are about the truth, and the truth involving deep and dark blame of the dead, this much, I trust, may be said here; and if I be in aught wrong or mistaken, James, I have at least spoken now in a mild, and not unchristian spirit.

Shepherd. Age has mellowed the strang into the wise man. ither twenty years you will be perfeck.

In

North. That Byron behaved badly-very badly to his wife, I believe, as firmly and as readily as Mr. Campbell does, on the word of that unfortunate, but I hope not unhappy lady.

Shepherd. She canna be unhappy-for she's good.

North. But I think Lady Byron ought not to have printed that Narrative. Death abrogates not the rights of a husband to his wife's silence, when speech is fatal-as in this case it seems to be-to his character as a man. Has she not flung suspicion over his bones interred, that they are the bones of a-monster?

Shepherd. I hae na seen, and never wish to see, her Remarks; but may she enjoy peace!

North. If Byron's sins or crimes-for we are driven to use terrible terms-were unendurable and unforgiveable—as if against the Holy Ghost-ought the wheel, the rack, or the stake, to have extorted that confession from his widow's breast?

Shepherd. Pain might hae chirted it out o' her tender frame.

North. But there was no such pain here, James; the declaration was voluntary-and it was calm. Self-collected, and gathering up all her faculties and feelings into unshrinking strength, she denounced before all the world—and throughout all space and all time-for his name can never die-her husband as excommunicated by his vices from woman's bosom!

Shepherd. Twas a fearsome step-and the leddy maun hae a determined speerit but I am sorry that her guardian angel didna tell her to draw back her foot afore she planted it resolutely over the line o' prudence and propriety, I fear indeed o' natur' and religion. Oh! that she had had some wise and tender being o' her ain sex by her side, aulder than hersell, and mair profoundly impressed, in the mournfu' 'icht o' declinin' years, wi' the peril o' takin' on ourselves the office o' retribution-mair especially when our ain sorrows hae sprung frae ithers' sins-when the heart that conceived evil against us had aften met our own in love or friendship

North. When, as in this case, the head once suspected to have been insane, had lain in the bosom of the injured-was once beautiful and glorious in the lustre of genius-" the palace of the soul," indeed, though finally haunted and polluted by the flesh-phantasms of many evil passions.

Shepherd. Some day I'll write your Life and Conversation, sir, after the manner o' Xenophon's Memorabilia o' Socrates.

North. Twas to vindicate the character of her parents, that Lady Byron wrote a holy purpose and devout-nor do I doubt, sincere. But filial affection and reverence, sacred as they are, may be blamelessly, nay, righteously subordinate to conjugal duties, which die not with the dead, are extinguished, not even by the sins of the dead, were they as foul as the grave's corruption. Misinterpret me not. I now accuse Lady Byron of no fault during her husband's life. I believe she did right in leaving him, though she was wrong in the mode of her desertion. But allowing that a painful and distressing collision between her filial and conjugal duties had occurred, ought she not, pure and high-minded woman as she is, to have balanced with a trem bling hand, and a beating heart, what was due to her dead husband's reputation-stained and stripped as it had already been by his own evil deeds-against all that in the most reverential daughter's bosom could be due to the good name of her father and her mother, which, though breathed on rudely and unjustly, yet lay under no very heavy, no unsupportable weight of calumny, and was sure, in the tide of time, to be freed, almost or entirely, from all reproach; or, might she not have waited, meekly and trustingly, to a later day, when all good spirits would have listened to her solemn and sacred, pitying and forgiving voice-when it, like her lord's, was invested with the awfulness of death and the grave?

Shepherd. Something within me says, 'twould hae been better far. North. To vindicate her mother from an unjust but no deadly charge, she has for ever sacrificed her husband. Such sacrifice I cannot but lament and condemn, though I know how difficult it is to judge aright of another's heart. I speak, therefore, not in anger, but in sorrow and though in some moods I may soften the blame, in no moods am I able to lessen my regret. Then how calmly-how imperturbably she approaches-with no friendly voice-the gloom of the grave! In widow's weeds-but with no widow's tears visible on her marble cheeks-beautiful, it is said-but methinks, stern and stoical, rather than meek and Christian-somewhat too lofty, when lowliness would have been lovely-and silent, enduring, misunderstood, and unappreciated forgiveness, angelical and divine!

Shepherd. In a' the great relations o' life, I suppose I may safely say, sittin' in the presence o' sic a man as Christopher North-for I dinna count thae twa creturs in the corner-that a' human beings are bound by the same ties, be their condition high or low, their lot cast in a hut or in a palace.

North. There the Shepherd speaketh like himself—and as none other speaks.

Shepherd. Now, only think, my dear sir, o' what has happened, is happening, and will happen to the end o' time, seein' human nature is altogether corrupt, and the heart o' man desperately wicked, a thoosar

LOVE'S SILENT MARTYRS,

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and tens o' thoosans o' times in wedded life, a' ower the face o' this meeserable and sinfu' earth.

North. Bliss and Despair are the Lares of every house.

Shepherd. Oh! wae's me! and pity me the day! hoo many brokenhearted wives and widows are seen sichin' and sabbin' in poortith cauld, and wearin' awa' in consumptions, brought on them by the cruel sins o' their husbands!

North. When the spring-grove is ringing with rapture, we think not of the many wounded birds dying, emaciated of famine, in the darkness of the forests.

Shepherd. Not a few sic widows do I mysel ken, wham brutal, and profligate, and savage husbands hae brought to the brink o' the grave-as good, as bonny, as innocent-and oh! far, far mair forgivin' than Lady Byron! There they sit in their obscure and rarely-visited dwellings for Sympathy-sweet spirit as she is-doth often keep aloof frae uncomplaining sorrow-merely because she is uncomplainingthough Sympathy, instructed by self-sufferin', kens weel that the deepest, the maist hopeless meesery is the least given to complaint.*

North. In speechless silence, long cherished, and unviolated as a holy possession, the passion of Grief feeds on materials ceaselessly applied by the ready hands of that officious minister-- Memory,-till at last the heart in which it dwells, if deprived of such food, would verily die of inanition!

Shepherd. There sitteth Sorrow, sir-or keeps daunerin' about the braes a' roun' her mournfu' hamestead, dimly lichted, and cauldly warmed by a bit peat or wood fire-for fuel is often dear, dear-and to leeve, it's necessary first to hae food;-dauuerin' about, ghaist-like, in the sunshine, unfelt by her desolate feet-faint and sick, aiblins, through verra hunger-and obliged, on her way to the well for a can o' water-her only drink-to sit doon on a knowe and say a prayer! North. The Lord's Prayer!

Shepherd. Aye, the Lord's Prayer. Yet she's decently, yea tidily dressed, puir cretur, in sair-worn widow's claes-ae single suit for Saturday and Sabbath-her hair untimeously gray, is neatly braided aneath her crape-cap, across a forehead placid, although it wrinkled be; and sometimes on the evening, when a' is still and solitary in the fields, and a' rural labor has disappeared awa' into houses, you may see her stealin' by hersell, or leadin' ae wee orphan in her haun, and wi' anither at her breast, to the corner o' the kirkyard, whare the lover o' her youth, and the husband o' her prime is buried. Nae ugly hemlock-nae ugly nettles there-but green grass and crimson flowers-a' peacefu' and beautifu' as if 'twere some holy martyr's grave! North. A consolatory image even of the last stage of human suffering.

"The silent martyrs whom the world ne'er knows."-M.

Shepherd. Yet was he a brute-a ruffian-a monster. When drunk, hoo he raged, and cursed, and swore! Aften did she dread that in his fits o' unhuman passion, he wou'd hae murdered the babie at her breast; for she had seen him dash their only callant-a wean o' eight years auld-on the floor, till the bluid gushed frae his ears, and then the madman flung himself doon on the swarfed body o' his first-born, and howled out for the gallows. Limmers haunted his doors, and he theirs-and it was hers to lie-no to sleep-in a cauld forsaken bed-ance the bed o' peace, affection, and perfect happiness. Nane saw the deed-but it wouldna conceal, even frae averted een, for her face was owre delicate to hide the curse o' an unhallowed haun-aften had he struck her, and ance when she was pregnant wi' that verra orphan now smiling on her breast, too young yet to wonder at these tears, crowin' in the sun-shine, and reachin' out its wee fingers-aften, aften covered wi' kisses-to touch the gowans glowing gloriously upon its indistinct but delichtsome vision, owre its father's grave!

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North. Ut Pictura Poesis.

Shepherd. Abuse his memory! Na-na, were it to save her frae sinkin' a' at ance overhead into a quagmire. She tries to smile amang the neighbours, and speaks o' her callant's likeness to its father. Nor, when the conversation turns on bygane times, the days o' auld langsyne, does she fear sometimes to let his name escape her white lipsMy Robert,"-"Sic a ane owed that service to my gudeman,""The bairn's no that ill-faured, but he'll never be like his father," and ither sic sayings, uttered in a calm, laigh, sweet voice, and a face free o' a' trouble-nay, I ance remember how her pale coontenance reddened on a sudden wi' a flash o' pride, when a silly auld gossiping crone alluded to their kirking, and the widow's een brightened through their tears, to hear tell again hoo the bridegroom, sittin' that Sabbath in his front seat in the laft beside his bonny bride, had na his marrow for strength, stature, and every quality that becomes the beauty o' a man, in a' the congregation, nor yet in a' the parishes o' the haill county. That, sir, I say, whether richt or wrang, was-forgiveness. North. It was, James,

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'Familiar matter of to-day,

What has been, and will be again;"

Quoth the Beadsman of Rydal.

Shepherd. Is a leddy o' quality, the widow o' a lord, mair to be pitied than a simple cottager, the widow o' a shepherd? Maun poets weep and wail-and denounce and prophesy, about the ane, wi' the glow o' richteous indignation round their laurelled brows, illuminin' the flow o' tears frae their een,

"Which sacred pity doth engender,"

BYRON'S MAGNANIMITY.

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Calling heaven and earth to witness to her wrongs, and launchin' their anathemas on the heads o' a' that wou'd, however tenderly, doubt the perfectibility o' a' her motives, and swither about hymnin' her as an angel superior to all frailty and all error, while they leave the like o' me, a puir simple shepherd, to sing the sacred praises o' the sufferers in shielins, far, far, far awa' amang the dim obscure hills, fraeFashionable Life! For what cares Nature in her ain solitudes for Fashion? What cares Grief? What cares Madness? What cares Sin? What cares Death? No ae straw o' the truckle-bed on which at last the broken-no, not the broken-but the heart-worn-out-andwasted widow expires amang her orphans.

North. Lady Byron deserves sympathy-and it will not be withholden from her-but freely, lavishly given. But there are other widows as woful in this world of woe, as you have so affectingly pictured them, James; and let not men of virtue and genius seem to sympathize with her sorrows, so passionately as to awaken suspicions of their sincerity, so exclusively as to force thoughtful people to think, against their will and their wishes, that they are either ignorant or forgetful of the lot of humanity, as it is seen and heard, weeping and wailing-in low as in high places-over all the earth.

Shepherd. I canna think, if a' the world overheard us, that a single person could fin' faut wi' our sentiments. But, being sincere, I'm

easy.

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North. Lord Byron sinned-Lady Byron suffered. But has her conduct on its own showing-been in all respects defensible?-without a flaw? Grant that it was-still think how it must have appeared to Byron, whatever was his guilt. She thought him mad-and behaved to him, during his supposed insanity, advisedly, and from pity and fear of his disease, with apparent affection. My dear Duck!" How was it possible for him to comprehend the sudden cessation of all such endearing epithets-and to believe that they were all deceptive-delusive-false-hollow--a mere medical prescription? The shock must have been hideous to a man of such violent passions -to any guilty man. No wonder he raged-and stormed-wonder rather that he became not mad-or more madly wicked. Yet very soon after that blow-say that it was not undeserved - we hear him vindicating Lady Byron from some mistaken but not unnatural notions of Mr. Moore, and not merely confessing his own sins, but earnestly declaring that she was a being altogether agreeable, innocent, and bright.

Shepherd. Poor fallow!-bad as I fear he was--thae words will aye come across the memory o' every Christian man or woman, when Christianity tells them at the same time to abhor and take warning by his vices.

North. Lady Byron did wisely in not making a full disclosure at