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and made them unload; but a multitude of the burgesses resisting, and being too strong for them, every one in his own tenement now collects his dung in a heap, and the poor sell theirs when and to whom they choose.'

We earnestly recommend to general notice this production of the middle ages, by which we for the first time get a mirror-like representation of what has hitherto been seen only through the stained-glass of romance, or in the mosaic pictures of modern history.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.

A DISHONESTY IN A HIGH WALK.

THE dishonest practice of tradesmen giving gratuities to the servants of their customers, is familiarly known to the public, and has often been reprobated as it deserves. But it is not generally known that a practice precisely similar exists amongst life-assurance offices, where the bribed parties are not poor menials, with presumably obscure ideas of what is conscientious and right, but men belonging to one of the most liberal of professions, that of the law, and who might be expected to see all such matters in the clearest light.

Life-assurance, while generally designed for one of the most laudable of objects-the succour of those who might otherwise be left by the death of a father, husband, or other near relation in poverty-has become, in some degree, a business of competition. The joint-stock offices have a clear trading interest, as they aim at realising a profit for the shareholders; and the mutually assuring offices are also interested in having large business, as, when it is large, it is conducted more cheaply, and the risks are the more equably diffused. Hence the system of keen advertising pursued by all these establishments. It is very well to seek to obtain busi- | ness by such fair means: indeed it is more than justifiable, for the public is still far from being generally aware of the great benefits which life-assurance is calculated to confer. But a large majority of the offices go beyond fair means; they hold forth the promise of a handsome commission to solicitors and others who bring them business, most of them giving 5 per cent. on the first and every subsequent annual premium, and several of them giving even 10 per cent. on the first, and 5 per cent. on every subsequent annual premium. Now, what is the real nature of this disbursement? It may be considered, we think, first, with respect to its special effect on the offices; and, secondly, with respect to its bearing on the public.

In the case of a joint-stock company-which is the nature of most life-assurance offices-it is simply a burden upon profits, and in that respect it calls for no remark. In the case of mutually assuring societies it is totally different, being then a subtraction from the funds which ought to stand for the benefit of the assured parties, and of which any surplus that arises ought to be divisable amongst them alone. If it could be said that the persons already assured were merely giving of their means to induce others to do as they have done to perform one of the most respectable moral acts of which a person having others dependent upon him is capable-it might be susceptible of some justification; but the purpose of the payment is not of this nature; it is for no propagandism in behalf of life-assurance, but only to induce a particular choice of their office as distinguished from others. It is evident that men in their circumstances are misspending their money in devoting their funds to such a purpose; and it is equally clear that, in doing so, they are doing that which they have no right to attempt doing in any circumstances; namely, holding forth a bribe to tempt men from the path of duty.

vantages are to be obtained, and more especially to avoid those (and they are numerous) where comparatively small benefits are likely to accrue. Regarding his solicitor as a man of experience, he consults him about the selection of the best office, or puts the business at once into his hands as a piece of professional employment. Here it clearly is of the greatest importance for the interests of the assuring party that his agent or consultee should be an unbiassed man; but can we be assured that he really is so, if three-fourths of the life-assurance offices are holding him forth bribes of various amount, to induce him to drag the victim to their especial altar? Certainly, although honesty in such circumstances is not impossible, it is far from likely, and can in no measure be certain. The system does all it can to make rogues, and we have no security against their not being made. We must presume the intending assurer to be ignorant of this profligate practice. He relies implicitly on his agent, as he has a good right to do, seeing that he employs him to give an honest counsel. He expects that that office which will give most liberally to his widow and orphans is to be selected, according to the conscientious judgment of his counsellor. But what, on the contrary, is done? Why, he is, perhaps, led to an office which does not hold forth any particular advantages to him (the assurer), but which contents itself with only holding forth some advantages to his agent. He is, in short, betrayed by the paltry cupidity of that man (trust-worthy, perhaps, in all other circumstances) into a transaction which, very probably, is just the least advantageous that he could have effected in the circumstances.

To give an idea of how the interests of an individual may be betrayed in this manner, we take the following example from Mr Babbage's Comparative View of the Various Institutions for Assurance of Lives (1826). 'A clergyman, in order to provide at his death for a numerous family, succeeded, by great economy, in_saving from his income sufficient to assure his life for L.2000; being unacquainted with business, he unfortunately trusted the choice of the office at which he assured to the attorney whom he had been in the habit of employing. The attorney effected the policy at one of those offices which make no return of any part of the profits, and which, notwithstanding, charge the same prices as the Equitable. During about twenty years, he received a commission of five per cent. from the office [realising in all probably L.50], which was paid out of the annual sum, with difficulty spared from the scanty income of his employer: and on the death of the clergyman, his seven surviving orphans received from the office the original sum assured, L.2000, instead of about L.3200, which they might have received from the Equitable, had not the bribe held out by the other office been too great for the integrity of their father's solicitor.' We can add another illustration, in which the honest course was taken; and we are the more happy to do so, as it reflects credit on a profession which is here presented in an unpleasing light. A solicitor of our acquaintance was employed to effect an assurance for L.2000 about the year 1820. He adopted a non-bribing office, which divided profits among the assured, instead of going to a certain other one in his eye, where he would have secured a commission' of ten guineas, but which did not divide profits. The premiums were somewhat different, but not to a great extent, at least not nearly so great as the results would have been at the end of seventeen years-the currency of the transaction-when the representatives of the assuring party got seven hundred pounds additional.

Unquestionably, the heavier part of this dishonesty in a high walk' lies at the door of the offices which hold forth the temptation; and, for this reason, we present a list of what we believe to constitute nearly the whole of That commission' is really of this character, there the honourable minority which reject such means of cannot be the shade of a doubt. When an individual obtaining business, believing that we are not only thus designs to assure a sum upon his life, he is obviously putting a deserved, though negative stigma upon a concerned to select that office where the greatest ad-corrupt practice, but helping to guard the public against

a betrayal of its interests. The following are non-bribing offices:-In London, the Equitable, Amicable, London Life Association, Mutual Assurance, Rock, and Metropolitan-all being mutual offices excepting the two last, which have an admixture of the proprietary system: in Edinburgh, the Scottish Widows' Fund, the Scottish Equitable, the Scottish Provident, and the Scottish Amicable-all of these last being mutually-assuring and profit-dividing societies.*

the claims of their creditors, with whose money they were trading, forced them to stop, leaving ruined estates.

It is well known that the trade of Paisley suffered but little from bad debts previous to the late crisis there, but that they had gone on by means of the credit system, driving what had been, for two years previously, a losing business.

Now, ought the person who acts thus to stand equal We conclude with some remarks by Mr De Morgan,† in society with the person who never contracts a debt to which every honourable mind must respond. All without a fair prospect of paying it? If a trader is who have written on this subject of late years have justified in any instance in going on after he has lost his attacked this bribe, for such it is; but they have directed capital, ought it not to be required of him, in order that all their censures upon the offices, as if they were the his character be held unblemished, that he had good only parties to blame. If indeed the bribe had been offered prospects of being able to continue to pay his debts, and to the needy and ignorant only, this partial distribution that he stopped as soon as he found this not to be the of blame might have been allowed; but, when the par- case? The fact is, that, unless in cases directly frauduties who receive the bribe are men of education, and lent, the public make little distinction in bankruptcies; moving in those professions which bring the successful and even the bankrupt himself is far from having the to affluence, I do not see the justice of allowing them to standard of integrity in his own mind very accurately escape. I have little doubt that an increasing sense of constructed. right and wrong will banish this unworthy practice, either by failure of givers or receivers. A barrister cannot offer commission on the briefs which he brings, nor can a physician pay an apothecary for his recommendation; a jury never receives a hint that the plaintiff will give commission on the damages which they award; and the time will come when the offer of money to a person, whose unbiassed opinion is already the property of another, will be deemed what it really is; namely, bribery and corruption. It is one among many proofs how low is the standard of collective morality, and how easy it is for honourable individuals to do in concert that from which they would separately shrink.'

SPINNING OUT.

It is the conviction of the writer of this, and of many persons with whom he has conversed on the subject, that the suffering caused by bankruptcies, so frequently occurring, would be greatly lessened if the principles of Christian morality were held and acted upon in commercial transactions.

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The fact is striking and alarming, that, of late years, the dividends which bankrupt estates generally yield are so small, as hardly to be reckoned on. This is the result of spinning out' estates to the last extremity. Let an instance be stated. A person who was a small manufacturer in a country town eight years ago, commenced consigning his goods, and drawing advances. The returns were unprofitable; but instead of lessening his trade, he greatly extended it, getting increased ad vances; till, within five years, he shipped to the extent of L.40,000 per annum; sending, without regard to the state of the market, what was more than one-third of the whole of an article sent to India. He now became bankrupt, leaving an estate which did not pay one shilling in the pound, besides having injured the market and all concerned with it. Another case is that of a merchant who failed in 1839 for L.24,000, one-third only of | which was composed of debts for goods, the balance being for accommodation-bills between him and another house in similar circumstances. These may be somewhat extreme cases; but similar features characterise a great proportion of the failures which occurred during the last crisis. An examination into the affairs of most bankrupt estates will show that the men went on long after they ceased to be possessed of capital; the consequence of which was, that they had to purchase on credit, and, consequently, to a disadvantage; and, irrespective of the state of trade, were forced on to increased responsibilities to meet their increasing embarrassments; until, every means of keeping themselves afloat being exhausted, necessity, not their sense of rectitude and of

* We shall be happy to publish, in a conspicuous manner, the names of any other life-assurance offices which either do not now give bribes for business, or shall hereafter abandon the practice. † Essay on Probabilities, Cabinet Cyclopædia, p. 259.

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LIFE AND POETRY OF JAMES HISLOP. THE world cannot be said to know the name of James Hislop as that of a poet. He is known, however, in this character by a portion of the public in our own section of the island, in consequence, almost solely, of one small production-a set of verses entitled A Cameronian Dream, which first appeared in the Edinburgh Magazine for February 1821. When this somewhat remarkable poem is perused, our readers have had an opportunity of knowing nearly as much of the author as any, except private friends, have hitherto known. Let them previously understand, that it relates a peasant's tale of superstition, connected with a muirland spot in Ayrshire, where a small party of the wilder Presbyterians of Charles II.'s time were attacked by soldiers in 1680, when their minister, Cameron, was slain. The spot is still marked by a flat gravestone inscribed to the memory of the sufferers.

A CAMERONIAN DREAM.

In a dream of the night I was wafted away
To the muirland of mist where the martyrs lay;
where Cameron's sword and his bible are seen,
Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green.
"Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood,
When the minister's home was the mountain and wood;
When in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion,
All bloody and torn 'mong the heather was lying.
"Twas morning; and summer's young sun from the east
Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's breast;
On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shining dew
Glistened there 'mong the heath-bells and mountain flowers blue.
And far up in heaven, near the white sunny cloud,
The song of the lark was melodious and loud,
And in Glenmuir's wild solitude, lengthened and deep,
Were the whistling of plovers and bleating of sheep.
And Wellwood's sweet valleys breathed music and gladness;
The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness;
Its daughters were happy to hail the returning,
And drink the delights of July's sweet morning.

But, oh! there were hearts cherished far other feelings,
Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings,
Who drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow,
For they knew that their blood would bedew it to-morrow.
"Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying,
Concealed 'mong the mist where the heathfowl was crying;
For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering,
And their bridle reins rang through the thin misty covering.
But the vengeance that darkened their brow was unbreathed;
Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheathed,
With eyes turned to heaven in calm resignation,
They sung their last song to the God of salvation.
The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing;
The curlew and plover in concert were singing;
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter,
As the host of ungodly rushed on to the slaughter.
Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire, they were shrouded,
Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded;
Their dark eyes flashed lightning, as, firm and unbending,
They stood like the rock which the thunder is rending.

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming,
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming,
The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was rolling,
When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling,
When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended,
A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended;
Its drivers were angels, on horses of whiteness,
And its burning wheels turned on axles of brightness.
A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining,
All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining,
And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation,
Have mounted the chariots and steeds of salvation.

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding;
Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding:
Glide swiftly, bright spirits! the prize is before ye,
A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory!

If this poem be read with interest, some particulars respecting the author, who has been for many years deceased, will not be felt as superfluous. He was simply and literally a shepherd of the Scottish mountains, and at the time of the above composition, was only in his twenty-third year. The lowly youth, panting for education, and daring to hope that even some share of distinction may yet rest upon his humble name, may well take encouragement from the story of Hislop, who was born of humble parents in the parish of Kirkconnel, in Dumfriesshire, and reared by a grandfather who pursued the calling of a country weaver. Under the care, and with the assistance of this kind relative, who was a favourable specimen of the Scottish peasant, a man of piety and worth, and an elder in his parish church, young Hislop taught himself to read. He early exhibited that thirst for knowledge, and that habit of indiscriminate book-devouring, which form, perhaps, the most familiar marks of the class of minds destined to rise above the common level. It was also when little more than a child, that he was sent to tend sheep and cattle at the farm of Dalblair, in a neighbouring parish. A year of schooling, at about the age of thirteen, formed his only regular education; and after this he resumed his humble duties on another farm. It is a situation by no means so Arcadian as many city people suppose; but it had at least the virtue for Hislop of allowing him retirement and intervals of leisure for study. In the lee of a furze bush, on the hill-side, wrapped in his plaid, might the boy have often been seen conning some volume which chance had thrown in his way, while his faithful dog kept an eye upon his fleecy charge. As with Burns, no book was so voluminous as to slacken his industry, or so antiquated as to damp his researches.' But, as might be expected, those which addressed the imagination and the feelings were his greatest favourites. My mother,' he said, 'used to reprimand me with much severity when she found me reading any book except the Bible and the Confession of Faith. She said Burns's Poems were just a wheen blethers [a parcel of frivolous nonsense]. Many a severe scolding has she given me when my stocking wires got rusty in consequence of Robinson Crusoe. But I got very high in her favour when I distinguished myself by wielding the scythe and the sickle.'

Boghead, where he now served, is in the parish of Auchinleck, in Ayrshire, and here he was in the immediate neighbourhood of Airsmoss, the scene of the Cameron skirmish of 1680. Pondering on the monument of this event, and listening to the still fresh and much revered traditions of it which float about amongst the peasantry, helped to nourish the seeds of poetry in his mind. To him, too, the tales of goblins, of fairies, and of apparitions of the Evil One, which are told by the rustic fireside, came with a help of feeling and of fancy, which left them to reside in his heart as poetry for ever. Some years having passed in this place, he removed to Corsebank, on the rivulet Crawick, near the residence of his worthy grandfather, and afterwards to Carcoe, near Sanquhar. He now availed himself of the opportunity of obtaining private instructions in grammar and in the Latin language, the latter being an attainment looked upon with great respect

amongst the rustics of Scotland. To this he added French and mathematics, mainly advancing in all these pursuits by means of his own ready mind, unfading zeal, and steady perseverance. At twenty, he had become a sort of wonder in his remote pastoral neighbourhood, both for his acquirements, and the power which he had shown of composing poems and songs in his vernacular tongue. 'I was now,' he says in a letter to a friend, an awkward shepherd boy, whose whole knowledge was confined to the Bible, and the various books of divinity and diversion that shepherd libraries could furnish me with. My principal hobby was Hutton's Arithmetic and Bonnycastle's Algebra; rather odd company for a poetical shepherd, you will allow.' The fact is a valuable one, as tending to convince young persons smitten with a love of poetry, that there is no good reason why they may not employ the mind also in some of those severer studies which train the thinking powers. It was soon after this that the charms of a rural maiden, whose name seems to have been Ann, first gave depth to the poetic effusions of the Dumfriesshire shepherd. Some gleams of ambition now visited him, and he opened an evening school for the instruction of his humble neighbours. Towards the end of 1819, when twenty-one years of age, he was induced to remove to Greenock, and there venture to depend entirely on teaching. About the same time, specimens of his poetry began to find their way into the Edinburgh Magazine, the amiable editor of which, the Reverend Mr Morehead, was pleased to take an interest in his welfare. In a prose communication to this gentleman, he gave, in clear and correct language, an indirect account of what had fed his mind in his shepherd life. 'Had you spent,' he says, as many Sabbath days among the Scottish peasantry as I have done, you would join me in thinking that there is yet an extensive field for the cultivation of a higher order of poetry than much that has yet appeared in our language. The popular superstitions, too, that are still current among the peasantry of Nithsdale and Ayrshire, would, of themselves, furnish an abundant supply of awful materials for the fancy of a skilful poet. Who that has ever heard of the fairies of Pal-veach or Glenmuir-the dead-lights carried by dead men, that have been seen among the haunted woods of Garpal or Crawick-the fiery coach that appeared at midnight at the grave of the murdered Cameron in Airsmoss - the spectre that vanished in blood near the Wellwood, in the parish of Muirkirk-and hundreds more of the same kind that might be enumerated; who, I say, that has heard of these, and has been familiar with the characters and feelings of the people among whom they are cherished, will deny that such dread familiarity with the beings of another world has communicated to them an elevation and sublimity of mind highly poetical-perhaps not unfavourable to the cultivation of religion, as more awful conceptions must thus be produced of that Being "who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire?"""

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To cull the fruits o' sweetest juice,
Of which my Annie had made choice.
While thus amang the woods we ran,
An early friendship soon began:

And she was gentler far than ony,

And she was playful, young, and bonnie,
And no ane amang a' the fair,

Wi' my young Annie could compare.

In thae sweet years o' early luve,
The kind and gentle turtle dove
Was not mair happy wi' its mate,
Than we thegither air and late.

Our dwallans they were closely joined,
But closer war our hearts combined,
And though we were exactly yealans,*
We nearer were in thoughts and feelings.
By little and by little grew
Up in my heart, I kenna how,
Like a wee gowan by its lane,
An unkent love for my sweet Ann,
Which made me always wish to be
In that young lassie's company.
When we were sitting on a bank,
I from her eyes a sweetness drank,
That made me wonder what could be
Sae sweet in a young lassie's ee.

Such draughts of sweetness left a pain,
That never could be healed again;
Besides, they often made me sigh;
I could not tell the reason why. * *
Beneath a shady green beech-tree,
Ae day Eliza, Ann, and me,
Playfully passed away the hours

The bees drank honey 'mang the flowers.

Eliza's cheek, vermilion pure,
The bees mistook it for a flower;
Ane o' them cam' wi' bummin' wing,
And wae-sucks! pierced it wi' his sting.

Eliza's cheek was unco sair,

And she began a greetin't there;
My Annie, wi' her voice sae sweet,
Said, Whist, Eliza! dinna greet;

I hae a charm will heal the wound,

And mak' your cheek yet hale and sound;
I learned it frae an auld wise woman,
Kent mony a thing that wasna common.
This said, my Annie did advance

Her sweet wee mouth, wi' laughin' glance,
Began to try her magic powers,
Wi' lips as soft as honey flowers.

She prest them to the bumbee wound,
Wi' sic a sweet and mumuran sound,
That really, wonnerfu' to say,
Eliza's stang died quite away.
The virtue o' her lips was such,
They healed it wi' their very touch.

And I, who never had before
Observed in Annie any more
Than the soft languor of her eyes;
Her voice that waked my softest sighs-
A voice far sweeter than the burnie
That plays o'er mony a pebbled turnie,
Sweeter than simmer's sigh, that heaves
Amang the flowers and rustlan leaves-
Began to feel a new desire;
Within my heart then burnt a fire,
That made me long to press her lips,
And drink the dews a lover sips.

Nae ither plan remained for me,
Than to bring back Eliza's bee,
And make it come wi' bummin' wing,
And gie my cheek like hers a sting.
Whether my cheek was stinged or no,
It matters not-but I did go
To Annie-who my tale believed→
For piteously I grat and grieved.

Soon did the simple girl prepare

To mend my cheek was stang't sae sair;
But ah! the sting her lips did gie
Inflamed far waur than ony bee!

The Greenock speculation turned out ill, and affected his health, for the recovery of which he was obliged to return to the braes of Carcoe. Here he wandered

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about for some months, comparatively idle, yet not neglecting his studies, which now extended to French and Italian literature, and caused him to be regarded as a wonder by all his old friends, his uncle included, who always spoke of him as an unco chiel,' and thought there was nothing he could not do. It was at the end of the year that he composed his Cameronian Dream, which, being published in the magazine, immediately attracted attention. Mr Jeffrey, in particular, was so much pleased with it, that he sent the author a present. Hislop now tried a school in Edinburgh, but had not been engaged in it long, when, by the interest of the gentleman last named, he obtained the appointment of schoolmaster in the Doris frigate, then about to sail for the South American station.

During his absence at sea, Hislop kept up as regular a correspondence as circumstances would permit with his friend and patron, the editor of the Edinburgh Magazine. When not engaged in the tuition of the midshipmen and others intrusted to his charge, he applied himself sedulously to the improvement of his own mind by reading and composition. After an absence of upwards of three years, the Doris returned to England, and Hislop once more visited his native scenery and relations at Carcoe, where he resumed his contributions to the Edinburgh Magazine in a series of Letters from South America,' which at that time excited very considerable interest. In the end of 1825 he proceeded to London, and became acquainted with Allan Cunningham, Mrs Joanna Baillie, and Mr Lock-. hart of the Quarterly Review, and was subsequently engaged as a reporter for one of the London newspapers, an occupation, however, for which he appears to have entertained little partiality, and which soon terminated. The fidelity with which he reported one of the sermons of the celebrated Edward Irving, afterwards brought him into acquaintance with that remarkable man, who presented him with a beautiful pocket Bible in the original language, and a Hebrew grammar, and, as in many other cases where he met with young men of ability, but without employment, strongly urged him to study for the church. In 1826 he was appointed head master of an academy in the neighbourhood of London, and in about twelve months after, he joined the Tweed man-of-war, under the command of Lord Henry Spencer, ordered to the Mediterranean, and afterwards to the Cape of Good Hope. His diligence and labour in study and composition were remarkable. Although highly respected by all on board, it can be easily imagined that the manners and conversation of a ship's company were not such as to allure the schoolmaster much into their society, and therefore, except when professionally engaged in teaching, his time was chiefly occupied in the retirement of his own little cabin. His powers of composition were great; but as he composed with much rapidity, his writings, though abounding with brilliant flashes of imagination, and evincing great amiability and tenderness of feeling, are necessarily deficient in that vigour and concentration of thought which are only to be acquired by an attentive study of the best authors, serious reflection, and a careful weeding out of superfluous words and unmeaning expletives. Among the numerous poems composed at sea, that entitled the Scottish Sacramental Sabbath,' after the manner of Burns's Cottar's Saturday Night, is perhaps the best. The following verses may be taken as a specimen :

The Sabbath morning gilds the eastern hills;
The swains its sunny dawn wi' gladness greet,
Frae heath-clad hamlets 'mang the muirland rills,
The dewy mountains climb wi' naked feet-
Skiffin' the daisies drouket i' the weet,*

The nibblin' flocks come bleatin' down the brae,

To shadowy pastures screened frae simmer heat, In woods where tinklin' waters glide away, 'Mang holms of clover red, and bright brown rye-grass hay.

* Daubed with wet.

His ewes and lambs brought carefu' frae the height,
The shepherd's children watch them frae the corn;
On green-sward scented lawn, wi' gowans white,
Frae page o' pocket psalm-book soiled an' torn,
The task prepared, assigned for Sabbath morn,
The elder bairns their parents join in prayer;
One daughter dear, beneath the flowery thorn,
Kneels down apart, her spirit to prepare,
On this her first approach the sacred cup to share.
The social chat, wi' solemn converse mixed,

At early hour they finish their repast,
The pious sire repeats full many a text
Of sacramental Sabbaths long gone past.

To see her little family featly drest,

The careful matron feels a mother's pride;

Gies this a linen shirt-gies that a vest

The frugal father's frowns their finery chide;

He prays that Heaven their souls may wedding-robes provide.

The sisters buskit seek the garden walk,

To gather flowers, and watch the warning bell;
Sweet-William, danglin' dewy frae the stalk,
Is mixed wi' mountain daisies rich in smell:
Green sweet-brier-sprigs and daisies frae the dell,
Where Spango shepherds pass the lane abode;
And Wanlock miners cross the muirland fell;
Then down the sunny winding woodland road,
The little pastoral band approach the house of God.

On her outward voyage to the Cape of Good Hope, while the Tweed was cruising off the Cape de Verd Islands, Hislop, one of the officers, the whole of the midshipmen, and the surgeon, made a party of pleasure to visit the island of St Jago. The officer, being afraid to remain upon the island during the night, returned to the ship by swimming; the rest slept on shore in the open air, and were in consequence all seized with a violent fever. Six of them, including the surgeon and four midshipmen, died after a short illness. Hislop lingered for twelve days, and died on the 4th December 1827, in the twenty-ninth year of his age. The event was deeply regretted by all who knew him. Had his life been spared, there is every reason to believe he would have risen to a most respectable position in the literary world. He was mild, gentle, and kind-hearted,' said the late Allan Cunningham in a letter to the writer of this article; and, as was the man, so was his genius; elegant rather than vigorous; sweet and graceful rather than lofty, although he was lofty occasionally too. His compositions, coloured slightly by a fortune more uncertain than happy, have much deep feeling, and a love warm and devout for all the living and moving works of God. He was a frequent and welcome visitor of my fireside, and I heard of his tragic death with the sorrow of a brother.'

LEGENDS RESPECTING TREES.
FIRST ARTICLE.

LIKE other natural objects of signal importance to man, whether yielding food, affording shelter, or simply conferring loveliness on the landscape, trees, in the earlier stages of society, have uniformly been the fertile subjects of poetical and mythological allusion. Many of the prettiest legends of heathen antiquity, as well as of our Christian progenitors, relate to trees; while poets, in all countries and ages, have borrowed from them their most brilliant imagery and comparisons. Without inquiring into the causes of these varied allusions, we intend to present the reader with a few of the more remarkable legends, as gleaned from the late Mr Loudon's magnificent work-The Trees and Shrubs of Great Britain.'

The White Poplar, according to ancient mythology, was consecrated to Hercules, because he destroyed Cacus in a cavern of mount Aventine, which was covered with these trees; and in the moment of his triumph, bound his brow with a branch of one as a token of his victory When he descended into the infernal regions, he also returned with a wreath of white poplar round his head. It was this, says the fable, that made the leaves of the colour they are now. The perspiration from the hero's brow made the inner part of the leaf white; while the smoke of the lower regions turned the upper surface of

the leaves almost black. Persons sacrificing to Hercules were always crowned with branches of this tree; and all who had gloriously conquered their enemies in battle wore garlands of it, in imitation of Hercules. In 'The Sentiment of Flowers,' it is said that the ancients consecrated the white poplar to Time, because the leaves are in continual agitation; and being of a blackish green on one side, with a thick white cotton on the other, these were supposed to indicate the alternation of day and night.

The Black Poplar is no less celebrated in fable than its congener above-mentioned. According to Ovid, when Phaethon borrowed the chariot and horses of the sun, and, by his heedless driving, set half the world on fire, he was hurled from the chariot by Jupiter into the Po, where he was drowned; and his sisters, the Heliades, wandering on the banks of the river, were changed into trees-supposed by most commentators to be poplars. The evidence in favour of the poplar consists in there being abundance of black poplars on the banks of the Po; in the poplar, in common with many other aquatic trees, being so surcharged with moisture, as to have it exuding through the pores of the leaves, which may thus literally be said to weep; and in there being no tree on which the Sun shines more brightly than on the black poplar, thus still showing gleams of parental affection to the only memorial left of the unhappy son whom his own fondness had contributed to destroy.

The Apple Tree, so singularly connected with the first transgression and fall of man, is distinguished alike in the mythologies of the Greeks, Scandinavians, and Druids. The golden fruits of the Hesperides, which it was one of the labours of Hercules to procure, in spite of the sleepless dragon which guarded them, were believed by the pagans to be apples. Hercules was worshipped by the Thebans under the name of Melius; and apples were offered at his altars. The origin of this custom was the circumstance of the river Asopus having on one occasion overflowed its banks to such an extent, as to render it impossible to bring a sheep across it which was to be sacrificed to Hercules; when some youths, recollecting that an apple bore the same name as a sheep in Greek (melon), offered an apple, with four little sticks stuck in it, to resemble legs, as a substitute for sheep; and after that period, the pagans always considered the apple as especially devoted to Hercules. In the Scandinavian Edda, we are told that the goddess Iduna had the care of apples which had the power of conferring immortality; and which were consequently reserved for the gods, who ate of them when they began to feel themselves growing old. The evil spirit, Loke, took away Iduna and her apple tree, and hid them in a forest, where they could not be found by the gods. In consequence of this malicious theft, everything went wrong in the world. The gods became old and infirm; and, enfeebled both in body and in mind, no longer paid the same attention to the affairs of the earth; and men having no one to look after them, fell into evil courses, and became the prey of the evil spirit. At length the gods, finding matters get worse and worse every day, roused their last remains of vigour, and combining together, forced Loke to restore the tree.

The Druids paid particular reverence to the apple tree, because the mistletoe was supposed to grow only on it and the oak; and also on account of the usefulness of its fruit. In consequence of this feeling, the apple was cultivated in Britain from the earliest ages of which we have any record; and Glastonbury was called the apple orchard, from the quantity of apples grown there previous to the time of the Romans. Many old rites and ceremonies are therefore connected with this tree, some of which are practised in the orchard districts even at the present day. On Christmas eve,' says Mrs Bray, the farmers and their men in Devonshire take a large bowl of cider, with a toast in it; and carrying it in state to the orchard, they salute the apple trees with much ceremony, in order to make

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