view, in its most juvenile days, were immeasurably ❘ that have since elapsed, he has steered clear of party distanced by its unscrupulous and bitterly malig- politics. His reviews, since he resigned, have only nant rival of the South, from the first hour that it been four. Nor, so far as we notice, has any one of came into existence, until Mr. Gifford ceased to these, save the Life of Sir James Mackintosh, obconduct it. tained a place in the four well-filled volumes before us. Ample as they are, they do not, we are told, contain a third of the entire body of Mr. Jeffrey's able and varied contributions to The Review. They form, however, we should imagine, the cream of the mass of his writings; and some of the crack temporary articles are here, as well as those on which time has set the stamp of excellence.

Our readers must remember, that it was the Rev. Sydney Smith who first magnanimously resolving, with his briefless associates, to "cultivate literature upon a little oatmeal," projected from his seven-storied attic, the great political and literary organ, which from 1803 till 1829, was under the management, though not the absolute con-trol, of Mr. Jeffrey. When the editor-but Mr. Jeffrey studiously eschews the term, editor In the reprints, Lord Jeffrey has acted upon the -was, in 1829, elected by Whigs and Tories principle," what is writ is writ." The omissions unanimously, Dean of the Faculty of Advocates, are, therefore, mainly of extracts from the books rehe thought it becoming in the head of that "great viewed; and the emendations slight, and nearly all law corporation" to resign the business of con- verbal, intended either to throw light on obscuriducting what "might in many respects be fairly ties or correct the text. Though Lord Jeffrey, in represented as a party Journal," For several some few instances, regrets that he has not emyears after this period he wrote nothing for Theployed a gentler tone or form of expression, and Review; and in his contributions during the years though he seems to lean more to the side of ins

moral aim; we would, if our space for past popular and familiar writings permitted, rather gladly extract, and largely, from the review of O'Driscol's History of Ireland; which engages attention from its great intrinsic value, and especially by the applicability of the general reasoning to the existing relations between Great Britain and Ireland. As it is, we earnestly recommend this paper, which appears in the fourth volume, to the attention of both the English and Irish people, but especially to the latter ; and content ourselves with this sentence from the note appended to the reprint of The Review :-" If at that time, [in 1827,] I thought a separation, or a dissolution of the Union, (for they are the same thing,) a measure not to be contemplated but with horror, it may be supposed that I should not look more charitably on the proposition, now that Catholic Emancipation and Parliamentary Reform have taken away some, at least, of the motives or apo

dulgence than in former years, we observe no important change of opinion in any principle, whether of morals, philosophy, or taste, that he formerly avowed and supported. In that controversy about words-for it is little else—on Human Perfectibility, he assumed the side sanctioned by reason and experience; and he maintains it still, against the Perfectibility School, whether of England or France. Had the Masters or Founders of that School substituted the word Progression for Perfectibility, the dispute would have been at an end, and Mr. Jeffrey and they at one; and they really could have meant no more. In his controversy with the Lake Poets, or rather with Wordsworthfor the quarrel with Southey was as much political as poetical-Lord Jeffrey also holds his original ground, content to see the age desert him, and to remain in a glorious minority. But he makes a becoming and handsome, and, we are certain, satisfactory apology for the mode of his condem-logies of those by whom it was maintained. The nation, when he says, in a note affixed to the review of The Excursion, "I have spoken in many places rather too bitterly and confidently of the faults of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry; and forgetting that, even on my view of them, they were but faults of taste, or venial self-partiality, have sometimes visited them, I fear, with an asperity which should be reserved for objects of moral reprobation. If I were now to deal with the whole question of his poetical merits, though my judgment might not be substantially different, I hope I should repress the greater part of the vivacities of expression." The Critic should have stopped here; and, at all events, not again have wakened the question of poetical merits at least we think so; probably from being of the number-no small one-of persons who still "actually admire this White Doe of Rylstone;" and find a savage kind of beauty, and a profound moral, even in Peter Bell. The worst thing, after all, of those celebrated critiques is, that they impugn the sensibility and judgment of their author even more than his candour; and augur something like limited imagination, or a narrow range of poetical emotion.

Lord Jeffrey frankly owns, that he has said, in his time, "petulant and provoking things of Mr. Southey, and such as he would not say now;" but he is not conscious that he was ever unfair to Southey's poetry. It may be freely admitted, that if there was a bias, the critic was unconscious of it; and also that Southey's changes of opinion, united with his tone of intolerance and dogmatism, were, for the moment, beyond measure provoking, and even worthy of chastisement. The only review of Southey's poetry reprinted is the last written; that of Roderick the Last of the Goths. The juxta-position of the poetical critiques in the volume is unfortunate. So much praise of Rogers and Moore; not that the criticism on the latter is not acute and discriminating; and so much depreciation of Roderick, and The White Doe, and The Excursion, must still be a little irritating to some folks.

example of Scotland [in The Review] is still, I think, well put for the argument. And among the many who must now consider this question, it may be gratifying to some to see upon what grounds, and how decidedly an opinion was then formed upon it, by one certainly not much disposed to think favourably of the conduct or pretensions of England."―There is another review which, upon the same solid, utilitarian principle that guides us in the above instance, we would also recommend to the attention of modern readers; leaving the gay, the elegant, the imaginative, and entertaining papers, to shift for themselves. We mean now an article upon the nature of those social, humane, and friendly relations which should subsist between Great Britain and the Free United States of America. This paper was written so far back as 1819; since which period the evils pointed out have been heinously aggravated by the Trollopes, Kembles, Marryats, and Dickenses; who have, most inconsiderately, revenged venial offences offered to their own vanity and self-love, by unjustifiable attacks upon a whole nation: for personal offence, or wounded vanity, is clearly at the bottom of some of it. To this paper, we find the following note attached: "There is no one feeling, having public concerns, for its object, with which I have so long and deeply been impressed, as that of the vast importance of our maintaining friendly relations with the free, powerful, moral, and industrious States of America; a condition upon which I cannot help thinking, that not only our own freedom and prosperity, but that of the better part of the world, will ultimately be found to be more and more dependent. I give the first place, therefore, in this concluding division of the work, to an earnest and somewhat importunate exhortation to this effect, which, I believe, produced some impression at the time, and, I trust, may still help forward the good end to which it was directed."

One word more, and we have done. Younger journalists, party-writers, and literary critics of Instead of calling or recalling the attention of all grades, may find much in the Spirit and in readers to what, in these volumes, is beautiful and the Art manifested in these volumes, for their inrefined in speculation; poignant, animated, and struction and guidance, and something also for graceful in composition; or noble and persuasive in warning. They will see, that one of the greatest

masters of their profession, although he has never | good deal to repent in the arrogant tone and sharp erred nor blundered to anything like the extent expression to which he has sometimes given way, of some of the humblest and dullest of the craft, under the influence of personal provocation, or finds, in looking back upon his brilliant and pros-party feeling, and the possession of that most seperous career, nothing to regret of excess on the ductive power-the power of being gracefully saucy side of candour, gentleness, and indulgence; but a | and piquant,

REMINISCENCES OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, SIR HENRY RAEBURN, &c.

BY JOHN MORRISON.

(Continued from page 786 of our December No.)

SOMETHING* came in the way, and my land- | lord desired his sister to walk up with me to the Dun, and show me the way. We, of course, fell into conversation. She had, she said, accompanied a lady from Skye to Glasgow for two years; that she could have been married there to a man she did not dislike; but she felt that she could neither live nor die in the Low Country, and made her escape; and added, that she would rather die an old maid in her own country, than be the wife of a Lowland laird. She was a handsome girl, about twenty-two years of age, and spoke English well; but regretted that her lady spoke to her more in Gaelic than in English, otherwise she would have improved her English more. After receiving her instructions, and her hoping to see me in the afternoon safe from the Glen of Ghosts, we parted. | I walked along the eastern range of the mountains, and entered Coruishk from the south, where the waters of the lake fall into the sea.

I walked along the eastern range of mountains, and entered the valley or glen of Coruishk from the south. The lake discharges itself into the sea by a considerable descent or rush. Here I found a man fishing. He had caught many fine sea-trout, or herling. On proceeding up the lake, from the fragments of rock and other obstructions, I could not walk more than a mile per hour. The further I proceeded, the scene became more gloomy. The bleating of the goat, the scream of the eagle, tended to heighten the solemn grandeur of the whole. The sea-eagle I observed to alight on one of the small islands, where, it is probable, she builds her nest. I observed one pretty large birch on one of the islands the only shrub I saw. I wandered round the lake, which took me at least four hours. I observed, in a kind of recess in the rock, some red deer-about five; and above them, on a rock, several wild goats of a reddish-brown colour, and very small.

On returning down to the mouth of the loch, I found a new fisher: he had, in the last hour, killed more than a dozen. I pointed out six of the best about a pound weight each, and asked the price; he said sixpence. He strung them through the gills on a bit of small cord, and I carried them home; where we had an excellent feast of tea and trout, and some of the best whisky I ever tasted, made by my landlord.

I wrote my Journal, adjusted my drawings;

and on the following morning the boat arrived. I bathed, put on a clean shirt, had an excellent breakfast, and asked what I had to pay; the answer was nothing. I had a small brooch in my breast, with which I presented the lady of Skye, I had opened a small leather portmanteau, to pack some article into, when she put in, with her own hands, a pair of beautiful stockings which she herself had knitted. I learned, many years afterwards, that she was well married, and had gone to reside on a neighbouring island.

I embarked, and was landed on the north side of Mull, and walked to Tobermory. The emigrant ships had sailed three days before. I walked to Arros, where there is an old castle and village. I crossed over the Sound to Ardtornish, drew and examined the ruin, returned by the same boat, and walked down to Duart. The castle is built on a rock; it is very fine, and then contained a small garrison of from twelve to twenty soldiers. They were very civil, and directed me to a small public-house, where I was very comfortably accommodated, and proceeded next day to make drawings.

Duart was the stronghold of the Macleans, and is the scene of The Family Legend, and of Campbell's ballad of Helen of Lorn. After having made my drawings on land, I procured a boat, and rowed myself to the rock where Maclean abandoned his lady to perish, and made a drawing of the castle from this point. An old lady at the inn told me the tale pretty much in the way it has since been given to the world; except that the hero who relieved the lady from the rock, was either warned in a dream, or saw, by the power of the second-sight, the figure of a lady abandoned there; and arrived barely in time to save her. The rock is dry at low, and covered at high water.

From Duart I sailed to Oban, and visited Dunstaffnage and the Pictish city of Beregonium, where I could observe nothing like the regular remains of an ancient city. The descriptions of it by the Ettrick Shepherd are all exaggeration; but the surrounding scenery is magnificent. I visited the Fall of Connel, where, during the flood-tide, the water flows inland over a rock, where the pass is narrow, and fills a large basin inside. When the ebb commences, the water below retreats much faster than it can be discharged from the basin above, which, falling leisurely, forms a beautiful cascade. I walked up the banks of the river Awe,

* It will be recollected that we left Mr. Morrison in the Isle of Skye, in the midst of his Reminiscences of Scott, relating his adventures in a Highland Tour forty years since.-E. T. M.

to the lake, and along its margin, which exhibits many grand views, with Ben Cruachan towering to the north. I fell in with an old fisherman who lived on an island in the lake, and kept a publichouse. He promised me good fare if I would embark with him, which I did, and fared well. The island was stocked with rabbits, and he had taken some very fine trout in the lake. The house was kept by his daughter, who had, for some time, been a servant in Glasgow. She understood cookery, and I had stewed rabbit and fried trout to dinner. I stayed here three days. The fisherman, who rented the island, provided me with a small boat, in which I sailed about by myself, visiting the fine scenery on the island and the shores of the lake. I ascended Ben Cruachan, which is 4400 feet in height; and the day being good, enjoyed a most extensive view: Lochaber and Glenorchy in gloomy grandeur to the north and east; and to the west the magnificent scenery of Morven; the rich island of Lismore and Ben Awe in the foreground; the Sound of Mull, and, over and farther to the west of Mull, many other islands of fantastic figure; the Dutchman's Cap; Tiree, famous for its breed of ponies; Iona; Scarba; Jura with its five Paps, as the five mountains are termed; with Colonsay and Isla, to the south-west. It happened to be the time of the tide when the whirlpool of Corryvreckan is in motion, for I could plainly observe the white foam of the troubled waters, while all the surrounding ocean appeared one burnished sheet of living gold." I made a bird's-eye drawing to the north, east, south, and west, and forgot that I had to descend by a perilous route. The sun was sinking in the sea when I began to descend. I found my little boat, and regained the island by moonlight. My bill was sixpence for breakfast, and the same for dinner and tea, besides the whisky, a little of which was necessary, as brandered trout formed one dish at every meal.

I proceeded towards Inverary,-passing through the romantic village of Cladich. The whole road to Loch Fyne is grand. I rested, and drew so many views that, although the distance was short, it was late before I reached the inn at Inverary. The accommodation was excellent; but the bill of one day here would have kept me a week on the island, and the fare was not better.

thing in its mouth, like a hare or muirfowl; they likely had young. Glen Rosa, in terrific grandeur, is the next thing to Coruishk in Skye; but, in point of beauty, with its woods skirting the glen, greatly superior. The lake is wanting. At the bottom of the valley are some fine old Scots firs; and from thence to Brodick is Culshant, or the Field of Enchantment.

Next day, I ascended Goatfell, the view from which is very extensive: the whole range of the West Highlands, with Ben Nevis, Ben Cruachan, Ben Lomond; the mountains of Galloway, to the south-east; the whole of Ayrshire; Ailsa Craig ; Ireland in the distance; the whole of Kintyre, spread like a map, and at no great distance; with all the Hebrides south of Tiree and Mull.

I descended by the Glen of Corrie, a most terrific scene; and in the evening arrived at Brodick. The old castle of the Boyds is kept in good order, and occupied by the Duke of Hamilton's factor or land-steward. Next day I sailed for Greenock and Glasgow, and on to Dumfries,-having been on my Highland tour three weeks: my whole expenditure five pounds or thereby.

Sir Henry Raeburn regretted to me that Sir Walter had declined to sit to him. "The portrait I have already painted," he said, "has a heavy look. There are three; but two are copies, although I wished him to sit for them all. But he is a restless sitter."-" Not only myself," said Sir Walter, on the other hand, "but my very dog growls when he observes a painter preparing his palette."-"I will undertake," said I, to Sir Henry, "to prevail with him to sit, provided I am to be present with the sitter's leave, and permitted, by way of lesson, to copy the work in certain stages."

"You shall not only have my leave to be present," said Sir Henry, "but I may paint your own head into the bargain." I mentioned to Sir Walter that it would be conferring on me a most particular favour, as I had conventioned with Sir Henry Raeburn that I should be present at all the sittings, if he was not averse to the arrangement. "I have been painted so often," said he, "that I am sick of the thing; especially since, with the exception of Raeburn's old portrait, I can only see so many old shoemakers or blue-gown beggars. Even Lawrence, whose portrait is in progress, has been thinking more of the poet than the man. The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,

between the two would be better; I hate attitudes.

I varied the ordinary route, and sailed down Loch Fyne, where I fell in with a boat about to sail for the Island of Arran. I embarked, and landed in the port of Loch Ranza; than which, with its old castle, I had seen nothing finer. I rambled about for a day, visiting the Torruidyan, a high rocky is what he is aiming at; but I anticipate a mountain, where millions of seafowl build their failure. Raeburn's portrait looks down, and Sir nests, and where my guide, (the same who had at-Thomas's too much up. I think that something tended Professor Playfair,) pointed out a junction of the granite with the schistus. Next day, I travelled over a wild and high range of grand mountains to Glen Rosa. Near the summit, I was overtaken by a thunder-storm and heavy rain. I got under a grand flat stone, or rather cave, from which I heard the thunder and saw the lightning with great effect. I felt a disagreeable putrid smell, which was accounted for when I observed two foxes passing into the cave; one of them carried some

-My compliments to Sir Henry, and say that I will be glad to see him here to-morrow, to breakfast: it is not a court day. You will accompany him, of course." This was after dinner. I called at St. Bernards on the following morning, and found the artist walking in his garden. He was much gratified with my success, and prepared to go with me to Castle Street. I

"His time," said he, "as well as my own, is o

much taken up, that I seldom see him. I will send | Walter's portrait, which was in progress. I knew an apology to all my sitters to-day."