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and leaped over Newry canal, which is six and twenty feet wide-but the devil mean him, he had seven mile of a ram-race. Ah, never mind it, goodman-go on.

SIMON SPROTTE.

"I like the fare not amiss," said Selby," and I like still better the hale and happy dame who prepared it. I shall never forget with what good will she rolled her right hand in my hair, and pulled me to the ground. I'll tell thee what, De Bruce, if half the men of Scotland had such heroic hearts as her, Edward might turn his bridle southward." "I think so too," said King Robert-" and believe me, Selby, I like you all the better for seeking to delay our meal, that my excellent liege-woman may lessen by her speed her king's lands." "I may not do otherwise than show some regard for a woman, said Selby, whose hand plucked me from death, perhaps, by De Bruce's weapon-and for the king's lands-why, soothly to speak, the edge of the sword, and the point of the arrow and the spear, have yet to decide whether they are thine or King Edward's. Be that as it may, the land I vow shall be her's; the word of Selby can carry a lordship with it at England's court-and the word of De Bruce is as good as the vow of a king." "I am losing my land listening to thy eulogium," said Robert, with a smile-" yet it does my heart good to see the celerity of our hostess. See, Selby, seethe brook beside the willows, where we fought so long, and where so many of thy comrades and mine lie stark and bloody-she has passed it with one bound. The helmet of Lord Howard, whom I slew there, is ornamented with silver and gold, she sees it glittering on the ground, but stoops not to unlace it;-she knows she can strip the slain at her leisure, when she cannot win land. Seven English horses graze masterless among her corn, she stays not to touch their bridles-though they have silver housings, and bitts of steel and gold, and though she never mounted a steed fairer than a rough untrimmed galloway. By the soul of Bruce, this is a prudent woman. "But, see," said Selby," she is about to be stayed by an old crone-a dame conversant with gossip and scandal-cups-she plants herself in the path, and is resolved to be spoken to. The lands of Selby to this wart of a hill, if there is not a battle between your loving subjects, Sire Robert."

"Whither away, dame Sprotte, whither away?" exclaimed the old woman" is thy house on flame-the church on fire-or win ye a lordship by swiftness of foot, that ye fly like the sparrowhawk? Ah, lass, I have gallant tidings for your quiet ear-sweet and pleasant news. Ye ken Jenny Tamson, of Coup-the-cran-light-haired and light-headed-she's no as she should be, if she wishes to wear the snood; and she blames a whole troop of the Black Douglas's men, who crossed the Orr to herrie the lordship of Selby. But the saints be near me, ye speak not, but hasten on like one demented; ye shall not pass Maud Maben that slighting way, if ye were wife to King Bruce himself." "Out of my way, Maud Maben," exclaimed dame Sprotte, "I'm winning a lairdship by speed of foot, as daft Jamie Adamson caught the crow."-But Maud anchored her long sharp fingers in her plaiden mantle till they tasted the flesh. "Tarry, and tell me," said the beldame," else I will dip my left-foot shoe in the links of the Orr, and sink thy land, and turn thee to a world's wonder."-" Do thy worst, thou doited carlen, do thy worst," shouted dame Sprotte; " do I regard thy imaginary pranks? Come no more to beg venison and new-baked bread of me;" and seizing her old friend with both hands, she twirled her rudely round-pushed her from her and renewed her race. She had now run round the hill, nearly encompassed the holm, and, as she approached her own threshold, it was thus the king and Sir Walter Selby heard her commune with her own spirit as she ran :-" I shall be called the Lady of the Mount, and my husband will be called Lord on't-we shall be the Sprottes of the Mount of Orr, while Dalbeattie wood grows, and while Orr water runs-our sons and our daughters will be given in marriage to the mighty ones of the land, and to wed one of the Sprottes of Orr may be a boast to a baron. We shall grow honoured and wax great, and the tenure by which

our heritage shall be held will be, the presenting of buttered brose in a lordly dish to the kings of Scotland, whenever they happen to pass the Orr." "On thy own terms," said King Robert, "so loyally and characteristically expressed, my heroic dame of Galloway, shall the Sprottes of Orr hold this heritage. This mount shall be called the Kingsmount; and when the kings of Scotland pass the Orr, they are to partake of brose from King Bruce's bowl, and from no other-presented by the fair and loyal hands of a Sprotte. Be wise-be valiant-be loyal-and be fruitful-and possess this land free of paying plack or pennie, till the name of Bruce perish in word, in tale, in song, and in history, and so I render it to thee;" and so we won our land, and such is the story of King Bruce's Bowl.

FELIX MACARTHY.

He

So that's your story, my hearties! By the turf-cutter's spade that digs the black bog-diamonds called peats, I would not give the toss up of a cracked thirteen for a cart-load of such dusty old tales. Ah merry little Ireland's the place for the stories. Did you ever hear of Pat Hogan, the fighting cock of Coleraine--he was the neat comely article to make a song about; -he could have tumbled down your Bruces and your Selbys thirteen to the dozen, as clean as I tumble down these drops of mountain-dew:-if it's Dick Bruce of Carrickfergus, and Pat Selby of Shilala you mean. gave seven sweet counties the breadth of their backs; and down he came, the thief of the world, on a summer morning, and upset the prime lads of Lurgan by the gross-man and mother's son of them. Says my brother Andie, casting off an old coat of many colours, called, by way of distinction, the map of Ireland, says Andie, says he, "Come along-I'm the tightest bit of flesh and blood from Belfast to Newry-let me get but one civil twist of ye, my boy"-and before ye could crack your thumb-there lay Pat Hogan among the oneans, with three cracked ribs in his body, and there stood my brother Andie, whistling the tune of Droghadee. "I tell ye what," says Andie, "I could upset seven acres of such fellowsand here's my brother Felix can give me the breadth of my back five times out of four, any time he likes-d'ye hear me now." Ah, Andie was the boy after all. You may have heard Mall Faurles of Maxwell-town sing the song that Andie made on my misfortune. You shall hear it every word, if I can keep my seat-for to speak the saints'-truth, the walls of your house, goodman, are either about to tumble-or I'm not so sure in my seat as I should be. You shall have the song, however, only give me another hearty suck of that old bowl-By Saint Shilala-the most potent saint in Irelanddo I behold two bowls?-Ah, how fast these blessed vessels multiply in an honest man's house-the saints are merciful in this'graceless land.-(Drinks.)

The Farewell of Felix Macarthy.

1.

Farewell thou proud city, most beautiful Cork,

Thou hast used thine own son like a Pagan or Turk;
The prime of thy youth-the blythe break-o'day burdie,
Only courted and plunder'd young Molly Macmurdie:
As if kissing was sinful-plain robbing a ferly,
I'll tell ye what Felix, said Alderman Darley,
In thy mother's own city no more shalt thou tarry,
But seek the green land of the gentle Macquarrie.

2.

Proud town, I gazed on thee, while keeping their way,
The three ships that bore me pass'd out of the bay ;
What ail'd thee, most beautiful city, to clasp
My limbs in cold iron, and give me to the grasp
Of the law's demi-demon the jailor, as haggard
I'scaped from the pounces of Counsellor O'Taggart?
I'll bound o'er the waters as swift as an arrow,
Bid good luck to the presence of gentle Macquarrie.

3.

Green Erin, thou loveliest of sea-islands, long
Shalt thou live in men's speeches and flourish in song-
In song, the reverse of King David's, 'tis said,
For it stirs up the demon the royal bard laid-

Though green be thy mountains, and deep be thy mosses,
And potent thy whisky, and willing thy lasses,
As sure as there's water in Shannon and Yarrow,
I'll leave thee and go to kind gentle Macquarrie.

4.

Farewell, sweet Bann-water-thou loveliest of valleys,
For the growth of potatoes and glorious shilalas;
Proud root and proud plant! go on flourishing still,
While there's friend's heads to crack, and there's bellies to fill.
I leave thee, sweet valley-so none of thy curchees,
Believe me, it is not for building of churches;

For thy judges are stern, and thy magistrates warie,
So I leave thee and go to kind gentle Macquarrie.

5.

Farewell to thee, jewel, my sweet Nancie Murgan,
Thou flower of the mountains and mosses of Lurgan;
There's black Ned O'Niel, and there's red David Logan,
There's Hanlon O'Rourke, and that Munster boy Hogan,
To cheer thee and charm thee, if hemp does na' sever
Thy peep-o'-day boys from thee ever and ever-

May thy own fate be bright and thine enemies swarthy,
And thy dreams be of joy, and poor Felix Macarthy.

Exeunt. King Bruce's Bowl carried out empty, and Felix Macarthy borne out drunk.

ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

JOHN ARMSTRONG.

IN CONTINUATION OF DR. JOHNSON'S LIVES OF THE POETS.

JOHN ARMSTRONG, the son of a Scotch minister, was born in the parish of Castleton, in Roxburghshire. The date of his birth has not been ascertained, nor is any thing known concerning the earlier part of his education. The first we hear of it is, that he took a degree in medicine at Edinburgh, on the fourth of February, 1732; on which occasion he published his Thesis, as usual, and chose De Tabe Purulentâ for the subject of it. A copy of a Latin letter, which he sent to Sir Hans Sloane with this essay, is said to be in the British Museum. In an advertisement prefixed to some verses which he calls Imitations of Shakspeare, he informs the reader that the first of them was just finished when Thomson's Winter made its

appearance. This was in 1726, when he was, he himself says, very young. Thomson having heard of this production by a youth, who was of the same country with himself, desired to see it, and was so much pleased with the attempt, that he put it into the hands of Aaron Hill, Mallet, and Young. With Thomson, further than in the subject, there is no coincidence. The manner is a caricature of Shakspeare's.

In 1735, we find him in London, publishing a humourous pamphlet, entitled An Essay for abridging the Study of Physic, which, though he did not profess himself the writer, Mr. Nichols says,* * he can, on the best authority, assert to be his. In two years after he published a Medical Essay. This was soon followed

Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, Vol. ii. p. 307, &c.

by a licentious poem, which I have not seen, and the title of which I do not think it necessary to record.— While thus employed, it was not to be expected that he should rise to much eminence in his profession. The dying man does not willingly see by his couch one who has recently disgraced himself by an open act of profligacy. In January 1741, he solicited Dr. Birch to use his influence with Mead in recommending him to the appointment of Physician to the Forces which were then going to the West Indies. It does not appear that this application was successful; but in five years more, (February 1746,) he was nominated one of the Physicians to the Hospital for Invalid Soldiers behind Buckingham House; and in 1760, Physician to the Army in Germany. Meantime (in 1744) he had published his Art of Preserving Health, a didactic poem, that soon made its way to notice, and which, by the judiciousness of the precepts, might have tended to raise some opinion of his medical skill. At the beginning he addresses Mead :

Beloved by all the graceful arts, And long the favourite of the healing

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Marriage, a tragedy, which Garrick did not think fitted for the stage. It was printed in 1770, with such of his other writings as he considered worthy of being collected. In this book, which he entitled Miscellanies, in two volumes, first appeared the second part of Sketches or Essays on Various Subjects, by Launcelot Semple, Esq.; the former had been published in 1758. Wilkes was supposed to have contributed something to these lively trifles, which, under an air of impertinent levity, are sometimes marked by originality and discernment. His poem called Day, an epistle which he had addressed to Wilkes in 1761, was not admitted by the author to take its place among the rest. For the dispute which gave rise to this omission he was afterwards sorry; and in his last illness declared, that what he had got in the army he owed to the kindness of Wilkes; and that although he had been rash and hasty he still retained a due sense of gratitude. In attacking Wilkes, he contrived to exasperate Churchill also, who was not to be provoked with impunity, and who revenged himself in the Journey. In 1771, he published a Short Ramble through some Parts of France and Italy. In the neighbourhood of Leghorn he passed a fortnight with Smollett, to whom he was always tenderly attached. Of his book I regret the more that I cannot speak from my own knowledge, because the journey which it narrates is said to have been made in the society of Mr. Fuseli, with whom it is not easy to suppose that any one could have travelled without profiting by the elegance and learning of his companion. I have no better means of bringing Medical Essays which he published my reader acquainted with some which they are spoken of in the in 1773; but from the manner in Biographical Dictionary, it is to be feared that they did not conduce to his reputation or advancement. He died in September, 1779, in consequence, as it is said, of a contusion which he received when he was getting into a carriage. His friends were surprized to find that he had laid by three thousand pounds, which

* Chalmers's Biographical Dictionary, vol. ii. p. 486,

had been saved chiefly out of his half-pay.

Armstrong appears to have been good-natured and indolent, little versed in what is called the way of the world, and, with an eagerness of ostentation which looks like the result of mortified vanity, a despiser of the vulgar, whether found among the little or the great.

His Art of Preserving Health is the only production by which he is likely to be remembered. The theme which he has chosen is one, in which no man who lives long does not at some time or other feel an interest; and he has handled it with considerable skill. In the first Book, on Air, he has interwoven very pleasing descriptions both of particular places and of situations in general, with reference to the effects they may be supposed to have on health. The second, which treats of Diet, is necessarily less attractive, as the topic is less susceptible of ornament; yet in speaking of water, he has contrived to embellish it by some lines which are, perhaps, the finest in the poem.

Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead;

Now let me wander through your gelid reign.

I burn to view th'enthusiastic wilds

By mortals else untrod. I hear the din
Of waters thund'ring o'er the ruin'd cliffs.
With holy reverence I approach the rocks
Whence glide the streams renown'd in an-
cient song.

Here from the desart, down the rumbling steep,

First springs the Nile: here bursts the

sounding Po

In angry waves: Euphrates hence devolves A mighty flood to water half the East: And there, in Gothic solitude reclin'd,

The cheerless Tanais pours his hoary urn. What solemn twilight! What stupendous

shades

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In the third book, he once more breathes freely, and in recounting the various kinds of exercise by which the human frame may be invigorated, his poetic faculty again finds room to play. Joseph Warton, in his Essay on Pope, has justly commended the Episode on the Sweating Sickness, with which it concludes. In the fourth and last, on the Passions, he seems to have grown weary of his task; for he has here less compression and less dignity.

His verse is much more compact than Thomson's, whom he resembles most in the turn of the expression; although he has aimed now and then, but with an ill-assured and timid

hand, at a Miltonic boldness in the numbers or the phrase. When he takes occasion to speak of the river with which his remembrances in early life were associated, he has, contrary to his usual custom, indulged himself with enlarging on his prototype.

Thomson had mentioned incidentally the Tweed and the Jed :—

The Tweed, pure parent stream, Whose pastoral banks first heard my Doric reed,

With sylvan Jed! thy tributary brook. Autumn, 889.

He has thus expanded it :

Such the stream, On whose Arcadian banks I first drew air, Liddal; till now, except in Doric lays

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