just that same trick when he was driving me to Bryn; ah, how many years ago!' His eye once more ranged over the snowy landscape, and fixed itself on one black spot hovering in the air. "That's old Bannoch the raven; what has he got for supper to-night, I wonder? There's a sheep lying there with a broken leg, I'll bet, just under Craigddu.' The mournful croak of the raven was borne upon the wind. Ah! my friend, you'll feast to-night. I know by your voice you've something lying there waiting for you. Amongst those stones, I expect, by the old Roman station.' Owen bent his head and listened, for he fancied he heard a faint cry; but whether it was the shout of man, or the bark of dog, or the shrill whistle of scampering sheep, or but the brattle of the impatient stream, he couldn't tell, so faint and far the voice, whatever it might be. There was no other sound, and Owen gathered up his reins and drove on.

ON THE HILL.

WELCOME, once more, dear mount of solitude!
Loved tower of happy sights and musings! Here
We mingle with a blessed brotherhood
Of trees, flowers, bees, and other objects near;
And with yon hills, and that cerulean sphere.
We move among the speechless, yet we talk—
Not by the tongue, but by the eye and ear-

· With all that charm us on this airy walk,
Down from the kingly sky, to every blooming stalk.

This hill recalls the Past; these slopes, that brow, Were once alive with armèd thousands, who, Scorning beneath a tyrant king to bow, Who strove their Rights of Conscience to undo, Came hither, and unrolled their banner blue In the Invader's face. On yonder mound, Whose camp-like lines still draw the curious view, Stood Leslie's tent, and, in great rings around, Ran tents and warriors over all the embattled ground. Since then, two hundred years have stamped their changes,

Few on this hill, but many o'er that plain,

As the pleased eye discovers while it ranges
O'er the once waste, now rich in grass and grain,
And decked with recent wood, and tower, and fane,
And that old Border town's new-fledged wings,
Nestled among yon trees, through which the train,
Waving its smoky pennon, weird-like springs,
Like some huge dragon on its daily journeyings!

How sweet the air tastes on this goodly top!
How swift the eye flies o'er that pictured vale!
Like a young eagle, joying in the scope

For his strong wing. Hail, ye green pastures! hail,
Ye brighter corn-fields, hued with emerald pale!
And hail, ye woods, from whose embowering shades
The stately mansion towers! Hail, clouds, that sail
With the soft summer shower, and come like maids,
Who bring the fountain to the thirsty leaves and

blades!

And hail, ye scenes of ancient Border war!
Ye Cheviot Hills, that gaze stern Flodden o'er !
And thou, Hume Castle, in the west afar,
And Berwick town, dim on yon eastern shore-
Ah, once ye flowed with streams of human gore!
And war rang round you also, Eildons three;
But you, brave builders of the days of yore,

And Thomas True, beneath the fairy tree,

And Scott, have crowned with nobler immortality!

Lo! now the sun with western brilliance breaks,
And sullen Cheviot, smit as with a spell,
All down his side, with radiant laughter shakes,
And bloomed with splendour is his vaward dell,
'Gainst which the purple peak of Yeavering Bell,
And all her sister peaks, in clear outline,

Loom forth. O light and shade! what muse can tell
With what a magic pencil ye define

The distant, formless mass, and there make beauty shine!

The vale of Tweed a molten river washes,
Which lake-like o'er the distant east expands,
A thousand panes are bright with fiery flashes,
And every blade burns o'er the emerald lands;
How king-like in the glare huge Twisel stands !
And, Berwick town, though thou art far away,
Standing obscurely on Northumbrian sands,
We see, amid the dazzling western ray,

White waves and sails flash brilliant o'er thy azure bay.

Good-night! brave, healthful hill; and may the morn
Be not far distant when again our feet
Will walk amid the violets that adorn
Thy grassy brow. Be ofttimes our retreat,
Blessing our hearts, and pouring river sweet
Of bracing air through all our panting veins,
Raising our spirits to the mercy-seat

With thankfulness to Him, who loving reigns, And round us pours the bliss of skies, and hills, and plains.

The Publishers of CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL beg to direct the attention of CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice: 1st. All communications should be addressed to the 'Editor, 47 Paternoster Row, London.'

2d. To insure the return of papers that may prove ineligible, postage-stamps should in every case accompany them.

3d. All MSS. should bear the author's full CHRISTIAN name, surname, and address, legibly written.

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Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH Also sold by all Booksellers.

No. 452.

TOASTS.

Ar first sight, the incongruity between the meanings attached to the word 'toast' would seem to be irreconcilable; it is none the less true that one was born of the other. Toasted bread and toasted biscuit were as necessary to many an old English drink as roasted apples were to the wassail bowl. Rochester craved a drinking-cup

So large, that filled with sack
Up to the swelling brim,
Vast toasts on the delicious lake,

Like ships at sea may swim!

A poetaster, inspired by punch, describes the gods assembled in solemn conclave to test the worth of the newly invented beverage; Apollo contributes water from Parnassus, Juno finds lemons, Venus sugar white as her own doves; Bacchus brings wine, Mars brandy, Saturn a few nutmegs, and then

Neptune this ocean of liquor did crown

With a hard-baked biscuit well browned in the sun -their united efforts producing a liquor, the first taste of which made Jupiter declare that heaven was never true heaven before.

The connection of a toast with drinking is therefore one of ancient standing; but it was not until the beginning of the last century that the word made its first step towards its present meaning; for in 1709 the Tatler speaks of it as a new name found out by the wits to make a lady's name as effective as borage in a glass when a man is drinking. According to the same authority, the new form of gallantry sprung from the freak of a halffuddled worshipper of the sex. A celebrated beauty dabbling in the public waters at Bath, one of her admirers filled a glass with water from the bath and drank it to the fair one's health. Another young fellow, not to be outdone, swore that though he did not like the liquor, he would have the toast, and tried to jump into the bath to the lady. He was prevented doing so; but from that time, every lady whose charms offered an excuse for a glass in her honour was dubbed

PRICE 13d.

The Kit-kat toasts were elected by a majority of votes, and their names inscribed, with some complimentary verses bencath, upon the drinkingglasses of the club. Once allied to the pledging of a lady's health, it was easy for the word to slip into its more general meaning, and so 'a toast' came to mean any home sentiment evoked by the command:

Give the Toast, my good fellow; be jovial and gay, And let the brisk moments pass jocund away! Giving the Toast was a thing every man did in turn at convivial meetings, long before the phrase was known to ears polite or unpolite. 'He that begins the health, hath his prescribed orders: first uncovering his head, he takes a full cup in his hand, and settling his countenance with a grave aspect, he craves for audience. Silence being once obtained, he begins to breathe out the name, peradventure of some honourable personage that is worthy of a better regard; but his health is drunk to, and he that pledgeth must likewise off with his cap, kiss his fingers, and bow himself, in sign of a reverent acceptance. When the leader sees his followers thus prepared, he sups up his broth, turns the bottom of the cup upward, and gives the cup a fillip to make it cry ting. The cup being newly replenished to the breadth of a hair, he that is the pledger must now begin his part; and thus it goes round throughout the company, provided always there must be three at the least still uncovered, till the health hath had the full passage; which is no sooner ended, but another begins again, and he drinks a health to his Lady of little worth, or peradventure to his Light-heeled Mistress !'

e

the last priest!' At the Calf's Head clubs, as soon as the cloth was removed, and the anniversary hymn sung in honour of the execution of Charles La calf's skull was filled with wine, and passed round to The pious memory of the worthy patriots who had killed the tyrant, and delivered the country from his arbitrary sway! In 1735, a riot took place in Suffolk Street, Charing Cross, only quelled by the calling out of the Guards. According to a magazine of the time, some noblemen and gentlemen met at a tavern, dressed up a calf's head in a napkin, and threw it into a bonfire, waving at the same time handkerchiefs dipped in red wine from the windows. A mob assembled, smashed the windows, and then forced their way into the house. Strange times! when noble peers, secure from riot, Can't keep Noll's annual festival in quiet; Through sashes broke, dirt, stones, and brands

thrown at 'em,

Which, if not scand- was brand- alum magnatum. Forced to run down to vaults for safer quarters, And in coal-holes their ribbons hide, and garters! A very different story is told by one of the supposed Republicans. Writing to Spence, Lord Middlesex says: "Eight friends met together by chance on the 30th of January, and after dinner, having drunk very plentifully, some of the company going to the window saw a boys' bonfire in the street, and cried out: "Damn it! why should not we have a fire as well as anybody else?" The imprudent drawer sent for fagots, and a large fire blazed before the door. Upon which, some of us, wiser, or rather soberer than the rest, bethinking ourselves, for the first time, what day it was, and fearing the consequences a bonfire on that day might have, proposed drinking loyal and popular healths to the mob, out of the window, in order to convince them we did not intend it as a ridicule upon that day. The healths that were drunk were these, and these only: The King, Queen, and Royal Family; the Protestant Succession; Liberty and Property; the Present Administration. Upon which the first stone was thrown, and then began our siege, which, for the time it lasted, was at least as furious as that of Philipsbourg. It was more than an hour before we got any assistance; the more sober part of us had a fine time of it, fighting to prevent fighting; in danger of being knocked on the head by stones that came in at the window; in danger of being run through the body by our mad friends, who, sword in hand, swore they would go out, though they first made their way through us. At length, the justice, attended by a strong body of Guards, came and dispersed the populace. This is the whole story from which so many calves' heads, bloody napkins, and the Lord knows what, have been made. It has been the talk of the town and the country, and small beer and bread and cheese to my friends the garreteers of Grub Street.' A few years back, some little stir was created by certain gentlemen at a public dinner giving the pope precedence over the Queen in the matter of health-drinking. The defenders of the innovation argued that religion must be preferred to politics. Of just the contrary opinion was a Surrey magistrate, who complained, in 1794, of the toast of 'Church and King,' because it placed the church above the law which made the king the head of it. The worthy justice expressed a hope that henceforth the toast of 'King and Constitution' might be

substituted, as was the custom at the table of Speaker Onslow. Archbishop Secker, however, appears to have originated the change, as Dr Johnson declared his proposing Constitution in Church and State,' in place of the old toast, a very suspicious act, as unwarrantable as it was innovating. The time-honoured toast, The Army and Navy' still holds its place, although another ancient favourite, "The wooden walls of Old England,' is heard no more.

It is hard for the proposer or acknowledger of such well-worn toasts to say anything new, but a popular actor contrived to do so when it fell to his lot to propose the two services, by owning that he had never been in the army, though he had been in many a mess, while the only chance he had had of entering the navy was when he had a narrow escape of getting into the Fleet! Lord Chelmsford being called upon to return thanks for the navy at a Royal Academy dinner, said: 'I must confess that, considering it is now many years since I was in the service, and that I have since passed through a long course of law, I cannot help being reminded of a circumstance that occurred to a noble friend of mine, a most distinguished lawyer, many years ago, who, being at a public dinner, by some mistake, when the Navy had been proposed, was getting up to do honour to the toast, when he was pulled down by his neighbour, and told that navy was not spelt with a k' A civic dignitary once created no little amusement by making a slight alteration in a very familiar toast, and asking the company to drink to Lord Palmerston, Lady Palmerston, and Her Majesty's Ministers.'

If awkwardness in proposing a toast be at all excusable, it is doubly so when a man has the very unusual task of proposing his own health. Charles Mathews-our Charles-was placed in that predicament when he doubled the parts of host and guest upon taking leave of his friends before starting for the antipodes; and admirably the well-graced actor justified his novel position, on the ground that he was naturally the fittest man to propose the toast of the evening. 'I venture emphatically to affirm there is no man so well acquainted with the merits and demerits of that gifted individual as I am. I have been on the most intimate terms with him from his earliest youth. I have watched over and assisted his progress from childhood upwards, have shared in all his joys and griefs, and I am proud to have this opportunity of publicly declaring that there is not a man on earth for whom I entertain so sincere a regard and affection. Indeed, I don't think I go too far in stating that he has an equal affection for me. He has come to me for advice over and over again, under the most embarrassing circumstances, and he has always taken my advice in preference to that of any one else.' Ready enough to raise a laugh at his own expense, we doubt if our comedian would be equal to perpetrating such a joke as the builder did in sweet unconsciousness, when returning thanks to those who had drunk his health, he modestly observed that he was more fitted for the scaffold than for public speaking!' Modesty did not trouble Lunardi the balloonist, who, being called upon for a toast at a public dinner, actually had vanity and impudence enough to rise and propose 'Lunardi, the favourite of the ladies!'