When Fingal resigns the spear of Trenmor to Ossian, he says, 'Ossian, take thou thy father's spear; lift it in battle when the proud arise. My fathers, Ossian, trace my steps, my deeds are pleasant to their eyes; wherever I come forth to battle, on my field are their columns of mist. But mine arm rescued the feeble; the haughty found my rage was fire; never over the fallen did mine eye rejoice: for this my fathers shall meet me at the gates of their airy halls, tall with robes of light, with mildly kindled eyes. But, to the proud in arms, they are darkened moons in heaven, which send the fire of night red wandering over their face.'

Berrathon, the last of the poems of Ossian, opens with an elegy on Malvina, who had been affianced to Oscar, the son of Ossian; but after the death of her lover, Malvina had devoted her attention to the aged bard, who calls on his attendant to lead the aged to his woods-the winds begin to rise; the dark wave of the lake resounds. Bring me the harp, son of Alpin; another song shall rise; my soul shall depart in the sound. Malvina, where art thou with thy songs-with the soft sound of thy steps? Son of Alpin, art thou near? where is the daughter of Toscar? I passed a son of Fingal by Tor-lutha's mossy walls; the smoke of the hall was ceased; silence was among the trees of the hill; the voice of the chase was over; I saw the daughters of the bow; I asked about Malvina, but they answered not; they turned their faces away; thin darkness covered their beauty; they were like stars on a rainy hill by night, each looking faintly through the mist.'

there is no

Ossian's lamentation over Malvina, and her apotheosis or ascent to the habitation of heroes, is extremely touching. Pleasant be thy rest, O lovely beam! soon hast thou set on our hills! The steps of thy depart-ure were stately, like the moon on the blue trembling wave. But thou hast left us in darkness, first of the maids of Lutha! We sit at the rock, and voice; no light but the meteor of fire! Soon hast thou set, O Malvina, daughter of generous Toscar! But thou risest like the beam of the east among the spirits of thy friends, where they sit in their stormy halls, the chambers of the thunder! A cloud hovers over Cona; its blue curling sides are high; the winds are beneath it with their wings; within it is the dwelling of Fingal. There the hero sits in darkness; his airy spear in his hand; his shield half covered with clouds; his friends sit around the king on mist; they hear the songs of Ullin; he strikes the half viewless harp; he raises the feeble voice; the lesser heroes with a thousand meteors light the airy hall. Malvina rises in the midst; a blush is on her cheek; she beholds the unknown faces of her fathers; she turns a-side her humid eyes. Art thou come so soon, said Fingal, daughter of generous Toscar? Sadness dwells: in the halls of Lutha. My aged son is sad! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy. locks. It comes to the hall, but thou art not there; its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers. Go with thy rustling wings, O breeze, sigh on Malvina's tomb; it rises yonder beneath the rock, at the blue stream of Lutha. The maids are departed to their place; thou alone, O breeze, mournest there!!

In this, the last of the songs of Ossian, every thing is full of that invisible world, into which the aged bard believes himself now ready to enter. He sees the cloud that shall receive his ghost; he beholds the mist that shall form his robe when he appears on his hill— strike the harp and raise the song; be near with all your wings, ye winds! bear the mournful sound away to Fingal's airy hall; bear it to Fingal's hall, that he may hear the voice of his son; the voice of him that praised the mighty. There is a murmur in the heath; the stormy winds abate; I hear the voice of Fingal ; long has it been absent from mine ear! Come, O'ssian, come away, he says; Fingal has received his fame. We passed away like flames that had shone for a season; our departure was in renown. The voice of Ossian has been heard; the harp has been strung in Selma. Come, Ossian, come away, he says; come, fly with thy fathers on clouds. I come, I come, thou king of men! The life of Ossian fails; I begin to vanish on Cona; my steps are not seen in Selma ; beside the stone of Mona I shall fall asleep; the winds whistling in my grey hair shall not awaken me. Depart on thy wings, O wind! thou canst not disturb the rest of the bard.

In a most moving lamentation, addressed to her beloved Oscar, which should have been previously cited, Malvina sings her own death-song. She has heard a voice in a dream; she feels the fluttering of her soul. It was the voice of my love! Seldom comes he to my dreams! But thou dwellest in the soul of Malvina, son of mighty Ossian! My sighs arise with the beam of the east; my tears descend with the drops

of night. I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low. The spring returned with its showers, and no leaf of mine arose ! The virgins saw me silent in the hall, they touched the harp of joy. The tear was on the cheek of Malvina; the virgins beheld me in my grief. Why art thou sad? they said, thou first of the maids of Zutha! was he lovely as the beam of the morning, and stately in thy sight?'

We have selected, from the many beauties which abound in Ossian, only a small portion which relates to the principal personages, in order to convey a general idea of the manners and sentiments which prevail throughout these noble poems. The moral grandeur and tenderness developed in Ossian's characters are in perfect keeping with the heroic generosity and integrity, which pervade these extraordinary productions. In the devoted attentions of the young and lovely Malvina to the father of her lost lover, and in the depth and fulness of Ossian's affection and confidence, we recognise that state of primitive simplicity and purity, for which the human race were formed, and to which we trust they will return.

The heroes of Ossian possessed, in an eminent degree, that heroism and romantic generosity which, in the ages of chivalry, so long enchanted Europe; exempted from those unnatural refinements and artificial manners, which distinguished the knights of the feudal ages. Throughout these poems there is a strain of tender melancholy, which seems to have been the delight of Ossian and his bards. His poetry may be

styled the poetry of the heart, a heart penetrated with noble sentiments.'

We shall conclude what we have to say on this subject by referring to that love of justice, on which only can be based true generosity. No advantage was taken, in this age of real heroism, of the physical weakness natural to females, for we find that, on a demand for a divorce, the herd were divided. Dugala was the spouse of Cairbar, chief of the plains of Ullin. She was covered with the light of beauty; but her heart was the house of pride. She loved that sunbeam of youth, the son of noble Damman. Cairbar, said the white-armed Dugala, give me half of the herd. No more will I remain in your halls. Divide the herd, dark Cairbar! Let Cathullin, said Cairbar, divide my herd on the hill. His breast is the seat of justice. Depart, thou light of beauty! I went and divided the herd; one snow-white bull remained; I gave that bull to Cairbar. The wrath of Dugala rose.'

It appears that among the ancient Germans, who are believed to be of Celtic origin, great equality prevailed. Tacitus relates, in his treatise on the manners and customs of the Germans, that the Romans, having beaten the Germans, and caused them to retreat, the flying army were intercepted by their women, who, by their courage and conduct, rallied the men, and, being thus incited, gained the victory over the Roman legions.

The injustice of our laws, and the arbitrary restrictions which deprive married females of all power over property, and of course render them dependent; and the provisions in reference to wills, divorce, &c. were