humble ballads that have been indited upon subjects accommodated to their condition, are calculated to do any thing but to expand the heart, or elevate the imagination. In the Highlands, however, there is no one so poor as not to reckon chieftains and celebrated warriors in his genealogy; and, the humblest peasant being early fed with legends of his ancestors' glory, finds no poetry so congenial to his taste, as that which is devoted to their praise.

Without going further, then, into this curious subject, we think it may be asserted, without any great extravagance, that this universal pride of family, with its cherished domestic chronicles, added to their early and continual familiarity with such a species of poetry as has been described, must have communicated to the Highland tribes a degree both of polish and of elevation, which we would look for in vain among the more luxurious commonalty of the South; and that this traditionary and poetical education,' as Mrs. Grant has happily termed it, in which every one is unintentionally trained, may have done as much for the illiterate natives of the Grampians, as could have been accomplished by a more systematic course of instruction.

These, accordingly, are the elements to which Mrs. Grant aseribes the extraordinary polish and gentleness of deportment, for which she contends so fondly in her mountaineers; but she adds, that they were harmonized and reduced to form,-moulded and fitted for society, by the habit of frequenting the castles, and the company of their chieftains. After enlarging, with great zeal, upon the deeper and more fundamental sources of their ease and politeness, and expressing a sufficient degree of contempt for those who think that such qualities are exclusively the growth of courts, she proceeds

"However, to conciliate those very refined persons, it may be as well to own, what is in fact literally true, that much of the polish, superadded to the courtesy of the mountains, was owing to the frequeney of courts among them. In the superior culture of the heart and of the imagination, no doubt, they had their origin. But, in the halls of the chieftains, they received the form and pressure' which so much distinguished them. This, too, is obvious from the symptoms of decay that begin to appear since the diminution of feudal influence.

"To keep awake the unseen vigilance which guards the barriers of good breeding, there must be something to excite both awe and admiration. The petty pomp of a Chieftain's castle was quite enough to produce this effect on him who had never seen any thing finer, and who supposed his own chief to be the first of human beings; and this chief, though possessed of little more knowledge than the meanest of his vassals, might, nevertheless, be a very tolerable model for the manners of his clan. Nothing can be more erroneous than the prevalent idea, that a Highland Chief was an ignorant and unprincipled tyrant,

who rewarded the abject submission of his followers with relentless cruelty and rigorous oppression. He was, on the contrary, the father of his people: gracious, condescending, and beloved. Far from being ruled by arbitrary caprice, he was taught from the cradle to consider the meanest individual of his clan, as his kinsman and his friend, whom he was born to protect, and bound to regard. He was taught, too, to venerate old age, to respect genius, and to place an almost implicit dependance on the counsels of the elders of his clan. Nay, so great was the prevalence of public spirit over private inclination, among those habituated to consider themselves as born for the good of others, that a chieftain seldom contradicted the opinion of his counseliors, in the most personal of all concerns, his choice of a companion for life.

"Conscious power, and the habit of receiving universal respect, gave dignity to his manners-still more elevated by that loftiness of conception, incident to him, who thinks not of himself, but enlarges his comprehension by balancing continually in his mind the concerns of many. Beloved as he knew himself to be, it is not likely that he should want "the ease

"Which marks security to please." I. p. 206-208.

The slight sketch which we have now given of the Highland character, imperfect as it necessarily is, would, however, be still more incomplete, if we were not to take some notice of that singular trait, which has rendered it necessary to say so much in its explanation; we mean, the habitual reserve-half proud and half timid-with which they endeavour to conceal, among strangers, the peculiarities that distinguish and do honour to their race.

"Nothing," says Mrs. Grant, "was so terrible to the punctilious pride of a Highlander as ridicule. To any but his countrymen he carefully avoided mentioning his customs, his genealogies, and above all, his superstitions. Nay, in some instances, he affected to speak of them with contempt, to enforce his pretensions to literature or philosophy. These early impressions however, and all the darling absurdities and fictions connected with them, only lay dormant in his mind, to be awakened by the first inspiring strain of his native poetry, the blast from the mountain he had first ascended, or the roar of the torrent that was wont to resound by the balls of his fathers. The moment that he felt himself within the stony girdle of the Grampians, though he did not yield himself a prey to implicit belief, and its bewildering terrors and fantastic inspirations, still he resigned himself willingly to the way of that potent charm-that mournful, yet pleasing illusion, which the combined influence of a powerful imagination and singularly warm affections have created and preserved in those romantic regions. That fourfold band, wrought by music, poetry, tenderness, and melancholy, which connects the past with the present, and the material with the immaterial world, by a mystic and invisible tie; which all born within its influence feel, yet none, free from subjection to the potent spell. can comprehend. This partial subjection to the early habits of resignation to the wildering powers of song and

superstition, is a weakness to which no educated and polished Highlander will ever plead guilty: It is a secret sin, and, in general, he dies without confession. I. 35-37.

The only important trait that remains, is that of their Superstitions; and we cannot say that we find these either very interesting or very remarkable. Many of the stories, however, in which they are embodied, contain curious and incidental views of their character and state of manners; and furnish Mrs. Grant with abundant opportunities for the display of her powers of description. One of the most striking is the following, which was told, it is said, by a very poor and illiterate woman, in the course of an exhortation which she addressed to a lady in her neighbourhood, who had abandoned herself to excessive sorrow on the loss of a favourite child. It related to an adventure which happened in Glen Blanchar, a recess in the central Highlands, which Mrs. Grant describes as being

"the most dreary and detached of all places of human habitation, and in winter the most stormy and inaccessible. There was however,' she adds,' much summer grazing about it; and its remoteness, and the rocky barriers with which nature had surrounded it, saved from all encroachment the few daring tenants who risked their lives by wintering there. They grew wealthy in cattle; and as none but themselves understood the art of managing them during the stormy season in that recess, their rent was never heightened; and they lived in their own way in great plenty and comfort.

"One peasant, in particular, whose wealth, wisdom and beneficence, gave him great sway in this elevated hamlet, was fortunate in all respects but one. He had three very fine children, who all, in succession, died after having been weaned. though, before, they gave every promise of health and firmness. Both parents were much afflicted; but the father's grief was clamorous and unmanly. They resolved that the next should be suckled for two years, hoping, by this, to avoid the repetition of such a misfortune. They did so; and the child, by living longer, only took a firmer hold of their affections, and furnished more materials for sorrowful recollection. At the close of the second year, he followed his brothers; and there were no bounds to the affliction of the parents.

"There are, however, in the economy of Highland life, certain duties and courtesies which are indispensable; and for the omission of which nothing can apologize. One of those is, to call in all their friends, and feast them at the time of the greatest family distress. The death of the child happened late in the spring, when sheep were abroad in the more inhabited straths; but, from the blasts in that high and stormy region, were still confined to the cot. In a dismal snowy evening, the man, unable to stifle his anguish, went out, lamenting aloud for a lamb to treat his friends with at the late-wake. At the door of the cot, however, he found a stranger standing before the entrance.

He was astonished, in such a night, to meet a person so far from any frequented place. The stranger was plainly attired; but had a countenance expressive of singular mildness and benevolence, and, addressing him in a sweet, impressive voice, asked him what he did there amidst the tempest. He was filled with awe, which he could not account for, and said, that he came for a lamb. What kind of lamb do you mean to take?' said the stranger. The very best I can find,' he replied, as it is to entertain my friends; and I hope you will share of it' "Do your sheep make any resistance when you take away the lamb, or any disturbance afterwards? Never,' was the answer. How differently am I treated!' said the traveller. When I come to visit my sheepfold, I take, as I am well entitled to do, the best lamb to myself; and my ears are filled with the clamour of discontent by these ungrateful sheep, whom I have fed, watched, and protected.'

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"He looked up in a maze; but the vision was fled. He went however for the lamb, and brought it home with alacrity. He did more: It was the custom of these time-a custom, indeed, which was not extinct till after 1745. for people to dance at late wakes. It was a mournful kind of movement, but still it was dancing. The nearest relation of the deceased often began the ceremony weeping; but did however, begin it, to give the example of fortitude and resignation. This man, on other occasions, had been quite unequal to the performance of this duty; but at this time, he immediately, on coming in, ordered music to begin, and danced the solitary measure appropriate to such occasions. The reader must have very little sagacity or knowledge of the purport and consequences of visions, who requires to be told, that many sons were born, lived, and prospered afterwards, in this reformed family." I. p. 184-88.

The following has less local peculiarity in its circumstances; but is rather a good specimen of the dreary apparition,-to say nothing of the advantage of having been told to Mrs. Grant, by the very lady who witnessed it. She, and an only brother were left orphans in early youth; and loved each other the better for having no one else to love. The youth died at college at Aberdeen and his sister was inconsolable.

"It is not to be told how much the loss of a beloved object was aggravated by his thus dying, where he could not be buried with his fathers; and where the mourner could not visit his grave, and bedew it with the offerings of affection Night after night she sat up, weeping incessantly, and calling in frantic agony on the beloved name, which was all she had left of what was once so dear to her.

“At length, in a waking dream, or very distinct vision, her brother appeared to her in his shroud, and seemed wet and shivering. Why, selfish creature, said he, why am I disturbed with the impious extravagance of thy sorrow? I have a long journey to make through dark and dreary ways, before I arrive at the peaceful abode, where souls attain their rest-Till thou art humble and penitent for this rebellion against the decrees of Providence, every tear thou shedest falls on this

dark shroud without drying; and every night thy tears still more chill and encumber me. Repent, and give thanks for my deliverance from many sorrows." I. p. 180-182.

The whole population, indeed, believe firmly in ghosts,—and most of them upon their own experience. Mrs. Grant, we suspect, has not had this advantage, but she assures us that the belief is universal; and upon this ground triumphantly refutes the scepticism of a Saxon critic, who has founded some doubts of the authenticity of certain Celtic poems, on the prodigious quantity of apparitions which they contained. It would have been just as reasonable, she observes, to have questioned the accuracy of a map of Scotland, on account of the incredible number of hills which it represented! Most of these aerial visitants appear, like their brethren in other countries, in the gloom and solitude of the night; but some, which seem peculiar to the Highlands, make their approach in broad day. These are all blessed spirits; and appear with an air of divine beauty and benignity, to sooth, with a silent and momentary smile, the desolated objects of their affec

tion.

The following story might easily be matched in the Lowlands; but we insert it out of respect to the pious and intelligent clergyman upon whose authority it is given by our author. This worthy person was accustomed, Mrs. Grant informs us,

"to go forth and meditate at even; and this solitary walk he always directed to his churchyard, which was situated in a shaded spot, on the banks of a river. There, in a dusky October evening, he took his wonted path, and lingered, leaning on the churchyard wall, till it became twilight, when he saw two small lights rise from a spot within, where there was no stone, nor memorial of any kind. He observed the course these lights took, and saw them cross the river, and stop at an opposite hamlet. Presently they returned, accompanied by a larger light, which moved on between them, till they arrived at the place from which the first two set out, when all the three seemed to sink into the earth together.

"The good man went into the churchyard, and threw a few stones on the spot where the light disappeared. Next morning he walked out early, called for the sexton, and showed him the place, asking, if he remembered who was buried there. The man said, that many years ago, he remembered burying in that spot, two young children, belonging to a blacksmith on the opposite side of the river, who was now a very old man. The pastor returned, and was scarce sat down to breakfast, when a message came to hurry him to come over to pray with the smith, who had been suddenly taken ill, and who died next day." I. p. 259–261.

We add one other legend, which is more characteristic of the peculiarities of Highland manners. When a chief When a chief goes from