24 
be any private and particular reason 
for this, we have nothing more to say. 
If not, and if the object be, and such 
to us it seems to be, merely to stimu- 
late the public curiosity and aftention, 
we shall not refrain from expressing 
our opinion, that itis an artifice wholly 
unworthy of the genius and the cha- 
racter of the author, and partaking 
far more of the trickery of the charla- 
tan than of the honourable candour of 
chivalry. This deliberate piece of 
mystification is the more reprehen- 
sible in our eyes, aS we cannot but 
assimilate it to that delectable harle- 
quinade, which has been got up by a 
certain sect of literary politicians in 
the Scotch metropolis; which, with all 
its grotesque buffoonery, is too ridi- 
culous even to amuse; and which has 
been, and can be, rendered available 
only for mean and unwarrantable pur- 
poses. We could wish Sir Walter’s 
course to be as clear, direct, open, 
and upright, as his genius and per- 
formances are undeniable and glo- 
rious. 
Turning to the work under our 
hands, we feel, in one respect, Some 
disappointment. After so long a 
respite from exertion, we had pro- 
mised ourselvés a more vigorous and 
extended effort of the Scottish muse. 
But, somewhat fo our mortification, 
the author on this occasion has chosen 
to make a cautious advance to recon- 
noitre the field of the drama, instead 
of dashing, with his whole force, into 
the heart of an unknown country. He 
seems to have thrown the present 
attempt to the wind, as a kind of 
pilot-balloon, to ascertain the current; 
and, if found sufficiently favourable, 
we apprehend there is little doubt that 
he will turn in that direction the ope- 
rations of his mind. 
Of his qualifications for this species 
of composition, some proofs have been 
already afforded in the pretended quo- 
tations from old plays, prefixed to the 
chapters of his novels, which may 
fairly be ascribed to his pen, and the 
style of which strikingly resembles 
that of many passages in the dra- 
matic sketch on which we are now 
entering. 
The English and Scotch forces, un- 
der the respective commands of King 
Edward the Third and the Regent, 
are on the eve of joining battle on 
Halidon-Hill; where the action of the 
drama is opened by the Prior of 
Maison-Dieu and De Vipont the 
2 
4 
News from Parnassus, No. X1LX. 
{Aug. f, 
Templar. The latter, having just 
arrived from Syria, hastens to the aid 
of his countrymen in the approaching 
conflict. After some introductory 
dialogue, descriptive of the ravages 
made by private feuds amongst the 
Scottish nobility, Sir Allan Swinton, 
the hero of the piece, advances, to 
whom, as an ancient friend, the Tem- 
plar introduces himself :— 
There needed not, to blazon forth the Swinton, 
His ancient burgonet, the sable boar 
Chain’d to the gnarled oak; nor his proud step, 
Nor giant stature, nor the penderons mace, 
Which only he of Scotlan *s realm can wield; 
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader} 
As doth his frame the champion.—Hail, brave 
Swinton! 
Swinton. 
Brave Templar, thanks ! Such your cross’d shoulder 
speaks you; 
But the closed visor, which conceals your features, 
Forbids more knowledge. Umfraville, perhaps— 
Vipont (unclosing his helmet ). 
No: one less worthy of our sacred order. 
Yet, unless Syrian suns have scorch’d my features 
Swart as my Sable visor, Allan Swinton 
Will welcome Symon Vipont. 
By this name he is cordially recog- 
nised by the old knight, and we must 
therefore presume that it is his correct 
cognomen; but a glance at the dra- 
matis persone had led us to anticipate 
that the name of baptism of the gal- 
lant Templar was Adam. ‘To Symon 
de Vipont, however, the chief of 
Swinton details the particulars of the 
unhappy feud with Gordon, on which 
the personal interest of the work 
turns :— 
Swinton. 
In art — home 
ne ees babe lisps to a widow’d mother— 
“Where is my grandsire? wherefore do you weep?” 
But for that prattler, Lyulph’s house is heirless. 
I’m an old oak, from which the foresters 
Have hew’d four goodly boughs, and left beside me 
Only a sapling, which the fawn may crush 
As he springs over it. 
Vipont. 
All slain—alas! 
Swinton. 
Ay, all, De Vipont ; and their attributes, 
John — the Long Spear,—Archibald with the 
xe,— 
Richard the Ready,—and my youngest darling, 
My fair-hair’d William,—do but now survive 
In measures which the grey-hair’d minstrels sing 
When they make maidens weep. 
Vipont. 
These wars with England, they have rooted out 
The flowers of Christendom. Knights, who might 
win 
The sepulchre of Christ from the rude heathen, 
Fall in unholy warfare. 
Swinton. 
Unholy warfare? Ay! well hast thon nam/’d it; 
But not with England. Would her cloth-yard shafts 
Had bored their cuirasses! ‘Their lives had been 
Lost like their grandSire’s,—in the bold defence 
Of their dear country ; but in private feud, 
With the proud Gordon, fell my sep Saari John, 
He with the Axe, and he men call’d the Ready; 
Ay, and my Fair-hair’d Will: the Gordon’s wrath 
Devour’d my gallant issue. 
; Vipont. 
Sincé thou dost weep, their death is unavenged ? 
Swinton. 
Templar, what think’st thou me? See yonderrock, 
From which the fountain gushes,—is.it less 
Compact of adamant, tho’ waters flow from it? 
Firm hearts have mojster eyes. "Fhey are a: Nae 
wept 
