, ever more in the dusk of shrill whistle started me from my evening returning to her tender task, poetic vision, cruelly disarranging my so that they had taken their removal beautiful combination of high-wrought, kindly, and grew and flourished as tender, pathetic feelings, which were carelessly round that cold marble, and flowing naturally into verse, as from in that field of graves, as they had done the very fount of Helicon. Lifting my heretofore in their own sheltered nursery. eyes toward the vulgar cause of this
A year afterwards a year almost to vulgar disturbance, the cow-boy, (for Ĩ same spot, in the same month " the for want of thought”) nodded to me leafy month of June.” But it was his rustic apology for a bow, and passed leafless there. The young poplar still on towards the very tomb I had just stood sentinel in its former 'station. quitted, near which his milky charge, bat dry, withered, and sticky, like an the old brindled cow, still munched old broom at the mast-head of a vessel on, avaricious of the last mouthful. If on sail. The parson's cow, and his half- the clown's obstreperous mirth had score fatting wethers, had violated the before broken in on my mood of inspi. sacred enclosure, and trodden down its ration, its last delicate glow was utterly flowery basket-work into the very soil. dispelled by the udcouth vociferation, The plants and shrubs were nibbled and rude expletives, with which he down to miserable stumps, and from proceeded to dislodge the persevering the sole survivor, the poor struggling animal from her rich pasture-ground. lilac, a fat old waddling ewe had just losensible alike to his remonstrances, cropped the last sickly flower-branch, his threats, or his tender persuasions and stood staring at me with a pathetic to bis" Whoy! whoy! old girl ! vacancy of countenance, the ball- Whoy, Blossom ! whoy, my lady! -I munched consecrated blossom dang, say, come up, do ; come up, ye plaling from her sacrilegious jaws. “And guey baste !" Blossom continued to is it even so ?" I hall articulated, with munch and ruminate with the most a sudden thrill of irrepressible emo. imperturbable calmness—backing and tion. “ Poor widowed mourner! lovely sideling, away, however, as her purEugenia! Art thou already re-united suer made nearer advances, and ever to the object of thy faithful affection ? and anon looking up at him with most And so lately! Not yet on that awaite provoking assurance, as if to calculate iog space of the cold marble have they how many tusts she might venture to
39 ATAENEUM VOL. 1. new serics.
pull before he got fairly in reach of Oh, Reader ! her. And so, retrograding and ma- Is it to be wondered at, that, since næuvring, she at last intrenched her- that adventure, I have never been disself behind the identical tombstone posed to look with an un-glistening, beside which I had stood so late in and even cynical eye, on those same solemn contemplation. Here-the cow- flower-pot graves? Nay, that, at boy's patience being completely ex- sight of them, I feel an extraordinary hausted-with the intention of switch- degree of hard-heartedness stealing ing old Blossom from her last strong. over me? I cannot quit the subject
from the earth, that one long straggling meant advice to all disconsolate surstem of lilac which I had endeavoured vivors-widows more especially--as to replace in somewhat of its former to the expediency or non-expediency position. “Hold! hold !" I cried, of indulging this flowery grief. Pos. springing forward with the vehement sibly, were I to obey the dictates of gesture of impassioned feeling—“ Have my own tastes and feelings, I should you no respect for the ashes of the say, “Be content with a simple redead? Dare you thus violate with sa- cord-perhaps a scriptural sentence, crilegious hands the last sad sanctuary on a plain headstone. Suffer not the of faithful love?” The boy stood like inscription to become defaced and illeone petrified, stared at me for a mo- gible, nor rank weeds to wave over it; ment, with a look of indescribable per and smooth be the torf of the green plexity, then screwing up one corner of hillock! But if- to use a French his mouth almost into contact with phrase-Il faut affichér ses regrets the corresponding corner of one crink- if there must be effect, sentimentalities, led-up eye-at the same time shoving prettinesses, urns, flowers- not only a up his old ragged hat, and scratching few scattered blossoms, but a regular his curly pate; and havibg, as I sup- planted border, like the garnish of a pose, by the help of that operation, plateau ;-then, let me beseech you, construed my vehement address into fair inconsolables ! be cautious in your the language of inquiry, he set him- proceedings-Temper with discreet self very methodically about satisfying foresight (if that be possible,) the first my curiosity on every point wherever agonizing burst of sensibility--Take he conceived it possible I might have the counsels of sage experience - Teminterrogated him—taking his cue, with porise with the as yet unascertained some ingenuity from the one word of nature of your own feelings-Proclaim
dead twelve months last Whitsuntide ; trowel and the spade-Dig not-plant and thick be bis'n moniment, an' ma- not—For one year only-for the first dam was married last week to our year, at least-For one year only, I measter, and thick be our cow ”. beseech you-Sow annuals.
TRIO. From Croly's new Comedy,
(Blackwood's Mag.) TELL us, thou glorious Star of eve!
Awake no sighs
In the cold breast.
Tell us, thou glorious Star of eve!
Sees not thine eye Youth, weary, wild, and yain ;
Some spot, where hearts no longer heave,
In thine own sky? Age on a bed of pain,
Where all Life's wrongs are o'er,
Where anguish weeps no more,
Where injur'd Spirits soar,
Never to die!
(Eclectic Review.) THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER'S FRIEND, AND CLIMBING-BOY'S ALBUM.
ARRANGED BY JAMES MONTGOMERT.
W E willingly lend our utmost aid to And the graver's mimic skill
Finds it leaves it wretched stil : promote, through the medium of
Never could the painter's art this interesting and affecting collection
To the eye its griefs impart of documents, the cause which Mr. Mont
Nor can artful prose or verse gomery has done himself so much hon • Half its miseries rehearse ;our by taking up with all his energy. ,, Heads that think and bearts that feel The second part consists of pieces in Only can our book unseal. prose and verse, furnished for the
• Fathers ! unto you we speak; Climbing Boy's Album. As the at Mothers ! your support we seek ; traction of the volume will greatly de Britons ! bolding freedom dear, pend on this part of the work, we sub
Abject slavery greets you here ; join a list of the contributors :
Home-bred slavery dire disgrace!
Borne by childhood's helpless race ;
Friendless outcasts of our laws, Neele, Allan Cunningham, P.M.James,
Having none to plead their cause; J. Bowring, J.H.Wiffen, John Holland, Save the people, struggling few Ann Gilbert, Mrs. Hofland, J. Cobbin,
Who solicit aid from you. " W. L. Bowles, &c.
"Christians ! of each sect and namnej
Suffer us with you to plead.
Your assistance, heart and band ? "THE CLIMBING BOY'S ALBUM.
Join, thev, in this work of love,
For His sake who reigns above, Gentle reader ! if to thee
Nor be sympathy denied Mercy's dictates sacred be,
Unto those for whom He died.? If thy breast with Pity glow,
Bernard Barton. For the meanest sufferer's woe, Let our Albem's humble page For their sake thy heart engage ;
We know not how to characterize For thine oun despise us not,
the song given from Blake's “ Songs of While we plead the outcast's lot.
Innocence.” It is wild and strange Merey's votaries here below
like the singing of a “ maid in Bedlam Shall, hereafter, Mercy know.
in the spring ;" but it is the madness * In this age of Albums, we
"When my Mother died, I was very young, Decorate this tome of ours,
And my Father sold me, while yet my tongue If it fail in rich array,
Could scarcely cry, Weep! weep! weep !
So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
"There's little Tom Toddy, who cried when his head,
That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I • Beauty's Albuns may present
said, More of tasteful compliment,
“ Hush, Tom, never mind it, for when your head's Flowers, and shells, and landscapes fair,
bare, May unite to charm thee there ;
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white Here a cheek's vermilion dye,
hair." There the lustre of an eye ; Here a cottage in a grove,
· And so he was quiet, and that very night, There a fountain or alcove ;
As Tom was asleeping, he bad such a sight All, in truth, that can invite
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Passing glande of brief delight.
Jack, Toys like these we may not show,
Were all of them lock'd up in coffins 60 black. For our theme is fraught with woe: