than they would be; grinding the poor to powder, when the rich had broken them to fragments. And mony, mony mair were coming and ganging, a' as busy in their vocation as if they had been alive.

Sir Robert Redgauntlet, in the midst of a' this fearful riot, cried, wi' a voice like thunder, on Steenie Piper, to come to the board-head where he was sitting; his legs stretched out before him, and swathed up with flannel, with his holster pistols beside him, and the great broad-sword rested against his chair, just as my gudesire had seen him the last time upon earth-the very cushion for the jack-an-ape was close to him, but the creature itsell was not there—it wasna its hour it's likely: for he heard them say as he came forward, "Is not the major come yet?" And another answered, “The jack-an-ape will be here betimes the morn." And when my gudesire came forward, Sir Robert, or his ghaist, or the deevil in his likeness, said, “Weel, piper, hae ye settled wi' my son for the year's rent?"

With much ado, my father gat breath to say, that Sir John would not settle without his honour's receipt.

"Ye shall hae that for a tune of the pipes, Steenie," said the of Sir Robert,-" Play us up Weel hoddled, Luckie.””

appearance

Now this was a tune my gudesire learned frae a warlock, that heard it when they were worshipping Satan at their meetings; and my gudesire had sometimes played it at the ranting suppers at Redgauntlet Castle, but never very willingly; and now he grew cauld at the very name of it, and said, for excuse, he hadna his pipes wi' him!

"MacCullum, ye limb of Beelzebub," said the fearfu' Sir Robert," bring Steenie the pipes that I am keeping for him!"

MacCullum brought a pair of pipes might have served the piper Donald of the Isles. But he gave my gudesire a nudge as he offered them: and looking secretly and closely, Steenie saw that the chanter was of steel, and heated to a white heat; so he had fair warning not to trust his fingers with it. So he excused himself again, and said, he was faint and frightened, and had not wind aneugh to fill the bag.

“Then ye maun eat and drink, Steenie," said the figure; " for we do little else here; and it's ill speaking betwixt a fou man and fasting."

Now these were the very words that the bloody Earl of Douglas said to keep the King's messenger in hand, while he cut the head off MacLellan of Bombie, at the Threave Castle; and that put Steenie mair and mair on his guard. So he spoke up like a man, and said he came neither to eat, or drink, or make minstrelsy; but simply for his ain-to ken what was come o' the money he had paid, and to get a discharge for it: and he was so stout-hearted by this time, that he charged Sir Robert for conscience-sake -(he had no power to say the holy name)-and as he hoped for peace and rest, to spread no snares for him, but just to give him his ain.

The appearance gnashed its teeth and laughed, but it took from a large pocket-book the receipt, and handed to Steenie. "Here is your receipt, ye pitiful cur; and for the money, my dog-whelp of a son may go and look for it in the Cat's Cradle."

My gudesire uttered mony thanks, and was about to retire, when Sir Robert roared aloud, "Stop though, thou sackdoudlin son of a whore! I am not done with thee. HERE we do nothing for nothing; and you must return on this very day twelvemonth, to pay your master the homage that you owe me for my protection."

VOL. I. 27. Fourth Edit.

2 E

My father's tongue was loosed of a suddenty, and he said aloud,“ I refer myself to God's pleasure and not to yours."

He had no sooner uttered the word than all was dark around him; and he sunk on the earth with such a sudden shock, that he lost both breath and

sense.

How lang Steenie lay there, he could not tell; but when he came to himsell, he was lying in the auld kirkyard of Redgauntlet parishine, just at the door of the family aisle, and the scutcheon of the auld knight, Sir Robert, hanging over his head. There was a deep morning fog on grass and gravestone around him, and his horse was feeding quietly beside the minister's twa cows. Steenie would have thought the whole was a dream, but he had the receipt in his hand, fairly written and signed by the auld Laird; only the last letters of his name were a little disorderly, written like one seized with sudden pain.

Sorely troubled in his mind, he left that dreary place, rode through the mist to Redgauntlet Castle, and with much ado he got speech of the Laird. "Well, you dyvour bankrupt," was the first word, "have you brought me my rent?"

66 No," "answered my gudesire, "I have not; but I have brought your honour Sir Robert's receipt for it."

"How, sirrah ?-Sir Robert's receipt!-You told me he had not given you one."

66 Will your honour please to see if that bit line is right?"

Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter with much attention: and at last, at the date, which my gudesire had not observed,—“ From my appointed place," he read," this twenty-fifth of November."—" What! That is yesterday!-Villain, thou must have gone to hell for this!"

I got it from your honour's father-whether he be in heaven or hell, I know not," said Steenie.

"I will delate you for a warlock to the Privy Council!" said Sir John. "I will send you to your master, the devil, with the help of a tar-barrel and a torch!"

"I intend to delate mysell to the Presbytery," said Steenie," and tell them all I have seen last night, whilk are things fitter for them to judge of than a borrel man like me."

Sir John paused, composed himsell, and desired to hear the full history; and my gudesire told it him from point to point, as I have told it you -word for word, neither more nor less.

Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at last he said, very composedly, "Steenie, this story of yours concerns the honour of many a noble family besides mine; and if it be a leasing-making, to keep yourself out of my danger, the least you can expect is to have red-hot iron driven through your tongue, and that will be as bad as scauding your fingers wi' a red-hot chanter. But yet it may be true, Steenie; and if the money cast

up,

I will not know what to think of it.—But where shall we find the Cat's Cradle? There are cats enough about the old house, but I think they kitten without the ceremony of bed or cradle."

"We were best ask Hutcheon," said my gudesire; "he kens a' the odd corners about as weel as-another serving-man that is now gane, and that I wadna like to name."

Aweel, Hutcheon, when he was asked, told them, that a ruinous turret, lang disused, next to the clock-house, only accessible by a ladder, for the

opening was on the outside, and far above the battlements, was called of old the Cat's Cradle.

"There will I go immediately," said Sir John; and he took (with what purpose, Heaven kens,) one of his father's pistols from the hall-table, where they had lain since the night he died, and hastened to the battlements.

It was a dangerous place to climb, for the ladder was auld and frail, and wanted ane or twa rounds. However, up got Sir John, and entered at the turret-door, where his body stopped the only little light that was in the bit turret. Something flees at him wi' a vengeance maist dang him back ower -bang gaed the knight's pistol, and Hutcheon, that held the ladder, and my gudesire that stood beside him, hears a loud skelloch. A minute after, Sir John flings the body of the jack-an-ape down to them, and cries that the siller is fund, and that they should come up and help him. And there was the bag of siller sure aneugh, and mony orra things besides, that had been missing for mony a day. And Sir John, when he had riped the turret weel, led my gudesire into the dining-parlour, and took him by the hand, and spoke kindly to him, and said he was sorry he should have doubted his word, and that he would hereafter be a good master to him, to make amends.

"And now, Steenie," said Sir John," although this vision of yours tends, on the whole, to my father's credit, as an honest man, that he should, even after his death, desire to see justice done to a poor man like you, yet you are sensible that ill-dispositioned men, might make bad constructions upon it, concerning his soul's health. So I think we had better lay the hail dirdum on that ill-deedie creature, Major Weir, and say naething about your dream in the wood of Pitmurkie. You had taken ower mickle brandy to be very certain about onything; and, Steenie, this receipt, (his hand shook while he held it out)-it's but a queer kind of document, and we will do best, I think, to put it quietly in the fire."

"Od, but for as queer as it is, it's a' the voucher I have for my rent," said my gudesire, who was afraid, it may be, of losing the benefit of Sir Robert's discharge.

"I will bear the contents to your credit in the rental-book, and give you a discharge under my own hand," said Sir John, "and that on the spot. And, Steenie, if you can hold your tongue about this matter, you shall sit, from this term downward, at an easier rent."

"Mony thanks to your honour," said Steenie, who saw easily in what corner the wind sat; "doubtless I will be conformable to all your honour's commands; only I would willingly speak wi' some powerful minister on the subject, for I do not like the sort of summons of appointment whilk your honour's father

"9

"Do not call the phantom my father!" said Sir John, interrupting him. "Weel, then, the thing that was so like him,”—said my gudesire! "he spoke of my coming back to him this time twelvemonth, and it's a weight on my conscience."

"Aweel, then," said Sir John, "if you be so much distressed in your mind, you may speak to our minister of the parish; he is a douce man, regards the honour of our family, and the mair that he may look for some patronage from me."

Wi' that, my father readily agreed that the receipt should be burnt, and the Laird threw it into the chimney with his ain hand. Burn it would not

for them, though; but away it flew up the lumm, wi' a lang train of sparks at its tail, and a hissing noise like a squib.

My gudesire gaed down to the Manse, and the minister, when he had heard the story, said, it was his real opinion, that though my gudesire had gane very far in tampering with dangerous matters, yet, as he had refused the devil's arles, (for such was the offer of meat and drink,) and had refused to do homage, by piping at his bidding, he hoped, that if he held a circumspect walk hereafter, Satan could take little advantage of what was come and gane. And, indeed, my gudesire, of his ain accord, lang forswore baith the pipes and the brandy-it was not even till the year was out, and the fatal day passed, that he would so much as take the fiddle, or drink usquebaugh or tippenny.

Sir John made up his story about the jack-an-ape as he liked himsell; and some believe till this day that there was no more in the matter than the filching nature of the brute. Indeed, ye'll no hinder some to threap, that it was nane o' the Auld Enemy that Dougal and my gudesire saw in the Laird's room, but the wanchancy creature, only that Major, capering on the coffin; and, as to the blawing on the Laird's whistle that was heard after he was dead, the filthy brute could do that as weel as the Laird himsell, if not better. But heaven kens the truth, whilk first came out by the minister's wife, after Sir John and her ain gudeman were baith in the moulds. And then my gudesire, wha was failed in his limbs, but not in his judg ment or memory—at least nothing to speak of-was obliged to tell the real narrative to his friends, for the credit of his gude name. He might else have been charged for a warlock.

The Plot of Redgauntlet, and our opinion, will be found at

p. 436.

Oh! thou wert so fair and bright,

A meteor of unearthly light,

That burst upon the wondering sight

A vision of the blest!

But now thy beauties faded lie,

That lovely face, that sparkling eye,

To gaze on which was extacy,

Far too great to last!

And that sweet and silver voice,
Which did every heart rejoice,
And left us but one only choice-
To listen and to love!

Yes, it did a thrill impart,

A thrill that reach'd the inmost heart,
And made th' entranced list'ner start

In rapturous surprise:

But that spirit now is flown,

To those blissful realms unknown,
Where all who see thee, can but own,
Thou wert too pure for earth!

FIONA.

MEMOIRS OF A YOUNG GREEK FEMALE.

By Madame Adelaide Alexandre Panam. Paris. Published by the Author, and by Brissot-Thivars.

1823.

We do not give this ironical critique as the announcement of a new work, but as a literary anecdote. Although written in French, and sent to us in that language, it is the production of a German, M. Mullner, the author of the tragedy, entitled "Crime," &c. We are assured it could not be published in Germany, because the hero of the romance is a petty Prince of that country. However, M. Mullner has neither named nor designated him any way; and he has besides endeavoured, in some degree, to defend the Prince of the romance against the attacks of the heroine.

A young Frenchwoman, the daughter of Greek parents, fourteen years of age, made at Paris the conquest of a foreign sovereign. After having granted to him the last favours, she followed him to his own territory to make her fortune at court, that is to say, to be enrolled, according to his promise, amongst the number of his sister's ladies of honour. Unfortunately, she was not so placed; the prince, instead of making her fortune, lui fait un' un enfant, as they say, and refused to furnish her with the means of living, or of maintaining and educating this little scion of an august stock. A marriage, such as his rank exacted, determined him to send away the young mother from his capital, and when afterwards she was induced to return, to endeavour to urge a decision, she was considered importunate, insulted in different ways, and at length persecuted to such an extent, that she entertained apprehensions for her life, and for that of her child.

Such is nearly the substance of this well-written romance, which would be good, but for the catastrophe. The situation of the heroine having changed from good to bad, the reader has a right to expect either a change from bad to good, or a tragical conclusion. But what does the young Greek do? what becomes of her? Does she conceal her shame and her misfortunes in a distant country, in order to devote the rest of her life to the education of her orphan son? Does she render him a man truly worthy of the throne of his father? Is she finally recompensed for her labours and cares, by the poetic justice of heaven? Does the prince, on the death of his august spouse, who had given him no heirs, recognise the avenging hand of the Deity? Does he repent within himself? Does he regret his young Greek, and his natural son? Does he endeavour to seek them in all corners of the universe, to repair their wrongs by elevating the mother to the throne, and securing to the son the rights which a barbarous prejudice would refuse to him? Or is the heroine enraged at the infidelity of her illustrious lover? Does she revenge his cruelty, either upon him, or upon herself, or upon both? Has she, for instance, the courage to play the part of Medea, to plunge the poignard into the bosom of her child, to poison her august rival, and to wrap the palace in flames?

Nothing of all this. Finding it impossible to obtain from the Prince the money which she desired, and which he had promised to pay her quarterly, she returns to France, and, either to repair her broken fortunes, or to revenge herself upon her unfaithful lover, or to attain both objects at once, she does nothing better than-publish her memoirs, which are thus before us.

The catastrophe is undoubtedly beneath poetry; it is merely typogra