with an occasional reflection it may chance from some hardy and lessfavoured parishioner, respecting the shamefulness of all this, matters pass from father to son, from generation to generation, without any suitable reparation or amendment. I know," continued my Instructor, a church-yard at this moment, which is still the burial-ground of the parish, and through the corner of which a mountain torrent has forced its way. This breach, notwithstanding the instances in which even entire coffins have been swept off by the flood, has never been, and is not at this hour, repaired. And there is a story current of an honest Labourer's mother, who, after having been fairly-and as her son deemed, immoveably fixed in the earth, in a season of continued rain, was found, upon his return home from the funeral, to have reached, by help of the torrent, his own door before him. Of no country that I know or have read of, nor of any other age or state of society, however rude and uncivilized, can this disgraceful allegation,-" that they shew disrespect to the ashes of their Ferefathers," be made with so much truth as of our own,-of reformed Presbyterian Scotland in particular. One is almost disposed, upon taking a survey of this truly-melancholy subject, to wish back again that "hallowing and Catholic faith," which, whilst it consecrated the very ground in which the dead reposed, by this means sufficiently guarded them from all violation or disturbance; or, at least, to take shelter under the guardian wings of the younger, and more courtly sister, "Prelacy," who, in this respect, is little behind her elder relative." "To this sentiment, (subjoined I) rising, and looking around me, I can never, notwithstanding all my reverence for the ashes of the dead, accede, whilst I inhabit a county where the happy principles of Presbyterian reform were first promulgated, supported, and sealed with blood;-where a Mill, a Hamilton, and a Wishart suffered,-a * Knox and a Melville preached, and an aroused and a manly Nobility stood, on that very Moor now immediately under my view, firm and undismayed in the cause of civil and religious freedom." Hereupon, " my friend,”— for our intimacy, though strangers when we met-or, as we country folks are apt to word it, "forgathered,”had gradually ripened into something very like friendship, proposed our retiring to talk the subject over, more at our leisure, upon a draught of what he termed "Macnab's brown stout." To which proposal having acceded, and having, upon second thoughts, added to the Porter a convenient accompaniment of mutton-chops and rum-toddy, I spent one of the happiest evenings I have for some time enjoyed, in company and conversation with a man, who, after having lived a bustling and an anxious, and somewhat of a political life, amidst " Towncouncils" and " county-meetings," has now retired from this busy annoyance to enjoy his friend, his glass, and the inexhaustible resources of an acute and a vigorous mind. At what hour we parted, and what additional time passed before I reached home, are questions of curiosity only, and of no importance whatever. Suffice it to observe, in conclusion, that although there existed no previous arrangement, or connexion, or affinity, betwixt the current of my meditations and the little trivial occurrences I have just circumstantially stated, yet I could not help thinking to myself on my way home, that a cunning and ingenious reasoner might contrive, without any very extraordinary stretch of generalization, to bring both subjects under one rule, and might institute no very unnatural alliance betwixt the neglected and scattered bones of dead men, and that vegetable devastation which November exhibits. Adieu. Yours, &c. Nov. 23, 1821. NONDESIGNATUS. * You may talk of your Youngs and your Ambroses as you please. Whoever has had the good fortune to experience the comfort, civility, and accommodation which are to be had at " Macnab's," will be apt to become a very testy and troublesome guest anywhere else. HAROLD'S GRAVE. "Pictaviensis and Orderic say that he was buried on the beach; most of the historians, that the body was given to his mother without ransom, and interred by her order at Waltham. A more romantic story is told by the author of the Waltham M.S. in the Cotton Library, Jul. D. 6, who wrote about a century afterwards. If we may believe him, two of the canons, Osgod Cnoppe, and Ailric, the Childe-maister, were sent to be spectators of the battle. They obtained from William, to whom they presented ten marks of gold, leave to search for the body of their benefactor. Unable to distinguish it amongst the heaps of slain, they sent for Harold's mistress, Editha, surnamed the fair,' and the 'swan's neck.' By her his features were recognized."-LINGARD'S History of England. There, where yon stretch of yellow sand, Like crescent of an eight-days' moon,- Where England's liberty was lost.— The best of Saxon blood was shed, That first the Norman foot should tread Upon a spot so calm and fair. There-midway, where the sunny shore Would land, while yet the day was new; The sullen youth and fearful maid, Oh! Freedom, thou art worth the striving- The very day-beam not enliven. Their golden skies may glow serenely, Like gems upon a harlot's bosom. And all is silent, desert now, Save that there is one noteless spot, Were ceaseless as the wave that flows. For whether, in warm autumn's glow, 8 And the clear ripple curls to break, Soft as a tress on Beauty's cheek,Or whether the roused billows roll Before the blast their foam and spray, There, be it sun-shine, be it storm, And seems to shed, like one heart-broken, Tears, salter than the ocean-brine. She brings each earliest bud, that hastes, And the hoar winter hath crawl'd forth Where most the bruising foot hath trod, (As flowers, entomb'd by earthquake shock, Ask, why she comes-and comes to weep,- And he shall, haply, make reply Thus with his head shook, or his eye He is a scared, though kindly slave, And hath but listen'd from some screen, Some nook-those woes which she would have Unheard at least, if not unseen. As years, with sullen flow, creep by, But when the moon hangs, red and broad, When the wild billow meets the rock VOL. X. They scoop'd his grave the ocean-brim, But yet, methinks, he'll better rest Where every day some armed heel, "Yes-even the hireling priests are gone And leave their loyal love-to her, To see his tomb-and wait their leave- The milk-white cups, that arch to the sky, That could be lofty, and still be kind. "And, as the wreath must soon decay, And the waves sweep o'er it, where 'tis lying, And their hour of blow be mine of dying. By foes and friends at once forgot, And the wave and moon-beam visit only." T. D. THE MOUNT OF OLIVES. "And when they had sung a hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives." 1. Messias. Now is the Father glorified, A little while, and ye no more shall see, When he is lifted high ! A crown shall be around his browAnd death and hell shall sink and die! Peace be to him that giveth peace, And woe to him that worketh woe, The captived man shall find release, The proud oppressor fallen low, Shall feel his own sharp scourge, and all his tortures know. 2. Semichorus Apostolorum. The King the prophets prophecied, The Lord of earth and heavenNow to his chosen race is given! Now hath the bridegroom sought the bride! Rejoice ye lands! Shiloh is come, And seeks in glory his long lost home. Now bid the trumpet's echoes swell, Bear him in triumph to David's throne! There shall our Lord for ever dwell, And bless the land he call'd his own! 3. Chorus Apostolorum. The lamp is lighted now, No hand shall quench its beam again; Yea, wide and wider shall it glow, And lighten on the sons of men, And every heart shall fear and bow, In silence then! MATT. xxvi. 30. When Moses stood before the Lord On Sinai, and heard his wordThunders roll'd, and lightnings shone, And clouds were round Jehovah's throne; Thesky was rent, the mountains reel'd, The wonders of the second day- 4. Messias. Go on your way in peace, And walk before your God, In fear, in love, in righteousness. Let every earth-born jarring cease, And tread the path that I have trod; Through pain, and danger, and distress, A little while, and I shall sleep, And it is yours to mourn and weep Your lord and master gone. But fear ye not, you are my sheepStill shall your Shepherd lead you on; The Comforter from heaven descends, And wonders, power, and mighty deeds Shall mark his way even to the ends Of all the earth, and where he leads The stubborn proudest spirit bends. When I have burst the fetters of the tomb, And at my Father's own right hand, With thousand saints in glory stand, Then shall the Holy Spirit come! 5. Semi-chorus. Mourn, Israel, mourn! Thy Lord is torn With hate's sharp knife, and envy'sthorn, Oh woe! oh woe! |