KILMENY. Some [James Hogg, "The Ettrick Shepherd," born in Ettrick Forest, 25th January, 1772 (the date given in his autobiography); died at Altrive, on the Yarrow, 21st November, 1835. He was the son of a shepherd, and his early years were spent in farm-service. of his songs having attracted the attention of Scott and others, he was encouraged to study and to write. His first important publication was The Mountain Bard, and about the same time he issued An Essay on Sheep. The profits derived from the two works enabled him to rent a farm; but he did not thrive in it, and he resigned his lease. He now determined to support himself entirely by his pen, and he started a weekly journal called The Spy: but it did not succeed. Soon afterwards he published The Queen's Wake, a legendary poem, which made and maintains his fame as a poet. By the kindness of the Buccleugh family, he was granted a farm at a nominal rent; but he was again unfortunate in his agricultural speculations. His nature was too enthusiastic and too generous to be guided by prudence, and although favoured by many circumstances, and always working hard, he ended his days almost as poor in worldly wealth as when he began, but rich in the affection of all who knew him. Twenty years after his death, government granted a pension to his widow. Blackie & Son publish a complete edition of his works, of which-besides those mentioned above-the most notable are: Pilgrims of the Sun; The Hunting of Badlewe; The Poetic Mirror -imitations of the most popular bards then living; The Jacobite Relics of Scotland-many of the songs in this collection are original; Miscellaneous Poems; The Brownie of Bodsbeck, and other Tales; The Three Perils of Man; The Three Perils of Woman; The Shepherd's Calendar; &c. &c. Professor Wilson in the Noctes, with which Hogg is intimately identified as "The Shepherd," said: "The Queen's Wake is a garland of fair forest flowers, bound with a band of rushes from the moor. . . . Some of the ballads are very beautiful; one or two even splendid; most of them spirited. 'Kilmeny' alone places our (ay, our) Shepherd among the Undying Ones." Lord Jeffrey felt justified by "Kilmeny" in assuring the author that he was "a poet in the highest acceptation of the name."] Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen; But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. It was only to hear the Yorlin sing, And pu' the cress-flower round the spring; The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye, And the nut that hung frae the hazel-tree; For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', And lang may she seek i' the greenwood shaw; Lang the laird of Duneira blame, And lang, lang greet, or Kilmeny come hame! When many lang day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, When mess for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, When the bedes-man had prayed, and the dead-bell rung: Late, late in a gloamin when all was still, "Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean; By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree, Yet you are halesome and fair to see. Where gat you that joup o' the lily sheen? That bonny snood o' the birk sae green? And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen?Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?" Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face; As still was her look, and as still was her ee, As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. For Kilmeny had been she kenn'd not where, And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare; Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew. But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, And a land where sin had never been; A land of love, and a land of light, Withouten sun, or moon, or night; Where the river swa'd a living stream, And the light a pure and cloudless beam; The land of vision it would seem, A still, an everlasting dream. In yon green wood there is a waik, And in that waik there is a wene, And in that wene there is a maike, That neither has flesh, nor blood, nor bane; And down in yon green wood he walks his lane. In that green wene Kilmeny lay, Her bosom happed wi' flowerets gay; But the air was soft and the silence deep, And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep. She kenn'd nae mair, nor opened her ee, Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. She woke on a couch of the silk sae slim, All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim; And lovely beings round were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life; And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, "What spirit has brought this mortal here?" "Lang have I ranged the world wide," A meek and reverend fere replied; "Baith night and day I have watched the fair, Eident a thousand years and mair. Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree, As spotless as the morning snaw. As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye: They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair, We have watched their steps as the dawning shone, By lily bower, and silken bed, The viewless tears have o'er them shed; Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep, Or left the couch of love to weep. We have seen! we have seen! but the time maun come, "O, would the fairest of mortal kind "O, bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain, If ever you seek the world again, That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear, O tell of the joys that are waiting here; And tell of the signs you shall shortly see; Of the times that are now, and the times that shall be." They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, And she walked in the light of a sunless day: The sky was a dome of crystal bright, The fountain of vision, and fountain of light: And they smile 1 on heaven, when they saw her lie In the stream of life that wandered by. And she heard a song, she heard it sung, She kenn'd not where; but sae sweetly it rung, It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn :- They bore her away, she wist not how, But so swift they wained her through the light, A moment seen, in a moment gone. The lowermost vales of the storied heaven; They bore her far to a mountain green, To see what mortal never had seen; And they seated her high on a purple sward, And bade her heed what she saw and heard; And note the changes the spirits wrought, For now she lived in the land of thought. She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, But a crystal dome of a thousand dies; She looked, and she saw nae land aright, But an endless whirl of glory and light: And radiant beings went and came Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame. She hid her een frae the dazzling view; She looked again, and the scene was new. She saw a sun on a summer sky, And clouds of amber sailing by; A lovely land beneath her lay, And that land had lakes and mountains gray; Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay For there they were seen on their downward plain Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve, For she found her heart to that land did cleave; And the brows that the badge of freedom bore;- She saw a lady sit on a throne, The fairest that ever the sun shone on: And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee, Then a gruff untoward bedes-man came, Then the gruff grim carle girned amain, She saw below her fair unfurled Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell; She never lened, nor stood in awe, Till caught by the lion's deadly paw. With a mooted wing and waefu' maen, The eagle sought her eiry again; But lang may she cower in her bloody nest, And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast, Before she sey another flight, To play wi' the norland lion's might. But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, And the string of his harp wad cease to play. Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, Then Kilmeny begged again to see To warn the living maidens fair, With distant music, soft and deep, And the soft desire of maiden's een In that mild face could never be seen. And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; In ecstasy of sweet devotion, O, then the glen was all in motion! And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; When a month and a day had come and gane, Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene; There laid her down on the leaves sae green, And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. But O, the words that fell from her mouth, Were words of wonder and words of truth! But all the land were in fear and dread, For they kendna whether she was living or dead. It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain; She left this world of sorrow and pain, And returned to the land of thought again. FRANK KENNEDY. [William Hamilton Maxwell, born in Ireland, 1794; died 1850. He graduated at Trinity College, Dublin; accompanied the army in the Peninsula, and afterwards became rector of Ballagh in Connaught. His chief works are: Stories of Waterloo-from which we quote the following sketch-Wild Sports of the West; Captain Blake; The Dark Lady of Doona; The Bivouac, or Stories of the Peninsular War; Life of the Duke of Wellington; Rambling Recollections of a Soldier of Fortune; Hector O'Halloran; Bryan O'Lynn, &c. A critic in the Dublin University Magazine says: "He it was who first suggested what may be called the military novel. His Stories of Waterloo opened that path which subsequently he treaded with such success, while a host of imitators have followed in his rear."] My father left the carabineers some years before the Irish rebellion of ninety-eight. Like greater warriors, the crop of laurels he collected in that celebrated corps was but a short one. It is true he had seen service: his sword, like Butler's knight's, of "passing worth," had been unsheathed in executing "warrants and exigents;" and more than once he had stormed a private distillery, under the leading of a desperate gauger. He was, however, a stout slashing-looking fellow, and found favour in my mother's sight. She had reached the wrong side of thirty; consequently she made but a short resistance, and bestowed her hand and fortune on the bold dragoon. My mother was an heiress, but the estate of Killnacoppal owed "a trifle of money:" now a trifle in Connaught is sometimes a sweeping sum; and you cannot safely calculate on rents in Connemara being paid exactly to the day. but I never exhibited precocity of intellect; before I was sixteen I discovered that our establishment occasionally suffered from a scarcity of specie. At these times my father was sure to be afflicted with cold or rheumatism, and never left the house; and I suppose, for fear of disturbing him, the hall door was but seldom opened, and then only to a particular friend; while an ill-favoured tradesman or suspicious-looking stranger received their commands in the briefest manner from an upper window. What was to be done with me had cruelly puzzled both my parents: and whether I should ornament the church, or benefit the revenue, was for a long time under consideration. The law, however, held out more promising prospects than either; and it was decided that I should be bound to an attorney. Duncan Davidson of Dorset Street, Dublin, was married to my father's sister. He was of Scotch descent, and like that " thinking people" from whom he sprung, he held "a hard grip of the main chance." Duncan was wealthy and childless, and if he could be induced to bring me up at his feet, God knows what might be the consequence. My father accordingly made the application, and the gracious Duncan consented to receive me for a time on trial. What a bustle there was in Killnacoppal when my uncle's letter arrived! due preparations were made for my departure; and as the term of my absence was computed at seven years, I had to take a formal and affectionate leave of my relatives to the fifteenth degree of consanguinity. My aunt Macan, whose cat's leg I had unfortunately dislocated, and who had not spoken to me since Candlemas, was induced to relent on the occasion, and favoured me with her blessing and a one-pound note, although she had often declared she never could banish the idea from her mind, but that I should travel at the public expense, if my career were not finished in a more summary manner. I arrived safely in Dublin-and awful were my feelings when first ushered into the presence of my uncle Duncan. He was a short fat man, in a brown coat and flax-coloured scratch-wig, | him some halfpence for his trouble-prudently perched upon a high office stool. Considering assured him that his cargo was invaluable— his dimensions, I used to marvel much how he told him to wait for me at the corner, and next managed to get there. Holding out his fore- moment was across the street, with a fast hold finger, which I dutifully grasped, he told me to of the Slasher's right hand. be steady and attentive, and that my aunt would be happy to see me upstairs. On leaving the room, I heard him softly remark to the head clerk, that he did not much like my appearance, for that I had "a wild eye in my head." I was duly put to the desk, and the course of trial was not flattering to me, or satisfactory to my intended master. It was allowed on all hands that my writing was abominable; and my spelling, being untrammelled by rules, was found in many material points to differ from modern orthographers. Nor was I more successful in comparing deeds-my desk and stool were unluckily placed beside a window which looked into a narrow court, and a strawbonnet maker occupied the opposite apartment. She was pretty, and I was naturally polite and who with a rosy cheek before him would waste a look upon a tawny skin of parchment? I mentally consigned the deed to the devil, and let the copy loose upon the world "with all its imperfections on its head." The first trial was nearly conclusive-for never before had such a lame and lamentable document issued from the office of the punctilious Duncan. I had there omitted setting forth "one hundred dove-cots," and, for ought I know, left out "one hundred castles," to keep them company. My uncle almost dropped from his perch at the discovery; and Counsellor Roundabout was heard to remark, that a man's life was not safe in the hands of such a delinquent. I was on the point of getting my congé, and free permission to return to the place from whence I came; but my auntgood easy woman, interfered-and Duncan consented to give me a farther trial, and employ me to transport his bag to the courts and his briefs to the lawyer. Any drudgery for me but the desk. With suitable instructions the bag was confided to me, and for three days it came back safely. On the fourth evening I was returning; the bag was unusually full, and so had been my uncle's admonitions for its security. I had got halfway down Capel Street, when, whom should I see on the other side of the way but Slasher Mac Tigue? The Slasher was five akin to my mother, and allowed to be the greatest buck at the last fair of Ballinasloe-and would he acknowledge me, loaded as I was like a Jew clothesman? What was to be done? I slipped the accursed bag to a ragged boy-promised The Slasher-peace to his ashes! for he was shot stone dead in the Phoenix Park-we never well understood the quarrel in Connemara, and it was said there that the poor man himself was not thoroughly informed on the subjectappeared determined to support his justlyacquired reputation at the late fair of Ballinasloe. Not an eye in Capel Street but was turned on him as he swaggered past. His jockey boots-I must begin below-were in the newest style; the top sprang from the ankle-bone, and was met midleg by short tights of tea-coloured leather; three smoothing-iron seals, and a chain that would manacle a deserter dangled from the fob; his vest was of amber kerseymere, gracefully sprinkled with stars and shamrocks; his coat sky-blue, with basket buttons, relieved judiciously with a purple neckcloth, and doeskin gloves; while a conical hat with a leaf full seven inches broad topped all. A feeble imitation of the latter article may still be seen by the curious, in a hatter's window, No. 71 in the Strand, with a label affixed thereto, denominating it "Neck or Nothing.' Lord, how proud I felt when the Slasher tucked me under his arm! We had already taken two turns-the admiration of a crowded thoroughfare, when I looked round for my bag-holder; but he was not visible. I left my kinsman hastily, ran up and down the street, looked round the corners, peered into all the public-houses; but neither bag nor boy was there. I recollected my uncle's name and address were written on it, and the urchin might have mistaken his instructions and carried the bag home. Off I ran, tumbled an apple basket in Bolton Street, and spite of threats and curses, held on my desperate course, until I found myself, breathless, in my uncle's presence. He sternly reproached me for being dilatory. "What had detained me? Here had been Counsellor Leatherhead's servant waiting this half-hour for his papers;-bring in the bag." I gaped at him, and stuttered that I supposed it had been already here; but it would certainly arrive shortly. Question and answer followed rapidly, and the fatal truth came out the bag was lost!-for the cad, advertised of the value of his charge, had retreated the moment I turned my back; and although, on investigation he must have felt much dis |