and she hemmed and marked a dozen for him; the next day she noticed that he was expected to keep himself in cigars for a year on half a dollar, and she took upon herself the task of making them for him, furnishing the material herself, gratis. She heard the fruitwomen criticising Aunt Gáspara's stinginess; she inferred from this that Segundo had a poor table, and she set herself to the task of devising appetizing and nutritious dishes for him; in addition to all which she ordered books from Orense, mended his clothes, and sewed on his buttons.

All this she did with inexpressible delight, going about the house with a light, almost youthful, step, rejuvenated by the sweet maternity of love, and so happy that she forgot to scold the school-children, thinking only of shortening their tasks that she might be all the sooner with Segundo. There was in her affection much that was generous and spiritual, and her happiest moments were those in which, as they sat side by side at the window, his head resting on her shoulder, she listened, while her imagination transformed the pots of carnations and sweet basil into a virgin forest, to the verses which he recited in a well-modulated voice, verses that seemed to Leocadia celestial music.-The Swan of Vilamorta.

BEATTIE, JAMES, a Scottish essayist, poet, and philosophical writer, born at Laurencekirk, Kincardine, October 25, 1735; died at Aberdeen, August 18, 1803. He was the son of a shopkeeper; studied at Marischal College, Aberdeen; became a schoolmaster, and in 1760 was chosen Professor of Moral Philosophy and Logic in Marischal College, a position which he held until near the close of his life. In 1770 appeared his Essay on Truth, written in opposition to the sceptical theories of David Hume. This work had much reputation in its day, and gained for the author a pension of £200 from the Government. He wrote several other prose works, the most important of which are The Evidences of the Christian Religion, The Elements of Moral Science, and several volumes of Essays and Dissertations. The Essays contain some fine passages:

ON THE LOVE OF NATURE.

Homer's beautiful description of the heavens and earth, as they appear in a calm evening by the light of the moon and stars, concludes with this circumstance"and the heart of the shepherd is glad." Madame Dacier, from the turn she gives to the passage in her version, seems to think, and Pope, in order, perhaps, to make out his couplet, insinuates, that the gladness of the shepherd is owing to his sense of the utility of these luminaries. And this may in part be the case. But this is not in Homer; nor is it a necessary consid

eration. It is true that in contemplating the material universe they who discern the causes and effects of things must be more rapturously entertained than those who perceive nothing but the shape and size, color and motion. Yet in the mere outside af Nature's works-if I may so express myself-there is a splendor and a magnificence to which even untutored minds cannot attend without great delight.

Not that all peasants or all philosophers are equally susceptible of these charming impressions. It is strange to observe the callousness of some men, before whom all the glories of heaven and earth pass in daily succession without touching their hearts, elevating their fancy, or leaving any durable remembrance. Even of those who pretend to sensibility, how many are there to whom the lustre of the rising or setting sun, the sparkling concave of the midnight sky, the mountain forest tossing and roaring to the storm or warbling with all the melodies of a summer evening; the sweet interchange of hill and dale, shade and sunshine, grove, lawn and water, which an extensive landscape offers to the view; the scenery of the ocean-so lovely, so majestic, and so tremendous-and the many pleasing varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdom, could never afford so much real satisfaction as the steams and noise of a ball-room, the insipid fiddling and squeaking of an opera, or the vexations and wranglings of a card-table.

But some minds there are of a different make, who, even in the early part of life, receive from the contemplation of Nature a species of delight which they would hardly exchange for any other. Such minds have always within them the seeds of true taste, and frequently of imitative genius. To a mind thus disposed, no part of creation is indifferent. In the crowded city and howling wilderness, in the cultivated province and solitary isle, in the flowery lawn and craggy mountain, in the murmur of the rivulet and in the uproar of the ocean, in the radiance of summer and gloom of winter, in the thunder of heaven and in the whisper of the breeze, he still finds something to rouse or to soothe his imagination, to draw forth his affections, or to em

ploy his understanding. And from every mental energy that is not attended with pain-and even from some of those that are, as moderate terror and pity-a sound mind derives satisfaction; exercise being equally necessary to the body and the soul, and to both equally productive of health and pleasure.-Essays.

THE SCENERY, POETRY, AND MUSIC OF SCOTLAND. There is a certain style of melody peculiar to each musical country, which the people of that country are apt to prefer to every other style. That they should prefer their own is not surprising; and that the melody of one people should differ from that of another is not more surprising, perhaps, than that the language of one people should differ from that of another. But there is something not unworthy of note in the particular expression and style that characterize the music of one nation or province, and distinguish it from every other sort of music. Of this diversity Scotland supplies a striking example. The native melody of the Highlands and Western Isles is as different from that of the southern part of the kingdom as the Irish or Erse language is different from the English or Scotch. . .

The Highlands of Scotland are a picturesque, but in general a melancholy country. Long tracts of mountainous desert, covered with dark heath, and often obscured by misty weather; narrow valleys, thinly inhabited and bounded by precipices resounding with the fall of torrents; a soil so rugged, and a climate so dreary, as in many parts to admit neither the amusements of pasturage nor the labors of agriculture; the mournful dashing of waves along the firths and lakes that intersect the country; the portentous noises which every change of the wind and every increase and diminution of the waters is apt to raise in a lonely region full of echoes and rocks and caverns; the grotesque and ghastly appearance of such a landscape by the light of the moon-objects like these diffuse a gloom over the fancy which may be compatible enough with occasional and social merriment, but cannot fail to tincture the thoughts of a native in the hour of silence and solitude. If these people, notwithstanding their reformation in

religion, and more frequent intercourse with strangers, do still retain many of their old superstitions, we need not doubt but in former times they must have been more enslaved to the horrors of imagination, when beset with the bugbears of papacy and the darkness of paganism. Most of their superstitions are of the melancholy cast. That "second sight," wherewith some of them are still supposed to be haunted, is considered by themselves as a misfortune, on account of the many dreadful images it is said to obtrude upon their fancy. Nor is it wonderful that persons of lively imagination, immured in deep solitude, and surrounded with stupendous scenery of clouds, precipices, and torrents, should dream, even when they think themselves awake, of those few striking ideas with which their lonely lives are diversified of corpses, funeral processions, and other objects of terror, or of marriages, the arrival of strangers, and such-like matters of more agreeable curiosity. Let it be observed, also, that the ancient Highlanders of Scotland had hardly any other way of supporting themselves than by hunting, fishing, or war-professions that are continually exposed to fatal accidents. And hence, no doubt, additional horrors would often haunt their solitude, and a deeper gloom overshadow the imagination even of the hardiest native.

What, then, would it be reasonable to expect from the fanciful tribe-from the musicians and poets-of such a region? Strains expressive of joy, tranquillity, or the softer passions? No: their style must have been better suited to their circumstances. And so we find, in fact, their music is. The wildest irregularity appears in its composition: the expression is warlike and melancholy, and approaches even to the terrible. And that their poetry is almost uniformly mournful, and their views of nature dark and dreary, will be allowed by all who admit of the authenticity of Ossian; and not doubted by any who believe those fragments of Highland poetry to be genuine-which many old people, now alive, of that country, remember to have heard in their youth, and were then taught to refer to a pretty high antiquity.

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