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The Laird's Song. When I'm late out at night, and my wife lies alone,

I'm sure to prepare for a battle; On the servants she calls, to make her case known,

And against me to rail and to rattle. She may scold, or keep quiet, or do as she will,

I'll never depart till my jacket is fullBut bumper to bumper, I'll keep it up still,

And I'll finish the last o' my bottle.

But bumper to bumper, &c.

She may sit in the sulks, or set creels all the day,

And tell me of prudence and pelf;

If she had but the spirit to moisten her clay,

She wad take to the bottle herself.

She knows not, she sees not, she reads not the eye

That glistens in friendship, or beams in reply:

But drinks for no reason but that she is dry,

To moisten the bore of her throttle.

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And she darena come here for her life. Then pass round the jug, there's no eels in the bowl

That kindles the wit, and enlivens the soul;

And here, paramount, without risk of controul,

I am laird of the beef and the bottle.

And here paramount, &c.

The clamour upon the conclusion of this song was so extravagant and continued, that it was now evident to all but ourselves that we had considerably trespassed the point of hilarity. There was no longer any union or order in our conviviality. Here you might see the Tailor squat upon his hams, rolling about like a ship in a storm, endeavouring to convince the Sutor, by ocular demonstration, that he could thrust his great toe into his own mouth. There you might observe the Poet and the Borderer settling an old dis

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puterespecting their jumping powers, by vaulting over a chair. At one end of the table you might see the Bailie driving about empty bottles, in the character of curling stones, in order to convince some Closeburn infidels of Lochmaben superior play. There again you might observe the laird beating time with the handle of his punch-ladle, for he had broken off the mouth, to the tune of

"I care for nobody, no not I, If nobody cares for me." But alas! as Horace says"Improvisa vis

Rapuit, rapietque gentes ;" and this poor Brandy experienced, to his utter abasement and annoyance, when Mrs MacCandlish entered the room, in person, announcing to the laird the arrival of a servant, with the lady's positive orders for his instant departure home!

66 So comes the reckoning when the banquet's o'er

The awful reckoning, and men smile no more."

Whether it was the anticipation of the reckoning which awaited him at home, where, probably, sat his sulken

dame

"Gathering her brows like gathering

storm

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm ;"

or whether it was regret for leaving so jovial and good-natured a party, I presume not to know; but true it is, and in verity, that the laird went away, looking over his shoulder, like one who would have said

"Will none of you in pity?"

When we finally broke up, or at what hour the moon sunk beneath

the Galloway hills, and the morning muirs of "Casteton," it becomes not star began to peep from behind the you to enquire, nor me to say. One should not tell stories, you know, out of school. So I beg leave, for the present, to conclude, with wishing you and all your readers, as well contributors as others, a good new year, and many a merry Christmas.

A BURGESS OF LOCHMABEN.

Signing the ring finger and thumb Christmas-day,}

of the right hand.

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OLDMIXON ON THE LIBERAL. No. II."

significant hints, that had he been consulted in the distribution of good and evil in this world, things would have gone on a great deal better. Now, this appears somewhat unreasonable on his part. Nature has made him both a peer and a poetwhat would he have more? and if The Liberal, p. 233. the baseness of attempting to assas

"TRUTH, GOOD, were idle names to them, without a meaning. They must have a LIE, a palpable, pernicious LIE, to pamper their crude, unhallowed conceptions with, and to exercise the untameable fierceness of their wills."

MR EDITOR,

THE public having been favoured with a new importation of what is called " Verse and Prose from the South," I naturally concluded, that you would have no objections to learn my opinion of the cargo; the more especially, as these " dull and muddy-mettled" Pisans have taken it into their noddles to indite sundry scurrilities and falsehoods against the children of the "North Countrie," and which cannot, I should imagine, be more appropriately noticed, than in the SCOTS MAGAZINE. Perhaps you will tell me, that the buzzings of such dirt-flies ought to excite no other feelings than those of pity and contempt. Granted. But only suffer me to show the public how much they are to be pitied, and how thoroughly they deserve to be despised.

Of Lord Byron's "Heaven and Earth" I have little to say. It bears to be founded on a passage in Genesis, which his "Satanic Majesty" has either ignorantly, or wilfully misunderstood, and seems to be intended as an imitation of Percy Shelley's "Queen Mab," though far inferior to that ill-starred performance in the higher qualities of poetry. The versification is so hard and constrained, that it is quite unreadable; and though, in a few instances, we may hit upon considerable beauty of thought, and felicity of expression, there is so much confusion and absurdity interwoven with the texture of the thing, that it is fit for no publication with which I am acquainted, except that in which it appears. In a moral point of view, it is certainly less exceptionable and odious than the "Vision of Judgment," and contains fewer examples of licentiousness and profanity-tant mieux; but still his Lordship cannot let Providence altogether escape: he is not at all satisfied with its allotments, and throws out sundry shrewd and

VOL. XII.

sinate the memory of a good and virtuous Prince, is likely to bring him in contact with the laws, it is clear that the fault rests not with Providence, but with Mr Murray and the Constitutional Association. His Lordship is a great poet--we do not deny it; although some honest enough people among us have of late begun to think, that he has already "touched the highest point of all his greatness, and from that full ineridian of his glory, hastes now to setting" but sure I am, he is but a sorry Metaphysician, and that he would act wisely, in letting alone what he does not understand. Alphonso, who knew only the cycles and epicycles of the Ptolemaic system, had the hardihood to assert, that, had he been consulted in the arrangement of the Solar System, he could have given the Creator useful advice; but Kepler, Copernicus, and Newton arose, to proclaim the ignorance and impiety of men, and the perfect wisdom and contrivance of the Universal Mind. Has this lesson been forgotten, or is it despised?

I pass over some miserable nonsense, called the "Giuli Tre," to come at once to my worthy friend Mr Leigh Hunt, and the "Spirit of Monarchy." On glancing over this notable stuff, I felt inclined at first to believe that Leigh had become a wag. The Pisans, said I to myself, are resolved to pay off some of their old scores, and have taken it into their heads to quiz our Adam Smith, and his Theory of Sympathy. How could I think otherwise, when I found this whipster maintaining, that we pay homage to kings, because we wish to be kings ourselves, considering how agreeable it would be to have our hands kissed on levee days, to ride in state coaches, and to have those greasy rogues, the mob, hallooing in our train; that "the slave admires the tyrant, because the last is what the first would be;"

B

66

Poor

a tragedy." If it should be objected to this version, that it fails in doing justice to the original, I must appeal to its truth, in my own vindication, and request those who cavil with the liberty I have used, to cast their eyes on the despicable raving from which it is extracted. Hunt, however, does not see that his view of the matter cuts a little against himself. If mankind are, as he says, so radically and incurably monarchical in their propensities, that they can endure even a monster on the throne, rather than suffer it to be empty,-what is to become of the Liberalism of which he is the advocate and apostle? Men will always act according to the fixed principles of their nature, whether these be "poetical" or not. The tyrant, we are assured, only is, what the slave would be. Give the slave, then, a fair opportunity, and he will become a tyrant--and there's an end on't. We know that, by some wicked wags on this side of the Tweed, Mr Hunt himself has been raised to the regal dignity: does he feel" the principle of monarchy" budding forth within him, and an inclination to "hold such a barren sceptre in his hand?” If so, why lecture us on the “ narchical spirit?" The stone must fall to the ground,-the spark must ignite the gunpowder,-the laws of nature must be obeyed:

and that we make kings of men, and gods of stocks and stones," because inan is a poetical animal,delights in fiction, and is not jealous of the creatures of his own hand." My mistake, however, soon became manifest. I found honest Leigh was in sad, sober, bitter earnest, and full of the flattering notion that he was busy extinguishing, not only "the spirit of monarchy," but "the spirit" of religion also; both, according to him, being equally fictions, and delusions of the imagination. "The madman in Hogarth," says he, "who fancies himself a king, is not a solitary instance of this species of hallucination. Almost every true and loyal subject holds such a barren sceptre in his hand; and the meanest of the rabble, as he runs by the Monarch's side, has wit enough to think- There goes my royal self!' From the most absolute despot to the lowest slave, there is but one step (no, not one) in point of real merit. As far as truth or reason is concerned, they might change situations to morrow-nay, they constantly do so without the smallest loss or benefit to mankind! Tyranny, in a word, is a farce got up for the entertainment of poor human nature; and it might pass very well, if it did not so often turn into a tragedy." This is very splendid and very convincing; but to render it a little more to the point, it might, without any great violence to the original, be rendered after the following fashion: "The blockhead in The Liberal, who fancies himself a wit, is not a solitary instance of this species of hallucination. Almost every true and radical Pisan holds such a barren sceptre in his hand; and the meanest of the rabble, as he passes by the coxcomb's side, has sense enough to think- There goes as great a fool as myself!' From the most absolute cockney down to the lowest radical, there is but one step (no, not one) in point of real merit. As far as truth or reason is concerned, they might change situa. tions to-morrow-nay, they con stantly do so, without the smallest loss or benefit to mankind! Liberalism, in a word, is a farce got up for the entertainment of poor human scoundrels; and it might pass very well, if it did not so often turn into

mo

For who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking of the frosty Caucasus?

Montesquieu has said, that honour is the principle of a monarchy: but Mr Hunt, who knows better, will not believe him, and says, it is "honour dishonourable, sin-bred." This, of course, is unfortunate, considering that, whether we will or no, we are all monarchical in our hearts. But what, according to Mr Hunt, is the principle of a monarchy? Why, seduction! "What female heart can withstand the attractions of a throne ?" he triumphantly asks; and tells some anecdotes in support of this singular discovery. So Kings exist for no other purpose but to seduce our wives and daughters; and "every man within the precincts of a palace is a hypothetical cuckold, or holds his wife's virtue in trust for the Prince!!" Mr Hunt, however,

thinks there are some (not many) exceptions, and gravely tells his readers, that he "entertains no doubt, that ladies of quality have Occasionally resisted the importunities of a throne," and that he had been assured by several, that a King would no more be able to prevail with them than any other man! Immaculate vestals! who could endure such a subject of conversation, and give such an assurance-to such a man! If this be not beastly, or worse, pray tell me what is? And this is the man who abuses the Scots for "filthiness" in conversation! I can easily account for Mr Hunt's hostility to monarchy; there is no "mystery" in that. But he might have abused kingly government on "earth" without insulting the Majesty of "Heaven." He might have safely expounded his Liberalism without attempting to smite or defile Christianity. He might have ridiculed the superstitions of Egypt,of Greece, or of Rome, without sneering at the Bible, and falsifying its statements; of which, however, he is grossly ignorant. For who, that had ever read that antiquated, but still venerable volume, could have, for a moment, confounded, as he has done, (p. 233,) the idolatry of the Golden Calf, with the beautiful, affecting, and typical incident of the Brazen Serpent? This is as contemptible as it is odious,-it is a strange mixture of disingenuousness and ignorance, every way worthy of Mr Hunt and of The Liberal. But this is not a solitary instance. He labours to prove, that superstition begot, and, to a certain degree, merged, in monarchy, in which the worship formerly bestowed upon stocks and stones is, according to him, transferred to the living subject. I dare say he considers this a very bright idea. Be it so: I am unwilling to deny him any thing I can decently and properly concede. But it is, nevertheless, very puerile, and very silly. No people have ever yet been discovered without some religious belief, or superstition, if you will; and among every tribe, however savage, upon the face of the globe, we recognize the existence of monarchy in some shape or other. These principles are co-existent-we cannot

trace the origin of either. It is, therefore, as unphilosophical to say, that superstition gave rise to monarchy, as that monarchy gave rise to superstition. Both spring from the action of the simple principles of human nature, but are no more the causes of each other's existence, than the sense of touch is the cause of the sensation of colour; though both may be, and in fact always are, coexistent. The most obvious truths recorded by history, nay, even observed in our own experience, refute this pitiful nonsense. The Greeks and Romans were republicans-so are the Americans: the two former nations were superstitious: the latter has hardly any religion at all. Let Mr Hunt turn up Sismondi's History of the Italian Republics, and he will find later examples, at his very door, to show, that religion, or superstition, has no more necessary connection with the monarchical than with the republican principle. The Roman Catholic religion is essentially hostile to liberty yet it has been the religion of free states: perhaps we shall live to see it so again.

The soi-disant satirical poem called "The Dogs," dedicated to "The Abusers of the Liberal," is of home manufacture; and to say that it is literally doggrel is not to say enough: it is a libel on the greatest warrior of the age; and the author no doubt intended to kill many "dogs" with one bone. If this be a fair specimen of Liberal satire and retaliation, the Pisans had as well be quiet. They are a set of poor toothless puppies. They snarl a little, and mumble, and slaver, as if bit by a mad "dog;” but their tongues have so swollen in their mouths with the venom, that they cannot bite for the souls of them: (I beg their pardon, I forgot they have no souls.) It is not with the poem, however, but with one or two of the notes, taken in conjunction with a paper 66 on the Scotch Character," that I at present concern myself. On the line in "The Dogs"

All Scotland takes "like hairpies coming o'or oz,"

we have the following note-mark it, reader! "That is to say, in English, like harpies coming o'er us. I should not have made this apparently invidious translation, (cs

result of their observation was not entirely favourable to the voyagers. Be that as it may, however," We had scarcely got rid of our ugly men, when we were assailed with a much worse sight, a gang of ugly boys. They were a set of young knaves, poking about for what they could lay their hands on ; and came loitering and hanging about the vessel, under pretence of asking charity. Their fathers and mothers, or their fathers and mothers, or manners and customs ad infinitum, had much to answer for in contriving such a set of juvenile vagabonds!" "Fathers and mothers, and their fathers and mothers, and manners and customs ad infinitum CONTRIVING a set of ugly and juvenile vagabonds!" Good again, Mr Hunt. No slip-slop here, I assure you.

pecially as I am fond of the Scottish dialect in its proper place,) if the Scotch, of late, had not taken it into their heads to give their Southern neighbours lessons in writing." It is really amusing to observe the self-satisfied assurance of these ricketty cocknies. Do the poor things really imagine that the monstrous jargon, "like hairpies coming o'or oz, is Scotch? It may, for ought I know, be Welch, or Hebrew, or Amharic, but sure I am it is not Scotch. Next, as to giving these indignant oracles "lessons in writing," we admit it betrays great presumption on our part; but is not a whit the less necessary on that account. Let me see" LETTERS FROM ABROAD-Letter II.; Genoa." The fourth sentence is as follows:"The base (of a glorious amphitheatre of white houses') is composed of the city with its churches and shipping; the OTHER houses are country-seats, looking out, one above the other, up the hill. To the left are the Alps, with their snowy tops: to the right, and for the back, are the Appenines. THIS IS GENOA!!!" Again :-"The lucid Mediterranean sea WASHED against our vessel, like amber." Again :-" After travelling the great world of waters wide and deep,' it was every way a pleasant thing to feel one's self embraced in the Genoese harbour, which is one of the most encircling there are. We were full, at that time, of happy thoughts of a dear friend; and we felt as if the country he was in embraced us for him." Again :-" The quay is a handsome one, profuse of good pavement, gate, &c." "Profuse of GATE!" Good! Yet again:Mr Hunt gets fairly ashore, and instead of "fine Southern heads," sces only a pack of ugly devils, with vice, misery, and crime painted in their faces: he is surprised, and so is his wife: "The children looked at me: After much nonsense about "bowe all looked at one another and, dies-corporate," "double existences," what was very inhospitable, the pi- "the Arctic circle," "Hampstead," lots all looked at us.' What opinion "Highgate," and "the Calton Hill,” "the pilots" formed of the importa- the first tangible assertion is this: tion we have not learned: it is clear- "Some one the other day, at a literly made out, however, that the poor ary dinner in Scotland, apologized for fellows "looked," and it is to be alluding to the name of Shakespeare presumed they saw something or so often, because he was not a Scotchother; and, from their "inhospitable" man. Without the least hesitation grin, it is to be inferred, that the I pronounce this statement a false

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I entreat you, Mr Editor, to observe, and if you please, you may entreat your readers to observe also, that I take these things quite at random: hundreds more may be had for the seeking; but I have neither time nor inclination for the task. Now, is it not the very quintessence of impudence in the Scotch, to "take it into their heads to give their Southern neighbours lessons in writing!" considering that such rare ornaments, and graces of speech, float in rich abundance on the surface of every page of their immortal scribblings? Proh pudor! I am truly ashamed of my countrymen. How can they be so ignorant of the genuine Anglicism? But they are doomed to suffer for it. These Pisanized Cockney "fellors" have no mercy on them. Let me then come to the main point; although the topics that solicit my attention are so multitudinous, that for the soul of me, (I have a soul-at least I believe so, which comes nearly to the same thing,) I know not where to begin: but I shall try.

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