birds, the swelling sounds of the Eolian harp, and the melody of the human voice, have some quality inherent in them, which would render them, even if heard for the first time, universally delightful.* But the creaking of a door, or the jar produed by the filing of a saw, can convey pleasure to no one, and must excite, on the contrary, universal antipathy and disgust. All the sounds," says Cowper in one of his letters, "that nature utters are agreeable, at least in this country. I should not, perhaps, find the roaring of lions in Africa, or of bears in Russia, very pleasing; but I know no beast in England, whose voice I do not account musical, save, and except always, the braying of an ass. The notes of all our birds and fowls please me, without one exception; and as to insects, if the black beetle, and beetles indeed of all hues, will keep out of my way, I have no objection to any of the rest; on the contrary, in whatever key they sing, from the gnat's fine treble to the bass of the humble bee, I admire them all. Seriously, however (he continues), it strikes me as a very observable instance of providential kindness to man, that such an exact accord has been contrived between his ear, and the sounds with which, at least in a rural situation, it is almost every moment visit ed."t

The source of the pleasure derived from music must be investigated, not by an examination of that which prevails in polished society, complicated, as it is, with various refinements that are not essential to it; but as it exists, in its simplest form, in those melodies which delight an untutored ear, and which powerfully affect the heart, even when they do not recall to the fancy scenes in which they have been heard, or events with which they have been associated.

That music has the capacity of exciting lively emotions, must be decided by an appeal to the experience of those who are sensible to its pleasures. From minds thus constituted, it can often banish one train of feelings, and replace them with another of opposite complexion and character, especially when the transition is made with skill and delicacy. It can soothe the anguish of sorrow and disappointment,

See Knight on Taste. +Letter cxvii.

Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow. Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,

And the world's Victor stood subdued by sound."

It is to be observed, however, of the emotions occasioned by music, that they are referable only to a class; and that they have never that distinct appropriation which belongs to the creations of the sister arts of poetry and painting. When we listen for the first time to a simple melody, it is its general character only that we are able to perceive. We are conscious that it kindles cheerful or melancholy feelings, without being able to refer them to any individual object. Now, I believe, there is no way in which our sensibility can be thus affected, except by the association of certain ideas with sounds, or successions of sound, which we have formerly heard, not perhaps precisely the same in kind, but belonging to the same class. And if we seek for the original prototypes of those tones, which, by their rhythm and cadences, become capable of exciting emotions, they will be found, I apprehend, in natural sounds, as well as in natural expressions of feeling, that were antecedent to all oral language, and are universal to human nature. Cheerfulness naturally disposes to quick and sudden changes of tone and gesture; and melancholy has the effect of weakening the voice, and of producing low and slowly measured accents. The gentle and tender feelings of pastoral life find a natural expression, in tones corresponding with them in delicacy and softness. And the idea of sublimity is almost necessarily annexed to sounds, of which loudness is one but not the only element, and which, though they may have no strict analogy with the

roll of thunder, or the roaring of the cataract, have it yet in common with this impressive language of nature, that they are associated with our first notions of magnitude and power.

Hence it is, that music is to be considered as an imitative art; but its imitations, to be a source of pleasure, must be extremely general, and must seldom indeed descend from the class to the individual. All such attempts at close resemblance fail of their purpose, and even become ridiculous. This has been well illustrated by Mr Avison, in his excellent Essay on Musical Expression, in which, speaking of composers addicted to too close imitation, he observes, "Were any of these gentlemen to set to music the following words of Milton,

Their songs

tunes, he adds, so expressive to us of religious solemnity, were, in the French court, applied to licentious songs; and the fine melody adapted to the 100th psalm, was sung to a popular love ditty. An instance also occurs to my own recollection, of the successful adaptation of a fine song of Purcell,* to the purpose of a psalm tune.

Conversions like these could never (as Mr Jackson has observed) have succeeded, if the imitations of music were more than extremely general, and if poetry had not the power of determining what idea the music should express.

A general accordance, however, between the language of poetry and the music adapted to it, may in all cases be reasonably required. It is at least essential, that the air and the poetry

Heaven.'

It is probable, that on the word divide he would run a division on half a dozen bars; and, in the subsequent part of the sentence, he would not think he had risen to the heights of sublimity till he had climbed to the very top of his instrument, or at least as high as the human voice could follow him." This servility of imitation has been also happily ridiculed by Swift, in his "Proposals for a Cantata," in which the words high and deep have high and deep notes set to them; a series of short notes of equal length is introduced to imitate shivering and shaking; a sudden rise of the voice, from a very low to a very high pitch, to denote flying above the sky, with several other droll contrivances of a similar nature.

It is on this principle, (namely, of a general resemblance only between the tones of music and those expressive of an ordinary feeling) that we are to explain some facts which have been stated by an ingenious writer, who was himself distinguished both as a proficient in the science of music, and an accomplished judge of its excellence. In a work, entitled "The Four Ages," the late Mr Jackson of Exeter has endeavoured to prove, that there is no natural alliance between

poetry and music. He alleges, for example, that the song and chorus of Return, O Lord of Hosts," in the Oratorio of Sampson, might with equal success have been adapted to the complaints of a lover. The old psalm

lively melody, for example, should not convey the language of grief or complaint; and that a solemn or plaintive air should not be associated with gay or exhilarating verse. Under the guidance of composers of judgment and taste, music and poetry are powerful auxiliaries of each other; for while music exalts the sensibility of the mind, and by its general tendency disposes it to lively emotions, poetry gives vividness to our impressions, and turns to shape the indistinct images of the fancy.

That music was originally derived from the natural language of passion and emotion, is rendered highly probable, by inquiring into the history of the early melodies of all countries that possess a national music.-" All the songs of the Lowlands of Scotland, (says Dr Beattie, in his excellent Essays on Poetry and Music) are expressive of love and tenderness, and of other emotions suited to the tranqillity of pastoral life. The music adapted to them," he is of opinion, "probably took its rise among men who were real shepherds, and who actually felt the sensations and affections whereof it is so very expressive." Mr Ritson is also of the same opinion. It cannot (he observest) be reasonably doubted, that many, if not most, or even all the celebrated and popular Scottish melodies now extant, as distinguished from the Highland airs,

"Come unto these yellow sands." In his Essay on Scottish Song.

have been actually composed by the natives of the Lowlands, speaking and thinking in the English language; by shepherds tending their flocks, or by maids milking their ewes; by persons, in short, altogether uncultivated, or, if one may be allowed the expression, uncorrupted by art, and influenced only by the dictates of pure and simple nature." It is a fact, also, in evidence of the same theory, that the simple melodies of Scotland have caught the prevailing spirit of the age in which they were produced. During the feuds of the borderers (it has been remarked by the ingenious Mr M'Neill), intestine wars and hostilities, tumult and disorder, midnight plunder, murder, and calamity, were the animating subjects which furnished these savage songsters with materials for their lays. But the pastoral songs of the succeeding age breathe only peace, harmony, and love; and incline us to believe, that universal safety, combined with rural happiness and contentment, were the genuine incitements both of the poetry and music."*

(To be continued.)

THE fate of ordinary men, or at least the nature of their pursuits, is generally determined by fortuitous circumstances, by the current of which, feeble and irresolute spirits are borne quietly through life. Of superior minds, it may be observed that the spring of action is within; they are impelled by their own energies, and directed by their own will. Besides, á particular determination uniformly accompanies genius; for, though a strong mind thinks strongly on every subject, universal excellence is never permitted to an individual, and therefore the wisdom of nature provides against that mediocrity which arises from diffusing the forces of great talents, by placing them under the management of a ruling passion.

The professions which originate in

"Notes to the Lyric Muse of Scotland.

the artificial arrangements of society, are less frequently the objects of this definite and unconquerable inclination, than such as are common to man in the simplest state. These are frequently cultivated from the private delight they afford, with only a secondary view to their effects on others, or in promoting our own fortune or reputation; while these effects are the primary and ultimate causes for prosecuting the former. No human being, for example, loves, for its own sake, the study of Scotch law, which only becomes tolerable after long familiarity, through means of which time begets a certain fondness for any thing not essentially detestable. Poetry, on the other side, presents, in many instances, a pure specimen of innate partiality, strengthening in the face of opposition, and triumphing over every species of discouragement.

The bias last mentioned, indeed, is generally the best marked, the earliest developed, and most obstinate of all. Situations the most unfavourable, circumstances the most adverse to its growth, accumulated around with the ingenuity of apparent design, though they sometimes crush the individual, seldom divert his course. Natures so highly endowed are not the proper of being guided by accidents, they subjects of chance or fortune. Instead force them into the service of a preconceived design, and often with so much success, that superficial reasoners suppose them to have been intended by providence for those very purposes to which human ingenuity has reduced them.

A poetical mind, indeed, though produced in a barbarous age, or in a rude and backward part of the world, meets at first no very alarming obstacles, and may even be seduced into verse by the seeming plainness of the way. The materials of pleasure lie on the surface, the poet therefore needs to go little deeper than the painter; the passions are best studied in our own bosoms, and none describe them well, or control them in others, who draw their knowledge of them from a more distant source: finally, invention is only a new combination from memory, and this is speedily enriched with great, agreeable, and surprising appearances, derived immediately from the workings, agitations, and changes, of nature and fortune

around us. Even in the minor qualifications of diction and style, the difficulties are not insurmountable. The imperfections of an infant language are greater as an instrument of thought than as a vehicle of feeling; accordingly, when the historian and philosopher find it unfit for their purposes, contemporary poets often exhibit a richness, strength, and propriety, which anticipate the improvements of several centuries.

But there is a state of society more unpropitious, and situations infinitely less inviting, than those now supposed. When taste has received the last touches of refinement, and composition its highest graces, should the spirit of poetry inflame an untutored and illiterate mind, what are his prospects of success? Ease and retirement, if not indispensible to the perfection of his higher attributes of fancy and imagination, are clearly so when correctness and elegance are essential to his purpose of affording delight. His first productions are necessarily esteemed coarse and faulty; and though applause may predominate, the just severity even of friendly criticism chastens his confidence and self-esteem, and consequently removes half his strength. Add to these, the effects produced by perpetual descents to the dead level of vulgar life, the exhaustion of strength and spirits by employments uncongenial to his dispositions, or, worse than all, perhaps the subjection of the mind itself to some dull monotonous pursuit, and you will have an idea of the merits of such resolute persons as have encountered these difficulties, and, in defiance of them, attained the highest eminence in the art of which I am speaking, and be disposed to deplore the far greater number who have perished under them.

Our own times, I take pleasure to observe, are not without one example of the first sort,-of one who, by the mere force of natural parts, has raised his name from obscurity to the first rank, and divided the public favour with others equally endowed, but much more happily circumstanced than himself. I allude to the author of The Queen's Wake, a work of which we now judge without finding it ne cessary to make allowances for the accidents of education and training,

ich sometimes smooth, but seldom

retard, the fate of inferior productions. The history of this author affords one of the strongest instances I remember of the superiority of nature to fortune; of the great length to which persevering talents can draw the slenderest means. A few years ago Mr Hogg was known only as an extraordinary shepherd, who composed humorous songs for the rustics of Etterick Forest, or modulated softer love ditties on the banks of the Yarrow. About the same time Mr Scott was beginning to direct all men's eyes to the BORDER, and the unequivocal sovereignty he soon established over the public attention, rendered any thing like rivalship, in that department, absurd, and emulation eminently hazardous. But Hogg, like every poet born, was an enthusiast. Instead of being struck dumb either with envy or despair, as some birds are said to be by the voice of the nightingale,—with modest assurance, which he has since vindicated, he struck a lower key, and supported no mean accompaniment. The defects of his education were obviated by unremitting attention to the strength and copiousness of our own language, and his taste speedily corrected by an active admiration of refined writers. Hence almost every one of his numerous publications, up to that just mentioned, improves on its predecessor, although to all appearance he had few to teach him, and fewer opportunities of learning. His first essays remind us of our native poets in the sixteenth century, The Queen's Wake does honour to the present. I am happy to learn that another edition of this work is at present publishing by subscription for the benefit of the author, who, like most of his brethren, has had cause to complain of fortune, and, like too many of them, with but partial redress. The observations accompanying the proposals, come, I understand, from a gentleman who has contributed much to the reputation of this country and age, and to the delight of all the lovers of poetry and polite letters,-not only by his own pen, but also by an affectionate attention to the rising merit of others. There is nothing, I think, more pleasing than such cordial friendship and esteem between men distinguished by similar excellencies, and the rather because the experience of former times renders it unexpected. I.

66 SITTING BELOW THE SALT," AND

THE STEWARTS OF ALLANTON.

Audi alteram partem.

MR EDITOR,

As it was once my intention to write an account of the antiquities of the midland counties of this kingdom, and as I made some investigations for that purpose, both in the public archives and the repositories of individuals, I was surprised to see, in your useful Magazine for April last, (in a curious disquisition on the ancient custom of "Sitting below the Salt,") a very erroneous account of a family in Lanarkshire, of great antiquity and respectability, I mean that of STEWART of ALLANTON. On looking over a list, which I made at the time, of the most distinguished names in that county, I find this family classed with the Douglasses, the Hamiltons, the Lockharts of Lee, and some others, who, as ancient barons and landholders, had had possessions there from a very remote period.

The passage in the article to which I allude is taken from a book of some curiosity, "The Memorie, or Memoirs of the Somervilles," written by the eleventh Lord Somerville about 1680, and edited two years since by that indefatigable writer, Mr Walter Scott. In this publication, Sir Walter Stewart of Daldowie and Allanton, and his brother, Sir James Stewart of Coltness, are represented to be of a family of Yeomen or Fewars, whose ancestors never had, until their day, (the middle of the seventeenth century,)" Sat above the salt foot." And further, it is stated, seemingly as an extraordinary honour done to them, that they actually did sit above the salt at the table of Somerville of Camnethan," which for ordinary every Saboth they dyned at, as most of the honest men within the parish of any account." See Memoirs, vol. II. p. 394.

Now, sir, I happened to know, that this family came into Lanarkshire from Kyle and Renfrew, the ancient seat of the Lord High Stewards, as early as 1290, and is lineally descended from Sir Robert Stewart, whose father, Sir John Stewart of Bonkle, (who was killed at the battle of Falkirk, anno 1298,) bestowed upon him in patrimony the barony of Daldowie, VOL. I.

upon the Clyde, near Glasgow: That Sir Allan Stewart of Daldowie (grandson to Sir Robert,) obtained, on account of his valour in 1385, from King Robert II., his father's second cousin, the rank of knight banneret, together with the honourable addition of the lion-passant, or English lion, to his paternal coat armorial;-as also, on the same account, the lands of Allanton, in Allcathmuir, from the church in 1420. Moreover, that I had seen charters and seasines in the possession of his posterity, from 1460 and 1492 downwards; since which time they have intermarried with some of the first families in the kingdom. Knowing these things as I did, I own I was surprised to observe his descendant, Sir Walter Stewart of Daldowie and Allanton, described, in 1650, as "the goodman of Allanton, and of a very mean family upon Clyde"!!! See Memoirs, vol. II. p. 380.*

On applying to the worthy and learned Baronet who now represents this family, and inquiring whether he had seen the article in your Magazine, he replied in the affirmative, and laughed very good-naturedly at the account, observing, that it was quite fair from the pen of a Somerville, and as a production of the period. In regard to the pretensions to superior descent assumed by Lord Somerville on the ground merely of his own statement, and as an apt counterpart to the above delineation, he reminded me of the well-known dialogue which took place between the lion and the man in the fable, when each contended for the superiority, and which I need not here repeat. It was on this occasion that the former pointed out to the king of the forest, as a conclusive argument in his own favour, a painting, in which was represented a lion

On this and other passages, the editor, Mr Scott, observes in anote, (vol I. p. 169,) that "Remarks escape from the author's pen, unjustly derogatory to this ancient branch of the House of STEWART, to which he himself was allied by the marriage of Janet Stewart of Darnley with the ancestor of Sir Thomas Somerville." In this

observation I entirely agree with Mr Scott. But he might have added, with equal truth, that neither friend nor foe, neither relative

by blood nor ally by marriage, could escape the abuse of this irritable lord, if he only differed from him in religious and political sentiments. 2 Y