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THE DAY,

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.

CARPE DIEM.

GLASGOW, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1832.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE EARLY PERIODICAL LITERATURE OF GLASGOW.

For the following notices, respecting the early state of the periodical press in Glasgow, we are indebted to a valuable and interesting volume, entitled, "Notices and Documents, illustrative of the Literary History of Glasgow, during the greater part of the last century," lately printed, and presented to the president and members of the Maitland Club, as a contribution by Richard Duncan, Esq. As Mr. Duncan's work, from its being, in a great measure, confined to the members of that club, is not accessible to the public, we have no doubt but those among our readers, who may have the slightest inclination towards antiquarian research, will consider our extracts from the volume alluded to as a very judicious manner of devoting a part of our columns. The general merits of Mr. Duncan's work, and the rare and very interesting documents he has brought to light, we intend, in a future Number, to make the subject of more mature and critical reflection.

"The first newspaper published in Glasgow, appeared on the 14th November, 1715, and was entitled the 'Glasgow Courant, containing the occurrences, both at home and abroad: Glasgow, printed for R. T. and to be sold at the Printing-house in the Colledge, and at the Post-office.'* It soon, however, changed its name, as the fourth number was published under the title of The West Country Intelligence.' The following is a copy of the prospectus:- This paper is to be printed three times every week, for the use of the country round, any gentleman or minister, or any other who wants them, may have them at the University's Printing-house, or at the Post-office. It's hoped this paper will give satisfaction to the readers, and that they will encourage it, by sending subscriptions for one year, half year, or quarterly, to the above directed places, where they shall be served at an easie rate."+

"Advertisements are to be taken in, at either the Printing-house in the Colledge, or at the Post-office.

"The gentlemen in the towns of Aberdeen, St. Andrew's, Inverness, Brechin, Dundee, St. Johnstone, Stirling, Dumbarton, Inverary, Dumfries, Lanark, Hamilton, Irvine, Air, Kilmarnock and Stranraer, are desired to send, free post, any news they may have, and especially sea-port towns, to advise what ships come in, or sail off from these ports'."

"It is not known how long this paper continued.‡

• This curious article is preserved in the University Library. What this "most easie rate" was, is thus noticed in number 33-"N. B. This paper is not sold in retail, under three halfpence, but, for encouragement to subscribers, for one penny. Let the following suffice as a specimen of its Poetry :From the Fling Post.

MAR ALIAS RAM.-AN ANAGRAM.

MAR (read it RAM the other way)
Has made a push, and lost the day.
And turns his tail to firth of Tay.
Perhaps (tho' so well taught to trick it)
Caught by his back in Highland thicket,
At least, a victim he may bleed,
For leading wrong that shagged breed,
Which now, in doleful manner slain,
Cover the fields about Dumblain, &c. &c. &c.

The set of it in the College Library, extends to the 1st of May, 1716, being in all 67 Numbers; it was printed on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, in a small quarto form, (each paper containing 12 pages,) and was made up of extracts from foreign journals, from London newspapers, private letters, and occasional poetry, with very little local intelligence.

"The Glasgow Journal was begun, under the editorship of Andrew Stalker, a bookseller, in July, 1741. With what degree of talent it was conducted, for the first few years, would be difficult to ascertain-no copy of it, during that period, being known to remain; fortunately, the numbers from 1745 to 1749 have been recovered a period, one would suppose sufficiently interesting. The editor, however, appears to have consulted his own personal security too much to permit him to give a firm and candid detail of the events which were then taking place. He has omitted several of the most important facts in the history of the rebellion; and, at length, when the danger approached his own door, was constrained to give vent to his terror, in a letter which he inserted in his journal. He ha had offended his readers by his omissions, and deter mined to retire for a time, from his public duties. The following is his advertisement :

"Oct. 14, [1745.]-To the Encouragers of the Glasgow Journal.-Gentlemen,-I have carried on this paper from the beginning, and have to the utmost of my power endeavoured to give an impartial account of facts as they happened, but finding that, considering the situation of affairs, I cannot with safety publish so as to please the generality of my readers, I have therefore given over being concerned in the writing or publishing this paper, till such time as the peace of this country be restored, and have committed the care of it to an unexceptionable hand; and, as you have favoured me with your countenance and encouragement, I hope you'll continue to do so to him, and I am, thankfully and respectfully, Gentlemen, your most humble serANDREW STALKER.'

vant,

"It would seem this advertisement had been misunderstood, and, to set the public right, Stalker published another letter in the next paper.

"Oct. 21.-To the Encouragers of the Glasgow Journal.-A wrong sense being put upon my last advertisement, as if I intended entirely to drop this paper, I hereby inform my readers that I continue to have the same share in it as formerly, though for some time I am not to write it nor collect the news from other papers. Mr. Urie having undertaken that part, who I am convinced will give satisfaction, and I hope that such as have hitherto been my Friends and Encouragers, will continue to be so. ANDREW STALKER.'

"Whether he resumed bis Editorship in quieter times we are not informed. His name still continues as the publisher of the paper, although immediately after the last letter appeared, Urie's name as printer was suppressed.

"Yet, whatever may have been the defects of the Editorial department of this paper, it was printed in, a style creditable in the highest degree to the town, and

infinitely better than the newspapers published forty years afterwards".*

Such are a few of the particulars connected with the Glasgow Newspaper Press which we find in Mr. Duncan's volume. Before the year 1715, our good citizens in Glasgow depended, in a great measure, for their local and political intelligence, on the "Edinburgh Gazette," a journal which, on the accession of Queen Anne, had reached its 313th number. This number was published on Monday the 16th March, 1702, and contained, among other matters, the death of King William, and the Proclamation of his successor. By it we also find that the good folks of Glasgow and its neighbourhood had scarcely any method of advertising their merchandise, but the " Skellat bell" and "The Edinburgh Gazette." The following notice, which we copy from the above-mentioned number of the Gazette, in our possession, appears to have been alike useful in Edinburgh and in Glasgow: "Fine Starch and Powder, fully as good as any from abroad, and much cheaper than can be imported, is made at Cameron, and Sold at the Shop below the Caledonian Coffee House, Edinburgh; and at James Witherspoon's Shop in the Gallowgate head, Glasgow, where merchants can have any quantity of the said Starch and Powder, from 1,000 lb. weight to 5,000."

If the following HUE and CRY had fallen under the observation of Mr. Tytler, the historian of Scotland, we conceive he would not have hazarded the assertion that slavery had been abolished in Scotland, before its final suppression in England, by Elizabeth :-" These are to give Notice, That James Gib, John Tasker, John Lumsden, Alexander Cowie, Thomas Watchman, George Gibb, David Mason, James Cairns, Coalhuers, belonging to his Grace the D. of Hamilton, have mutinied and deserted their said master's work, and that none Receive, Fee, Hire, supply or maintain anie of the saids Coalbuers, nor their wives or bairns, under the certifications and Penalties mentioned in the Acts of Parliament, and, in particularlie in the 11th Act, Parl. 18, Ja. 6th." Our limits prevent us from dwelling longer on this subject at present. We intend, in an early Number, to return to Mr. Duncan's very interesting and valuable contribution.

The notices of marriages are somewhat amusing, as the following will show :—

March 24, 1746, on Monday last, James Dennistoun, junior, of Colgreine, Esq. was married to Miss Jenny Baird, a beautiful young lady.

May 4, 1747, on Monday last, Dr. Robert Hamilton, Professor of Anatomy and Botany in the University of Glasgow, was married to Miss Mally Baird, a beautiful young lady WITH A HAND

SOME FORTUNE.

August 3, 1747, on Monday last, Mr. James Johnstone, merchant in this place, was married to Miss Peggy Newall, an agreeable young lady WITH £4,000.

†This print, in point of size, is very similar to "The Day." It was "Printed by John Reid, and sold in the shop below the Caledonia Coffee Room."

MARY CAMPBELL:

A TALE OF REAL LIFE.

She is as constant as the stars

That never vary-and more chaste than they.

PROCTOR'S MIRANDOLA.

MARY CAMPBELL was the youngest daughter of respectable parents, who rented an extensive farm in one of the islands which skirt the western coast of Scotland. Though distant from public seminaries, they were not inattentive to the future prospects of their family-consequently, spared no expense in furnishing them with a liberal education, in the course of which, Mary was eminently successful. Her reading, writing, and dancing called forth the plaudits of the several masters; but if, at times, a tribute of respect to her talents would brighten her sloe-black eyes, or deepen the tinge of her rosy cheek, it was only for a moment. Every movement was regulated by a scrupulous self-denial, which af

fected no superiority over her less-gifted compeers; and the benign look and sympathizing smile chased away any feeling of envy or disappointment which they might, on such an occasion, experience. As she grew in years she also grew in beauty. Her raven tresses hung in careless luxuriance around a neck which could rival the whiteness of the winter's wreath, or twined in graceful ringlets about a bosom free from the fluctuating anxieties which attend maturer years. She engaged with the lark in her morning's devotions, and with her sallied forth to view nature, with welcome smile, hailing the approach of the infant day. Care or grief never crossed her path. Her heart was pure as the western breeze which swept over the heath-clad hills, and her ambition seemed to be bound in the pious and benevolent wish—that she might merit the love of her parents, and render those around her comfortable and happy.

But the sun which had hitherto shone so bright on the dawn of her life was suddenly clouded. She was doomed to leave the rocky grandeur of her native isle, the soul-soothing echo of the billowy Atlantic, and the invigorating air she was wont to inhale, to experience the tainted atmosphere of a crowded city—see the gaudy pageantry which distinguishes wealth-the cold formality which characterizes civilization, and the disgusting flattery which marks the insincere. Her father had suddenly died; and her mother finding it inconvenient to retain the farm, sold off its effects, with the receipts of which and a small annuity left her, she arrived at Glasgow; and, practising economy, lived comfortably with her family, and completed them in those departments of their education in which they were deficient. Her beauty and accomplishments soon secured to Mary the homage of those fluttering noon-day insects who, like the bees, hop on every new-born flower which opes its unsullied bosom to the genial ray; but hers was not a heart to be won by the selfish attractions of the fawning parasite. Her shrewdness easily pierced the thin veil which screened their motives; and, though she was courteous for their attention, she was steeled against any impression. Yet she was formed to love, and a first and virtuous passion entangled her affections almost unknown to herself. In the subtle meshes of Cupid her heart revealed a tale to which she long had held a deaf ear-that it beat warmest when she listened to Colin's praise— that with him she was at peace, without him unhappy.

The object of her choice might be a few years her senior; and, being from the same country, it was not wonderful that he often visited the family-but it was soon discovered that something more than friendship led him so often to a house which Mary's presence converted into a paradise. Often did he walk past her windows to catch a glimpse of her aërial form-the most trivial excuse was converted into an important matter, provided it afforded an opportunity, with any degree of grace, to be ushered into the presence of the idol of his heart. His days passed with pleasing thoughts-his nights with happy dreams. Assured of Mary's love, he saw all before him smooth and smiling-not a mist could he trace on the extensive landscape which obscured any of its visionary beauties. He was respected by her friends— his advances were favoured by her mother, and it wanted but a few words to make both completely happy, when a fatal truth, like a noxious vapour, blighted the tender flower they had carefully nursed; or, like a remorseless giant, dashed the cup from their lips, of which both had deeply drank.

Some speculation, in which Colin was engaged to a considerable amount, proved a failure, and he had no alternative but to become bankrupt; but, wishing to give his creditors every reparation in his power, he handed them over his remaining property, with the intention of leaving his country and pursuing Fortune's eluding shadow on a foreign shore, far from his friends, his Mary, and his home. With this resolution he waited upon her, and was shown into a small parlour in which they had spent many happy hours; but, from this interview, happiness had retired. An unwonted darkness sat on Colin's brow—a brooding sadness was visible in his forced smile, and they sat together for several minutes in mute contemplation ere he had courage to reveal the direful tale, or she divine the cause of his melancholy reverie.

Such disappointment does the weary traveller experience who crosses the trackless desert. Fancy points out to him in the distance the waving boughs of the sheltering forest, under the shade of which he can stretch his exhausted limbs. He thinks he hears

the chirping of the feathered songsters inviting him to listen to their warbling concert; while, as if to render his comfort complete, a bubbling streamlet, in which he can allay his parched thirst, is seen flowing with unceasing pace along its verdant embankments. Hope rouses him to energy-he quickens his pace; but the objects which stimulated him to exertion are suddenly dissipated, and the same burning heat, the same trackless desert, and the same solitary waste bound the perspective.

Colin, at length, broke the painful silence, and, without evasion or reserve, informed her of the extent of his losses. She listened with calm, yet dignified attention, till he came to the recital of his intended departure-this had never occurred to her. She looked forward to a long period of distant bliss, and, when the dreadful reality first flashed across her mind, the starting tear and the deep drawn sob, whose influence are rarely withstood, were the only language she employed in order to wean him from his projected scheme. She saw no cheering beam to illume the dark night which was gathering round her. She was rudely awakened from the security into which she had lulled herself, like the home bound mariner who waits the favouring gale, spreads all his canvass to the winds, and chides the tardy breeze that wafts him to the desired haven. The blue hills of his country crowd upon his sight-his friends, with unfeigned smiles, stand to welcome him on the beach-the partner of his cares, with anxious gaze, looks far over the undulating waters, and derives a solace in teaching her babes to lisp their father's name-the very winds seem to whistle joy at his almost accomplished voyage, whenhark! a crash-the ship has struck, and the hopes of the mariner's anticipated welcome is buried in the overwhelming sea.

Tears brought relief to Mary. She remonstrated with him on the folly of leaving his country on the first frown of fortune, advised him to pursue the same industrious course which, till lately, had marked his career; warned him of the danger by sea and the difficulties to be met with on shore, and, as a last argument, told him, with a faultering voice, (in which modesty, love and pride, alternately triumphed) that no other should share her thoughts, or participate her affections, till the fickle Goddess again lavished on him part of her bounty, and till he was restored to that footing in society which his unforeseen calamities unfortunately deprived him of. If he was sad she would cheer him with her company, and if, after another effort to retrieve his loss, he found his exertions unrewarded, then she would submit to a parting, and sigh forth a prayer for his welfare and prosperity.

But Colin was unmoved in his purpose; she, therefore, did not harass his feelings by pressing him farther. They took leave of each other after mutual vows of love and pledges of constancy. At parting, Mary took a favourite ring off her finger, which she had received from a respected friend, and placed it upon his, and then sought her couch, with a heavy heart, to ruminate over events which, in a short space of time, from the height of fancied happiness, plunged her into an abyss of apparent misery.

Time flew on with unceasing pace, and yet no word came from Colin.

Five years had elapsed since he left his home, and he was now almost forgotten by his former acquaintances; but there was one who could not so easily forget. Eager did she listen when the post-boy announced a letter, and hope-sick has she turned away, when she found it was not from him. None knew the ship in which he had sailed, and it was generally supposed that he had been cast away, or had died on his arrival; but Mary grasped at every shadow which held out a hope that he still lived. She rejected the addresses of the many suitors who contended for her hand, and it was not till seven long years of doubt had laid their heads on the lap of the preceding ages, that Mary was decked in a bride's apparel, to give away her hand to one who might deserve, but, to whom she was unable to give, her heart. Preparations were going on for the marriage, yet Mary seemed almost unconscious of what was passing around her. The bridemaidens had decked her in all the finery which wealth could supply or fancy invent; and endeavoured to rouse her from her cheerless lethargy, but all in vain her thoughts seemed to wander on scenes which had been-and acted only a passive part in the drama in which she should have borne the principal character. The clergyman had now arrived, who was to have performed the ceremony -the bridegroom and his suite waited the announcing of the bride; but, in breathless terror, they were informed that she was no

where to be found. A fruitless search confirmed their fears, and the melancholy which preyed upon her spirits, for some time past, made them dread she had taken a step which they shuddered to contemplate. A young child, indeed, to whom she was attached, said that, a short time previous to her being missed, she observed her kiss a letter in which a ring was inclosed, and, wrapping a mantle around her, leave the house. Still, this threw no light on the course she had pursued, and the party broke up, and retired to their homes, in mournful silence.

A week had passed, and still no tidings of her was received, and a number of friends had met at her mother's, to condole her on the untoward event, when a coach drove up to the door, and in came the fugitive Mary, leaning on the arm of a gentleman, on whose bronzed cheek a burning sun had made visible traces, and whom she introduced as her husband. After begging and receiving pardon for the anxiety she had occasioned, Colin burst from several voices at once, and was welcomed, with joy, as one who had been long since thought dead. The story draws to a close. After be had left Glasgow, he took his passage in a ship bound for Grenada, where he since held a lucrative situation, and in which he realized a handsome competency. He had written several letters to Mary after his arrival; but, from their having unfortunately miscarried, he never received an answer, and concluded he was forgotten, till a friend of his, who had known them both, in their happier days, informed him that her heart was unchanged. He instantly arranged his affairs, and, getting aboard a ship which was then bound for Britain, Colin's prayers for propitious winds were heard, and he arrived at Glasgow, just in time to prevent a circumstance which would have sealed Mary's fate, and completed his wretchedness. To prevent any suspicion, he sent a trusty friend with a letter to her, in which he inclosed the ring she gave him, and requested an interview. This, as we have seen, she found means to accomplish. Former vows were immediately renewed, he prevailed on her to accompany him to the home of one of his friends in the country, where their hands were joined, as their hearts long had been united. I need scarcely add, that Colin now holds a respectable rank in society, and that Mary proves a loving and dutiful wife, a tender mother, and an affectionate friend.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED. Glasgow's great genius boasts he hath put on The hide and hues of the Chameleon; Such raw conceit, but proves, how wits may wander; The Queen Street fire avouch'd the Salamander.

REJECTED ADDRESSES.

Bet has given a denial, and I am content;

I might have got worse, had she given her consent.

MISCELLANEA.

OLD LONDON BRIDGE.-It is well known that Peter of Colechurch, the founder of Old London Bridge, did not live to witness the completion of the structure, but died in 1205, and was buried in a crypt within the centre pier of the bridge, over which a chapel was erected, dedicated to St. Thomas-a-Becket. Mr. Brayley, in his "Londivina," wrote, about five years since, says that "if due care be taken when the old bridge is pulled down, the bones and ashes of this venerable architect may still be found;" and, true enough, the bones of old Peter were found on removing the pier about a fortnight since.-The Mirror.

GREAT MEN NOT ALWAYS VISIBLE.-There is this difference between men and things, that, while some things are too small to be seen, some men are too great to be seen.-The Usurer's Daugh

ter.

Fors. There is no order of society which changes so often and so completely as that of fops. Your miser always looks the miser, your arrogant man the arrogant; but the fop of forty years ago was a macaroni; of thirty a buck; of twenty a dandy; of ten an exquisite; of to-day an exclusive. What folly will come next? -The Opera.

One Lawyer unjustly charged another with theft; DIOGENES, being chosen umpire, condemned both, declaring that the accused was a thief, but the accuser had lost nothing. Seeing an unskilful archer shooting, he went and sat down by the target, declaring it the only place of safety.-Athenæum.

It is estimated that two hundred and forty-three dramatic works to which M. SCRIBE has affixed his name have produced to him the sum of 948,000 francs.-Court Journal.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

NUMEROUS are the personifications which the alarmed imaginations of our countrymen have given to the Cholera. Some poets have fancied it a long spare automaton, stalking up one street and down another, like Lord Wharncliffe, and frightening the inhabitants at its approach. A painter of our acquaintance has made a very graphic sketch, after the description issued by the London Board of Health, representing it as a raw and bloody monster, the very sight of which is sufficient to curdle the blood with terror. But the most picturesque shape, which we have heard attributed to this fell pestilence, is that which the wife of a tradesman in this city has the honour of inventing. It happened, the other night, while a worthy couple were sitting over their dish of tea, the wife pursuing her customary occupation of knitting, and her consort commenting upon the news of the day, the latter announced the following intelligence from the Glasgow Chronicle:-"Oh! Jean, the Cholera has come to Kirkintulloch, with bones and huifs." "Preserve us a'," exclaimed the good woman in an agony of terror "has't turned out to be the deevil after a'?"

We understand that an express has just arrived from the Board of Admiralty, with an order for all the shipping belonging to Paisley to perform quarantine at the Water Neb. What sad cholera times do we live in !! It is also said that BAILLIE PIRNIE left Paisley yesterday, for Seestu' Place, Gourock.

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The "bonded" keys wont set him free,
In bondage old he grows,
Unless a bond his friends agree
To give for all he owes.

Accustomed to a better place,

The Custom-House can vouch; But custom tells him that disgrace Attends an empty pouch.

But the Collector, if he chose,

Might a collection make;

Unlock the "Locker" from his woes,
E'en for the Locker's sake.

"What Fate decrees, none can controul,"
Or else the good Comptroller
Would wish for riches, from his soul,
To pay off every dollar.

Survey the Locker in his cell,

With visage pale and wan,

Then, good" Surveyor," you can tell
The mis'ry of the man.

Go, search for Searchers at the gates,
Tidewaiters, wait on them!

For" time or tide on no man waits,"
And charity's your aim.

That broken ships have come to land,
Landwaiters, ye know well;

So, to the Locker lend a hand,
To land him from his cell.

Collector's clerks will clerk a list,
Enlisting every name
That listens to a claim so just,
As clears a brother's shame.

Then, see the Locker free from lock,
Yet locked in soft embrace

Of his dear wife-his little flock
All smiling in your face.

LONDON THEATRICALS. From our London Correspondent.

In my last, I mentioned to you the success of Lord F. L. Gower's new Tragedy. I may now tell you, that the new Drama, entitled the Rent-Day, has proved the most successful novelty that has appeared at Drury Lane this season

In pas

A novel combination of musical effect, at least in this country, was tried t'other morning at the King's Theatre, before a select audience of professors and amateurs, expressly invited to obtain their judgment on its results. A complete band was collected, consisting wholly of instruments of metallic formation. There were, for example, eight French horns, six trumpets, six keyed bugles, three trombones, and a double bass horn of extraordinary compass in depth, being below the serpent and instruments of that class in military bands. The pieces performed were, the Overture to Sphor's Jessonda, the march of the Priests in the Zauberflöte, with some movements from Weber, Rossini, and Auber. The experiment, which, it should be observed, has been only six weeks in preparation, was decidedly a successful one. sages of pure harmony it is difficult to imagine any thing more perfect. The movement seemed to have the same unity of design as if it proceeded from one stupendously grand and powerful instrument, and, what is still more remarkable, was subdued when requisite to a degree of softness which might have been borne in the boudoir of a sick Duchess. The prevalent defect, in the judgment of the auditory, was, that the cases were inadequate in strength to sustaining so great a weight of harmony; but this will admit of a very easy remedy. Bands of this structure have for some time existed on the continent; but for their introduction here musicians have to thank Mr. Harper, the celebrated trumpetplayer, who took a leading part in the performance, which was filled up throughout by professors of the first eminence. The horns were most ably led by Mr. Platt, Mr. Rae, and others, who took the solo parts in succession. The tromboues were also finely played, and with great discretion as to the strength of intonation. All present appeared much gratified at the result of the experi

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THE DAY.

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.

CARPE DIEM.

GLASGOW, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1832.

THE FOREIGN PRINCE.

"I am not what I seem."

SHAKSPEARE.

I HAVE always been able to judge of the character and the taste of the persons I have met with in the course of a single interview. This is a peculiarity which I have found of no small importance in life. A simple glance has convinced me of the propriety, or impropriety, of forming an acquaintanceship; and, instead of months and years being employed in the study of motives, and powers, and principles, I have always discovered the mind breathing from the face at the first interview.

By such an intuitive process, I at once ascertain the exact status in society of every person in a company. -Just look around upon the present party-that gentleman with the handsome and prominent profile is a linguist, that tall young gentleman, somewhat ruddy of countenance and bland in expression, is embued with a love for literature-he of the dark eye and expansive brow is a poet-that acute reasoner, so full of energy in his arguments, and so volatile in his movements, is either a mediciner or a lawyer, and he of the pale face and hazle eye, is evidently a lover of the fine

arts.

Sure I am, I have deciphered the characters, inclinations, or employments of four out of the five, correctly; and, as another specimen of my happy exercise of this uncommon talent, allow me to relate the following occurrence which, although it happened some years ago, is still vividly impressed on my mind.

When, in the year 1818, my friend and I traversed the field of Waterloo, we were met by a stranger, habited in a dark-coloured surcoat richly embroidered, a highly ornamented vest with gold buttons, and a black silk neckcloth, from the folds of which occasionally peeped out a splendid diamond brooch.

Although he was of low stature, his upright position, and modish appearance, induced us at first to think he was in the army. He spoke, very correctly, English; although it was evident, from his pronunciation of several words, that he was not a native of Great Britain whilst the anecdotes he narrated, and the familiar terms in which he mentioned many of our most eminent officers and statesmen, all of whom he assured us he often visited, convinced us he was a foreign officer in British pay.

It was not long before both my friend and myself were impressed with a high sense of his military science, when he declared, in the most unequivocal terms, in reference to the scene before us, that the Duke of Wellington was more indebted to his troops than to his talents for his victory, as certainly he had chosen a very bad position.

His censures, however, we soon experienced, were not confined to the first general of the age, but were equally manifested in his hostility towards the ministers of the day; and, whilst he severely decried all their measures, he spoke with peculiar indignation of their conduct towards illustrious foreigners.

He severely criticised our restrictions on foreign trade, hinting, at the same time, that he was extensively engaged in it, when favourable opportunities occurred.

In truth, he spoke with so much authority, we immediately concluded that, along with his military, he

held some high civil capacity; or that, to say the least, he occupied a distinguished situation in some corps diploma tique. We were, however, at length, somewhat tired of his great names and great knowledge; and, suddenly bidding him adieu, we retired to contemplate the farm and grounds of Hugomont.

Of course, I pass over our reflections on the field of battle, where the brave, on the bed of their long and their last repose, sleep unconscious; but I cannot forget how kindly nature had adorned the sod that covers them with her sweetest flowers, or the effect, produced on my mind, at the grave of a Highland officer, where a single heath-flower had reared its modest blossom, as if to consecrate the tomb of the gallant soldier, whose last thought was of his native hills. The eyes of all Europe were fixed on this battle field, and nobly Britain's sons were seen to do their duty-but little did Europe reck of the individual sorrow of which the bloody Waterloo was the cause little did she reck of the distracted mother, and despairing father, and weeping sister, and forlorn love, whose darling hope lies yonder!

Before we returned to Brussels, the sun had almost set, and the light of his farewell rays fell on the upper part of the town, whilst the lower remained in twilight obscurity, presented an effect, which nature, herself, could only imitate.

Next morning, we proceeded to Antwerp, and continued our journey, during the succeeding days, to Breda, Dort and Rotterdam. From thence we proceeded, in a passage boat, to the Hague, and then secured our seats in the Diligence, which was to leave that city early the succeeding morning, for Haarlem. In the evening, we had a delightful walk under the branches of the lofty lime trees which skirt the road from the Hague to Schevling, and, next morning, we were seated in the carriage the first of all the passengers which the commodious vehicle had undertaken to transport. We had not remained long before we heard a voice with which we both were familiar, and our friend, the foreign general, almost immediately appeared. He instantly recognized me; and, after stating that it afforded him very great pleasure, indeed, again to meet with us, he enquired whither we intended to travel? We stated, that although we had only secured our seats for Haarlem, we intended to be in that city no longer than half an hour, as we naturally desired to be as long as possible in Amsterdam. He disapproved of our plan. He declared Haarlem to be well worthy of our attention, for a day or two; he described its extensive Museum, its farfamed Botanic Garden, and he especially dwelt with rapture on the brilliant and beautiful tones of its unrivalled organ, now almost worthy of being considered one of the wonders of the world.

This subject naturally led our distinguished friend to speak of music and musicians. Of the latter, he had all the names at his command, and even proceeded so far into the science as to talk of time, concord, and discord. He preferred the performers of Germany to those of any other country, yet confessed that, in some of his favourite overtures, the hautbois and second violin of the English Opera orchestra were equal, in tone, to any instruments he had ever heard. My friend and I listened to his scientific con

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