his deportment and discourse, that bordered upon the ludicrous; so that according to the mood of the spectator's mind, and the light under which Mr. Gilfillan presented himself, one might have feared, admired, or laughed at him. His dress was that of a west country peasant, of better materials indeed than that of the lower rank, but in no respect affecting either the mode of the age, or of the Scottish gentry at any period. His arms were a broad-sword and pistols, which, from the antiquity of their appearance, might have seen the rout of Pentland, or Bothwell Brigg.

The group of about thirty armed men who followed this gifted commander, was of a motley description. They were in ordinary Lowland dresses, of different colours, which, contrasted with the arms which they bore, gave them an irregular and mobbish appearance. In front were a few who apparently partook of their leader's enthusiasm; men obviously to be feared in a combat where their natural courage was exalted by religious zeal. Others puffed and strutted, filled with the importance of conveying arms, and all the novelty of their situation, while the rest, apparently fatigued by their march, dragged their limbs listlessly along, or straggled from their companions to procure such refreshments as the neigbouring cottages and ale-houses afforded. "Six grenadiers of Ligonier's," thought the Major to himself, as his mind reverted to his own military experience, "would have sent all these fellows to the right about."

Greeting, however, Mr. Gilfillan civilly, he requested to know if he had received the letter he sent to him upon his march, and could undertake the charge of the state prisoner whom he there mentioned, as far as Stirling Castle, "Yea," was the concise reply of the Cameronian leader, in a voice which seemed to issue from the very penetralia of his person.

"But your escort, Mr. Gilfillan, is not so strong as I expected.""Some of the people," replied Gilfillan, "hungered and were athirst by the way, and tarried until their poor souls were refreshed with the word."

"I am sorry, sir, you did not trust to your refreshing your men at Cairnvreckan; whatever my house contains, is at the command of persons employed in the service."

"It was not of creature-comforts I spake," answered the Covenanter, regarding Major Melville with something like a smile of contempt; "howbeit, I thank you; but the people remained waiting upon the precious Mr. Jabesh Rentowel for the outpouring of the afternoon exhortation."

“And have you, sir, when the rebels are about to spread themselves through this country, actually left a great part of your command at a field preaching?"

'Gilfillan again smiled scornfully as he made this indirect answer,"Even thus are the children of this world wiser in their generation than the children of light."-Vol. ii. p. 187-192.

* The magistrate who committed Waverley.

In this person's custody journeyed Waverley, and in addition to the natural irksomeness of such a situation, he had to undergo ho milies from the gifted Gilfillan, of which the following is a speci

men.

And now is it wonderful, when, for lack of exercise anent the call to the ministry and the duty of the day, ministers fall into sinful compliances with patronage and indemnities, and oaths and bonds, and other corruptions, is it wonderful, I say, that you, sir, and other sicklike unhappy persons, should labour to build up your auld Babel of iniquity, as in the bluidy persecuting saint-killing times? I trow, gin ye were na blinded wi' the graces and favours, and services and enjoyments, and employments and inheritances, of this wicked world, I could prove to you, by the Scripture, in what a filthy rag ye put your trust; and that your surplices, and your copes and vestments, are but cast off garments of the muckle harlot, that sitteth upon seven hills, and drinketh of the cup of abomination. But, I trow, ye are deaf as adders upon that side of the head; ay, ye are deceived with her enchantments, and ye traffic with her merchandise, and ye are drunk with the cup of her fornication !'-Vol. ii. p. 198.

Waverley had not, however, journeyed far in this holy company, when an ambush of Highlanders rescued him by force, after one of their number has, in the disguise of a pedlar, and by the influence of flattery, quizzed the gifted Gilfillan into secret vanity,' and its consequent vexation of spirit.'

Waverley thus rescued is carried back to the partizans of the Pretender, and of course to Fergus Mac-Ivor; and the sense of his wrongs from the English government, the friendly instances of Mac-Ivor, and the seductive graciousness of the Pretender himself, induce him to mount the white cockade, and to incur all the risks without feeling any of the hopes of the extraordinary transaction in which, by so strange a concurrence of circumstances, he finds himself involved.

We have not afforded ourselves room for any of the details of the campaign that ensued, though they are related with all the accuracy of history, and all the vivacity of romance. The disastrous result of that expedition to the Jacobites, is well known.Fergus, and Evan Dhu, his faithful companion, are taken prisoners, brought to trial, and condemned to death. Waverley, by the interference of his English connexions, has been pardoned, and the Baron of Bradwardine, also pardoned through his interest, bestows his daughter upon him; but no influence, no effort could save Mac-Ivor, one of the mainsprings of the whole rebellion.

The scene of the sentence of the Highland Chief and his foster brother is at once highly characteristic and interesting.

The verdict of GUILTY was already pronounced. Edward just glanced at the bar during the momentous pause which ensued. There was no mistaking the stately form and noble features of Fergus Macs

Ivor, although his dress was squalid, and his countenance tinged with the sickly yellow hue of long and close imprisonment. By his side was Evan. Edward felt sick and dizzy as he gazed on them; but he was recalled to himself as the Clerk of Arraigns pronounced the solemn words: "Fergus Mac-Ivor of Glennaquoich, otherwise called Vich fan Vohr, and Evan Mac-Ivor in the Dhu of 'T'arrascleugh, otherwise called Evan Maccombich, or Evan Dhu Maccombich-you, and each of you, stand attainted of high treason. What have you to say for yourselves why the court should not pronounce judgment against you, that you die according to law?"

Fergus, as the presiding judge was putting on the fatal cap of judgment, placed his own bonnet upon his head, regarded him with a steadfast and stern look, and replied, in a firm voice," I cannot let this numerous audience suppose that to such an appeal I have no answer to make. But what I have to say, you would not bear to hear, for my defence would be your condemnation. Proceed, then, in the name of God, to do what is permitted to you. Yesterday, and the day before,

you have condemned loyal and honourable blood to be poured forth like water-spare not mine—were that of all my ancestors in my veins, I would have peril'd it in this quarrel." He resumed his seat, and refused again to rise.

'Evan Maccombich looked at him with great earnestness, and, rising up, seemed anxious to speak, but the confusion of the court, and the perplexity arising from thinking in a language different from that in which he was to express himself, kept him silent. There was a murmur of compassion among the spectators, from the idea that the poor fellow intended to plead the influence of his superior as an excuse for his crime. The judge commanded silence, and encouraged Evan to proceed.

"I was only ganging to say, my lord," said Evan, in what he meant to be an insinuating manner, "that if your excellent honour, and the honourable court, would let Vich Ian Vohr go free just this once, and let him gae back to France, and no to trouble King George's government again, that ony six of the very best of his clan will be willing to be justified in his stead; and if you'll just let me gae down to Glennaquoich, I'll fetch them up to ye mysell, to head or hang, and you may begin wi' me the very first man."

Notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, a sort of laugh was heard in the court at the extraordinary nature of the proposal. The judge checked this indecency, and Evan looked sternly round when the murmur abated. "If the Saxon gentlemen are laughing," he said, “because a poor man, such as me, thinks my life, or the life of six of my degree, is worth that of Vich Ian Vohr, its like enough they may be very right; but if they laugh because they think I would not keep my word, and come back to redeem him, I can tell them they ken neither the heart of a Hielandman, nor the honour of a gentleman."

There was no further inclination to laugh among the audience, and a dead silence ensued.'

The judge then pronounced upon both prisoners the sentence of

the law of high treason, with all its horrible accompaniments.'-pp. 299-303.

We have not space to insert the account of the conduct of Fergus and Evan on their way to execution, or the touching description of the interviews, on this melancholy occasion, of Waverley with Flora and with Fergus, and all the rest of the volumes is of such subordinate interest that our readers will excuse our continuing the story.

We shall conclude this article, which has grown to an immoderate length, by observing what, indeed, our readers must have already discovered, that Waverley, who gives his name to the story, is far from being its hero, and that in truth the interest and merit of the work is derived, not from any of the ordinary qualities of a novel, but from the truth of its facts, and the accuracy of its delineations.

We confess that we have, speaking generally, a great objection to what may be called historical romance, in which real and fictitious personages, and actual and fabulous events are mixed together to the utter confusion of the reader, and the unsettling of all accurate recollections of past transactions; and we cannot but wish that the ingenious and intelligent author of Waverley had rather employed himself in recording historically the character and transactions of his countrymen Sixty Years since, than in writing a work, which, though it may be, in its facts, almost true, and in its delineations perfectly accurate, will yet, in sixty years hence, be regarded, or rather, probably, disregarded, as a mere romance, and the gratuitous invention of a facetious fancy.

ART. VIII. The Satires of Juvenal, translated into English Verse. By Charles Badham, M. D. with Notes and Illustrations. London. Longman, Hurst, &c. 8vo. pp. 410.

EVIEWING ought, in all conscience, to be, like virtue, its own reward, for few of those on whom our pains are bestowed, have the grace to confess their obligations, or to acquiesce in the justice of their sentence. On the contrary, they take, or pretend to take, a malicious pleasure in contemning our opinion, and 'throwing a brave defiance' in our face. We do not know that Jupiter was ever a reviewer, at least of printed books, but his pathetic exclamation, και ανατρέψω ποππυσασι, seems peculiarly adapted to the ungrateful employ, and we are frequently reminded of its force.

Our readers may probably recollect a few remarks on a 'Specimen of a new translation of Juvenal' which appeared in our Fif

teenth Number. In the volume before us, the translation is completed; and our brief notice of the former work is thus touched on in the opening page of the present.

Advertisement.-'I'wo years since I printed and distributed a translation of the first Satire, which was attacked, to be sure, with as little of generalship as of good manners, in the Quarterly Review. The language in which the writer thought proper to indulge was certainly most offensive. He may now enjoy, if he likes it, the reflection that he has neither been able to suppress, nor (a year and eight months having since elapsed) in the smallest degree to precipitate the appearance of the work, which apparently cost him so much uneasiness! To have been the subject of unprovoked insult, as well as of substantial injury, might, perhaps, justify me in using some freedom of expression respecting the conduct of that publication; as to the insult, however, the ruffian style of criticism happily defeats its own end.'

This language is at once dignified and polite :-the author proceeds to twit us with the marvellous failure' of our penal code, and to exult over the utter inefficacy of our 'crucifixions and impalements,' which he declares, with a bitterness of which we scarcely believed him capable, have only tended to multiply the race of offenders.' He concludes, in a mutilated extract from Thucydides, with the novel reproach of our poverty, and a mysterious hint, if we rightly understand him, of some impending danger.

6

The Advertisement' is followed by a 'Preface,' remarkable for much bad taste, false criticism, and contemptuous treatment of translators in general. A few pages on the 'Life and Writings of Juvenal' succeed, in which, as there is little research, there is little novelty; and these bring us to the versions with which we had been favoured before the appearance of the present.

Dr. Badham is not very tender to his predecessors. Holyday and Stapylton, he says, are completely destitute of poetry. This is not the fact, as far as Stapylton is concerned, who has many happy lines, as the translator surely knows.

Of Dryden and his coadjutors he speaks at length; not very favourably indeed, but without much injustice. On Oldham, who incidentally fell in his way, he is unnecessarily severe. Having listened to his opinion, however, thus far, we were prepared for his observations on the translations subsequent to this period. True it is, that, in various passages, he notices them naso adunco; but here, where something on the subject was naturally to be expected, Dr. Badham suddenly stops short, and puts us off with a single word. With those of a more recent date it is not for me to interfere.'-p. xxxii. No! What is the Doctor then merely contending with Holyday, Stapylton, and Dryden, without examining what has been done by others since their time? This is a sin