bright garments, her hair long and wet, and shining in diamonds-and heard a struggle, and the shriek as of a creature drowning. The belief of the peasantry did not long confine the apparition to the sea coast-it was seen sometimes late at night far inland, and following Gilbert the fisherman,―like a human shadowlike a pure light-like a white garment-and often in the shape, and with the attributes, in which it disturbed the carousal of the smugglers. I heard douce Thomas Haining,-a God-fearing man, and an elder of the Burgher congregation, and on whose word I could well lippen, when drink was kept from his head, -I heard him say that as he rode home late from the Roodfair of Dumfries-the night was dark, there lay a dusting of snow on the ground, and no one appeared on the road but himself, he was lilting and singing the cannie end of the auld sang, “There's a cuttie stool in our Kirk,"-which was made on some foolish quean's misfortune, when he heard the sound of horses' feet behind him at full gallop, and ere he could look round, who should flee past, urging his horse with whip and spur, but Gilbert the Fisherman! Little wonder that he galloped,' said the elder, for a fearful form hovered around him, making many a clutch at him, and with every clutch uttering a shriek most piercing to hear.' But why should I make a long story of a common tale? The curse of spilt blood fell on him, and on his children, and on all he possessed his sons and daughters died-his flocks perished-his grain grew, but never filled the ear; and fire came from heaven, or rose from hell, and consumed his house, and all that was therein. He is now a man of ninety years-a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth-without a house to put his white head in-with the unexpiated curse still clinging to him." While my companion was making this summary of human wretchedness, I observed the figure of a man, stooping to the earth with extreme age, gliding through among the bushes of the ruined cottage, and approaching the advancing tide. He wore a loose great coat, patched to the ground, and fastened round his waist by a belt and buckle,—the remains of stockings and shoes were on his feet -a kind of fisherman's cap surmounted some remaining white hairs, while a long peeled stick supported him as he went. My companion gave an involuntary shudder when he saw him-" Lo, and behold, now, here comes Gilbert the Fisherman once every twenty-four hours doth he come, let the wind and the rain be as they will, to the nightly tide, to work o'er again, in imagination, his auld tragedy of unrighteousness. See how he waves his hand, as if he welcomed some one from sea he raises his voice too, as if something in the water required his counsel and see how he dashes up to the middle, and grapples with the water as if he clutched a human being.". I looked on the old man, and heard him call in a hollow and broken voice; "O hoy! the ship, O hoy,— turn your boat's head ashore-and my bonnie lady, keep haud o' yere casket-Hech bet! that wave would have sunk a three decker, let be a slender boat-see-see an' she binna sailing aboon the water like a wild swan; "-and, wading deeper in the tide as he spoke, he seemed to clutch at something with both hands, and struggle with it in the water—" Na! na! dinna haud your white hands to me-ye wear owre mickle gowd in your hair, and o'er many diamonds on your bosom, to 'scape drowning. There's as mickle gowd in this casket as would have sunk thee seventy fathom deep." And he continued to hold his hands under the watermuttering all the while." She's half gane now--and I'll be a braw laird, and build a bonnie house, and gang crousely to kirk and marketnow I may let the waves work their will-my work will be ta'en for theirs." He turned to wade to the shore, but a large and heavy wave came full dash on him, and bore him off his feet, and ere any assistance reached him, all human aid was too late-for nature was so exhausted with the fulness of years, and with his exertions, that a spoonful of water would have drowned him. The body of this miserable old man was interred, after some opposition from the peasantry, beneath the wall of the kirkyard; and from that time, the Ghost with the Golden Casket was seen no more, and only continued to haunt the evening tale of the hind and the farmer. Lammerlea, Cumberland. EPISTLE TO ELIA, Suggested by his Essay, “molle atque facetum," on New Year's Eve. in the cup I WOULD, that eye to eye it were my lot Threw brighter sparkles forth than sparkled thence. The heart's recesses: to our pillows then, And waken joyous laughs in distant bowers. "But then the grave !-the green lanes, quiet streets, No-but we like not this same cyprus stole As well remain a clay-commingling clod, Was it for this the MAN of CALVARY stood, Raise us to height above this mortal span, VOL. IV. * John Woodvil, a tragedy: Act III. The hand that made us,-has it lost its skill? We moulder; tomb-stoned, and remember'd not: The creature, that had the CREATOR'S Seal Playing at thundering bowls in guise of men, Close jerkin and protuberant hose, with mirth Starch'd, dumpish, queer, that smack'd not of this earth; Or prim as key-stone angels, perch'd aloof, With Atlas palms up-propping th' old church-roof, Rouged, hatted, peruqued, sleeved, with cravat laced, Each smirking at his like? No, never dream it: * Cælo tegitur, qui non habet urnam.-Lucan. Phars. 7. 819. +See "a posthumous writing" of Knickerbocker, in the "Sketch-book." Of sudden recognition; gentle stealings Shalt thou, ingenuous Elia! do this wrong One to the low earth leg-lock'd, fain to fly; With bended finger, and astonied listening That mocks the sleeping infant's calmest mien; Like gleams, o'er mountain tops, of morning skies: That wash the stains of custom and foul sin And beauteous serpent, streak'd with emerald, jet, and gold; Nay-these are diamond sands that in thy hour-glass run; They glisten with the jewel's lasting dew; Joys lent to time, not lost; and others new, That, like that serpent orb'd, shall still themselves pursue. The feasts, at which thou sitt'st, shall still be shared By such as thou dost value; and unscared By hooded griefs, that "push us from our stools," And thou shalt hail that prophet of his kind, OLEN. SKETCHES ON THE ROAD. No. III. [OUR last Number contained the description of a visit to Mount Vesuvius, from the pen of our entertaining travellers, which forms a little episode in the history of their adventures. In the following pages, the narrative is continued from the close of their first communication.] WE left you, in a former letter,* on the shores of the Lago Maggiore; and we now pursue our journey. The boats on the lake are flat bottomed, and curiously covered, to defend passengers from sun and rain, by a canvass awning supported on a sort of hurdle: the one we hired for our little expedition we found particularly convenient, being furnished with chairs and a table. When we put off from shore, thick, misty, rain-clouds lay upon the mountains, and on all the scenery skirting the lake: but ere we had proceeded far, some fine glances of sunshine began partially to dissipate the obscurity, and we saw, at intervals, the snow shining on the rugged Alps; and the pretty white towns of Fariolo, Intra, and Palanza, beaming across the tranquil waters, and seeming as though they were built on a narrow ridge between the lake and the mountains. The first of the Isole Borromei that we reached, was the Isola dei Pescatori: it is low, and very small, and covered with a little town of fishermen. We did not descend here, but were struck by the beautiful effect of some pensile willows, which, at one end of the island, dip elegantly into the water. The Isola Bella, the most important of the islands, lies at a short distance farther up the lake: just as we reached it, a heavy shower of rain began to fall. We entered the island by a magnificent flight of marble steps, and presently took refuge in a miserable hovel, serving as an inn. We here refreshed ourselves in the midst of a strange picturesque group of fishermen, whose dialect, even to our patois-exercised ears, was almost incomprehensible; we then repaired to the Palazzo of the Count of Borromeo, which, with its gardens and terraces, covers all the island, except a little corner, where about six hundred people, composed of fishermen, gardeners, and labourers, on the establishment, with their families, contrive to live. In the palace we found the usual lofty and spacious salle and gallerie; the usual long succession of great rooms, and want of passages, and privacy (which must naturally ensue from such a distribution of apartments, where almost every room is an indispensable passage to some others); the usual painted ceilings and marble floors, the large windows, and gilt folding doors, and the general want of furniture and convenience. The little furniture we saw seemed more than coeval with the edifice: its gilding was all tarnished, and the silks and satins stained and dirty; even the bed rooms of the family were in the same state. As we returned through these great deserted apartments, and felt the coolness and dampness of the air, we could not help thinking that it was not a comfortable place-had we, however, visited it during the heats of August, we should, without doubt, have found April, 1821, Vol. III. p. 395. |
