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ronet, and the tendency they had to hold up to obloquy whole classes of dignified persons. Wherein consists the obloquy, wherein the invidious and personal character of the enqui ry, I know not; except, indeed, that it may be called personal to seek the names of persons, respecting whom we are desirous of obtaining specific facts or information. Beyond that, (but though I do not suspect the right honourable gentleman of quibbling or punning upon the word,) it is no more personal, in any offensive sense of the term, to investigate what Privy Councillors receive out of the public purse, than to examine, as is constantly done, how the Sovereign himself spends the money which is voted for the Civil List.

I am no admirer of this squeamish delicacy about confessing the receipt of money, when there is none as to the receiving of it. If men be not ashamed, nor have cause to be ashamed, of what they do, or have done, they will not shrink from the mention of it. A derives L.5000 a-year from the national purse in the shape of a sinecure or a pension, and A knows he has rendered the nation services which that sum does not overpay. He has no personal feelings to be wounded, nor will he regard it as invidious scrutiny, if they who pay the L.5000 ask to know his services. The more just his claim, the more unimpeachable his merits, the prouder will be his position, the more triumphantly will he come out of the enquiry. It can only be when enquiry would disclose insufficient claims, or establish the fact of no claims, that it will be resented as an invidious encroachment on personal feelings, and that offensive motives come into consideration. But it is holding up the Members of the Privy Council to obloquy! How? To enquire what they receive, with a view to ascertain whether they ought to receive it? If this involve any obloquy upon the parties concerned, it can be in no other way than as the consequence of dragging to light

large and unmerited emoluments; and such obloquy an honest House of Commons should always be prepared to heap upon those who de serve it. It comes, in short, to this, whether they whose pockets are dipped into for the money, are to ask whether their pockets cannot be spared? As to the bastard delicacy, the spurious sense of honour, which only kicks at giving a reason for receiving thousands, but never falters at receiving them, I should be as little inclined to treat it with respect, as I should the delicacy of an Old Bailey witness, who considered it personal and invidious to have the truth twisted out of him. Give me the delicacy and honour which will not touch the gold that has not been fairly and honourably earned. Look, for example, to Šir G. Cockburn's speech. If every member of the Privy Council, in his own person, or by deputy, could stand up in the House of Commons, and give the same account of his emoluments, the country would be satisfied, poor and beggared as it is. “Let every member of the Privy Council," observed Mr Huskisson, "shew that he has earned his emoluments as deservedly as my honourable and gallant friend has, and depend upon it there will be no dissatisfaction created by the production of the original return." Not only would the country be satisfied, but the House would redeem its character, and the individuals themselves, instead of branding the enquiry as invidious and personal, must be grateful to the honourable Baronet for the opportunity he had afforded them of proving that they deserved what they received. The gallant Admiral's speech was a modest, manly, and unanswerable statement; such a one as might have made the waspish lord who provoked it (Lord Milton) ashamed of his coarseness, and the honourable Baronet, who brought forward the motion, regret the allusion he had made to his case.

A REAL VISION.

BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.

'Tis strange that people now-a-days persist
In bringing up their offspring mere machines;
Pruned vegetables-flowers of formal cut;
A class of nature wholly by itself;
And not as relatives of heaven and hell,
And all the mighty energies between,
A link of God's interminable chain
Connecting all existence.-" Please you, sir,
Talk not of spirits here-It is our rule
That neither ghost nor fairy, goblin stern,

Portentous light, wraith, death-watch, warning voice,
Or aught impalpable to human sense,

Shall to our family ever once be named.”

Good people! some enthusiasts would despise,
But I sincerely pity you! This mode
May make them gentle, elegant, nay, good,
(As Bramah makes his pens with a machine,)
But never great.-Lord, what is man, whom thou
Mad'st next unto the angels, thus instructed,
Thus qualified? A Cockney-a mere grub!
O, I would teach their little hearts to quake,
And harrow up their energies of soul
Proportionate to their allied compeers,

And sphere of action! I would have them claim
Connexion with the worm, the bat, the mole,

The hedgehog's tottering brood, all helpless things,
To twang the chords of pity on the heart.

Then, as a shred of elemental life,

Point them the eyry o'er the dizzy cliff
With eaglets young to count their brotherhood;
Then would I tell them of the fallen fiends

That claim'd their fellowship. The path that led
Where they with angels might communicate,
Holding high intercourse with God himself
Through all of his creation.-But enough.
Thus was I rear'd, and glory in the rule;
And had I not, the scene I here describe
Had ne'er been witness'd, or reveal'd to you.
Some forty years agone, and haply more,
One memorable dark autumnal day

I lay upon a mountain, on the brink

Of that unmoulded hideous precipice

That walls the western side of dark Loch Skene.
The wild was calm as death, and o'er it hung
A lurid curtain of portentous hue,
Dreadful to look upon. There was no mist,
Yet every mountain that uprear'd its head
Abrupt and sheer around that dreary scene,
Seem'd at a weary distance, hardly seen.
The tremulous bleat that casually was heard,
Startled the ear as something in the air,
It was so nigh, while yet the steep from whence
The voice proceeded seem'd so far away.

I look'd up to the heavens-all was dark,
A murky blue; with deathlike masses speck'd,
That crept athwart its face like shrouded ghosts,

Or demons crawling from the wrath behind.
I look'd down to the lake for some reprieve
Of dread, but there the scene was darker still,
And phantoms journey'd on a heaven below.
Nature seem'd in her travail-throes, about
Some elemental monster to produce,
That might set all her energies on flame,
And ruling principles at roaring war.

A poor secluded and bewilder'd boy,
Alone amid this dismal scene I kneel'd,
Leaning my brow against the crested rock
That frown'd far o'er my head, and gave myself
To my great Maker's charge in simple guise;
But O how fervent! I remember well!
Could I but feel such holy ardour now!

My heart was strengthen'd, and I felt myself
Above the terrors of the rolling storm,
The bursting thunder, or the sheeted flame;
An energy above the flocks, the ravens,
The foxes, and the eagle's haughty brood,
The only tenants of that land sublime.

But all at once my faithful dog began,
With short and fitful growl, to manifest
Strange terror. The old raven sped away,
And left her young. The eagle took the cloud,
And yell'd her terror at the gates of heaven.
From these foreboding omens, well I knew
Some beings of the spiritual world

Were nigh at hand. I cast my eyes around,
And straight below my feet, on a green shelve
Between me and the dark blue lake, I saw
A female form rise slowly from the earth.
It was a mist-a vapour-a pale shred;
I wot not how composed, but yet it bore
Resemblance all complete to one I knew.
There was no feature wanting-not a line
Of that mild countenance. No attitude
Was lacking of the venerable form
It represented. With a solemn look
And supplicating earnestness, it stretch'd
Its hands tow'rd me. Then I remember'd well
Of that same attitude when late she press'd
A solemn task on me, which I refused,
Though urged to it with tears. My very soul
Thrill'd at the strange appeal in such a scene.
Yet it was something. The Almighty knows
Of what it was composed, for I know not;
But the dumb creatures saw it with dismay.
Two lambs were near it, nigher far than I.
I saw them gaze at it, and still their looks

Grew more and more intense; and then they turn'd
Their innocent and stupid faces round,

And, staring at each other, tried to read
The sentiments of fear 'gendering within,

Then stretch'd their sapient noses to discern

If savour of humanity was there,

Tramp'd with the foot, and whistled through the nose, Then fled with hesitating starts away.

But, what alarm'd me most, my faithful dog

Lay in extremity, with closed eyes,

And trembling every limb. Sometimes he oped

A dull and drumly eye towards the wraith,
But shut it close again and inly groan'd.

The spectre stretch'd itself upon the sward,
And roll'd and writhed as if in agony,

Then turn'd its face to me; and then I knew
That my beloved and venerable friend
Was in the throes of death. I saw the grasp
Convulsive at the sward-the hand outstretch'd
For the last kindly pressure-the glazed eye-
The parched lip-the long remitted throbs-
And the last gasp, the last but vain endeavour
The lingering, longing spirit to retain !

I saw some forms around the couch of death,
To me well known, though indistinctly seen ;
But at that moment a celestial ray,

Like sunbeam from an opening of the cloud,
Beam'd on the vision, melting it away,-
Then all grew dark and gloomy as before.

But she was gone! my faithful monitress
Departed then unto a better world.
Yet have I e'er forgot her? E'er forgot
That last behest, so often urged before?
No! When I do-no curses will I crave
On my own head. But had I not resolved
That last behest to cherish in my heart,
And kept that resolution-God of life!
What had I been ere now? A thing of scorn-

A blot on nature's cheek-a being lost

Whom shepherds long with pity would have named,
To all the injurious world beside unknown.

ALTRIVE LAKE.

DAVY JONES AND THE YANKEE PRIVATEER.*

We had refitted, and been four days at sea, on our voyage to Jamaica, when the gun-room officers gave our mess a blowout.

The increased motion and rushing of the vessel through the water, the groaning of the masts, the howling of the rising gale, and the frequent trampling of the watch on deck, were prophetic of wet jackets to some of us; still, midshipmanlike, we were as happy as a good dinner and some wine could make us, until the old gunner shoved his weatherbeaten phiz and bald pate in at the door. "Beg pardon, Mr Splinter, but if you will spare Mr Cringle on the forecastle for an hour until the moon rises."-("Spare," quotha," is his majesty's officer a joint stool:")-"Why, Mr Kennedy, why? here, man, take a glass of grog."-"I thank you, It is coming on a roughish night, sir; the running ships should

sir.

be crossing us hereabouts; indeed more than once I thought there was a strange sail close aboard of us, the scud is flying so low, and in such white flakes; and none of us have an eye like Mr Cringle, unless it be John Crow, and he is all but frozen."

"Well, Tom, I suppose you will go"-Anglice, from a first lieutenant to a mid-" Brush instanter."

Having changed my uniform, for shag-trowsers, pea-jacket, and southwest cap, I went forward, and took my station, in no pleasant humour, on the stowed jib, with my arm round the stay. I had been half an hour there, the weather was getting worse, the rain was beating in my face, and the spray from the stern was flashing over me, as it roared through the waste of sparkling and hissing waters. I turned my back to the wes ther for a moment, to press my hand on my strained eyes. When I open

See “Cruize of the Torch," in Numler for November last. VOL. XXVIII. NO. CLXVIII.

E

ed them, I saw the gunner's gaunt high-featured visage thrust anxiously forward; his profile looked as if rubbed over with phosphorus, and his whole person as if we had been playing at snap dragon. "What has come over you, Mr Kennedy ?-who is burning the bluelight now ?"—" A wiser man than I am must tell you that; look forward, Mr Cringle-look there; what do your books say to that?"

I looked forth, and saw, at the extreme end of the jib-boom, what I had read of, certainly, but never expected to see, a pale, greenish, glowworm coloured flame, of the size and shape of the frosted glass shade over the swinging lamp in the gun-room. It drew out and flattened as the vessel pitched and rose again, and as she sheered about it, wavered round the point that seemed to attract it, like a soapsud bubble blown from a tobacco pipe, before it is shaken into the air; at the core it was comparatively bright, but faded into a halo. It shed a baleful and ominous light on the surrounding objects; the group of sailors on the forecastle looked like spectres, and they shrunk together, and whispered when it began to roll slowly along the spar towards where the boatswain was sitting at my feet. At this instant something slid down the stay, and a cold clammy hand passed round my neck. I was within an ace of losing my hold, and tumbling overboard."Heaven have mercy on me, what's that?"-" It's that skylarking son of a gun, Jem Sparkle's monkey, sir. You, Jem, you'll never rest till that brute is made shark bait of."* But Jackoo vanished up the stay again, chuckling and grinning in the ghostly radiance, as if he had been the "Spirit of the Lamp." The light was still there, but a cloud of mist, like a burst of vapour from a steam boiler, came down upon the gale, and flew past, when it disappeared. I followed the white mass as it sailed down the wind; it did not, as it appeared to me, vanish in the darkness, but seemed to remain in sight to leeward, as if checked by a sudden flaw; yet none of our sails were taken aback. A thought flashed on

me. I peered still more intensely into the night. I was now certain. "A sail, broad on the lee-bow." The ship was in a buz in a moment. The captain answered from the quarterdeck-" Thank you, Mr Cringle. How shall we steer?"-" Keep her away a couple of points, sir, steady." -"Steady," sung the man at the helm; and a slow melancholy cadence, although a familiar sound to me, now moaned through the rushing of the wind, and smote upon my heart as if it had been the wailing of a spirit. I turned to the boatswain, who was now standing beside me-" Is that you or Davy steering, Mr Nipper? if you had not been there bodily at my elbow, I could have sworn that was your voice." When the gunner made the same remark it startled the poor fellow; he tried to take it as a joke, but could not. "There may be a laced hammock with a shot in it, for some of us ere morning."

At this moment, to my dismay, the object we were chasing, shortened, gradually fell abeam of us, and finally disappeared. "The Flying Dutch

man.""I can't see her at all now."

And

"She will be a fore-and-aft-rigged vessel that has tacked, sir.” sure enough, after a few seconds, I saw the white object lengthen, and draw out again abaft our beam. "The chase has tacked, sir, put the helm down, or she will go to windward of us." We tacked also, and time it was we did so, for the rising moon now showed us a large schooner under a crowd of sail. We edged down on her, when finding her manœuvre detected, she brailed up her flat sails, and bore up before the wind. This was our best point of sailing, and we cracked on, the captain rubbing his hands-" It's my turn to be the big un this time." Although blowing a strong northwester, it was now clear moonlight, and we hammered away from our bow guns, but whenever a shot told amongst the rigging, the injury was repaired as if by magic. It was evident we had repeatedly hulled her, from the glimmering white streaks along her counter and across her stern, occasioned by the splintering

* Prophetic. See "Heat and Thirst," in Number for June last,

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