Mr Lockhart's Life is certainly a valuable addition to our literature. It is written in an excellent tone and temper, and, added to its stores of information, with such an honest desire to do justice to the Poet, and to set down nought in malice, that we can scarcely wonder at its rising into such general popularity. The additions made to his third edition will extend the reputation of the work, and I have no doubt but he will speedily be called upon for a fourth. Let them stretch to the crack of doom!'-accompanying the noble labours of Currie, and those strains which will survive,

While rivers row and woods are green.'

although the room was small and rather crowded, she | tocracy of a former generation.
soon fixed on Gilbert Burns, and laying her hand on his
arm, and looking in his face, said, 'Is this no him?" She
was rather proud of having made the discovery so soon;
and when Mr Gray asked by what features she knew
him, she replied, ‘She would soon show him that;' and
taking a key out of a private drawer, she opened an upper
leaf of a clothes-press; from that she took a little box,
and from that she took a portrait of Burns, carefully
rolled up in silver paper. It was kit-kat size, half-
length, with buckskin breeches, blue coat, and broad high-
crowned hat.
Mr Gray at first sight exclaimed, Glo-
rious! Glorious! Burns every inch! Every feature!
Mrs Taylor, that is quite a treasure.' Mr Ainslie made
some remarks about the mouth. Mr Gilbert Burns said,
It is particularly like Robert in the form and air; with
regard to venial faults, I care not.' These were his first
words, or very near them. He looked long and fondly
at it, and listened with earnest attention to Mrs Taylor's
relation of its execution. She said, Mr Burns and
Peter had been in a large party over night, and that
Burns, of his own accord, had attached himself very
much to her husband, for he never wantit the good heart
and the good humour, poor fellow! That on parting,
Peter invited the Poet to breakfast the next day. He
came, and that very day the portrait was begun after
breakfast; Burns having sat an hour to the artist. He
came a second day to breakfast, and sat an hour; and a
third day, which being the last day Burns had to spare,
he had to sit rather long, and Mr Taylor caused her (Mrs
Taylor) to come in, and chat with the Poet.' She related
to Mr Gilbert Burns a number of his brother's sayings
at these interviews, but they were about people I did not
know, and have forgot them. They were of no avail.

"All that I can say of the portrait is, that though I thought it hardly so finished a picture as Nasmyth's, I could see a family likeness in it which I could not discern in the other I had been accustomed to see old Mrs Burns in Closeburn church, every Sabbath-day, for years, also a sister of the Bard's, who was married there, and Gilbert Buris was present. Taylor's picture had a family likenes to them all. To the youngest sister it had a particuar likeness. It is as like one of Gilbert Burns's sons, and very like Gilbert himself in the upper part of the fee. I took a long and scrutinizing look of Gilbert and te picture. It is curious that I could not help associatig Wordsworth in the family likeness with the two broters. Gilbert was very like him, fully as like as to Robrt; but, to use a bad Iricism, had the one been his fathe, and the other his mother, he would have been deemed very like them both. The impression of the whole pary was, in a general sense, that Mr Taylor's picture was a ree, bold, and striking likeness of Burns. Mrs Taylor wuld never let it out of her own hand, but she let us loolat it as long as we liked, and Mr Gilbert Burns testifie himself particularly gratified. As I state nothing but shple facts, you are at liberty to give publicity to any pa of this letter you choose; and I remain, dear sirs, your most truly,

"JAMES HOGG."

The other anmunication we have received is from the pen of MrRobert Carruthers, the able editor of the Inverness Courr, whose information, upon a variety of literary subject is at once accurate and extensive :

TO THE EDITOOF THE EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL.

"As I anticipate your hearty' Amen' to this prayer, let us pass, for a few brief moments, to humbler matters. Mr Lockhart has chronicled the Poet's love of scribbling on glass with a diamond, a fatal present from a lady. It cannot be said that Burns trusted his fame to the brittle tenure of glass, but he was certainly fond of extending it in this way. I well remember, among the dies notandi of former years, having lingered by the Poet's house at Ellisland, tracing these wayward scrawls on a window that faces the river. His own and wife's initials are written in many a fond and fanciful shape, and the following line occupies a conspicuous place on one of the panes :

'An honest Woman's the noblest work of God.'

One of the best and most characteristic of these scraps
I
have never seen printed. Burns was sitting one even-
ing with his kind and steady friend Mr Syme, and
king up a tumbler, wrote on it the following verse:
was pressed to drink. He seemed to hesitate, and, tá-

'There's death in the cup, sae beware,—
Nay, mair, there is danger in touching;
But wha can avoid the fell snare,

The man an' his wean's sae bewitching!'
This is a warm, yet delicate, compliment. The tumbler
was many years in the possession of the late Mr Brown,
Stamp-Office, Dumfries.

"The discovery of the portrait of the poet by Mr Taylor is a valuable relic. In the following note, which was lately shown me by a lady who prizes it highly, Miss Young of Maryhill, Morayshire, Burns alludes to a miniature which I have never seen noticed :

'Mauchline, 23d June, 1788.

'This letter, my dear sir, is only a business scrap. Mr Miers, profile painter in your town, has executed a profile of Dr Blacklock for me: do me the favour to call for it, and sit to him yourself for me, which put in the same size as the Doctor's. The amount of both profiles will be fifteen shillings, which I have given to James Connel, our Mauchline carrier, to pay you when you give him the parcel. You must not, my friend, refuse to sit. The time is short: when I sat to Mr Miers, I am sure he did not exceed two minutes. I propose hanging Lord Glencairn, the Doctor, and you, in trio, over my new chimney-piece that is to be! Adieu.

ROBT. BURNS.*

To Mr Robt. Ainslie, at Mr Mitchelson's, Carrubber's Close, Edinburgh.' "To Mr Lockhart's 'Anecdotes,' perhaps you will think the following worthy of being added. It is perfectly unexceptionable on the score of morals :-Burns, it will be recollected, was struck with the first burst of the French Revolution, and, in common with many of our cautious yet ardent countrymen, regarded it as the com

"Mr Editor-The article in your last Number, on the Unpublishe Remains of Burns, will be read with deep interest ba at home and abroad-on the banks of the Ganges and Mississippi, as well as on the Tweed and the Tay. The ious care which has of late years been The profile of himself, alluded to in the above letter by Burns, extended to the me of the poet, speaks well for the na- must have been one of those traced by a machine, and could be of tional taste and eling, and atones, in some measure, for little or no value. We have seen a miniature painting of Burns, which belonged to Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop, but it is indifferently exthat cruel and hrtless conduct which marked the aris-ecuted, and bears no character.-Ed. Lit. Jour.

ness.

respondents at this period, remain lasting monuments to
his honour; and I could name some high-born ladies, a
irreproachable purity of character, who, on the day afte
his interment, moistened with their tears the prematary
grave of a man, whose memory will always be dear to his
country.-I am, Mr Editor, your most obedient ser
vant,
"ROBERT CARRUTHERS."

RECOLLECTIONS OF A PARSONAGE.

CLERICAL RECREATIONS.

mencement of a new era of universal freedom and happi- | haps, into evil practices, and sharply assailed by eri The conduct of the Gallic regenerators, however, tongues, had not weaned from him the attachment of hi speedily convinced the Poet of his mistake, and as an evi- most fond and faithful friends. The letters of Mrs Dun dence of his returning loyalty, he enrolled himself a mem-lop and Mrs Riddell, with those of numerous other catber of a corps of volunteers then raised in Dumfries. Previous to one of the public meetings of this body-a regular field-day, which was to terminate in a grand dinner-it was hinted to the Bard, that something would be expected from him in the shape of a song or speech-some glowing tribute in honour of the patriotic cause that had linked them together, and eke in honour of the martial glory of old Scotland. The Poet said nothing, but as silence gives consent, it was generally expected that he would shore them on the occasion of the approaching festival with another lyric, or energetic oration. The day at length arrived; dinner came and passed, and the usual loyal toasts were drank with all the honours. Now came the Poet's turn; every eye was fixed upon him, and, slowly lifting his glass, he stood up and looked around him with an arch, indescribable expression of countenance. 'Gentlemen,' said he, may we never see the French, nor the French see us.' The toast fell like a wet blanket,' as Moore says, on the hopes of the Volunteers. Is that a',' they muttered one to another, dropping down to their seats to use the words of my informant, who was present-like so many old wives at a field preaching;' 'Is that the grand speech or fine poem that we were to have from him?-but we could hae expected nae better!' Not a few, however, 'raxed their jaws,' as the Ettrick Shep-ble. herd says, at the homely truth and humour of the Poet's sentiment, heightened by the first rueful aspect of the company; and long after, in his jovial moments, Burns used to delight in telling how he had cheated the Volunteers of Dumfries.

"Mr Lockhart has mentioned the Poet's republican sentiments, and his refusal to drink the health of William Pitt' in a company, wishing to substitute for it the health of George Washington.' I have heard, many years ago, the anecdote related by a gentleman who was present. But Burns was always willing to do justice to the merits of Pitt. He used to say, that the Consolidation of the Customs, and other financial measures of that great man, could only be perfected by the son of Chatham, of whom they were worthy. At this period, the Poet was in the habit of frequenting the house of a near relation of mine, in which a weekly musical club was held. The bold Jacobin songs of France were then newly imported, and Burns was fond of hearing sentiments which he has embodied in his glorious lyric of ‘For a' that, and a' that.' On these occasions, he used to rise and lock the door, remarking, that such things were not suited to vulgar ears.' I have reason to believe, that a number of notes and letters from Burns, of a political nature, are still preserved in the escritoires of the surviving members of this club, who, as the Poet would undoubtedly have done, have long since renounced the dangerous and delusive sentiments which lent a halo to the early efforts of the French reformers.

"The almost unexampled success of Burns called forth a host of imitators, who sought to earn popularity by writing in the Scottish language. One day, as the Poet was sitting at his desk, he heard a well-known balladcrier, familiar to all Dumfriesians, named Andrew Bishop, proclaiming an 'excellent new poem by Burns, called Watty and Meg.' The Bard, who highly admired the poem, lifted the sash of his window, and, in his rough and racy Scotch, called out, That's a d-d lee, Andrew-but gang on.' The reader may not think much of this characteristic trait, but had he heard it, as I did, from the lips of the Poet's widow, in the snug little parlour wherein he composed those matchless lyrics which will endure while Scottish literature exists, he could not refuse it the tribute of a genial smile.

"In conclusion, I may mention, that all the aberrations of the Bard in bis latter days, though fallen, per

I AM decidedly against pluralities, and for this singi: reason, that they divert the attention from that unity of purpose and effect which is the very soul of exertion. A pluralist may struggle a while with his double duties, but the one will ever cramp the other. He will feel like the Siamese boys, now exhibiting in London. There will, in spite of the very best will and arrangement, be occasionally a pulling in opposite directions. Could the one duty be made subservient and subordinate to the other-could the minor be converted into the aspect of an amusement or recreation, with a reference to the major— then, indeed, things were altered; but this is impracticaThe moment I consider an office as a duty, I cease to consider it as a source of amusement. A boy will ride all day on his father's gate, but impose this exercise as a task, and he is off directly. Fishing is a bewitching amusement, but they who fish for profit, have ceased to enjoy it as such. That there should be derical recrestions, is not only desirable, but indispensable; but that sacred and solemn duties should be made to wear this aspect, is inadmissible. It is a manifest satire upon the wisdom of our ancestors, and serves to lessen our regard for the most binding motives of action. Away, then, with pluralities from our church! The bone has been gnawed and crushed, till the children's teeth have been set on edge. Fling it to the Treasury, and let the rebound be heard through St Stephens !

But though I am against pluralities, I am decidedly favourable to clerical recreations; such recreations, however, as preserve the proper and distinctive character. I do not, assuredly, include under this clas the editing of newspapers, and other periodicals. Neitler do I tolerate clerical boarding-houses. These avocations are manifestly duties, to the performance of which time, talents, and exertion are compelled to be subservient. Non mihi res sed me rebus submittere conor," says the clerical editor, or boarding-school master; and the peope, the periodical, or the pupils, must suffer. But the whole range of literature is legitimately open to the parson. In this field he may toss and tumble about unde sunshine, with all the freedom and frolic of an exulting and rejoicing mture. Amidst this range of diversified enjoyment, his imagination, feelings, judgment, memry, may disport, till the public begin to look over the wal, and participate in his happiness. The press is to him. "BARREL OBGAN," upon which he can occasionally play a divertisement-whenever, and only whenever, he humour shall seize him. Upon this "organ," not yet prohibited in our church, many clergymen have playd, and are at this hour playing, most delightfully.

There, for example, is Dr George Cok, lately of Lawrencekirk, who has made the instrument, at leisure hours, respond beautifully to the tune of “ Aild Langsyne;" Mr Sommerville, of Currie, has givenus "Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns" in a mat moving style;— Scott, of Corstorphine, has played u" Wha was aince like Willie Gairlace;" and the miniser of West-Calder has sung us "High Germanie;"-Hamilton Paul has made the keys ring to "Rob the lanter," whilst the

1

Sep

minister of Dunsyre has rumbled a few notes to the tune prolific of sedges, one is ever in danger of being stung by f "A bonnie lass to a Friar came;"-Wright, of Borth- wasps, or bewildered amidst a labyrinth of vegetation. vick, has presented us with "A Morning and Evening Yet, if you choose to practise with the natural fly, you Sacrifice," whose hallowed aspirations are still in the may kill and kill till the strap cuts your shoulder. ars of the nation, whilst Brown, of Eskdalemuir, has tember, October, and November, with floods, sea-trout, Alayed a masterly overture, entitled “Judah;"-Duncan, hirsling, and all manner of migrating shoals!—who would Dumfries, has made the cottar's fireside wondrous fain, mind a blast or a wetting, when the whole streams are And Wightman, of Kirkmahoe, has danced and cracked peopled, when, a few days later, and fishing becomes is thumbs merrily to the music;-Dr Mackenzie, of murder of the most forbidding and unseemly character ? "Portpatrick, has made the rocks around him respond to What then, say you, is to be done during frost ?—“ Curl ! Sin and Oceana," a powerful medley, whilst Welsh, of play at the channel-stane," engage in bonspiels,-eat Glasgow, has given us "Brown's" requiem in proper beef and greens,-and enjoy the society of the more remphasis;--M'Lellan, of Relton, has struck the "note of spectable proportion of your parishioners. What exercise Liberty," which has been echoed up Glen Ken, and has of which the season admits can be more healthy than this? died away at its old residence, the Manse of Kells;——a clear blue sky overhead,—a game to interest the gods, Sandsburough, of Stevenson, has made the rocks of Arran the excitement of emulation in constant and increasing and Goatfell vocal, whilst M'Leod, of Campsie, has activity, and then, when evening comes-But this is a taught the instrument to discourse beautiful Gaelic;-theme too much for feeble prose;→→ Chalmers has " organized the organ into a new state of organization," whilst music oozed from every pore; and ! Andrew Thomson has rung it successfully in tones and cadences of strength and terror;-Sievewright, of Markinch, has died away in a most dying-dying fall, whilst Fleming, of Flisk, has converted it into an ark, for all manner of beasts, birds, and reptiles. And thus the organ has ended in a deray of organic matter, powers, and modulation.

But, seriously, such literary recreation as has been referred to, instead of impeding the performance of duty, forwards it, and coming not at stated and fixed intervals, but occasionally, and ad libitum, serves to keep alive the mental powers, as well as to improve the moral perceptions.

Man, however—and, after all, a Minister is but a man -is not entirely made up of mind. There is an "aliquid terrænæ fæcis" in his composition-“ certamen est animo, cum gravi carne," and to prolong this contest, bodily exercise is absolutely requisite. Away with cards, drafts, backgammon, and chess! The first are unclerical, the second and last, downright stupefaction, whilst backgammon is perfect derangement. Any man who can sit down after dinner, and with his ears open, inflict upon another man the misery of backgammon, would, if occasion served, be guilty of murder,he would trail the body over harrows of iron, as well as the soul over such tearing jets of sound. So much for sedentary recreations, which, with a parson, should all be of a literary, or professional, or family character. The Minister in his family, and with his books and parishioners, will never be in need of sedentary amusement. But he must have exercise. Let him fish! He is two, three, five miles from a stream ;-no matter-let him ride, or trot on foot, --still he ought to fish. There is, in fact, no other exercise so every-way suiting his character and circumstances. Shooting we have on a former occasion dismissed. Quoits are vulgar. Golf is genteel, but expensive;—and what, in the name of health and repaired spirits, is left to the “honest man," but fishing? So let him fish, and incessantly; the stream ever runs;

“Labitur et labetur in omne volubilis ævum ;” and so long as it runs it is fishable. True, the Baltic freezes occasionally, and so do our mountain streams, about the month of February in particular; and then for a few days there is poor fishing: but, with the exception stated, there is sport, and admirable sport, for the Minister all the year round. No month can match March for its deep holes and dark two-pounders. True, they do not rise often; but then their single bite is fate. April is all over fishable, from the squally blast to the lark-lowering cloudling. May is the Queen of Monthsthe Triton of the minnows-enthroned in the midst of the finny tribes, from the par to the red trout. If you do not kill in May, why, then, wait till August; for I cannot say much for June or July; these are so hot and

The sun has set in azure sky,
And home the happy curlers hie;
Their brooms are safely stowed away,
Preserved for use some other day.
The ground is flint, the air is keen,
And every puff of breath is seen ;
And ever, as along they string,
Their tongues with curling clatter ring.

To "beef and greens"-the curlers' feast-
Sit down the farmer, laird, and priest.
Our jaws in silence move a while-
The beef is plied in proper style-
Till first a dram, and then a jug
Of porter, makes the matter snug-
Well-bottled porter, air'd and meek,
All reaming from the chimney cheek.

Then comes the bowl-an heir-loom old-
Which three good quarts of punch can hold.
We hate your tumblers, brittle ware,
They want the jolly, social air;
And jugs are our abhorrence too,
They hide the beverage from the view.
The water smokes, the whisky-bottle
Emits his soul through gurgling throttle;
Amidst the board he takes his place-
Vast MODERATOR of his race!
The spoon is motioned knowingly-
The punch is ready-taste and try-
The smack is o'er the sentence pass'd-
We've "hit the very thing" at last.
And now around the fire we gather-
A fire looks well in frosty weather;
Our half-moon table suits our numbers,
And neither wife nor care encumbers.

Lolling at ease, with haunch on high,
We haflins sit, and haflins lie;
Our eyes all beaming full of glee—
The happiest of the happy we.
The shot is played the port is run,
The winner hit-the end is won.

"Claudite jam rivos pueri, sat prata biberunt."

So, so, my pretty Pegasus, you are all over of a lather! There, now, compose yourself, and walk decently into your stall, recollecting that, after all your vapouring, you are only the "Minister's yad."

THE DRAMA.

T. G.

THEY who think Knowles no poet, and Macready no actor, should go to see Virginius and William Tell; and if they remain of the same opinion still, they are greater dolts than we took them for. We look upon Knowles, and we care not who knows our opinion, as by far the