has concealed much sound philosophy under the cap of folly; comme enfant nouvellement nay, les fault allaiter, bercer, esjouir; epargner, restaurer, appuyer, asseurer." They are children; and kindness and care might do much for them. To say that the Highlanders are incapable of being roused to industry is as injurious in its effects as it is UNTRUE; it is often difficult, but time, patience, and method, WILL EFFECT A GREAT DEAL. It is those with whom this power lies (the landlords) that are deserving of censure; not the critical traveller, who excites their anger, chiefly because he pricks their consciences,-who merely tells useful truths, and who points out faults only in the hope that they may be corrected." Had we not quoted chapter and verse, no one, we are convinced, would have believed that the passage here given is the composition of the "critical traveller" with whose work we have been so long and painfully occupied. O, si sic omnia dixisset! But it is vain to wish, when the sad reality is before us. There is only another passage of the same tenor and spirit as this in his work, and we have already quoted it in a note to p. 386. How the Doctor proposes to reconcile these with the " scope and tendency" of his book, we cannot even conjecture; they show, however, that truth, like murder," though it hath no tongue, yet doth it speak with most miraculous organ," and prove that, when under the influence of his better nature, and for a moment emancipated from the thraldom of theory and playing the apologist of oppression, he can shew himself not absolutely insensible to the misery which he must so often have witnessed-aye, and felt in his heart, too, that it was the offspring of that system of which, with the two unaccountable exceptions here noticed, he is the constant and strenuous defender. And had he confined himself to a mere defence of that system, on economical grounds, without mixing up every species of abuse and misrepresentation, for the purpose of vilifying and exciting odium against a whole people,-persecuted and oppressed, yet valuable and useful subjects,-we should not have followed in his wake, for the disagreeable and ungrateful purpose of invalidating his statements, exposing his blunders, showing up his conceit and dogmatism, deriding his pretensions, and demolishing his credit as an historian and scholar. But he who gives with the sword has no reason to complain if he get with the scabbard. The Doctor has given the Highlanders the right of retaliating; and they have no intention to forego it. He anticipates as much himself, and has of course girt up his loins for the struggle. We shall not flinch him a bit when he is perfectly readyMais revenons. XXIII. In Vol. III. p. 101, our author says, "The small tenants, by a due and gradual application of that labour which is now unoccupied, or of that time which is spent in idleness, might gradually improve their pastures, as they have recovered from the waste their arable lands. From them no outlay of capital is required, and they would unquestionably be recompensed for their labour. It is true that, having no leases, they have neither temptation nor security for improvement, according to popular opinion. But I have a better opinion of Highland landlords than to consider this a valid objection;"" I sincerely believe, that the smallest tenant, at rack rent, as they all virtually are, has as good security as can be desired, if he conDUCTS HIMSELF WELL!" With the first part of this statement we cordially agree; but we are most decidedly of the "popular opinion" in regard to the necessity of "leases." No improvement ever has been, or ever will be affected, where the tenant may be ejected at the pleasure or caprice of the landlord. Had the ancient confidence, which the Highlanders reposed in the honour and good faith of their superiors, remained unbroken, we can easily imagine that small tenants might have readily undertaken the improvement of their lands, without the legal security of a lease; but to talk of the will and pleasure of landlords, who have wantonly destroyed that confidence, being "as good security as can be desired," or indeed any "security" at all, argues a woeful ignorance of the present state of the Highlands, or a wilful blindness to facts of every-day occurrence. Suppose that ten small tenants, renting contiguous farms, have improved them in the way our author recommends ; and after they have done so, and are about to be recompensed for their exertions, suppose, further, that some "great capitalist" appears, and offers for the whole; will Dr Macculloch pretend to say, that, assuming the offer to be advantageous, the landlord would hesitate a single hour to eject the small tenants in order to make way for the intruder? This is what takes place every day, and is matter of notoriety to all; nay, more, it is what must take place, because it is a result of principles of universal operation, and does no more depend upon the "better opinion" of Dr Macculloch, than the growing of the grass, or the ebb and flow of the tide. If you wish the people to improve, make it their interest to do so; but there can be no interest where there is no security, and, as bitter experience has shown, no security without leases. What person in his senses would take any patch of land, however small, in the Lowlands, without a lease? Can it be shown that there is any reason in the nature of things why the Highland tenant should be denied the security granted, as a matter of course, to his Lowland neighbour? Granting leases was, is, and ever will be, the first step to improvement. It is quite ridiculous to talk of " opinion" in regard to an admitted, self-evident principle; and it is not a little presumptuous, in the fire-worshippers of the North, to call upon the people to shut their eyes to proofs strong as those of Holy Writ, that they are undeserving of confidence and attachment; and to act with all the implicit and unsuspecting reliance of a patriarchal age, now numbered with the years beyond the flood. The days of chivalry and feudalism are past, and those of pounds, shillings, and pence, have come in their stead. Bargains are not now made by "prolling thumbs," nor lands let by word of mouth. Men have become more enlightened, more selfish, more suspicious. Bills and bonds have succeeded to the simple usages of our forefathers-because the circumstances of the world required them; and no man now places his rights at the mercy of another, or adventures his labour and capital upon an "opinion." The smallest tenant must now be as firmly secured by his lease, as the landlord by the muniments of his estate; and it is right that he should. Nay, more, -it is expedient. But right and expediency are worth more than Dr Macculloch's "better opinion." In these observations, we have of course alluded to the Highland proprietors as a body; and we mean them no disrespect when we say, that they are no longer fit to be the custodiers of the people's rights, and to have them at their mercy. We know, however, that there are still not a few men of rank, name, and property, in the Highlands, for whom the people deservedly cherish an unbounded attachment. But these men are exceptions to the general rule; and their conduct is more likely to be admired than imitated. In truth, they are fast dying out, while the hopeful scions of the modern school are ripening into all the wisdom of political economy, and ready to step into their place. Twenty years hence, and every thing will be as it should be. XXIV. We must make room for another of the Doctor's innumerable self-contradictions. "This," says he, "is the true Highland hospitality, never boasted of, yet never failing. In all the wilds I ever visited, I never yet entered the blackest hut without having what was to be given the best place by the fire, the milk-tub, the oat-cake, the potatoes, the eggs, if it was possible to persuade the hens to do such a deed, and a glass of whisky, if it was to be found." Vol. III. p. 106. This seems pretty strong; yet it only prepares the way for an attempt to persuade us that hospitality is not " a national virtue" among the Highlanders. This is the Doctor's approved and regular mode of procedure. Whenever he makes an admission favourable to the people, he is never at rest till he contradict both it and himself. He is alarmed lest he should be thought serious in his praise,-lest his readers should, even for an instant, cherish a friendly sentiment towards the Highlanders. So in the present instance. He first says of the Highlanders in cumulo, what Ledyard has only said of women; then he proceeds: "Birt was not an unjust judge; his impartiality, I verily believe, may be admitted; and he tells us that there is one gasconade of the people hereabouts, which is extraordinary. They are often boasting of the great hospitality of the Highlanders to strangers, and so on; proceeding to quote some of his own experience on the subject, which may be paralleled at present on any day!" Next, be broadly insinuates that hospitality is no longer a part of the Highland character;" and he finishes in this fashion: "Were I to make that which is proverbially odious, (a comparison,) I should say that this virtue (of hospitality) actually flourishes in Orkney and Shetland, AS IT IS SAID TO DO in the Highlands." XXV. "The Tartars of Thibet believe that the Lama is immortal, the Catholics that the Pope is infallible." Vol. IV. p. 78. The Catholics believe no such thing. They hold that the decision of a General Council of the whole Church, which God has promised to sur round with a "wall of fire," and to enlighten with his "glory in the midst of her," must be infallibly true; but they never maintained the "infallibility of the Pope," or of any thing in the world, but the aggregate body of the Christian Church. No matter whether this dogma be well or ill-founded; that is totally a different question; it is unfair, however, to ascribe to the Catholics a tenet which they never maintained. XXVI. We dare not grapple with the dissertation on the " Gaelic language," because we cannot now afford to write an essay as long as his own, to expose the eggregious errors into which he has fallen, and the laughable assurance with which he dogmatizes in regard to a form of speech of which he is entirely ignorant. According to him, it is the poorest and most wretched of all conceivable languages. "It is immeasurably behind the Arabic." (Who has ever maintained that it was before the Arabic?) " It has borrowed from modern languages innumerable terms, which it ought to have possessed." It does not distinguish sea bays, firths, (friths) and lakes; still less, as it ought, the varieties of these. (This is not true.) It is the same for rivers: (this is very odd, seeing that almost all the rivers in Scotland are known to this hour by Gaelic appellations): it is the same for colours." "It possesses but one name for many birds, and thus beyond enumeration." Vol. IV. p. 196. The Doctor, we presume, would consider it a proof of the barbarism of the Hebrew, that it has no name for a steam-engine or a spinning-jennie. Yet his argument, if it proves any thing, leads to the conclusion, that the Celtic was the parent of the Greek; (see p. 204;) while those who spoke the latter language were Goths! But let us attend to a different authority. "The Celtic," says the late Dr Murray, possesses an unrivalled and striking originality in its words, a resemblance to the oldest varieties of language, and internal evidence that it is derived from the earliest speech of Europe." But we find we must not get into a subject which would lead us to prolong these cursory reanarks to an extent incompatible with the limits of this Journal. We shall probably return to it, and examine, in detail, the Doctor's statements in regard to the "Origin and Races" of the Highlanders, as well as their language. 66 Here, then, we must stop for the present. The Doctor has occupied a considerable portion of our time and attention; but if we have succeeded in proving his utter incompetency to state the simplest fact accurately-his inveterate hatred of the people whom he undertakes to describehis incessant misrepresentations and perversions of truth-his anxiety to defend a system which has been carried into operation by means which no good man can approve-his ignorance on the most elementary topics-his self-contradiction, dogmatism, petulance, and abuse of all who have written on the subject of the Highlands, except Pinkerton, and others of the same kidney, who indulge in the deglutition of some rabid slaver at the name of Celt,-in short, the utter faithlessness and worthlessness of the book, we shall not have written in vain. For though we may have contributed to make it better known than it would ever have otherwise have been, we shall have administered the antidote with the bane, and done our part to enable the public to appreciate the nature of Macculloch's claims to their attention. DON GIOVANNI*. PERHAPS the most anxious period of an author's life is that which immediately precedes his first appear ance before the public. When he looks back on the past, all is enchantment; his former raptures of inspiration rise before him; and, confident that his success will correspond to his most sanguine expectations, and that the enthusiasm of the reader will equal, if not surpass, the transports of the writer, he instantly determines to shake off the encumbrances of modesty, to burst forth amidst all the splendours of genius, and to seize the prize which he thinks so justly due to his superior talents and unremitting assiduity. When, however, the ardour of his feelings is cooled down to a proper temperature, by the suggestions of common sense, when he reflects on the numbers who have suffered shipwreck in the vast ocean before him, and thinks that what has happened to others may possibly be his own fate, then Hope loses her power to charm, dark clouds overcast the horizon, and, instead of the bright visions that formerly allured him, he sees nothing, in his reception with the public, but frowns, contempt, and disappointinent; nothing in reviewers but "Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire." It is not surprising that a young writer, when under the influence of these feelings, should carefully survey the aspect of the heavens before he commences so hazardous a voyage; or that he should stand, with lingering he sitation on the shore, like Cæsar on the bank of the Rubicon, or the arch fiend on the verge of chaos. These dire forebodings, at the outset of an author's literary career, are chiefly of modern growth. At no period, indeed, could genius have been insensible to fame; but, in former ages, many of the fearful anticipations, which now accompany its first entrance upon the theatre of glory, must have been unknown, since the causes from which they originate were not then in existence. * Don Giovanni, and other poems. The temple of Fame was, indeed, of difficult access; but no host of reviewers stood in formidable array to guard the approach. The path was strewed with thorns; but it was not yet marked with blood. The pilgrimage was long; but no banditti infested the road: nor had the critic made the important discovery, that to engage in this literary warfare, was the surest means of saving the public and enriching himself. But these halcyon days, in the world of letters, were not stampt with the impress of immortality. The love of wealth was destined to break the tranquillity of the golden age; the sword of criticism was yet to be directed by the hand of Plutus; and candidates for literary fame were to be arrested and assailed at the very commencement of their progress. Hence it became an object of importance to discover how they might shun or repel the dangers to which they were exposed. To some, the soft, insinuating smile, accompanied with a candid acknowledgement of their imperfections, and a humble modesty of demeanour, seemed the most effectual means of propitiating their foes; while others, made of sterner stuff, rushed to the field with defiance on their brows, and "whistling aloud, to keep their courage up," publicly announced their determination to disregard the puny assaults of their adversaries, or to paralyze them with the frown of contempt. These artifices, however, did not produce the effect that was intended. The Cerberuses of literature were neither to be cajoled nor overawed; they were found equally inaccessible to the allureinents of the soporific cake, and the terrors of the brandished sword. When the war was in this stage of its progress,-when many a wretched wight had bit the ground, and there was no probability of matters coming to a speedy issue, some superior genius, in a lucky moment of deep cogitation, stumbled on the effectual expedient of converting Edinburgh: West & Co. 1825. open warfare into stratagem and ambuscade. Such, then, are the means by which most authors of the present day attempt to ascertain their claims to distinction. Whoever wishes to feel the pulse of the public, takes the necessary precautions to render himself invisible. The advantages he thus obtains are of the most important kind. Like Eneas in the cloud, he is concealed from observation, while he overhears the conversations of the multitude respecting himself. Inspired with confidence by the security of his situation, he looks forth without apprehension on the dark clouds that are gathering around him, and hears the tempest spend its fury, while he is comparatively sheltered from its effects. If, however, the sweet notes of praise break upon his ears, he may dissolve the enchantment, or continue to listen, in secret, to the melody of the Siren's voice. But the anonymous mode of publication is not without its utility to the reviewer himself. As there is no cause to give improper excite ment to his feelings, he can enter, with impartiality, on the discharge of his duty. The stream of criticism will not be polluted in its source, and the love of truth, unbiassed by personal considerations or party feelings, will equally prevent the effusions of unmerited severity and extravagant applause. Besides, the concealment, of which the author avails himself, is as advantageous to the reviewer's purse as to his principles. It supplies him with copious materials for the exercise of his own ingenuity, and the amusement of his readers. If he can say little of the work, he may say a great deal of the author; and as no subject is so fertile as that, respecting which nothing can be advanced with certainty, he may bring forward innumerable arguments to prove, whether the incognito is male or female, young or old, fair or dark, Whig or Tory. For our own part, we have been laboriously, and, as we think, successfully employed in attempting to ascertain all these particulars, and many more, respecting the author of Don Giovanni, and we shall state the important results of our profound speculations, at the same time concealing the different steps of the process by which we arrived at each conclusion. We think, then, that the writer must be included under the rule" Quæ maribus solum”— that nearly twenty summers have rolled over his head-that his complexion is dark and his temperament melancholic-that he is prone to musing, and sometimes satirical-that Cupid pressed him into his service before he had seen three lustrumsbut that he has determined to engage in a different kind of warfare, and to brandish, in future, not merely a figurative sword, but one made of steel. Now, it is quite possible that most, if not all, of these conjec tures are erroneous, and that the circumstances on which they are founded were thrown out by the author, with the intention of misleading the simple reader, and the no less simple reviewer. Perhaps the author is not an embryo son of Mars, but some veteran lawyer, whose complexion is the colour of his wig,-who is melancholy only when there is a scarcity of fees,-who never muses except over a brief, and is never satirical except at a judge. But it is time to leave these speculations, and to introduce the reader to some acquaintance with the work. We shall begin with Don Giovanni, as it stands foremost in the volume. Don Giovanni, then, the hero, is a person of rather a forbidding character. He had been dismissed from Pandemonium, to prevent him from corrupting the morals of its inhabitants. Having recrossed the Styx, he visits Edinburgh, where he has the bad fortune to lose his own heart, and the good fortune to steal that of another. His dulcinea, of course, feels the smart of Cupid's arrow much more severely than he does. Like all lovers, she becomes wondrous pale, and is sent off to the country for change of air. His state is not quite so melancholy; he feels his misfortune like a man, but bears it like a hero. We shall, however, give the author's own words, as they afford a tolerably-good specimen of his powers in describing the ludi crous: |