put to a sore trial on this point: one of the ancient female inhabitants having died, the landlord let the cottage she had occupied to two old single women who lived together. These poor creatures had the misfortune to be strongly suspected in the neighbourhood of using the black art; which probably arose from the circumstance of one of them being very crabbed in her temper, and the other very crazed in her head. They ruled the new neighbours for a season most despotically, for none dared to quarrel with them; till at length the old weaver plucked up courage, held a council of the other cronies, and forthwith went to the landlord, and declared, in their name and his own, that unless the witches were put away next term, or else “scored aboon the breath," * all the other cotters would leave the place. It was in vain to reason on the subject, and the unhappy beldames were obliged to flit. This occurred only about twenty years ago; and one of these supposed witches (the crazy one) rather encouraged the belief of her magical endowments. She was generally known by the name of Whistling Ann.

The Plora wood, between Traquair† and Selkirk, is distinguished for a remarkable feat of the fairies, who are said to have carried off from this place a little girl, and after keeping her a considerable time, and showing her all the wonders of the fairy-land, left her asleep, as the story goes, upon the same spot

* To draw blood above the breath of a reputed witch, is to render all her spells impotent.

The Bush aboon Traquair, or rather what is called the new bush, is nothing else than an ugly square clump of Scotch firs, planted on the side of a bleak hill, at a distance from every thing in the landscape that is pleasing or poetical. The rest of the scenery, however, abundantly compensates for this piece of bad taste. The situation and appearance of the old mansion of Traquair is beautiful and interesting in the highest degree. What is here most striking is the wonderful resemblance, in the whole aspect of the gate-way, avenue, and house itself, to the semi-gothic bear-guarded mansion of TullyVeolan, as described by the author of Waverley. It is true, indeed, that, in place of the multitudinous representations of the bear, so profusely scattered around the environs of Bradwardine, we have here only the single pair which adorn the gate at the entrance of the avenue, and that the avenue itself cannot pretend to match the broad continuous shade through which Waverley approached the castle of the hospitable and redoubted baron; and also that several other important features are wanting to complete the resemblance; yet if one be not altogether imposed upon by one's fancy, there is a likeness suffi→ ciently strong to support the idea, that this scene formed the original study of the most finished and bold-featured fiction of the celebrated novelist.-(Ed Mag.) See Waverley, note, p. 134.

from whence they had stolen her away. Upon this legend, Mr. Hogg is understood to have founded his very beautiful and enchanting tale of Kilmeny.

The Pastoral Braes of Plora would appear to have been peculiarly favoured by these and other beneficent genii. The following story was related by a lady of very superior intelligence, who was long resident in that neighbourhood, and remembers hearing the matter talked of, as a very recent and well-authenticated occurrence. A family who resided on the banks of the Plora were assembled one evening at family worship, and the old goodman had just concluded his pious duty, when the youngest girl, a child who had been absent unnoticed, rushed breathless into the room, and, in a perfect rapture of delight, called upon them "to come a' and look! for the maist beautifu' leddie o' a' the world was coming sailing doun the glen !"-Such was the eagerness and even ecstasy of the child, that the call was instantly obeyed, and old and young followed her straight out of doors to see this delightful vision. They looked up the glen, as she pointed, but in vain: nothing unusual could be seen or heard, till a sudden and dreadful crash behind them made every one look instantly round, and explained at once the benevolent mission of this lovely lady of the wood; the house which had just been emptied of all its inmates, had fallen flat on the ground.

The Brownies formed a class of beings distinct in habit and disposition from the freakish and mischievous elves. They were meagre, shaggy, and wild in their appearance. Cleland, in his satire against the Highlanders, compares them to

"Fawnies, or Brownies, if ye will,

Or Satyrs come from Atlas hill.”

In the day-time, the Brownies lurked in remote recesses of the old houses which they delighted to haunt; and in the night, sedulously employed themselves in discharging any laborious task which they thought might be acceptable to the family, to whose service they had devoted themselves. But although, like Milton's lubber fiend, they love to stretch themselves by the fire, they do not drudge from the hope of recompense. On the contrary, so delicate is their attachment, that the offer of reward,

but particularly of food, infallibly occasions their disappearance for ever.

The last Brownie known in Etterick forest, resided at Bodsbeck, a wild and solitary spot, where he exercised his functions undisturbed, till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady induced her to hire him away, as it was termed, by placing in his hands a porringer of milk and a piece of money. After receiving the hint to depart, he was heard the whole night to howl and cry, "Farewell to Bonnie Bodsbeck!" which he was compelled to abandon for ever.-When the menials of a Scottish family protracted their vigils around the kitchen fire, Brownie, weary of being excluded from the midnight hearth, sometimes appeared at the door, seemed to watch their departure, and thus admonish them: "Gang a' to your beds, sirs, and dinna put out the wie grieshoch (embers)"-It seems no improbable conjecture, that the Brownies are legitimate descendants of the "Lares familiares" of the ancients.

THE WAVERLEY NOVELS.

Many of the casts and qualities of human character have been so frequently described, and are so obviously subject to every common observation, that they can no longer have the power to interest in a drama, an epic poem, a novel, or even in the faithful narrative of true history. Thus, after Homer, Virgil, Tasso, and Milton, it is no longer easily possible to confer interesting peculiarity on the character of a hero without violating its natural propriety; and hence comes it that the heroes in our modern epic poems so slightly command our sympathy or fond enthusiastic admiration. Indeed, it would be folly to suppose that there can be any person of native genius which, without culture, observation, and experience, can in any department of writing produce those speciosa miracula which alone have power to astonish, or interest to charm. In the whole furniture of our circulating libraries, we have not a single novel written by a raw unexperienced youth of either sex that exhibits any happy and vigorous delineations of character. What a deep insight into human nature must there not have been necessary to enable Cervantes to imagine and develope a character so natural yet so inimitably singular as that of Don Quixote? How much must Le Sage have read and observed, to be able to paint so many faithful, yet happy, touches as the characters in his novel of Gil Blas? How careful must Fielding have observed, at least the superficies of both vulgar and fashionable life, before he could be qualified to present those genuine displays of the humour of English manners which are diffused throughout his novels? Smollett looked deep into the human mind, and often, as it should seem, with a malignant suspicious inspection, before he drew the characters of Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, and Humphrey Clinker. How much of real knowledge, the result of keen observation and of deep thought, appears in the

single character of Zeluco, by Dr. Moore? Of all our modern novelists, Charlotte Smith is one whose writings afford the most faithful, the happiest, and the most various pictures of character. Her experience, her affections, and the fluctuating course of her life, have evidently contributed not less than the nature, strength, and vivacity of her genius, to enable her to make her works, to a degree so remarkable, a great exhibition of the varieties in human nature, and of genuine English life. We would not here be understood, let it be observed, that mere reading and experience in the world will endow any person with the power of happily inventing characters for a novel-there must be something more. The novelist is not to copy his characters from real life and books, with the servility of a plagiarist: he is to take thence only the elements-the composition of these elements into one substance, and the moulding of that into new forms, must be the work of his own genius.

The novelist, of all the writers who address themselves to the heart, appears to have a superior sway over the attention of his reader; or perhaps it were better to say that there is no species of writing for which the generality of readers show such a rooted predilection, as for romance. We are fond of examining a moral painting. We are curious to mark the modifications, the diversities, and shades of human nature. This passion is universal and wherever a character is faithfully delineated, it is instantly observed and appreciated by all ranks of people. Now there are points of view without number from which interesting sketches of human character can be taken: and wherever there is a moral painter who, to a quick conception, and a playful fancy, joins acuteness of observation, we take it to be almost impossible that, until he ceases to write, he should ever cease to please. The very uncommon, and very deserved success of the romances which have been supplied us from the pen of the distinguished author of Waverley, shows that there is something more than speculation or hypothesis in this remark; and we will add, that the curiosity already alluded to, to survey the different aspects and phases of character, is, together with the great merit of these publications, a very good ground on which to argue, that they shall retain in after times the popularity which they have acquired in our own.

The author of Waverley has contributed a vast stock to the