reign over us; and is wofully destitute of that energetic moral and public feeling that distinguishes the Latin historians. Yet we have nothing else on the subject that deserves the name of composition. I have already spoken of the emphatic attention that is due to the age of chivalry. The feudal system is one of the most extraordinary productions of the human mind. It is a great mistake to say, that these were dark ages. It was about this period that logic was invented; for I will venture to assert, that the ancients knew nothing about close reasoning and an unbroken chain of argumentative deduction, in comparison with the moderns. For all the excellence we possess in this art we are indebted to the schoolmen, the monks and friars in the solitude of their cloisters. It is true that they were too proud of their new acquisitions, and subtilized and refined, till occasionally they became truly ridiculous. This does not extinguish their claim to our applause, though it has dreadfully tarnished the lustre of their memory in the vulgar eye. Hume passes over the feudal system and the age of chivalry as if it were a dishonour to his pen to be employed on these subjects, while he enlarges with endless copiousness on the proofs of the sincerity of Charles the First, and the execrable public and private profligacies of Charles the Second. Next to the age of feudality and chivalry, the period of English history most worthy of our attention, lies between the accession of Elizabeth and the Restoration. But let no man think that he learns any thing, particularly of modern history, by reading a single book. It fortunately happens, as far as the civil wars are concerned, that we have two excellent writers of the two opposite parties, Clarendon and Ludlow, beside many others worthy to be consulted. You should also have recourse to as many lives of eminent persons connected with the period then under your consideration, as you can conveniently procure. Letters of State, memorials, and public papers, are, in this respect, of inestimable value. They are to a considerable degree, the principal actors in the scene, writing their own history. He that would really understand history, should proceed in some degree as if he were writing history. VOL. II. He should be surrounded with chronological tables and maps. He should compare one authority with another, and not put himself under the guidance of any. This is the difference I make between reading and study. He that confines himself to one book at a time, may be amused, but is no student. In order to study, I must sit in some measure in the middle of a lis brary. Nor can any one truly study, without the perpetual use of a pen, to make notes, and abstracts, and arrangements of dates. The shorter the notes, and the more they can be looked through at a glance, the better. The only limit in this respect is, that they should be so constructed, that if I do not look at them again till after an interval of seven years, I should understand them. Learn to read slow,-if you keep to your point, and do not suffer your thoughts, according to an old phrase, to go a woolgathering, you will be in little danger of excess in this direction. Accept in good part, my young friend, this attempt to answer your expectation, and be assured, that if I could have done better, it should not have been less at your service. Your dispositions appear to me to be excellent; and, as you will probably be enabled to make some figure, and, what is much better, to act the part of the real patriot and the friend of man, in your own country, you should resolve to bestow on your mind an assiduous cultivation. It is the truly enlightened man that is best qualified to be truly useful; and, as Lord Bacon says, "It is almost without instance contradictory, that ever any government was disastrous, that was in the hands of learned governors. The wit of one man can no more countervail learning, than one man's means can hold way with a common purse." My best wishes attend you. February 12, 1818. that the Negroes have at least a few days' uncontrolled pastime during the year to lighten the weary chain of slavery, it will afford pleasure to the philanthropist. Should you think the subject worthy of your further attention, I shall again trouble you with some remarks from the numerous letters of my friend, illustrative of the manners and character of these unfortunate sons of Adam, who, as my friend expresses it, were obliged to toil under the lash of a cruel taskmaster, that the sons and daughters of a land of liberty might sweeten their tea at a reasonable rate!" But should this letter obtain a corner of your Magazine, I shall in my next endeavour to shew that the situation of these unfortunate beings is not now so deplorable as the generality of people imagine. C. F. B. Edinburgh, March 2, 1818. Falmouth, Jamaica, MY DEAR C.-About a fortnight before Christmas last, I was awakened one morning before day, with a very unusual sound of mirth. I heard a drum beating, and, as near as I could conjecture, about three or four dozen of voices singing, La, la, la, in great style. On inquiry, I found that it was a parcel of Black wenches, marching up and down, beginning the Christmas racket. Now, you must know, that at that merry season, the Negroes have four days entirely to themselves, namely, Christmas day, the day before, the day after, and New Year's day; during that time they are free, and a pretty sort of free dom they make of it. To prepare for this momentous period is the business of the whole year; every penny is scraped together, by begging, borrowing, and stealing. In Falmouth, there are two parties, the Blues and the Reds, and the whole of the business is, which of these shall excel in dress, numbers, beauty, and fine singing; their masters and mistresses are also brought into the scrape; for example, Mr's is a Blue house, that is, all our Negroes are of the Blue party, and we must of course be of the same colour. The Negroes of our next neighbour may be Reds; that again is called a Red house: with the Whites it is merely a nominal distinction, but with the Browns and Blacks it is a serious affair. About a fortnight before Christmas, then, the Negro wenches begin to prepare. They get up long before day, shoulder their water-buckets, and off to the tank for water. The tank is a reservoir, which stands in the middle of the town, where every body gets their water, like your public wells in Edinburgh; but, instead of minding their business, down go the buckets. The Blues collect in one corner; the Reds in another; and there they begin. Some stout Negro man joins each party, who can beat, and rattles away at their head on an old drum, keeping time to their voices; this continues till after day-break, when they are obliged to muster up their scattered utensils, and trudge home. This is what I call the rehearsal, and the nearer it draws to Christmas, the more assemble, and the longer the said rehearsal lasts. The much wished for morning dawns at last, to the great joy of the whole black race, and to the great annoyance of all lovers of peace and good order. Buckra's (white person) house is left to take care of itself; out set the Negroes, one and all, to the jubilee, and about daylight the damnable uproar begins; drums, fifes, tambourines, fiddles, and voices, La, la, la. I pulled on my clothes last Christmas morning, and set out de termined to see the dust. I followed the sound of the hurricane that was nearest me, and met the Blues plump in the face. Lord have mercy on us, such a sight! They were dressed exactly alike: first and foremost, a white muslin turban, spangled with silver, was twisted round their curly locks; in the front of which stuck something like a feather, and beneath peeped their round and black faces, as" Fair as the star of the morning." Their necks were uncovered; and to mark their colour, they each wore a short spencer of light blue silk, or Persian, tastefully trimmed with white, and bound at the bottom with an orange-coloured sash, tied in a large knot behind, with the ends hanging down to their heels, likewise adorned with spangles. A short white muslin petticoat, with a wrought border, white stockings, and fancy shoes and gloves, made up the dress. In the front marched the drummer; on each side of him a standard bearer (men) carrying, one a silk flag of light blue, and the other a white, famously decorated. Round these were collected all the idlers, or mobility, some playing on one thing, some another, all keeping good time. Close following came the Queen, (each party has a King and Queen,) supported on each side by a maid of honour, glittering in finery; after her followed the principal ladies, two and two, arm and arm; betwixt them, again, marched the rest, in regular succession, two and two, according to their size, the smallest bringing up the rear. The drums beat and the ladies sing. The glittering colours wave in the sun-beams, and the multitude rejoice. The Reds follow the same order, only red is their predominant colour. You will naturally ask where do slaves get all this? I'll tell you: the Mulattos take a principal part in the fray. The elderly brown women in Falmouth, many of whom are well to do, head the different parties in private, regulate the ceremonies, and purchase the dresses out of their own purse, while the young brown girls nake them; and to such a height is the spirit of emulation carried, that the brown woman who headed the Reds last year, said publicly, that, "before the Blues should gain the day, she would sell a Negro, and spend every farthing of the money." In this order, then, and with the greatest glee imaginable, do the two parties parade up and down, from one corner of the town to the other, all day. The first day of the year is the last and grand exhibition, and it is then that the great trial of strength takes place, and the King makes his appearance. In the forenoon it is not known who will gain the day, for many additions take place on both sides. About five in the evening both parties make their appearance complete. The music comes first; then comes the King, superbly dressed in blue or red, covered with gold or silver lace, a sword at his side, and a cocked hat. On his right walks her Majesty on his left the chief maid of honour. Immediately behind comes his Majesty's chief officer, with other two principal dames on each arm; and so on in succession, a gentleman being now placed between each two ladies, all attired in court dresses. The King and his retinue are generally the handsomest young Negroes in the town. The King himself is always a free black. Immediately at dusk, a thousand candles are lighted up, and the procession moves by candle light. About seven each party takes their station before the principal house of their colour. The Blues last year encamped before our door, and the King made the piazza the hall of audience. The Reds were almost opposite at another house. In our piazza a table was set forth covered, On it stood a cake six stories high, round, each story smaller as it drew towards the top, powdered over with sugar, and on each side of it stood half a dozen of Madeira, glasses, &c. &c. At this table sat their Majesties attended, and the piazza was perfectly full of people of all descriptions. Mr and Mrs and some company which we had that day at dinner, came all down to pay their respects. They drank a glass of wine with the sovereigns, and marched up stairs again. The rest at this time had formed a circle at the door, and there they dance, surrounded by the candle holders and an immense mob. At ten the procession moves off in order; the King and Queen are escorted to their abode; he bows, and she curtsies to their subjects; the subjects bow in return. Three loud cheers are given; the drums beat, and the colours wave. Their majesties retire. The candles are put out, and I conclude my let ter. ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JAMES HOGG. (Continued from page 129.) Pilgrims of the Sun," and " Mador of the Moor." THE poem, of which the name stands first in the title of this article, bears evident marks of haste, and is, we think, the least perfect of the latter productions of the ingenious author. None of the ballads of the Queen's Wake was more uniformly commended by reviewers, or more frequently quoted with applause by the public, than Kilmeny; and there is no doubt that by this happy effort of ge➡ nius, he fairly won all the fame which it brought him. She is the being of a purer region than this, and all her dreams are celestial visitations, the more delightful from the shadowy mystery in which they are involved; yet is she so evidently of our kindred, as to awaken our tenderest sympathies in all that concerns her. There is nothing more tempting to an author, than to return to themes from which he has obtained celebrity, and certainly there is nothing more dangerous. Within the last twenty years we have seen some of the most eminent men of the age miscarry from no other cause than too frequent a recurrence to the same forms of characters and manners. Homer himself would have failed in a second poem on the subject of the Iliad, and if so, who may hope to succeed in similar circumstances? It frequently happens, that as the expectations of the public rise with the reputation of an author, till they become so extravagant that it is impossible to satisfy them, so does he presume on his popularity, and slacken in his exertions, till he is awakened from his slumber by the unceremonious voice of censure, the more grating to his ears, from the music of applause which lately sounded in them. Works produced in this sleep of the soul, are rather the grotesque images of the night-mare of a distempered fancy, than the fair visions of a sane imagination; and though they may acquire an ephemeral notice from the distinction of the family to which they belong, they soon drop quietly into the grave, never to rise again. There is reason to suspect, that Mr Hogg's reputation would not have been so high as it is, if the Pilgrims of the Sun had been his first work, and would not suffer any great diminution if all were deducted from it which this production ever gained him. Mary Lee, the heroine of the poem, is not a twin sister of Kilmeny, but Kilmeny herself, in the very same circumstances, yet treated in a far less interesting way. They are both dreamers, and both are borne to a celestial land; but the dreams of the one are an unpretending sketch of visionary glory, in which more is left to the imagination of the reader than is expressed by the poet,-in those of the other, after a few of the first stanzas, he seems to have forgotten the nature of the work in which he was engaged, and to have produced a long and elaborate poem, where every thing is described with a minuteness, foreign to the subject, and which banishes the whole illusion. Its pretensions are besides so high, that it enters the lists at once with Pope, and Milton, and the old rhymers. It consists of four books, the first and fourth in the ballad measure, (in which, we may remark by the way, that by far the best of Mr Hogg's poems have been written,) the second in blank verse, and the third in the heroic couplet. The blank verse wants the variety and the full swell of harmony, of which, above all the English metres, it is susceptible; and even his own Border harp seems in this unfortunate instance to have become rusty, and to have lost much of its sweetness and melody. The couplet is well pointed, and contains some delicate satire, but here unhappily out of place. Mary Lee is thus introduced, but how unlike the opening of Kilmeny! "She look'd with joy on a young man's face, The downy chin and the burning eye, This is excessively like burlesque, but we believe the author was never more in earnest, and never fanThe cied himself more successful. truth is, that poets, though quick sighted as lynxes to the errors of others, are a bat-eyed generation to their own inaccuracies. But to proceed with the description of this extraordinary damsel. "She learned to read when she was young The books of deep divinity, And she thought by night and she read by day, Of the life that is and the life to be." One evening, when this pious girl was at her prayers, and the reader must remark, that it was a season when the fairies had power, "There came a wight to Mary's knee, With face like angel's, mild and sweet." But whether he was man, or fairy, or angel, or mongrel, we cannot tell, for, in the course of the poem, he is represented as all of them at different times; but, whatever he was, he was commissioned (by whom we are not told) to free the mind of this Border maiden from certain infidel doubts that were resting upon it. The first book contains the aerial journey of Mary Lee and her guide, Cela, to the sun; but, though this part of the poem evinces much of an imagination that can seize and embody the fairest shows of the heavens and the earth, the poet seems, in its composition, to have looked neither before nor behind; and we are tempted to suspect that the correction of the proof-sheet had been left to the printer's devil, for it abounds in the most grotesque contradictions; for instance, the moon is,,at the same time, a crescent: "She kythed like maiden's gowden kemb.” And the waning moon, "She saw the wraith of the waning moon, And the full moon, "And up arose the queen of night, In all her solemn majesty." The pilgrims travel onward through visions of glory, often fitly sung, till they arrive at the sun, where the poet has thought proper to place the ĥeaven of heavens. In the second book, he flings away the harp of the mountains, and with a daring hand seizes that of Jerusalem, "Harp of Jerusalem! How shall my hand Awake thy Hallelujahs ? " Here he seems designedly to have entered into a competition with Mil ton, and no doubt with a confidence of victory, but he has not only sunk beneath the giant's grasp, as was to be expected, but has even shewn less skill and address than usual. In the choice of a subject, it is of great consequence for an author to examine well not only the strength, but even the peculiar character of his mind. We know that Milton is no great favourite with the author, and are inclined to suspect that his themes are not very congenial to the natural currents of his own imaginations; and that, had he studied them, he would rather have followed the moonlight void of the fairies, than entered "Into the heaven of heavens, an earthly guest." Instead of the sublimity of Milton that irresistibly lifts the mind from lighted stray, And beauteous maids that love the melting lay; One mighty hill they clomb with earnest pain, For ever clomb, but higher did not gain; Their gladsome smiles were mixed with frowns severe; For all were bent to sing and none to hear." After their long pilgrimage, they arrive at Etterick, and in a churchyard see, in a new-opened grave,"An aged monk, uncouth to see, Who held a sheeted corpse upon his knee, And busy, busy, with the form was he!" This was the body of Mary Lee herself, who, during her swoon, or whatever else it was, had been supposed dead, and was buried, and now raised by an avaricious monk for certain precious jewels, which had been, as he thought, thriftlessly deposited with her in the grave. At this very moment the spirit enters its own tenement, and drives away the intruder. She returns to Carelha',-terrifies the whole family out of their wits,—is recognized, tells her strange story,is courted by many Border chiefs,but rejects them all. At length, a Hugo of Noroway arrives,-pays his addresses to her, and is readily accepted. They live to a good old age, the |