sistible valour of the Scots was neutralised by the madness and folly of their leaders, Gordon, moved by De Vipont, magnanimously steps forward, and calls upon the Swinton to "speak for king and country's sake:" to which appeal he replies, Nay, if that voice command me, speak I will; It sounds as if the dead laid charge on me. Reckless of the taunts and sneers of the Regent, whose imbecility, folly, and deliration, are painted in strong colours, and who, as we have already seen, had indirectly, but pointedly, excluded Swinton from the Council of War in the tent; remembering, in the hour of his country's need, nothing personal to himself; and supported by Lennox, Maxwell, and Johnstone, whom the Regent might not openly oppose, he resolutely steps forward, and the following is what passes between Sir Alan and the proud, infatuated, but gallant Douglas: Regent. Where's your impatience now? Late you were all for battle, would not hear When he can conquer riskless, is to deem Ourself pronounce a word-and now you Sagacious Edward simpler than a babe In battle-knowledge. Keep the hill, my The English host is numerous, brave, and loyal; Their Monarch most accomplish'd in war's art, Skill'd, resolute, and wary Regent. And if your scheme secure not victory, What does it promise us? Swinton. This much at least,Darkling we shall not die; the peasant's shaft, Loosen'd perchance without an aim or While our good blades are faithful to the hilts, And our good hands to these good blades are faithful, Blow shall meet blow, and none fall unavenged We shall not bleed alone. Regent. And this is all Your wisdom hath devised? Swinton. Not all; for I would pray you, noble Lords, (If one, among the guilty guiltiest, might), For this one day to charm to ten hours rest The never-dying worm of deadly feud, That gnaws our vexed hearts-think no one foe Save Edward and his host-days will re- Ay, days by far too many will remain, cedence ; Let this one day be Scotland's. For my. If there is any here may claim from me My life is his to-morrow unresisting, dear country While Swinton is uttering these last emphatic words, Gordon betrays symptom of the most deep-felt emotion; but when commanded by the Regent to stand forth and receive knighthood, he resolutely declines the intended honour, unless from "another sword;" kneels to Sir Alan Swinton; and, agreeably to the usages of chivalry, craves, and obtains, that honour from him, as at once "the best knight and sagest leader." Incensed at the implied reflection on himself, the Regent reviles him as 66 a degenerate boy," and reminds him that his father's blood was on Swinton's sword. To this Gordon indignantly answers Gordon (starting up.) Shame be on him who speaks such shameful word! Shame be on him whose tongue would sow dissension, When most the time demands that native Scotsmen Forget each private wrong! The Regent continues to give vent to his sarcasms at the reconciliation of Gordon and Swinton, and treats, with the most contemptuous scorn, the proposal of the latter to charge at the head of the cavalry, and disperse the English archers—by far the most formidable part of their array→→ as King Robert Bruce had done at Bannockburn. Foiled in his attempt, to carry into effect the only plan that could save the Scottish army, circumstanced as they were, from destruction, Swinton, with that generous devotion of which Scottish History furnishes many bright examples, resolved to smother his personal feelings, and to perform to his country the only service she would now accept at his hands, namely, to open the path to victory by his sword, or to die like a brave knight in the foremost ranks of the battle. At this standing close by, appears wrapt in critical moment, Gordon, who was profound thought,-and De Vipont asks him, Vipont (to Gordon.) What ails thee, noble youth? What means this pause?— Thou dost not rue thy generosity? Gordon. I have been hurried on by a strong impulse, Like to a bark that scuds before the storm, Till driven upon some strange and distant coast, Which never pilot dream'd of.-Have I not forgiven? And am I not still fatherless? Swinton. Gordon, no ; For while we live, I am a father to thee. cannot, cannot be. Swinton. Then change the phrase, and say, that while we live, for ever; And Spring shall hide the track of devas- With foliage and with flowers.-Give me To this appeal Gordon exclaims, Aye, let all follow-but in silence follow, form The cushat from her nest-brush not, if The dew-drop from the spray- brave Hab; On, thou false thief, but yet most faithful Scotsman ! The second Act opens with a scene in front of the position of the English main body, and King Edward, attended by Baliol, soon enters. The colloquy, of course, turns on the approaching battle, and opinions, highly characteristic of the different English Nobles, are respectively given on the condition and leaders of the Scottish Host. Among other circumthat at Weardale he had escaped alstances, the King states incidentally, most by a miracle from the deathdealing iron mace of Swinton, who at midnight had burst into his tent, and would have slain him on the spot, but for the timely and unexpected gallantry of his chaplain, who, snatching a weapon, exposed himself to inevitable death to afford his royal master time to escape. however, the combat commences, and, as had been foreseen and foretold by Swinton, a shower of arrows from the English long-bows deals unrevenged death along the Scottish line. The men fall like stricken deer, their hot valour serving only to goad them to impatience and frenzy; and the whole army is thrown into irretrievable confusion, although the main body of the English had never been engaged. Anon, The scene now changes to that part of the field where Gordon and Swinton, having skirted the side of the hill, and descended into the meadow, were engaged in a desperate struggle with overwhelming numbers. So powerful was the impres sion they had made on the English line, however, that, had the jealousy and infatuation of the Regent suffered him to send them timely succour, Plantagenet might have sus tained a reverse as complete as that at Bannockburn, and been compelled to turn his bridle southward somewhat sooner than he had reckoned on. Fortunately for Edward, some evil spirit seemed to have taken possession of Douglas, who remained on the hill, a quiet spectator of the self-immolation of these heroic men, whose chivalrous valour gave him the only chance of victory. In this trying moment, when even the firmest resolution might have given way, and the stoutest heart failed, Swinton, ever equal to himself and the emergency in which fate WHAT SHALL I WRITE? "It is a moral impossibility," said I, as I was sipping my chocolate, "to live another day without writing. I must be in print"-and I looked half mournfully, and half rejoicingly, on the last Number of the Edinburgh Magazine, which lay on the chimney-piece. I took it up for the twentieth time-I looked over its lovely clear large print-I rung the bell, and the place of the chocolate pan was supplied by my neat ebony inkstand, and hot-pressed letter-paper. To be in print, it is necessary to write to write, it is necessary to have a subject; I bit my pen, played with my watch-chain, drew heads on the paper. "What the devil shall I write about?” It is the most disagreeable thing in the world, when the imagination is galloping to the goal of undying fame, spurred on by the idea of future honour, and the imprimatur of Messrs Constable, to be retarded in our progress, by the impertinent realities of drawing forth, line after line, and sentence after sentence, and blotting out, time after time, our illdigested crudities, without being able to please even one's self. I was ready to give the thing up, and with it all my hopes and all my fears of literary praise or censure. I walked about the room-looked out of the window-wondered what ailed me--had nearly sent" my article" to Hades; but here other considerations had interfered. I pictured to myself the rewards of literary labour, the veneration with which I should be looked upon, the more respectful bow, and more graceful move, with which my male and female acquaintances would strive to do honour to the "writer in The Edinburgh," then the astonishment, the half incredulous envy of my intimates. I thought of my triumph, when, sauntering up to some friend, I should stroke my ehin, adjust my cravat-" Ah! how d'ye do, Will?-how are you?-seen the Magazines?-What d'ye think? -Tell you a secret-I have-hagive me a pinch of snuff-I-I write for The Edinburgh." Kap, rap, rap-"Good Heaven! what demon thunders at the gate?" Mr C and Mr Scarlett, Sir." "Shew them in." "What d'ye think I'm doing?" I said to my friends as they entered. "Couldn't tell-writing a Sonnet to Miss T's eyebrow, perhaps, or enditing an epistle to the widow?" "Hang your joking-you're utterly wrong--I'm writ ing for The Edinburgh'-What say your Lordships?" "The thing is impossible," said Scarlett." Thyself shall see the article," and I turned round, to fulfil my promise, when it struck me that my article was as yet but a thing of futurity, a mere ideathat I had not written a word. Scarlett laughed, and C――― looked “unutterable things." "Well, but lend ine some assistance-give me a subject-what shall I write about?here have I been this hour and a-half tormenting my goose-quill, and spoiling my yellow paper to no mortal purpose, experiencing The shifts and turns, The expedients and inventions multiform, To which the mind resorts in chase of Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to terms, win' which, though Cowper calls them pleasant, are pleasures, it seems, which only poets know; for I, in my prosaic labours, find but little pleasure in them. But come, now for your answer." "A subject, man!" ́said Scarlett; "why, subjects are as plentiful as twenty-penny nails. Write on old bachelors, and your own feelings and experience will inspire you. Well, well, I see by the falling of your critical eyebrow,' the subject likes you not: write on love, on the propriety of courting widows-or""This is no answer, thou unfeeling man," I returned, interrupting his infernal prattle; "I want a good, excellent, fruitful subject, becoming such a Magazine; speak, pronounce, demonstrate." "Be patient, most excellent Scriblerus," cried C--; “you require much—a good subject.” Suppose we say On the moral duties of unmarried men.' An excellent subject we will furnish you with, when the good one is digested; and as for the fruitful subject, write An Essay on Hot-houses,' in imitation of Semple's On Gardens.' Are you answered?" "Or suppose, as you keep a diary," added Scarlett, "you give some ex tracts from it; they will no doubt be edifying in the extreme. Here it is," he continued, seizing, vi et armis, on my red Morocco-covered journal. "Zounds! here's my own name; I have at least a right to see this," and he read on "Wednesday 3d. Rode out with Scarlett-went three miles at an easy canter-thought I was improving in horsemanship-lost my stirrup, and swung over;-as I was falling, caught hold of S- -'s head, and knocked off his hat. Second thought-thought I was not improving. Scarlett grumbled, and said my saddle looked like a mule. Didn't take-Mem. To ask Whistlecraft what he meant-" "Bravo! excellent! this will do; you need no other subject," roared both my friends; "so good-morning: we shall see you to-night at Lellon's," and so they left me to my meditations. They are two excellent fellows, and I know none that I prefer to them, or that have more good qualities. C is such a man as one would wish to call a friend. Warm hearted and cool headed, the impetuosities of his genius are held in due subjection by the clearness of his judgment. Though somewhat reserved in company, it is only needful to overcome his backwardness, to be delighted and surprised by his conversation. To a fund of good sense and correct ideas, called into constant exertion by acute and diligent observation, he adds a facility of aptness and allusion which is astonishing the fruit of a deep acquaintance with, and recollection of the beauties of the best writers in every department of literature. A mong our early authors in particular, (that wide, and, till late, neglected field of research and pleasure), he is, in the most literal sense of the phrase, " at home." Familiar with their times, their manners, their acquisitions in learning and science, he enters into their feelings with a fellowship and congeniality of sentiment, unknown to a mere modern man. The result of his studies and ac quirements is, that whatever subject he handles, he is always himself; having always his treasures at command, he can convert them to any use he pleases, and clothes his thoughts in colours, which set off their native beauties to still greater advantage. Over whatever he writes is spread a bright gleam of intelligence, penetrating with acuteness resembling intuition into the causes of events and phenomena, and seizing with inconceivable rapidity on the links of a chain of reasoning, which astonishes while it convinces. His writings are the conclusions of frequent examination and deep research, and everywhere show the masterly and delicate hand of a scholar and a gentleman. Will Scarlett is a different, not opposite, character. Younger than C, and without so great a command over himself, his inclinations not seldom get the upper hand of his discretion. More formed for society, he possesses far more general attraction than his friend. Naturally gay, he brings mirth and cheerfulness with him, and is therefore every where a welcome visitor. But this is merely the outward ornament that covers the nobler stuff within; for his intellectual powers make him no less admired among his studious associates, than his handsome person (of which, by the way, I imagine Will is by no means insensible,) and conversational talents among the ladies and his lighter acquaintances. I dwell with peculiar delight upon the recollection of the dinner I had with C. It was the first time I had been quietly seated in conversation with him; and I had for some time previous enjoyed the anticipation of the feast. C- Scarlett, and myself, formed the whole of the company; and with those two I enjoyed ten times the pleasure which I have ever felt in large and formal parties. The room was an old-fashioned apartment, with carved oak wainscoating, blackened with age; a blazing fire roared up the chimney, forming a pleasant contrast to the howling of the wind without, (for it was a dull November night). What real comfortable pleasure it was, after dinner, to sit by the hearth, and, while we discoursed, to sip our host's port, while the rich rough flavour of the Falernian was reasoned by the genuine attic of C's conversation! It was impossible not to think of the "dissolve frigus," &c. of Horace. These are the delightful hours, that, |