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in felicity by subsequent ebullitions in the same school of eloquence.

On state occasions, and particularly in cabinet conferences with the sovereign, Bacon very much approves of a little jesting, by way of introduction. I should have thought he had fallen into this practice out of accommodation to the queer humour of that learned prince James the First, if he had not mentioned that this system had been very successfully pursued by some grave counsellor in the time of Queen Elizabeth of blessed memory. Some, perhaps, may think that Polonius carries this system too far, in his way of introducing his solution of Hamlet's madness. But that witty play on words in the outset→ "My liege, and madam, to expostulate What majesty should be, what duty is,

Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time.
Therefore since brevity's the soul of wit,

And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief," &c.—

shews him to have been a complete master of the grace of in

sinuation.

I do not think it necessary to say much of cant phrases: the use of them is so ordinary and familiar, that every one is able to practise them without study. Johnson's way-"Why yes, Sir," "Baw, baw, why no, Sir," pronounced ore rotundo, had something grand and Brobdignagdian about it. Sir Thomas More's "Tilly tally, Mrs. More," has its grace. But the usual forms, "God bless me, who would have thought it?-Only think-Well, as I am alive-Well, lack-a-day-As God's my hope," are somewhat energetic, and, doubtless, very expressive and proper at times, and by no means to be discarded, as they help to give a glibness to the tongue; and what is more important, are of great use in enabling you to seem ready, and to be going on, whilst, in fact, you are at a stand, and doing your best to rally your thoughts from a retreat.

But these plans are play-work, and of very vulgar merit when compared to the genuine parenthetic method, by which you may go round about the bush for ever, and at last you put in the principal story or argument, as it were, by a side blow. I remember one author who, to prove that Richard the Third's character had been misrepresented, goes off bolt into a set dissertation on the condition of the people in Russia. Every one knows that the finest heathen account of the system of the world, and of the age of Saturn, is contained in a dialogue, the gist of which is said to be to find out a definition of a true statesIn like manner Warburton, in a noble sermon preached before the Society for the Propagation of Christianity, launches

man.

forth in a grand invective, and dwells, during three-fourths of the discourse, on the mischiefs of the slave-trade, one of the founders of that Society having been a slave-merchant, and most vigorously ridicules the founder's mistaken notion of death-bed repentance, and of atoning for iniquities by a charitable donation. With regard to sermons, indeed, it is not, perhaps, strictly correct to introduce them on the present occasion, as Sterne will have it that they have no particular subject, and that all texts are convertible, and that as much might be preached on the text of "Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego," as on any other that can be selected. We will go then to other public speakers, and ask whether you may not listen for hours to those who have the gift of speech, without being able to form the slightest conjecture what is the subject in debate. It is the highest effort of art to keep itself disguised. In the courts of justice you sometimes have discussions on natural philosophy, history, morality, and politics; and in the House of Commons you cannot make out what you have. A lawyer, indeed, would be justly despised if he gave you speeches containing merely facts and law. He would shew himself to be merely a lawyer. The proper way for him is to plunge off and make a display in some science unconnected with his profession; and if he shews himself master of what he never seemed likely to have studied, how can any one help giving him credit for understanding what he has always been supposed to study? As to statesmen, they have been noted, through all ages, for speaking off from the point. The ablest of them have been particularly praised for introducing strong arguments in a parenthetical manner. I need only mention Demosthenes, and Mr. Fox. But though they were very able in that respect, I think posterity will give the palm, in the parenthetic style, to a great minister of the present day, whose speeches are often in a parenthesis from beginning to end. He is certainly a complete master in that manner. Swift, whose character as a writer has been lately reduced to its proper standard, among other innovations by which he would have corrupted our language, wished very much absolutely to prohibit the interlacing and dovetailing one parenthesis within another. Now every Englishman laments that the English language should be so much excluded as it is from diplomacy; and yet here is a plan gravely proposed, which would castrate our language of one of the few political qualities it possesses, and absolutely incapacitate it for being ever applied to that noble science, for which so much ambiguity and perplexity are indispensably necessary.

The application of these remarks to other subjects of composition is obvious. Every one indeed knows, that a true playwriter has nothing to do with plot or incidents till he comes to the last act, and that the great art is to prevent the audience

from forming any guess about the real views of the principal characters, till they are presented with a catastrophe which could never have been anticipated: and that a genuine epic poem is nothing but a series of digressions. If any one shall be disposed to argue that a speech cannot be called a series of parentheses, or a poem a series of digressions, and that the very words imply some other general matter as a principal subject, and that to make the principal subject seem incidental, is against the rules of art; the first point, being merely verbal, I should leave to grammarians to settle, but the latter point I should feel myself bound to deny. For art is but the imitation of nature; and the uniform course in life is for men to put on a disguise, and let their real character lie in reserve, though it may, perhaps, sometime peep out unawares. Do we not all know that Brutus played the simpleton two-thirds of his life, and then all of a sudden shewed something peculiar in his wit and spirit? Did not every one think Swift a queer mulish being, till by accident he turned author? Did not Henry the Eighth, for many good years, entertain conscientious scruples about the legality of his first marriage, and consult all the doctors in Europe to solve the problem, and then, when he could not prevail on the Pope to come to any determination one way or other, did he not, in a manner, by chance marry Anne Boleyn? Did not Oliver Cromwell talk for years about flat Popery in the House of Commons, and then, in a parenthesis, buy Charles the First's jewels? Does not his High Mightiness the Pope designate himself the servant of servants, and is not his only constant care bent on enlarging Christ's kingdom, "which is not of this world ;" and does he not occasionally put forth his feet to be kissed merely for courtesy? Do not fanatics, in all ages, loudly disclaim all sense of merit, and, in true self-annihilation, resemble that honest friar who, apprehensive of the acclamations of respect that must ensue upon his preaching, took care to close his long unintelligible rant with a "not unto us, not unto us, O Lord, but to thee be the praise and the glory?"

But I cry your mercy, gentle reader, and beg you will not think that, for the purpose of taking a Pisgah view of the world, I have mounted myself on the tub of Diogenes. Understand me, I pray you, in a more simple sense, and above all, be of good courage since you now see land. Nor will I, after mentioning the cynic's name, apologise for this long tirade, or express my fears that I may have seemed tedious to you, lest you should answer me, as he did some foolish talker in his day, "Surely not, not at all," said he, " for I did not think it worth while to compliment you with a moment's attention." Q.

MACPHERSON'S LAMENT.

MR. EDITOR.-I am encouraged to send fragments of Macpherson's Lament, and some account of the incidents by which those stanzas were preserved. Macpherson was executed at Banff, in the year 1701, eight days after his trial, and his execution took place at a much earlier hour than was appointed by his sentence; the magistrates of Banff being apprehensive of a rescue. It was even reported, that, either by fraud or violence, an express with his pardon was detained between Turreff and Banff. An unhappy girl, whose love for him, and grief for his fate, ended in distraction, came to Glenorchy and Upper Lorne in the following summer. She could give no distinct account of herself; but the incoherent hints drawn from her led to a conclusion that her parents were reputable; but that, infatuated by a passion for Macpherson, she had passed some time with him among his gipsy associates, had been admitted to him in prison, and learnt the Lament, which he hoped would engage the populace to assist his friends in delivering him from the civil power, when disencumbered from his fetters, preparatory to execution; but, as she said, "they wadna trust the music o' his voice, but choked him before his time." She had left her " ain fouk to gang to Badenoch, the laund o' her dear, and her dool," and she insisted Glenorchy was Badenoch, because the people spoke Gaelic, and there were "bonny lads, and red-cheeked lasses." Some one asked if she was a gipsey? She seemed quite indignant, and replied, "Na, na, she was born in haly marriage, and bapteezed in haly kirk."

The fragments of the Lament were literally stolen from this mourner. A gentleman attempted to write from her singing; but she wept bitterly at the idea of "giving away," as she termed it, "the last remains of her dear.' The gentleman engaged some friends to prevail with "Jamie's lassie," the only name she gave herself, to sing his Lament; and he kept behind her employing his pencil to trace the lines.

I've spent my life in rioting,

Debauch'd my health and strength,
I squander'd fast as pillage came,
And fell to shame at length.

To hang upon a tree, a tree,
Accurs'd disgraceful death,
Like a vile dog hung up to be,
And stifled in the breath.

My father was a gentleman,
Of fame and honour high,

Oh mother, wou'd you ne'er had borne
The son so doom'd to die!

The laird of Grant, with pow'r aboon
The royal Majesty,

Pass'd his great word for Peter Brown,
And let Macpherson die.

But Braco Duff, with rage enough,
First laid a snare for me,

And if that death did not prevent,
Aveng'd I well could be.

But vengeance I did never wreak,
When power was in my hand,
And you, dear friends, no vengeance seek,
It is my last command.

Forgive the man whose rage betray'd
Macpherson's worthless life:
When I am gone, be it not said,
My legacy was strife.

And ye that blame with cruel scorn
The wand'ring gipsy's ways,
Oh think if homeless, houseless born,
Ye could spend better days!

If all the wealth on land or sea
Before my eyes were spread,
I'd give them all this hour to be
On the soldier's dying bed.

Though cut and hack'd in every limb,
And chok'd with heaps of slain,
Glory and fame should be my theme,
To soften every pain.

My father was a gentleman,
Of fame and lineage high;

Oh place me in the field like him—
Like him to fight and die!

LETTERS FROM SPAIN.

BY DON LEUCADIO DOBLADO.

LETTER III.

B. G. A. S.

DEAR MADAM, Seville, 1799. FORTUNE has favoured me with an acquaintance--a young clergyman of this town-for whom, since our first introduction, I have felt a growing esteem, such as must soon ripen into the warmest affection. Common danger, and common suffering, especially of the mind, prove often the readiest and most indissoluble bonds of human friendship : and when to this influence is added the blending power of an intercommunity of thoughts and sentiments, no less unbounded than the

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