support, glided softly to a little table, and bringing a cup in which a cordial had been mixed, held it in his small soft hands to his grandfather's lips. He drank, and then said, "Come closer to me, Jamie, and kiss me for thine own and thy father's sake;" and as the child fondly pressed his rosy lips on those of his grandfather, so white and withered, the tears fell over all the old man's face, and then trickled down on the golden head of the child at last sobbing in his bo

som.

"Jamie, thy own father has forgotten thee in thy infancy, and me in my old age; but, Jamie, forget not thou thy father nor thy mother, for that thou knowest and feelest is the commandment of God."

The broken-hearted boy could give no reply. He had gradually stolen closer and closer unto the old loving man, and now was lying, worn out with sorrow, drenched and dissolved in tears, in his grandfather's bosom, His mother had sunk down on her knees and hid her face with her hands. "Oh! if my husband knew but of this he would never, never desert his dying father!" and I now knew that the Elder was praying on his death-bed for a disobedient and wicked son,

At this affecting time the minister took the Family-Bible on his knees, and said, "Let us sing to the praise and glory of God, part of the fifteenth Psalm," and he read, with a tremulous and broken voice, those beautiful

verses.

Within thy tabernacle, Lord,

Who shall abide with thee?
And in thy high and holy hill
Who shall a dweller be?

The man that walketh uprightly,
And worketh righteousness,
And as he thinketh in his heart,
So doth he truth express.

The small congregation sung the noble hymn of the Psalmist to "Plaintive martyrs worthy of the name." The dying man himself, ever and anon, joined in the holy musicand when it feebly died away on his quivering lips, he continued still to follow the tune with the motion of his withered hand, and eyes devoutly and humbly lifted up to Heaven. Nor was the sweet voice of his loving grand-child unheard; as if the strong

fit of deadly passion had dissolved in the music, he sang with a sweet and silvery voice that to a passer by had seemed that of perfect happiness -a hymn sung in joy upon its knees by gladsome childhood before it flew out among the green hills, to quiet labour or gleesome play. As that sweetest voice came from the bosom of the old man, where the singer lay in affection, and blended with his own so tremulous, never had I felt so affectingly brought before me the beginning and the end of life, the cradle and the grave.

Ere the psalm was yet over, the door was opened, and a tall fine-looking man entered, but with a lowering and dark countenance, seemingly in sorrow, in misery, and remorse. Agitated, confounded, and awe-struck by the melancholy and dirgelike music, he sat down on a chair-and looked with a ghastly face towards his father's death-bed. When the psalm ceased, the Elder said with a solemn voice, 66 My son-thou art come in time to receive thy father's blessing. May the remembrance of what will happen in this room, before the morning again shine over the Hazle-glen, win thee from the error of thy ways. Thou art here to witness the mercy of thy God and thy Saviour, whom thou hast forgotten.'

""

The Minister looked, if not with a stern, yet with an upbraiding countenance, on the young man who had not recovered his speech, and said, "William! for three years past your shadow has not darkened the door of the House of God. They who fear not the thunder, may tremble at the still small voice-now is the hour for repentance that your father's spirit may carry up to Heaven tidings of a contrite soul saved from the company of sinners!"

The young man, with much effort, advanced to the bed-side, and at last found voice to say, "Father-I am not without the affections of natureand I hurried home soon as I heard that the Minister had been seen riding towards our house. I hope that you will yet recover-and if I have ever made you unhappy, I ask your forgiveness-for though I may not think as you do on matters of religion, I have a human heart. Father! I may have been unkind, but I am not cruel. I ask your forgiveness."

"Come nearer to me, William, kneel down by the bed-side, and let my hand find the head of my beloved son-for blindness is coming fast upon me. Thou wert my first-born, and thou art my only living son. All thy brothers and sisters are lying in the church-yard, beside her whose sweet face thine own, William, did once so much resemble. Long wert thou the joy, the pride of my soulaye, too much the pride, for there was not in all the parish such a man, such a son, as my own William. If thy heart has since been changed, God may inspire it again with right thoughts. Could I die for thy sake could I purchase thy salvation with the outpouring of thy father's bloodbut this the Son of God has done for thee who hast denied him! I have sorely wept for thee-aye, William, when there was none near me-even as David wept for Absalom-for thee, my son, my son !"

66

A long deep groan was the only reply; but the whole body of the kneeling man was convulsed; and it was easy to see his sufferings, his contrition, his remorse, and his despair. The Pastor said, with a sterner voice, and austerer countenance than were natural to him, "Know you whose hand is now lying on your rebellious head? But what signifies the word father to him who has denied God, the Father of us all ?" "Oh! press him not so hardly," said the weeping wife, coming forward from a dark corner of the room, where she had tried to conceal herself in grief, fear, and shame, spare, oh! spare my husband-he has ever been kind to me;" and with that she knelt down beside him, with her long, soft, white arms mournfully and affectionately laid across his neck. "Go thou, likewise, my sweet little Jamie," said the Elder, go even out of my bosom, and kneel down beside thy father and thy mother, so that may bless you all at once, and with one yearning prayer." The child did as that solemn voice commanded, and knelt down somewhat timidly by his father's side; nor did that unhappy man decline encircling with his arm the child too much neglected, but still dear to him as his own blood, in

I

66

spite of the deadening and debasing influence of infidelity.

"Put the Word of God into the hands of my son, and let him read aloud to his dying father the 25th, 26th, and 27th verses of the eleventh chapter of the Gospel according to St John." The Pastor went up to the kneelers, and, with a voice of pity, condolence, and pardon, said, "There was a time when none, William, could read the Scriptures better than couldst thou-can it be that the son of my friend hath forgotten the lessons of his youth?" He had not forgotten them-there was no need for the repentant sinner to lift up his eyes from the bed-side. The sacred stream of the Gospel had worn a channel in his heart, and the waters were again flowing. With a choked voice he said, "Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life? he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. Believest thou this? She saith unto him, Yea, Lord: I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world.

"

"That is not an unbeliever's voice," said the dying man triumphantly; nor, William, hast thou an unbeliever's heart. Say that thou believest in what thou hast now read, and thy father will die happy!" "I do believe; and as thou forgivest me, so may I be forgiven by my Father who is in heaven."

The Elder seemed like a man suddenly inspired with a new life. His faded eyes kindled-his pale cheeks glowed-his palsied hands seemed to wax strong-and his voice was clear as that of manhood in its prime. "Into thy hands, oh God, I commit my spirit."-and so saying, he gently sunk back on his pillow; and I thought I heard a sigh. There was then a long deep silence, and the father, and mother, and child, rose from their knees. The eyes of us all were turned towards the white placid face of the Figure now stretched in everlasting rest; and without lamentations, save the silent lamentations of the resigned soul, we stood around the DEATH-BED OF THE ELDer. EREMUS.

February 28. Finished GERALdine. This is the best written novel, except Anastasius, that has been published in London for several years. The story is not much, but very pathetic and skilful so far as it goes. The conversational style, one of the best I have seen-clear, natural, and unaffectedly elegant, and full of the spirit of good society. Religion is uppermost in the writer's mind; but in these pages religion wears a character so pleasing, that no novel reader will turn from them on account of their serious import. It is said to be written by a lady-if so, she must be a charming woman, full of grave thoughts and graceful feelings-the very model of an accomplished, reflective, and affectionate English matron.

March 5.-I have been reading M'Crie's Life of Andrew Melville these three days past. I began it with a feeling of aversion-for the Doctor's puritanism is too much for my nerves -yet I lay the book down with regret, and with the utmost admiration for the talents of the author. There is less of remarkable incident, and less of strong commanding force of character, displayed in this work than in the Life of John Knox; but it is a book which will interest a much larger class of readers-it is not written for Presbyterians merely, but for all the scholars in the world.

· Andrew Melville was born in 1545, of a genteel family in Fife, and, losing his father two years after (he fell at Pinkie), was educated by an uncle with all paternal care and affection. He studied first at Montrose under Marselliers, a Frenchman-then at St Andrews-last of all at Paris-which last university was then every way the first in Europe. Here his first zealous love of learning was, it would seem, derived from hearing the lectures of Ramus, and his celebrated colleagues, Turnebus, Duretus, and the rest. From thence he went to Geneva, and became Professor of Humanity in the academy, but devoted himself chiefly to theological studies, and profited, as might be expected from a man of his ardent temper, by the familiar con

verse of such men as Beza, Joseph Scaliger, and his own illustrious countryman Scrimgeour. He returned to Scotland a zealous Calvinist, and a most accomplished scholar, being invited over by his friends to take part in the great concerns of literary and ecclesiastical improvement which then occupied the attention of his country.

men.

He was a great leader in the Presbyterian party, and contributed more than any other individual to the long series of triumphs which terminated in the establishment of their fa vourite form of church government, anno 1574. The aversion, however, felt by King James towards the doc trine of Presbyterian parity, once more overthrew this system, soon after his accession to the throne of England; and Melville suffered many personal evils, in consequence of the stubborn resistance he opposed to the measures of the court. He lay for four years in the Tower, and was then suffered to go into exile in France, where he became Professor of Divinity in the Protestant University of Sedan. There he died in the year 1622, at the age of 77-his health having suffered miserably from the confinement and other hardships he had undergone.

During the long period of his middle life in Scotland, Melville was successively placed at the head of the two universities of Glasgow and St Andrews, and contributed most important services to the whole literature of his country, by the great improvements he introduced into the management of both these seminaries. Dr M'Crie has written this part of his history not a whit less con amore than that of Melville's violent struggles against Prelacy; and surely it will af ford much greater pleasure to the majority of his readers. In fact, it is the most valuable piece of literary history that has ever appeared in Scotland; and, taken along with Dr Irving's excellent Life of George Buchanan, completes a view of the literary spirit and habits of that age, which cannot fail to impress every mind with a pleasing mixture of respect for the talents, and affection for the persons, of the first great promoters of classical

learning in Scotland. It is melancholy, however, to think how utterly the exertions of these enlightened men are now-a-days forgotten by their countrymen; and that the land which once boasted a Buchanan and a Melville, to say nothing of a host of minor contemporary luminaries, should now be the last of all European countries in point of classical attainments. If any thing is likely to revive the too long forgotten spirit, surely it must be the animating portraiture of its living effects, which meets the eye in these delightful and most instructive

page wish I could sympathize with

Dr M'Crie's feelings on all other subjects as heartily as I do in regard to these, but although I am sure I have read the far greater part of his book with every disposition to go along with my author, I cannot, for my soul, believe that this is the sort of temper in which an accomplished scholar and divine of the nineteenth century ought to write history. One can easily understand how a man of Melville's fiery temper should have spoken and acted in the stormy periods in which he so often directed the storm, with an apparent harshness, not much at harmony with his elegant accomplishments and pursuits. But now that all is quiet in church and state now that there is no fear of popery and that the most bigotted Scottish presbyterian can scarcely have any fear of the encroachments of prelacy before his eyes-it is lamentable to see that the dissentions and the bigotries of a former, and, in most respects, a ruder age can so deeply influence a person of M'Crie's pitch and compass of intellect. The hot and burning wrath with which Melville might be, in some measure, pardoned for regard ing the champions of episcopacy, a gainst whom he was for so many years opposed in continual warfare is revived with an effect most unhappy and most unworthy in the pages of a modern student who has had so many opportunities (and used them too) for cooling and refining his judgment. Every now and then he stops the thread of his interesting story to deal some odious sarcasm against the polity, the ritual, even against the practical discipline of the English church. We all know that Dr M'Crie is the zealous, affectionate, and useful miniVOL. VI.

ster of a small congregation of dissenters from the established church of Scotland-and thus we can easily understand that the circumstances of his education and life may have been such as to entitle him to some measure of indulgence on the score of liberality. But when I turn from him and the small circle within which his honourable exertions as an active clergyman have been confined, to survey the wide expanse over which the high and beautiful spirit of the English church has for ages shed its solemn, soothing, and saving lustre, it is impossible to prevent some thoughts of pity (to use

the softest word) from blending with

those which I should always wish to preserve unmingled towards such a man and such an author as Dr M'Crie. It is much to be regretted, as I have said, that so much of a book, which every one must read, should have been writ ten in a tone that must give pain to the far greater part of those best able to appreciate the merits of its author.— One of the best specimen of M'Crie's style is the conclusion of his book, in which he sums up the character of its hero.

March 12. A whole bundle of reviews and magazines this morningmany thanks to friend Ebony, but I cannot read them. My taste in literature is entirely of the old school, I prefer the joint to the hachis, with whatever delicacy of sauce and condiment it may be seasoned. It is clear, however, that great improvement has, of late, taken place in the management of almost all these works. You can take up few of them without finding something either to instruct or amuse you, and the impression one receives from turning over this great monthly budget of novelties is certainly a pleasing oneit shows completely what a high place literature now occupies in the minds of this people-how reading has swallowed up, over the large space of the land, almost all other kinds of amusements.

There is a great bustle, I suppose Ebony is at the bottom of the whole of it, in the department of Magazines. Three years ago, there was not a tolerable Magazine in Britain; and now, it can scarcely be said, that there is a bad one. Such are the effects of one animating model, and of the glorious principle of competition. Baldwin's second Number, however, is a 4 S

sad falling off from the first; without the gentleman that wrote the Review of the Scottish Novels, this work is nothing with him it may produce us much amusement. I see Colburn also is brushing up wonderfully-I suspect he has got a new Editor. It was a pity to see him wasting so much fine paper printing and puffing upon such trash as he used to give us-this number is much better. Both of these works, however, want the spring of originality—as yet, neither of them has begun any thing-and they will not thrive merely by refacciamentos, however ingeniously executed they may be. Gold and Northhouse also are better this month.

I suppose, by the way, Leigh Hunt wrote that Essay of his, in the Indicator, about the great authors that have been born and bred in Londonin order to connect himself with them, and carry back, if possible, the sceptre of Cockayne into "the venerable shade of ancient years." It is very absurd of him to suppose, that he is called the head of the Cockney School, only because he lives in London-we all know how many of the prime spirits of England spent their days and are now spending them in the metropolis.

The truth is, that the Cockney School has nothing to do with London, considered as the magnificent and refined and intellectual capital of the first nation of the earth. He and his school are (largely speaking) just as

little known in London as in the country. Their sphere lies entirely among a set of half-educated, wouldbe elegant clerks, and apprentices, and superfine shopkeepers, and shopkeepers' ladies-all of whom are creatures of the present age, and totally unlike any thing that ever London harboured till now. I wish old Daniel Defoe were alive once more-what a strong plain convincing letter he would write to the pupils of this new school, upon the folly and conceit of which they are guilty. Z. has made Hunt the laughing-stock of all gentlemen and ladies; but Daniel would have carried the war into the back shop, and thrown the story of Rimini right over the counter. Had he been alive, there would have been a dethronement in Cockayne long ere now.

March 14. I have this day sent my nephews a copy of Mr Ainslie's little book, the Father's Second Present to his Family-it is a manual which no religious family should be without-and is a fit companion to his admirable little compendium of the Evidences of Christianity.

March 16. Have you seen Mr Nicolson's Etchings of the distinguished men of Scotland, from pictures by himself? If not, buy them imme diately-they are coming out in numbers-and exquisite things they are. The head of William Allan, in the last Number, is by far his masterpiece-it is full of truth and ease, and has all the effect of a Rembrandt.

MR EDITOR,

IN absence of our convener, Sir William J. Hope, I feel myself not only excusable, but authorized to take public notice of an article in your Magazine for February: not with any intention of combating the opinions of the writer, as to the eligibility of particular sites for the erection of the intended Monument to the late Lord Melville, but to correct a gross misstatement of facts, which renders the writer equally blamable (by abusing

the public ear at the expense of the Committee), whether it proceeded from wilful misrepresentation or want of information.

He says (page 566, second column), "Since the preceding pages were written, we have heard, with mingled grief and astonishment, that the Committee have, BY A MEETING ON THE 9TH CURRENT, resolved on erecting the Monument at the end of Melville Street; and that this was done both after the whole objections to its being placed