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She may dazzle for a time; but when a man has once thought, "what a pity that such a masterpiece should be but a walking statue !" her empire is at an end.
On the other hand, when a woman, the plainness of whose features prevented our noticing her at first, is found, upon nearer acquaintance, to be possessed of the more solid and valuable perfections of the mind, the pleasure we feel in being so agreeably undeceived, makes her appear to still greater advantage: and as the mind of man, when left to itself, is naturally an enemy to all injustice, we, even unknown to ourselves, strive to repair the wrong we have involuntarily done her, by a double portion of attention and regard.
If these observations be founded in truth, it will appear that, though a woman with a cultivated mind may justly hope to please, without even any superior advantages of person, the loveliest creature that ever came from the hand of her Creator can hope only for a transitory empire, unless she unite with her beauty the more durable charms of intellectual excellence.
The favored child of nature, who combines in herself these united perfections, may be justly considered as the masterpiece of the creation-as the most perfect image of the Divinity here below. Man, the proud lord of the creation, bows willingly his haughty neck beneath her gentle rule. Exalted, tender, beneficent is the love that she inspires. Even Time himself shall respect the all-powerful măgic of her beauty. Her charms may fade, but they shall never wither; and memory still, in the evening of life, hanging with fond affection over the blanched rose, shall view, through the veil of lapsed years, the tender bud, the dawning promise, whose beauties once blushed before the beams of the morning sun.
A morning in the Highlands of Scotland.-Punishment of a Spy whose employers had betrayed Rob Roy MacGregor.* SCOTT.
I SHALL never forget the delightful sensation with which
At the time this celebrated Highland Chieftain was taken prisoner, Morris had been sent as a hostage for his personal safety, which being violated, excited the wrath so powerfully described in this extract.
I exchanged the dark, smoky, smothering atmosphere of the Highland hut, in which we had passed the night so uncom fortably, for the refreshing fragrance of the morning air, and the glorious beams of the rising sun, which, from a ta bernacle of purple and golden clouds, were darted full on such a scene of natural romancé and beauty as had never
before greeted my eyes. To the left lay the valley, down which the Forth wandered on its easterly course, surround ing the beautiful detached hill, with all its garland of woods. On the right, amid a profusion of thickets, knolls, and crags, lay the bed of a broad mountain lake, lightly curled into tiny waves by the breath of the morning breeze, each glittering in its course under the influence of the sunbeams. High hills, rocks, and banks, waving with natural forests of birch and oak, formed the borders of this enchanting sheet of water; and, as their leaves rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the depth of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. Man alone seemed to be placed in a state of inferiority, in a scene where all the ordinary features of nature were raised and exalted.
It was under the burning influence of revenge that the wife of MacGregor commanded that the hostage, exchanged for her husband's safety, should be brought into her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward, at her summons, a wretch, already half dead with terror, in whose agonized features, I rec ́ognised, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris.
He fell prostrate before the female chief with an effort to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such, that, instead of paralyzing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent, and, with cheeks as pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance of any design on the life of Rob Roy, whom he swore he loved and honored as his own soul.-In the inconsistency of his terror, he said, he was but the agent of others, and he
muttered the name of Rashleigh.-He prayed but for life -for life he would give all he had in the world;-it was but life he asked-life, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations;-he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the damps of the lowest caverns of their hills.
It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt, with which the wife of MacGregor regarded this wretched petitioner for the poor boon of existence.
"I could have bid you live," she said, "had life been to you the same weary and wasting burden that it is to me that it is to every noble and generous mind.-But youwretch! could you creep through the world unaffected by its various disgraces, its ineffable miseries, its constantly accumulating masses of crime and sorrow, you could live and enjoy yourself, while the noble-minded are betrayed,while nameless and birthless villains tread on the neck of the brave and long-decended,-you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the shambles, battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the brave went on around you! This enjoyment you shall not live to partake of; you shall die, base dog, and that before yon cloud has passed over the sun."
She gave a brief command, in Gaelic, to her attendants, two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever uttered-I may well term them dreadful, for they haunted my sleep for years afterwards. As the murderers, or executioners, call them as you will, dragged him along, he recognised me even in that moment of horror, and exclaimed, in the last articulate words I ever heard him utter, "O, Mr. Osbaldistone, save me !--save me!"
I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to speak in his behalf, but, as might have been expected, my interference was sternly disregarded. The vic tim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large heavy stone in a plaid, tied it round his neck, and others again eagerly stripped him of some part of his dress. Half naked, and thus manacled, they hurried him into the lake, there about twelve feet deep, drowning his last death-shriek with a loud halloo of vindictive triumph, over which, however, the yell of mortal agony was distinctly heard.
heavy burden splashed in the dark-blue waters of the lake, and the Highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant, to guard, lest, extricating himself from the load to which he was attached, he might have struggled to regain the shore. But the knot had been securely bound; the victim sunk without effort; the waters, which his fall had disturbed, settled calmly over him, and the unit of that life for which he had pleaded so strongly, was for ever withdrawn from the sum of human existence.
ALL day the low-hung clouds have dropt
To break the calm of nature;
Of life, or living creature ;-
I could have half believed I heard
Earth's naked breast to screen,
Have swelled to double growth; that thorn
*Extracted from the Review of "The Widow's Tale, and other poems, by the author of Ellen Fitzarthur," in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, 1822.
That lilach's cleaving cones have burst,
Methinks their sweets are stealing.
Down, down they come-those fruitful stores!
Then thins, decreases, stops.
Lo! from the west, a parting gleam
The dead Lamb.-ANONOYMOUS.*
THE shepherd saunters last :-but why
Looks up the creature's face ?-
(Poor ewe!) a dead, cold weight,
Ranged o'er those pastures wide
It was a new-born thing:-the rain
Poured down all night-its bed
Was drenched and cold. Morn came again,
Yet the poor mother's fond distress
* Author of "The Widow's Tale and other poems."