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all professions, and of high accomplishments, thought it no shame to own that they had derived much amusement, and even information-information, too, of the most useful kind, resulting from a skilful and graphic delineation of character-from the works of the Great Romancer, and of some of his more successful imitators. We do not say that the vein which he discovered has yet been exhausted. Indeed, Sir Walter Scott possesses an advantage as a novelist in one sense independent of his general excellence as a writer of great and fascinating talent; and this advantage consists in his system being founded, not on the passing follies of the day,-not on the groundwork of romance,-of an ideal or of a factitious state of society-but in nature, common to all, and easily appreciated by all. It is for this reason that novels of the Sir Walter Scott school will never fail to obtain a popularity equal to their merit, in spite of the fluctuations of public taste with regard to other schools of less solid pretensions.

"I said the flower would bloom no more,
That wither'd yesterday;
That morning dews would ne'er restore
My lovely rose of May.
The future was too cold a thing
In my sweet dream to be:
The present rose, the present spring,
Are all of life to me.

"I do remember well my grief,
When died my flower-and then
My joy, when time brought, leaf by leaf,
As sweet a flower again.

And then I said, Farewell, despair,
Thou art no guest for me;
Whate'er I lose of bright or fair,
I hope again to see.'

"Alas! I've often wept since then,

And death has robb'd my bowers;
But even amidst the griefs of men,
I've comfort found in flowers.
For, if the bloom of love be brief,
And if Fame's crown be riven,
I would not mourn life's fading leaf,

But look for spring in heaven."

In conclusion, we do Mr Carne only justice when we say, that in the volumes before us he has given proofs of a powerful imagination—an intimate acquaintance with the scenes which he describes, and with the manners of the period to which his story refers; and also of that rare art of interesting us in his dramatis persona, which more than any thing else qualifies a novel writer for obtaining the honours of his class.

A Grammar of the German Language. By C. F. Becker, M. D. London. John Murray. 1830. 8vo. Pp. 270.

Ir would require a long lecture to explain the principles, and do justice to the merits, of this Grammar, and probably our readers would give us little thanks for our pains. A general notion on these subjects may, however, be obtained by a perusal of the following extract from the author's preface:

The "Exiles of Palestine" is a tale of chivalry, founded upon one of the most romantic incidents in all history. When the empire of the Crusades was completely broken down, and the capture of Ptolemais or Acre had left the Christians no stronghold in the East, a small band of knights took possession of a petty fortress, the castle of Pelegrino, which they defended for some time with the most determined bravery, and with singular success, against the whole power of the Saracens. The achievements, the loves, and the sufferings, of this little band, our author describes with much warmth of feeling and eloquence of language. His story is somewhat meagre. A Christian lady, the orphan sister of Sir Philip Audeley, a Knight Hospitaller, accompanies him to Palestine, and refuses to leave him, when he assumes the command of the forlorn fortress of Sebaste. The lord of St Floure, also a knight of St John, entertains a secret affection for this Lady Isobel-she loves him-but the vow of his order places an impassable barrier between them. The Sultan likewise, Melec Seraph, who had caught a glimpse of the lady at the storming of Acre, falls deeply in love with her, and at length goes to assist in person at the siege of Sebastè, where Isobel was shut up with her brother and his little hand of devoted warriors. She afterwards falls into the hands of Seraph, who, however, treats her honourably, and offers her his crown, which she rejects. Meanwhile, the lord of St Floure, who had been severely wounded and taken prisoner by Melec Seraph, is saved from death by the devoted attachment of a Saracen girl of rank, Ithale, whose affection he is induced to return after a false report had reached him that Isobel was about to become the bride of the Sultan. Sir Philip Audeley is at last killed, just as he has succeeded in rescuing his sister from the hands of Melec Seraph. Isobel returns to Cyprus, and dies. St Floure, in consideration of his services to the cause of the cross in Palestine, is relieved by the Pope, and the Grand Master of his order, from his vow of celibacy, and marries Ithalè, who turns Christian. The other characters are hurried off the stage in different ways, with as little ceremony as is usual among romance writers, and then we come to these two interest-mar have been very successfully elucidated by other philoing little words, "the end."

We are aware that this slight sketch of its somewhat meagre story will convey to the reader a very inadequate idea of the "Exiles of Palestine." The great merit of the tale consists in the author's powerful delineation of characters, and his beautiful description of scenes over which he himself has wandered, with all the enthusiasm which they are so well calculated to excite in the breast of the poet and the Christian. These descriptions are to us the most interesting part of the book, and they give it a value which belongs to few of the modern works, whether of romance or history, whose scene is in the Holy Land. Some very pretty pieces of poetry are interspersed throughout the work. We can only afford room for the following sweet lines:

"The German grammars which have been hitherto published for the use of Englishmen, adhere to a method derived from the German grammarians of the last century, who endeavoured to arrange their observations according to the antiquated forms of the Latin grammar of that period. That method has long been found quite improper in Gerciples of the structure of the language remained unknown ; man grammar; for, whilst it was followed, the true prinrules which are extremely simple were rendered very complicated; and, above all, the study of the language was made notoriously difficult to foreigners.

"In the meantime, some German grammarians, among whom the greatest merit is unquestionably due to Dr J. Grimm, have opened a new road to the study of the Gerancient Teutonic tongue, and by their comparison of the man language, by their historical investigations into the different languages and dialects derived from that common source. At the same time, the principles of general gram

sophical enquirers, among whom Baron W. von Humboldt occupies the most prominent station. The author of this work has for some time been engaged in similar researches. He first endeavoured to point out the laws of the formation lished a treatise on the philosophy of language; and the of words in the German language; subsequently he pubviews he laid down in these writings having obtained the approbation of his countrymen, he has recently published a grammar of the German language for the use of Germans. Upon that work the present German grammar has been modelled, with such additions, omissions, and modifications, as were thought expedient in accommodating its contents to English readers.

"In teaching German to foreigners, the author is in the habit of first placing in their hands the grammatical tables which form the appendix to this work. With the assistance of these tables and of a dictionary, they immediately (i, e.

without any previous exercise of memory in learning de- uncompromising in his demands, but, upon rare and clensions, conjugations, or other rules) begin to translate extraordinary occasions, is willing to allow a moderate from English into German. He is of opinion that foreign-indulgence, while, at the same time, he prohibits every ers will acquire a knowledge of the German language in the most expeditious, and at the same time the most correct manner, by making such translations, with a constant reference to the tables, and to the paragraphs in the grammar | in which the contents of the tables are explained.

"Those who are acquainted with the subject of this work, will at first discover in what respects it differs from other books bearing a similar title. They will find that it adopts the formation of words as the foundation of German grammar; that in enlarging upon the laws of the formation of words, it shows their intimate connexion with the laws of inflection, that it deduces from the same source the gender of substantives, the explanation of which has hitherto baffled all attempts at artificial rules, and the declension of substantives and adjectives, for which each grammar has proposed a peculiar system, but which is now reduced to its natural simplicity; and that it does away with the long list of irregular verbs, which have always been so heavy a burden to the memory of students, but which are now almost all classed in a few regular conjugations. The introduction of the author's views on general grammar has led to the important distinction between national and relational words; in consequence of which the rules relative to pronouns and auxiliary words have been made to appear in a new light; also, to a new classification of cases, of the relations expressed by them, and of the prepositions which are employed instead of them. The laws of German syntax have been simplified, by being reduced under the heads of three combinations. Much attention is paid to the subject of compound sentences; and the construction of sentences, which always appeared extremely difficult to foreigners, is explained in a few rules, so as scarcely to leave any room for committing errors.

"The author is fully aware, that in introducing to the English reader a grammatical terminology in a great measure new, and in devoting more attention than is usually done to the theoretical part of the grammar, he incurs the risk of discouraging many of those who wish to acquire only a practical knowledge of the language; but he can positively affirm that the first apparent difficulties being overcome, the rules of German grammar will be found reduced to extreme simplicity and comprehensiveness; and he may be allowed to state, that ten years' constant experience in teaching the principles of the German language to Englishmen, appears to him fully to show the practical advantages

of the method which he recommends."

To this modest and manly statement, we have only to add, that we know from experience that Dr Becker is

approach to excess. He enforces the observance of temperance, by showing that the desire for intoxicating liquors is not a natural, but an acquired propensity, and that, in proportion as it is indulged, so are the vigour and health of both body and mind impaired. His own reasoning on the subject he confirms by narrating the circumstances of a "few cases of extreme malignity," induced by intemperance; enough, we should conceive, to make the tippler pause, and endeavour to extricate himself from so destructive a vortex. Of the enormous evils, physical, moral, and political, produced by drunkenness, no one can have any doubt; the only difference in opinion is as to the mode of cure. We consider the régime prescribed by " a Physician" in the "Brief Facts," as very likely to produce good effects. But although we thus think favourably of his plan, we must be allowed to tender to the author a word of admonition upon the score of carelessness. His little work contains several great violations of grammatical rule; and should it again be put to press, we expect to see it freed from the marks of haste and inaccuracy which at present deform it.

Illustrations of Surgical Anatomy, with Explanatory Refrences, founded on the Work of M. Blandin. By John G. M. Burt, Surgeon to the City Dispensary, Extraordinary Member of the Royal Medical Society, &c. Engraved under the direction of the Editor, by Messrs James and John Johnstone. Edinburgh, Maclachlan and Stewart. 1831. Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4.

useful and complete.

MR BURT, in introducing to our notice these Illustrations, very justly remarks, that "among the many use. ful and valuable works that have appeared in this country, illustrative of various branches of medical science, it appears rather extraordinary that one on surgical anatomy should still be a desideratum! It is to supply this obvious deficiency that Mr Burt has commenced the publication of these Illustrations. They are founded chiefly on the celebrated and highly-esteemed work of M. Blandin; but the arrangement of that distinguished French author has been extended and improved by the fally borne out by facts in all he has said. His is the addition of several plates that are wanting in the origionly grammar of any modern language, at once philoso-nal, and which will render the present illustrations more We have several numbers of Mr phical and practical, that has yet been published. Iis Burt's work before us, and may remark, that among system of teaching is calculated to advance the pupil rapidly, and to ground him firmly in the knowledge of the other illustrations, those representing the superficial and German language. If once firmly grounded in that deep-seated anatomy of the neck, and the front and side tongue upon our author's system, though years should views of the axilla, are executed with great spirit and fideelapse without an opportunity of exercising our know. lity. On comparing them with the original, we have ledge of it, the command of it will, nevertheless, bc no hesitation in saying, that accommodated as the referretained fresh as ever. ences of these engravings are to the most recent nomenclature of our medical schools, they will be found far more useful and acceptable to the British student. illustrations are engraved by Messrs James and John Johnstone, whose talents are already favourably known to the public; and certainly much credit is due to Mr Burt for superintending the publication of a work which has been much wanted, and which promises to be a valuable addition to the libraries of the medical profes

Brief Facts as to the Effects of Intemperance on the Physical and Intellectual Powers of Man: Illustrated by a few Cases of Extreme Malignity. By a Physician. J. Dewar, Perth. 1831.

TEMPERANCE SOCIETIES of Transatlantic origin-have of late years been planted amongst us; but, like some species of timber, which vegetates and flourishes best in its native district, although they have gained much

ground in the country where they are indigenous, they

have taken but slender root on this side of the Atlantic.

We had no very sanguine hopes of their success from the first, because we looked upon them as calling on us to exercise an unnecessary degree of self-restraint. The fundamental principle upon which these Temperance Societies are established, is that which binds their members to entire abstinence from intoxicating liquors. The author of the little work now before us is not quite so

sion.

The

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Let us lay aside all metaphor. The LITERARY JOURNAL, established, as it now is, in public favour, and a welcome visitant in every town and village of the land, is about to pass under new management, in consequence of our approaching departure from Edinburgh. We are persuaded that the change will be for the better. We feel confident that additional vigour and spirit will be infused into the JOURNAL in consequence. It is almost needless to request that they who have heretofore held it in esteem, will continue to stand by it until they see its energies decaying, its enthusiasm diminished, its impartiality im

he has given to the six drawings, now before us, shows his fondness for mysticism, and that his mind, vigorous as it unquestionably is, has not yet discovered the fact, that the highest degree of power and sublimity is always found in conjunction with the most perfect simplicity. As far as we can judge, the object which he has in view is, to illustrate, by means of some pictorial representations, the perpetual struggling of man's spirit, to pierce through the mists of materiality, and to grasp at something beyond, something of the mighty and unknown hereafter. The idea is a daring one, and has, in at least two instances, been executed in a very bold and impressive manner. The monogram, repre-paired, its spirit of buoyancy depressed. Under the arrangesenting the young man, in the pride of his physical and intellectual strength, intensely gazing on the skull, held in the hand of the old wizard, as if by that gaze he could tear out the heart of its mystery; and the monogram illustrative of death, (if we may use the expression,) which contains a group of eight figures, are both such as no young artist, of merely ordinary abilities, could produce. We confess that most of the other monograms are to us barely intelligible; but these two are sufficient, in connexion with the paintings which Mr Scott has already exhibited in our Edinburgh exhibitions, to convince us that he has that in him which, if turned to a proper use, will yet lead to great things.

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"Stulta, jocosa, canenda, dolentia, seria, sacra,
En posita ante oculos, Lector amice, tuos:
Quisquis es, hic aliquid quod delectabit habebis;
Tristior an levior, selige quicquid amas."

THE readers of the EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL will, perhaps, be somewhat startled with the announcement, that this is the last Number in which the present EDITOR will appear before them.

"The last, the last, the last!
O! by that little word

How many thoughts are stirr'd,
Companions of the past!"

We wish not to take any formal farewell,-wers we to do so, we should do ourselves injustice; for we can never take farewell, in the common meaning of the word, of those to whom we have poured forth so many of the thoughts of our heart, and from whom we have believed that we have met with the sympathy of trusty readers and friends,-first and early friends,-who saw us launch our bark into the wide ocean of popular opinion, and who have remained true to our fortunes from the moment we weighed anchor till now, that, having come into a tranquil current and a steady breeze, in the blue ocean through which we steered, we resign the pilotage of our fair and stately ship to hands whose tried services and zeal prove them worthy of the situation they are about to assume.

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ments now entered into, no such result can take place. The voice of Old Cerberus may be dumb, and the EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS may depart, but new and original characters will start out on its pages, powerful and ready-armed, like Minerva from the head of Jove. To no ignoble hands do we commit the weekly periodical literature of Scotland. We respect the fabric which we ourselves have raised, and would not see it feebly governed. In one point of view, indeed, there will be little alteration; for the EDITOR to whom we demit our sceptre is one whom our readers have long known, and to whom they have been indebted for many articles either of pathos or of merriment, of fancy or of power, which have from time to time lent an interest to our pages. We leave them, therefore, in sure hands; and were we to come again after many days, we know we should find them not only as we left them, but, in all probability, advanced into higher paths of literature and intellect.

Yet, let it not be supposed that the "pilot who weathered the storm" quits the trusty bark without regret. No publication of a similar kind ever before succeeded in this country-ever reached that station which rendered it independent of the exertions of any single individual, and linked it indissolubly with the higher periodicals of the land. We mention this not by way of boast, but merely as affording us an opportunity of expressing our gratitude to the numerous contributors who have stood forward to support us, and to whose exertions we mainly owe our success. They form a band of no unknown or inferior writers; but, on the contrary, they constitute such a phalanx as it is not common to see united, as they have been, and will be, in our pages. With such down. It carries passengers on board, no vessel can go Caesar and his fortune. For ourselves, whatever our future fortune may be, we shall never cease to feel interested in the fate of this, one of our earliest brigantines, which we have steered through many seas, in which we have encountered many breezes blowing from all points of the compass, and with which we have touched at many a fair island, where we rejoiced in the wonders and the beauties of both animate and inanimate creation, where

"The citron and olive were fairest of fruit,

And the voice of the nightingale never was mute." These days are past. But the LITERARY JOURNAL is like the machine invented by the German philosopher whilst labouring after the discovery of the perpetual motion, a machine which all at once, as if instinct with a separate life, started out of his hauds, and rushed away from him, leaving him alike ignorant of its capabilities and propensities. So goeth the LITERARY JOURNAL from us, and so go we from it. Separate paths are before us; but the world is wide, and there is room enough for both. The JOURNAL will shine on brightly as before; whilst, for a time, our name shall pass from the lips of men, and whether we go to Nova Zembla or the Cape of Good Hope, whether we are about to proceed on a missionary expedition to Otaheite, or think of emigrating to Van Diemen's Land, it will interest them little to know. Yet we may raise our battle cry of ecce iterum Crispinus! at a moment when they least expect it; and even in the midst of our absence, the pleasant voice of one solitary

SLIPPER may perchance be heard in the silence of the night, murmuring a few of our old and well-beloved melodies.

66

Many are the sweet lays," says a correspondent, "that the never-to-be-forgotten SLIPPERS have poured upon this earth." If it be so, and we think the remark a true one, not unto us, but to old Scotland, be the praise. There is many a poet, according to Lord Byron, who never penned his inspiration, perhaps the best; and there are many more, in this mountain-girded and valley-intersected land of ours, who will float down the stream of time with no halo round their names, but who, nevertheless, in hours snatched at random from the routine of ordinary existence, have weaved into verse, pensive and gentle fancies, which, though appearing anonymously in publications of higher or lesser note, have done all and more than their authors anticipated they would do,--have thrillingly touched a slumbering chord in some kindred bosom, and have awakened the truly feeling heart into a keener sense of its own existence, and a more delicate perception of its connexion with the existence of others. In this there is no fame, but there is something better. Such poets have poured out thoughts, the utterance of which was to themselves a pleasure, and which were likewise calculated to give pleasure to others who participated in them. And though their epitaph might well be,

"There is no memory of their fate,
No record of their name,-
A few wild songs are left behind,
But what are they to fame!"

nevertheless they had their reward.

The SLIPPERS, however, have gone farther, be it spoken non sine numine, and have been the means of arousing into energy the dormant spirits of many who now have something of a name, and who are destined in all probability to soar still higher. Among the rising poets of Scotland, known originally through the medium of this Journal, we may safely particularize, as each possessing genius of his own proper kind, Stoddart, Macdonald, Maclaggan, W. Wilson, Sillery, Mac Askill, Ord, E. O. B., and if necessary, we could add many others. Our more established and older poets it is unnecessary to mention, the more especially as we have a bright galaxy of them. But our poetess-our GERTRUDE-we must not pass over in silence, for she is not destined to be soon forgotten, and in the bright days of life which are all before her, many a pure and lofty lay will yet link itself with her name.

And once more--yet once more-we gather our friends around us, and, as if we had sent the fiery cross abroad, they come to us from every nook of Scotland ;— "Their hands are a thousand, their hearts are but one." Of a verity their name is "legion;" and it is quite in vain to attempt receiving them all with those marks of brotherly recognition which we should wish to extend to them. No wonder that one of our ingenious epistolary friends should exclaim, in a somewhat melancholy mood, "What sma' chance anonymous correspondents ha'e wi' you, after a'!" And well can we sympathize with the feelings of another excellent writer, who says,-" Little do you, who are in print every week, know the transports a young dabbler feels when he sees his verses fairly past the editorial ordeal." Well can we sympathize with the feeling, and it is one we would give every thing we have could it but be restored to us. It is an innonocent and fresh feeling, enjoyed only in the morning of a literary life. The pleasure of seeing one's self in print is not all that it comprises. There is the pleasure of a gratified aim, the excitation of strong hope, the joyful burst into futurity, and proud consciousness of some inherent superiority, implied in the right of having one's thoughts multiplied by means of the press, all which add

It is

new wings to the most exuberant fancy, and strew with fresh flowers the opening vista of approaching manhood. But soon-too soon this feeling dies. A painful conviction succeeds of the dull and hackneyed inefficiency of periodical writing,—a languor and a weariness creeps over the most active mind, and a distrust of even its best efforts settles heavily like a mist over the intellect. often so with all that man enjoys most at first ;-enthusiasm dies into indifference,-rapture sinks into mere sensation,-the poetry of romance degenerates into the prose of reality. Then comes the fever and the fret, the discontent and the recklessness. We "slight the season and the scene;" or if we take note of either, it is but to feel

"How ill the scene that offers rest,

And heart that cannot rest agree."

Yet not-no, not over all emotions can this morbid apathy
prevail. There were flashes of our past existence which
must ever glitter through the clouds of the present; there
were moments so full of delight, that their very memory
is an ever-ready bliss, though the knowledge that they
are gone links them with pain. We speak no erudite
truths, we but address the common feelings of human-
ity; and doubly do we value the gift of our own human-
ity, when we reflect that, so long as such sentiments are
part and parcel of our universal nature, there cannot be
found in any corner of the world a single instance of
isolation and complete loneness. The most desolate being
that ever breathed is not without his own sympathies,
and will be sure to find those who will reciprocate them.
An electric chain of love connects all animated creation,
and an impulse is never communicated to one point that
does not vibrate through the whole. He who feels the
vibration most intensely is of that finer susceptibility, and
more delicate organization, which are the general accoin-
paniments of genius. And genius is fastened to no one
spot, but, like the vibrations of the electric chain to which
we have alluded, passes at a glance from pole to pole.
We have a poet beside us who has brought out this idea
well, and with that true perception of the poetical which
we have always found to characterise his compositions :
WHERE SHOULD THE POET'S SPIRIT BE?
By Alexander Maclaggan.
Where should the poet's spirit be?

Say, fair muse, his soul's bright queen ;
Is it high in heaven, or deep in the sea,
Or loves it the boundless immensity

That bluely floats between?

Shall I ask the mist on the mountain's height,
Or the dusk in the lonely dell,—

The glory of day, or the gloom of night,
With blended tints of dark and light,

For I deem they know him well?
Shall I ask the stream as it wanders through
Its flowery path in the valley?
Shall I ask the pearl of early dew

That hangs at the lip of the lily?
Whenever I see that pure flower ope
Its leaves, the dew-gem showing,
To me the tender glittering drop
Seems like the restless spark of hope
In the poet's bosom glowing.
Shall I ask the bloom on beauty's cheek,
Or the fire in her glorious eye?
For could the bloom or the radiance speak

In words as soft as her own sweet sigh,
I fondly deem they would declare,
They knew it was the poet's pride
To look, to love, to linger there,
From smiling morn to eventide,

Where should the poet's spirit be?
In every scene of honest glee;

Where echo speaks back to the high waterfalls,Where the ruin is opening the heart of its halls,Where the goat from the mountain comes down to drink

From the hollow carved rock on the pure river's brink,

Where the hymn of the nightingale flows from the shade,

And the pretty love song of the merry milkmaid,
And the whistle shrill of the happy ploughboy,
Are blending all iu one language of joy,—
Where, under the plum-tree, the peasants are met
To dance, sing, and play, at happy sunset,-
There, where the small waist is rounded the neatest,
There, where the voice flows the softest and sweetest,
Where glows the cheek in the healthiest hue,
Where swims the eye in the deepest blue,
Where heaves the young and tender breast,
Fuller of true love than all the rest ;-
Wherever the graces of life preside,
The poet's spirit is there in its pride!

What though the hand of misfortune hath wrung him,
And the arrows of envy and malice have stung him?—
As bold looks the proud ship through rude it be driven
Through the high-rolling wave on the wild troubled

sea,

So the soul of the bard, in the keeping of heaven,
Soars proud o'er the tide of adversity!

Alexander Maclaggan must continue to write. Though at a distance, we shall watch his progress with interest. He has the true materials about him, and may easily put them to a worthy use. Let us follow up the above with another effusion from a different pen, but applicable also to some of the remarks we have been making, and strongly characteristic of the poetical temperament :

LINES WRITTEN NEAR A MOUNTAIN SPRING.

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Thou art the same! Oh that again

I might throw off the world's black stain,
And be as pure as thou;

The city's spell hath fallen on me,

And I cannot bow down on the praying knee,
For a cloud is o'er my brow;

Yet I love thee well, thou gentle spring,

Though I bring not the thoughts I once could bring! Lest it be thought we are getting too sombre, we now subjoin a lyric of a different stamp, which we flatter ourselves, nevertheless, is not without interest for a number of our readers:

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF EDINBUrgh.
Air-"O what a town," &c.

O! what a town, what a wonderful metropolis!
There is not in all the world a city like our own;
We'll just ascend the Calton Hill, the modern Acropolis,
And take a peep around us before we come down.
And first we see the Castle-rock particularly wonderful,
So very perpendicular, so ancient and grey,
With its ramparts, and its battlements, and cannon each
with thunder full,

That make a great explosion on the King's birth-day.

And then our eye will hurry down and rest on merry Prince's Street,

Where shops there are where every thing on earth is bought and sold;

And along whose sunny pavement, many a Scottish lady minces sweet,

In silk pelisse and satin hat, most dazzling to behold.

And then perhaps the Gothic jail may win our glance attractively,

And make us almost anxious to commit some little crime;

Or the Bridewell may allure us, where the treadmill goes so actively,

That all who patronise it seem to walk a match with time.

Then turn we to the south, and we'll see the University, Where Leslie is what Playfair was, and Wilson more

than Brown;

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