market place; sold the bed from under me and my child, for the rent of my house. The wretches thought they acted firm and manly, because they were unmoved from pursuing what they thought their own interest, and satisfying themselves for their property, by my tears and distraction of mind; and drove me desperate, by their unfeeling persecution. In addition to all this, my husband's female relations, who never liked me, now joined in distressing me, by contriving to blame me as the cause of his misfortunes; and my own remaining relations, whom I was obliged to apply to for assistance, to re-purchase a few artiticles of my own furniture, grudgingly lent me a little money, seasoned with reproaches for my imprudent marriage, to which some of themselves had advised me, while they scorned the bitterness of my grief, and almost laughed at my calamity.

"What end should it serve for me to describe, were I able, what I suf fered at this period? A poor woman, bereft of every thing, my husband gone I knew not whither, leaving me pregnant, and an infant in my arms, little more than a year old; all the world avoiding me, and suffering my grief to prey upon my mind, almost to distraction. But my child and my condition obliged me to rouse myself; and what was I forced to do, think you? I could do nothing without a little money, and, after every resourse failed, I was obliged to apply for it, to the very man who was formerly to have been my husband, and who had already so wounded my feelings. "This was the bitterest of all! I am unable to bear the recollection of it!" Here the poor woman's tears prevented her utterance, and I was obliged to lead her to the road side, and seat her on a stone to rest herself, while she wept profusely. At length, I led her forward, and she proceeded.

"The man I went to apply to, was a short, stout-made, contentedlooking, comfortable living man, about forty-five; and he bowed me in, with that apparent respect, which I felt to be a mockery; and seemed pleased with the interview, as it afforded him an opportunity of con

"I got on, however, in spite of many discouragements; and after a long time, received letters from my husband full of expressions of regret, kindness, and affection. We continued to correspond, and as the impression of my former sorrows began to weaken, my former love for my husband revived, and anxiety for his welfare occupied much of my thoughts. I was delivered of a son to my great joy, but my recovery was tedious, and the care of him and my daughter much interrupted my business. It continued, however, tolerably good, and I had several apprentices, who assisted me in the care of the children, who now were a source of most interesting enjoy

ment.

"My daughter was particularly so, as she now began to prattle and call for her father, whose very image she was; and her little looks and language pointed my thoughts to him incessantly, and made separation from him extremely irksome and joyless. I began to excuse his follies and his neglect of me, from the consideration of his youth, and the way he was circumstanced in his business. His expressions of kindness were now doubly dear to me; I began to be impatient to see him, and formed a thousand plans and hopes of influencing him to virtuous conduct, and regard for myself.

"He wished me to go to Hamburgh to him, and used many arguments and affectionate expressions to induce me. But the prattle of my child was irresistible! she looked in my face as I wept over her father's letter, called his name, and seemed to appeal to me, not to rear her as a fatherless child, but to take her to him that she might receive his blessing, and his instruction. For a long time I would not allow myself seriously to entertain the thought of leaving my country and going to him; at length I did begin to entertain the purpose-and let every man and wife who have loved each other, and who, though aware of each others' faults, have known what it is to be obliged by circumstances to live separate, judge for me in this

to be excused. He promised to send me money, but when the time came, wrote me that he could not for some time get it from his employer. I had, however, been making some preparations for going to him, for I understood his situation was tolerably promising, and absence from him began to get extremely irksome to me, now as I had made up my mind. A letter I received from him at this time complaining of the state of his health, his want of comfort, and exposure to company from not having a house of his own, and using many endearing expressions, determined me to set off immediately. I disposed of my business, and departed for Leith, to encounter the sea, in the beginning of winter, with two infant children, and no one to assist or protect me on an element to which I was a perfect stranger.

"The voyage was boisterous, stormy, and uncomfortable. I suf fered much from that horrid sickness caused by the motion of the vessel, which is so severe upon weak constitutions, and from anxiety about my infants, to whom in my illness I was unable to attend. Even when I got a little recovered, my spirits were low, and my mind irritable; and a prognosticating dread of some further sorrow oppressed me and sickened me with apprehension. However, there were some gentlemen passengers on board, who were extremely kind and attentive to me, treated me with feeling, and assisted me with my infants. As I drew near to Germany, my impatience to see my husband became extreme; I had a thousand dreams and fancies about him, in the state of health in which he described himself. But hope flattered me with the joy of meeting him well, and rejoiced to see me, and with the happiness I might enjoy with him in a country which spoke a different language from our own, and when I could not of course fail to be his principal society. I fancied the delight he would feel at meeting with his children, and the calm enjoyment I should have in having no business to mind, but to attend to them, and to make him comfortable.

--

began to sail down the Elbe, and I to draw near to my husband. Who can describe the feelings of a woman in my circumstances, as we at length stepped ashore in Hamburgh? My limbs could scarce carry me to the house to which I was directed. On my arrival, I was conducted up stairs by a foreign-looking man, and when I expected to see my husband, whom I trembled with impatience to embrace, the man bowed me to a seat, walked off slowly, and shut the door after him, without saying a word. I attributed this to his want of the English language, while I sat trembling to see my husband. At length a foot was on the stairs, I rose, the door opened, I watched it intensely. A person entered, no husband,but a strange, demure-looking man, who addressed me in English, and begged me to be seated. I could not bear this formality, but my apprehensions were awakened by it.I had not power to speak. He took a seat, and looked as if he had something to say, and did not know how to introduce it. At length he said, Madam, I presume you are the wife of Mr. Y. ?'Yes,' said I, eagerly, and why is he not here? Is he well? I am sorry, Madam,' said he, to be the bearer of evil tidings to you, but I trust you will be calm.' Oh!' I said, is he well? Is he alive? speak, I pray you for God's sake! tell me at once, and that will calm me.' Since I must say it, Madam, I yesterday assisted in laying him in the grave.' • God in heaven!' I exclaimed, and fell fainting at his feet.

"For some time after I recovered,, I neither knew nor observed any thing, but when I became collected, and fully understood that my husband had been hastily carried off in a fever, my former grief, great as it had been, seemed small and tolerable in comparison to this. My husband was gone, on whom all my hopes and wishes centred. All my sorrows now met in a point, for he was gone for whom I had sacrificed and left my country and my all. He who was the husband of my youth! the father of my children! to whom clung all my anticipations and my recollections, and in whose society I had tasted the only portion of high enjoyment which had been my lot Eur. Mag. Vol. 82.

on earth." Here the poor little woman stood stone still to express with energy her grief. "Oh, Sir!" she said and she stood in the middle of the road looking up in my face, with her widow's crape thrown up, her hands wrung into each other, and her face streaming with tears, the very picture of heart-bursting sorrow.- "Oh, Sir! can you conceive what it is to lose a husband as I lost him? Can you understand the inexpressible grief of never seeing more on earth-never!-never more on earth!-the man, who with all his faults, is entwined round the heart of a weak and sensitive woman?"

I was by this time so completely overcome by the appearance and story of this unhappy woman that my tears fell as fast as her's. When she became a little calm she proceeded.

66

"Independent of my feelings for my husband, I was now in a foreign country, where a language which I understood not was spoken, without friends or money, and with two infant children besides myself to provide for. I had given up my business in Scotland, and was left a destitute and disconsolate widow in a foreign country, and what was I to do? Sorrow brought on ill health, my money was nearly gone, and my children came to be neglected. All that my husband left fell into strange hands, and was accounted for one way and another by the expenses of his funeral. My youngest child, for want of proper nourishment and attendance, began to decline; and after much sickness and trouble to me, he was taken from a sorrowful mother to a better world. Not to trouble you, Sir, further with the history of sufferings which cannot be described, by the kindness of some English families in Hamburgh, to whom my case at length became known, and even of foreigners,-who were kinder than those in my native town who had known me from infancy-I was furnished with the mean's of returning home. I had now no other way but to return to my native town, and begin the world a third time, without a chair to sit upon, and with a child and myself to support.

I began to work again on my return, and with some difficulty got a little employment, for while some

2 P

A POET (a title synonimous with that of Prophet in the ancient languages,) finds, it is said, no honour in his own country. Burns, at least, is an exception to this rule. Few poets have been more abundantly honoured in their own country, and in their own times, than has the poet of Ayrshire. It is still, however, a question, on this side of the Esk, whether Burns really be a poet of the genuine and imperishable kind, and worthy, without any reserves, of taking his station beside such men as Gay, Collins, Goldsmith, Thompson, and Cowper; or is surrounded by a false lustre, raised by partiality, national pride, and the particular circumstances of his origin, character, station, and habits of living.

In the daily declining state of the language, in which the better, as well as the greater part of the poems of Burns are written, exists an insuperable and growing obstacle to a just appreciation of his merits. -In this respect, he resembles, in some degree, a painter, who has made use of colours which will not stand. The grouping, the outline, the proportion, and something of the expression of character still remain, but the spirit and gusto are flown; and that, which once was fraught with life and vigour, is become meagre, vapid, and inanimate. For no reference to the glossary can suffice to give that perfect relish of the poet, which is possessed by those who read his works in their mother tongue, and understand the nice distinctions, and are familiar with the various associations of words, which, to the most enlightened stranger, appear indifferent or synonimous. A ridiculous, if not contemptible affectation of admiring the Scottish dialect has, indeed, sprung up lately, in company with the celebrated novels, Waverley, Guy Mannering, &c. But that it is an affectation, and nothing more, is very obvious to those who are really acquainted with the language, customs, manners, and deportment of the mass of the Scottish people. A considerable portion of the readers and admirers of Burns

are open to the same charge. They read, but they do not fully understand. It was a point of patriotism with Burns, as well as an accommodation to his muse, to write in the language of his native spot; and even in his songs, notwithstanding the repeated hints and observations of Thomson, who felt anxious only to ensure for his work the widest possible circulation, Burns could not be prevailed upon to discard the peculiar dialect of his neighbourhood. Many readers are not aware of their immense loss, in not being familiar with these peculiarities. The poetry of sentiment or of passion cannot, indeed, be easily disguised, or misunderstood. Where the current of feeling is broad, deep, and rapid, its course cannot be diverted or greatly impeded by the rudeness and irregularity of the channel. But the spirit of descriptive poetry is often so subtle and so volatile, that it resides in minute and scarcely distinguishable points, and escapes in the omission or alteration, not merely of a sentence, but of a word. Take, for example, the opening line of that very humorous and admirably told story of "Death and Dr. Hornbook:"

"The clachan yill had made me canty."

Are there many English readers, who, instead of recoiling from this ultra-provincial line, will enter into the impudent hilarity of the potvaliant hero, as completely as they would do, in reading the English translation?