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You shall preach, you shall pray,
You shall teach night and day,

You shall prevail o'er the kirk gone awhoring;
Dance in blood to the knees,

Blood of God's enemies!

The daughters of Scotland shall sing you to snoring.
March!-march !-scourges of heresy!

Down with the kirk and its whilliebaleery!
March!-march !-down with supremacy

And the kist fu' o' whistles, that maks sic a cleary;
Fife-men and pipers braw,

Merry deils, tak them a',

Gown, lace, and livery-lickpot and ladle;
Jockey shall wear the hood,

Jenny the sark of God

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For codpiece and petticoat, dishclout and daidle.' pp. 5–7. This extract has brought us at once to the cardinal defect of Mr Hogg, as the editor of a selection. He praises almost indiscriminately, and he wants delicacy almost entirely. Thus he describes, in one note, a poem on George the First's arrival in England, and public entry into his capital, as having humour of the kind than any thing he ever saw;' as being a high treat;' an old poem of sterling rough humour,' and so forth; yet, from the six or seven pages of it which he gives as a sample, we should be disposed to think it one of those rough diamonds (as they are termed), the roughnesss of which is admitted-the value uncertain; a remark applicable to the men, as well as the verses, which are frequently so designated. It is dull, flat, and extremely indelicate. Of the coarseness we dare not give specimens; let these lines suffice to show forth its other merits.

• Next these a PresbyterianShot-man,

In state affairs a very hot man,
Advanc'd among the 'prentice boys
And prick-ear'd saints, those sons of noise,
Who seldom in such pomp appear

Elated, but when danger's near.

This rank republican, and great

Reformer of the church and state,

Although he's rich, yet made his father
His porter, or his packhorse rather,

And threaten'd oft, as some have heard him,
In case he grumbled, to discard him;
Yet every Tuesday cramm'd a crew,
Of pantile parsons, God knows who,
Whilst his poor father, now at ease,
Was glad to feed on bread and cheese :

For which, and other things as bad,
Returning from the cavalcade,
His courser gave him such a cant,
That broke the noddle of the saint,
And would have given his brains a bruise,

But that he'd none to hurt or lose.' p. 277.

We should fatigue our readers, were we only to make references to the instances of this editor's gross and coarse taste, with which this volume abounds. Some songs and prose quotations seem, indeed, selected for no other merits than their vulgar ribaldry. Why else, for instance, is the passage from the mock funeral oration on Hugh Peters given at p. 257? Not surely to display the editor's acquaintance with history, which is so great that he stops to inform his readers who Hugh Peters was, and speaks of him as a person wholly unknown.

But another principle of selection is much more apparent throughout the book. The text is filled with songs, and the notes with extracts, the only merit of which is their virulent abuse of the Hanoverian or Constitutional party, or, as they are generally denominated, the Whigs. And, as the old Whigs of the Covenant are vilified under the same name, Mr Hogg manifestly indulges in the insertion of attacks upon them, with the hope that the great body of persons now known by that denomination may share the odium or the ridicule scattered by those obsolete lampoons. We must pass over the vile and filthy attacks upon George I. and his favourites, because we cannot, without offence to all propriety, cite them; but, as a specimen of the rancour which dictates Mr Hogg's selections, we would refer to the several songs against Bishop Burnet, which are utterly destitute of either poetry or wit, and do not even pretend to be of Scotch origin. In scurrility and barefaced falsehood, however, they make ample amends for all their other defects; whereof take one instance. The Bishop is not only represented as having had a spice of every vice,' but his greediness of gold is particularly specified. In the notes on these pieces, Mr Hogg says not a word to contradict this notorious untruth; though, with singular ignorance of the subject, he does say that he' was always a moderate man.' Dr King, in his Memoirs (and he was a staunch Jacobite), while he truly represents him as a furious party man, and easily imposed upon,' adds, that he was a better pastor than any man who is now seated on the bench of bishops;' and praises him for his exemplary disinterestedness and carelessness of gain, which was so great that he only left his children their mother's fortune, deeming it criminal to save a farthing of his Episcopal revenues. After this

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Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly.
Here's to King James and Donald Macgillavry!
Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness;
Whigging, and prigging, and a' newfangleness,
They maun be gane: he winna be baukit, man;
He maun hae justice, or faith he'll tak it, man.
Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry,
Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry;
Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly.
Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry!
Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery;
Donald was blinded wi' blads o' property;

Arles ran high, but makings were naething, man :
Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man!
Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry,

Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry;

Skelp them and scaud them that prov'd sae unbritherly.
Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry!' p. 100-102.

ART. VIII. The Sketch Book. By GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 2 Vols. 8vo. London, 1819, 1820.

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THO HOUGH this is a very pleasing book in itself, and displays no ordinary reach of thought and elegance of fancy, it is not exactly on that account that we are now tempted to notice it as a very remarkable publication,-and to predict that it will form an era in the literature of the nation to which it belongs. It is the work of an American, entirely bred and trained in that country-originally published within its territory-and, as we understand, very extensively circulated, and very much admired among its natives. Now, the most remarkable thing in a work so circumstanced certainly is, that it should be written throughout with the greatest care and accuracy, and worked up to great purity and beauty of diction, on the model of the most elegant and polished of our native writers. It is the first American work, we rather think, of any description, but certainly the first purely literary production, to which we could give this praise; and we hope and trust that we may hail it as the harbinger of a purer and juster taste-the foundation of a chaster and better school, for the writers of that great and intelligent country. Its genius, as we have frequently observed, has not hi therto been much turned to letters; and, what it has produced in that department, has been defective in taste certainly rather

than in talent. The appearance of a few such works as the present will go far to wipe off this reproach also; and we cordially hope that this author's merited success, both at home and abroad, will stimulate his countrymen to copy the methods by which he has attained it; and that they will submit to receive, from the example of their ingenious compatriot, that lesson which the precepts of strangers do not seem hitherto to have very effectually inculcated.

But though it is primarily for its style and composition that we are induced to notice this book, it would be quite unjust to the author not to add, that he deserves very high commendation for its more substantial qualities; and that we have seldom seen a work that gave us a more pleasing impression of the writer's character, or a more favourable one of his judgment and taste. There is a tone of fairness and indulgence-and of gentleness and philanthropy so unaffectedly diffused through the whole work, and tempering and harmonizing so gracefully, both with its pensive and its gayer humours, as to disarm all ordinarily good-natured critics of their asperity, and to secure to the author, from all worthy readers, the same candour and kindness of which he sets so laudable an example. The want is of force and originality in the reasoning, and speculative parts, and of boldness and incident in the inventive:-though the place of these more commanding qualities is not ill supplied

*While we are upon the subject of American literature, we think ourselves called upon to state, that we have lately received two Numbers, being those for January and April last, of The North American Review, or Miscellaneous Journal,' published quarterly at Boston, which appears to us to be by far the best and most promising production of the press of that country that has ever come to our hands. It is written with great spirit, learning and ability, on a great variety of subjects; and abounds with profound and original discussions on the most interesting topics. Though abundantly patriotic, or rather national, there is nothing offensive or absolutely unreasonable in the tone of its politics; and no very reprehensible marks either of national partialities or antipathies. The style is generally good, though with considerable exceptions and sins oftener from affectation than ignorance. But the work is of a powerful and masculine character, and is decidedly superior to any thing of the kind that existed in Europe twenty years ago.

It is a proud thing for us to see Quarterly Reviews propagating bold truths and original speculations in all quarters of the world; and, when we grow old and stupid ourselves, we hope still to be honoured in the talents and merits of those heirs of our principles, and children of our example.

VOL. XXXIV. NO. 67.

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by great liberality and sound sense, and by a very considerable vein of humour, and no ordinary grace and tenderness of fancy. The manner perhaps throughout is more attended to than the matter; and the care necessary to maintain the rythm and polish of the sentences, has sometimes interfered with the force of the reasoning, or limited and impoverished the illustrations they might otherwise have supplied.

We have forgotten all this time to inform our readers, that the publication consists of a series or collection of detached essays and tales of various descriptions-originally published apart, in the form of a periodical miscellany, for the instruction and delight of America-and now collected into two volumes for the refreshment of the English public. The English writers whom the author has chiefly copied, are Addison and Goldsmith, in the humorous and discursive parts-and our own excellent Mackenzie, in the more soft and pathetic. In their highest and most characteristic merits, we do not mean to say that he has equalled any of his originals, or even to deny that he has occasionally caricatured their defects. But the resem blance is near enough to be highly creditable to any living author; and there is sometimes a compass of reasoning which his originals have but rarely attained.

To justify these remarks, we must now lay a specimen or two of this Hesperian essayist before our readers;-and we shall begin with one that may give some idea of his humorous vein, and his power of pleasant narration, at the same time that it relates to the scenery and superstitions of his native country. We allude to the legend of Rip Van Winkle, which begins as follows.

'Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson, must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of grey vapours about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory.

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch

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