thorough a dissimilarity between the objects, the habits, the institutions of barbarous and of civilized life, that a total conformity to the maxims and practices of the latter, may perhaps not very readily be effected in a character, of which the first lines have been drawn agreeably to the tendencies of the former. It were perhaps not desirable that the change should be very complete. If it be true, and certainly the supposition seems not unfounded, that, in various instances, the destructive traits of savagism hold of principles more honourable for our nature than those which mark a cultivated condition, it is evident that a character more perfect than that which may be considered to belong peculiarly to either of these states, might be formed by the mixture in just order and proportion of features drawn from both. Thus the manliness, the sincerity, the disinterestedness of the barbarian might, in any effort used for his improvement, be with much advantage suffered to remain, and on them grafted in their due measure what it would still want, the reflection, the civility, the polish of cultivated life. M. The History of Rose Selby. BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. THAT book is that! old woman, said I, which you are perusing so earnestly, and which is so much soiled, you cannot possibly read it with accuracy?-It is a very good book, said she, looking up with seeming surprise at being accosted by a stranger; not that the matter is of much importance to one of my age, but I like the book, and many a tear I have shed over it; some of them at times have fallen upon it toe, which makes it dim-with that she wiped the leaf gently with her arm, observing that a tear or two was newly fallen upon it, and on my approaching her, and seeming to eye the book with curiosity, she held it out to me open as it was.-It is a novel said I, and the sufferings pourtrayed in it are wholly imaginary.-I cannot implicitly credit that, said she, I am rather inclined to believe that they are all founded on facts, for it is certain that such men existed. Certain indeed, said 1, that some of them did exist, but numbers of the incidents there related, as well as some of the characters that are introduced, are the offspring of a lady's brain, and never existed any where else. It is a chaos of truth and fiction, so intermixed and confounded, that the authenticity of our national annals, in future ages, runs the hazard of being much affected by it. I do not mean to insinuate, that ever historians will apply to such a work for information. It is nevertheless certain that such adventures and sufferings, ascribed to these celebrated characters, create a double interest in the hearts of their countrymen-the mind dwells upon the incidents-the tales become traditionary—and though the source of these tales may happen to be discovered in this book, it may still be fondly believed that the relation is indeed the offspring of these traditions, of which it is truly the origin. I am astonished that a lady of such genius as the authoress should thus have compounded truth with fiction, and much more astonished at finding a woman of your years and sober appearance, weeping over those fictions.-I believe, after all, said she, there is nothing in the book more than in any other book, but I am an old foolish woman, and my mind is grown feeble and silly-I fear it is growing more and more so every day, and that it will soon dwindle away into mere oblivion. Natural affection has ta ken ken such a firm hold of my heart, that even shame and ingratitude have proved inadequate to loosen it. It has destroyed my peace in this world, and I fear may prove instrumental in destroying it for evermore. Would you believe it sir, I read more upon that idle book than I do upon my bible?-I endeavoured to collect something to say by way of reply, but was so much affected by her manner that I felt utterly at a loss. I understood there was some mystery connected with herpredeliction for the book; but unable to comprehend it, I stood silent, looking alternately at her and at the book in her hand.---I do not know you sir, said she, nor what your business is with me, but you seem to be a good andha kind-hearted gentleman, and to pity me: pray are you, or were you ever yourself a parent?--I replied, that I was no stranger to the pleasures and pains of a parent, for that I had long been and still was one. So was I, said she; and that book belonged to one for whom 1 will weep as long as I have a tear to shed. Here her sobs quite choaked her utterance for some time. Look at the first leaf continued she in an interrupted voice, putting forth her hand at the same time to turn over the leaves, for her heart was so full she scarcely knew what she was doing. As I did not interfere, she turned up the title page, and pointed with her finger to one corner of it-there I saw written in an elegant female hand, Rose Selby, her book, College Street, May 20th 1811.-It seems this was your child's book? said I.— Yes, that was my Rose's book, returned she. And she is dead? said I inquisitively.-The old woman clasped her hands together---looked stedfastly up to heaven, and moving her head in a solemn manner from the one side to the other would-she-were"! said she, low and emphatically, the words seem ing to burst from her bosom rather than to be articulated by her tongue. What? said I, is your child yet alive? and do you wish her dead? Alas! said she, I do not know what I do not wish her dead, poor girl! to say! I am quite crazed-no, no, she is not prepared to die. I do not wish her dead, but yet I think if it had pleased the Almighty who gave her me, to have taken her away by death-if I had followed her to an early grave, all pure, amiable and lovely as she was, I think I could have born it-1 could then have hoped to-what am I saying?-0 God, that my hope in thy mercy should ever be lost or waver!-No, thou knowest all the weaknesses and failings of the human heart, and will than thou hast given-poor frail not ask more of any of thy creatures pause; thou art a weak, dependant, woman! continued she, after a defenceless being in the scale of existence.-" No blossom of spring is beleaguered like thee, though crushed by the lightning, the wind, and the rain."I feared that her waver, for I now perceived that her senses were actually beginning to eyes were fixed on vacancy, while she appeared as if striving to recollect something that had escaped from her memory. As I still held the book open in my hand, and was anxious to draw her into a more regular conversation about her family concerns, in which I was interested, I again said, Good old lady, your daughter had doubtless many more books than this one, how comes it that you are so much atnewly awaked from sleep, and seemtached to it? She looked as one in order to understand it.---That ed pondering long on the question book, said she, at length, was a present from one who wished her well it was the last she got here, and the last which she read over to me. -It affected her deeply; owing I suppose, to the perturbed state of her mind at the time-but her manner of reading it-the softness of her voice, with the modulation of her accents and features so suiting the various circumstances related, affected me so deeply too, that I can neverforget it-we both weptAh! little did I then knew of the various passions and affections which warred in her young and tender bosom-little did I think that love had there got the mastery of reason and filial duty, and that I was so soon to lose my only child, the object of all my wishes and prayers, and the hope of my declining years. As I told you before, I do not think it is the matter contained in that book which affects me, but with every thing in it the idea of my dear Rose is some way connected. I fear indeed that the faculties of my mind are greatly impaired, for I take no delight in any thing now, save weeping; and, unlikely as it may appear to you, there is nothing so apt to procure me that desired enjoyment, as a perusal of that book. You will think weeping a singular luxury to indulge in, yet, believe me, I sometimes long as earnestly for it as ever did the voluptuary for the gratification of any sensual appetite.-Pardon my officiousness good old woman, said I, but I am much interested in your concerns, and will take it extremely kind if you will favour me with a true history of yourself and daughter.--Our history is short and uninteresting, but you shall have it in few words, said she. My father was a clergyman in this city; my husband was of a good family in Northumberland, and a captain in the navy. After having one child, which died in infancy, his ship was ordered to a foreign station, and we were separated for ten years. In the year 1790 he again visited Britain, and on that same year my Rose was born, after we were both advanced in life. He fell in the service of his country; and my daughter, my only child, the beautiful and unfortunate Rose Selby, was a few months ago seduced by a young Irish gentleman of high rank, with whom she eloped and left me a prey to the most poignant grief. Since that period I have seen her no more, and in all likelihood never shall see her again. Indeed she tells me so→→→ yes, the little ingrate has, in a letter which I will show you, taken a final leave of her doating and distracted parent-thrown herselffrom under that parent's care, and from under the care of heaven, by abandoning herself to shame, guilt, and pollution. O! forgive my tears good sir-consider there is no sorrow like my sorrow.-Is there one woe to which human nature is sub ject, comparable to that of having born and nourished a lovely and amiable daughter, implanted principles of morality and benevolence in her mind with the utmost care, in hopes of seeing her prove an ornament to society, and then to sce that flower of her hope nipped in the blossom, and crushed in the dust at once? How can I live and see that daughter, in whose honour. and welfare my very life was treasured up, debased by prostitution? It is more than my heart is able to bear !---Moderate your grief, good lady, said I, such things happen every day.-And pray is that. any consolation? said she. That reflection only adds another pang to the soul that is wounded by the perversity of others. Surely there is something radically wrong in the principles of our nature, or the constitution of our bodies, that such things are. But surely, Heaven will sooner or later recompence the specious specious villain who could thus deliberately bereave a fond parent of her hopes, a virgin of her purity and peace of mind, and an immortal soul of its fellowship with its creator. See, continued she, there is a letter I found in her bed chamber after her flight, and, grieved as I am at her departure from the path of rectitude, that still pleads to my heart in her excuse.---I read the letter, which ran thus: My dear Rose, I had not fortitude to tell you last night that I am obliged to leave you. On Monday next I take my departure from Edinburgh, perhaps never to return. It cuts me to the heart to think of parting with you altogether, for I well know when I am absent our fondness for each other will gradually subside, and vanish like a dream of the night. I am fully resolved at present to make you mine, as soon as circumstances will permit; but the best resolutions are often soon effaced by time, if no means are used to uphold and strengthen them. For this purpose I have a proposal to make, which I however by no means urge you to comply with. I only desire you to think of it; for my part I have thought of nothing else these many days. It is that you steal quietly from your mother, and accompany me to a distant county in Ireland, where I am to remain for a few years. I will there place you in some respectable boarding school, or lodging, where I will occasionally visit you, and renew my esteem and love at the shrine of your worth and beauty. I am convinced of your partiality for me, and I am likewise convinced that you can now trust every thing to my honour, without any protestations on my part, or jealousy on yours; therefore I only mention simply, that I will always hold your person and honour sacred as if you were my sister, until the happy day arrive when we shall be one for ever. Pray think seriously of this plan my lovely Rose; for my part I think it is next to absolutely necessary; not only to preserve our love for each other unimpaired, but to enable me to fit you for the high station you are in future to occupy, and the people of rank with whom you will be obliged to mingle. I leave it entirely to your own good sense and discernment, which I have always found so much superior to mine, to decide on this matter; and I even conjure you not to let love bias your decision, or induce you to do any thing in the smallest degree inconsistent with prudence. Meet me on Friday, at our usual trysting place, and believe me your's, for ever, J. F. Sure said I, if that lover was not then sincere, never was hypocrisy before cloathed in a garb so specious.---You shall judge of his sincerity, said she, when you have perused this other letter, which I received without date from my child, ten days after his departure. My dear Mother, For I must still call you so, and still love you; but Oh! may sorrow never wring your heart like that which wrings mine at this moment. How will your kind and tender bosom bear the information that my visit to the border was a mere pretence, and that I have departed your parental bosom for ever?---Nay, farther, that your Rose, your darling, whom you loved and cherished with so much fondness, is ruined and lost.---I dare not ask your forgivenness, nor durst I even desire you to think kindly and tenderly of such a creature as I now am, could Inot conscientiously assert, that when I left you my motives motives and resolutions were most virtuous and honourable.--- Alas! those resolutions did not hold good for two days-poor fool that I was! to have preserved my virtue in the situation where I had placed myself, was impossible.---I am now become very, very wicked, and I tremble to think what will be my fate.--Reason tells me plainly that I have been ill used, yet all my fa. culties are so overpowered by love, that reason, when endeavouring to remonstrate, is hushed to silence, and I embrace my bane with a fondness excelling that of life.---O my dear mother! pray for me; perhaps your prayers may yet be heard, for I cannot now pray for myself. Last night when I retired to my chamber, I had resolved to say my pray. ers as I wont to do.-I kneeled at the side of my bed, and turned mine eyes towards heaven; but when about to address my Maker the words stuck in my throat.---I dared not to take that holy name into my polluted lips---a shower of tears only pleaded for me at the Throne of Grace--in my heart indeed I prayed for you, but I rose in silence, and in silence laid me down on my couch of shame.---I do not date this letter, for I wish to remain concealed from you and from all the world. I remain, dear mother, your unfortunate and deluded child, born after the death of his father. His mother was Martha Fraser, eldest daughter of Charles Fraser, Esq. of Inveralochy, in the county of Aberdeen. In the year 1803, he acquired the estate of Inveralochy, by the settlement of his mother, and in compliance with her direction added to his paternal sirname that of Fraser, as representing the family of his maternal grandfather. The earlier part of his education was carried on at home, under the direction of a tutor, after which he prosecuted his studies at Aberdeen, attending the ordinary classes at the University. When the time arrived for his chusing a profession, he was persuaded to fix on that of a banker, and had served for some time with full approbation in the countinghouse of Sir William Forbes and Company, in Edinburgh. In the year 1778, however, the warlike temper of the country inspired him with an irresistible desire to become a soldier. At that time the late Lord Macleod was employed in raising a Highland regiment (the 73d, now 71st), and Mr. Mackenzie found no difficulty in obtaining a lieutenant's commission in the 2d battalion of that corps. When the regiment was embodied, he was appointed lieutenant of the grenadier company, and soon afterwards obtained also the situation of adjutant. The first service in which this young regiment was employed, was the ever memorable defence of Gibraltar, against the united force of France and Spain. Captain Mackenzie (for during the siege he was promoted to the command of a company) was highly distinguished by the favour and good opinion of General Elliot, the heroic governor, by whose permission he served as a volunteer or su pernumerary |