mentary alarm, and, taking up the steel, asks whose "stalwart arm" could wield so vast a weapon? She tells him that it trembles in her father's hand as lightly as a hazel wand in her's, and adds, playfully, that her sire was equal in size to Ferragus or Ascabart:

"But in the absent giants' hold, Are women now, and menials old.

The mistress of the mansion ap pears, the Lady Margaret,

"To whom, though more than kindred knew,

Young Ellen gave a mother's due:"

by which obscure piece of information, we are afforded but small insight into the relationship of the characters at present. However, the stranger informs us that he is

"The knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz James;"

and in return for this communication he seems disposed to ascertain the degree and title of his hosts; but the elder lady "heard with silence grave," or Ellen innocently smiled away his inquiries;

"Wierd women we! by dale and down, We dwell afar from tower and town," &c. &c.

She sings a very pretty song in continuance, and is accompanied by an unseen harp. The stranger, de. lighted with his reception, retires to his bed of mountain-heather, and dreams of all the strange accidents of the day; and his vision is described with all the commanding imagination of a poet. Chiefly, however, the knight dwells on the likeness in the highland maiden to the exiled family of Douglas; and on the gigantick sword, which could not be wielded by any but a Douglas arm, To chase these painful thoughts, he breathes his midnight orison, and tells his beads of gold, and sinks to rest,

"Until the heath cock shrilly crew, And morning dawned on Benvenue."

Thus interested in the characters and events of the story, the reader entitled The Island. It opens with a is introduced to the second canto, morning scene, and a most beautiful song of the aged minstrel, sitting on a rock which overhangs the Lake, and viewing the departure of the stranger in a vessel which bears him to the opposite shore. Ellen sits beside the minstrel, and smiles to see the parting stranger linger, and stop, and turn to wave a long and repeated adieu. She blushes, however, for her momentary forgetfulness, and bids the old man sing the praise of a noble house, and pour forth the glory of the Græme!" She reddens deeper at the name;

"For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Græme was held the flower."

The minstrel falls into a melan choly reverie; in the course of which he gives us such glimpses of the events preceding the story, as serve greatly to heighten our interest in the fate of the characters. He says that his harp now returns such mournful sounds to his touch, as it did in "Bothwell's banner'd hall,"

"Ere Douglases, to ruin driven, Were banished from their native heaven."

Ellen, who now appears confessedly a Douglas,

"The Lady of the bleeding heart," endeavours to cheer the old minstrel, but, on her mentioning the name of black sir Roderick, the scourge of the Saxons and the pride of ClanAlpine, a kinsman of the Douglases and their protector at present, the bard reminds her that this savage chieftain (who is admirably painted) aspires to her hand; and Ellen, shuddering at the thought, declares her resolution to die in a convent, or Wander

"Through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold charity,"

rather than become the bride of sir

Roderick. To change the subject, she speaks of their stranger guest; but Allan-Bane foretells sorrow, even from him, since the Douglas sword

Did, self unscabbarded, foreshow The footstep of a secret foe."

At all events, Roderick was likely to be suspicious and jealous of him, and the minstrel reminds Ellen of Roderick's quarrel with Malcolm Græme. As they converse, sir Roderick's "banner'd pine" advances up the lake in four vessels, to the sound of martial musick. This scene

is highly finished, and the expressive notes of the pibroch almost seem to have that effect in the poet's description which is ascribed to them in reality. The words of the warsong are spirited; but the arrival of the boats at the shore presents us with a most engaging picture. Lady Margaret, the mother of Roderick, receives him with her female band, and calls Ellen to welcome him still more gratefully; but the reluctant damsel at this moment hears her father's bugle; and, hastening with Allan-Bane into her skiff, she darts forward over the lake to meet the Douglas. Their embrace is most sweetly and naturally described; and the groupe of the father, the daughter, and the lover modestly standing at a little distance, with the aged minstrel in the boat, will surely call forth the talents of some painter worthy to embody the images of the poet.

The Douglas answers all the expectations which have been formed of him; and Malcolm Græme is one of the most winning young heroes of romance. Roderick is an admirable contrast. The reader has been prepared for all these characters very artfully; and his gratification when they are introduced to him is heightened instead of diminished.

Roderick ill brooks the appearance of a rival, notwithstanding his friendly 'guidance of the Douglas safe (though Malcolm was a royal ward) through the royal spies and scouts and spoils the happiness of their meeting by announcing the approach of the king on a hunting party, or the pretext of a hunting party, to Loch-Katrine. Douglas determines that no friend shall suffer for him and his daughter, and resolves to seek shelter among the mountains; but Roderick will not allow this; and, asking the hand of Ellen, he declares, that, united with the Dou glas, he shall be "confident in arms” against the king. Ellen's agitation and despair for her father's safety, almost drive her to accept the hand

of the dreaded Roderick: but Mal

colm rises to speak. Douglas, anticipating him, tells Roderick that

Ellen cannot be his bride. Roderick

then manifests the most indignant rage; and, as Malcolm hastens to support Ellen, who is overcome with this scene, the fierce chieftain attacks his rival, and they are separa ted only by the strength of Douglas. With a few manly words of affection for him and his lovely daughter, and a stern defiance to Roderick, Malcolm departs, and, attended by Allan-Bane to the water's side, cries out with noble spirit,

""Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought,
Not the poor service of a boat,
To waft me to yon mountain side-
Then plunged he in the flashing tide.”

The minstrel watches Malcolm safe over to the opposite shore, and thus ends the second canto. Thus, too, ends, for the present, our labour of detail; or, rather, our pleasure in giving the outline of the events and characters of the story. These have been hitherto excellently related and contrasted; but "Oh! most lame and impotent" progression! All that follows of beauty in the third, is the beauty of long description unconnected with the plot; and the ad

vance of the main story is so miserably delayed, that we lose almost all our interest in the fate of the characters. Can it be believed that Malcolm Græme, the gallant, the ingenuous lover of Ellen, appears not again till the end of the sixth

canto?

"Ostendent terris hunc tantum fata, neque ultrà

Esse sinent?"

Yet so it is. The only one of our old acquaintance, whom we see in the third canto, which is called The Gathering, is Roderick Dhu. We hear, indeed, with that chieftain, a song from Ellen, which we had much rather not have heard, since it is nearly the worst of the many doleful canticles in the volume. How this author, who can be a genuine poet when he pleases, not only in the description of inanimate nature, but in scenes full of life, of spirit, or of tenderness, can write his songs (for the exceptions are not numerous) in such lamentable taste, we are as unable to conceive as we are sorry to be compelled to remark: but we shall not any farther anticipate the censure which the mere quotation of one of these ditties, and a reference to some others, must entail on them.

In The Gathering, much good description and many picturesque passages undoubtedly occur. The sacrifice, or augury of the Taghairm, a superstitious mode of inquiring into futurity, is performed by Brian the hermit, at the orders of Roderick. This hermit is a wonderful being, and is fearfully described; but he detains us so long with his preparations, both in this canto and as they are related more fully in the 4th, that we cannot help exclaiming: "Leave muttering thy damned curses," and let us go on with the story. He slays a goat, the patriarch of the flock," vir gregis, ipse caper, and makes a slender cross of yew, the ends of which he burns in the

flames, quenches in the blood of the patriarch, and sends it forwards, under the name of the fiery cross, from village to village, by relays of messengers, to rouse the country to arms. Roderick's henchman (or hunch-man) that is, his close attendant, is the principle courier; and as he successively passes by wedding or funeral, he calls the feaster or the mourner from his occupation, and summonses him to arms. Several new characters are here introduced, and our interest is still farther ́ lost for the heroes and heroine of the first and second cantos. Roderick, as we premised, hears a song from Ellen at the end of this third canto; and after having lingered awhile near the rocky cave of CoirNan Uriskin, the refuge of the persecuted Douglases, he joins his clansmen who are assembled in the vale below.

Now we are in hopes that we shall come to action, and see our favourites again; but alas! not yet. Our poet, as to the conduct of his story, seems to adopt the opinion of the Roman in other matters:

"Non est properanda voluptas, Sed sensim tardâ prolicienda morâ:” but the "lima labor et mora" is the delay which we recommend to him, both in forming his plan and in polishing his verse. Let his first composition of that verse, when he has arranged his subject, be as rapid as he pleases. "Flow on, flow unconstrained, my song!" may be his motto: but he should cast a lingering look back upon it in his cooler moments; and suffer not the world to see the reeking heat of composition, which exhibits the most immediate contact between the brain and the

milk white bull" and other solemnities of the Taghairm. This being well over, we learn that the result of the prophet's speculations in the bull's hide is,

"Which spills the foremost foeman's life, That party conquers in the strife." Roderick announces the discovery of a spy in the neighbourhood, and that Red Murdoch is bribed to be his guide into the ambuscade of his

foes. Malise now informs his chief of the approach of Moray's silver star," and "the sable pale of Mar." Roderick rejoices at the advance of the king's party; and, hearing that he is not to expect any auxiliaries, he determines that

"Clan-Alpine's men Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen; Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll fight, All in our maids' and matrons' sight, Each for his hearth and household fire, Father for child and son for sire, Lover for maid beloved!—but whyIs it the breeze affects mine eye? Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear! A messenger of doubt or fear? No!" &c. &c.

The chieftain gives his orders to his warlike clan, and the poet "Turns him from the martial roar, And seeks Coir-Uriskin once more."

With heartfelt joy do we accompany him to look for the gentle Ellen:

"Where is the Douglas? He is gone;
And Ellen sits on the gray stone
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan."

The aged minstrel, whose attachment to his lovely mistress, and whose whole character are most interesting, in vain endeavours to console her with hopes of her father's return. She fears that he is gone to the court, to do what she had done

"Had Douglas' daughter been his son!" to beg grace for his friends, and to sacrifice himself. She fears also for

her lover, the youthful Græme, and even for Roderick. Allan sings to his listless hearer; and we wish, indeed, that we could have called off our attention from his song, as easily as the fair heroine. It is a fairy tale of the most childish nature, written in the idlest ballad-measure, and continuing through seven pages. We shall, however, say no more about it; for we are now agreeably surprised by the reappearance "Of Snowdoun's knight, of James Fitz James."

This gay and gallant huntsman has returned, it seems, under the guidance of a highlander, whom Ellen suspects of treachery, to endeavour to persuade that mountain maid to elope with him to the lowlands. His horses wait at Bochastle, and he presses his suit. But Ellen, blushing to think that her female vanity, which was evidently pleased with his flattering attentions before, had now led him back into danger, perhaps into destruction, resolves to atone for that transient infidelity [which was unpardonable, according to our notions on the subject] to Malcolm, by confessing her love for him to Fitz James. This generous knight, who grows in favour with the reader every moment, beholding in Ellen's face the ingenuous soul of truth and modesty, then offers to attend her out of these dangerous seats of war, as a guide and a brother; but she warns him of the suspicions of Roderick. As he parts, he informs Ellen that he once chanced to save the life of the king of Scotland, who had given him a ring, which he was to present at court, when he had any favour to solicit. This ring he presents to Ellen, and tells her that, as self, she may claim her suit, whathe wants nothing from the king himever it may be, as ransom of the monarch's pledge to him. He then proceeds with his guide; who alarms. him in the "Trosach's glen," with a loud whoop:

This wretched maniack, Blanche of

Devan, whose reason was overturned by the dreadful murder of her betrothed lover by the hand of Roderick Dhu, in one of his plundering excursions, is exquisitely described. Her wild airs are quite in character, natural, and pathetick. She warns Fitz James, in an obscure manner, of Murdoch's treachery, which is not unaccountable, as it may seem at first sight, since Murdoch might have been with Roderick at the assassination of her lover; and she tells Fitz James that she delights in his dress of Lincoln Green, which that lover also wore. The antipathy which she must feel to Murdoch

would make her suspect him of treachery to a Lowlander; and moreover, she might have heard the Highlanders, in their neighbouring ambuscade, talking of their expected

victim.

Fitz James now draws his sword,

and threatens Murdoch with death

if he does not disclose his treachery. The Scot sets forth at full speed, and shoots an arrow in his flight, which grazes Fitz James's crest, and thrills in Blanche's faded breast!" Fitz James pursues and slays Murdoch, and then hastens back to Blanche, whose reason is returning on the brink of death. She gives him a lock of yellow hair, in course that of her lover, and begs, with her dying breath, that, when he sees a darksome man

he will wreak vengeance on him for her wrongs. The knight blends the hair with a blood-stained lock from the head of poor Blanche, and vows to wear it in his bonnet, till he embrues it in the best blood of Rode

rick Dhu. He then proceeds in his dangerous path alone; when, turning the corner of a rock, he is summoned to stand, by a mountaineer, at his watch-fire. This scene is excellently described. The frankness and highsouled courage of the two warriours; the reliance which the Lowlander

places on the word of the Highlandthe next morning, to Coilantogle er to guide him safely on his way. Ford, although he has spoken threatening and violent words against Ro

derick, whose kinsman the mountaineer professes himself to be;

these circumstances are all admi

rably imagined and related. The rivals lie down side by side on the thus concludes the fourth canto. heather, and sleep till morning; and

of Walter Scott. The fifth canto, or We now come to the chef d'œuvre of more vigour, nature, and animaThe Combat, contains a long scene tion than any other passage in all abounds in these qualities. Fitz his poetry; much as that poetry James and his guide proceed through the Trosach, towards Coilantogle Ford. As they slowly march along their difficult path, the conversation

turns

Lowlander does not spare the chaon Roderick Dhu, and the Nay, he expresses an open and daracter of that highland chieftain. ring wish to see the rebel and his band, and receives the following terrifick answer; for, contrary to our intention, we cannot resist making a quotation in this place, although it will interrupt our detail of the plot: