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orderly," and "terminated, for the most part, by a personal combat, or wrestling of the two chiefs." Death to one or both was generally the consequence. And allowing that these Caledonians, Celtes, Gauls, or Galatians, were not so numerous as the Romans or Greeks, wherein do they differ? Surely not in cruelty, not in fire, not in the horrors of war! But they were "not so numerous." Take the following as a specimen, which those who think it worth while may compare, if they please, with any one episode, or warlike action, in any one book of Homer's Iliad.

Bards

"They went each to his hill of mist. marked the sound of the shields. Loudest rung thy boss. Duth-maruno, thou must lead the war!

"Like the murmur of waters the race of Uthorno came down. Starno led the battle, and Swaran of the stormy isles. They looked forward from iron shields, like Cruth-Loda, fiery-eyed, when he looks. from behind the darkened moon, and strews his signs on night. The foes met by Turthor's stream. They heaved like ridgy waves. Their echoing strokes are mixed. Shadowy death flies over the hosts. They were clouds of hail, with squally winds in their skirts. Their showers are roaring together. Below them swells the dark-rolling deep.

"Starno brought forward his skirt of war, and Swaran his own dark wing. Nor a harmless fire is Duth-maruno's sword! Lochlin is rolled over her streams. The wrathful kings are lost in thought! They roll their fiery eyes over the flight of their land. The horn of Fingal was heard; the sons of

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woody Albion returned. But many lay, by Thurto's stream, silent in their blood!"*

But why should I thus intrude on my reader, or need give myself the trouble to make any extracts from the originals, by way of comparison and confirmation? That the cruelties and horrors of war, of the dark ages, are not only revised, but I think held up for imitation, I might prove from the whole of the "Critical Dissertation" of this celebrated "Professor of Rhetoric." Yes, it is, in my judgment, more likely to operate as a stimulus to war, I wo'n't say "brave and generous actions," rather than

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heighten" a detestation of "the terrors of battles," and make the pride of man hateful. As this celebrated critic assures us that "no poet abounds more in similes than Ossian; and that there are in this collection as many, at least, as in the whole Iliad and Odyssey of Homer:" I trust those which I have selected may suffice. Thus much for the indefatigable and laborious researches of the very learned critics and professors of this "enlightened" nineteenth century; as it respects these "tales of the times of old." "These descendants of Gomer, (the eldest son of Japhat,")† &c.

This brings me back to the ancient people of God-the truly inspired poets and prophets; and to the modern professors of the primitive principle and practices of the gospel of Jesus Christ, as held forth

* Ossian's Poems, Cath-Loda, Duan 2nd, p. 150.

† Vide Imper. Encyc, art. Celtes.

by the Society of people called "Quakers." But I cannot refrain from observing, as it respects the above, that I think it would have been well for the present and rising generation, if the works and exploits of a Fingal, an Ossian, an Oscar, and a host of chieftains had been buried with them, or in some cave," or in some "mossy hill of Cromla ;" "in the reeds of the lake of Lego;" "Loda's hall;" or some "ridge of formless shades"—" the sounding shell to those who shone in war! with their "dogs"* of war, "dogs" of the chase; their Dianas, &c.

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I have only one apology I wish to make for this very long but, I hope, not unnecessary digression. As I consider myself as acting under the capacity of

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a Ranger," figuratively speaking, and I trust of "the king's forest," it is my province to gallop round -to hunt the lairs, the coverts, the strong holds, and fastnesses; at least, to beat amongst the thick bushes, and briars, and hunt out the little foxes which destroy the vines, if not to drive out the wild beasts, and the wolves which devour the sheep.

I come now, my dear Friends, to resume the subject, as it respects the dismission of the audience, at your meeting, as stated at the commencement of this letter, concerning the exercise and the grief of my soul, at being desired (with few others) to "withdraw," &c. Various, indeed, are the cases, as well as the effects of joy, of sorrow, and of grief. I find, even among the heathens-those barbarous people, those heroes and hunters of blood-some who are

* "Their grey dogs howl in their place." Poem, Carthon, p. 184.

not, at certain times and occasions, without those passions of sorrow and grief.

In the critical dissertations, by the fore-mentioned "Professor of Rhetoric" (H. B.) remarks, Ossian appears, every where, to be prompted by his feelings. "The joy of grief,' is one of his remarkable expressions, several times repeated. If any one shall think that it needs to be justified by a precedent, he may find it, twice used by Homer: in the Iliad, when Achilles is visited by the ghost of Patroclus; and in the Odyssey, when Ulysses meets his mother in the shades. On both these occasions, the heroes, melted with tenderness, lament their not having it in their power to throw their arms round the ghosts, that we might,' say they, 'in mutual embraces, enjoy the delight of grief.'" (p. 122, 123.)

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But I am apprehensive, indeed, I rather believe that this sorrow or "joy of grief," is to be attributed to the causes and effects of their triumph over their opponents in arms, and on the destruction of their enemies, under the dark and mistaken idea of justice and love; their bards (or priests), "the tragic muse," in their epic poems, or "songs," strike the harp also to

gallant actions, and virtuous suffering;" as they call it. (ibid.) If any one shall think this, my assumption needs to be justified, I have a case at hand. "Carthon, the hero, moved on before his host, like a cloud before a ridge of green fire, when it pours on the sky of night, and mariners foresee a storm. On Cona's rising heath they stood: the white-bosomed maids beheld them above, like a grove; they foresaw the death of the youth, and

looked towards the sea with fear. The white wave
deceived them for distant sails; the tear is on their
cheek."—"Dost thou speak to the weak in arms?" said
Carthon, "bard of the woody Morven? Is my face
pale for fear, son of the peaceful song? Why then
dost thou think to darken my soul with the tales of
those who fell? My arm has fought in battle, my
renown is known afar! Go to the feeble in arms,
bid them yield to Fingal. Have I not seen the fall-
en Balclutha? And shall I feast with Comhal's sons?
Comhal, who threw his fire in the midst of my father's
hall! I was young, and knew not the cause why the
virgins wept. The columns of smoke pleased my
eyes, when they rose above my walls! I often look-
ed back with gladness when my friends fled along
the hill. But when the years of my youth came on,
I beheld the moss of my fallen wall. My sigh arose
with the morning, and my tears descended with
night. Shall I not fight, I said to my soul, against
the children of my foes? And I will fight, O bard!
I feel the strength of my soul !"
"His people ga-

thered around the hero, and drew at once their shin-
ing swords; he stands in the midst, like a pillar of
fire, the tears half starting from his eye, for he
thought of the fallen Balclutha !" (Ossian, p. 185, 186.)

There is a secret joy in godly sorrow, which not only worketh unto repentance, but which our divine Lord pronounced to be "blessed;" and which the world's sorrow knows nothing of, being without hope. Neither can they know it, unless an offended God convince them of it; and the love of God be shed abroad in their hearts. But to weep "tears such as tender fathers shed" for peace and harmony

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