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203 another went west,-ane gade to the basted me wi' kis strap, I ran and north,—I wonder what he found tauld her on't, and she ne'er minded there,—and ane to the south, and her poor bairn, but lay as quiet as left a fair patrimony, and the hope of the mools aboon her," having a pleasant haddin cut wi' my “ Whisht, ye born fool,” said Ichaspade in the gowan knowe of Dal- bod, “this is ane of the queer gengarnock. They were a frank-handed tlemen who never love a house till race,—but their race is run ;-they the riggins off't,-a tree, till its dead were a liberal people, and good to i' the top and rotten i' the heart,—nor beast and body, and they never for- a kirk, till the howlets forhoo it for got me at either bridal or burial,- fear it falls. I ken them bravely. a siller crown piece afore ever I wet Give them three or four rousty coffin a spade,-and on the marriage day nails, and an auld bane, and the the drop of drink, and the roast and tram of a wheelbarrow, and a wormthe boiled, made it little waur than eaten quaigh, and the snout of a steel a dredgie. They were a liberal race. bonnet, and an auld parritch spurtle, I would count ye some saxteen of and a lang stane, wi' twa or three them, all side by side, ready to rise scratches upon it, and they'll make a when heaven's will is, but they are book as big as Boston's Fourfold sae covered wi' memorial stones, State, wi' a hundred pictures of a' Symie, my lad, that the rising will the straps, and straes, and knocking be a kittle chapter ;-the Dargavels, stanes in the parish. This is ane of and all the names that nae hody cares them.” for, will be up and through Enterkin « Ah! Andrew Laurie, man," afore a Laurie can rise." And the said Syrmie,“ d’ye mind how ye ancient man of Dalgarnock kirk-yard hunted me to the top of the Hazely. stept upon a gravestone, looked brae, and made me lie all night round, and began to count with his among the heather, for fear of your finger the graves of my ancestors. dog Whitefoot ? But then ye gied “ Sasteen beds all in a row," he me twa apples and a saxpence at said, “ wi' the green grass waving Thornhill fair, sae lay that and that aboon them, and one gaping there for together,-kindness clears a' scores the coming morsel,-a bonnie sight." wi daft Symie. And then, man, d'ye I stept upon another gravestone, and mind how ye put a living hurchin in surveyed the line of graves ; Ichabod the ae meal powk, and a howlet i' saw me for the first time, and said the tither, and sent me crying round in a tone more of surprise than plea- the parish, 'fidum, father, fidum, our sure, “ Grace guide us, here's ae cat has kittled twa magpies and Laurie risen afore another's well a moudie?' Nae act of kindness ready to lay i' the grave."
cleared that score,—sae take ye that, “A Laurie risen!” said Symie, Andrew Laurie, for what ye did to coming to my side, and examining me lang syne. And stooping sudme with a look of vacant considera- denly to the ground, and snatching tion,—" Trouth, he's arisen, that I up the remains of a skull, he hurled can avouch,-for'he was twice killed it at my head—and this unexpected in battle, thrice drowned in the sea, missile narrowly missed the mark. I and sax times dead wi' fair straw thought if Symie visited every little death, or else there's nae truth in deed of early mischief upon me, I country clatter. But risen or was in a fair way of being stoned to not, it's my ain bonnie Andrew death, so I threw him a crown-piece; Laurie. Ah, Andrew, my man, which he caught as it flew. When what have ye made of Whitefoot, he saw it was silver he gave a leap, and Whaupie, and the pet hawk ?- then ran round like a pair of yarn and how did ye live without me?- windles, and shouted out, “Goodye would not find a daft lad in sooth, Symie Crosstree, it's a crownevery country to do ye a good turn, piece--it shall work while I sleep, —there's no the like of me at every it shall work while I sleep,—It came dyke back. Wherefore d'ye no speak frae the hand of a Laurie,-a frank have ye been deaf, as well as dead ? free hand, the same hand that and that's gaye likely, for there was chaced me wi' stones from the top of my ain grandame, when she went to Topstarvet down to the mains of the kirk-hole, and ill Bauldy Beattie Closeburn, and made me climb into
the top of Menteath's oak, where I the grave at a green yule -- but sat till it took six men and three lade they're near now, hear the neighders to bring me down again. Nae ing of their horses.” Symie started kindness ever salved that sair,-sae to his feet, and laying down his ear take ye that, Andrew Laurie, ye ken to the earth, and listening for a mowhat ye did to me lang syne;" and ment, he clapped his hands and he threw a shank-bone, with a bitter- shouted out, “ Oh! the burial bits, ness which my late present gave me -the burial bits,-dads of bread and no reason to expect, and I found some touts of wine. I wish other sax trouble in eluding it.
would die. . Men are far kinder to “ I'd brain ye wi' my spade, poor demented Symie when they gowk," said the grave-digger, “ if have their timmer tap coats on, than it werena I would have your grave when they sit at the board head. to howk gratis, and that for misusing A piece of sour bread, and a drop of a man wi' a frank hand, and siller in wynted milk, from the living,-but his pouch. And you, sir, wha throw waughts of red wine, and wamefuls away mair coin on a coof than I of white cake, from the dead. I can would dig ye three full size graves gang fasting and sorrowfu hame frae for, d’ye ye no see that he's half a reeking house, but frae the kirkknave and fu' fool, wi' as much cun- yard I have to grope my way,-and ning as will cause him to throw dead the wine has whomeled me owre a men's banes at you, while ye throw grave, and left me to cool, and come siller at him. But take ane's counsel, to myself among the morning dew. who never saw a penny of your coin, Oh! the burial bits,—the burial bits, and gang and sit down 'aside thé -dads of bread, and touts of wine. burial bread and wine, there where Yonder he comes, yonder he comes, they stand. Daft Symie respects in his braw black chest, with siller burial drink, when he respects nothing whirlies on the sides, and the parish else." I seated myself as Ichabod cloak trailing o'er him. Well may advised, and Symie came quietly and he bruik the new." sat down beside me.
I stood up and saw a long train of The spot where I sat was full of horsemen descending the western summer beauty and sanctity, but the bank of the river, and approaching desolation of the kirk, and the home to Dalgarnock kirkyard, by a narof my youth, pressed upon my heart. row, and woody, and unfrequented I thought on the sabbath mornings way, They were all dressed in when I had stood by the gate, and black, and riding slowly and mournseen all the way to the house of God fully along. In the middle of the moving with the grave, the beautiful, line of horsemen two rode abreast, and the young,—when I beheld the bearing a coffin across the shoulders seats thronged, and many fair eyes of their horses, over which a mortglancing modestly to and fro, and cloth was thrown, which reached that interchange of silent and holy nigh the ground. They passed the greeting which passes among friends river, and, halting at the little gate, before worship begins. I thought bore the coffin to the brink of the too on those who bore my name, and grave beside where I stood, and all shared kindred blood with me, and I gathering around gazed mournfully saw the graves of many I loved grow- on it for a minute's space or more, ing green beside me, each headed by in silence so intense, that I thought a memorial stone. And I said in my the very throbbings of my heart were heart, of the seven Lauries whom I audible. At length a very old man left, lo! six are sleeping there,—and removed his hat, smoothed down a as I looked I thought on the new dug few white hairs which time had left grave, and I saw it was for a tali about his temples, and looked in the person; and as my eyes dwelt upon it grave, and in the faces of his comthey filled with tears, and my heart panions, till the tears started in his throbbed, and I would fain have eyes. As he looked round he saw gone away, but I had not the power. me, he eyed me for a little space,
Ichabod now came to my side, and said, “ His dying words are « Deil mend their speed,” said he, come to pass,-one has come from a “here am I standing as stiff wi' far land, who will lay his head in the cauld as a crutch, and as hungry as grave,-never, he said, would the
waxing melodious,-a flush was The old man came forward, and said, coming over his brow-matter bola “Let us not lay in the grave, with and figurative was flowing in, and superstitious rites and observances, he was about to pour out one of those one of the kindest, and gentlest, and simple and affecting characteristic simplest spirits which ever breathed prayers which I have heard uneduamong us. Devout himself, and one cated men utter over the dead, when who walked in the austere meekness he was suddenly interrupted. Poor of the pure Scottish kirk, we should demented Symie, with tears stream insult him were we with uplifted ing down his cheeks, burst through hands, with heads held down, and the band of mourners, leaped into with smooth words, and studied sen- the grave, and cried out with a voice tences, to offer up supplication for of unsurpassable agony, “Oh! Luke him. Shall we pour a prayer less Laurie, -Luke Laurie – I will be than inspired over him who so often buried for thee." The old man lookpoured over others the warm and un- ed on him for a moment, dropped his solicited overflowings of a tender hands, and said, “ Thus men may heart and a gifted mind? Afar from know when the righteous and the me be all the vanity of such devo- kind-hearted die. Andrew Laurie, tion, and in a homely way will I there lies thine uncle-long he lookspeak of a homely heart. There he ed for thy return; the last look he lies, who for seventy years never gave was with the hope of seeing gave a pious heart pain, nor denied thee,—the last wish he uttered was an honest man's request,-he thatch- that thou mightest lay his old white ed the roof of the widow's house- head in the grave,-and he died in he put food between the lips of the the belief that all this would come to orphan,-his door stood ever to the pass. Now let us lay him in the wall, that the needy might enter,- dust. All has been said that Chrisand at his hearth was found the sol- tians ought to say over the clay dier's wife and her helpless children. mansion, out of which the immortal He was not vain of his influence spirit has passed ; and the wisest among men, nor was he proud of his man's words are but folly compared wisdom,—his wit was kind and plea- to those of this poor simple fool.” sant,-his humour was chaste and
REPORT OF MUSIC. We announced that Mr. Ebers A new Opera of Rossini's compohad taken the King's theatre in the sition, Matilde di Shabran e CorraHaymarket for two years. It has dino, ossia il trionfo della Belta, has since been said that he has assigned been brought out since our last rehis lease; and the Marquis of Hert-port, at the benefit of Signor and ford, Mr. Williams, and some other Madame de Begnis. A French wrigentlemen, are understood to be the ter on opera has remarked that his purchasers. The management will countrymen are excellent judges of probably devolve on Signor Benelli. the plot, situations, and dialogue of a lyric drama, but are not so sensi- the other. Now for the story, which tive as the Italians to the beauties of is not a little involved. the music. While the French there. Corradino, a desperate slayer of fore are always eager for new pro- men, and a no less inveterate hater of ductions, so little do the Italians care women, shuts himself up in a castle, for the poem, that they will run with over the gates of which he inscribes equal pleasure to see an opera which these dreadful menaces. On the onehas been set and reset a hundred
A chi entra non chiamato times, as to one fresh from the anvil.
Sara il cranio fracassato. + That they did so formerly is unques. On the othertionable, for Metastasio furnished food for almost every composer of
Chi turbar osa quiete eminence during his own long life.
Qui morra di fame e sete. $ And if some portion of the veneration A travelling poet, (such folk are for his beautiful dramas has evapo- common in the modern Italian melorated, and his countrymen wish for drama, Il Turco to wit), oppressed something new, it is quite clear they with fatigue and hunger, arrives becare very little about the quality of fore the castle, and after much conthe viand or the way in which it is test between the belly and limbs, and hashed up. Riccardo e Zoraide was the head, he determines to enter ;' weak enough in all conscience; Ma- then arranging his toilette upon the tilde e Corradino would be equally green sward, he assails the castle insipid if it were not vastly more ab- with a song. He is terrified almost surd. The poetry is by Giacomo to flight by the guard, when CorraFerretti; and the translation by W. dino at length comes forth. The J. Walter; (is not this an alias for poor poet makes a destructive blunStephano Vestris ? *) and the latter der, by offering to sing praises of has caught the vapidity of the former Corradino and his fair one, and is (gaping is contagious), which he just about to be spitted on his lance, has augmented by not a little vulga- when Aliprando, the domestic physic rity. These slovenly translations are cian and confidant, enters, and mitiby the way a disgrace to the esta- gates the fury of the warrior, who blishment:g
commutes sentence of death to im
prisonment. The doctor comes to Chorus. Soft :-o one is near: we may inform Corradino, that Matilda, the Here unmolested stray; And curious peep and pry around,
daughter of a warrior, his friend, To see what novelty is found,
who fell in battle and bequeathed her This side or that
to his care, designs him a visit. Cors Egol. This is the castle-Where, inace radino allows her to come to the cessible,
castle, but not to see him without He commands that terrible man,
his special permission. Somehow or Of madmen, the maddest—the most eccen other, Edoardo, the son of a neigh tric,
bouring baron, has fallen into his Who by his followers searce ever's seen. clutches, and the youth is now dragged Who, always arm'd and always fierce, before him in chains to be desired to With face of terror-threatens all, fall at his feet, which hemagnanimousAnd knows not what--soft pity means. Chorus. What a strange fellow ! Hay the rules of the palace on his parole.
ly disdains. He is, however, allowed ha, ha!
At this instant, the approach of MaThis extract may serve for a spe- tilda is announced. Corradino prų. cimen both of the Italian and English dently meditates a retreat, wisely styles; for the one is quite as good as pronouncing
Sheridan being found drunk in the streets, and unable to stand or go, delivered hima self up to the watch as Mr. Wilberforce. But the poet of the opera being (we presume) sober when he writes himself Walter, his nom de guerre is quite as crual a satire upon an honest name, as Sheridan's; only, unfortunately, it lacks all the wit.
+ Who presumptuous enter here,
For his head has cause to fear. * Who disturbs this still retreat
Shall his dcath by famine meet.
- Fuggasi un sesso infido
who has armed for his rescue. The Chesnerva la virtù. Sposo, danari, escape, however, is contrived by Io le darò. Del Padre
the Countess, who imposes on Cor Adempir vuo così l'ultima speme; radino the belief, that Matilda has Ma femmine e valor non stanno insieme, enlarged him from affection. Poor
The doctor then leads in Matilda; Corradino becomes monstrously jeawho is a beautiful coquette, deter- lous. He condemns Matilda to death. mined on enslaving this invincible She declares death to be nothing; but cuor di ferro. Corradino has already, to perish by the command of the man it appears, contracted himself to a she so deeply loves, is the worst of certain Countess d’Arco, as a pledge miseries. She is, notwithstanding, of some pacification, but has avoided doomed to be thrown into a deep fulfilling his agreement. This lady river from a high rock, and the poet comes unbidden, in a fit of jealousy, is sent to execute the sentence. He to survey Matilda, and a scene of relents—her innocence is discovered, such soft contention follows, that the and her tenderness for Corradino con hero, aroused by the uproar, sud- firmed. The hero falls into despair, denly comes forth from his den. To and determines to plunge into the the Countess's declaration, Sai che very depth that has buried Matilda t'amo, Corradino replies with disdain, is prevented-Matilda is produced but Matilda desires him to kiss her they are united, and he is gentled, as hand, and the Lion is tamed, very the horse-breakers say of their colts. suddenly indeed, by love. Yet he Such is the structure of this exdoes not yield without the fiercest quisite poem, of which it is impossi. struggles. He soon discovers that ble to conceive half the nonsense or this change must be the work of en- extravagance-it is quite unequalled chantment, and that the unlucky except, indeed, upon the English poet is the magician, to whom he stage, where, whoever goes to see! applies for relief, and who ingenious that strange monster called an opera, ly refers him to the lady. Very ten- will find Delphines inter sylvas enough der interviews succeed, and at length and more than enough, even if he Matilda brings him to her feet. had the appetite of Brydone’s Prince These scenes are never without wit- of P. The solution, however, of the nesses, which appears to be a.con- vehement transitions of the Italiani trivance to exalt the folly of the hero. drama is to be found in two conAt this moment a drum is heard: siderations; ist, that the audience soldiers appearing, Edoardo pushes care very little for any thing but the in; why, it is difficult to conjecture, music; and, 2d, that passion is the except it be in compliance with the chief agent by which the composer rule which assembles as many cha
« Un passagio facile, racters as possible for a finale. Then e pronto da situazione in situazione, comes Corradino and his page with, un risparmio di cireonstanze oziose, his armour-the doctor and the poet' una serie, artificiosamente combinata, already accoutred. The latter is di scene vive ed appassionate, una also hung, round with paper, pens, economia di discorso, che serva, per and inkstand, to record the valorous. così dire, come di testo, su cui la deeds, and he gratefully declares: musica ne faccia poscia il commento;
ecco ciò il poeta dramatico debbé Il vostro Isidoro-nel rischio crudele Con gamba fedele-seguirvi potrà.
somministrare al compositore." Per scriver la storia, - le fughe, le rotte,
This is the recipe of a writer who Le piaghe, le botte-cantando verrà.
has studied with the most profound?
attention the construction of the ItaMatilda at length herself arms Core lian musical drama; and in its adopradino, and that sweet confusion tion the poet of the present day thinks which is the glory of a well-wrought.' it sufficient if he gives scope enough Italian finale concludes the act. for passion without regarding the in
We have entered into these parti- cidents, characters, or language of culars to convey some notion of the his piece. It will not;, therefore, very newest taste in Italian Jyrico- seem wonderful, if, out of this jumi dramatic poetry.
But we must ble, various enough for such a pure hasten to the catastrophe. The pose, Rossini has contrived to find alarm arises from Edoardo's father, pegs to hang some beautiful musio ,