with their heroic blood, for hateful to our ears the war-song, "Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory!" "Tis our way to pass from gay to grave matter, and often from a jocular to a serious view of the same subject And the influence of such education and occupation among such natural objects, Wordsworth expounds in some as fine poetry as ever issued from the cells of philosophie thought, "So the foundations of his mind were laid." it being natural to us—and having be- The boy had small need of books— come habitual from writing occasionally in Blackwood's Magazine. All the world knows our admiration of Wordsworth, and admits that we have done almost as much as Jeffrey to make his poetry popular among the "educated circles." But we are not a nation of idolators, and worship neither graven image nor man that is born of a woman. We may seem to have treated the Pedlar with insufficient respect in that playful parallel between him and ourselves; but there you are wrong again, for we desire thereby to do him honour. We wish now to say a few words on the wisdom of making such a personage the chief character in the Excursion. "For many a tale Traditionary, round the mountains hung. And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, Nourished Imagination in her growth, And gave the mind that apprehensive power He is described as endowed by na. ture with a great intellect, a noble imagination, a profound soul, and a tender heart. It will not be said that By which she is made quick to recognise "Whate'er the minister's old shelf sup- nature keeps these her noblest gifts for human beings born in this or that condition of life: she gives them to her favourites-for so, in the highest sense, they are to whom such gifts befall; and not unfrequently, in an obscure place, of one of the FORTU NATI "The fulgent head Star-bright appears." The life and death of martyrs, who sus tained, With will inflexible, those fearful pangs, Can you not believe that by the time he was as old as you were when you used to ride to the races on a Poney, by the side of your sire the squire, this boy was your equal in tutor all to yourself, and were then a knowledge, though you had a private promising lad, as indeed you are now after the lapse of a quarter of a cen tury? True, as yet he "had small Latin, and no Greek;" but the elements of these languages are best learned-trust us-by slow degrees Wordsworth appropriately places the by the mind rejoicing in the conbirth of such a being in a humble sciousness of its growing faculties dwelling in the Highlands of Scot- during leisure hours from other land. studies-as they were by the Athol adolescent. A Scholar-in your sense "Among the hills of Athol he was born; of the word-be might not be called, Where on a small hereditary farm, offspring old, though exceeding nurtured at home and truth-and acledge at a winter mer he "tended even when he had reached his sewould have puzzled you in Livy and venteenth year, though probably be he read much-the less the better for Virgil-nor of English poetry had such a mind—at that age, and in that condition-for " Accumulated feelings pressed his hear With still incressing weight, he was » erpowered By nature, by the turbulence ended Of his own mind, by mystery and bope, dreary And the first virgin passoco, në a arvu Conmening with the glozione Tackere "Plain was his garb : Such as might suit a rustic sire, prepared For Sabbath duties; yet he was a man Whom no one could have passed without remark. Active and nervous was his gait; his limbs And his whole figure breathed intelli gence. A man of kindlier nature. sports The rough And teasing ways of children vexed not him: Indulgent listener was he to the tongue Of garrulous age; nor did the sick man's tale, To his fraternal sympathy addressed, Time had compressed the freshness of his Obtain reluctant hearing." cheeks That is the eagle's birthplace," &c. So it was with us. Give us but a base and a quadrant-and when a student in Jemmy Millar's class, we could have given you the altitude of any steeple in Glasgow or the Gorbals. Like the Pedlar, in a small party of friends, though not proud of the accomplishment, we have been prevailed on to give a song-" The Flowers of the Forest," "Roy's Wife," or " Auld Langsyne" "At request would sing Old songs, the product of his native hills; A skilful distribution of sweet sounds, Who can read the following lines, and not think of Christopher North? "Birds and beasts, And the mute fish, that glances in the stream, And harmless reptile coiling in the sun, And gorgeous insect hovering in the air, The fowl domestic, and the household dog In his capacious mind he loved them all." True that our love of The mute fish, that glances in the stream," is not incompatible with the practice of the angler's silent trade," or with the pleasure of " filling our panniers." The Pedlar, too, we have reason to know, was, like his poet and ourselves a craftsman, and for love beat the molecatcher at busking a batch of May-flies. The question whether Lascelles himself were his master at a green dragon, "The harmless reptile coiling in the sun," we are not so sure about, having once been bit by an adder, whom, in our simplicity, we mistook for a slow-worm the very day, by the by, on which we were poisoned by a dish of toadstools, by our own hand gathered for mushrooms. But we have long given over chasing butterflies, and feel, as the Pedlar did, that they are beautiful creatures, and that 'tis a sin, between finger and thumb, to compress their mealy wings. The household dog wo do, indeed, dearly love, though, when old Surly looks suspicious, we pru dently keep out of the reach of his chain. As for "the domestic fowl," we breed scores every sprin And the influence of such education and occupation among such natural objects, Wordsworth expounds in some as fine poetry as ever issued from the cells of philosophic thought, "So the foundations of his mind were laid." The boy had small need of books "For many a tale Traditionary, round the mountains hung, And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, Nourished Imagination in her growth, By which she is made quick to recognise "Whate'er the minister's old shelf sup- The life and death of martyrs, who sus- With will inflexible, those fearful pangs, Can you not believe that by the time he was as old as you were when you used to ride to the races on a Poney, by the side of your sire the squire, this boy was your equal in knowledge, though you had a private tutor all to yourself, and were then a promising lad, as indeed you are now after the lapse of a quarter of a century? True, as yet he "had small Latin, and no Greek;" but the ele. ments of these languages are best learned-trust us-by slow degreesby the mind rejoicing in the consciousness of its growing faculties during leisure hours from other studies-as they were by the Athol adolescent. A Scholar-in your sense of the word he might not be called, even when he had reached his seventeenth year, though probably he would have puzzled you in Livy and Virgil-nor of English poetry had he read much-the less the better for such a mind-at that age, and in that condition-for "Accumulated feelings pressed his heart With still increasing weight; he was o'erpowered By nature, by the turbulence subdued "Plain was his garb : Such as might suit a rustic sire, prepared For Sabbath duties; yet he was a man Whom no one could have passed without remark. Active and nervous was his gait; his limbs And his whole figure breathed intelli gence. A man of kindlier nature. The rough sports And teasing ways of children vexed not him : Indulgent listener was he to the tongue Of garrulous age; nor did the sick man's tale, To his fraternal sympathy addressed, Time had compressed the freshness of his Obtain reluctant hearing." Human, or such as lie beyond the grave." In our intellectual characters, we indulge the pleasing hope, that there are some striking points of resemblance, on which, however, our modesty will not permit us to dwell-and in our acquirements, more particularly in Plane and Spherical Trigonometry. "While yet he lingered in the rudiments Of science, and among her simplest laws, His triangles- they were the stars of Heaven. The silent stars! oft did he take delight To measure the altitude of some tall stream, And harmless reptile coiling in the sun, And gorgeous insect hovering in the air, The fowl domestic, and the household dog In his capacious mind he loved them all." True that our love of The mute fish, that glances in the stream," is not incompatible with the practice of the "angler's silent trade," or with the pleasure of " filling our panniers." The Pedlar, too, we have reason to know, was, like his poet and ourselves a craftsman, and for love beat the molecatcher at busking a batch of May-flies. The question whether Lascelles himself were his master at a green dragon, "The harmless reptile coiling in the sun," we are not so sure about, having once been bit by an adder, whom, in our simplicity, we mistook for a slow-worm the very day, by the by, on which we were poisoned by a dish of toadstools, by our own hand gathered for mushrooms. But we have long given over chasing butterflies, and feel, as the Pedlar did, that they are beautiful creatures, and that 'tis a sin, between finger and thumb, to compress their mealy wings. The household dog we do, indeed, dearly love, though, when old Surly looks suspicious, we pru dently keep out of the reach of his chain. As for "the domestic fowl," we breed scores every spring. for the delight of seeing with their heroic blood, for hateful to our ears the war-song, "Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory! " "Tis our way to pass from gay to grave matter, and often from a jocular to a serious view of the same subjectit being natural to us-and having become habitual from writing occasionally in Blackwood's Magazine. All the world knows our admiration of Wordsworth, and admits that we have done almost as much as Jeffrey to make his poetry popular among the "educated circles." But we are not a nation of idolators, and worship neither graven image nor man that is born of a woman. We may seem to have treated the Pedlar with insufficient respect in that playful parallel between him and ourselves; but there you are wrong again, for we desire thereby to do him honour. We wish now to say a few words on the wisdom of making such a personage the chief character in the Excursion. He is described as endowed by nature with a great intellect, a noble imagination, a profound soul, and a tender heart. It will not be said that nature keeps these her noblest gifts for human beings born in this or that condition of life: she gives them to her favourites-for so, in the highest sense, they are to whom such gifts befall; and not unfrequently, in an obscure place, of one of the FORTU And the influence of such education and occupation among such natural objects, Wordsworth expounds in some as fine poetry as ever issued from the cells of philosophic thought, "So the foundations of his mind were laid." The boy had small need of books"For many a tale Traditionary, round the mountains hung, And many a legend, peopling the dark woods, Nourished Imagination in her growth, And gave the mind that apprehensive power By which she is made quick to recognise The moral properties and scope of things." But in the Manse there were books__ and he read "Whate'er the minister's old shelf sup plied, The life and death of martyrs, who sustained, With will inflexible, those fearful pangs, Can you not believe that by the time he was as old as you were when you used to ride to the races on a squire, this boy was your equal in poney, by the side of your sire the tutor all to yourself, and were then a knowledge, though you had a private promising lad, as indeed you are now after the lapse of a quarter of a century? True, as yet he "had small Latin, and no Greek;" but the ele. ments of these languages are best learned-trust us-by slow degreesby the mind rejoicing in the consciousness of its growing facultiesduring leisure hours from other studies-as they were by the Athol adolescent. A Scholar-in your sense of the word he might not be called, even when he had reached his seventeenth year, though probably he would have puzzled you in Livy and Virgil-nor of English poetry had he read much-the less the better for such a mind-at that age, and in that condition-for "Accumulated feelings pressed his heart With still increasing weight; he was o'erpowered By nature, by the turbulence subdued |