[Introduction to the Canterbury Tales.] 'It made a deep impression upon me,' he says, ' and may indeed be said to contain the germ of much that I have since written.' While residing at Pisa in 1821, Byron dramatised Miss Lee's romantic There are people in the world who think their lives story, and published his version of it under the title well employed in collecting shells; there are others of Werner, or the Inheritance. The incidents, and not less satisfied to spend theirs in classing butterflies. much of the language of the play, are directly copied For my own part, I always preferred animate to inanifrom the novel, and the public were unanimous in mate nature; and would rather post to the antipodes to considering Harriet Lee as more interesting, pas-mark a new character, or develop a singular incident, sionate, and even more poetical, than her illustrious than become a fellow of the Royal Society by enriching imitator. The story,' says one of the critics whom museums with nondescripts. From this account you, Byron's play recalled to the merits of Harriet Lee, my gentle reader, may, without any extraordinary pene'is one of the most powerfully conceived, one of the tration, have discovered that I am among the eccentric most picturesque, and at the same time instructive part of mankind, by the courtesy of each other, and stories, that we are acquainted with. Indeed, thus themselves, ycleped poets-a title which, however mean led as we are to name Harriet Lee, we cannot allow or contemptible it may sound to those not honoured the opportunity to pass without saying that we have with it, never yet was rejected by a single mortal on always considered her works as standing upon the whom the suffrage of mankind conferred it; no, though verge of the very first rank of excellence; that is the laurel-leaf of Apollo, barren in its nature, was to say, as inferior to no English novels whatever, twined by the frozen fingers of Poverty, and shed upon excepting those of Fielding, Sterne, Smollett, the brow it crowned her chilling influence. But when Richardson, Defoe, Radcliffe, Godwin, Edgeworth, did it so? Too often destined to deprive its graced and the author of Waverley. It would not, perhaps, owner of every real good by an enchantment which we be going too far to say, that The Canterbury Tales know not how to define, it comprehends in itself such exhibit more of that species of invention, which, as a variety of pleasures and possessions, that well may we have already remarked, was never common in one of us cry— English literature, than any of the works even of those first-rate novelists we have named, with the single exception of Fielding. Kruitzner, or the German's Tale, possesses mystery, and yet clearness, as to its structure, strength of characters, and, above all, the most lively interest, blended with, and subservient to, the most affecting of moral lessons. The main idea which lies at the root of it is the horror of an erring father, who, having been detected in vice by his son, has dared to defend his own sin, and so to perplex the son's notions of moral rectitude, on finding that the son in his turn has pushed the false principles thus instilled to the last and worst extreme-on hearing his own sophistries flung in his face by a murderer.'* The short and spirited style of these tales, and the frequent dialogues they contain, impart to them something of a dramatic force and interest, and prevent their tiring the patience of the reader, like too many of the three-volume novels. In 1803, Miss Sophia Lee retired from the duties of her scholastic establishment, having earned an independent provision for the remainder of her life. Shortly afterwards she published The Life of a Lover, a tale which she had written early in life, and which is marked by juvenility of thought and expression, though with her usual warmth and richness of description. In 1807, a comedy from her pen, called The Assignation, was performed at Drury Lane; but played only once, the audience conceiving that some of the satirical portraits were aimed at popular individuals. Miss Harriet Lee, besides The Canterbury Tales, wrote two dramas, The New Peerage, and The Three Strangers. The plot of the latter is chiefly taken from her German tale. The play was brought out at Covent Garden Theatre in December 1835, but was barely tolerated for one night. A tablet is erected to the memory of these accomplished sisters in Clifton Church-where they are buried-from which it appears that Sophia Lee was born in May 1750, and died March 13, 1824. Her sister, Harriet Lee-who long resided in the neighbourhood of Bristol, a valued and respected lady-was born April 11, 1766, and died August 1, 1851. * Blackwood's Magazine, vol. xii. Thy lavish charter, taste, appropriates all we see! Happily, too, we are not like virtuosi in general, encumbered with the treasures gathered in our peregrinations. Compact in their nature, they lie all in the small cavities of our brain, which are, indeed, often so small, as to render it doubtful whether we have any at all. The few discoveries I have made in that richest of mines, the human soul, I have not been churl enough to keep to myself; nor, to say truth, unless I can find out some other means of supporting my corporeal existence than animal food, do I think I shall ever be able to afford that sullen affectation of superiority. Travelling, I have already said, is my taste; and, to make my journeys pay for themselves, my object. Much against my good liking, some troublesome fellows, a few months ago, took the liberty of making a little home of mine their own; nor, till I had coined a small portion of my brain in the mint of my worthy friend George Robinson, could I induce them to depart. I gave a proof of my politeness, however, in leaving my house to them, and retired to the coast of Kent, where I fell to work very busily. Gay with the hope of shutting my door on these unwelcome visitants, I walked in a severe frost from Deal to Dover, to secure a seat in the stage-coach to London. One only was vacant; and having engaged it, maugre the freezing of the bitter sky,' I wandered forth to note the memorabilia of Dover, and was soon lost in one of my fits of exquisite abstraction. immortal bard has, with more fancy than truth, With reverence I looked up to the cliff which our described; with toil mounted, by an almost endless staircase, to the top of a castle, which added nothing to my poor stock of ideas but the length of our virgin queen's pocket-pistol-that truly Dutch present: cold and weary, I was pacing towards the inn, when a sharpvisaged barber popped his head over his shop-door to reconnoitre the inquisitive stranger. A brisk fire, which I suddenly cast my eye on, invited my frozen hands and feet to its precincts. A civil question to the honest man produced on his part a civil invitation; and having placed me in a snug seat, he readily gave me the benefit of all his oral tradition. 'Sir,' he said, 'it is mighty lucky you came across me. The vulgar people of this town have no genius, sir-no taste; they never shew the greatest curiosity in the place. Sir, we have here the tomb of a poet !' The tomb of a poet!' cried I, with a spring that electrified my informant no less than myself. 'What poet lies here? and where is he buried?' 'Ay, that is the curiosity,' returned he exultingly. I smiled; his distinction was so like a barber. While he had been speaking, I recollected he must allude to the grave of Churchill-that vigorous genius who, well calculated to stand forth the champion of freedom, has recorded himself the slave of party, and the victim of spleen! So, however, thought not the barber, who considered him as the first of human beings. This great man, sir,' continued he, 'who lived and died in the cause of liberty, is interred in a very remarkable spot, sir; if you were not so cold and so tired, sir, I could shew it you in a moment.' Curiosity is an excellent greatcoat: I forgot I had no other, and strode after the barber to a spot surrounded by ruined walls, in the midst of which stood the white marble tablet marked with Churchill's name to appearance its only distinction. 'Cast your eyes on the walls,' said the important barber; they once enclosed a church, as you may see!' On inspecting the crumbling ruins more narrowly, I did indeed discern the traces of Gothic architecture. 'Yes, sir,' cried my friend the barber, with the conscious pride of an Englishman, throwing out a gaunt leg and arm, Churchill, the champion of liberty, is interred here! Here, sir, in the very ground where King John did homage for the crown he disgraced.' The idea was grand. In the eye of fancy, the slender pillars again lifted high the vaulted roof that rang with solemn chantings. I saw the insolent legate seated in scarlet pride; I saw the sneers of many a mitred abbot; I saw, bareheaded, the mean, the prostrate king; I saw, in short, everything but the barber, whom, in my flight and swell of soul, I had outwalked and lost. Some more curious traveller may again pick him up, perhaps, and learn more minutely the fact. Waking from my reverie, I found myself on the pier. The pale beams of a powerless sun gilt the fluctuating waves and the distant spires of Calais, which I now clearly surveyed. What a new train of images here sprung up in my mind, borne away by succeeding impressions with no less rapidity! From the monk of Sterne I travelled up in five minutes to the inflexible Edward III. sentencing the noble burghers; and having seen them saved by the eloquence of Philippa, I wanted no better seasoning for my mutton-chop, and pitied the empty-headed peer who was stamping over my little parlour in fury at the cook for having over-roasted his pheasant. The coachman now shewed his ruby face at the door, and I jumped into the stage, where were already seated two passengers of my own sex, and one of-would I could say the fairer! But, though truth may not be spoken at all times, even upon paper, one now and then may do her justice. Half a glance discovered that the good lady opposite to me had never been handsome, and now added the injuries of time to the severity of nature. Civil but cold compliments having passed, I closed my eyes to expand my soul; and, while fabricating a brief poetical history of England, to help short memories, was something astonished to find myself tugged violently by the sleeve; and not less so to see the coach empty, and hear an obstinate waiter insist upon it that we were at Canterbury, and the supper ready to be put on the table. It had snowed, I found, for some time; in consideration of which mine host had prudently suffered the fire nearly to go out. A dim candle was on the table, without snuffers, and a bell-string hanging over it, at which we pulled, but it had long ceased to operate on that noisy convenience. Alas, poor Shenstone! how often, during these excursions, do I think of thee. Cold, indeed, must have been thy acceptation in society, if thou couldst seriously say: Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his various course has been, Must sigh to think how oft he found His warmest welcome at an inn. Had the gentle bard told us that, in this sad substitute for home, despite of all our impatience to be gone, we must stay not only till wind and weather, but landlords, postilions, and hostlers choose to permit, I should have thought he knew more of travelling; and stirring the fire, snuffing the candles, reconnoitring the company, and modifying my own humour, should at once have tried to make the best of my situation. After all, he is a wise man who does at first what he must do at last; and I was just breaking the ice on finding that I had nursed the fire to the general satisfaction, when the coach from London added three to our party; and common civility obliged those who came first to make way for the yet more frozen travellers. We supped together; and I was something surprised to find our two coachmen allowed us such ample time to enjoy our little bowl of punch; when lo! with dolorous countenances, they came to give us notice that the snow was so heavy, and already so deep, as to make our proceeding by either road dangerous, if not utterly impracticable. "If that is really the case,' cried I mentally, 'let us see what we may hope from the construction of the seven heads that constitute our company.' Observe, gentle reader, that I do not mean the outward and visible form of those heads; for I am not amongst the new race of physiognomists who exhaust invention only to ally their own species to the animal creation, and would rather prove the skull of a man resembled an ass, than, looking within, find in the intellect a glorious similitude of the Deity. An elegant author more justly conveys my idea of physiognomy, when he says, that 'different sensibilities gather into the countenance and become beauty there, as colours mount in a tulip and enrich it.' It was my interest to be as happy as I could, and that can only be when we look around with a wish to be pleased: nor could I ever find a way of unlocking the human heart but by frankly inviting others to peep into my own. And now for my survey. In the chimney-corner sat my old gentlewoman, a little alarmed at a coffin that had popped from the fire, instead of a purse; ergo, superstition was her weak side. In sad conformity to declining years, she had put on her spectacles,,taken out her knitting, and thus humbly retired from attention, which she had long, perhaps, been hopeless of attracting. Close by her was placed a young lady from London, in the bloom of nineteen: a cross on her bosom shewed her to be a Catholic, and a peculiar accent an Irishwoman; her face, especially her eyes, might be termed handsome; of those, archness would have been the expression, had not the absence of her air proved that their sense was turned inward, to contemplate in her heart some chosen cherished image. Love and romance reigned in every lineament. A French abbé had, as is usual with gentlemen of that country, edged himself into the seat by the belle, to whom he continually addressed himself with all sorts of petits soins, though fatigue was obvious in his air; and the impression of some danger escaped gave a wild sharpness to every feature. "Thou hast comprised,' thought I, 'the knowledge of a whole life in perhaps the last month; and then, perhaps, didst thou first study the art of thinking, or learn the misery of feeling!' Neither of these seemed, however, to have troubled his neighbour, a portly Englishman, who, though with a sort of surly good-nature he had given up his place at the fire, yet contrived to engross both candles, by holding before them a newspaper, where he dwelt upon the article of stocks, till a bloody duel in Ireland induced communication, and enabled me to discover that, in spite of the importance of his air, credulity might be reckoned amongst his characteristics. The opposite corner of the fire had been, by general consent, given up to one of the London travellers, whose age and infirmities challenged regard, while his aspect awakened the most melting benevolence. Suppose an anchorite, sublimed by devotion and temperance from all human frailty, and you will see this interesting aged clergyman: so pale, so pure was his complexion, so slight his figure, though tall, that it seemed as if his soul was gradually divesting itself of the covering of mortality, that when the hour of separating it from the body came, hardly should the greedy grave claim aught of a being so ethereal! 'Oh, what lessons of patience and sanctity couldst thou give,' thought I, 'were it my fortune to find the key of thy heart!' An officer in the middle of life occupied the next seat. Martial and athletic in his person, of a countenance open and sensible, tanned, as it seemed, by severe service, his forehead only retained its whiteness; yet that, with assimilating graceful manners, rendered him very prepossessing. That seven sensible people, for I include myself in that description, should tumble out of two stage-coaches, and be thrown together so oddly, was, in my opinion, an incident; and why not make it really one? I hastily advanced, and, turning my back to the fire, fixed the eyes of the whole company-not on my person, for that was noway singular-not, I would fain hope, upon my coat, which I had forgotten till that moment was threadbare: I had rather of the three imagine my assurance the object of general attention. However, no one spoke, and I was obliged to second my own motion. 'Sir,' cried I to the Englishman, who, by the time he had kept the paper, had certainly spelt its contents, 'do you find anything entertaining in that newspaper?' 'No, sir,' returned he most laconically. "Then you might perhaps find something entertaining out of it,' added I. 'Perhaps I might,' retorted he in a provoking accent, and surveying me from top to toe. The Frenchman laughed so did I-it is the only way when one has been more witty than wise. I returned presently, however, to the attack. 'How charmingly might we fill a long evening,' resumed I, with, as I thought, a most ingratiating smile, 'if each of the company would relate the most remarkable story he or she ever knew or heard of!' · Truly, we might make a long evening that way,' again retorted my torment, the Englishman. However, if you please, we will waive your plan, sir, till to-morrow; and then we shall have the additional resort of our dreams, if our memories fail us.' He now, with a negligent yawn, rang, and ordered the chambermaid. The two females rose of course, and in one moment an overbearing clown cut short 'the feast of reason and the flow of soul.' I forgot it snowed, and went to bed in a fever of rage. A charming tale ready for the press in my travelling-desk-the harvest I might make could I prevail on each of the company to tell me another! Reader, if you ever had an empty purse, and an unread performance of your own burning in your pocket and your heart, I need not ask you to pity me. Fortune, however, more kindly than usual, took my case into consideration; for the morning shewed me a snow so deep, that had Thomas à Becket condescended to attend at his own shrine to greet those who inquired for it, not a soul could have got at the cathedral to pay their devoirs to the complaisant archbishop. On entering the breakfast-room, I found mine host had, at the desire of some one or other of the company, already produced his very small stock of books, consisting of the Army List, the Whole Art of Farriery, and a volume of imperfect magazines; a small supply of mental food for seven hungry people. Vanity never deserts itself: I thought I was greeted with more than common civility; and having satisfied my grosser appetite with tea and toast, resumed the idea of the night before-assuring the young lady that 'I was certain, from her fine eyes, she could melt us with a tender story; while the sober matron could improve us by a wise one;' a circular bow shewed similar hopes from the gentlemen. The plan was adopted, and the exultation of conscious superiority flushed my cheek. DR JOHN MOORE. DR JOHN MOORE, author of Zeluco and other works, was born at Stirling in the year 1729. His father was one of the clergymen of that town, but died in 1737, leaving seven children to the care of his excellent widow. Mrs Moore removed to Glasgow, where her relations resided, possessed of considerable property. After the usual education at the university of Glasgow, John was put apprentice to Mr Gordon, a surgeon of extensive practice, with whom Smollett had been apprenticed a few years before. In his nineteenth year, Moore accompanied the Duke of Argyle's regiment abroad, and attended the military hospitals at Maestricht in the capacity of surgeon's mate. From thence he went to Flushing and Breda; and on the termination of hostilities, he accompanied General Braddock to England. Soon afterwards, he became household surgeon to the Earl of Albemarle, the British ambassador at the court of Versailles. His old master, Mr Gordon, now invited him to become a partner in his business in Glasgow, and, after two years' residence in Paris, Moore accepted the invitation. He practised for many years in Glasgow with great success. In 1772, he was induced to accompany the young Duke of Hamilton to the continent, where they resided five years, in France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy. Returning in 1778, Moore removed his family to London, and commenced physician in the metropolis. In 1779, he published A View of Society and Manners in France, Switzerland, and Germany, in two volumes, which was received with general approbation. In 1781, appeared his View of Society and Manners in Italy; in 1785, Medical Sketches; and in 1786, his Zeluco: Various Views of Human Nature, taken from Life and Manners, Foreign and Domestic. The object of this novel was to prove that, in spite of the gayest and most prosperous appearances, inward misery always accompanies vice. The hero of the tale was the only son of a noble family in Sicily, spoiled by maternal indulgence, and at length rioting in every prodigality and vice. The idea Smollett's Count Fathom, but Moore took a wider of such a character was probably suggested by He made his range of character and incident. hero accomplished and fascinating, thus avoiding the feeling of contempt with which the abject villainy of Fathom is unavoidably regarded; and he traced, step by step, through a succession of scenes and adventures, the progress of depravity, and the effects of uncontrolled passion. incident of the favourite sparrow, which Zeluco squeezed to death when a boy, because it did not perform certain tricks which he had taught it, lets us at once into the pampered selfishness and passionate cruelty of his disposition. The scene of the novel is laid chiefly in Italy; and the author's familiarity with foreign manners enabled him to impart to his narrative numerous new and graphic sketches. Zeluco also serves in the Spanish army; and at another time is a slave-owner in the West Indies. The latter circumstance gives the author an opportunity of condemning the The without degenerating into German sentimentalism or immorality. Of the lighter sketches, the scenes between the two Scotchmen, Targe and Buchanan, are perhaps the best; and their duel about Queen Mary is an inimitable piece of national caricature. On English ground, Dr Moore is a careful observer of men and manners. The conventional forms of society, the smartness of dialogue, the oddities and humours of particular individuals, the charlatanry of quacks and pretenders, are well portrayed. He fails chiefly in depth of passion and situations of strong interest. In constructing a plot, he is greatly inferior to Smollett or Fielding. Edward, like Tom Jones, is a foundling; but 'the windingup of the story by the trite contrivance of recognising a lost child from a mark on the shoulder, a locket, and a miniature picture,' forms a humbling contrast to the series of incidents and events, so natural, dramatic, and interesting, by which the birth of Fielding's hero is established. There is no great aiming at moral effect in Moore's novels, unless it be in depicting the wretchedness of vice, and its tragic termination in the character of Zeluco. He was an observer rather than an inventor; he noted more than he felt. The same powers of observation displayed in his novels, and his extensive acquaintance with mankind, rendered him an admirable chronicler of the striking scenes of the French Revolution. Numerous as are the works since published on this great event, the journals and remarks of Dr Moore may still be read with pleasure and instruction. It may here be mentioned, that the distinguished Sir John Moore, who fell at Corunna, was the eldest son of the novelist. system of slavery with eloquence and humanity, is also described with tenderness and delicacy, and presenting some affecting pictures of suffering and attachment in the negro race. The death of Hanno, the humane and generous slave, is one of Moore's most masterly delineations. The various scenes and episodes in the novel relieve the disagreeable shades of a character constantly deepening in vice; for Zeluco has no redeeming trait to link him to our sympathy or forgiveness. Moore visited Scotland in the summer of 1786, and in the commencement of the following year, took a warm interest in the genius and fortunes of Burns. It is to him that we owe the precious autobiography of the poet, one of the most interesting and powerful sketches that ever was written. In their correspondence we see the colossal strength and lofty mind of the peasant-bard, even when placed by the side of the accomplished and learned traveller and man of taste. In August 1792, Dr Moore accompanied the Earl of Lauderdale to Paris, and witnessed some of the early excesses of the French revolution. Of this tour he published an account, entitled A Journal during a Residence in France, from the beginning of August to the middle of December 1792, &c. The first volume of this work was published in 1793, and a second in 1794. In 1795, Dr Moore, wishing to give a retrospective detail of the circumstances which tended to hasten the revolution, drew up a carefully digested narrative, entitled A View of the Causes and Progress of the French Revolution, in two volumes. This is a valuable work, and it has been pretty closely followed by Sir Walter Scott in his animated and picturesque survey of the events preceding the career of Napoleon. In 1796, Dr Moore produced a second novel, Edward: Various Views of Human Nature, taken from Life and Manners, chiefly in England. As Zeluco was a model of villainy, Edward is a model of virtue. The work, altogether, displays great knowledge of the world, a lively rather than a correct style, and some amusing portraits of English character; among these, that of Barnet the epicure-who falls in love, and Forty-five, and George Buchanan, born and educated among marries a lady for her skill in dressing a dish of the Whigs of the west of Scotland, both serving-men in Italy, stewed carp, and who is made a good husband meet and dine together during the absence of their masters. chiefly by his wife's cookery and attention to his After dinner, and the bottle having circulated freely, they comforts-is undoubtedly the best. In the follow-disagree as to politics, Targe being a keen Jacobite, and the ing year, Moore furnished a life of his friend Smollett for a collective edition of his works. In 1800, appeared his last production, Mordaunt : Sketches of Life, Character, and Manners, in Various Countries, including the Memoirs of a French Lady of Quality. In this novel our author, following the example of Richardson, and Smollett's Humphry Clinker, threw his narrative into the form of letters, part being dated from the continent, and part from England. A tone of languor and insipidity pervades the story, and there is little of plot or incident to keep alive attention. Dr Moore died at Richmond on the 21st of January 1802. A complete edition of his works has been published in seven volumes, with memoirs of his life and writings by Dr Robert Anderson. Of all the writings of Dr Moore, his novel of Zeluco is the most popular. Mr Dunlop has given the preference to Edward. The latter may boast of more variety of character, and is distinguished by judicious observation and witty remark, but it is deficient in the strong interest and forcible painting of the first novel. Zeluco's murder of his child in a fit of frantic jealousy, and the discovery of the circumstance by means of the picture, is conceived with great originality, and has a striking effect. It is the poetry of romance. The attachment between Laura and Carlostein [Dispute and Duel between the Two Scotch Servants in Italy.] [From Zeluco.] [Duncan Targe, a hot Highlander, who had been out in the other a stanch Whig.] Buchanan filled a bumper, and gave, for the toast, The Land of Cakes!' This immediately dispersed the cloud which began to gather on the other's brow. Targe drank the toast with enthusiasm, saying: 'May the Almighty pour his blessings on every hill and valley in it! that is the worst wish, Mr Buchanan, that I shall ever wish to that land.' 'It would delight your heart to behold the flourishing condition it is now in,' replied Buchanan; it was fast improving when I left it, and I have been credibly informed since that it is now a perfect garden.' 'I am very happy to hear it,' said Targe. 'Indeed,' added Buchanan, 'it has been in a state of rapid improvement ever since the Union.' 'Confound the Union!' cried Targe; 'it would have improved much faster without it.' I am not quite clear on that point, Mr Targe,' said Buchanan. 'Depend upon it,' replied Targe, the Union was the worst treaty that Scotland ever made.' 'I shall admit,' said Buchanan, 'that she might have made a better; but, bad as it is, our country reaps some advantage from it.' 'All the advantages are on the side of England.' the increase of trade since the Union, and the riches which have flowed into the Lowlands of Scotland from that quarter?' Think,' cried Targe; why, I think they have done a great deal of mischief to the Lowlands of Scotland.' 'How so, my good friend?' said Buchanan. 'By spreading luxury among the inhabitants, the never-failing forerunner of effeminacy of manners. Why, I was assured,' continued Targe, 'by Sergeant Lewis Macneil, a Highland gentleman in the Prussian service, that the Lowlanders, in some parts of Scotland, are now very little better than so many English.' 'O fie!' cried Buchanan; things are not come to that pass as yet, Mr Targe your friend, the sergeant, assuredly exaggerates.' 'I hope he does,' replied Targe; but you must acknowledge,' continued he, that by the, Union, Scotland has lost her existence as an independent state; her name is swallowed, up in that of England. Only read the English newspapers; they mention England, as if it were the name of the whole island. They talk of the English army, the English fleet, the English everything. They never mention Scotland, except when one of our countrymen happens to get an office under government; we are then told, with some stale gibe, that the person is a Scotchman: or, which happens still more rarely, when any of them are condemned to die at Tyburn, particular care is taken to inform the public that the criminal is originally from Scotland ! But if fifty Englishmen get places, or are hanged, in one year, no remarks are made.' 'No,' said Buchanan; 'in that case it is passed over as a thing of course.' The conversation then taking another turn, Targe, who was a great genealogist, descanted on the antiquity of certain gentlemen's families in the Highlands; which, he asserted, were far more honourable than most of the noble families either in Scotland or England. 'Is it not shameful,' added he, that a parcel of mushroom lords, mere sprouts from the dunghills of law or commerce, the grandsons of grocers and attorneys, should take the pass of gentlemen of the oldest families in Europe?' ་ 'Why, as for that matter,' replied Buchanan, 'provided the grandsons of grocers or attorneys are deserving citizens, I do not perceive why they should be excluded from the king's favour more than other men.' 'But some of them never drew a sword in defence of either their king or country,' rejoined Targe. Assuredly,' said Buchanan, men may deserve honour and pre-eminence by other means than by drawing their swords.' [He then instances his celebrated namesake George Buchanan, whom he praises warmly as having been the best Latin scholar in Europe; while Targe upbraids him for want of honesty.]. 'In what did he ever shew any want of honesty?' said Buchanan. 'In calumniating and endeavouring to blacken the reputation of his rightful sovereign, Mary Queen of Scots,' replied Targe, the most beautiful and accomplished princess that ever sat on a throne.' 'I have nothing to say either against her beauty or her accomplishments,' resumed Buchanan; but surely, Mr Targe, you must acknowledge that she was a Have a care what you say, sir!' interrupted Targe; 'I'll permit no man that ever wore breeches to speak disrespectfully of that unfortunate queen!' 'No man that ever wore either breeches or a philabeg,' replied Buchanan, 'shall prevent me from speaking the truth when I see occasion!' 'Speak as much truth as you please, sir,' rejoined Targe; but I declare that no man shall calumniate the memory of that beautiful and unfortunate princess in my presence while I can wield a claymore.' 'If you should wield fifty claymores, you cannot deny that she was a Papist!' said Buchanan. 'Well, sir,' cried Targe, 'what then? She was, like other people, of the religion in which she was bred.' 'I do not know where you may have been bred, Mr Targe,' said Buchanan; for aught I know, you may be an adherent to the worship of the scarlet lady yourself. Unless that is the case, you ought not to interest yourself in the reputation of Mary Queen of Scots.' 'I fear you are too nearly related to the false slanderer whose name you bear!' said Targe. 'I glory in the name; and should think myself greatly obliged to any man who could prove my relation to the great George Buchanan!' cried the other. 'He was nothing but a disloyal calumniator,' cried Targe; who attempted to support falsehoods by forgeries, which, I thank Heaven, are now fully detected!' 'You are thankful for a very small mercy,' resumed Buchanan; but since you provoke me to it, I will tell you, in plain English, that your bonny Queen Mary was the strumpet of Bothwell and the murderer of her husband!' No sooner had he uttered the last sentence, than Targe flew at him like a tiger, and they were separated with difficulty by Mr N-'s groom, who was in the adjoining chamber, and had heard the altercation. 'I insist on your giving me satisfaction, or retracting what you have said against the beautiful Queen of Scotland!' cried Targe. 'As for retracting what I have said,' replied Buchanan, 'that is no habit of mine; but with regard to giving you satisfaction, I am ready for that to the best of my ability; for let me tell you, sir, though I am not a Highlandman, I am a Scotchman as well as yourself, and not entirely ignorant of the use of the claymore; so name your hour, and I will meet you to-morrow morning.' 'Why not directly?' cried Targe; there is nobody in the garden to interrupt us.' 'I should have chosen to have settled some things first; but since you are in such a hurry, I will not balk you. I will step home for my sword and be with you directly,' said Buchanan. The groom interposed, and endeavoured to reconcile the two enraged Scots, but without success. Buchanan soon arrived with his sword, and they retired to a private spot in the garden. The groom next tried to persuade them to decide their difference by fair boxing. This was rejected by both the champions as a mode of fighting unbecoming gentlemen. The groom asserted that the best gentlemen in England sometimes fought in that manner, and gave, as an instance, a boxing-match, of which he himself had been a witness, between Lord G.'s gentleman and a gentleman-farmer at York races about the price of a mare. 'But our quarrel,' said Targe, 'is about the reputation of a queen.' That, for certain,' replied the groom, makes a difference.' Buchanan unsheathed his sword. That I am. Come on, sir,' said Buchanan; 'and the Lord be with the righteous.' Amen!' cried Targe; and the conflict began. Both the combatants understood the weapon they fought with; and each parried his adversary's blows with such dexterity, that no blood was shed for some time. At length Targe, making a feint at Buchanan's head, gave him suddenly a severe wound in the thigh. 'I hope you are now sensible of your error?' said Targe, dropping his point. 'I am of the same opinion I was!' cried Buchanan; so keep your guard.' So saying, he advanced more briskly than ever upon Targe, who, after warding off several strokes, wounded his antagonist a second time. Buchanan, however, shewed no disposition to relinquish |