method, it must be wholly attributed to the more violent affections of the heart, the nature of which is to express themselves in an animated and lofty tone, with a vehemence far remote from vulgar use. What ideas could so powerfully effect a new created mind (undepraved by habit or opinion) as the goodness, the wisdom, and the greatness of the Almighty? Is it not probable, that the first effort of rude and unpolished verse would display itself in the praise of the Creator, and flow almost involuntarily from the enraptured mind? Thus far at least is certain, that poetry has been nurtured in those sacred places, where she seems to have been first called into existence; and that her original occupation was in the temple and at the altar. However ages and nations may have differed in their religious sentiments and opinions, in this at least we find them all agreed, that the mysteries of their devotion were celebrated in verse. Of this origin Poetry even yet exhibits no obscure indications, since she ever embraces a divine and sacred subject with a kind of filial tenderness and affection. To the sacred haunts of religion she delights to resort as to her native soil; there she most willingly inhabits, and there she flourishes in all her pristine beauty and vigour.

R. L.

STANZAS.

OH! soothing is it in the evening breeze

To mark the clouds assume fantastic forms,
To hear the zephyr murmur through the trees,
Nor heed the world's vicissitudes and storms.
'Tis pleasant then to think of times long flown,
Of days and pleasures which have long passed by,
Or think that in them sorrows we have known,
Now soften'd by the touch of memory.

To think of friends whom we have long since left,
Of friends we loved in childhood's happier days!—
Oh, joyous if of pain the past's bereft,

And we can view it with unalter'd gaze.

M. H. J.

SCOTTISH FARMERS OF THE LAST CENTURY.

WE are indebted to a memoir of the Rev. Dr. Waugh, just published, for the following interesting sketch of a Scottish farmer of days gone by :

The habitation of a Scottish husbandman in the southern counties, sixty or seventy years ago, was generally a plain, substantial building, holding a middle rank between the residences of the inferior gentry and the humble cottages of the labouring peasantry. The farm-house, with the small windows of its second story often projecting through the thatched roof, occupied, for the most part, the one side of a quadrangle, in which the young cattle were folded, the other three sides being enclosed and sheltered by the barns, stables, and other farm offices. A kitchen garden, stocked with the common potherbs then in use, and sometimes with a few fruit trees, extended on one side, sheltered perhaps by a hedge of boor-tree or elder, and often skirted by a few aged forest trees; while the low, thatched dwellings of the hinds and cotters stood at a little distance, each with its small cabbage-garden, or kail-yard, behind, and its stack of peat, or turf-fuel, in front.

An upland farm, of the common average size, extending to about four or five hundred acres, partly arable and partly pastoral, usually employed three or four ploughs; and the master's household, exclusive of his own family, consisted of six or seven unmarried servants, male and female. The married servantsnamely, a head shepherd, and a hind or two (as the married ploughmen were termed)-occupied cottages apart; as likewise did the cotters, who were rather a sort of farm retainers than servants, being bound only to give the master, in lieu of rent, their services in hay-time and harvest, and at other stated periods. The whole, however, especially in remote situations, formed a sort of little independent community in themselves, deriving their subsistence almost exclusively from the produce of the farm. The master's household alone usually amounted to fifteen or twenty souls; and the VOL. 1. April, 1830.

R

whole population of the farm, or onstead, to double or treble that number;-a number considerably greater, perhaps, than will now be commonly found on a farm of the same extent,-but maintained with much frugality, and always industriously occupied, though not oppressed with labour. Little of the jealous distinction of ranks which now subsists between the farming class and their hired servants, was then known. The connexion between master and servant had less of a commercial, and more of a patriarchal character. Every household formed but one society. The masters (at that time generally a sober, virtuous, and religious class) extended a parental care over their servants, and the servants cherished a filial affection for their masters. They sat together, they ate together, they often wrought together; and after the labours of the day were finished, they assembled together around the blazing fire, in the farmer's ha',' conversing over the occurrences of the day, the floating rumours of the country, or auld warld stories;' and not unfrequently religious subjects were introduced, or the memory of godly men, and of those who, in evil times, had battled or suffered for the right, was affectionately commemorated.

This familiar intercourse was equally decorous as it was kindly,-for decent order and due subordination were strictly maintained. It was the great concern of masters and mistresses, when new servants were required, to obtain such as were of sober and religious habits; if any one of a different character got in, his dismissal at the first term was certain. Servants in those days never thought of changing masters, unless something occurred which rendered the change indispensable. At ordinary meals, the master (or good-man, as he was termed) took his seat at the head of the large hall table, the mistress sitting on his right hand, the children on his left, the men-servants next in station, and the maid-servants at the bottom; one of the latter serving. The use of tea was then unknown, except in the houses of the gentry. Porridge was the

constant dish at breakfast and supper; at dinner broth and meat, milk, cheese, and butter. Twice in the year, exclusive of extraordinary occasions, there was a farm festival, in which every inhabitant of the place partook; namely, the kirn, or harvest home, at the close of autumn, and the celebration of the new year. On these occasions, an abundant feast of baked and boiled cheered the heart of the humblest labourer on the land, and was closed with decent hilarity by a cheerful beaker or two of home-brewed ale. But the religious order of the family was the distinguishing trait. The whole household assembled in the hall (or kitchen) in the morning before breakfast, for family worship, and in the evening before supper. The goodman, of course, led their devotions, every one having his Bible in his hand. This was the stated course even in seed-time and harvest: between five and six in the morning was the hour of prayer in these busy On Sabbath all went to church, however great the distance, except one person, in turn, to take care of the house or younger children, and others to tend the cattle. After a late dinner, on their return, the family assembled around the master, who first catechised the children and then the servants. Each was required to tell what he remembered of the religious services they had joined in at the house of God; each repeated a portion of the shorter catechism: and all were then examined on heads of divinity, from the mouth of the master. Throughout the whole of the Sabbath, all worldly concerns, except such as necessity or mercy required to be attended to, were strictly laid aside; and nothing was allowed to enter into conversation save subjects of religion.

seasons.

These homely details may perhaps seem, at first sight, calculated to corroborate, in some respects, the exaggerated notions which prevail in England respecting the religious austerity of the old Presbyterians; and readers, looking exclusively to the strictness of their discipline, their alleged proscription of all amusements,' the limited education, the scareity of

books, and, above all, the want of refinement which, according to our modern notions, might be expected to be the necessary result of familiar association with menial servants,-may possibly picture to themselves a state of society altogether clownish, melancholy, and monotonous. Yet this would be a very false estimate of the real character and condition of the old Scottish tenantry.

The life of the husbandman and his dependants, in those days, was so far from being unenlivened by mirth and enjoyment, that there was in truth much more real enjoyment than is now often to be witnessed. They had more leisure to be merry than their descendants, and there was, in reality, no proscription of innocent amusements. Spring and autumn were the only seasons that required very arduous labour in the old system of husbandry; and then those seasons came round with an air of more festivity, had more of a heartstirring aspect about them, and their toils were encountered with a more grateful alacrity, than in our days of regular rotations and improved machinery. At other seasons of the year the labours were comparatively light. The winning of peats and hay, ewe milking, sheep-shearing, the dairy, and the tending of the flocks and herds, chiefly occupied the jocund days of summer. In winter their leisure was still greater, and their enjoyments not less diversified. Field sports were eagerly followed in the intervals of labour, or when frost and snow had stopped the progress of the plough; nor were the peasantry then restrained from such hardy amusements by the enforcement of demoralizing game laws. At other times, the grave good-man would toss down to his sons and servant-lads the foot-ball or the kitticat, and bid them take a bout to warm their youthful blood. And in the long winter evenings, when seated around the fire, harmless mirth and jocularity pleasantly alternated with more grave and instructive conversation; nor did any puritanical sourness forbid the recitation of the old romantic border ballads and legends, or the singing of the sweet pastoral