THE EDINBURGH MAGAZINE, AND LITERARY MISCELLANY, BEING A NEW SERIES OF The Scots Magazine. FEBRUARY 1821. CONTENTS. Extracts from a Private Journal of a The Pig, Porter, and Patrole, a Parson's Tale ................................................164 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC INTELLIGENCE. Boué's Geology of Scotland—Discovery of Green Fluor Spar in Banffshire Clay-slate Axe found in a Whale Expeditions to the Frozen OceanHeads of New Zealanders-Pedomotive Machine-Caves at ElloreFall of a Mountain into the Moselle, &c. &c. &c. Works Preparing for Publication.................. 167 Foreign Intelligence Appointments, Promotions, &c.180 171 www.173 176 178 182 Agricultural Report. Commercial Report ib. 184 The late Mr Robert Thomson ..........186 187 188 EDINBURGH: PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY. The Correspondents of the EDINBURGH MAGAZINE AND LITERARY MISCELLANY are respectfully requested to transmit their Communications for the Editor to ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE and COMPANY, Edinburgh, or LONGMAN and COMPANY, London; to whom also orders for the Work should be particularly addressed. Printed by George Ramsay & Co. THE EDINBURGH MAGAZINE, AND LITERARY MISCELLANY, FEBRUARY 1821. THE GENIUS OF THE SCOTS MAGAZINE TO THE READER. [THE following address was found upon our Editorial table a few mornings ago, to our no small astonishment. How it came there we presume not to say; but four sheets of superfine foolscap, upon which we had meditated to write a very interesting Essay, were all used up, and our writing-materials and papers tossed about, in violation of the methodical arrangement of the preceding evening. Whether we wrote it ourselves in a dream, (for more wonderful things have happened,) we are yet in doubt. The old and cramp hand, however, seems against this conjecture, and we are certain that we did not exceed our usual modicum of evening potation. Moreover, old Janet, when she opened our window-shutters in the morning, perceived nothing uncommon in our dormitory; our wig hung in its accustomed place, our spectacles lay extended upon the open pages of Kenilworth, and our nightcap and nasal prominence peeped above the bed-clothes as usual. Furthermore, we are assured, (if the idea of personal identity be not totally lost in sleep,) that we reposed as soundly in our "cloud-capt" garret in James's Court, as we should have done in the sleepingchamber of Amy Robsart, yea even though herself were present. But there are yet many things in earth" which are not dreamt of" in our modern systems of philoso→ phy.1 I HAVE hitherto held communication with the public through my Editors, but I now claim the privilege of speaking for myself.-Appearing in the world in an age when the man The existence of good and evil Genii, though some individuals have been so illadvised as to doubt upon the subject, rests upon pretty satisfactory authority. But all these sceptical doubts are now removed, and the thing made as certain as a mathematical demonstration, by the present address. The curious reader may consult upon this subject the learned treatise of Rembert Teufelschneidern, De Exist. Spirit. 2 tom. folio, Antwerp, 1631;-Von Doubterbilden, Die Meermadchen, Holm. 1654;-La Sueur sur les Existences Spirituelles, Par. 1589, 4to, a very rare and interesting work ;-the article Sylphe, in the Encyclopedie ;-and among our own writers, Joannes Goblinus de Mund. In visib. Oxford. 1593, a book of excessive rarity; The Beliefe in Feyries Investigated, by Mr Andrew Feedum; Parnell's Hermit, and Ambrose's works, passim. MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS. ners and the tastes of the people were very different from what they are at present, it is not to be wondered at that I am slow in adopting fashions so di cant from those of my youth, or of speaking in language so far removed from that of my early days. However, if I do not walk so steadily at eighty as I did at twenty-five;-and if my dandy dress sits rather more awkwardly upon me than upon those who have learnt from infancy to wear it, I feel assured that my stamina are as strong, and that the fluid of life dances as gaily through my veins now, as it did at any period of my existence. Some of my readers of the present day affect to despise me as an antiquated prosing old fool, incapable of saying any thing to amuse, and, in spite of my mature age, unfit to communicate, in readable terms, the result of my long intercourse with the world. To those who think so, I beg to say, that they most assuredly do not read me carefully, or they would soon be undeceived. I do not hold myself accountable, indeed, for all that my various Editors, good easy men, put down in my pages, and of ten regret, as much as my subscribers, that a great deal is inserted in my sheets, which I should blush, if the colour of my cover permitted, for having published, and which I should not have been sorry to have been whipped for, had I written. But among this load of vapid essays and puerile poetry, many gems are to be found, which redeem my character from the unfounded charge of hopeless and persevering stupidity. When I was a bachelor, (for there are male and female Magazines,) I recollect the esteem in which I was held by all the thinking and respectable classes in Edinburgh. I was welcomed in every company, and my monthly visits, even at the houses of the great, were uncommonly well received. When I hazarded a joke, (for I once was fond of joking, though my Editors have long since moulded the muscles of my face into an almost imperturbable gravity,) I have seen honest David Hume, worthy man, begin the laugh before he had perused half the passage which contained the jest: so well did he understand how I was to conclude the paragraph, that one might almost say he had written it himself. Then Adam Smith, with whom I long lived in habits of the utmost intimacy, would send for me half a dozen times to the publishers, when I was beyond the tine of my usual appearance, and would often postpone his more important studies for the pleasure of perusing my pages, which, mayhap, though I must not reveal secrets, were partly his own. Principal Robertson, too, who was my much esteemed friend, often sat up with me in consultation for hours after the family had retired to rest, and with placid countenance and looks of benignity, partook with me of the "feast of reason and the flow of soul." The venerable Blair, Drs Black, Hutton, Gregory, and Cullen, always professed a strong attachment to me; and were I vain, I might boast of the assistance they de rived from me in their researches, and point out in return what they permitted me to publish anonymously for the information of the world. But these times are gone-whether for the better or not I will not presume to say; but I may be allowed to mention, that there was scarcely a character of celebrity in Scotland during the last century who was not among my contributors, and scarcely one who did not feel his respect for himself increased, by my friendly notices of his progress and his fame. But the reader may say, "What is all this to the present purpose? Why don't you accommodate yourself to the prevailing taste; and, in place of building your reputation on connections long since dissolved, why do not you show yourself in colours worthy of the friend of Hume, Smith, and Robertson, and at least equal to your younger contemporaries ?" Gentle Reader, I could scarcely comprise a detailed answer to these queries in less than half a volume. Suffice it to say, that sorrow for the loss of my early supporters-an ill-assorted marriage which was propounded to me by the Edinburgh Magazine, and too easily gone into on my part, attracted, I am sorry to say, more by the pictures which decorated my fair partner, than by more solid accomplishments-editors who did not fall into my humour, or that of the public-and a numerous family, have been the chief causes of my declension, if decline is at all perceptible in my pages. My partner, too, assuming more than becomes her the privileges of a wife, may have been one cause of my not appearing as I ought, and of my sometimes dozing in my elbow chair, trusting to her arrangements, when I should have been * My descendants have been very nu merous. I write it,) I had a pretty family for my Before my marriage, (with shame time. The Edinburgh Weekly Magazine, the eldest, died of a decline, as it is termed in Scotland; the Edinburgh Magazine and Review expired of plethora, as the Doctors called it ;-others dropt in early age:-and in a short time I was left alone. My present family, comprising the Farmer's Magazine, the Edinburgh Review, and the Mewith perhaps a little of the sharp features dical Journal, are thriving young men, others, besides, who are still of tender age, but who, I am sorry to say, do not always treat me with the respect due to a father. One of them, in particular, a sad wayward bairn,-but I will not trouble the world. with my domestic grievances. attributed to the Scots; and there are thinking and acting for myself. My married readers will understand some thing of this without further comment. My only regret is, that I had the weakness to consent, in a moment of foolish fondness, (which my female readers will easily pardon me for,) to let her put her family name, which is but of yesterday in comparison of mine, before my known and recognized patronymic. My change from the true blue coat of my native land, to the exotic yellow of another country, may be forgiven, as a pardonable compliance with modern taste; and as I judge no man by the colour or cut of his coat, I beg the same indulgence from my readers in behalf of myself. Reader, It is a maxim of State, that the King can do no wrong, and that all the responsibility of actions performed in his name rests with his advisers. What is good in state policy, is not the reverse when applied to literature, and the same maxim holds with regard to the Scots Magazine. If it be silly-or dull-or trifling or all of these put together, (which I am assured must sometimes happen,) be so good as place its inanity to the debit of the Editor for the time be ing, and let him answer to his conscience and to you for filling my pages with what is useless and insignificant, when it is perfectly well known I am able to be the bearer of all that is pleasing and instructive. Let him be aware, besides, that my irritated shade may haunt his troubled imagination in dreams, gore him with the extended horn of my native supporters,-or lacerate his beard with the spines of my national thistle, if he ever presume to violate in my pages the respect due to the morality or religion of my country, or to the feelings and reputation of its inhabitants. One thing I take much credit for, and that is, recording those daily occurrences, which, were it not for me, would be talked of for a moment, and then forgotten for ever. If a ferryboat, in a fit of ill-humour, chose to drown its unsuspecting passengers-if a bank of earth or a wall happened to fall down upon a poor workman whom it found cutting its sides too rudely-if the Evil One took it into his head to stifle a few colliers in a mine for his amusement,+-I never failed to chronicle the melancholy occurrences, and moralize in a becoming manner upon the shortness of life, and the uncertainty of all below the sun. I am almost the only memorial (except a few scattered grave-stones in the church-yards) of the departed worthies of Scotland; and the births, the advancements, the actions, great and small, of all the burghers of this ancient city, are narrated in my pages with a minuteness and approbation of their conduct, which, if I had appeared in propria persona, might have been the occasion of my being presented with the freedom of my native city. Indeed, I marvel much, that I have not yet had the honour to insert a paragraph recording my citizenship, in terms which should be more honourable to the givers than to the receiver. I despair not, however, soon to have the pleasure of inserting something to the following effect: "The Lord Provost, Magistrates, and TownCouncil, have conferred the freedom of Edinburgh in a gold box, of curious workmanship, upon the Scots Magazine, for its faithful record of the rise and progress of this ancient city.”But a word is enough, philosophers say, to the wise ;-the thing, perhaps, never yet entered the head of a deacon, even at the conclusion of a city feast;-though I feel assured, now I have mentioned the circumstance, my " 'blushing honours" will not be long withheld. Of how many worthy magistrates, learned doctors, grave and reverend clergymen, and reputable citizens, whose fame but for me would never have extended beyond the walls of Auld Reekie, have I not noticed the commencement of life and its close! How many masters and misses have I married, before the present generation of masters and misses were dreamt of, let my annual indexes testify. Of how many hundreds of warriors, whose nanies were never heard of be yond the muster-roll of their regi These and similar accidents, as they Alluding, I conjecture, to the armorial are called in vulgar speech, may be conbearings of the Scottish nation-Pro-di-gi.sidered as palpable instances of the exous! SCRIBL. istence of Genii.-SCRIBL. |