THE DEPARTURE OF THE GYPSIES FROM ELLANGOWAN.

It was in a hollow way, near the top of a steep ascent upon the verge of the Ellangowan estate, that Mr. Bertram met the gypsy procession. Four or five men formed the advanced guard, wrapped in long, loose great coats, that hid their tall slender figures, as the large slouched hats, drawn over their brows, concealed their wild features, dark eyes, and swarthy faces. Two of them carried long fowling-pieces, one wore a broadsword without a sheath, and all had the Highland dirk, though they did not wear that weapon openly or ostentatiously.

Behind them followed the train of laden asses and small carts, or tumblers, as they were called in that country, on which were laid the decrepit and the helpless, the aged and infant part of the exiled community. The women in their red cloaks and straw hats, the elder children with bare heads and bare feet, and almost naked bodies, had the immediate care of the little caravan. The road was narrow, running between two broken banks of sand, and Mr. Bertram's servant rode forward, smacking his whip with an air of authority, and motioning to their drivers to allow free passage to their betters.

His signal was unattended to. He then called to the men who lounged idly on before, "Stand to your beasts' heads, and make room for the laird to pass." "He shall have his share of the road," answered a male gypsy from under his slouched and largebrimmed hat, and without raising his face, "and he shall have no more; the highway is as free to our cuddies as to his geldings."

The tone of the man being sulky, and even menacing, Mr. Bertram thought it best to put his dignity into his pocket, and pass by the procession quietly, upon such space as they chose to leave for his accommodation, which was narrow enough. To cover with an appearance of indifference his feeling of the want of respect with which he was treated, he addressed one of the men as he passed him, without any show of greeting, salute, or recognition-"Giles Baillie," he said, "have you heard that your son Gabriel is well?" (the question respecting the young man who had been pressed.)

"If I had heard otherwise," said the old man, looking up with a stern and menacing countenance, "you should have heard it too." And he plodded his way, tarrying no further question. When the laird had pressed onward with difficulty among a crowd of familiar faces-in which he now only read hatred and contempt,

but which had on all former occasions marked his approach with the reverence due to that of a superior being-and had got clear of the throng, he could not help turning his horse and looking back to mark the progress of the march. The group would have been an excellent subject for the pencil of Colotte. The van had already reached a small and stunted thicket, which was at the bottom of the hill, and which gradually hid the line of march until the last stragglers disappeared.

His sensations were bitter enough. The race, it is true, which he had thus summarily dismissed from their ancient place of refuge, was idle and vicious; but had he endeavored to render them otherwise? They were not more irregular characters now than they had been while they were admitted to consider themselves as a sort of subordinate dependents of his family, and ought the circumstance of his becoming a magistrate to have made at once such a change in his conduct towards them? Some means of reformation ought at least to have been tried, before sending seven families at once upon the wide world, and depriving them of a degree of countenance which withheld them at least from atrocious guilt.

There was also a natural yearning of heart upon parting with so many known and familiar faces; and to this feeling Godfrey Bertram was peculiarly accessible, from the limited qualities of his mind, which sought its principal amusements among the petty objects around him.

As he was about to turn his horse's head to pursue his journey, Meg Merrilies, who had lagged behind the troops, unexpectedly presented herself. She was standing upon one of those high banks, which, as we before noticed, overhung the road, so that she was placed considerably higher than Ellangowan, even though he was on horseback, and her tall figure, relieved against the clear blue sky, seemed almost of supernatural height. We have noticed that there was in her general attire, or rather in her mode of adjusting it, somewhat of a foreign costume, artfully adopted, perhaps, for the purpose of adding to the effect of her spells and predictions, or perhaps from some traditional notions respecting the dress of her ancestors. On this occasion, she had a large piece of red cotton cloth rolled about her head in the form of a turban, from beneath which her dark eyes flashed with uncommon lustre.

Her long and tangled black hair fell in elf locks from the folds of this singular head gear. Her attitude was that of a sibyl in frenzy, as she stretched out, in her right hand, a sapling bough which seemed just pulled. "I'll be sworn," said the groom,

"she has been cutting the young ashes in the Dukit Park." The laird made no answer, but continued to look at the figure which was thus perched above his path.

"Ride your ways," said the gypsy, "ride your ways, Laird of Ellangowan-ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram! This day have ye quenched seven smoking hearths; see if the fire in your ain parlor burn the blyther for that! Ye have riven the thack off seven cottar houses; look if your ain roof-tree stand the faster! Ye may stable your stirks in the shealings at Derncleugh; see that the hare does not couch on the hearthstane at Ellangowan! Ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram! what do ye glowr after our folk for? There's thirty hearts there that wad hae wanted bread ere ye had wanted sunkets, and spent their life-blood ere ye had scratched your finger; yes, there's thirty yonder, from the auld wife of an hundred to the babe that was born last week, that ye hae turned out o' their bits o' bields to sleep with the toad and the blackcock in the muirs! Ride your ways, Ellangowan! Our bairns are hinging at our weary backs; look that your braw cradle at hame be the fairer spread up! Not that I am wishing ill to little Harry, or to the babe that's yet to be born-God forbid, and make them kind to the poor, and better folk than their father! And now, ride e'en your ways, for these are the last words ye'll ever hear Meg Merrilies speak, and this is the last reise that I'll ever cut in the bonny woods of Ellangowan."

So saying, she broke the sapling she held in her hand, and flung it into the road. Margaret of Anjou, bestowing on her triumphant foes her keen-edged malediction, could not have turned from them with a gesture more proudly contemptuous. The laird was clearing his voice to speak, and thrusting his hand into his pocket to find half a crown; the gypsy waited neither for his reply nor his donation, but strode down the hill to overtake the

caravan.

Ellangowan rode pensively home, and it was remarkable that he did not mention this interview to any of his family. The groom was not so reserved; he told the story at great length to a full audience in the kitchen, and concluded by swearing that "if ever the devil spoke by the mouth of a woman, he had spoken by that of Meg Merrilies that blessed day."

CHARLES BUTLER, 1750-1832.

CHARLES BUTLER was born in London, of a Roman Catholic family, in 1750. After receiving the rudiments of his education at a school of that denomination at Hammersmith,' he was sent to the English college at Douay, where, according to his own account, the scholars were excellently well instructed in their religion, and the classics were well taught; "but writing, arithmetic, and geography were little thought of, and modern history was scarcely mentioned;" the object being rather to make the scholars good Papists than to be useful and active citizens of general society. From Douay Mr. Butler removed to Lincoln's Inn, where he entered upon the study of the law, and ultimately practised as a conveyancer. His legal publications were numerous, and gave him much reputa. tion as a lawyer. In 1797 appeared his "Hora Biblica," among the most popular of his works. The first part contains an historical and literary account of the original text, early versions, and printed editions of the Old and New Testaments; and the second a similar account of the sacred books of the Mohammedans, Persians, &c. It is free from any party, theological spirit, and it speedily ran through five editions. His writings in behalf of the Papal Church are numerous and valuable, and involved him in occasional controversy with some eminent men of letters. But the work by which he is now most known to general readers is his "Reminiscences," the first volume of which was published in 1822, and the second in 1827. It is a history of his literary life, and contains some very interesting details, and pleasing sketches of distinguished men; and from it the following extracts are selected. Mr. Butler died in London, June 2d, 1832. •

LORD CHATHAM.-HIS ELOQUENCE.

Of those by whom Lord North was preceded none, probably, except Lord Chatham, will be remembered by posterity; but the nature of the eloquence of this extraordinary man, it is extremely difficult to describe.

No person in his external appearance was ever more bountifully gifted by nature for an orator. In his look and his gesture, grace and dignity were combined, but dignity presided; the "terrors of his beak, the lightnings of his eye," were insufferable. His voice was both full and clear; his lowest whisper was distinctly heard; his middle tones were sweet, rich, and beautifully varied. When he elevated his voice to its highest pitch, the house was completely

Four miles west of London.

2 The Roman Catholic College in the north of France.

filled with the volume of the sound. The effect was awful, except when he wished to cheer or animate; he then had spirit-stirring notes, which were perfectly irresistible. He frequently rose, on a sudden, from a very low to a very high key, but it seemed to be without effort. His diction was remarkably simple; but words were never chosen with greater care. He mentioned to a friend that he had perused some of Dr. Barrow's Sermons so often as to know them by heart.

His sentiments, too, were apparently simple; but sentiments. were never adopted or uttered with greater skill. He was often familiar and even playful; but it was the familiarity and playfulness of condescension--the lion that dandled with the kid. The terrible, however, was his peculiar power. Then the whole House sunk before him.-Still he was dignified; and wonderful as was his eloquence, it was attended with this most important effect, that it impressed every hearer with a conviction that there was something in him even finer than his words; that the man was infinitely greater than the orator. No impression of this kind was made by the eloquence of his son, or his son's antagonist.

Still, with the great man-for great he certainly was-manner did much. One of the fairest specimens which we possess of his lordship's oratory is his speech, in 1776, for the repeal of the Stamp Act.

Most, perhaps, who read the report of this speech in "Almon's Register," will wonder at the effect which it is known to have produced on the hearers; yet the report is tolerably exact, and exhibits, although faintly, its leading features. But they should have seen the look of ineffable contempt with which he surveyed the late Mr. Grenville, who sat within one of him, and should have heard him say with that look-"As to the late ministry, every capital measure they have taken has been entirely wrong.' They should also have beheld him, when, addressing himself to Mr. Grenville's successors, he said "As to the present gentlemen-those, at least, whom I have in my eye"-(looking at the bench on which Mr. Conway sat)-"I have no objection; I have never been made a sacrifice by any of them. Some of them have done me the honor to ask my poor opinion before they would engage to repeal the act: they will do me the justice to own, I did advise them to engage to do it; but notwithstanding-(for I love to be explicit)-I cannot give them my confidence. Pardon me, gentlemen"-(bowing to them)-confidence is a plant of slow growth." Those who remember the air of condescending protection with which the bow was made, and the look given, when he spoke these words, will recollect how much they themselves,