Or like the full-blown cistus, fragile flower, Till the sweet notes hush'd nature seem'd to hear Through all her scenes of mountain, grove, and river Who heard those tones, wish'd they might linger ever! But now the gazer scarce a sigh suppresses, At the changed features of thy loveliness, Shading a brow, whose smile was form'd to bless : For now a purer white-a deeper red Adown thy cheek in fev'rish beauty plays, Yes, thou art sadly changed. Yet, can it be And yield thee all to darkness and the worm? 'Tis but thy spirit that essays to rise From this world's cares and troubles, far above S. X. LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES. A HISTORY of Poland, including a narrative of the recent transactions in that country, is announced. It is said to be from the pen of a distinguished Polish nobleman. Captain Marryat, author of "The King's Own," has a new novel in the press, entitled, "Newton Forster; or, The Merchant Service." The fifth and sixth parts of Booth's Analytical Dictionary of the English Language are nearly ready. The "Silent Member," of Blackwood's Magazine, has published "6 A Letter to the King." The Life of Sir Thomas Lawrence, which is just proceeding from the press, is the work of Mr D. E, Williams, to whom, with the consent of the friends and family of the deceased, Mr Thomas Campbell transferred the private papers of Sir Thomas Lawrence, when other literary engagements prevented Mr Campbell's pro- | ceeding with the biography, according to his original design. In the press, Ivan Vejeeghen, or Life in Russia, a novel, by Thaddeus Bulgarin; containing a delineation of the state of society in Moscow and St Petersburg-Polish and Russian country gentry-provincial magistrates-civil and military officersactors and actresses-hells and tricks of the Moscow gamblers sketches of the Russian bar-characters of the judges, &e. The first St Petersburg edition was sold within three weeks after its publication, and it has already been translated into the French and German languages, THE NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.-We are authorized to state, that it was at the express desire of the proprietors, that Mr Campbell seceded from the editorship of "the New Monthly Magazine." The chief contributors to that work are as firmly attached to it as ever, and to their exertions are now added those of several new writers. Among the former may be named: Horace Smith, Mrs Hemans, Allan Cunningham, Carne, Leigh Hunt, the author of "Richelieu," and "Darnley,". Miss Lan. don, the author of "Paul Pry," Barry Cornwall, &c.; and of those who have lately given their literary support to the Magazine, the following are the most noted: Theodore Hook, E. Lytton Bulwer, Galt, the Hon. Mrs Norton, the author of "Granby," Mrs Charles Gore, Cooper, author of "The Spy," "The Pilot," &c. and others whose naines have not transpired. Several of the oldest and most valued contributors who had left the work, have returned under the new arrangement. PROFESSIONAL SOCIETY'S CONCERT.The members of this Society gave a morning concert on Friday last, in the large Assembly Room. The day was badly chosen for a morning concert, but still we had no idea that it would have been the cause of such an ominous display of empty benches. The instrumental portion of the concert was very judiciously chosen; but we cannot say quite so much for the vocal part. Haydn's symphony, "The Queen of France"-one of his best, in our opinion-was executed in an extremely spirited and effective manner. Mozart's "Jupiter," was played in a way that altogether surprised us. With the exception of a slight wavering of the band which occurred in the beginning of the second Part, it did the Society infinite credit. Both these symphonies were a great treat. Mr Platt, in his overture composed for this occasion, showed considerable knowledge of orchestral composition, but it wanted originality. The finest parts of the introduction were entirely borrowed from Weber. Mr D. Murray played a Swiss air, with variations for the violin, very beautifully. A larghetto and variations upon a Tyrolean air, composed for the pianoforte by Hummel, were executed with great taste and delicacy by Mr J. M. Müller. We particularly admired the simple and unaffected style in which Miss Turpin sung "Di Tanti Palpiti." The instrumental performers showed considerable taste in drowning Mr Horncastle's "Oh give me but my Arab Steed." We saw demonstrations that the manufacture of sounds was going on, and heard of course an occasional bag, but thanks to "the hardy band, Who scraped the strings with strennous hand," we escaped much of the infliction. The band was led in an admirable manner by Mr Finlay Dun, assisted by Mr James Dewar. Altogether, we consider this concert one of the best we have had from the Society, and we earnestly hope that the next time they come before the public, they will meet with something like encouragement, for-shame to the people of Edinburgh be it men. tioned--the whole audience consisted of exactly sixty persons. GLASGOW. The evening meetings of the Andersonian University have been very agreeable. On the last occasion, after coffee, several specimens of ammonites from the Himaleh mountains were exhibited; these occasionally fall from the region of perpe. tual snow, and are worshipped by the natives with superstitious veneration, and preserved with such care, that it is only very lately that any of them have found their way to Europe. There was also exhibited a remarkably perfect Roman fibula, lately dug up in the ruins of the wall of Antoninus. Mr Smith of Jordanhill then read a paper upon the effects of the deluge, illustrated by numerous specimens of tusks and bones of the mammoth, and other extinct animals, and; pointed out the diluvial phenomena as exhibited in the country round Glasgow. It was announced, that on Monday the 25th, Mr Ross would read a paper on education, and that Dr Scouller would describe a remarkable fossil crustaceous animal, of which the specimen in the museum was the only one hitherto discovered. Mr Atkinson is to read, on a succeeding evening, an Essay on the present state of the Law of Literary Property. Theatrical Gossip.-Planché's seventieth dramatic production— The Legion of Honour, an adaptation from the French—has been favourably received at Drury-Lane. On a late occasion, the evening's amusements at this theatre consisted exclusively of the works of this author :-the drama we have just named, Charles the Twelfth, and the National Guard.-A comedy, in five acts, by Don T. de Trueba, has been read in the Green Room at Covent. Garden, and may be expected to appear soon.-Their Majesties have visited the Italian Opera ;-the entertainments were “ La Gazza Ladra,” and the ballet of Kenilworth.-Mathews and Yates have commenced their season at the Adelphi. The first part of the evening's entertainment is Mathews' Comic Annual-the sa cond, Yates in Italy. In a third part, the two humourists combined their forces; but the piece did not succeed, and has since been withdrawn. Various reasons have been assigned for the ill success of this division, of which its utter stupidity seems the most plau. sible.-In Glasgow, Alexander is refitting his theatre, and enlar. ging it. Seymour has done as much for his; and opens with "Montrose"-dramatised, we are informed, by Atkinson-The benefits are commencing here, and have, of course, put a stop to our criticism during their continuance,-Kean visits us after the preachings. THREE DAYS AT CLOVENFORD. THE JOURNEY. “DEPEND upon it, the change of place and pursuits, the free breezes of our hills, will breathe a new soul into you after your winter's labours. The Journal will be ten per cent the better of it." This last argument was irresistible; and, as we had made up our mind beforehand to yield to our friend's urgency were merely coquetting with him, like a lady delaying the rosy, glowing yes, or an angler pausing to enjoy (the humane brute!) the convulsive tugging of the finny captive of his skill—we agreed to get our fishingtackle in order, and be off next morning to Clovenford. We were accordingly stirring by daybreak. Alfred was with us by four, and, ere the coffee was filled out, or the cigars lighted, the Lounger came sidling into the room with his noiseless footfall. The partaking of the said coffee and cigars, previous to setting out upon an early drive, is one of the German luxuries which Alfred imported from the University of Göttingen, and a precaution against the effects of the raw morning air upon an empty stomach which we recommend to the serious attention of all true believers. This pleasing duty over, we bundled ourselves-rods, fishing-creels, and all-into the phaeton, which John had brought to the door. Alfred assumed the seat beside John, while the two seniors deposited themselves behind. It is true that we are all tolerable whips, but before breakfast the exertion is too much. Each man, wrapping himself close in his greatcoat, rolled his cigar round in his mouth, and, puffing out a huge volume of smoke, threw himself back into a corner. John shook the whip over the horses, and away we went. It was a grey sort of a morning, rather dull and lowering, and evidently as uncertain as a civic dignitary what it ought to make of itself. It was all the same to us. new. The horses darted onward, and walls, houses, placards, and sign-boards, flew away behind us. It is a beastly practice of the bill-stickers of Modern Athens to clap one placard awkwardly and unevenly upon the top of another, leaving part of the old to appear above the It produces permanent cross-readings far before those of the newspapers. Thus, we saw on one corner -“ The Political Union-For Sale ;" on another-" The Lord Advocate-Is Open every lawful day from ten till dask;" on a third-" The Cheapest Reform Bill;" and on a fourth-"The Learned Cats at-A Meeting of the Temperance Society." We have sometimes been inclined to suspect that the sly rogues were aware of the strange medleys they thus got up. As we passed the Tron Church, the hard-handed sons of labour were congregating-indulging in half-an-hour's saunter, and a "blast o' their cutties," before proceeding to renew their monotonous employments. Some of them were fine high-spirited, free-glancing young fellows, while others were evidently members of that sect which directs its disciples to testify their aversion to Mahommedanism, by performing their ablutions only once a Price 6d. week. As we are averse to public expressions of respect, we felt somewhat afraid lest our good townsmen should insist upon taking the horses from the phaeton, and drawing us out of town, but luckily they did not recognise us, and we were allowed to pass in quiet. Once fairly out of town, we mended our speed, and the carriage bowled along over the smooth road. Blessings on thee, Macadam! How invaluable has thy discovery proved to the erewhile travel-bumped wight! How invaluable to glaziers, as the late experience of Edinburgh can testify! There is an inexpressibly soothing charm in the noiseless, motionless, rapid change of place which we experience in a well-hung vehicle on a smooth road. It brings on a state of dreamy voluptuous contemplation. We receive the impressions of the beautiful scenery through which we are passing, listen to the songs of birds and milkmaids, and look at man and his doings; but we cannot talk. We never met with any person who could talk in a coach but one lady, who on entering, begged that we might not deem it rude in her if she declined conversation, for she had a very severe cold, and was quite unable to speak. Without exaggeration, her tongue never lay still from that blessed moment till we reached the end of our journey—a trifle of some fifty miles. There being no lady in our party, we rolled on in silence, up the Esk and down the Gala, until we arrived at the Hanging Shaws, an ugly and ominous name. We, were each indulging in a separate reverie. ́ ́ But here the sun overcame the clouds, and looked smilingly down upon us. Alfred muttered a question, imperfectly heard, respecting the breakfast arrangements at Torsonce, and the Lounger stretched himself across our portly personage, to see what condition the water was in. It was of a beautiful brown-the hue of the darkest cairngorm. The sun was flashing on the ripples which a light breeze brought at times over its surface. Huge distended clouds, hovering a short way above the hills, promised a frequent interchange of sun and shade. We had to lay violent hands upon our friend, for, in his eagerness, he had grasped rod and creel, and was on the eve of springing from the vehicle. "The spring is come at last," said we, with a view to check his impetuosity, by changing the current of his thoughts. "Much though we admire the leafy luxuriance of England, there is a more heartfelt charm to us in the evidence of reviving vegetation, which we trace among our treeless hills and glens, what time the "pale primrose" and the "dim violet" peep forth as now, beneath the shelter of some long tuft of grass, withered and bleached by the rain and blasts of winter. Have you no new song akin to the spirit of the season?" "I have a new one by your old friend, Alexander Maclaggan; but your Gruffness is such an enemy to love lays." "We have been thawed by the genial influence of the season, and could, like our great prototype, Hercules, 'tumble down upon our Nemean hide.' Sing." And, accordingly, he began to chant, with his fine mellow voice, the words of our young songster, which seem, indeed, a hymn sprung up from the fresh, softened from the grave to tell us,' that he will always have a earth, along with the violet and the primrose, Glows not thy soul with delight, Thrills not thy heart's dearest string With rapture, as burst on thy sight The new-born beauties of Spring? Up, up at the dawn of the day; Up, up from thy lone wintry dreams; Arise from thy slumbers deep, and away To the hills where the morning sun beams! There comes a soft song from the bowers, Who in truth feels how lovely they be! Sweet is the lily that blows, And the wild-flower with bells of blue; Sweet are the lips of the budding rose As they drink in the morning dew! And fair are the branches that shoot, So rich and so fresh in our view, With the promise of glorious fruit, Where the golden stores once grew! Up, ye that are lightsome of limb, Up, ye that are merry of mood, And the earth, and the sky, and the ocean seem "So!" we resumed soon as the last quaver died upon our ear, "you are one of those heretics who believe us insensible to the poetry which is evolved by the tender passion ?" It was "Have we not got it under your own hand and seal ?" "For a greyhead that question makes you look irresistibly like a green goose. Perpend. Every man-we lay this down as an axiom-feels once in his life the influence of love. The emotion sets him as surely a wishing to sing, as it does any of those little warblers in the hedges. But the mere wish is not the power. And if it has pleased Providence to make a goose of him, his melody will prove only a grating, ear-piercing cackle. True love has mysteries-flashes of strange and wayward feelingthrobs, flushes, and emotions, delicate at once and overpowering-which have never yet been revealed. There is an endless variety in it, and the poet may yet find within its sphere a thousand untried themes for his wildwood melodies. It was not against such songs that our manifesto, so much misconstrued, was directed. against the whole kith and kin of the thousand and one amatory poems, which now stuff up the Balaam-boxechoes of Moore, which may have given pleasure to the writer while composing, because he was at the moment under the hallucination of passion-just as a man when drunk, or affected by opium, utters the veriest commonplace, or downright idiotic babble, with the most delighted complacency-but which give no echo to the seat where love is throned.' Listen. Here is a copy of verses which were put into our hand t'other day. They have not, perhaps, much poetry in them, but they are deeply and truly felt a tale of manly, sincere, and undying love. One such effusion is worth a whole century of metre ballad-mongers.' It would be hard to say whether the author will ever turn out a poet-the lines afford no presumption against him--but there needs no ghost come heart in its right place, and a head on his shoulders." We met in youth's delightful morn, when ardent feeling threw A charm o'er every scene of life, that burst upon the view; Then thou wert loveliness itself, sweet as the summer rose, When first the opening bud begins its beauty to disclose. Light was thy heart, and inward joy lit up thy full black eye, Smooth bore along thy lovely bark, no tempest then was nigh; And kindness was in every look, thy brow for ever fairO ne'er a cloud of gloom presumed to cast its shadow there. I saw thee could my soul unmoved thy artless beauty see? O, was it madness, if I heaved the secret sigh for thee? But Hope refused to lend her lamp to guide my darkling way, And gloomy, gloomy fell the night, and cheerless rose the day. I left behind my native land, I sought a distant scene, And tried in absence to forget that such delights had been. Years pass'd along, and other days, with all their joy and woe, On memory's distant page began all dim and faint to grow. Perchance another face I saw with maiden beauty shine, But, ah! remembrance told me that 'twas not so fair as thine. Perchance a voice, as soft as thine, might charm my raptured ear, Perhaps another one became as dear, as thou wert dear; But, ah! where was the faithful heart, the feelings warm and true, And where the stern unbending truth I most had prized in you? When many a day of weary toil, and grief, and hope, was o'er, And sullen calmness ruled the breast, where passion was before, I traced again my boyhood's haunts, each mountain, wood, and stream, And wept to think my early joys had vanish'd like a The charm that render'd these so sweet was now for ever dream. Then wouldst thou praise the star of eve, far in the un- | The heart may be warm, though the hurdies be happit ; clouded blue, Or bid me list within the wood the deep-voiced cushat coo. I tried to speak of love, my lips could not the wish fulfil, You pointed to the rising moon, just peering o'er the hill, But well, I ween, you knew my heart, long ere my lips could frame The trembling accents which confess'd an ardent lover's flame. Nor didst thou spurn the words which strove thy guileless heart to gain, And now thou art my bonny bride, and mine for ever, Jane. "Well, there's no accounting for taste," remarked Alfred, who, having finished a long and learned discussion with John, respecting the comparative merits of our two steeds, had been listening attentively to the latter part of our discussion. "You prefer a sermon, my liking is for a song. Here is a stave of Atkinson's best for you." The heather waves in mountain pride, Wons artless Jean o' Aberfoil. Oh, weel I min' the gloamin hour, When, comin' owre the langsome hill, I first was taught how meikle power A lass may hae that min's nae skill; For guileless as the lammie's sell, That kens na e'en a mother's willBut winsome as was Eve hersell, Is artless Jean o' Aberfoil! And then ye've seen the mountain doe? It's naething to her skylike ee! Is bonny Jean's o' Aberfoil! Whan panting owre some burnin' way, And I be Laird o' Aberfoil! "That's not bad for Atkinson,” said the Lounger, nodding approbation. "I like the cool insolence of that remark," retorted Alfred. "Not bad! Then what think you of this-a Jacobite strain by Tom, that stirs the blood like the sound of a trumpet?" Come to the Lowlands, Prince Charlie, and head us; The strath hath its brave anes, as well as the correi ; Come where the waters row broad to the sea; Come where the king and the cause baith may need us, And as true as the kilted or claymor'd we'll be, Each Andrew Ferrara is true to the hilt; And the haun' will be hack'd frae the arm or it drap it— Come to the Solway, the Tay, and the Tweed; wondering within himself what strange companions he had got. The lark wi' his chirrup "We always like to commence with some such gentle prologue-it was the fashion of good old Isaac Walton." "Yes," interrupted Alfred; " and as you only go through the forms of fishing, it would be most improper to leave any of them out." "Mind your own fishing, you monkey," said we, with offended dignity, "and leave us to take care of our own concerns.' We know not how it is, but we have always found that eating breakfasts, like making love, although very pleasant to the actors, is preciously tiresome to beholders. We spare our readers the infliction, therefore, and beg him to accompany us about a mile down the Gala, where our day's fishing is to commence. Let him figure us standing in an amphitheatre of fine swelling tawny-coloured hills, with some of bolder aspect receding beautifully in the aerial distance. Our feet are on a piece of level emerald But, in confidence be it spoken, there was more truth turf-the river is wimpling before us-at our back is a in the younker's sarcasm than we were willing to admit. sheep-track, tangled with briars and hawthorn brakes, We are but an indifferent fisher. And somehow or beneath which the wild-flowers are peeping out, while other, we were on the present occasion peculiarly unfor from the summit of the brae, huge forest-trees spread tunate. In addition to our want of success, the showers their black rough arms over our heads, amber-coloured which we already noticed as flying about, were becoming leaves bursting here and there from the extremities of momentarily heavier and more frequent. The mists their slenderest twigs. The sun is shining, but some-wreathed around the tops of the hills, at first like dark times dimmed, sometimes even darkened by the April plumes which wave over the helmet of a knight, attached showers that are wandering about. The rain, however, to the casque by a link scarcely discernible. Gradually, when it does come, is warm and genial to the sense, and however, they crept down the hill sides, narrowing our beneath its influence the grass seems to grow visibly. view on every side, until we were fairly swathed in the Our rods are at our feet-one is searching in his huge bosom of a Scotch mist. black pocketbook for the fly most appropriate for the occasion-another is drawing out his line, to which the ricking of his pirn bears audible testimony. At last we are ready; but before we start, the Lounger must sing us again that song of Maclaggan, which harmonizes so well with our situation. But no, he disdains to repeat his good things. He will give us, however, one equally apropos, by Miller of Westhouses. He met me sae kindly, Saying, see the wee roses The green groves are spreading You'd think the wee flowerie's We had long ere this given up the fishing as a hopeless task, and stood wondering at Alfred, who was all this while middle deep in the stream, heedless of the rain which now descended in torrents, pulling out incessantly his tiny game single or in pairs, and grumbling like a hero at their want of size. At last we succeeded in persuading him to desist, and, crossing the river, began to ascend the huge hill, on the other side of which our destined quarters for the night were situated. The walk was not exactly what an Englishman would term a pleasant or inviting one. The mist prevented us from seeing many inches beyond the extremities of our noses-and none of them are very long. The unenclosed ground on the edge of the road was covered as far as we could discern, with long withered bent; and altogether the scene was as cheerless as may well be conceived. Still we are true Scotchmen, and would rather die than give the Southron the advantage of our confession, that any thing can possibly be wrong or disagreeable in Scotland. It was a most delightful evening and a charming walk. Nor can any one, who is not himself a "Child of the Mist," conceive the beauty and grandeur it occasionally lends to scenery. We speak not of the present occasion: but we have stood in former days on the sharp and craggy peaks of the hill of Blavain, and seen the blue sky bending broad and cloudless over us, while an immense mass of vapours, far below our feet, kept creeping and heaving, now ascending, and now descending, now sweeping round the hill like some fierce bird of prey-and we have gazed on it until it seemed a huge monster instinct with life. The world below was shut from our view, save. when a casual chink showed the ocean far below, white gleaming in the sun. It was as if we stood alone in the immensity of space, upon a solitary stony pinnacle, based and supported we knew not how. Long years elapsed, and on a chill and lowering day, we stood upon the steep mountains which overhang Bohemia. The dense mist was rolling at our feet. A sheer descent was before us, Ꭺ which led straight downward into the darkness. huge rift opened in the clouds, and we saw below us a land with an uneven surface, with thick black woods, and small openings, covered with a dark herbage. The opening closed, and the vision passed away. glimpse had laid open to us that Bohemia, which from And this |