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slight, with the assistance of the tide we got on at the rate of three knots an hour.

Not many ships in sight, but I perceived one that looked very large coming up the channel. I asked the captain if he thought it a ship of war. He said,-O! not very large. It may be a West Indiaman. As we neared each other, its size became more conspicuous, and the captain said it might be a frigate. It was so evidently coming across our way, that I feared, from the slightness of the breeze, we might get foul of each other. The steersman had no such fear, for he kept steadily on his course. She was now seen to be a two decker. Counted, I think, fifteen guns on her lower deck. The captain then pronounced her to be a 74, which was most probably working her way to Sheerness to be paid off.

She passed a-head of us, within about 100 yards. Every particle of sail was set, and she presented a spectacle equally beautiful and grand. I had often wished to see a line of battle ship in full array, and now I was gratified to the utmost of my wish. As she passed we took off our hats and huzzaed. We saw the officers and men very distinctly. When she had advanced about 3 or 400 yards I heard the boatswain's whistle, and saw the men on the round top in motion. In a ew seconds she was about on her tack. This gave me two or three new views of a 74 under sail. Every view was beautiful, grand, and picturesque. Not an eye upon our deck but was turned towards her, though few of the spectators seemed to share fully in my enthusiasm. The beauty of the day, and the calmness, added to the agreeableness of the sight. I said instinctively, I am satisfied. I have sometimes thought, that I am rather lucky as a view-hunter.

A breeze sprung up. Got on about six knots an hour. The white cliffs of Albion began now visibly to recede, and those of France as visibly to approach. The latter also are white and chalky along the coast towards Boulogne, but not so high. We had some sickness, and the unpleasing symptoms of it; but, from the wind being fair as well as gentle, the exhibitions of the packet-picturesque were, I believe, much below par either for variety or impressiveness. We had several very fine

young female islanders on board. They evidently suffered from this scourge of travellers by sea, but they exhibited their sufferings as elegantly as possible. It is dangerous, however, for a view-hunter to meddle with this species of the picturesque, and though he cannot entirely escape seeing, he can be prudent and say nothing. One accident, for the advantage of future beaux, may be recorded.

A beau about sixteen, who was bound with his father and sisters from Dover, on a trip of pleasure to Calais, was very qualmish. He lay with his head upon the edge of the gunwale. This appeared to me, as well as to his father, to place his hat in rather a dangerous predicament. His father spoke to him about it, but he was so qualmish that he did not attend to the advice. At length, from some motion in the vessel, over went his hat. He contrived to raise himself, and called out to stop the vessel. This produced a laugh. Our young beau looked after his chapeau (which had lately cost twenty-five shillings), as it tilted over the waves, with a mixture of vexation and sickness; a kind of indolent regret. It was a study for a painter. There was a smile on most other countenances. He at length twisted his handerchief round his head, and laid the said head down exactly where it was before. A memento to carelessness, as his father justly said, and a punishment for obstinacy in not taking prudent advice. The whole formed a fine subject for that unrivalled painter after nature, Wilkie.

At length obtained a glimpse of the steeple at Calais right a-head. The country to the west is hilly and green, but naked, being without wood and apparently houses. The atmosphere over Calais was charged with black watery-looking clouds, which shed an unpleasing gloom over the landscape, while on turning our eyes back to Dover, we saw the sky clear and the sun shining brightly. The British landscape thus assumed a more vivid appearance of gaiety from the dark scowling scene before us. This was so contrary to all the fancies we have had sported about the skies and climate of the two countries, that I began to query, whether I should not find a good deal of the common ideas, as usual, drawn more from imagination or prejudice than from facts,

The tide failed us, and we were obliged to come to anchor about half a mile to the east of the mole. We made our passage in about four hours. We had seen a number of boats pushing from the harbour, and we were told it was for us they were labouring out. We soon found the information correct. Five or six came round the vessel. All the crews seemed as if in a hostile fury, and made a hideous noise. This being my first visit to France, of course I was more attentive to making observations, and every thing impressed me more strongly from its novelty. These boats appeared old, dirty, and uncomfortable. Nor did they inspire the idea of safety at all. The men were not more prepossessing. They were stout, but not well-looking. They were all in a bustle and confusion, working, as it were, against each other, without judgment. There seemed to be no master, or rather all seemed to be masters. They were as furiously busy as angry bees; but the result did not correspond with the appearance of labour. I did not much like trusting myself with them; for though there was not much wind there was a little surf.

The confusion and bustle in the boats seemed to have communicated themselves to the packet. All wanted to get their luggage at once. There was nothing for some minutes but runuing against each other and bawling. After having sung out till I was tired, I at length obtained my portmanteau, and got into the rickety boat with about a dozen more. We sat down, pretty closely stowed, on wet seats, with our feet on large wet stones. After a good deal of bawling and bustle, on the part of the crew, we pushed from the ship.

The boatman who appeared to take the lead, if there was any master or servant among them, had a strongly marked countenance. The sentinel that appears as if hung in a chain, in Hogarth's Gate of Calais, was a beauty to him. On seeing him, I thought to myself, that those caricature prints of the French face with us are in reality not caricature. But I gradually changed my opinion the more I saw of France. I do not recollect meeting with such another countenance through the whole of my tour. Though no beauty, he seemed rather good natured. Indeed all the rest, after they had hoisted

their sail and taken their places, were quiet and civil. They did not seem to be too fond of working; and the tide ebbing strongly down the inside of the mole, a number of men upon it took us in tow.

This mole is of a considerable length. As we were drawn slowly up to the harbour, I took a comparing look around me; and I confess this first survey did not elevate my ideas. It might be mere fancy, but the gate of Britain, Dover, seemed to me to indicate a flourishing country, while the gate of France, Calais, appeared to foretoken a country rather in a stationary if not a decaying condition.

On touching land we were surrounded by a host of porters, each attempting to carry off part of the luggage. I expected never to have seen a particle of mine again. This affair might easily be better managed in France. The boats should all land at one place, and an officer acquainted with the British language, with a soldier or two to keep the rabble of porters back till things were adjusted, and it was ascertained which articles were, and which were not, to be taken to the searching-house. He would also quiet the apprehensions of the passengers, by informing them how they were to proceed. But, as we found it, the whole was a mass of noise and confusion. Every one was speaking, pushing, defending his luggage against the porters, and uncertain what to do. Nor did the gendarme, who received us on the steps, show any disposition to assist us by giving us information. He confined his speaking to merely asking for our passports.

I at length quitted the boat with above half-a-dozen of porters, one carrying my portmanteau, one my sac de nuit,-a third my great coat, and a fourth my umbrella,-while three or four more followed pestering me to give them something to carry; and, as I moved onward, I still kept a sharp eye upon my French baggage-bearers. Near the searching-house, I met a British looking man, who asked me in English if I came from the Paris hotel at Dover. This I afterwards found to be Mr Maurice, the master of the hotel to which I was going. He sent off s young man with me, and said the baggage would be perfectly safe. I still, however, kept now and then looking behind with some apprehension. Had

I then known the French honesty in these points, I should have been quite at my ease.

I had long neglected my French, and I was very rusty in it. I resolved, however, to use it on every occasion. But that language sinks so many letters in pronunciation, while the natives speak this shortened dialect with such rapidity, that it is extremely difficult for a foreigner at first to follow them. In vain I said doucement, doucement, parlez doucement. They all hurried on as fast as ever, and I was still left in the lurch. The French pronunciation may be said to be a short-hand with respect to the spelling.

I soon found the inconvenience of not being able to understand them. It was in vain I contrived to ask a question. They seem by no means to be a quick people in conceiving your meaning. In this point I found them far inferior to our own people. I did, however, generally succeed in making them comprehend me; but, from their short-hand pronunciation, I could not understand them. I was therefore at a great loss, and, at first, not a little uncomfortable.

On reaching the hotel I was left to shift for myself. I found my way to the box-office, and I contrived to ascertain, that, as I was a passenger all through, I might, if I chose, set off that evening at seven. I did choose this, and now I became anxious to recover my passport in time.

subject, were of opinion, that those wild, yet pathetic and melodious strains, those fine breathings and heartfelt touches in our songs, which true genius can alone express,-were bewildered and utterly lost in a noisy accompaniment of instruments. Iu their opinion, the full chords of a thorough bass ought to be used sparingly and with judgment, not to overpower, but to support and strengthen the voice at proper pauses: that the air itself should be first played over, by way of symphony or introduction to the song; and at the close of every stanza, a few bars of the last part of the melody should be repeated, as a relief to the voice, which it gracefully sets off: that the performer, however, ought to be left entirely at liberty to vary the symphonic accompaniment according to his own judgment, skill, fancy, and taste: that he ought not to be cramped or confined by written symphonies, which, although contrived with every possible ingenuity and art, become, by frequent repetition, equally dull, uniform, and insipid, as if they were immutably fixed on a barrel organ. In their opinion, a Scottish song admits of no cadence or capricious descant at the close of the tune, though a fine shake, which can easily be acquired by a little practice at an early period, when the vocal organs are young and flexible, forms an excellent embellishment.

"A Scottish song thus performed," says Mr Tytler, " is among the highest entertainments to a musical genius. An artist on the violin may display

JOHNSON'S SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM. the magic of his fingers, in running

MR EDITOR,

OBSERVING a reference to Johnson's Musical Museum in the "Remarks on the Humour of Ancient Scottish Songs," I beg leave to send you a short account of that valuable repository of the lyric poetry and music of Scotland. The plan of the work was originally suggested to Mr James Johnson, music engraver in Edinburgh, by the late William Tytler of Woodhouselee, Esq. and the Rev. Dr Thomas Blacklock. The former wrote an excellent dissertation on Scottish music, and the latter was well known and esteemed as a most worthy man and an ingenious poet.

With regard to Scottish songs, these gentlemen, both good judges of the

from the top to the bottom of the finger-board in various intricate capricios, which, at most, will only excite surprise; while a very middling performer of taste and feeling, in a subject that admits of the pathos, will touch the heart in its finest sensations. Genius and feeling, however, are not confined to country or climate. maid at her spinning wheel, who knew not a note of music, with a sweet voice and the force of a native genius, has oft drawn tears from my eyes. That gift of Heaven, in short, is not to be defined-it can only be felt."

Α

The plan of publishing our Scottish songs in this simple, elegant, and chaste manner, was highly approved of by the late Mr Stephen Clarke. This celebrated organist and musician

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readily agreed to select, arrange, and harmonize the whole of the melodies; a task which, from his brilliant genius, fine taste, and profound scientific knowledge, he was eminently qualified to perform. Johnson, on his part, undertook to engrave all the plates carefully with his own hands. A work was therefore to be expected, which, on the one hand, would open a far more wide and extensive range amid the flowers of Caledonian music and poetry than had ever before been attempted, and all this, too, at a charge so moderate as to be within the reach of every lover of native song; whilst, on the other hand, the Museum itself, from the combination of such talents, would inIdeed be creditable to Scotland as a national work: nor was this expectation disappointed. Whilst the first volume of the work was yet in progress, the publisher had the good fortune to become acquainted with Burns, who had come to Edinburgh for the purpose of superintending the printing of a new edition of his Poems, about to be published in that city. Burns no sooner saw the nature and scope of the Museum, than he became its best promoter and firmest support. He entered at once into the views of the publisher, with that disinterestedness of friendship and ardency of zeal so eminently conspicuous in the character of this great bard. In a letter to Mr Candlish, he says, "I am engaged in assisting an honest Scots enthusiast (meaning Johnson), a friend of mine, who is an engraver, and has taken it into his head to publish a collection of all our songs set to music, of which the words and music are done by Scotsmen. This, you will easily guess, is an undertaking exactly to my taste. I have collected, begged, borrowed, and stolen, all the songs I could meet with. Pompey's Ghost, words and music, I beg from you immediately, to go into his second number: the first is already published. I shall shew you the first number when I see you in Glasgow, which will be in a fortnight or less. Do be so kind as send me the song in a day or two: you cannot imagine how much it will oblige me."

During the further progress of the Museum, Burns not only supplied the publisher with various songs collected from his friends, but likewise com

posed a very great number himself, expressly for that work, which are admitted to be the finest productions of his lyric muse. Burns was quite at home in composing for the Museum. He seldom, indeed, altered one line, or even a single word, of any thing that he wrote for the work, after it was once committed to paper. Johnson, though a good engraver, was, happily for our bard, neither an amateur nor a critic: the songs which Burns wrote for this work, therefore, were the genuine, warm, and unfettered effusions of his fertile muse. He also furnished many charming original melodies, collected by himself in various parts of Scotland, which, but for him, would in all probability have been utterly lost or forgotten. Indeed, from the month of December 1786, down to the period of his death in July 1796, Burns was almost the sole editor of the poetical department of the Museum. Nor did his zeal and wishes for its success seem to diminish, even at the approach of death. In a letter which he wrote to Johnson on the 4th of July 1796, only seventeen days before his decease, he thus expresses himself: "How are you, my dear friend? and how comes on your fifth volume? Let me hear from you as soon as convenient. Your work is a great one; and now that it is nearly finished, I see, if we were to begin again, two or three things that might be mended; yet I will venture to prophesy, that to future ages your publication will be the text book and standard of Scottish song and music."

Our lamented poet lived to see the first, second, third, fourth, and the greater part of the fifth volume of the Museum finished. He had even furnished Johnson with materials almost sufficient to complete the sixth volume, which was published after the poet's death.

At an early period of the work, Burns, in a letter to Johnson, communicated a plan which he thought would tend much to gratify the purchasers of the Museum, and even enhance the value of the work. "Give," says he, "a copy of the Museum to my worthy friend Mr Peter Hill, bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird of Glenriddel's, that I may insert every anecdote I can learn, together with my own criticisms and

remarks on the songs. A copy of this kind I will leave with you, to publish at some after period, by way of making the Museum a book famous to the end of time, and you renowned for ever.”

Johnson immediately sent him an interleaved copy; and upon mentioning the improvement that had been suggested by the bard to Dr Blacklock, Mr Tytler, and some other of his friends in Edinburgh, they unanimously approved of the measure, and agreed to communicate to Burns all the anecdotes and remarks they could collect respecting the national songs of Scotland. Some progress was accordingly made in this new department; but in consequence of the death of Mr Tytler, Dr Blacklock, Mr Masterton, Mr Clarke, Mr Burns, and, lest of all, of the publisher himself, it was never brought to a conclusion. What had been done, however, was given to the public in the volume entitled, Reliques of Robert Burns," edited by the late Mr Cromek.

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The Museum is unquestionably by far the most extensive and valuable collection of Scottish songs that has ever been published. Each of the six volumes contains a hundred melodies, with a still greater number of songs, to which they are adapted. Besides those beautiful songs which appear in other collections, the Museum presents us with many ancient Scottish ballads, and a very great variety of those old, curious, and exceedingly humorous songs, with their original melodies, the favourite lyrics of our early ancestors, to be found in no other musical publication whatever. It has for a considerable time been matter of regret, that this work has long been out of print, and few if any copies have been seen in the market for some years past.

I have, however, the pleasure of announcing to your musical friends, that a new and improved edition of the Museum is now in a state of forwardness. The original plates, including the manuscripts of the poetry and music of that work, have been purchased (as you perhaps may have heard) by Mr Blackwood, from the heirs of Mr Johnson. That department which was left unfinished has been committed to the charge of a gentleman who was a mutual friend of the late publisher and the bard, and who had, during their lives, collected a variety of mate

rials for assisting them to complete their work. I have seen a considerable part of his manuscript, and have been permitted to take some extracts from it, which I now present to your readers. SCOTUS.

"SONG 66. Guilderoy.

"This song is improperly titled in Johnson's Museum. It should have been called, Ah, Chloris, could I now but sit,' to the tune of Guilderoy. The tender and pathetic stanzas in the Museum were composed by the Right Honourable Duncan Forbes, Lord

She

President of the Court of Session in Scotland, about the year 1710. They were addressed to Miss Mary Rose, the elegant and accomplished daughter of Hugh Rose, Esq. of Kilravock. To this lady, with whom he had been acquainted from her infancy, he was afterwards united in marriage. bore him one son, who was his heir and successor; but Mrs Forbes did not long survive this event. His Lordship, however, remained a widower from that time till his decease, which happened on the 10th of December 1747, in the sixty-third year of

his age.

His remains were interred in the

Greyfriars' church-yard.

6

"It is not a little curious that Ritson places the song, Ah, Chloris,' at the head of his collection of English songs, and observes, that he never heard of its having been set to music. Perhaps it did not at that time occur to him, that a Scotchman

might be able to write very good English, or that every person of musical taste, from Berwick to Johnny Groat's House, could have set him right with regard to the music, had he thought proper to make any inquiry about it during his residence in Scotland.

"With respect to the hero of the ballad properly called Guilderoy,' we learn the following particulars from Spalding and other historians. Guilderoy was a notorious freebooter in the Highlands of Perthshire, who, with his gang, for a considerable time infested the country, committing the most barbarous outrages on the inhabitants. Seven of these ruffians, however, were at length apprehended, through the vigilance and activity of the Stewarts of Athole, and conducted to Edinburgh, where they were tried, condemned, and executed, in February 1638. Guilderoy, seeing his accomplices taken and hanged, went up, and in revenge burned several houses belonging to the Stewarts in Athole. This new atrocity was the prelude to his ruin. A proclamation was issued, offering £1000 for his apprehension. The inhabitants rose en masse, and pursued him from place to place, till at length he, with five more of his associates, was overtaken and secured. They were next carried to Edinburgh, where, after trial and conviction, they expiated their offences on the gallows in the month of July 1638.

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