at a little distance. And this prisoner he, after all, generously pardons at the intercession of Lord Evandale. Say now, "descendants of those enthusiasts whom he persecuted, among whom the name of the bloody Clavers is held in equal abhorrence, and rather more terror, than that of Satan himself," say, if you can now accuse him of cruelty, or even undue severity; and if you are not forced to admit and admire the uncommon clemency with which he spared the lives of your fanatical fathers!

The character of Claverhouse having passed this ordeal, is henceforward held forth as entitled to almost unlimited admiration and applause. His patriotism and disinterestedness, as well as his bravery, are talked of; and on one occasion the reader is persuaded that he sees the tear of humanity trickling down his soft cheek (Vol. iii. p. 139.) If he is seen at Bothwell Bridge "like a hawk perched on a rock, and eyeing the time to pounce on its prey," he descends on Drumshinnel like a protecting angel to save the innocent. Morton, having fallen into his hands, is treated by him rather as a friend and companion than a prisoner; and while he enjoys the company of "this remarkable man," is delighted and astonished "by the varied play of his imagination, and the depth of his knowledge of human nature!"

We may perhaps have dwelt too long on this flattering and fallacious picture. But we judged that we were performing a sacred duty to the cause of truth, humanity, and public good, in exposing such a flagrant attempt to recommend a character which deserves almost unqualified detestation. We intended to have subjoined some reflections upon the bad tendencies of a practice which has of late become too general among our popular writers, who exert all their eloquence to exalt the military character above every other, to invest it with "the highest qualities," and to throw such a dazzling glare over the display of personal valour and martial abilities, as to conceal the cruelties with which it is accompanied, and in a great measure to reconcile the mind to it, even when it is employed to enslave mankind, and to rear or uphold the empire of despotism and tyranny. But

we must conclude that part of our review which relates to the partiality shown by the author to the oppressors of the Presbyterians; and we cannot do this better than by quot ing a passage from a beautiful little poem which has appeared in the "Poetic Mirror," and which we should have liked to have seen in a separate form. It is said to be written by Walter Scott.* It certainly would have done no discredit to the talents of that celebrated poet; but some of its most prominent sentiments-not to speak of the style-bear so very little resemblance to his, that very few, we apprehend, will be disposed to give him the merit of being its author. We are happy, however, to perceive, by looking into his late edition of Swift's Works, that Mr Scott is now convinced, that the treatment of the Presbyterians, between 1660 and 1688, was a "persecution," of which he appeared formerly to entertain some doubts; and we are not altogether without hopes, that, at some future period, his sentiments may undergo such a revolution, as to induce him to admit the justice of the following character of Claverhouse, although he should not be able to claim the lines in which it is so well drawn.

"There, worthy of his masters, came
The despot's champion, bloody Graham,
To stain for aye a warrior's sword,
And lead a fierce, though fawning horde,
The human bloodhounds of the earth,
To hunt the peasant from his hearth!
-Tyrants! could not misfortune teach,
That man has rights beyond your reach?
Thought ye the torture and the stake
Could that intrepid spirit break,

Which even in woman's breast withstood
The terrors of the fire and flood!"

[The poem was written, in imitation of Scott, by the late talented, truly amiable, and much lamented Thomas Pringle, Esq. The Poetic Mirror was a series of poems in the style of well known writers, and the names of the real authors were of course concealed to aid the illusion.ED.]

PART II.

"Yes; though the sceptic's tongue deride
Those martyrs who for conscience died,-
Though modish history blight their fame,
And sneering courtiers hoot the name
Of men who dared alone be free,
Amidst a nation's slavery,-

Yet long for them the poet's lyre

Shall wake its notes of heavenly fire;

Their names shall nerve the patriot's hand,

Upraised to save a sinking land;

And piety shall learn to burn

With holier transports o'er their urn !"

Epistle to R. S.

THERE is something extremely fascinating in all that is done by a man of genius. Persons of minor talents are irresistibly attracted by his motions, and follow him even in his eccentricities, and greatest aberrations from good sense and propriety. Since the days of the Spectator, it has been an invariable practice with the authors of all periodical works of the same literary complexion, to begin each paper with a motto in Latin or in Greek. The author of the Tales having struck out a new species of fictitious writing, which, it is expected, will continue as fashionable during the 19th, as that of the Spectator was during the 18th century, has given it a distinctive mark, by prefixing to each chapter a select piece of English poetry. This has already become so popular, that a friend of ours lately addressed us on

the propriety of our following the example, and prefixing & few lines of poetry to each paper of our prosaic instructions. We could not help demurring to this unexpected proposal, and signified, that the practice appeared to us to savour very strongly of affectation and puerility, and that our readers would certainly take it into their heads, that we were a company of concealed poets or poetasters, who, being forced out of employment by the badness of the times, had betaken ourselves, for the sake of making a little money, to the business of editing religious communications, and who would leave them and return to our old work, as soon as trade revived. "Not at all, not at all (said he, in a tone of decision which rather embarrassed us); you must allow me to know these things better than you. The public are not so jealous nor so far-sighted as you think them to be. I can tell you, that the practice in question has contributed as much as any thing to the popularity of the Tales; and I could not help smiling in my sleeve, to see you very gravely and philosophically assigning a number of reasons for concluding that they were written by the author of Waverley and Guy Mannering, while you passed over the most palpable and convincing of all. Ask the publisher, and I am persuaded he will tell you, that the uniform practice of purchasers, on taking up the book, is to look at the title page and beginning of the chapters, and upon perceiving the poetical impress on these, they at once draw the conclusion, and throw down the money. I can assure you that it forms one of their leading beauties, and exhibits, in fact, that ' variety combined with unity,' which you insinuated was awanting in them. It has a most wonderful effect upon the mind of the reader-an effect which may be compared to that of the chorus in the ancient Greek tragedy, or of a song between the acts of a modern comedy, or of the tuck of the drum during the intervals of evolution at a military review, or the sound of the huntsman's horn upon the dogs at a fox chase; or, not to multiply figures on a topic so evident, and to comprehend all in one, like the effect of the stroke of an auctioneer's hammer at the end of every article of sale."

Here our friend began to recommend to us the imitation of the style and manner of a periodical work recently begun in this city; but on our exhibiting strong symptoms of disgust, he desisted, and resumed his former theme.* "Well," continued he, "I shall undertake to provide you with a motto for the title page of your present volume, as appropriate as that of the Tales, from Burns's 'Cottar's Saturday Night,' or from the 'Gude and Godly Ballates' of Græme Dalyell;-be not afraid, I do not mean Grahame of Claverhouse, or Dalziel of Binns, but John Dalyell, Esq., advocate, who edited the ballads; and I shall also select for you an extract from Chateaubriand's Beauties of Christianity,' to be placed in the original French, with a translation, opposite the title; both of which will continue to stand as a perpetual frontispiece to all your subsequent volumes. In the meantime, lay you in a sufficient quantity of extracts for the interior departments of your magazine." Not willing to differ altogether with our adviser, of whose intelligence, as well as friendly dispositions, we have had many satisfying proofs, we resolved to yield so far as make the trial in one instance; and accordingly, in imitation of the Tales, we have begun the second part of our review with a reasonably long extract from the poem from which we quoted at the close of the preceding part.

In justice to ourselves, we must, however, observe, that neither the example of the author of the Tales, nor the persuasions of our friend, would have induced us to this compliance, if we had not been convinced of two things. The first is, the intrinsic excellence of the lines which we have prefixed, and their extreme suitableness to our purpose. They exhibit, in a succinct form, and with much beauty and force, what we wish to lay before our readers in greater detail in the following pages. And indeed it would not have been easy for us to have conveyed, in so few words, the ideas which we have of our persecuted ancestors, and

* [The allusion here seems to be to the "Sale-room," a periodical started by John Ballantyne, to which Sir Walter contributed, but which proved, as Lockhart says, a dull and hopeless concern."-ED.]

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