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and constitute the bond that unites the community of man. Their indulgence is at once instinctive and rational, and therefore commendable; but when enlivened by inebriating liquor at the festive board, in the club, or in the tavern, they prove ruinous to unsuspecting youth.

To observe sobriety is positive pleasure; to avoid intemperance is to escape future misery, by avoiding seeming and deceitful pleasure. Moderate enjoyments are most lasting, grateful, and suitable to our nature; immoderate enjoyments enfeeble the constitution, and ultimately destroy it.

The exhilaration of drunkenness at first is flushed and joyous, then noisy and reckless; but in its progression it declines, sinks, and finally, when the constitution is impaired, ends in the wailings of compunction, and in the tears of despair.


In early youth you leave your native place-a small town-repair to a large city, and there reside constantly for a number of years. After the lapse of a considerable time, you return to your native place, but to you how changed! The dwellings seem diminutive, the streets deserted, the manners of the people altered, but nothing externally is changed-the change is in yourself. The ideas of maturer years have supervened on those of youth, and partly obliterated, and partly modified them.

From the above view of human nature, some useful lessons of moral conduct may be deduced. Distinguish between the ideas that are suggested and modified by your own mind, and therefore depend chiefly on yourself-and those ideas which you receive from external nature and passing events, and therefore depend greatly on outward circumstances.

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tegrity, and not fail, you have done your duty, and you
must submit to the course of providence. If you murmur
at the issue, you murmur because you are not more than
man-that you have not power to control human affairs.
Every scheme, the execution of which depends on persons
and incidents over which you have little control, should
be formed conditionally with prudent forethought. Even
schemes over which you think you have complete control, ||
should not be pursued with sanguine hope, for doubtful is
the issue of every human enterprise; and the acuteness of
disappointment is ever proportioned to the confidence of


THE extreme western nations say, that, at the distance of ninety-seven thousand ly (30,000 miles) from China, a journey of about three years, commences the border of Sy-keang. In that country there was formerly a virgin, named Ma-le-a. In the first year of Yuen-chy, in the dynasty of Han, a celestial god reverently announced to her saying, 'The Lord of heaven has selected thee to be¦ his mother.' Having finished his discourse, she actually conceived, and afterwards bore a son. The mother, filled with joy and reverence, wrapped him in cloth and laid him in a manger. A flock of celestial gods sang and rejoiced in the void space. Forty days after, his mother presented him to the holy teacher, and named him Yay-s00. When twelve years of age, he followed his mother to worship in the holy place-returning home they lost each other. After three days' search, she saw Yay-soo sitting on a seat conversing with aged and learned doctors about the works and doctrines of the Lord of Heaven. Seeing his mother he was glad, returned with her, and served her You have ambitious desires, and you are unhappy, be- with the utmost filial reverence. When thirty years of cause it is not in your power to gratify them. Many are age he left his mother and teacher, and, travelling to the happy without the gratification of what you are anxious to country of Yutcha, taught men to do good. The sacred obtain, and hence your unhappiness must proceed from miracles which he wrought were very numerous. The yourself from your unreasonable desires. Your duty re- chief families and those in office in that country, being quires you to reduce your desires into accordance with proud and wicked in the extreme, envied him for the mulyour condition, and the means you possess of accomplish- titude of those who joined themselves to him, and planned ing them. to slay him. Among the twelve disciples of Yay-soo there was a covetous one, named Yu-tah-sae. Aware of the wish of the greater part of his countrymen, and seizing on a proffered gain, he led forth a multitude at night, who, taking Yay-soo, bound him, and carried him before Anaszie in the court-house of Fe-lah-to. Rudely stripped of his garment, they tied him to a stone pillar, inflicting on him upwards of five thousand four hundred stripes, until his, whole body was torn and mangled, but still he was silent, and like a lamb remonstrated not. The wicked rabble, taking a cap made of piercing thorns, pressed it forcibly down on his temples. They hung a vile red cloak on his body, and hypocritically did reverence to him as a king. They made a very large and heavy machine of wood, resembling the character ten or an upright cross, which they compelled him to bear on his shoulders. The whole way it pressed him down, so that he moved and fell alternately. His hands and feet were nailed to the wood, and being thirsty, a sour and bitter drink was given him. When he died, the heavens were darkened, the earth shook, the rocks striking against each other, even broken into small pieces. He was then aged thirty-three years. On the third day after his death he again returned to life, and his body was splendid and beautiful. He appeared first to his mother, in order to remove her sorrow. Forty days after, when about to ascend to heaven, he commanded his disciples (in all 102) to separate and go everywhere under heaven to teach, and to administer a sacred water to wash away the sins of those who should join their sect. Having finished his command, a flock of ancient holy ones followed him up to the celestial kingdom. Ten days after, a celestial god descended to receive his mother, who also ascended up on high; being set above the nine orders, she became the empress of heaven and earth, and the proteetress of human beings.-Milne's Translation of Comp. His. of Gods and Genii.

Your desires are in harmony with your condition, but you sustain a considerable loss, and you are grieved and discontented. Many never possessed what you have lost, and you are reduced only to their level-they complain not, and hence the cause of your complaint must exist in your own breast. Know the tenure by which you hold life and all its blessings, submissively bow before the will of the Supreme Being, and in your submission you will find tranquillity.

Distinguish also between what is within, and what is beyond your control. Your principles on which your character rests are within your power, and, by early and assiduous cultivation, you may train them to virtue; but your character-the opinion which the public entertains of you -is beyond your power, and therefore you cannot command it.

If a man is very solicitous to gain a fair publie charac- | ter, and his solicitude induces him to neglect the true basis on which it rests, he may realise his aim by artifice and address. He may begin by deceiving others, and, by a kind of self-delusion, end by deceiving himself; but such a character inspires constant watchfulness and fear-it yields no peace, and gives no security against exposure and shame. Be it your solicitude to establish good principles, which are the solid foundation of a good character, and, though you can never be indifferent to public opinion, you will feel no painful anxiety respecting its attainment: to you it will be sufficient to deserve it. A straight onward course of rectitude is a straight onward path of peace; and a character founded on principle will in time be recognised and


But you stand not alone in society; you are connected with your fellows, and the events of life relative to you, depend partly on yourself and partly on your associates. If you discharge your part with reflection, honour, and in

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DR WILLIAM TENNANT, chiefly known as author of 'Anster Fair,' died at his pleasant villa of Devongrove, near Dollar, on the 15th October 1848. For a considerable time his health had been unstable; a severe cold, caught in the autumn of 1846, having gradually preyed on his constitution, till by slow inroads it brought him to the grave. The history of Tennant's life is rather a remarkable one, and tends to confirm a truth, hitherto illustrated by various examples in our country's annals, that genius will soar in the most untoward circumstances, and that talent united with industry cannot fail, amidst events the most unfavourable and unpropitious, to bring ultimately their own reward.

Dr Tennant was one of the pretty numerous family of William Tennant, a small merchant in the town of Anstruther, in Fife, where he was born in 1784. At birth, he had inscribed on his person the seeming indications of future helplessness and misfortune, being mal-formed in both his limbs, and thus unlikely to be able, without artificial means, to make any locomotive movements through life. The circumstances of his parents not permitting him to live independent of personal exertion in after life, and his own physical deformity, fixed, we may suppose, in very early life the profession he should follow-that of impart ing instruction in the capacity of a schoolmaster. With the prospect before him of becoming, if his talents allowed, a country dominie, William at a very early age was sent to school, and immediately applied himself with diligence and zeal to the preparation of his tasks. Discovering a marked aptitude for learning, a promptness and readiness in comprehending and retaining the information communicated to him by the master, or contained in his books, and a facility in obtaining an acquaintance with the classic authors, he was recommended to continue the prosecution of his studies at the university. His parents, delighted to find that their infirm child mentally possessed what nature had physically denied him, resolved to strain every nerve to give him a finished education, and, in pursuance of the counsel of his teacher, sent him as a student to St Andrews; and thus were studying at the same university two natives of Anstruther, sent thither with difficulty by their parents, who were destined afterwards to make a distinguished figure among their countrymen, though in very different walks, the other being Thomas Chalmers. At college, Tennant did not fail to distinguish himself, pursuing as he did his classical studies particularly, with ardour and marked success, a small portion of his time being necessarily, from his physical disability, occupied in those juvenile bodily exercises and recreations in which his classfellows engaged. The pecuniary circumstances of his father precluded him from completing the ordinary philosophical curriculum, and he left the United College, St Andrews, after studying there only two years, in May 1801, when he returned to Anstruther. Nothing daunted, however, he applied himself with diligence at home-made Herodotus, Thucydides, and Livy, with Homer and Virgil, his companions and likewise made himself acquainted with the modern languages, and their most esteemed poetical writers. Having mastered the ancient and modern, he applied himself to the study of the eastern tongues, and began to acquire a knowledge of that ancient and venerable language, so intimately associated with all that is holy and sublime, and for his intimate acquaintance with which he owed the acquirement of that honourable, conspicuous, and elevated position which he was destined to occupy.

While thus engaged in the acquisition of languages and varied learning, a few years after he left college, a situation was offered him, which, though humble and subordinate, and unattended by any adequate reward, was too tempting for one in his peculiar circumstances and condition to decline. He therefore accepted the appointment of

clerk to his brother, a corn-factor, first at Glasgow and afterwards at Anstruther, and thus had the greater portion of his time occupied by counting-house duties. But he had still severer difficulties to contend with ere he was enabled to emerge from his retirement at Anstruther. His brother's commercial affairs became completely embarrassed, and the creditors, in the absence of the principal, secured the person of the unfortunate clerk. It was, we believe, while subjected to personal confinement, and labouring under accusations alike erroneous in their nature as they were repulsive to his mind, that he conceived and committed to writing the introductory stanzas of that poem on which his fame will continue to rest, and which indicated a disposition in the author not to be overcome by the pressure of external circumstances. 'Anster Fair,' the poem to which we allude, was finished in his father's house in 1811, and was published anonymously in the following year. This was the first great effort of the author; his previous pieces had been ephemeral and unpretending; and scarcely had ever bard sent forth his offspring to the world in circumstances more unpropitious and unfavourable. As a poet, the author at farthest was known to the few townsmen of Anstruther; and if his name had been spoken of elsewhere, it was only in connection with his brother's mercantile embarrassments. Besides, it was unlikely that, at a period when the writings both in poetry and prose of Sir Walter Scott, James Hogg, and Professor Wilson, were entirely occupying and absorbing the public notice and admiration, any space should be permitted to an unpatronised and unpretending son of genius for placing his crutches on the arena of letters. Yet in circumstances the most adverse, Anster Fair' at length became known. The volume found its way to the metropolis, and attracting the notice of Lord Woodhouselee, he communicated, in a letter to the publisher, his opinion that the poem contained unequivocal marks of strong original genius, a vein of humour of an uncommon cast, united with a talent for natural description of the most vivid and characteristic species, and, above all, a true feeling of the sublime, forming altogether one of the most pleasing and singular combinations of the different powers of poetry that he had ever met with.'

While beginning to acquire the laurels of poetical reputation, in the autumn of 1813, Tennant was preferred to the vacant office of schoolmaster of Dunino, a parish situated between Anstruther and St Andrews, and only five miles from his native town. This was an appointment in many respects suitable to his feelings, and had been the summit of his youthful wishes. He gave himself to the discharge of his duties in his new and responsible sphere with that zeal and assiduity which had always characterised him; but while he sedulously sought the improvement and advantage of his pupils, he did not neglect the continuous instruction of his own mind by engaging in his old and favourite studies. Attaining access to the library of the University of St Andrews, he was now enabled to procure works on all subjects, and to make himself acquainted with every department of learning. But the study of languages was yet his favourite theme, and here he added to his knowledge of Hebrew an acquaintance with the Arabic, Syriac, and Persian. Poetry, too, was here cultivated with all his former avidity and ardour. A few years before his appointment as schoolmaster, along with a few other dabblers in rhyme, and admirers of fun and good fellowship,' in the cast neuk, he had taken a prominent and active part in originating a poetical society called the Musomanic, which held stated meetings at Anstruther, and he now from time to time composed some harmonious pieces for the amusement of this merry corps. This society claimed to itself the exclusive privilege, in that portion of the empire, of discovering on whom Apollo had set his seal, and accordingly invested, by all the formalities of a diploma, Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick Shepherd, and other eminent poets, with the distinguished dignity of honorary memberships! It continued to hold meetings till 1817, when, by the dispersion of its leading members, its joyous celebrations were suspended. Though, at Dunino, Mr Tennant's income did not admit of hazarding

much in literary speculation, being, including all the treats, more adapted for the use of the living author in his emoluments of his office, with the profits derived from keep-class-room, than for being generally read and studied. ing a few boarders, barely forty pounds a year, yet he was here enabled to publish at his own cost a second and revised edition of Anster Fair,' in a form and style of typography much improved on the former. The poem now arrested the attention of Lord Jeffrey, who in a generous notice in the Edinburgh Review,' in November 1814, fully blazoned forth its merits to the world.

Dr Tennant's poetical writings are numerous, but are not likely to become generally known, He very frequently attempts the ludicrous, but he has no proper conception of it. His wit often sinks into frivolity, but seldom rises into genuine humour. His characters, who are chiefly confined to the neighbourhood of Anstruther, whether the mitred prelate or the lofty baron, are often clownish, and even sometimes childish, but are always pedants. The reader finds himself among a profusion of flowers, but they are not arranged by the tasteful hand of the gardener, but strewed about by the child. Poetry of frequent elegance, and always above mediocrity, is expended on the most trifling sentiments-the sound is pleasing, the sense worthless. 'Anster Fair' is the only poem in which the reader forgets the frivolity of the subject in the smoothness of the diction. It was this poem that brought the author first into notice, and through it alone will his name be handed down to posterity. The choice of the subject was an injadicious one. It is founded on the old ballad of Magge

In 1816, Mr Tennant, highly recommended by the minister of the parish-himself an accurate and accomplished scholar-as an able and efficient teacher, was, aided by the support of Mr George Thomson of Edinburgh, the friend and correspondent of Burns, transferred from the schoolmastership of Dunino to that of Lasswade, near Edinburgh, where he remained, enjoying the society of several distinguished literary men in the metropolis, till 1819, when he was elected teacher of classical and oriental languages in Dollar Academy. Here he held an appointment exactly suitable to his taste and inclinations, and distinguished himself not more by the profundity of his wn knowledge of the ancient languages than by his suc- Lauder,' at one time popular in the East Neuk of Fife, se in imparting it to others. In 1831, on a vacancy occurring in the chair of Oriental Languages in St Mary's a College, St Andrews, he offered himself as a candidate, and had nearly succeeded-the crown authorities deliberating for a time between him and Dr Scott, minister of Corstorphine, who was ultimately preferred. Three years after, however, on Dr Scott's death, he was appointed to the chair.

ting forth the praises of an Anster maid, more remarkabe for the attractions of her person than the virtues of her character. Yet this damsel, the looseness of whose me rals caused her first to be mentioned in song, is transformed into a chaste and coy maiden, sighing in secret, on wha of her numerous suitors of Fife lairds she should bestow be hand. As she thus cogitates at supper, from her mustarspot arises a fairy, who warns her against accepting the As a professor, Tennant discharged all the duties in-hand of any of her present lovers, and exhorts her to com cumbent upon him with the utmost fidelity. He occasion-mand it to be proclaimed throughout the whole kingdom really taught an additional class for the benefit of those students who found it inconvenient to attend at the ordinary class hours, and readily gave private lessons in the eastern languages to all who applied to him. On his first appointment to the chair, he read the Hebrew without the points, but afterwards adopted the other method, finding it the bemost generally practised, though he regarded either mode of reading as a matter of indifference,

Some years before his death, Professor Tennant was elected a member of the Royal Society of London, and so recently as December 1847 had the degree of Doctor of Laws conferred on him by the Marischal College, Aberdeen, a literary distinction which he survived a very short time to enjoy. He died, as stated above, at Devongrove, near Dollar, a small villa which he had purchased by his own active and meritorious exertions, and where, since his appointment to the Hebrew chair, he had uniformly resided during the summer months, enjoying the close retirement which he ever regarded as indispensable to study. Dr Tennant's death causes a blank among the ranks of 3. binguists in Scotland, if it be accurate, as is believed, that he was acquainted not only with all the ancient languages worthy of being known, and with the modern languages of Europe, but also with a number of the many languages 5. of India. It is certain he was a man of extraordinary and 4 almost unprecedented perseverance, and having acquired the faculty, if it may be so designated, of easily acquiring a a knowledge of distinct tongues, he may have made hime self master of a number almost inconceivable to those who did not enjoy his peculiar taste, leisure, and opportunities, He has been heard to say, that in a very few weeks he mastered the Gaelic, so as to be able to read and translate ad aperturam the New Testament in that difficult tongue; and it is said his first reading of the Hebrew Bible was completed in half a year and three days, with no assistance but the grammar and dictionary. It is to be regretted, however, that he has left nothing on which his memory as a linguist might have rested-his only productions on the to subject of language being a small cahier, containing an epitaph on David Barclay, shoemaker and gravedigger in Anstruther-easter, in eight different languages, printed in 1833, and a very limited Synopsis of Syriac and Chaldaic Grammar,' published in 1840-the former certainly merely an ephemeral literary toy, and the latter, from its brevity and too concise explanation of the languages of which it

that she would bestow herself on the succes-ful competitor in a match of ass-racing, sack-racing, story-telling, and bag-piping at Anster. On this homely, we may almost say frivolous, foundation, the merit of the poem consists in having erected a poetical superstructure of an uncommon order. Lord Jeffrey in 1814 thus notices the poem in the Edinburgh Review: We consider this volume not only as eminently original, but as belonging to a class of conposition hitherto but little known in the literature of the country-to that species, we mean, of gay or fantastic poetry which plays through the works of Pulci and Ariosto, and animates the compositions of many inferior writers both in Spain and in Italy-which is equally removed from the vulgarity of mere burlesque or mock heroic, and from the sarcasm, and point, and finesse, of satirical pleasantry

which is extravagant rather than ridiculous, and display rather the vague and unbounded license of a sportive and raised imagination, without the cold pungency of wit, or the practised sagacity of derision. It frequently relaxes into childishness, and is sometimes concentrated to ha mour; but its leading character is a sort of enthusiastic gaiety a certain intoxication and nimbleness of fancy, which pours out a profusion of images without much cogruity or selection, and covers all the objects to which is is directed with colours that are rather brilliant than ba monious, and combines them into groups that are lively than graceful. The great charm of this egular composition consists, no doubt, in the profusies images and groups which it thrusts upon the fancy, and the crowd, and hurry, and animation with which they are all jostled and driven along; but this, though a very rare merit in any modern production, is entitled perhaps to less distinction than the perpetual sallies and outbreakings of a rich and poetical imagination, by which the homely themes on which the author is professedly employed are constantly ennobled or contrasted, and in which the ardour of a mind evidently fitted for higher tasks is somewhat ca priciously expended. It is this frequent kindling of a diviner spirit, this tendency to rise above the trivial objects among which he has chosen to disport himself, and this power of connecting grand or beautiful conceptions with the representation of vulgar objects and ludicrous occurrences, that first recommended this poem to our notice. and still seem to us to entitle it to more general notori ty. The author is occupied, no doubt, in general with low mat

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