ery, deal in old rags, in eggs, in salt, in tobacco, and such trifles; and manufacture horn into spoons. I believe most of those who come through Selkirkshire reside, during winter, on the villages of Sterncliff and Spittal, in Northumberland, and in that of Kirk Yetholm, Roxburghshire. "Mr. Smith, the respectable bailie of Kelso, can give the most complete information concerning those who reside at Kirk Yetholm. Formerly, I believe, they were much more desperate in their conduct than at present. But some of the most atrocious families have been extirpated; I allude particularly to the Winters, a Northumberland clan, who, I fancy, are all buried by this time. "Mr. Reddell, justice of peace for Roxburghshire, with my assistance and concurrence, cleared this county of the last of them, about eight or nine years ago. They were thorough desperadoes, of the worst classes of vagabonds. Those who now travel through this county give offence chiefly by poaching, and small thefts. They are divided into clans, the principal names being Faa, Baillie, Young, Ruthven, and Gordon. All of them are perfectly ignorant of religion, nor do their children receive any education. They marry and cohabit amongst each other, and are held in a sort of horror by the common_people. "I do not conceive them to be the proper oriental Egyptian race; at least, they are much intermingled with our own national out-laws and vagabonds. They are said to keep up a communication with each other through Scotland, and to have some internal government and regulation as to the districts which each family travels. I cannot help again referring to Mr. Smith of Kelso, a gentleman who can give the most accurate information respecting the habits of these itinerants, as their winterquarters of Yetholm are upon an estate of which he has long had the management." The following is Mr. Smith's interesting communication on this curious subject :"I remember that about forty-five years ago, being then apprenticed to a writer, who was in use to receive the rents as well as the small duties of Kirk Yetholm, he sent me there with a list of names, and a statement of what was due; recommending me to apply to the landlord of the pub. lic-house in the village, for any information or assistance which I might need. "After waiting a long time, and receiving payment from most of the feuers or rentallers, I observed to him, that none of the persons of the names of Faa, Young, Blythe, Fleckie, &c., who stood at the bottom of the list for small sums, had come to meet me, according to the notice given by the baron officer; and proposed sending to inform them that they were detaining me, and to request their immediate attendance. The landlord, with a grave face, inquired whether my master had desired me to ask money from those men? I said, not particularly, but they stood on the list. "So I see," said the landlord, "but had your master been here himself, he did not dare to ask money from them, either as rent or feu duty. He knows it is as good as if it were in his pocket. They will pay when their own time comes, but do not like to pay at a set time with the rest of the barony, and still less to be craved.' "I accordingly returned without their money, and reported progress. I found that the landlord was right; my master said with a smile, that it was unnecessary to send to them, after the previous notice from the baron officer; it was enough if I had received the money, if offered. Their rent and feu duty was brought to the office in a few weeks. I need scarcely add, those persons all belonged to the tribe. "When first I knew any thing about the colony, old Will Faa was king, or leader, and had held the sovereignty for many years. Meeting at Kelso with Mr. Walter Scott, whose discriminating habits and just observations I had occasion to know from his youth, and at the same time seeing one of my Yetholm friends in the horse-market, I merely said to Mr. Scott, 'Try to get before that man with the long drab coat; look at him on your return, and tell me whether you ever saw him, and what you think of him.' He was so good as to indulge me; and rejoining me, said, without hesitation, 'I never saw the man, that I know of; but he is one of the gypsies of Yetholm, that you told me of several years ago.' I need scarcely say that he was perfectly correct." ON THE CHARACTER AND WRITINGS OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE. HOWEVER different may be the opinions entertained concerning the genius of this author, I think that most persons receive considerable pleasure from the perusal of his remains. The interest of his story, and his early death, excite our attention; and we regret that the life which was so excellent should be so speedily terminated. His name, and that of a few others in some degree resembling him, are associated with pleasure ; as we think that, from minds playing so hopeful a beginning, great works might have proceeded; and the event has not disappointed the expectation. His poems are mostly tinged with melancholy, as this was his peculiar disposition. He seems to have possessed an exquisite sensibility, which made him equally alive to the deepest impressions both of pleasure and of pain. It was to this temperament that he owed his improvement, from the scenes in which he resided, and from his poetical mind. He was fully aware of his melancholy disposition, and regretted it; and any attention or neglect, or dishonourable thoughts of him, keenly affected him. The impression which the reviewers produced upon his mind, and the answer that he gives, in a poetical epistle to a friend who doubted the reality of his friendship, are illustrations of this. In one poem, he speaks of "the piercing cares that wore his youth away:" in another, he says, "Mortals, be gladsome while ye have the power, And laugh, and seize the glittering lapse of joy," evidently written under an impression of the deepest melancholy. As his temperament was ardent, and his constitution delicate, it needs scarcely be observed, that his intense study must have injured his health to a very great extent; for melancholy very often arises from a disordered body, and lurks within when it is not recognized, shadowing every ray of comfort that external nature affords, and blackening those shades which might other wise be tolerated. How subject he was to its invasions, his complaint, "And melancholy wastes the vital flame," sufficiently shews. But the view will be heightened, if we notice his desire, "Blithe health, thou soul of life and ease! that frame with which the mind was at war, and which it at length destroyed. The causes of his melancholy in the earlier part of his short life were sensibility in a morbid degree, and the absence of the superior consolations of religion: for the mind is so constituted, that it must always have some remote object to make it happy; the attempting to obtain which, will effectually absorb all its powers, and render it insensible to those petty changes which are continually taking place in the body. Many of his poems, however, are very cheerful; some written before he had studied so much as to affect his frame, and others after the soul-ennobling power of religion had taken its station where melancholy and selfish sorrow once obtained the ascendancy. I think, the "Ode to Contemplation," "Description of a Summer's Eve,' ""Ode to Warton,' "On Music,' are instances of the former; the poem on "Time," "The Christiad," of the latter. The power of genius is shewn principally in the application of knowledge. Men of ordinary abilities store their minds with the knowledge acquired by others; but genius puts however little it may possess, to some practical purpose, by its creative energy. This remark meets with an apt illustration in the subject of this essay. In his early letters and pieces, there are traces of extensive knowledge: many others of the same age, and with the same opportunities, have, perhaps, attained as much knowledge, but were deficient in the power of applying it to so great advantage. Considering the little time he had to spare from business, his progress in study was remarkable for its rapidity. He was acquainted with the Latin, Greek, French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese languages, and acquainted with them for some purpose. His essays afford us an example of application of classical knowledge; more especially the Remarks on the Progress of Learning, and a Tale in which the characters are Grecian. He applied his French, by translating from its poetry, and by fre. quent allusions to works of excellent authors; and his knowledge of Italian and Portuguese, in his Essay on the Sonnet. Even his acquaintance with astronomy and mechanics, was not unemployed; for he constructed a planetarium and an orrery for his mother's school, and fitted up his own study. He could play by ear upon the piano-forte, and he applied this to cheer his dreary hours. This is the particular in which he is worthy of imitation; for this is to use the talents entrusted to our care, and not to bury them in the storehouse of the soul. It is only the acting upon this principle that will entitle us, as good and faithful servants, to enter into the joy of our Lord. His style in prose is very simple, and much resembles Addison's, which, perhaps, he imitated. In one of his letters, he advises a friend to read and imitate the papers in the eighth volume of the Spectator; which is an intimation that such was once his own practice. His letters and essays on the subject of religion are remarkable for a vigorous grasp of thought, and beauty of illustration. Indeed, he seems to have endeavoured to execute every design in the best manner he could, without the vulgar desire of being thought a prodigy; for he says, "I prefer the cool and discriminate praise of the few, to the boisterous applause of the crowd." He seems to have been fondly attached to his domestic circle; and when his own mind was established in the Christian religion, his first care was that his family should partake of the same blessing. In his devotion to his studies, in his application of all his knowledge to practical purposes, in his attachment to his family, in his desire and labour to promote religion, let us hold him the object of imitation. But let us beware of sacrificing that greatest corporeal blessing, health, at the shrine of injudicious study, and of contracting that morbid sensibility which will destroy all our comforts, and both shorten the period and contract the sphere of our usefulness. Witch. Methinks some error of thine own hath wrought This curse within thee, that thy spirit the dread Of future punishment for former guilt Saul. "Tis even so! A trust was given me—I betray'd that trust !— I enter'd into covenant to keep Inviolate the orders that were given To me by Him I serv'd.-I kept them notI was unfaithful to my charge, and He Protects me now no longer, and His favour, Which as a shield secur'd me, is withdrawn! Witch. And from what spirit would'st thou learn From one, who in his life-time saw afar, And oft with voice of love and warning words Can yet a little while again restore And way of access open'd, to regain But, stranger, know'st thou not that Israel's king, With evil conscience troubled, from the land Hath banish'd those who with unearthly things And forms communion held? and thou, perchance, Should I, by virtue of my potent spell, From darkness raise the spirit thou wouldst behold, Wilt spread a snare before me for my life. Nay,-fear me not,―for as the Lord above Witch. Answers my prayers no longer: his bright face, Whom wilt thou then that I bring up to thee? Which, as the sun, beam'd on us, wears a Saul. Samuel, the prophet! Witch. Nay, then, I am lost! Why hast thou thus deceived me, for I know Thou art the king of Israel? Saul. Fear thou not; Have I not sworn? My haste brooks no delay, cloud Of anger terrible! O, who can paint seers Have lost their keen intelligence,-the signs And swift compliance shall have swift To wander in our own bewildering way. (She begins her Spell.) See the monarch of the land Saul. : (He comes.) What seest thou now? What is his form? Witch. An old man cometh up Wrapt in a mantle: Peace; behold the Seer! (The Spirit rises, and Saul bows From my dwelling in the tomb, Oh! mighty prophet, in my sore distress In this deep mis'ry I have come to thee, That thou may'st tell me by what powerful means The favour of our God may be regain'd, Wherefore comest thou to me? Thy future hope-thine age's guide— And the mourner findeth peace. (The Spirit disappears, and Saul falls prostrate on the earth.) Norwich, May 25, 1833. POETRY. ON A FOSSIL NAUTILUS. IF o'er the grey and mossy stone, The mouldering work of hands unknown, The spirit wakes with inward might, As thoughts successive soar O'er time's surmounted barriers vast, To converse with the shadowy past. How should that thrilling sense have birth, And age-exhausted sea; Frail mariner of waves, which wore Some nameless and unmeasured shore, Nor heaved in sullen wrath to feel, Perchance amidst the swelling tide And regal palms of stately height, Their restless shadows threw, From isles which rose with steep on steep, Majestic o'er the tranquil deep. And as thy filmy arms were spread, To waft thee on thy way, The giant lizard reared his head In wild and fitful play; And, sheathed in rigid mail of strength, Rose tempesting the spray, 'Midst ferns whose mighty growth uprent, Enrobed the glistening element. But since o'er nature's changing face Hath struck the mountain from its base, And left the salt sea dry; So, where the crested billow rolled, Smile forth, when many an age before Say, in that long-forgotten hour, Stood clothed as now in grace and And were its scenes the same? power, As sweet the morn-the moon as bright- Which plays ere yet the day-star dies, Stern winter's strength-the drifting snow- The sounding tempest loosed to blow, The thunder with its burst of dread The blinding levin fierce and red The fires which, waning fast, Gleam blue on midnight's shrouded brow; Were these as wonder-fraught as now? I ask not if of loftier sense The awakened signs were shown, Or sorrow's hour of moan, Since hope, as yet, nor pallid fear, Had reign'd in strange mutation here; Nor thought to vigour grown; And all which weakness wisdom deems, Our pleasures spent like morning's dreams, Our feverish strife, whose ceaseless birth Mute chronicler of past decay These knew not thy mysterious day. 2D. SERIES, NO. 31.-VOL. III. But then, perchance from distant skies, Bright forms, with rapture-beaming eyes And voices since too long unheard, As wisdom's growing labours stole Of thee, unconscious shape, to ask That boundless Power and skill were nigh That Love surveyed thee o'er- The hand which, since by evil met, REVERIES. COME, gentle Phantasie, Where the playful billows beat! When the star of evening beams above, And looks on earth with a look of love, From her far cerulean clime. And on the shore The waters roar; Shall to our ears rough music make, And sweet shall be Their melody, As the wind doth o'er them break! Arises on her gentle way, Scattering far her tremulous ray, Her far and heavenward flight; -I gaze upon the roaring sea, And vague deep thoughts crowd o'er the mind; There lies the dread immensity, And o'er the regions of the wind Lies an immensity more dread, On which the thought cannot repose, O! happy, happy dead! Perchance to you your God has given, The soul forgets its feeble shell, As if 'twould pierce the ways of Him, Whose ways no human heart can tell! The soul expands as if to see If it can grasp eternity! And pass the bounds of time and space; These are th' aspirings of the spirit, A dim faint dream, A feeble gleam |