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of obscurity, through which it is impossible to penetrate. But what particularly renders social science confused and uncertain is, that several causes always concur to produce every effect, and that it is frequently necessary to seek in another department of the political sciences for the origin of a phenomenon which presents itself in that branch to which we devote our attention. Thus we admire the tactics of the Romans; but perhaps it was not so much to that, as to the education of their children, that they were indebted for their success in war. We wish to adopt the institution of the English jury; but it would probably be divested of its equity and independence were it not supported by the religious opinions of the country in which it originated. We speak of the fidelity of the Austrians to their government; perhaps it is not the government to which they are attached, but to the economical laws which rule them.

We cannot wonder, therefore, if social science be but little advanced, if its principles be uncertain, and if it present not a single question that has not been a subject of controversy. It is a science of facts, and yet it contains not a single fact which some one is not ready to deny. It is a science of observation, and yet how few sound observations have been collected for it! It is rather a subject of surprise that men should contend with each other respecting matters which they so ill comprehend. There is not, perhaps, a single denomination of a political, philosophic, or religious sect, that has not been exposed to insult. Every contradictory opinion that has been entertained on subjects so difficult and complicated, by men who had no other view than the welfare of their fellow-creatures, has been in its turn anathematized as though it could only be the offspring of a wicked mind. Poor novices as we are in the theory of social life, how can we presume to allege that the adoption of any particular opinion denotes a corrupt heart, while we cannot even demonstrate that it reveals an error of judgment? Let us study, and we shall then feel the full extent of our ignorance. Let us study, and, by attaining a knowledge of the difficulties, we shall comprehend how they have given birth to the most opposite systems. History may, perhaps, leave us in doubt as to the mode in which we ought to conduct ourselves, or participate in the conduct of the society of which we form a part; but it will remove every uncertainty respecting the indulgence which we should extend towards the opinions of others. Since the science is so complicated, since the truth is so obscure and remote, since, at every step we take, a new difficulty gives rise to new questions not yet resolved-since we cannot trust to ourselves, how can we venture to pronounce judgment on those who differ from us?

That portion of history of which I now propose to treat, not with the view of establishing a system, or of shaking or confirming

VOL. II. NO. XI.

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principles, opinions, or institutions, but to demand of past ages an account of the events that have taken place, and the causes that produced them-that portion of history is even more rich in information than in glorious examples. I intend to take a review of the history of the world, and more particularly of that of Europe, from the coronation of Constantine to the death of Otho, and to consider the revolutions, the spirit, and the institutions of the ages which elapsed from the fourth to the tenth century. This first half of the middle age, the period of barbarism and desolation, is in general but little known, and throughout its whole extent it produced no historian worthy to be placed in the first rank. The confusion of facts-our ignorance of many of the details, and of several of the causes which have produced the greatest revolutions -the want of philosophic spirit, and even of judgment in the historians who have related the events-the numerous crimes with which the period is polluted-and the excessive misery to which the human race was reduced-no doubt essentially tend to diminish the interest which this part of history might excite. These reasons, however, are not sufficient to deter us from endeavouring to become acquainted with it.

The period which we now propose to take into consideration is far less remote than that to which we are accustomed to devote the most assiduous study. It is nearer to us, not only in the order of dates, but also in interests. We are the descendants of the people of whom I am now about to speak, but we are not descended from the Greeks and Romans. With the people of the middle ages originated the languages we speak, the laws to which we have been subjected, or which we still acknowledge. The people, whose history we are now about to consider, professed, as we do, the Christian religion; but in this respect there is a striking difference between them and ourselves. The ages which intervened between the fourth and the tenth centuries were those in which the church was in the greatest degree exposed to the effects of ignorance, barbarism, and worldly ambition. We in vain look for any traces of the pure religion which we now profess. The direction given to the education of youth, the study of a language which was then dying, and which is now dead, and the literary chefs-d'œuvre it contains, may be dated from the same period; as well as the institution of several schools which have preserved in Europe the spirit of past ages. Finally, from the wrecks of the great Roman empire were formed all the modern states, of which several still subsist; and we shall now enter upon the consideration of the origin of those people with whom our different interests are connected.

[To be continued.]

HIGHLAND ANECDOTES.

The Raid of Cillechrist.

BORDERING clans, like neighbouring nations, were never upon terms of hereditary concord; vicinity produced rivalry, and rivalry produced war: for this reason, the Mac Donells and the Mac Kenzies were never long without some act of hostility or feud; firing houses, driving herds, raising rents, and slaughtering each other's clansmen, were feats of recreation which each was equally willing to exercise upon his neighbour; and if either was more deficient than the other, it was more from want of opportunity, than lack of good-will. Among all the exploits which were thus occasioned between the two clans, none was more celebrated, nor more fearful, than the burning of the Cillechrist (Christ's Church); it gave occasion and name to the pibroch of the Glengarrie family, and was provoked and performed in the following manner. In the course of a long succession of fierce and sanguinary conflicts, the Mac Lelans, a race who were followers of the Mac Kenzies, took occasion to intercept, and assassinate, the eldest son of Donald Mac Angus of Glengarrie. Donald died shortly after, and his second son, who succeeded to the chieftaincy of the clan, was too young to undertake the conduct of any enterprise to revenge the death of his brother: his cousin, however, Angus Mac Raonuill of Lundi, acted as his captain, and, gathering the Mac Donells, in two separate raids swept off the rents from the greater part of Lord Seaforth's country. Still, this revenge seemed to him too poor an expiation for the blood of his chief: the warm life of the best of his foemen was the only sacrifice which he thought he could offer as an acceptable oblation to appease the manes of the murdered; and he, therefore, projected a third expedition, resolving in this to fill the measure of vengeance to the brim. In the prosecution of his design he awaited a favourable opportunity, and, gathering a small band of men, penetrated into the country of the Mac Kenzies early on a Sunday morning, and surrounded the Cillechrist, while a numerous congregation were assembled within its walls. Inexorable in his purpose, Angus commanded his men to set fire to the building, and slaughter all who endeavoured to break forth. Struck with despair when the flames rushed in upon the aile of the church, and they beheld the circle of bare claymors glancing beyond the door, the congregation, scarce knowing what they did, endeavoured to force their way through the weapons and the flames; but, pent within the narrow pass of a single arch, they were not capable to make way over each other, far less to break the ring of broadswords which bristled round the porch: men, women, and children, were driven back into the blazing pile, or hewn down, and transfixed at the gorge of the entrance; the flames increased on every side, a heavy column of livid smoke rolled upward on the air, and the roar of infuriated men, the wailing of suffering infants, and the shrieks of despairing women, rung from within the dissolving pile. While the church was burning, the piper of the Mac Donells marched round the building, playing, as

was customary on extraordinary occasions, an extempore piece of music: the pibroch which he now played was called, from the place where it was composed, Cillechrist, and afterwards became the pibroch of the Glengarrie family. At length the flames poured forth from every quarter of the building, the roof fell in, there was one mingled yell, one crash of ruin; the flame sunk in smouldering vapour, and all was silent. Angus had looked on with stern unrelenting determination, but the deed was done, and recollection now warned him of the danger of delay; he immediately gave orders to retreat, and leading off his men, set off with the utmost expedition for his own country. The flames of the church had, however, lighted a beacon of alarm which blazed far and wide: the Mac Kenzies had gathered in numerous bodies, and took the chase with such vigour, that they came in sight of the Mac Donells long before they got to the border of their country. Angus Mac Raonuill, seeing the determination of the pursuit, and the superiority of its numbers, ordered his men to separate, and shift each for himself: they dispersed accordingly, and made every one his way to his own home as well as he could. The commander of the Mac Kenzies did not scatter his people, but, intent on securing the leader of his foemen, held them together on the track of Angus Mac Raonuill, who with a few men in his company fled towards Loch Ness. Angus always wore a scarlet plush jacket, and it now served to mark him out to the knowledge of the pursuers. Perceiving that the whole chase was drawn after himself, he separated his followers one by one, till at length he was left alone; but yet the pursuers turned not aside upon the track of any other. When they came near the burn of Alt Shian, the leader of the Mac Kenzies had gained so much on the object of his pursuit, that he had nearly overtaken him. The river which was before them runs in this place through a rocky chasm, or trough, of immense depth, and considerable breadth: Angus knew that death was behind him, and gathering all his strength, he dashed at the desperate leap, and being a man of singular vigour and activity, succeeded in clearing it. The leader of the Mac Kenzies, reckless of danger in the ardour of the pursuit, followed also at the leap, but, less athletic than his adversary, he failed of its length, and slipping on the side of the crag, held by the slender branch of a birch-tree which grew above him on the brink. The Mac Donell, looking back in his flight to see the success of his pursuer, beheld him hanging to the tree, and struggling to gain the edge of the bank he turned, and drawing his dirk, at one stroke severed the branch which supported the Mac Kenzie ;—“ I have left much behind me with you to-day," said he, "take that also." The wretched man, rolling from rock to rock, fell headlong into the stream below, where, shattered and mangled by the fall, he expired in the water. Angus Mac Raonuill continued his flight, and the Mac Kenzies, though bereft of their leader, held on the pursuit. Checked, however, by the stream which none of them dared to leap, Angus was gaining fast upon them, when a musquet discharged at him by one of the pursuers, wounded him severely, and greatly retarded his speed. After passing the river, the Mac Kenzies again drew hard after him, and as they came in sight of Loch Ness, Angus perceiving his strength

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to fail with his wound, and his enemies pressing upon him, determined to attempt swimming the loch: he rushed into the water, and for some time, refreshed by its coolness, swam with much vigour and confidence. His limbs would, however, in all probability have failed him before he had crossed the half of the distance to the opposite bank; but Fraser of Fyars, a particular friend of the Glengarrie family, seeing a single man pursued by a party out of the Mac Kenzies' country, and knowing that the Mac Donells had gone upon an expedition in that direction, got out a boat, and hastening to the aid of Angus, took him on board, and conveyed him in safety to the east side of the loch. The Mac Kenzies, seeing their foeman had escaped, discontinued the pursuit, and Angus returned at his leisure to Glengarrie. JAN.

THE TRITON OF THE MINNOWS.

"WHY don't you strike out something new?"
Cried fair Euphemia, heavenly blue

Of eye, as well as stocking;

"If shilly-shally long you stand,
You'll feel Time's enervating hand
Your second cradle rocking."

"Ah, Madam! cease your bard to blame;
I view the pedestal of Fame,
But at its base I falter :
On every step, terrific, stand
A troop of Poets, pen in hand,
To scare me from her altar.

I first essay'd to write in prose,
Plot, humour, character disclose,

And ransack heaths and hovels :
But, when I sat me down to write,
I sigh'd to find that I had quite

O'erlook'd the Scottish Novels."
"Well," cried Euphemia, with a smile,
"Miss Austin's gone: assume her stile ;
Turn playmate of Apollo-
But, hold! how heedless the remark!
Miss Austin's gone-but Mansfield Park
And Emma scorn to follow."

A bolder flight I'd fain essay,

The manners of the East pourtray,

That field is rich and spacious :
Greece, Turkey, Egypt-what a scope !
There too I 'm foil'd-why will not Hope
Un-write his Anastasius ?

Forestall'd in prose, I took to verse,

Note by the Editor.-For the gap that ensues, I make the writer of the stanzas himself accountable. He is a writer well and pleasantly known to the public. Obliged as I am at this instant to send a certain quantum of prose and verse to the press, 1 cannot discharge my duty without accepting any contribution that comes in the shape of lively verse; and the scarcity of that material is not to be appreciated by any but the editors of journals. I could not publish the omitted lines, because their author's taste has erred from the partiality of friendship; and in the hurry of the moment, I cannot change the stanzas, so as to make this omission imperceptible.

T. C.

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