But at length the Maye, and her palfreye graye,
And the goode ould manne besyde,
Set their thre hedis abone the waiffe,

And came in with the flowyng tydde.

Then all the folkis on the shoris of Fyffe
Ane terrour flychte beganne,
And the borghesse men of oulde Kilrose
They lefte their hamis and ranne.

For they kend the Se Maydis glossy ee,
Lyke the blue of hevin that shone;
And the littil wee horse of the coral caiffe,
That nouther had blode nor bone.

And they sayit quhan sho came unto their coaste,
Sho neuir came there for goode,

But wairnyng to giffe of stormis and wrackis,
And the sheddyng of chrystian bloode.

Alaik for the goode men of Kilrose,
For their wyttis were neuir ryffe!
For now sho came with ane myghtie store,
For the saifyng of poore mennis lyffe.

Quhan the littil wee horse he found his foote
On the fyrme grounde and the drie,

He shoke his maene, and gaife ane grane,
And threwe his helis on hie,

Quhille the golde playit jyngille on the shore,
That eisit him of his paine;

Then he turnit and kickit it quhare it laye,
In very great disdaine.

And he hatte the oulde manne rychte behynde
With soche unspairyng mychte,

That he made him jompe seuin ellis and more,
And on his face to lychte.

"Now, wo bee to the for ane wicked beiste !

For since euir thyne liffe beganne,

I neuir sawe the lift thyne fote

Againste ane rychteousse manne.

"But fare thee welle, thou goode oulde manne, Thyne promysse keip in mynde ;

Let this greate welthe I haif giuen to the

Be a blessing to thy kynde.

"So as thou stryffe so shalt thou thryffe,

And bee it understoode

That I moste vyssit the againe,

For evil or for goode.”

Then the bonnye Maye sho rode her waye

Along the se-waiffe greine,

And awaye and awaye on her palfreye graye,

Lyke the oceanis comelye Queene.

Als sho farit up the Firthe of Forthe
The fysches fledde all before,

And ane thousande coddis and haldockis braif
Ranne swatteryng richte ashore.

Ane hundred and threttye bordlye whailis
Went snoryng up the tydde,

And wyde on Allowais fertylle holmis
The gallopit ashore and died.*

But it greifith myne herte to telle to you,
What I neuir haif tould before,

Of that manne so rychteousse and so goode,
So long als he wals poore.

But quhaneuir he gotte more store of golde
Than euir his wyttis coulde telle,

He neuir wolde giffe ane mite for goode,
Nouther for heuin nor helle.

But he broded ower that mychtie store
With sordyd herte of synne,

And the housselesse wychte, or the poore by nychte,
His gate wanne neuir withynne.

And the last accountis I had of him

Are verye strainge to telle:

He wals seene with the Maye and the palfrey graye
Rydding feircelye out through helle.

For the Mynister of Allowa he wals there,
With some of his freinds in towe,

Puttyng them up in that cozey hame,

Quhair hee toulde them they sholde goe.

And the Mynister knowis the place full welle,
And greate delychte hath hee

For to descryve it out and in,

In patente geographye.

And hee sayit hee sawe the poore
With the Maiden of the Se,

oulde manne,

Boundyng awaye to the hottest place
Of all that hotte countrye.

And aye she cryit, " Hurraye, burraye!
Make roome for mee and myne!
I bryng you the Manne of Allowaye
To his poonyshmente condyne.

As this is likely to be the only part of my Treuthfulle Ballande the veracity of which may be disputed, I assure the reader that it is a literal fact; and that, with one tide in the month of March, one year lately, there were no fewer than 130 whales left ashore in the vicinity of Alloa. The men of Alloa called them young ones; but to me they appeared to have been immense fishes. Their skeletons at a distance were like those of large horses. There were two old ones ran up as far as the mill-dam of Cam. bus, on the Devon, where the retreating tide left them, and where, after a day's severe exercise and excellent sport to a great multitude, they were both slain, alongst with a young one, which one of the old ones used every effort to defend, and when she saw it attacked she bellowed most fearfully. But, moreover, on testifying my wonder one day to the men of Cambus why the whales should all have betaken them to the dry land, I was answered by a sly fellow," that a mermaid had been seen driving them up the Frith, which had frighted them so much, it had put them all out of their judg.

ments."

J. H.

"His Maker tryit him in the fyre,

To make his herte contrytte;
But, quhan he gat his hertis desyre,
He profit ane hyppocrytte."

And quhan the Mynister hee came hame,
Hee hearit with wonderyng mynd,

That the myser had gane, and left this worlde
And his ryches alle behynde.

Then all you poore and contrytte ones,
In deipe afflictiounis hurled,

O, neuir grieue or vex your hertis
For the ryches of this worlde;

For they bring nouther helthe nor pece
Unto thy spyritis frame;

And there is ane tressure better farre,
Which mynstrelle daris not name.

Hast thou not herit ane oulden saye,
By one who colde not lee?-

It is somethyng of ane greate bygge beiste
Ganging through ane nedilis ee.

Then thynke of that, and bee contente;
For lyffe is but ane daye,

And the nychte of dethe is gatheryng faste
To close upon your waye.

I haif ane prayer I ofte haif prayit,
And ofte wolde praye it againe-

Maye the beste blessyngs heuin can giffe
Ön Allowa long remaine!

I neuir aske ane blessynge meite,
Outher on kythe or kynne,
But the kynde hertis of Allowa
That asking comis withynne.

Then maye thaye lairne, from their Shepherdis taile,

To truste in Heuin alone,

And they'll neuir be mette by their Mynister

In soche ane place als yonne.

Mount Benger,

10th October 1828.

66

SHAKSPEARE A TORY, AND A GENTLEMAN. SHAKSPEARE was a Tory. Not that he had place or pension-(I am afraid, had he possessed either, he would not have written or blotted a line)-not that he had a great stake in the country, or was particularly interested in "vested interests"-not that he was a fellow with an "epileptic visage," a "superserviceable knave," a coward in soul," that hated liberty because he was morally incapable of enjoying it;-neither these nor any other of the despicable reasons which induce so many miserables to call themselves Tories, had, nor could have, any influence over a mind like "the gentle Willy's.' "Yet it cannot be doubted that he was a Tory-as kindly, as sincerely, as decisively, as Christopher

North himself. It would be no difficult matter to prove this by quotations from his dramas, if sentiments uttered by dramatic characters could be fairly imputed to a dramatic poet; but, in truth, Shakspeare's characters are never tasked to utter his private opinions. His dramatis person are bona fide persons-not speaking masks. He used not the privilege of the stage to catch the popular sympathies for his own peculiar likes or dislikes.

It is not by multiplying citations, (an easy device to fill a sheet, and shame one's own invention,) but by a comprehensive view of the informing spirit, the final scope and tendency of his works, that we can ascertain the actual direction of his mind. Now it

Gentle Willy.] The following lines, describing the irreverend familiarity with which the baptismal appellatives of Shakspeare's contemporaries were "curtail'd of their fair proportion," occur where we scarcely should have looked for them-in Heywood's "Hierarchie of Angels." The good old man has contrived to introduce the poets among the dominations.

"Greene, who had in both Academies tane
Degree of master, yet could never gain

To be called more than Robin, who, had he

Profess'd ought save the Muse, served, and been free

After a seven years' prenticeship, might have

(With credit too) gone Robert to his grave.

Marlow, renown'd for his rare art and wit,

Could ne'er attaine beyond the name of Kit;

Although his Hero and Leander did

Merit addition rather. Famous Kid

Was called but Tom. Tom Watson, though he wrote

Able to make Apollo's self to dote

Upon his muse, for all that he could strive,

Yet never could to his full name arrive.
Tom Nash (in his time of no small esteem)
Could not a second syllable redeem.
Excellent Beaumont, in the foremost rank
Of rarest wits, was never more than Frank.
Mellifluous Shakspeare, whose enchanting quill
Commanded mirth or passion, was but Will;
And famous Jonson, though his learned pen
Be dipp'd in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Fletcher and Webster, of that learned pack
None of the meanest, yet neither was but Jack.
Decker's but Tom, nor May, nor Middleton,

And he's now but Jack Ford, that once were John."

Heywood has been called a Prose Shakspeare for his dramas, which are indeed touching pictures of plain, homely, fireside feelings, that make us more intimately acquainted with the middle life and practical morals of our ancestors, than the more intellectual productions of his compeers can possibly do. I am afraid his "Hierarchie of Angels" will scarce entitle him to be called a Prose Milton; yet it is sufficiently curious to merit preservation, not only for the number of mysterious dogmata, strange tales, and stranger comments, which it contains, but for the grave simplicity, the matter-of-fact palpability of faith, which it discloses. Heywood treats of thrones, virtues, principalities, and powers, as if their rank and precedence were as well known and as regularly marshalled as that of dukes, marquisses, city knights, and country squires, at a coronation. He gravely settles the month of the year, and day of the month, on which the Creation was begun and finished, and determines how long Satan and the rest of the heavenly minority remained in administration.

will be granted on all hands, that his works prove him to have been a thorough Gentleman, and profoundly acquainted with Human Nature-ergo with the British Constitution; and from these premises all Tories will conclude that he must have been a Tory-and whom else should one dream of convincing?

First, He was a Gentleman-a term very vaguely applied and indistinctly understood. There are Gentlemen by birth, Gentlemen by education, Gentlemen's Gentlemen, Gentlemen of the Press, Gentlemen Pensioners, Gentle men whom nobody thinks it worth while to call otherwise, Honourable Gentlemen, Walking Gentlemen of strolling companies, Light-fingered Gentlemen, &c. &c., very respectable Gentlemen, and God Almighty's Gentlemen. I purpose to dilate only on the two last varieties.

Among the numerous tribes of Gentlemen that are not Gentlemen, Xévigo avsλivegoi, the very respectable Gentleman unquestionably holds the most respectable place. He is, indeed he must be, a very creditable, responsible, worthy, good sort of a man. He can hear the Decalogue and feel no self-reproach. He does not suspect the clergyman of personal applications at the mention of "all other deadly sin." He is perfectly admissible to the best tables. He offends against no formal law of honour. He conforms scrupulously to the ritual of etiquette. His speech and demeanour smack not of school or Change; for aught that we can tell, he is perfectly gentlemanlike; and yet he is not a Gentleman. He might fill a pulpit respectably, take the chair whenever it was vacant, adorn the bar, the bench, the senate, or the throne; and yet he is no Gentleman. The fault is not in himself, nor in his pedigree, nor in his understanding, nor in his breeding, nor in his politics, nor in his religion, but in his nature. He may be a ministerialist, a royalist, a loyalist, a constitutionalist, a church and king man, a Pittite, an Orangeman, an ultra-still he is not half a Tory, and no corpuscle of a Gentleman. It is not a choice assortment of loyal toasts and sentiments, a quotidian ague of loyal apprehensions, a paternal tenderness for the public credit, a superstitious horror of innovation, a sneer at the "march of intellect," a signature

less brutality, bigotry, or contempt of to a "hole and corner" petition-far real Tory; neither can a solvent purse, any living creature-that can make a drilling in the discipline of polished a clear reputation, and a competent life, accomplish a real Gentleman.

Your very respectable gentlemanly quite correct and well with the world man succeeds very well so long as he is keeps perfectly sober, out of love, and -so long as he preserves his gravity, laughter, a drappie in his ee, a touch out of debt. But a sudden spring of in the heart or on the shoulder, dissolves the illusion at once, and leaves him worse than nothing-for he is too like a Gentleman to appear well in any other capacity. He should never receive or confer a kindness-for he lacks alike the dignity of gratitude and the grace of generosity. He should converse little with inferiors or superiors, for he knows not the mean betwixt an incommunicable distance and an infectious familiarity. He should not pay compliments to the ladies, much less pretend to be satirical on the sex ; and should utterly abjure waltzing; indeed, he ought not to dance at all-for if he dances well, he looks like a parish-clerk transmogrified into a dancing-master; and if he dances badly, he puts out his partner, and tires her with apologies, and looks so ludicrously serious, so elaborately easy, and so pitiably gay, so very like bad prose staggering into worse metre, that one cannot find in one's heart to laugh at him. It is a high reach of gentility to do any thing ill with a grace; and no Gentleman does any thing too well. He may be allowed to ride for health or convenience; but then he must keep the broad highway,-from which he ought on no concernment to diverge,— not begrudge a penny to the ragged children at the gates, confine himself strictly to the prose department of the equestrian art, sit solidly on his saddle, choose a staid, sober, elderly pad, never think of passing for a cavalry officer, and try no fancies, or I will not answer for the consequences. If he has not a firm seat, let him walk, or hire a chaise. We have all heard of horselaughs; but a horse-sneer to a dismounted cavalier-Experto crede.

Of course he must never romp, play at blindman's-buff, or hunt-the-slipforfeits, make bad puns, (or good ones per, snatch kisses from the girls at