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ART. 1. Tales of My Landlord; Second Series; collected and arranged by JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, Schoolmaster and Parish Clerk of Gandercleugh. 4 vols. 12mo. pp. 653. Philadelphia. M. Carey & Sons. 1818.

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ALF a year has hardly elapsed, from the time when public curiosity was regaled by "Rob Roy," before the same rich and profuse benefactor offers us another gift from the treasury of his genius. We seize it with augmented avidity; we are assured it will not disappoint our expectations. In the midst of our prepossessions, when his more recent works were announced, we sometimes felt a little misgiving, a little apprehension, such as experience justifies and induces us to entertain, concerning frequently repeated efforts of the human mind, that he had exhausted his vein; and that, if no alloy entered into his production, the gold might have become dim. But never have we opened the new volume, that we have not seen the lustre and purity of its contents in every page, nor closed upon its final sentence without feeling the accumulated value of our new possession, and a complete conviction that any anticipation of failing excellence, annexed to ordinary abundance, was in no way applicable to that mind which has every other endowment proportioned to its fertility; and which estimates its own power of giving VOL. IV.-No. Ir.

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pleasure, as justly as it strongly feels the impulse to furnish the means.

Scotland, his own muse, has again inspired him; and, perhaps, no local genius could furnish such materials to the imagination of a writer, or such a refined, strong sympathy in a reader. And wherefore? Why do we cherish for this country feelings so peculiar? They are surely of a different nature from all our classic associations, or our political sympathies with the other people of our world! Other nations are estimated by their revenues, their physical power, their political wisdom and relations, their enterprizes and discoveries; some have their ancient monuments, their admirable literature, their splendid conquests, their vast dependencies, and their elegant society to boast, and we acknowledge their eminence with pride and satisfaction. We feel that these distinctions are the concentrated and reflected glory of that species of which we are a part; that they illustrate that common nature, which, in the individual, is transitory, and, comparatively, powerless; but which, in its aggregation and duration, has incalculable strength, and im

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measurable existence. It is not with this exulting self-love, that expands over the whole human race through the sentiment of admiration for a particular people, that we regard Scotland, but it is with a feeling more intimate, which has in it finer fancy and more of heart.

The natives of Scotland have achieved po conquests, and amassed no wealth; they have planted no standard on a foreign shore, nor made a diadem of power from the gold and pearls of other lands and seas; they have made no marble to think, nor canvass to speak; and their literature, mostly, is of legends and songs, hidden from us in their own language. What then do we so love and admire in this people? It is their moral dignity, their beautiful affections, and their exquisitely simple manners. They are so poetical and pastoral, so patriotic and devout, so enthusiastic and honourable; there is so much principle in their passions, so much courage and constancy in their attachments, that while things lovely and excellent awaken our imagination, Scottish history and Scottish character, will call forth an interest singularly their own; we shall delight in the torrents and the mountains that have echoed the songs of Ferguson and Burns, and a thousand other bards; we shall love the unsubdued race "whose thistle sham'd the Roman bays;" whose fathers repulsed the masters of the world; and whose successive generations have offered such self-devoted lives to defend privileges and principles; we shall forgive that intolerance and superstition, so justified by conscience and interwoven with piety; we shall pity the misled zeal and inflexible faith, which cost so many sacrifices to a bad cause, and worthless princes; and shall listen with eagerness and pleasure to the narrative which makes these virtues manifest, by recording the enchanting manners and language that exhibits them.

The story contained in the volumes be fore us is called the "Heart of Mid-Lothian:" the name of the Tolbooth, or prison of Edinburgh. The incidents which it relates are supposed to have been glean

ed from some communicative sojourners at the Wallace Inn, acquainted with the traditions of the Tolbooth, and the records of criminal cases. So far as the tale exhibits prison scenes, it displays the wide difference between the author's moral views, and those of the English novelists, who have drawn pictures of life from similar places Fielding and Smollet have, in their works, a variety of scenes from these abodes of punishment and pain; but which of them are affecting or instructive? Can any be found free from ribaldry and low buffoonry? from horrible profaneness, or shameless depravity? And what do they exhibit but such deep degradation of man, such abuses of reason and of laws, that while we acknowledge they may be true copies of disgusting originals, we turn from them with unpleasing, and not with salutary emotions; with contempt prevailing over compassion; and with aversion to the criminal, as much as with horror at the crime. But from the "Heart of Mid-Lothian," a moral lesson is furnished, as interesting in itself, as touching to sensibility, as improving in its inferences, as fact or fiction can be rendered.

On the 8th day of September, 1736, preparations for a public execution were exhibited at the Grass-Market of Edinburgh, the place then used for this purpose. The expected culprits were one Andrew Wilson, and a young man by the name of Robertson. The Scots of the sea coast, during the reigns of George I. and George II. generally tolerated, and frequently practised a contraband trade. Unaccustomed to imposts, they were regarded as agressions upon ancient liberties, and the people justified the evading or defying of them. Andrew Wilson, an intrepid smuggler, was so adroit and successful in his seizures, that the particular vigilance of government was directed against him, and, at length, dispossessed him of his ill acquired property. Exasperated by his losses, he took the right of reprisal into his own hands, and engaged some bold and profligate young men in his cause. An officer of the revenue, with

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a considerable sum of the public money in possession, falling in Wilson's way, was robbed by him and his associates. But the collector, summoning military aid, apprehended Wilson and his comrade, Robertson; recovered the booty, and contrived to make an example of them. The more enlightened part of the community believed the unfortunate men to be ignorant of the exact nature of the crime, and the lower orders secretly commended it, so that some attempts for their escape were easily made; but these failing, they were prepared for death, when, by a signal deliverance, Robertson was preserved. "Adjacent to the Tolbooth, or city gaol of Edinburgh, is one of those churches into

which the cathedral of St. Giles is now divided, called, from its vicinity, the Tolbooth Church. It was the custom that criminals, under sentence of death, were brought to this church, with a sufficient guard, to hear and join in public worship on the Sabbath before execution. It was supposed that the hearts of these unfortunate persons,however hardened before against feelings of devotion, could not but be accessible to them upon uniting their thoughts and voices, for the last time, along with their fellow-mortals, in addressing their Creator. And, to the rest of the congregation, it was thought it could not but be impressive and affecting to find their devotions ming ling with those, who, sent by the doom of an earthly tribunal to appear where the whole earth is judged, might be considered as beings trembling on the verge of eternity. "The clergyman, whose duty it was to officiate in the Tolbooth Church, had concluded an affecting discourse, part of which was particularly directed to the unfortunate men, Wilson and Robertson, who were in the pew set apart for persons in their unhappy situation; each secured betwixt two soldiers of the city guard. The clergyman had reminded them that the next congregation they must join, would be that of the just or of the unjust. That the psalms they now heard must be exchanged, in the space of two brief days, for eternal hallelujahs, or eternal lamentations; and that this fearful alternative must depend upon the state to which they might be able to bring their minds before the moment of awful prepa ration. That they should not despair on account of the suddenness of the summons, but rather to feel this comfort in their misery—that though all who now lifted the voice or bent the knee in conjunction with them, lay under the same sentence of certain death, they only had the advantage of knowing the precise moment at which it should be executed upon them. Therefore,' urged the good man, his voice trembling with

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When the benediction was pronounced and the congregation were dispersing, Wilson seized a soldier in each hand, called to his companion "Run Geordie, run!" and threw himself upon a third, seizing, with his teeth, the collar of his coat. The cry of "Run, run!" being echoed around, Robertson rushed from the church, and was soon lost to pursuit. In the last century public peace was maintained in Edinburgh by the city guard, a body of about one hundred and twenty soldiers. In 1736, captain John Porteous was the commander of this corps; a man of hard, unfecling character, who discharged his duty more to the satisfaction of the magistracy, than to the content of the populace, which hated him heartily. They were his soldiers whom Wilson held fast at the time of Robertson's escape; and, on account of this circumstance, as well as the public connivance, Porteous was excessively exasperated against the criminal and the people. On the day of Wilson's execution, which took place in due time, Porteous exhibited such cruelty to the prisoner, as excited equal abhorrence against himself, and compassion for the sufferer. As soon as Wilson was dead, the multitude became outrageous and offered such violence to Porteous and his guard, that he became desperate, forgot the limits of his commission, and ordered his men to fire, which they did at the expense of six or seven lives. Porteous was soon led to repent of his conduct, and endeavoured to gloss it over in his report to the magistrates. The voice of public justice, however, summoned him to trial, and the verdict of the jury declared that he had fired a gun himself, and had given orders to his men to fire among the people assembled at the execution, by which many were killed and wounded; but, at the same time, that the prisoner and bis guard had been injur

ed, by stones thrown at them by the multitude. Upon this verdict the lords of justiciary passed sentence of death against

Porteous.

"On the day when the unhappy Porteous was expected to suffer the sentence of the law, the place of execution, extensive as it was, was crowded almost to suffocation. There was not a window in all the lofty tenements around it, or in the steep and crooked streets called the Bow, by which the fatal procession was to descend from the Highstreet, which was not absolutely filled with spectators. The uncommon height and antique appearance of these houses, some of which were formerly the property of the knights Templars, and the knights of St. John; and still exhibit on their fronts and gables the iron cross of these orders, gave additional effect to a scene so striking. The area of the Grass-Market, resembled a huge dark lake or sea of human heads, in the centre of which arose the fatal tree, tall, black, and ominous; from which dangled the deadly balter. Every object takes interest from its association and uses; and the erect beam and empty noose, things so simple in themselves, became objects, on such an occasion, of terror and of solemn gloom. "Amid so numerous an assembly there was scarce a word spoken, save in whispers. The thirst of vengeance was in some de gree allayed by its supposed certainty; and even the populace, with deeper feeling than they are wont to entertain, suppressed all clamorous exultation, and prepared to enjoy the scene of retaliation in triumph, silent and decent, though stern and relentless. It seemed as if the depth of their hatred to the unfortunate criminal, despised to display itself in any thing resembling the noisy current of their ordinary feelings. Had a stranger consulted only the evidence of his ears, he might have supposed that so vast a multitude were assembled for some purpose which affected them with the deepest sorrow, and stilled those noises, which, upon ordinary occasions, arise from such a concourse; but if he gazed upon their faces, he would have been instantly undeceived. The compressed lip, the bent brow, the stern and flashing eye of almost every one on whom he gazed, conveyed the expression of men come to glut their sight with triumphant revenge."

"The usual hour for producing the criminal had been passed for many minutes, yet he did not appear. Would they venture to defraud public justice was the question which men began anxiously to ask each other; the first answer in every case was bold and positive: They dare not.'

"While arguments were stated and replied to, and canvassed and supported, the hitherto silent expectation of the people became changed into that deep and agitating marmur, which is sent forth by the ocean

before the tempest begins to howl. The crowded populace, as if the motions had corresponded with the unsettled state of their minds, fluctuating to and fro, without any visible cause of impulse, like the agitation of the waters, called by the sailors the ground swell."

The news was soon announced that a

reprieve had arrived, respiting the sentence for six weeks. The approbation of the magistracy, and the cause in which Porteous suffered, had recommended him to the royal clemency; but these considerations served only to excite a fiercer spirit of revenge in his enemies, and they dispersed, breathing discontents against the government, and the latent purpose to sacrifice their victim.

Among the more peaceable part of the crowd, were Bartoline Saddletree and his wife, Reuben Butler, the usher of a neighbouring school, and a party of their friends. Saddletree is a ridiculous pedant who leaves the business of the shop to a notable wife, and employs his time in the discussion of legal points, and in murdering law and Latin, every sentence he utters-Reuben Butler, a young man of great merit, who makes an important figure in the subsequent history. In the course of some sage discussion, Mrs. Saddletree first mentions an unfortunate girl, Effie Deans, who at that time was a prisoner in the Tulbooth; and whose singular story makes the principal interest of "The Heart of Mid-Lothian.”

Reuben Butler had some connexion with Effie Deans, and after a vain attempt to see her, was taking his way homeward, when he was arrested by a mob of rioters, who bore him irresistibly along in their tumultuous course; intimating that he was required to perform some office of the ministry, his destined profession. This crowd, at first only a hundred strong, soon amounted to thou

sands, constantly augmenting as they hurried through the streets. When their rapid and well-conceived arrangements were sufficiently matured, they boldly set up a tremendous shout of "Porteous! Porteous! To the Tolbooth! to the Tol

booth!" and speedily proceeded to effect

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