culations. With regard in particu- less nearly interested, or less violently affected, he was at the utmost pains to repress every exterior mark of affliction, every thing which might appear So far did he carry this command oa demand on the sympathy of his friends. ver his own mind, that a stranger might have mistaken his character, and supposed him perfectly tranquil, at the very time when he was in the deepest affliction. No man could more com pletely bring his behaviour to a tone in him: But in his anxiety to accomplish unison with the feelings of those around this, and his unwillingness to be any restraint on society, he sometimes perhaps went beyond the exact line of propriety, and gave an impression of severity and unconcern, which were far from belonging to his character. In the astonishing exertions of self-command he often displayed, it was scarcely possible that he should not occasionally be carried too far by the violence of the effort over his own feelings, and the want of confi dence in his own strength of mind.Those who enjoyed his friendship were never deceived by such appearances of tranquillity. They saw them not as indifference; but as the most unequiproofs of real ease, far less as proofs of vocal indications of an habitual attention to the feelings of others struggling against poignant distress. P..cxxiii. For another valuable feature' in his character, he was probably much indebted to his profound researches into human nature. Of these virtues, his uncommon candour in judging of his own claims, and those of others, was one of the most conspicuous. Never was his opinion warped by his private interest; never did he palliate or excuse that in himself which he would have blamed in his friend. His conduct was uniformly guided by the most delicate attention to the rights, claims, and expectations of others, by the strictest sense of honour. Always aware of the tendency of a man's judgment, against such partiality and interest, and desires, to pervert his self deception, he guarded with the most vigilant care; anxious not only Afraid of intruding his grief on others, to abstain from all injustice, but to The character of Mr Millar is described as generous, sanguine, and full of sensibility; yet he was remarkably ambitious of stifling all symptoms of the latter. avoid every suspicion, in his own mind, of his having done what any person informed of the circumstances, could possibly disapprove. After a long life, Mr Millar was, in May 1801, suddenly seized with a pleurisy, which carried him off. His son-in-law, Mr Mylne, gives the following account of his last mo ments. "In the midst of his family, he en"countered the severe trial presented "by the sufferings and prospects of a "death-bed. That trial he nobly sus"tained. His last scene was altogether "worthy of the part he had uniformly "maintained on the stage of life. Soon "after the very unexpected attack of "the disease which brought him to his "grave, he foresaw the issue, and await"ed it with the most perfect compo66 sure. No symptom of impatience or of alarm ever escaped him and no "thought gave him pain but the thought "of being separated from his family, "with whom he had long enjoyed the "purest happiness, and to whose hap"piness has life was so important." P. cxxix. After his death, another volume was published of his View of the English Government, together with some essays, in which he endeavours to illustrate the moral effects produ-, ced by the progress of civilization. These, with his Essay on Ranks, are his only avowed publications. How. ever fond of the science of metaphysics, he does not appear to have composed any thing on that subject.It is therefore as a writer on the Philosophy of History that his name will go down to posterity; and here, in point of precision and delicate penetration, he is perhaps unrivalled. He appears to us indeed to be rather deficient in comprehensive views. His talent consists rather in linking together events not very widely separated, than in ascertaining the great laws which regulate human affairs. In the present state of the science, however, the former talent is the safest, and perhaps the most useful. In his style he has made no attempt at that eloquence of which this branch of science is pecu liatly susceptible; he aims only at perspicuity and precision, and this he has certainly attained very com pletely. Upon the whole, Mr Craig appears to have here supplied us with a very authentic and pleasing memoir of his deceased friend. Popular Ballads and Songs, from Tradition, Mauuscripts, and Scarce Editions, with translations of similar pieces from the Ancient Danish Language, and a few originals by the Editor. By Robert Jamieson A.M. and F.R.S. 2 vols. 8vo. 11. 1s. Constable and Co. Edinburgh. Cadell & Davies and Murray, London. IN our literary notices for May last, we gave a short account of the origin of this publication, and the circumstances which led to its appear ance. some It is now presented to the public in a form similar to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border; and though the materials were what exhausted, and the selection be not quite so happy as in that publi cation, yet interesting and curious gleanings have still been made. It forms, therefore, a valuable supplement; and most of those students of ancient lore, who have possessed themselves of the former publication, will probably be desirous of adding to it this, which possesses, besides, an interest of its own from the foreign translations with which it is enriched, and which form not the least curious part of these volumes. These Poems are divided into, 1. Tragic; 2. Humorous; 3. Miscella neous; 4. Songs. The The first, we think, is the most interesting part of the collection. These ancient ballads are often indeed feeble and desultory, but they occasionally exhibit strokes of natural pathos, rendered more affecting by its perfect simplicity. Few finer specimens of this can be given than in the concluding part of Fair Annie of Lochroyan, of which the Editor has given afcopy, which he considers as more uniform than any former one. We shall begin our extract after An. nie has been repulsed from the door of her lover. O, hooly hooly gaed she back, As the day began to peep; She set her foot on good ship board, And sair sair did she, weep. The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough, And the ship was rent in twain; And soon he saw her, fair Annie, Come floating o'er the main. He saw his young son in her arms, Baith toss'd aboon the tide; Before he reached the land. "Tak down, tak down the mast o' And sair he kist her ruby lips; goud; Set up the mast o' tree; Ill sets it a forsaken lady To sail sae gallantlie. "Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk; Set up the sails o' skin; Ill sets the outside to be gay, Whan there's sic grief within!" Love Gregor started frae his sleep, * I dreamt a dream this night, mither, That maks my heart richt wae; "I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, "O there was a woman stood at the door, Wi' a bairn intill her arms; But I wadna let her within the bower, For fear she had done you harm." O quickly, quickly raise he up, And fast ran to the strand; And" heigh, Annie,” and “how, O, Annie, winna ye bide?" But ay the louder that he cried "Annie," The higher rair'd the tide. But there was nae breath within. O he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie, Till the sun was ganging down ; Syne wi' a sich his heart it burst, And his saul to heaven has flown. P. 41. The conclusion of Sweet Willie and Fair Annie (on the same subject with Lord Thomas and Fair Elinor in the Reliques of ancient Poetry,) though it does not possess the same delicacy, is yet very affec ting. Whan night was come, and day was gane, And a' man boun to bed, Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride And scarcely fa'en asleep, "Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, Between ye and the wa'; And sae will I o' my winding sheet, "Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, Between ye and the stock; And sae will I o' my black black kist, a That has neither key nor lock. Weel Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, And o' your bridal bed; And sae will I o' the cald cald mools, By the lei light o' the moon. The nexten bower that he came till, The lasten bower that he came till, O, heavy was his care! The waxen lights were burning bright, And fair Annie streekit there. He's lifted up the coverlet, Where she, fair Annie, lay; "Sweet was her smile, but wan her cheek; Oh, wan, and cald as clay!" Pale Willie grew; wae was his heart, And sair he sigh'd wi' teen : "Oh, Annie! had I kent thy worth, Ere it o'er late had been! "It's I will kiss your bonny cheek, And I will kiss your chin; But I'll never kiss woman again. "And that I was in love out-done, Sail ne'er be said o' me; For, as ye've died for me, Annie, Sae will I do for thee. "The day ye deal at Annie's burial The bread but and the wine; Before the morn at twall o'clock, They'll deal the same at mine." The tane was buried in Mary's kirk, They tither in Mary's quire; And out o' the tane there grew a birk, And out o' the tither a brier. And ay they grew, and ay they drew, Untill they twa did meet; And every ane that past them by, Said, "Thae's been lovers sweet!" That fair may wept, that fair may mourn'd; That fair may mourn'd and pin'd; "When every lady looks for her love, I ne'er need look for mine." P. 64. We cannot help observing, that these poems do not at all give a favourable view of the character of our ancestors, being chiefly founded on the most atrocious and unnatural ac. tions. One kills his brother, because he had got the better of him in wrestling; another, because his sister's wooer had not consulted him before paying his addresses, stabs her on her way to the wedding; a third, taking advantage of his master's absence, kills his wife and child, and, what is still more strange, remains quietly in the house, till the proprietor comes home and hangs him. There is a copy of Fair Helen of Kirkconnel, but much inferior to that in the Border Minstrelsy. Under this head come the Danish Ballads, which, as we already intimated, form not the least curious part of the volume. We are very well pleased with our author's translations, so far at least as we can judge, without knowing the original. They appear to be faithful, but without that insipid fidelity, which loses all the spirit of the original. These ballads seem to rest more than ours do upon the exploits of supernatural beings, particularly those which inhabit the ocean. The Merman forms a curious specimen. The Waterwoman, translated from the German of Goethé, has considerable richness and wildness of fancy. We have another long poem from the Danish, which seems much akin to our Jack the Giant killer. Two brothers set out in search of their sister, whom they had lost, and after much wandering find her become the chere amie of a monstrous giant, who lives on human flesh. The giant, on coming home, and feeling the the smell of his favourite food, wishes to proceed immediately to eat them; but on learning their relation to his fair one, consents to spare them Soon after, the young lady obtains permission for her brothers to return to their father, and wishing to accompany them, prepares a number of presents to send in a box; but instead of the presents, packs up herself, and is carried on shipboard by the giant, who does not discover the deception till she is far out at sea. The second part consists of humorous pieces, among which Mr J. has collected some of considerable merit, though the humour of these old pieces is seldom well suited to a reader of the present day. He has also given several of his own in this style; but neither, in our opinion, do his powers lie much that way. The last part consists of miscellaneous pieces, whose nature and merits are so various that no general description can be given of them. We would particularly recommend "True Thomas and the Queen of Elfland," and" Young Beichan and Susie Pie." A great part of the second volume consists of songs, many of them by the Editor; and though, as hinted above, we do not very much admire his humorous performances, yet it is otherwise with those which express tenderness, such as the follow. ing, particularly the second stanza: But she that proudly heard me praise Her rosy cheek, while mine grew pale, Shall ne'er see blooming, in my lays, Her transient charms that soon must fail. Ne'er shall my plausive voice be rais'd, Then cease, my lyre; nor song of mine Her honours or her name retain; She never in the verse shall shine, Who could the poet's suit disdain. We add another, which pleased us still better: O cease, in pity, cease that strain Which melts my very soul to hear; That look-Oh look not thus again, O cease, if thou canst cease, to be What most I love to hear and see! Such were the tones, whose echo soft My heart's still trembling cords re tain; Such was the pensive smile, that oft Thrill'd to my soul thro' every vein; And such was she, like me that mourns, The blasted hope that ne'er returns! Mr J. has given a specimen of one or two "working songs," and expresses an intention of hereafter enlarging their number. We heartily applaud the design; but we are not quite pleased with the style he has employed. We could wish them, like some other of his compositions, a little more refined, and less crammed with scotticisms. "The Boatie rows," which he has adopted from Johnson's Musical Museum, is an excellent model. the ingenious author has been compelWe are sorry to understand that led by the "res angusta domi," to exchange his native country for the banks of the Dwina. Some consolation is however afforded by the prospect he holds out of increased opportunities for cultivating his acquaintance with northern literature. We |