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“Sir,' said the Doctor, who was stand- trotcosey again over his face, and left the ing at the other side of the patient,

• Mr

house. Walkinshaw is in no condition to under. stand you.'

“ Still, however, Mr Keelevin read on ; 66 There are times in life when every man, and when he had finished, he called for pen feels as if his sympathies were extinct. This and ink.

arises from various causes ; sometimes from " It is impossible that he can write,' vicissitudes of fortune; sometimes from said the Doctor.

the sense of ingratitude, which, like the 666 Ye hae no business to mak ony sic canker in the rose, destroys the germ of all observation,'exclaimed the benevolent law. kindness and charity ; often from disapyer. • Ye shou'd say nothing till we try. pointments in affairs of the heart, which In the name of justice and mercy, is there leave it incapable of ever again loving ; but nobody in this house that will fetch me the most common cause is the conscious. pen and ink ?

ness of having committed wrong, when the “It was evident to all present that Claud feelings recoil inward, and, by some curious perfectly understood what his friend said ; mystery in the nature of our selfishness, and his eyes betokened eagerness and satis- instead of promoting atonement, irritate us faction ; but the expression with which his to repeat and to persevere in our injustice. features accompanied the assent in his look “ Into one of these temporary trances was horrible and appalling.

Claud had fallen when his wife left him; “ At this juncture Leddy Grippy came and he continued sitting, with his eyes rirushing, half dressed, into the room, her vetted on the ground, insensible to all the dishevelled grey hair flying loosely over actual state of life, contemplating the cirher shoulders, exclaiming,


cumstances and condition of his children, 666 What's wrang noo?_what new judg. as if he had no interest in their fate, nor ment has befallen us ?--Whatna fearfu' could be affected by any thing in their forimage is that like a corpse out o' a tomb, that's making a'this rippet for the chcatrie “ In this fit of apathy and abstraction, instruments o' pen and ink, when a dying he was roused by the sound of some one apman is at his last gasp ?'

proaching ; and on looking up, and turn“Mrs Walkinshaw, for Heaven's sake ing his eyes towards the path which led be quiet ;_your gudeman,' replied Mr from the house to the bench where he was Keelevin, opening the hood of his trotcosey, then sitting, he saw Walter coming. and throwing it back ; taking off, at the “ There was something unwonted in the same time, his cocked hat— Your gude- appearance and gestures of Walter, which man kens very weel what I hae read to soon interested the old man. At one mohim. It's a provision for Mrs Charles and ment he rushed forward several steps, with her orphans.'

a strange wildness of air. He would then " But is there no likewise a provision stop and wring his hands, gaze upward, as in't for me ?' cried the Leddy.

if he wondered at some extraordinary phe".0, Mrs Walkinshaw, we'll speak o' nomenon in the sky; but seeing nothing, that hereafter ; but let us get this executed he dropped his hands, and, at his ordinary aff hand,' replied Mr Keelevin. "Ye see pace, came slowly up the hill. your gudeman kens what we're saying, and “ When he arrived within a few paces of looks wistfully to get it done. I say, in the the bench, he halted, and looked, with such name of God, get me pen and ink.' an open and innocent sadness, that even

" • Ye'se get neither pen nor ink here, the heart of his father, which so shortly Mr Keelevin, till my rights are cognost in before was as inert to humanity as casea record o' sederunt and session.'

hardened iron, throbbed with pity; and “ • Hush !' exclaimed the Doctor--all was melted to a degree of softness and comwas silent, and every eye turned on the pa- passion, almost entirely new to its sensibi. tient, whose countenance was again hide- lities. ously convulsed ;-a troubled groan strug

"6" What's the matter wi' thee, Watty ?' gled and heaved for a moment in his breast, said he, with unusual kindness. The poor and was followed by short quivering through natural, however, made no reply, but his whole frame.

continued to gaze at him with the same in66 · It is all over !' said the Doctor. At expressible simplicity of grief. these words the Leddy rushed towards the 66 « Hast t'ou lost ony thing, Watty ??elbow-chair, and, with frantic cries and I dinna ken,' was the answer, followed by gestures, flew on the body, and acted an a burst of tears. extravagance of sorrow ten times more out. Surely something dreadfu' has befallrageous than grief. Mr Keelevin stood en the lad,' said Claud to himself, alarmmotionless, holding the paper in his hand ; ed at the astonishment of sorrow with which and, after contemplating the spectacle be- his faculties seemed to be bound up. fore him for about two or three minutes, 66° Canst'ou no tell me what has happenshook his head disconsolately, and, repla- ed, Watty ? cing his cocked hat, drew the hood of the “ In about the space of half a minute,

Walter moved his eyes slowly round, as if to decorum, he would be able to induce he saw and followed something which filled the natural to marry again. Shall we venhim with awe and dread. He then suddenly ture to say, it also occurred in the cogitachecked himself, and said, “It's naething; tions of his sordid ambition, that, as the she's no there."

infant was prematurely born, and was fee. 66 «Sit down beside me, Watty,' exclaim- ble and infirm, he entertained some hope ed his father, alarmed; sit down beside it might die, and not interfere with the me, and compose thysel.'

entailed destination of the general estate ? " Walter did as he was bidden, and, But if, in hazarding this rash supposition, stretching out his feet, hung forward in we do him any injustice, it is certain, that such a posture of extreme listlessness and he began to think there was something in helpless despondency, that all power of ac- the current of human affairs over which he tion appeared to be withdrawn.

could acquire no control, and that, although " Claud rose, and believing he was only in pursuing so steadily the single purpose under the influence of some of those silly of recovering his family inheritance, his passions to which he was occasionally sub- endeavours had, till this period, proved ject, moved to go away, when he looked eminently successful, he yet saw, with disup, and said,

may, that, from the moment other interests • Father, Betty Bodle's dead !My came to be blended with those which he Betty Bodle's dead!

considered so peculiarly his own, other 5. Dead !' said Claud, thunderstruck. causes also came into operation, and turn

“Aye, father, she's dead ! my Betty ed, in spite of all his hedging and pruBodle's dead !

dence, the whole issue of his labours awry. 66Dost t'ou ken what tou's saying ?{ He perceived that human power was set at But Walter, without attending to the ques- nought by the natural course of things, and tion, repeated, with an accent of tenderness nothing produced a more painful convicstill more simple and touching,

tion of the wrong he had committed against 666 My Betty Bodle's dead! She's awa his first-born, than the frustration of his up aboon the skies yon'er, and left me a wishes by the misfortune which had befallen wee wee baby;' in saying which, he again Walter.' His reflections were also embitburst into tears, and, rising hastily from the tered from another source ; by his parsimobench, ran wildly back towards the Divet- ny he foresaw, that, in the course of a few hill-house, whither he was followed by the years, he would have been able, from his own old man, where the disastrous intelligence funds, to have redeemed the Divethill with. was confirmed, that she had died in giving out having had recourse to the excambio; birth to a daughter.

and that the whole of the Kittlestonheugh “Deep and secret as Claud kept his might thus have been his own conquest, feelings from the eyes of the world, this was and, as such, without violating any of the a misfortune which he was ill prepared to usages of society, he might have commenwithstand. For although in the first shock ced the entail with Charles. In a word, he betrayed no emotion, it was soon evie the death of Walter's wife and the birth dent that it had shattered some of the firm of the daughter disturbed all his schemes, est intents and purposes of his mind. That and rent from roof to foundation the castles he regretted the premature death of a beau- which he had been so long and so arduoustiful young woman in such interesting cir- ly building. But it is necessary that we cumstances, was natural to him as a man ; should return to poor Walter, on whom the but he felt the event more as a personal loss of his beloved Betty Bodle acted with disappointment, and thought it was ac- the incitement of a new impulse, and procompanied with something so like retribu. duced a change of character that rendered tion, that he inwardly trembled as if he him a far less tractable instrument than his had been chastised by some visible arın of father expected to find. Providence. For he could not disguise to himself that a female heir was a contingenсу he had not contemplated ; that, by the “ The sorrow of Walter, after he had catastrophe which had happened to the mo- returned home, assumed the appearance of ther, the excambio of the Plealands for the a calm and settled melancholy. He sat Divethill would be rendered of no avail; beside the corpse with his hands folded and and that, unless Walter married again, and his head drooping. He made no answer had a son, the re-united Kittlestonheugh to any question ; but as often as he heard property must again be disjoined, as the the infant's cry, he looked towards the bed, Divethill would necessarily become the in- and said, with an accent of indescribable heritance of the daughter.

sadness, My Betty Bodle!' ". The vexation of this was, however, al. “ When the coffin arrived, his mother leviated, when he reflected on the pliancy wished him to leave the room, apprehenof Walter's character, and he comforted sive, from the profound grief in which he himself with the idea, that, as soon as a was plunged, that he might break out into reasonable sacrifice of time had been made some extravagance of passion.; but he reVOL. XIII.






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fused ; and, when it was brought im, he “ • It's my bairn,' replied Watty, and
assisted with singular tranquillity in the ye hae naething, father, to do wi't.-Will
ceremonial of the coffining. But when the I no take care o' my ain baby—my bonny
lid was lifted and placed over the body, and wee Betty Bodle ?'
the carpenter was preparing to fasten it 666 Dó as I bid thee, or I'll maybe gar
down for ever, he shuddered for a moment thee fin the weight o' my staff,' cried the
from head to foot; and, raising it with his old man sharply, expecting immediate obe-
left hand, he took a last look of the face, dience to his commands, such as he always
removing the veil with his right, and touch- found, however positively Walter, on other
ing the sunken cheek as if he had hoped occasions, at first refused; but in this in-
still to feel some ember of life but it was stance he was disappointed ; for the wi-
cold and stiff.

dower looked him steadily in the face, and
". She's clay noo,' said he.-- There's said,
yane o' my Betty Bodle here.'

666 I'm a father noo; it would be an awa “ And he turned away with a careless fu' thing for a decent grey-headed man air, as if he had no farther interest in the like you, father, to strike the head o' a

From that moment his artless af- motherless family.' fections took another direction ; he imme- “ Claud was so strangely affected by the diately quitted the death-room, and, going look and accent with which this was exto the nursery, where the infant lay asleep pressed, that he stood for some time at a in the nurse's lap, he contemplated it for loss what to say ; but soon recovering his some time, and then, with a cheerful and self-possession, he replied, in a mild and Happy look and tone, said, “It's a wee Bet- persuasive manner,ty Bodle; and it's my Betty Bodle noo.' 66 The frien's expek, Watty, that ye'll And all his time and thoughts were thence- attend the burial, and carry the head, as forth devoted to this darling object, in so the use and wont is in every weel-doing famuch, that when the hour of the funeral mily.' was near, and he was requested to dress " It's a thriftless custom, father, and himself to perform the husband's customa- what care I for burial-bread and services ry part in the solemnity, he refused not o' wine ? They cost siller, father, and I'll only to quit the child, but to have any thing no wrang Betty Bodle for ony sic outlay to do with the burial.

on her auld yirden garment. Yemay gang, “I canna understand,' said he, what for fashion's cause, wi' your weepers and for a' this fykerie's about a lump o'yird ? your mourning strings, and lay the black Sho'elt intil a hole, and no fash me.' kist i’ the kirk-yard hole, but I'll no mudge

"• It's your wife, my lad, replied his the ba' o' my muckle tae in ony sic road.' mother; ye'll surely never refuse to carry 6. T'ou's past remede, I fear,' replied her head in a gudemanlike manner to the his father thoughtfully ; but, Watty, I kirk-yard.'

hope in this t'ou'll oblige thy mother and 66 Na, na, mother, Betty Bodle's my me, and put on thy new black claes ;wife, yon clod in the black kist is but her t'ou kens they're in a braw fasson, and auld boddice; and when she flang't off, she come ben and receive the guests in a douce put on this bonny wee new cleiding o’clay,' and sober manner. said he, pointing to the baby.

66 • The minister, I'm thinking, will “ The Leddy, after some farther remon- soon be here, and t'ou should be in the way strance, was disconcerted by the pertinaci- when he comes.' ty with which he continued to adhere to " " No,' said Watty, ‘no, do as ye like, his resolution, and went to beg her husband and come wha may, it's a' ane to me. I'm to interfere.

positeeve.' 66 Ye'll hae to gang ben, gudeman,' 6. The old man, losing all self-command said she, and speak to Watty. I wis the at this extraordinary opposition, exclaimpoor thing hasna gane by itsel wi' a broken ed, heart. He threeps that the body is no his 66. There's a judgment in this; and, if wife's, and ca's it a hateral o'clay and there's power in the law o' Scotland, I'll stones, and says we may fling't, gude guide gar thee rue sic dourness. Get up, I say, us ! ayont the midden for him.-We'll just and put on thy mournings, or I'll hae thee be affrontit if he'll no carry the head.' cognost, and sent to bedlam.'

" Claud, who had dressed himself in the *s • I'm sure I look for nae mair at your morning for the funeral, was sitting in the hands, father,' replied Walter, simply ; elbow-chair, on the right side of the chim- for my mither has often telt me, when ye ney-place, with his cheek resting on his hae been sitting sour and sulky in the nook, hand, and his eyelids dropped, but not en- that ye would na begrudge crowns and tirely shut, and, on being thus addressed, pounds to mak me compos mentis for the he instantly rose, and went to the nursery. benefit of Charlie.'

66. What's t'ou doing there like a hus- Every pulse in the veins of Claud sy-fellow ?' said he. “Rise and get on thy stood still at this stroke, and he staggered, mournings, and behave wise-like, and leave overwhelmed with shame, remorse, and inthe bairn to the women.'

dignation, into a seat.


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“ • Eh !' said the Leddy, returning into and the “ Entail” entitles him to take the room at this juncture, what's come his place in the second rank of British o'er you, gudeman ? Pity me, will he no novelists. When we say this, which we do your bidding ?

do fearlessly, we consider him inferior "Girzy Hypel,' was the hoarse and emphatic reply, Girzy Hypel, tạou's the only to two living writers of fictitious curse o' my life; the folly in thee fas alter- narratives,-to him whom we need not ed to idiotical depravity in him, and the name, and to Miss Edgeworth. wrong I did against my ain nature in mar

Claud Walkinshaw is a character so rying thee, 1 maun noo, in my auld age, excellently conceived and executed, reap the fruits o’in sorrow, and shame, and that he might have figured away with

effect in the best of the Scottish No"6" Here's composity for a burial !' ex- vels; and poor Watty the natural, (for claimed the Leddy. "What's the matter, he was found guilty of being so,) need Watty Walkinshaw ?'

not shun a comparison with David My father's in a passion.'

Gellatly himself; and if he had not “ Claud started from his seat, and, with been brought forward by Mr Galt, fury in his eyes, and his hands clenched; would probably have had his melanchorushed across the room towards the spot where Walter was sitting, watching the ly hour on that other enchanted stage. infant in the nurse's lap. In the same mo

But really we hate analytical criticism, ment, the affectionate natural also sprang

so we shall let the public form their forward, and placed himself in an attitude own opinion of the "Entail," and also to protect the child. The fierce old man the Congress at Verona—the second was confounded, and turning round hasti- number of the “ Liberal,” and that ly, quitted the room, wringing his hands, apparent impostor, the “ Mermaid.” unable any longer to master the conflicting We therefore bid farewell to Mr feelings which warred so wildly in his bo

Galt, not exactly hoping to see him

again soon, for we give his mind a “ This is a pretty like house o' mourning,' said the Leddy ; ' a father and a son

year's fallow ; but assuring him of fighting, and a dead body waiting to be

what he probably knows, that the ta'en to the kirk-yard. O Watty Walkin

“ Entail” is out of all sight the best shaw! Watty Walkinshaw! many a sore thing he has done, and shews his geheart ye hae gi'en your parents, will ye nius to have stamina that will yet send ne'er divaul till ye hae brought our grey forth still more vigorous shoots and hairs wi' sorrow to the grave ? There's shady branches. your poor father flown demented, and a' This is a Scots Magazine, and most the comfort in his cup and mine gane like of us are Scotsmen, who, to the admiwater spilt on the ground. Many a happy ration of the world, construct the ediday we hae had, till this contumacity o'fice, and guard it, sword in hand ; thine grew to sic a head. But tak your but some Englishmen are in the saain way o't. Do as ye like. Let strangers cred troop. To England we look, as to carry your wife to the kirk-yard, and see what ye'll mak o't.'

a country in advance of our native “ But notwithstanding all these, and land, in the knowledge and power of many more equally persuasive and com- civilization. We despise the cant of manding arguments, Walter was not to be our countrymen about modern Athens, moved, and the funeral, in consequence, Parthenons, and so forth; and glory

; was obliged to be performed without him. in the name of “ Sawnies." We are of Yet still, though thus tortured in his feel the Land of Cakes of William Walings, the stern old man inflexibly adhered lace, and Robert Bruce-of Burns, to his purpose. The entail which he had Scott, and Christopher North. Our executed was still with him held irrevocable; and, indeed, it had been so framed, will not lay narrow nationalities to our

dearly beloved Southrons, therefore, that, unless he rendered himself insolvent, it could not be set aside.”

charge. But still, we take the liberty

of wondering why England does not Now we think that the first feeling do more for herself in native literathat will arise in the mind of every one ture than she is now doing-why who reads these volumes, will be plea- they who are sprung of “ earth's first sure in the manifest extension of the blood,” and “have titles manifold, author's

's powers of observation, and in do not look into the heart of their nathe exhibition of a prodigiously impro- tional character, and dig up and bring ved and enlarged conception of charac- to light its hidden treasures. Are the ter. He has not perhaps left his own peasantry--the people of England—so circle, but he has greatly widened it; poor in originality and native power, as to afford no materials for gifted men it be an easy matter to beat all these to mould them into striking personifi- national painters hollow, and leave cations, and to enrich thereby the pos- them at the distance-post, pray do so, sessions of English literature ? Are and allow them all to come hobbling in, there no labourers worthy of hire to col- like so many broken-winded ones, or lect the harvest, or is there no harvest roarers, among shouts of derision from to collect? We wish to have an answer the multitude. to this simple question. Scotland pro- Gentlemen of Cockaigne, we send duces annually crops of printed books, you the compliments of the season. that smack of her fields and her at: You are a puny pen of Bantams, feamosphere--redolent of spring. Our thered down to the toes, and assiduous country is reflected in the mirror of crowers; but little worth, either for imagination, and we are all proud to breeding or for battle. It seems that see Auld Scotia's weather-beaten face you write books. Indeed ! why, that in such shadowy portraiture. We are is very comical. Do send us presentaan arrogant set of people, no doubt, tion copies of your works, and we will even the humblest of us, and many review them. It seems you hate Galt. airs we give ourselves, even down to That is natural enough, for you prethe very finger-nails, not always the tend to admire Allan Cunningham. clearest of horn. But, after all, we The strapping Nithsdale swain must have something to be proud of, going look like an ogre eyeing a covey of on in Auld Reekie, and elsewhere; pigmies—what a flutter of wings when and we will just trouble England to he appears to give them their crowdy! beat us upon our

own ground-and to what a elatter of pecking beaks ! produce a Great Unknown-or even a what a strutting of toes in and toes Small Known-or a Burns-ora Galt- out !—and what a reddening of coxor a Hogg-or an Allan Cunningham. combs! Fowls and feathers !-Fee, Our friends in London may laugh ; fa, fum!--and farewell ! but if, with the exception of the first,


Che Confessions of an English Glutton.

Puisque les choses sont ainsi, je pretend aussi avoir mon franc-parler.


This is confessedly the age of con- Since, then, the whole tribe of which fession,-the era of individuality—the I am an unworthy member, have one triumphant reign of the first person by one poured out their souls into the singular. Writers no longer talk in confiding and capacious bosom of the generals. All their observations are public; since the goodly list of scribbounded in the narrow compass of blers, great and small, from the auself. They think only of number one. thor of Eloise to the inventor of VorEgo sum is on the tip of every tongue tigern-since the Wine-drinker, the and the nib of every pen, but the re- Opium-eater, the Hypochondriac, and mainder of the sentence is unuttered the Hypercritic, have in due succession and unwritten. The rest of his species “ told their fatal stories out," I canis now nothing to any one individual. not, in justice to my own importance, There are no longer any idiosyncrasies or honesty to the world, leave the in the understanding of our essayists, blank unfilled, which stands gaping to for one common characteristic runs receive the Confessions of a Glutton, through the whole range. Egotism has and thus put the last leaf on this branch become as endemical to English li- of periodical personality. . terature as the plague to Egypt, or i have one appalling disadvantage the scurvy to the northern climes. beside my contemporaries, in that Every thing is involved in the simple want of sympathy which I am sure to possessives me and mine and we all experience from readers in general. cry out in common chorus,

• Many a man will be too happy to ac

knowledge himself hypocondriacal-it What shall I do to be for ever known, is the fashion. Others are to be found And make the age to come mine own ? in great abundance who will bravely

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