rant and bickering of the Covenanters into the nobler elements of their character.

It is difficult to refer to the facts of existing society without provoking the antagonistic passions by which its harmony is marred; and, therefore, any reference to these facts now must be as brief as possible. It is sufficient, however, to remark, that while the Scottish people display an activity of religious feeling which is scarcely to be seen in any other country, there are few, if any, Protestant communities in which that feeling is so unpardonably misdirected to microscopic distinctions of dogma and ecclesiastical polity, which are being constantly exalted into objects of a spurious reverence, wholly unintelligible to minds beyond the infection of passionate controversy.

Apart, then, from all other advantages to be derived from the study of the legendary ballads, they are of value as recalling to us, in its living freshness, a time when the world was still wonderful and awful in the eyes of men; and they remain worthy of study, if they serve to make us feel anew the mystery which lies before us in "the open secret of the Universe." We need not, in cherishing the feeling of this mystery, oppose the beneficent work of science in revealing to us the " faithfulness" with which the Ruler of the Universe evolves similar results from similar antecedents; but the work of science would cease to be beneficent if, in dissipating the ruder awe and wonder of an uncultured age, it made us forget that the Universe is awful and wonderful still. "This green, flowery, rock-built earth; the trees, the mountains, rivers, many

sounding seas; that great deep sea of azure that swims overhead; the winds sweeping through it; the black cloud fashioning itself together, now pouring out fire now hail and rain: what is it? Ay, what? At bottom we do not yet know; we can never know at all. It is not by our superior insight that we escape the difficulty; it is by our superior levity, our inattention, our want of insight. It is not by thinking that we cease to wonder at it. Hardened round us, encasing wholly every notion we form, is a wrappage of traditions, hearsays, mere words. We call that fire of the black cloud'electricity,' and lecture learnedly about it, and grind the like of it out of glass and silk; but what is it? Whence comes it? Whither goes it? Science has done much for us; but it is a poor science that would hide from us the great, deep, sacred infinitude of Nescience, whither we can never penetrate, on which all science swims as a mere superficial film. This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle; wonderful, inscrutable, magical, and more, to whosoever will think of it."1

CHAPTER II.

SOCIAL BALLADS AND SONGS.

"All hail, ye tender feelings dear!

The smile of love, the friendly tear,
The sympathetic glow!

Long since, this world's thorny ways
Had numbered out my weary days

Had it not been for you!

Fate still has blest me with a friend,
In every care and ill;

And oft a more endearing band,

A tie more tender still."

BURNS' Epistle to Davie.

UNDER this chapter I include that large group of lyrics to which the events or the affections of social life afford a subject. For the purpose of examination they may be advantageously arranged in three sub-divisions, comprehending severally (1), Love Songs and Ballads; (2), Domestic Songs and Ballads; (3), those in which the more general relations of social life form the theme.

§ 1.-Love Songs and Ballads.

It is almost impossible to embrace, in a brief sketch like this, a comprehensive survey of the innumerable lyrics coming under this category; but I shall endeavour

to point out their leading varieties, with some of the more prominent characteristics of each.

There is, first of all, a whole legion which are merely utterances of amatory passion,-the unwearied twitterings of lovers in the sunshine which their passion gleams over life. This literature, however, is very soon exhausted, as far as real variety is concerned, and therefore as far as it can furnish poetical enjoyment. The most beautiful melody admits of only a limited number of variations with musical effect, even in the hands of the most ingenious composer; and that effect soon fails, if many of the variations are produced by composers of mediocre musical power. For this reason it is scarcely advisable to enter into detailed examination of this class

of

songs; but for our purpose it is certainly worthy of remark, that a very large proportion of them are the work of persons in very humble grades of society. It is not that poets of higher rank have put into the mouths. of imaginary peasants and artisans lyrical expressions of refined sentiment, such as we are familiar with in the antiquated pastorals; but we have the characteristically hearty and often naïve utterances of the peasants and artisans themselves. While this is evidence of a refining sexual affection penetrating the humble life of the people, the existence of such a mass of popular song on the subject has tended to perpetuate the refinement of this affection, and thus to counteract some less gratifying influences which we may yet require to notice.

The history of Scottish literature does not present many poets who have made the love of the sexes so obviously their favourite theme, that they could, with

propriety, be called Anacreontic. If we except Alexander Scott-a poet of Queen Mary's time, who has in fact been dubbed the Scottish Anacreon-there is perhaps not a single author who deserves the designation; and Scott himself is to be ranked rather among the poets of culture than among those who have furnished the songs of the people. But no one possessing the most superficial acquaintance with Scottish literature requires to be informed as to the wealth of Anacreontic poetry which it contains. One of the oldest Scottish lyrics which have come down to us in complete form is a love-song-the Song on Absence,1 preserved in the Maitland MS., and ascribed by Pinkerton and Ritson, though without any certainty, to James I. of Scotland. Whoever the poet may have been, he was, for his time, no unskilful handler of an intricate versification.

"As he that swimmis the moir he ettil fast,

And to the schoire intend,

The moir his febil furie, throw windis blast,
Is backwart maid to wend;

So wars by day

My grief grows ay.

The moir I am hurte,

The moir I sturte.

O cruel love, bot deid thow hes none end!

"The Day, befoir the suddane Nichtis chaice,
Does not so suiftlie go;

Nor hare, befoir the ernand grewhound's face,
With speid is careit so;

I See Sibbald's "Chronicle of Scottish Poetry," vol. i. p. 55.