he published a collection of "Ballads and Lyrical Pieces ;" and shortly after public expectation was raised by the promise of a poem, on the perfection of which the bard was said to have laboured for immortality.

Accord

ingly, in 1808, appeared "Marmion, a Tale of Flodden Field," which the author has himself characterized as "containing the best and the worst poetry that he has ever written."

In 1808 Mr. Scott also favoured the world with a complete edition of the works of Dryden, in which he gave a new life of that great writer, and most extensive notes. But this was not the only instance of the fecundily of his genius and the rapidity of his рен; for even while those volumes were proceeding through the press, he found time also for a quarto of Descriptions and flustrations of the Lay of the Last Minstrel."

64

Within a few months after this, he undertook the superintendance of a new edition of "Lord Somers's Collection of Historical Tracts;" and at the same time edited "Sir Ralph Sadler's State Papers," and "Anna Seward's Poetical Works." While even the very year when these last pub lications appeared, witnessed the birth of another original offspring of his prolific muse, in the "Lady of the Lake," which has been the most popular of all his acknowledged works; though in the opinion of many it is inferior in several respects to his 66 Lay of the Last Minstrel." In 1811, appeared ** The Vision of Don Roderick," written to assist the subscription for the Portuguese; in 1813, Rokeby" and in 1814, "The Lord of the Isles." In the last mentioned year he also published a prose work on "The Border Antiquities of England" and a new edition of Swift, with a biographical memoir and annotations.

At a subsequent period he has given two performances to the public on the same subject, one in prose and the other in verse; the first entitled, "Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk," and the other "The Battle of Waterloo."

"The Bridal of Triermain," and "Harold the Dauntless," originally published anonymously, have also since been acknowledged by him, and printed uniformly with his other poems.

Such is the ascertained list of the literary progeny of Sir Walter Scott, exhibiting abundant testimony of ori

ginal genius, extensive powers, and unwearied industry. But even this catalogue, rich and large as it is, must receive yet farther additions of still greater value, if the general report be correct, that he is the author of a series of national romances, the popularity of which is without a paral jel, in the archives of either prose or poetry.

When Waverley" first appeared, there was but one opinion on the subject of its parent; and each succeeding novel, in a rapid course of publication, has only served to confirm that ascription. Yet strange to say, he alone who should decide the question preserves a determined silence; nay, as we have been informed, he even rejects the merit of having written any part of those interesting stories. Here then the matter must rest; for however strongly inclined we may be to think with the public in this instance, we cannot conceive the motive for denying that which it would be so highly honourable to acknowledge.

There can be no moral or political reason, of which we are aware, for thus throwing an impenetrable veil of secrecy over the authorship of a set of volumes by which the whole world has been delighted as well as instructed. The time has passed when a man was called to decide between retaining a valuable preferment and burning a romance. But even were the concealed author of " Guy Mannering" and the

66

Tales of my Landlord" an Ecciesiastic of the highest dignity, we should be disposed to recommend to him the example of Heliodorus, and that, without feeling any compunctions about the magnitude of the sacrifice.

John Home in our own days renounced his manse and his kirk, rather than submit to the arbitrary mandates of the presbytery; though we believe, were such a case again to occur, there is not a doctor, nor eider in all Scotland who would wish to deprive the author of" Douglas" of his preferment for having written such a play. At present, however, Sir Walter Scott can be under no such restraint; and he who ushered the" Lady of the Lake" into public notoriety with his name, need not be ashamed to acknowledge his relation to her romantic family, every one of which bears the stamp, the lineaments, and the air of the mighty Minstrel. Of the various hypotheses which have

been brought forward to confer this literary honour upon other names, we need not enter into any detail, inasmuch, as in our opinion, however ingenious, they are destitute of all foundation, save their ingenuity. Time may perchance unravel this Gordian Knot, or like the authorship of Junius, it may yet long remain as now, indissoluble. We are, however, certainly warranted in asserting, that there are very many, whose belief will remain unchanged, and who will ever connect the prosaic fame of the Scottish Novels with the poetic garland of Sir Walter Scott. Of the several poems we have already briefly noticed, all have been favourably received, though they have by no means been all equally popular; and it affords one other proof of the power of fashion's predominance in this, as in most things else, that his anonym mous works were scarcely noticed till they received the fiat of his all-powerful name.

The distinguished rank which he holds in the literary world at the present day, must ensure him a niche in Britain's Temple of Poetic Immortality; and the laureatship, which was offered to him on the decease of the late H. J. Pye, Esq. proved not less the high estimation of his talents as a poet, than his own feelings as a man, as he voluntarily resigned the laurel to his friend Mr. Southey, whose works if not less publicly successful, had certainly never proved so productive. To his numerous other honours has been very recently added the Presidency of the Royal Society of Edinburgh; nor will it hereafter be remembered as a compliment of small value, or of slight distinction, that the first Baronet created by King George the Fourth, was Sir Walter Scott.

T.

EVER tell a lie-no, not even in jest. Overlook affronts-when it is not your interest to resent them.

Determine with judgment, and be firm and inflexible in all your mea Be quick in resolving, and bold and determined in executing.

sures.

Remember, there are many circumstances in which a man may be placed, in which he must not only not speak all he thinks, but must say what he really does not think. Be confident in your self-timidity hurts a young man sonietimes. Bear and forbear.

Ris ungenerous to give a man occa. sion to blush at his ignorance in one thing who may excel us in many. To err is human, to forgive divine.

Be simple in your manners and noble in all your proceedings.

A discreet man knows how to receive a compliment and how to pay one handsomely-he receives it with modesty, and pays it with respect. He makes it appear that his own happiness and pleasure depend on the hap piness and pleasure of his fellows and friends he speaks to every one and of every one with respect.

A gentleman is incapable of any baseness-is charitable to all men -gives place and yields to all with whom he has to do-speaks ill of no

man.

Another characteristic of a gentleman is a delicacy of behaviour towards that sex whom nature has entitled to protection, and consequently entitled to the tenderness of man.

A gentleman never envies any superior excellence, but grows himself more excellent by being the promoter and lover thereof.

A discreet man is one who knows when to speak and when to bold his tongue-what to say and what not to say what to keep secret-what to do and what not to do-what to say to one person and what to say to another in talking, how far to go-when and how to be generous.

Have patience, and hold your tongue. Avoid speaking of persons, politics, and religion.

Decided ends are the sure signs of a decided character.

Who sedulously attends, pointedly asks, calmly speaks, coolly auswers, and ceases when he has no more to say, is in possession of some of the best requisites of man.

Who can listen without constraint when an important thing is telling, can keep a secret when told."

A good word is an easy obligation; but not to speak ill requires only our silence, which costs us nothing.

HILE loyalty and gratitude are cherished as British virtues, and England continues sensible how much she owes to the pious example,

period to their monarch's fame can only be the end of time!" This statue of his late Majesty is erected in the Bank of Dublin, and was placed there by the Directors, so long since as the year 1813 The King is there represented standing on a pedestal, at the base of which are seated emblematical figures of Religion and Justice. As a work of art, it does peculiar credit to the taste and talents of John Bacon, Esq. the sculptor, whose abilities it has frequently been our duty to eulogise; while, as a memento of affectionate loyalty to our late revered King, it demands the admiration of all, who feel a Briton's filial attachment to the memory of GEORGE THE THIRD.

Ꭲ .

jects, and long will they look back with reverence upon the wild lustre of those graces which would have adorned a cottage, and which dignified a throne. Were we not all destined by the uni

versal doom of heaven, and in the common course of nature, to follow our late lamented sovereign to the grave, his remembrance would be too deeply rooted in our hearts, the example of his virtues would be too powerfully effective, and the living record of his patriotic benevolence too dear to Britain's memory, to require any monumental marble to perpetuate his name, or any eloquence of inscription to preserve the glories of his sway. But as we are all but pilgrims to that saine "Undiscovered country, from whose bourne No traveller returns,"

and anxious as we must all feel to transmit to latest posterity, both for example and imitation, the remem brance of his virtues and of our loyalty, some memorial is requisite to perpetuate to after times those feelings, which must otherwise sleep with us silent and forgotten in the sepulchre, and which rushing unheeded down the stream of time, must be engulphed in the dark and utter forgetfulness of drear oblivion.

The subject of our present Frontis piece is one of those national memorials, which the capital of our sister kingdom has erected to the honour of her Sovereign, and which, "while their own renowned city shall endure," will record its people's gratitude,-"the

SIR,

WITHOUT copying the example of others, a person may be instructed from their history to infuse their excellencies into his character in a

suitable manner; we may easily copy the good qualities of another, so as to make them the subject of our improvement; we may retine and exalt them. A person may imbibe the same spirit of benevolence which he perceives in another, and make such use of it, as to exert it in a manner suitable to his cons dition in life, without having recourse to the same expressions as the original has.

A wise man in a high rank plans and executes schemes of a most extensive nature; surely a man in a lower station may put forth his abilities, though they may move in a more narrow sphere; that is to say, in labouring with his own hands for the benefit of others, or by relieving the distrest with natural comforts, or personally waiting on them.

The student will direct his thoughts, so that he may reap advantage from them; while the active man will be employed in maturing plans for the benefit of his fellow-creatures.

The effect of moral and religious instruction, no matter how it is instilled into the mind, depends much on the capacity and disposition of the party to whom it is communicated. The unthinking and the vicious are apt to mistake and abuse divine truths, in whatever way they are inculcated.Precepts should be delivered not in abstruse terms, and their proper appli

cation is dependant on those who make use of them, as their rule of life.

The most finished models in all arts, particularly the art of living a virtuous life, are always reckoned preferable to sets of rules.

Proficiency is only gained in any art by attending to the performances of eminent masters, and witnessing their improvements, and not betray a want of skill in copying those things unworthy of notice. Reason, and a proper taste, will point out those things which we ought to imitate, and which we ought to avoid. We should follow those parts in the conduct of others, to which our own talents are competent, and which may accord with our own circumstances, otherwise we only expose ourselves to ridicule. Common sense and an honest heart are the only requisites for conveying the truth of religion to ourselves with improve

ment.

For the EUROPEAN MAGAZINE. CONSIDERATIONз addressed to the FEMALE SEX.

W

HEN we review the symmetrical figures, the animated countenances, and the thousand charms of the fair sex, we cannot but be struck that amidst all these perfections the beauties of the mind surpass them. Personal beauty is of short duration; in virtue alone do we observe a perma. nency: it teaches to bear our trials in a proper manner, and even exacts homage from the vicious. With this consciousness before us, how are we astonished at the many wanderers from the paths of virtue, into those which only involve the wanderer into a labyrinth of inextricable difliculty. Our amusements, diversified as they are, may be so tempered as to be provocatives to virtue, in lieu of incentives to vice. We are not to understand a total exclusion to mirth, as the basis on which to build our rectitude. Life is only relished by innocent festivity, and the charm most admired in a female is vivacity.

We would wish to intimate that religion in females, so far from lowering them in the eyes of the world, will, on the contrary, considerably exalt them ju the opinion of every one endowed with sense and judginent. Neither dress, coquetry, or the animated glance of the eye, can secure them permanen

happiness in this life, and they may he flattered by the adulation they receive; but the mind, unattended to, leaves a woeful blank, and unless we have virtue for our foundation, misery must be our eternal portion; and on a review of our past life, remorse and sorrow will rend our souls, when we find the misapplica tion of our talents to be subversive of the virtues which should actuate the

human mind.

Therefore let us pay a proper attention to the cultivation of our talents, and while we observe the faults of others, take care to amend our own. PETER.

SENTIMENTAL APHORISMS

FROM VARIOUS AUTHORS.

TRU

No. V.

RUE happiness is of a retired nature, and enemy to pomp and noise. It arises, in the first place, from the enjoyment of one's self; and, in the next, from the friendship and conversation of a few select companious. It loves shade and solitude, and naturally haunts groves and fountains, fields and meadows: in short, it feeds every thing it wants within itself, and receives no addition from multitudes of witnesses and spectators. On the contrary, faise happiness loves to be in a crowd, and to draw the eyes of the world upon her.

She does not receive any satisfac tion from the applauses which she gives herself, but from the admiration which she raises in others. She flourishes in courts and palaces, theatres, and assemblies, and has no existence but when she is looked upon.-Spectator.

Monsieur St. Evremont has concluded one of his essays with affirming, that the last sighs of a handsome woman are not so much for the loss of her life, as of her beauty. Perhaps this raillery is pursued too far, yet it is turned upon a very obvious remark, that woman's strongest passion is for her own beauty, and that she values it as her favourite distinction. From hence it is, that all arts which pretend to improve or preserve it, meet with se general a reception among the sex.— Idem.

When once you profess yourself a friend, endeavour to be always such: he can never have any true friends that will be often changing them.-Prail.

ANNALS OF PUBLIC JUSTICE.

H

(Concluded from page 392.)

QUEEN MARY'S CROSS.

ISTORIANS allow such latitude to their imaginations, that we are not more certain of truth from those of ancient date than from the modern writer who selects his mate, rials, as Voltaire merrily said to Diderot, to suit his system. But in speaking of Queen Mary, we find the most candid simplicity shewn by Holinshed. "For," says he, "when leaving her own coun** try, she was nourished as a banished person; and after fortune began to ** flatter her in that she was honoured with a worthy marriage, it was in truth rather a shadow of joy to this ** queen than any comfort at all. But "beneficial nature had endued her with "a beautiful face, a well-composed "body, au excellent wit, a mild nature, "and a good behaviour, which she had "artificially furthered by courtly edu"cation and aifable demeanour. Where

by at first sight she wan unto her the "hearts of most, and confirmed the "love of her faithful subjects."

Henry Stewart, the cousin and husband of Queen Mary, has left, in his example, a lesson worth the study of later princes. For with an admirable person, an excelling grace in all courtly exercises, and a rare portion of the age's best learning, his failure in those moral duties which men have agreed to call trivial in themselves, was the blight and wreck of his prosperity. But his great est crime was that he lived in times when every nice offence bore its comment among three parties, each mortally adverse to the other, but equally eager to debase the Stewart-family. He was the blossom of a decaying tree, and perished not so much by his own canker as because the stem he grew on gave him no support. Whether his jealousy of an Italian menial was natural, or excited by one of those treache rous parties, is under the veil of time long past, but his tragical end was of more benefit to the friends of Mary than to her enemies. The charge of murdering her husband appeared so atrocious and improbable, that more credible ones were passed over and forgotten.-Henry Stewart is said to have been strangled with a napkin after lingering in a long illness; and his body was found at some distance from the house he had inhabited after it had Europ. Mag. Vol. LXXVIII. Dec. 1820.

been blown up. In this transaction there was such needless and outrageous exposure of guilt, that Mary's advocates were very well able to rest their defence not so much on the improbability of her connivance at her husband's death as on the wanton absurdity of the deed itself.-They alleged the craft and ambition of her illegitimate brother, the furious and busy zeal of the new party in the church, and the gracious heedlessDess of a generous woman educated in an easy court, as the true causes of the libels stirred up against her. It was too easy to find evil motives for those who misjudged her conduct, and they wisely left the conduct itself undenied. But the talents and the graces of Mary were not enough to guide her through the labyrinth of such entangled politics. She threw herself into the hands of the Lord Bothwell, a nobleman whose character seems to have combined all the levities of her first husband with the fierceness and fraud of her reputed brother. Her most partial historian tells us of the festivities and mock homage with which this politician contrived to feed her fancy and her vanity while he held her in his toils. Proud, open, and generous by nature, Mary would have been able to resist threats and bribes from the party called her enemies, but she was not on her guard against the flatteries of pretended friends. During her residence at the Lord Bothwell's castle, her ears were incessantly beguiled by solacing declarations of attachment to her cause and person; and her eyes by the pageant-spectacles arranged to waste her time and degrade her character. She did not see her shackles till they were rivetted, and Bothwell insisted on a recompense for his zeal not less than the authority of a husband. Mary found herself compelled to yield it, and to make this desperate man, from whom she had gained nothing but a short period of false comfort, the master of herself and her destiny. This was the triumph of the faction who had employed him; and thus by decoying her into a shameful alliance with one of her husband's suspected murderers, they at once prepared and justified her total ruin.

When Mary had degraded herself by this alliance, the nobility openly cast off their allegiance. But to procure from her the surrender of her crown, which was their secret aim, it was need3 R