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Who knew each creek and bay and sheltering steep,

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And all the many dangers of the deep. They fled for life, (for happiness is life,) And met the tempest in his hour of strife, Abroad upon the waters: they were driven Against him by the angry winds of heaven: And all around the clouds, the air, the sea Rose from unnatural dead tranquillity, And came to battle with their legions: Hail

Shot shattering down, and thunders roared aloud,

And the wild lightning from his dripping shroud

Unbound his arrowy pinions blue and pale, And darted through the heavens: Below, the gale

Sang like a dirge, and the white billows lashed

The boat, and then like ravenous lions dashed

Against the deep wave-hidden rocks, and told

Of ghastly perils as they backward rolled.

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FANNY has had a letter from her brother George, who considers himself exceedingly aggrieved, by not having, as yet, had the honour of a particular introduction to your knowledge,-an honour he was the more ambitious of, as, from literary habits and similarity of tastes, he could the more highly appreciate its value. As the vacation at Oxford is commenced, we shall soon have him at home; and, in the meantime, I will make the best amends I can for my seeming neglect of him, by giving you a detailed account of him. Of his birth and parentage, you have already been sufficiently informed; and as to his education, perhaps the less I say about that the better; for, like the Vicar of Wakefield's son Moses, he received a very miscellaneous one. You may remember that my own education was much neglected, of which I so often felt the disadvantage, that I was the more desirous that my children should be well brought up. As soon as my eldest son was born, I applied myself earnestly to the study of every book on education that had ever been written; and you may easily suppose, my dear Sir, with what a medley of theories and hypotheses my poor head was soon bewildered. Luckily for my two eldest children, they slipt through my fingers into the hands of the governess and the schoolmaster, before I could satisfy or mature my ideas on so many different systems; so that the whole violence of my experiments

fell on my unfortunate son George, whom I took into my own hands as soon as he was dismissed from the nursery. I was not entirely satisfied with regard to Rousseau's plan, still I thought it worth a little trial, and accordingly the child was to leave off stockings and learn to chop wood; but he soon got such terrible chilblains, and acquired so many vulgarisms from the man who was to teach him his trade, that this experiment lasted a very short time. I then began to make him a wit and a philosopher, by teaching him all things, and every thing by word of mouth, without applying to the use of books, as reading I deemed to be an after consideration. My wife, as I have already said, was no great talker, so that the whole fatigue of this method of instruction would have fallen on me, had I not found a willing coadjutor in my sister Eleanor, who was now in her element, haranguing and teaching, and tutoring, from morning till night. At last the time came when he was to learn to read; but what between the two newly invented methods of teaching by sounds and teaching by signs, that is by pictures, I got so completely puzzled, and had so much to learn and unlearn myself, that, after labouring for six months, and calling the boy an incorrigible dunce, I gave up the matter in despair; when a sister of my wife's, a good kind of unpretending woman, took him in hand, and by the help of a common spelling-book, taught him in three months to read as well as most children of his age. Being satisfied now that he was not a dunce, I undertook him once more, with the intention of making him a prodigy, and I was myself astonished at the number of lines and pages he could learn by rote; till I found he forgot them as fast as he had learnt them. There was, however, one particular ode of Horace (I remember it was the 7th of the 4th Book. "Diffugere nives," &c.) that he could repeat before company, and what with that, and some flaming passages his aunt bad hammered into his head from the Political Register, he passed off a mongst our acquaintance as a marvellously clever boy. At length it be came time to determine the important question between private and public education, and to give each a fair

trial, I resolved to try both, and began with a private tutor; but I was soon obliged to give up this arrangement. The young man, who had both sense and spirit, would not submit, as I had done, to be directed by Mrs Eleanor, so my only way to restore tranquillity in my house was to send George to Eton, and, I must in candour say, he gained more in the four years he spent there, than in the fourteen he had passed at home. He has now been two years at Oxford, and I have every reason to be highly satisfied with his conduct; he has very fair abilities, is extremely studious, and has an excellent disposition;-he has, however, one fault that I must not conceal, which is, that he is so enthusiastically fond of poetry, that he is often making verses when he ought to be making himself agreeable; and in company, unless the subject interests him, instead of taking part in the conversation, his thoughts are wandering in the clouds with Apollo and the Muses, unless a favourite theme happens to be touched on, and then he breaks forth in such a strain of eloquence and enthusiasm, as astonishes those who hear him; but, in spite of all this, he is very justly beloved by us all, though we never know whether he hears one word in ten that we say, but that may be our faults, for not making ourselves more entertaining.

While I was writing the last sentence, Fanny came into my study with a letter from George, giving a very diverting account of the hubbub and confusion of London, but as you see all this detailed at length in the newspapers, I will not trouble you with it, nor with an epigram of his own, on her Majesty's mob, though it was thought very witty by his mother and aunt, who each took it in the sense she best understood, but will proceed to give you some extracts from a part of his letter that had interested me more than political squabbles and political quibbles. "Amidst all this bustle I have not found time to read any thing, with the exception of the Life of the late Mr Edgeworth, and I adyise you, my dear Fanny, to lose no time in perusing it, if you have not already read it; and do not throw the book down because you feel disappointed with the first volume. The first volume is written by himself,

6

and though he may have been the best dancer, the best archer, the best mechanic the best engineer, and the best conjuror in the world, yet it is unpleasing to be told so by the man himself; but in the second volume, which is written by his daughter, these praises, coming from another, do not shock one so much, and one is willing to believe that Mr Edgeworth was most agreeable as a companion, useful as a country gentleman,-and judicious as a parent. There are certainly some highly useful lessons to be gained from the book, not to mention that it is one of the most entertaining pieces of biography I ever read. He was a man who made himself happy, because he was always usefully employed; and beloved, because he was always cheerful and good humoured. He went on from day to day, and year to year, improving himself, and he never thought he was too old to acquire fresh knowledge. His practice reminds me of a passage in Madame de Sevigne, which, as you may not like to wade through the six volumes of her letters to find, I will transcribe: Je ne puis souffrir que les vielles gens disent, Je suis trop vieux pour me corriger:' Je pardonnerois plutôt aux jeunes gens de dire, 'Je suis trop jeune.' La jeunesse, est si aimable qu'il faudroit l'adorer si l'ame et esprit etoient aussi parfaits que la corps. Mais quand on n'est plus jeune, c'est alors qu'il faut se perfectionner et tacher de regagner par les bonnes qualites ce qu'on perd du côté des agréables. Il y a long temps que j'ai fait ces reflections, et par cette raison je veux tous les jours travailler à mon esprit, à mon ame, à mon cœur, et à mes sentimens.' There is also another truly delightful picture to contemplate in these volumes, and that is the picture of family harmony, that reigned through so large a domestic circle; for he had four wives and many children by each: But what charms me most of all is Miss Edgeworth herself. Such perfect abandonment of all authorlike vanity, -such entire absence of selfishness and devotedness to her father!-all this elevates the mind, and gives it something to reflect upon above the littleness of common life,-but here the enchantment ends. You vainly look about for a something that is wanting; that something, without

which nothing can be permanent ;for without religious principle, what is there to depend upon? Whim, caprice, temper, temptation, self-interest, may throw down the beauteous fabric in an instant ;-there is no cer tain stay,-no rock of sure defence,but religion;-where that is, you feel secure, you feel there is something that is proof against all worldly uncer tainties. I ought not to forget that Miss E., with a proper tenderness to her father's character, says he was not without religion, and was grateful to God for all his many blessings, and I hope it was so; but still I looked in vain to see where the power of religion influenced his conduct. I remember I was struck with the same doubts, when I read the Essay on Practical Education; else why,-instead of all the complicated machinery there recommended, for leading the youthful mind to truth and virtue,why not substitute the all-powerful, the all-simple, the all-comprehensive law, of Duty to God?' perhaps, because this was a lesson that could be taught by the most ignorant and unlettered person; and there is more ingenuity in trying to arrive at the same ends by means of human contrivance, instead of by the law of God. But is this not like attempting to mount to heaven by a Tower of Babel, or tottering crumbling work of men's hands, instead of being raised above the flood in the ark of divine authority? Do not, however, be deterred by what I have said from reading the book, for it is more the absence of what is right, than the presence of what is hurtful, that I complain of. There are, however, some circumstances relating to Mr E.'s se cond and third marriages, that one cannot but regret, and I need not anticipate what your own sentiments will be on reading them. In justification, or rather palliation of his avowed attachment to Honora Sneyd, during the lifetime of his first wife, one may suppose he led a very irksome life with her: still I cannot bring my self to think that the mother of such a woman (to judge of her by her writings) as Maria Edgeworth, could be either ill-tempered or disagreeable. If Miss Edgeworth should ever come to England, I would certainly take a

By Mr and Miss Edgeworth.

journey on purpose to see her, I feel so greatly prepossessed in favour of her and the whole family, by all that is said of them in this life of their father, that I heartily wish I could be come acquainted with any of them." I should have made some further extracts from George's letter, if I had not been called away to attend on some visitors, but Fanny has promised to fill up my paper with a letter she wrote last night to Richard. So leaving my pen in such good hands, I will myself conclude with being, dear Mr Editor, your obedient ser vant,

JOHN DE COVERLEY.

To Richard de Coverley, Esq. Your letter, my dear brother, caused quite a sensation at the breakfast table this morning. Mamma reiterated so frequently, "Dear me, what a pity! Dear me, how silly!" that at length my father raised his eyes from the newspaper to inquire the cause. "Cause enough," replied Mamma, "the collars of Dick's new shirts are all an inch too low. Was ever any thing so unlucky?" Papa laughed a little at Mamına, but more at you, and I could have joined him heartily, had not my aunt scolded him for laughing, scolded Mamma for not having attended to her advice to make the collars higher, and almost scolded me for not knowing the fashion better. Pray when you next want a set of shirts send an exact pattern, for how are we to guess the proper height of a collar in this ultima Bandyborough?

Eleven o'clock. So far I had written when the cool and refreshing breeze which has succeeded the intense heat of this day, induced me to stroll to Miss Wilmot's, whom I have already described to you as my favourite among the young ladies here, and whom I like every day better and better. The result of my visit was my introduction to a new and so very interesting an acquaintance, that I cannot resist resuming my pen at this late hour to repeat to you the occurrences of the evening, while they are fresh in my recollection. Miss Wilmot was preparing for a walk, and immediately asked me to accompany her. "I am going," said she," to visit a very dear friend of mine, who is out of health. Will you go with

me? It is not more than a mile from
the town, a very pretty walk, and we
shall meet the breeze." I willingly
agreed to go, if her friend would not
consider it an intrusion.
"Not at
all," said she, "Mrs Melmoth and
her daughter, had circumstances al-
lowed, would have been among the
first to welcome you here, and I am
sure if you will waive the ceremony
of a call, they will be very happy to
be introduced to you, and, indeed,
there will be charity in visiting them,
for my poor Lucy has been confined
to her sopha more than two years,
and-But I can tell you her story as
we walk along." This, however, she
was prevented doing by Mr Scamony,
who joined us as we left the door, and
never ceased congratulating himself
on the honour and happiness of
esquiring two such fair ladies, till he
bowed off as we arrived at Mrs Mel-
moth's. I had heard poor Mrs Mel-
moth and her daughter mentioned
frequently, but having sufficient em-
ployment in learning the history of
those I saw, I had not inquired into
that of people unknown to me, and in
utter ignorance of every thing, except
that I was to be introduced to a sick
young lady, I was ushered into a very
elegant sort of dressing-room, with
French windows opening into a little
veranda covered with jessamine and
roses in full blow, and leading to a
lawn so green, that it seemed as if the
sun of the last three days had shed
its mildest beams upon it. Near one
of these windows sat, or rather re-
clined, a young lady supported by pil-
lows, and evidently much out of
health. Oh, my dear brother, I wish
you could have seen her, for my de-
scription can give but a faint idea of
the interest excited by her appear-
ance. She is not beautiful, perhaps
not pretty; but there is a grace in all
she says and does beyond the reach
of art, and an expression of mildness
and submission in her countenance,
for which I can find no other name
than that of heavenly. She seems to
be rather above the middle height;
her figure slight, but not emaciated,
and her hand the whitest and the
prettiest I ever saw. This white and
pretty hand she extended to me as
Miss Wilmot introduced me, and
gracefully thanked me for visiting one
so very useless in society as herself.
Then turning to Miss Wilmot, with

FANNY DE COVERLEY.

an affectionate smile, "Emily," said perceptible-a very little paler, pershe," I see that scrutinizing glance, haps, but that was all, the conversaand I can answer it to your satisfac- tion fell into a new channel, and our tion-the traces of sadness you ob- party was immediately after increased serve are not caused by my own cares, I by the entrance of Mrs Melmoth, a have been sighing over the sorrows of woman of pleasing manners and appoor Miriam, and had scarcely closed pearance, but so much like many the book when you entered. I hope other people, that she would pass unyou have both read the Fall of Jeru noticed, were it not for traces of mensalem, and I hope you both admire tal suffering, which give dignity to it, that we may talk over its beauties the commonest characters, and must together." We had both read, both always inspire respect. The conver admired it, and were very ready to sation of both mother and daughter place our chairs in the veranda, as she was easy, and rather cheerful; they requested us, and to talk over its scarcely alluded to the melancholy beauties together. I will spare you situation of Miss Melmoth, and not the whole of our criticisms, but if at all to any past misfortunes. What you have read the poem, (which I their past misfortunes had been I hope you have,) you will not be sur- could only guess from the effect of my prised at our dwelling with chiefest unfortunate observation, till after two admiration on the interviews between very agreeable hours, and a promise Miriam and Javan, and that the ten- on my part of a future visit, I was derness of the lover, the filial affec- again tête-a-tête with Miss Wilmot. tion of Miriam, the piety of Javan, Your curiosity must be still further and the charm of the poetry, were exercised, and I must defer till my long our theme. Miss Melmoth, as next letter the account she gave me, I have since recollected, joined but for this extreme verge of my paper little in this part of our conversation, will only allow me to say, Good night, but I shall never forget the animation my dearest brother, which brightened her fine countenance as she pointed out the beauties of her favourite chorus, King of kings, and Lord of lords, nor the fervour of her manner and the sweetness of her voice, as she read to us the prayer and hymn of Miriam. Even the author, had he been present, must have felt that his verse could not have had more justice done to it, and when she A distant age asks where the fabric stood, ceased, it was difficult to find voice to thank her. We had chatted in that way for some time, when a sud◄ den stop was put to our conversation by my unfortunately remarking, that there were many passages too affect ing to read aloud with comfort, and that amongst them was the scene of Salone's death. "I cannot," said I, "admire Salone, but the situation of poor Miriam is so utterly destitute, when she weeps over the remains of her own and only sister, that it is scarcely possible to resist weeping with her!" The words were scarce ly uttered, when I perceived by the rising colour in Miss Wilmot's face, and by her hasty glance towards her friend, that I had touched on a tender string; it seemed, however, that constant pressure had made it cease to vibrate, for the change in Miss Melmoth's countenance was scarcely

HISTORICAL NOTICES OF THE POPu

LAR SUPERSTITIONS, TRADITIONS,
AND CUSTOMS OF TIVIOTDALE.

No. III.

MR EDITOR,

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IN my last communication I endeavoured to illustrate, as far as my narrow limits would permit, the opinions which prevailed in ruder ages concerning witches, and the faith that was placed in their supposed supernatural powers. The witch of modern times is now to occupy my attention.

From those strolling tribes of tinkers and gypsies who traverse the country, pretending to gain their livelihood by mending broken kettles, pots, and pans, making horn spoons, besoms, &c. &c. the honest peasantry have, from time immemorial, been plentifully supplied with fortune-tellers, necromancers, sorcerers, spaewives, and all the race of black-art professors. It is rather remarkable,

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