time was waning fast. Posted up the hill. Passed the turnpike gate to get a view of the contour of the eastern side of the castle. It is a very extensive old building. The view to the west quite Scottish. The Priory in the bottom seems to be of considerable extent, of the old buttress kind of architecture. The dell, looking back into the country, strongly resembles a Scottish glen. Descended, but could not possibly resist running up and passing through the northern gate. The walls of vast thickness. The hollow just by, which I took at first for the gate, is formed by a building jutting over. In the inner part of the gate-arch found a centinel's room. An old invalid civilly asked me if I wished to see the castle, and said there was a gentleman waiting to go round. I excused myself again. He was not half so pressing as the little old under warden. Took a peep of the square between the ramparts and the castle, and then descended as rapidly as I could. Some small bells ringing at the side of the road attracted my notice. I perceived they were rung all the way from the debtor's window. I attended to the charitable sound. The little old under warden made his appearance again, but I was out of his sight instantly.

Reached the hotel a little past nine. Found my companions, who had breakfasted, sallying forth. They alarmed me with the information that the packet was on the very point of sailing. At the same time the mate, attending to get my luggage, confirmed my alarm. To lose a day, and such a day for crossing! The thought was not to be borne. Pressed the waiter and the rest in grand style. A city Smart of the first order, too late in setting out for a review, or to see some other spectacle, could scarcely have done it in a grander. And a dragoon, when the enemy is approaching, might swallow his breakfast more completely, but he could not more rapidly, than I swallowed mine. While I poured out one cup the waiter poured another. The first was hot water scarcely discoloured, the second was without sugar, and the third without both sugar and milk. Moses, the money-changer, who had attended this morning again, with the hope of inducing me to take gold for my paper, seeing me in such a furor of hurry,

kept at a prudent distance, and then retreated. Met the waiter bringing the hot rolls for my breakfast, as I advanced to the bar to pay my bill. Had barely time to listen to the civil folk of the Paris, who hoped I had found myself so comfortable as to recommend their house; but their civil tone somewhat cooled my fervour, and made me give them a kind answer. Unfortunately, at this moment, a lad came for the rest of my things. The fervour returned with this second alarm. posted on to the custom house, resolved to take a boat to pursue the packet, and there I found all things as cool and deliberate as any person could wish. I learned the vessel would be ready to sail in an hour or two. The mate advised me to send back the boy with my things to the inn, till he should tell me when it would be necessary to send them to the packet.

I

Such was the close of this false alarm. I now, however, felt relieved. The only thing I regretted, was losing the comforts which I had anticipated from my breakfast, after my long and varied morning's hunting on Shakspeare's Cliff, and round Dover Castle.

They are not very particular in examining the luggage in leaving Dover, as, of course, they don't care how many contraband articles are carried to France, with the exception of gold; and that at present, from its low price, and the demand for French gold, was a matter of very little concern; and when people reach good sense on the subject of metal money, it will be of no concern whatever. Walked to the quay, and saw three horses, with a carriage, and one or two gigs, slung into our packet. The current of emigration seems to be still decidedly stronger towards the Continent. a packet come in from Calais. only about twenty passengers aboard. One of the packets that sailed a few days before for Calais carried over nearly a hundred. The two currents will be more equal by-and-by.

Passage to Calais.

Saw

Had

After waiting for about two hours, we were summoned aboard. The people kept crowding to the last, as only one vessel was to sail this tide. Got under weigh at length. The day was remarkably fine, and the wind, what there was of it, being westerly, was fair. Though the breeze was

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,-Oh! 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 few 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 instinct ively, 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 beaux 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 handkerchief 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.

The

At length obtained a glimpse of the steeple at Calais right a-head. 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 gayety 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 running 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 a 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 let ters 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.

JOHNSON'S SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM.

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

In

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. 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.

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

A

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

a

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 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 indeed 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 for tune 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.

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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