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if Ann had been conscious that her "laudies" had committed no crime whatever in robbing this man, and that they had been merely exercising their ordinary vocation.

The following particulars, derived from the same source, will shew the nature of the business which a gypsey captain has on his hands at a general plunder at a fair.

One Campbell, a farmer, while he was on his way to a fair in Perth, fell in with M'Donald, of whom I made mention before. Being unacquainted with the character of his fellow traveller, the simple farmer, during his conversation, told him, that he had just as much money in his pocket as would purchase one horse for his fourhorse plough, having other three at home. M Donald heard all this with patience, till he came to a solitary part of the road, when he demanded the cash from the astonished farmer. The poor simple man had no alternative, and immediately produced his purse to this shark of a gypsey. However, before parting with him, he desired the farmer to call to-morrow, the fair day, at a certain house in Perth, where he would find a person who might be of service to him.

Campbell promised to do this, and accordingly called at the time appointed, when he was, to his surprise, ushered into a room, where M'Donald was sitting with a large bowl of smoking toddy on the table before him. The farmer was invited, in a frank and hearty manner, to sit down and partake of the toddy. He had scarcely got time, however, to swallow one glass, when he was relieved from his suspense, and agreeably surprised, by the gypsey returning to him every farthing of the money he had taken from him the day before. Being well pleased at recovering his cash, and the gypsy pressing him to drink, his spirits became a little elevated, and now having some confidence in M'Donald, he was in no hurry to be gone. During the short time he remained with him, he observed as good as four or five purses and pocket-books brought into the room by gypsey boys. After delivering their respective booty to their chief, they returned immediately to the street to commit fresh depredations on the multitude in the fair. The chief was in fact a man of considerable business, having a number of youths ferretting VOL. III.

for him in the market, who were going out and coming in to him constantly.

About sixty years since, one of these gillies stole a black colt in the east of Fife, and carried it direct to a fair in Perth, where he exchanged it for a white horse, with money to boot, belonging to a Highlandman dressed in a green kilt. The Highlander, however, had not long put his fine colt into a stable, when word was brought him that it was gone. Suspecting the gypsey for the theft, and having received positive information of the fact, the sturdy Gael, in great wrath, pursued him like a staunch hound on the warm foot of reynard, till he overtook him at a house on the north side of Kinross. The thief was taking some refreshment, when the Highlandman, in a storm of broken English, burst into the apartment upon him. The polished gypsey instantly sprang to his feet, threw his arms about the foaming Celt, embraced and hugged him in the eastern manner, overpowering him with expressions of feigned joy at seeing him again. This subtile and cunning behaviour quite exasperated. the fiery mountaineer. Now almost suffocated with wrath, he shook the gypsey from his person with contempt and disdain, exclaiming, "pheugh! cot tamn her kisses; where pe ta cowt?"-This Celt, with the green philabeg, was not to be imposed upon by deceitful embraces, nor mollified in his resentment by forced entreaties. He had messengers at his back, and the gypsey's feet were accordingly laid in Cupar prison for his audacity.* He would in all probability expiate his crime on the scaffold.

All these young vagrants were regularly trained to theft and robbery from their infancy. This is part of the gypsey education. I have heard that this systematic training existed, not only among these strangers in general, but in particular bands, nay, even taught by certain old chief females, ever since I recollect of hearing any thing of these people. Several individuals have informed me, that the Lochgellie gypsies were exercised in the art of thieving, under the most rigid discipline. They have various

The old man, before alluded to, was sitting in the apartment when he saw the gypsey embrace the Highlandman. C

ways in making themselves expert thieves. They frequently practise themselves by picking the pockets of one another. Sometimes a pair of breeches were made fast to the end of a string, suspended from a high part of the tent, kiln, or out-house, in which they happened to be encamped.

the first qualification among the males in the state. They are, in fact, not thought fit to enter into the matrimonial state, until they are thoroughly master of the art of thieving. W. S.

SIGHT.

The children were set to work to try REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF SECOND if they could, by slight of hand, abstract money from the pockets of the breeches, hanging in this position, without moving them. It is stated to me, that the Lochgellie horde used bells in this nefarious discipline, in the same way as we are informed the sharpers teach themselves to pick pockets in London. The children who were most expert in abstracting the cash in this manner, were rewarded with presents and applause; while, on the other hand, those who were awkward, and committed blunders by ringing the bell, or moving the breeches, were severely chastised by the superintendent of this gypsey school.

After these youths were considered perfect in this slight of hand branch of their trade, a purse or other small object was laid down in an exposed part of the tent or camp, in view of all the horde. While the ordinary business of the gypsies was going forward, the children again commenced their operations, by exerting their ingenuity, and exercising their patience, in trying to carry off the purse without being perceived by any one of the family. If they were detected, they were again dreadfully beaten; but when they succeeded unnoticed, they were caressed and liberally rewarded.

As far as my information goes, this systematic training of the gypsey youth, was the duty of the chief females of the bands. These wanderers seem to have had great authority over their children. Ann Brown of the Lochgellie tribe, could, by a single stamp with her foot, cause the children crouch to the ground, like trembling dogs under the rod of their angry master.

In some of these particular traits and practices, the gypsies resemble the ancient Spartans under the government of Lycurgus, the celebrated lawgiver; and we find, that in some of the mountainous districts in India, a dexterous thief, at this day, is considered by the natives a character of

[The following interesting little Narrative was communicated to us by a gentleman (to whom we are under various obligations), who says, in his private letter, "Were I permitted to bring it forward, supported by all the evidences who could speak to its truth, it could be established as the best authenticated of any of those instances which have been given of the seer's prophetic sight.' But delicacy forbids me to corroborate its truth by names, many connexions of the personages to whom the story relates being yet alive, who must still cherish a painful recollection of the fatal catastrophe." EDITOR.]

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IT is now, I believe, about eighty years ago, since a festive party of ladies were assembled in the great hall of the baronial castle of which is grandly situated in an unfrequented part of the country, in the northern extremity of the kingdom. It had then been for some time the scene of Highland hospitality and joy; for Sir Charles and Lady D-, two young lovers lately made happy in the possession of each other, had come from the neighbourhood of the Scottish border, to spend some delightful weeks as the guests of Lord R, the brother, or uncle of the lady, for I forget in which of these degrees of relationship that nobleman stood towards her. The evening had closed, and the shrill sound of the bagpipe had already died away around the outer walls of the castle, having told to the clansmen that the feast was begun. Mirth held his jocund reign, and joyous smiles played on every youthful countenance that brightened the circle of the huge oaken table; whilst the heaped up faggots crackled in the ample grate, shooting a cheerful glare amidst the groupe. Care and anxiety were alike banished, excepting from the thoughts of the love ly Lady D, who, though she could not but participate in the general gladness her presence had created, yet felt even the temporary absence of all she now held dearest on earth. Sir

Charles had accompanied Lord Ron the preceding day, to visit the distant mansion of a neighbouring chieftain, for the limits of neighbourhood are extended farther in regions where every thing seems to participate in the greatness of the scale on which nature is herself displayed. Although the other females were well aware of the numerous chances which the warmth of Highland kindness afforded to prevent the departure of a guest on the appointed day, yet the restless emotions which Lady D- felt were excited in her own bosom by her husband's absence; she guessed, and guessed rightly, that no temptation, however powerful, could operate to delay his return, when its object was to regain the enjoyment of her society. She therefore continued still to expect him, after every one else had abandoned all expectation of his appearance. She started at every sound, and glanced her fine eyes hastily to the door at every footstep, nor could the assurances of her companions persuade her to dismiss her hopes, or convince her that it was not now at all probable that the gentlemen would arrive that night, late as it then was; but that it was more likely they had been prevailed on to remain, to participate in some hunting expedition, projected for the amusement of the Southern stranger.

There sat another personage at that festive board, on whom mirth seemed to have little effect; its beams, which shot in every direction from the eyes of the young and the gay around her, fell on her high and marble features, and raven eye, like those of the sun on the dark cavern of some cheerless and sea-beaten crag, engulfing, rather than reflecting, its light. This was the Lady Assynt, who, to do honour to Sir Charles and his young bride, had been invited to the castle. But little had she added to the general mirth, for ever since her arrival, she had sat in the midst of hilarity, like the lonely cormorant on its rock, unmoved and regardless of the playful waves that murmured around her. Few attempts were made to bring her into the play of conversation, and even those few were soon silenced by chilling monosyllabic replies, delivered in a lofty and repulsive manner. She had been therefore left undisturbed to -the full possession of her own gloomy

thoughts. At last her very presence seemed to be almost forgotten, or, if observed at all, she was noticed with no other interest than were the stiff and smoke-discoloured portraits of family ancestry, that stared in sullen and silent majesty from the deep carv ed pannels of the ancient apartment where the party was seated.

The good-humoured jest, and the merry tale went round, and the laugh of youthful joy was at its highest, when a piercing shriek produced a sudden and death-like silence, and directed every head towards the Lady Assynt, who seemed for a moment to be violently convulsed. The effect of such an unlooked for interruption to the general gayety may be easily conceived. The ladies arose in confu sion; every assistance was proffered; and numerous inquiries were made. But seeming to endeavour by a desperate effort, to summon up resolution to overcome the sudden nervous malady which apparently affected her, she put back both the kind and the curious with a wave of her hand, and haughtily resumed her usual dignified and freezing deportment, without deigning to give any explanation.

It was some time before the company was restored to its composure, and hilarity had hardly begun again to enliven it, when a louder and yet more unearthly shriek again roused their alarm, and raised them from their seats in the utmost consternation. The Lady Assynt now presented a spectacle that chilled every one. The same convulsion seemed to have recurred with redoubled violence. She started up in its paroxysm; and her uncommonly tall figure was raised to its full height, and set rigidly against the high back of the gothic chair in which she had been seated, as if from anxiety to retreat as far as its confined space would allow, from some horrible spectacle that appalled her. Her arms were thrown up in a line with her person; each particular bony finger was widely separated from its fellow; and her stretched eyeballs were fixed in glassy and motionless unconsciousness. She seemed for a time to lose all sense of existence, and, though in an upright posture, to have been suddenly struck into a stiffened corse. By degrees she began to writhe, as if enduring extreme agony: her livid lips moved rapidly, without the

utterance of sound; until finally overcome by her sufferings, she sank within the depth of the antique chair, and remained for some minutes in a languid and abstracted reverie. The mingled anxiety and curiosity of the company was unbounded; numerous and loud were the inquiries; and of the inquirers, Lady D, who seemed instinctively to apprehend something dreadful connected with her own fate, was the most earnestly solicitous of all. The Lady Assynt heeded not the swarm of interrogatories which buzzed around her. She looked at first as if she heard them not; then raising herself solemnly, and somewhat austerely, from the reclining position into which she had dropped, she spread her hands before her, and sweeping them slowly backwards to right and left, she divided the ring of females who surrounded her, and brought Lady Dfull within the range of her vision. At first she started involuntarily at sight of her; but melancholy and pity mingling themselves amidst the sternness of features to which such tender emotions seemed to have been long strangers, in a deep and articulate voice, and with a solemn and sibylline air, she slowly addressed Lady Dwhilst profound silence sat upon every other lip. "Let the voice of gladness yield to that of mourning! Cruel is the blow that hangs over thee, poor innocent dove! and sad is it for me to tell thee what thou art but too anxious to know. A vision crossed my sight, and I saw a little boat, in which were thy lord and Lord R: it was tossed by a sudden and tempestuous gust, that swept the dark surface of the loch in a whitening line. I saw the waves dashing over the frail bark; and sorely did the two Highlanders who rowed them contend with their oars against the outrageous whirlwind. I hoped, yet shuddered, from fear of the event.-Again the spirit of vision opened my unwilling eyes, and compelled me to behold that last wave, which whelmed them beneath the burst of its tremendous swell. The land was near. Stoutly the drowning wretches struggled with their fate. I saw Lord R- and his sturdy servants, one by one, reach the shore; butMy husband!" shrieked Lady D― in anguish, as she grasped the arm of the seer, "Oh! tell me

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that my husband was saved!"-" His body"-replied the Lady Assynt, in a lower and more melancholy voice"His body was driven by the merciless waves upon the yellow beach; the moonbeam fell upon his face, but the spark of life was quenched." Lady D's death-like grasp was relaxed, and she swooned away in the arms of those who surrounded her. The Lady Assynt regarded her not: somewhat of her former convulsion again came upon her; and starting up in a frenzied manner, she exclaimed, in a piercing voice, scarcely distinguishable from a scream, "And now, they bear him hither!-See how pale and cold he looks-how his long hair dripshow ghastly are his unclosed eyeshow blanched those lips where lately sat the warm smile of love!" Then sinking again, after a short interval, she continued, in a more subdued tone, "He is gone for ever! No more shall he revisit his own fair halls and fertile fields. Yet is not all hope lost with him; for his son shall live after him, and bring back anew the image of his father."

The ladies were now busied about Lady D, who lay in a deep faint. All seemed to be as much interested in her, as if the events described in the waking visions of the Lady Assynt had already actually happened. Yet every one affected to treat her words as the idle dreams of a distempered brain; although, in the very looks of the different speakers, there was a fear betrayed, that ill accorded with their words, manifesting the general apprehension that something tragical was to be dreaded, At last a confused noise seemed to arise from the under apartments of the castle; mutterings, and broken sentences, and half-suppressed exclamations, were heard on the great stairs and in the passages. The name of Sir Charles was frequently repeated by different voices. The more anxious of the party tried to gain information by running to the windows. The flaring lights of torches were seen to hurry across the courtyard, where all seemed to be bustle and dismay. And then it was that the doleful sound of the bagpipe, playing a sad and wailing lament, came upon the ear from without the castlegate. A slow, heavy, and measured tramp of many feet upon the draw

bridge, told that a party of men were bearing some heavy weight across it. Unable longer to submit to the suspense in which they were held, the greater part of the females now rushed from the hall. A cry of horror was heard ; and the mysterious anticipations of the gifted Lady Assynt were found to be, in truth, too dreadfully realized.

Lord R, in the deepest affliction, told the sad tale, with all its circumstances. Though much pressed to remain, Sir Charles had resisted all the kind importunity of their host. Their homeward way lay across the ferry of The sudden squalls affecting such inward arms of the sea are too well known: one of these had assailed them in the middle of the loch, and had been productive of the melancholy catastrophe. Nor was the prophetic conclusion of the seer's vision left unaccomplished. There was no suspicion of Lady Dnancy at the time; but such proved to be the case, and, according to the prediction, the child was a son, who lived, the sole hope of an old and respectable family. T. L. D.

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IN analyzing literary compositions, we ought always to attend to the difference which subsists between that species of merit founded on the direct interest and attraction of the ideas which are employed, and that other sort of merit founded on the skill and dexterity with which materials are combined, and the justness of the relations which we are able to trace among parts. It is evident that the former species of merit is the one to be met with among the early, original, and patriarchal writers of all countries; and that the latter kind of merit is the one most frequently exemplified in the subsequent ages, when the rules of composition have begun to be canvassed and understood, and when men have begun to pry into the means by which their feelings are acted upon. The primitive writers had to address

persons whose feelings are still in their native condition, that is to say, whose feelings had never been excited, except by the real events of life, and who, consequently, had formed no associations or opinions concerning the literary means employed in producing mental excitement. To these unreflecting auditors the means were invisible, and they experienced only the result. On the other hand, authors of a later period have to address themselves, not to human nature in the abstract, but to human nature with a very intricate system of literary associations and opinions superinduced upon it. Unfortunately, too, the nature of these associations depends, not merely upon established models of fine writing, but also upon the daily abortions and failures of literature. Certain materials, from being too easily come at, are habitually preyed upon and deteriorated by bad authors, so that they become as it were proscribed. Add to this the perversity of theorists and babblers, who will not sit with patience and attention till a book has time to work its proper effect, and to transmit the impressions meant by the author, but who must stop to speculate in their own way, at the end of every paragraph; and who, in the course of the perusal, so intermingle the doings of their own minds with those of the author, that the ultimate impression derived from the book depends as much upon what has been thrown in by the reader, as upon what was originally furnished by the writer.

Literary compositions ought certainly not to be adapted to the habits of literary men, but to the habits of the public at large; otherwise they will prove but feeble and short-lived. Literary men are not the best persons to appreciate the real interest and attraction which conceptions will possess for people engaged in the business of the world, whose understandings have been turned to serious concerns, and whose energies are kept in a state of habitual tension. It is not writings which are merely ingenious, graceful, and finely managed, that will do for every-day folks. They must have something broad, vigorous, and rousing, although it should not always be conducted with fine taste, which, after all, is but a morbid state of our per

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