of a dying man. He knew well that these unearthly moanings proceeded from him "who went about seeking whom he might devour;" but recollecting the text, "Resist the Devil and he will fly from you," he proceeded boldly forward, with his staff in one hand and his Bible in the other, strengthening himself in the power of his Maker. The appearance of a fearful black dog immediately was seen in the thicket before him, which it was impossible for him to pass. He stood still and beheld it transformed into a black calf, at last into the appearance of a sheeted spectre long and white. It would neither allow him to go forward nor backward,-it glid ed round about him as if determined to keep him in this dismal situation all night. He at length began to sing the following lines from the 34th Psalm:

The angel of the Lord encamps,

And round encompasseth, All those about that do him fear, *And them delivereth.

He had no sooner done this, than the spectre vanished in a flash of fire, and left auld Gairland to find his way home, returning thanks to Heaven for his preservation and deliverance.

In this same glen, and about the very same place where auld Gairland was so sorely beset, a man was once lost. It was generally believed that the devil carried him away, both soul and body. The following is the story that is preserved among the country people concerning him. He, along with two companions, went from Carcoside to Auld Carco, two farm-houses on the opposite sides of the Cleugh, to spend the winter evening, or, in the common phrase, to gie his neebors a night's raikin'. It was a hard frost, and the moon was shining clearly, as they returned home through the glen about eleven o'clock at night. He had had occasion to loiter behind his companions, about the hollow of the burn. They past on, climbing the brae on the other side, and busy with their own chit chat, they did not for some time miss their companion. At last turning round, they began to wonder why he tarried behind, or what he could be doing. After waiting anxiously for a considerable time, expecting he would make his appearance, they began to be alarmed, espe

cially as the place had a bad name, and as a thousand tales of terror rushed into their recollections concerning it. They agreed, however, to return, and try, if possible, to find him. They had no sooner turned to accomplish their laudable design, than they heard a most fearful scream® by the side of the black pool above mentioned. And through the gleam of the yellow moonlight they could perceive the severed and mangled limbs of a human carcase glide away across the dark wood, accompanied with the most hideous yellings. They followed it with their eyes till the whole vanished, amidst a gleam of blue lightning, beside the rushing of a sheet of water falling over the haunted linn. The steadiest search was made next day for the body, but it was all in vain. Nothing was to be seen except some stains of blood on a clear blue whinstane beside the dark pool. And these, it is said, are shewn in the bottom of Carcoside Cleugh by the shepherds, and cow-herd boys, when the sun is shining, till this day. No person in their sound judgment, except such as auld Gairland, dare ever approach this unhallowed linn by moonlight.

These, Mr Editor, are a few of my anecdotes of the devil. I have got a great many more, but as I am afraid that they may be somewhat like Hogg's Tales, rather coarse food for the sickly and tender stomachs of some of your readers who are of a delicate constitution, I would be loath to cram too many of my sulphury ingredients down their throats at the very first. I mean rather to proceed gradually in the serving up of my moorland dishes; and it is probable, that if they will have but a little pa tience, I may turn not only more expert in the art of cookery, but I may also endeavour to regale them with food of a more delicate nature. If I could only get free of the blue devils with which I am haunted night and day, and out of this confinement in the town, to inhale the fresh breeze of the mountains, to drink the delicious fragrance of the yellow corn fields of my native Nithsdale, to listen to the bleating of its flocks, and the melody of its waters gliding mournfully among the yellow woods and dyeing heather blooms of Yaughan, or Crawick, or Spango, instead of

writing or thinking of the devil, I would endeavour to fall in love with some one or other of the dark-eyed daughters of the moorlands as fast as possible, and feast my readers on love poetry, as warm and innocent as her heart, and as soft as her ringlets. I am afraid nobody will take any pleasure in reading such verses as the following:

DESPAIR.

THE sun of the morning
Arises in brightness,
But shineth not now,

On my bosom all lightness.

To a heart that is sick,
With vexation and care,
Its rays only darken
The gloom of despair.

When despair's bitter draught
Puts youth's heart in a ferment,
>The prospect of day
Only deepens its torment.

Though at evening the cup
May subside into sadness,
The dreams of the night
Mingle musings of madness.

How oft from the pillow,
Where slumbers deep sorrow,
The soul in distraction
Awakes on the morrow,

With the torrent's dark dash,
Hanging o'er the deep wave;
And the pistol's red flash,
And the suicide's grave!

REMARKS ON DARLING'S ELOCU
*

TIONARY EXERCISES

THERE is room for constant improvement in the selections made for young readers, in an age, especially, like the present, in which there is so much good writing, both in prose and verse. We like to see the names of Byron, Scott, and Campbell, placed on the same file with the older poets who formerly occupied all the columns of our school and Alison are fully as well adapted books, and quotations from Burke to form the youthful mind to a relish of virtue and eloquence, as any from Bolingbroke or Addison. It is upon this principle Mr Darling has proceeded in this useful little book, which he has published for the benefit of schools; and independent of that end,

Edinburgh, 1819. Sold by Waugh

and Innes.

we can recommend it to our readers as containing, in a short space, many beauties from modern writers which they will not elsewhere find brought together, and to which it is always ágreeable to be able to refer. The finer passages of the old writers, at the same time, are not neglected, and we can thus compare, within a very few pages, the styles of Milton and Byron, of Pope and Campbell. There is one singular page, indeed, in which the nuance between these two last named poets, is oddly enough shaded off by a short quotation, thrust between, from a poet of the name of Darling, who writes something on the battle of Waterloo, beginning, "To no whiffling reed Albyn's sons ever listen," &c. This, however, is almost the sole instance of bad taste in the volume. There is a mistake in another place, in which a quotation from the play of Coriolanus, as it is acted, is all given to Shakespeare. The passage is a compound of Thomson, Shakespeare, and we suppose, John Kemble. There are passages from authors, too, very little read, but which we are glad to see preserved. We are happy

to find the whole of the fine ode alluded to in a former part of this number," On an Indian Gold Coin," by Dr Leyden, and we shall quote a passage from Macdonald's tragedy of Vimonda, now almost forgotten. There are likewise a good many selections. from the dramas of Tobin. We wish

there had been some from a much nobler dramatic writer, Joanna Baillie. Here follows the passage from Macdonald, in which there are certainly some very poetical lines.

Vimonda and Alfreda
Vim. Have you instructed Seyton as I

order'd ?

Alf. I have that if this thing appear to night,

He strike the castle bell,-vain charge, I hope,

Good night, my noble mistress. (Going.)
Vim. Guilt I know not,
And yet I tremble. Sleep with me, Al-

freda.

1

1

MR EDITOR,

I WAS glad to see, in a former Number of your Magazine, a defence of the late Professor Brown from the

charge of plagiarism. It is impossible for those who were honoured by the friendship of that eminent and accomplished person to be indifferent to his posthumous reputation; and they look forward with peculiar interest to the publication of his Lectures, which have been promised early in the ensuing winter. It is much to be wished that a memoir of his life may be prefixed to this work, such an one as would be characteristic and discriminating, and which none but his early and intimate friends could properly furnish. Dr Brown's character was one of extreme, I might almost say, of fastidious refinement, The habits of speculative philosophy, and abstract

thought, had not destroyed the viva city of his imagination, or chilled the warmth of his heart. He was by nature an enthusiast, and the prominent features of his mind in early youth were sensibility and ardour. At school he was distinguished by extreme gaiety and sweetness of disposition, and his contemporaries remember how much he delighted in, and -excelled in the recitation of dramatic poetry. Soon after he engaged in philosophical studies, he distinguished himself for acuteness of reasoning, -and his answer to Darwin's Zoonomia demonstrated the discriminating powers of his mind. It is not for the writer of this letter to presume to analyze the subtlety and profound originality of his metaphysical inquiries. Among those who attended his lectures, some complained of a certain vagueness and refinement that bordered on obscurity; but when he entered on the moral part of his course, he excited the highest degree of enthusiasm for all that was elevat ed and noble in human nature. It was then he gave full scope to the lofty conceptions of his mind, and displayed an energy and devotion in the cause of moral truth that could not be surpassed, and can never be forgotten.

Dr Brown's manners might be considered somewhat artificial, and yet no man had more simplicity and singleness of heart, if that term belongs to one uninfluenced in his opinions, tastes, inclinations, and habits, by the caprices of fashion, or the calculations of a worldly mind. He never sought the society of the fashionable, the rich, or the highborn, on account of any of these adventitious circumstances. He carried the independent purity of his political principles into the morals of private life. His habits were abstemious, simple, and self-denied. His liberality to those who needed his pecuniary assistance was as frank as it was unostentatious. But his benevolence was not of a kind to content itself with the cheap indulgence of alms-giving. Long after he had given up medical practice, he gave his time and attention to the sick friends who required his advice, and what Burke said of Howard in a sense restricted to the particular objects of his attention, might be said of Dr Brown uni

VOL. VII.

versally" He attended to the neglected, and remembered the forgotten." There are many persons wholly unknown to the circles of fashionable life, who received constant proofs of his cheering and kind attention. One instance of this is so characteris→ tic of his turn of mind, that I cannot omit mentioning it. Two Ayrshire peasants, who had made considerable progress in languages, as well as in botanical and mathematical science, were recommended to his notice. After presenting them with gratis tickets to his lectures, he invited them to breakfast; the conversation turned on botanical drawing. One of them proposed to show the Doctor some specimens of his performance in that art. "I was pleased (said he, on relating this circumstance) to see the progress I had made in the confidence of these young men during the hour of breakfast. They first came to my low door, but when they returned with the drawings, they rang at the front door. I had inspired them with the feeling of equality."

The political principles of this excellent man were those of genuine Whiggism, untainted with the asperity of party prejudice. His reprobation of tyranny and oppression, wherever it was exercised, will be remembered by those who have heard him express his satisfaction at the overthrow of Napoleon Bonaparte, whose despotism he execrated. He took a deep interest in the political events of his own country. The five restrictive bills, passed during the winter session of 1819, excited his warmest indignation; and in a meeting held by the Senatus Academicus, on the occasion of condoling with and congratulating his present Majesty, he expressed his opinion of those measures very strongly.

The most minute circumstances favourable to civil and religious liberty interested him to the last, and as an affecting instance of the sincerity of his feelings on subjects connected with the freedom of his country, I may mention, that, during his last illness, he daily inquired into the state of the Middlesex poll, (an event deeply interesting on a moral as well as political principle, as being the grateful effort of a generous people to reward the Son for the virtues of the Father ;) and when he was told, two days before he died, that it had closed in

X X

favour of young Whitbread, though unable to speak, his countenance and manner expressed the liveliest satis

faction.

He had returned in the autumn 1819 to Edinburgh, in remarkably good health, and engaged with much ardour in the composition of his class-book. He had even sketched out great literary designs for his future execution, but that fatal disorder, which terminated in pulmonary consumption, seized him during the Christmas recess. He only lectured twice after the vacation. During the last lecture he delivered, he was greatly affected when he read some lines on the return of Spring from Beattie's Hermit. He wished to persevere in his course. But his affectionate friend and physician, Dr Gregory, forbade it, and strongly recommended him to try the effects of a warmer climate. His reply was," No, I must die at home -you have no idea how miserably I am afflicted with the maladie du pays. His decline was rapid and alarming. As long as he had strength to hold a pen, he continued to give unremitting labour to the writing of his class-book. In February 1820, he received a short visit from his revered friend Mr Dugald Stewart, though at that time he scarcely admitted any one but his médical friend and the members of his own family. On taking leave of Mr Stewart, he said gaily, but emphatically, I hope Moral Philosophy will live long in you."

If you think these traits of one who was, at once, the ornament of science and the friend of humanity, are worth preserving, you will oblige, Mr Editor, your obedient servant, X. Y.

elegant manner of his German imitator. To each epistle Wieland prefixes an introduction, or key to the piece. These introductions I likewise translated into our language, but, as far as I recollect, I used a little liberty, sometimes adding and sometimes retrenching, as I thought I saw occasion. I had not looked at these papers of mine for many years, till, a few days ago, I read over the translation of the last epistle, or what is usually called the Ars Poetica. I also read over the key to it, which I now send you, in the belief that the views it presents will be new to most of your readers.-Your's, &c. M. R.

THE fate of this epistle is so singular, that it is doubtful whether any thing more strange is to be met with in the whole history of letters. If, instead of the usual title, De Arte Poetica Liber, it had never had any other but that which is here given it, and which is justified by the unanimous voices of the best commentators, the only reason why it has so long been viewed in a false light would have been removed. The old expositors would not have made it a complete treatise on the poetic art, nor Batteux a theory of dramatic writing, nor would Hurd have thought the author had principally in view a criticism on the Roman drama. A multitude of difficulties, and as many solutions, ingenious indeed, but no way regarding this production, would have been found, the former not existing, and, of course, the latter unnecessary. In short, but for this unfortunate title, and the false opinions to which it gave rise, the learned would neither have taken the trouble of forcing into this piece so many things of which Horace never dreamed, nor would they, perhaps, have been so long in finding the only point of view from which it ought to be seen. To one who is as intimately acquainted with this epistle as the translator, who may well be supposed to have carefully weighed every word of it, it is not a little astonishing to hear men of acknowledged learning and ingenuity assert, that the greatest part of this piece refers to the theatre. Whoever strictly and accurately examines the matter will find, that only one-half regards dramatic performances principally, and not more than one-fourth exclusively. The negligence of our