LITERARY NOTICES.

SCOTCH SOCIETY IN THE OLDEN TIME: Memorials of His Time: by HENRY COCKBURN. In one volume: pp. 442. New-York: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

THIS work reminds us very forcibly of the 'Life and Times of Sir JONAH BARRINGTON.' There is the same naturalness and simplicity of style, the same ample fund of personal anecdote — always such delightful reading — and a kindred picture of the era in which the author 'lived, and moved, and had his being.' We hesitate not to say, that in our judgment no more entertaining book has appeared for the last ten years. Until we had completed its perusal, we took it to bed with us every night; and it requires a very entertaining book to tempt us to ruminate bedward with a volume in our hand. The capable critic of 'The Tribune' daily journal gives this comprehensive synopsis of the general characteristics of the work:

'LORD COCKBURN first became known beyond the Scottish Bench, of which he was a distinguished member, by his biography of FRANCIS JEFFREY. In that gossiping work he displayed only a slight modicum of literary talent, but a warm-hearted attachment to Scotch society, Scotch institutions, Scotch recollections, and a mind fully imbued with anecdotes and reminiscences of the eminent men of that country. The posthumous volume now published, embracing the period between 1779 and 1830, is chiefly valuable for its lively pictures of domestic life in Edinburgh toward the close of the last century, and during the first quarter of the present, and its familiar details in regard to the personal and social habits of some of the celebrated literary and public characters who then signalized the capital of Scotland.

"The author was born either in Edinburgh or at Cockpen, a small estate some eight miles from that city - he is uncertain which — but his earliest recollection is that of a terrible peacock in one of the Cockpen walks, while he was still in petticoats. When eight years old, he was sent to the Edinburgh High-School, where he suffered so much from a school-master of almost fabulous stupidity, that for four years he was regularly flogged at least once in ten days, and imbibed the fancy that Latin was expressly contrived to torture boys. He was disabused of this idea when he passed to the class of the Rev. Dr. ALEXANDER ADAM, the Rector of the School, and the author of the work on Roman Antiquities, which was once a general text-book in American colleges. Dr. ADAM was a school-master by nature. He was born to teach Latin, Greek, and good morals. He was endowed with a certain lamb-like patience, which was rarely disturbed, except by intolerable provocation, and he then displayed only an explosion of gentle wrath, which operated as a salutary stimulus on the unimpressible boys. His industry was abso

lutely appalling. He would sometimes be a moment late at school, and explain that he had been detained 'verifying a quotation,' a process in which he would often indulge at four o'clock in the morning. At one time he took a house in the country for an autumn vacation of six weeks, and sent his family to take possession of the premises; but instead of enjoying the rustic leisure which he had anticipated, he got upon the scent of some curious passages in the classics, and remained with his books in town for the whole time, without even seeing the country-house. As a teacher of Latin and Greek, he was an enthusiastic admirer of ancient liberty and republicanism, but was so little conversant with modern politics that he scarcely knew one public measure or man from another. He did not escape, however, without suspicion from partisan jealousy. For several years he was watched and traduced as a man of dangerous political sentiments. His enemies made spies of his pupils, encouraging them to bring home stories of his zeal for liberty. They would frame their reports to suit the pleasure of their employers. The simple-hearted pedagogue was sorely afflicted by these trials, but his chief sorrow was the corruption to which the minds of his pupils were thus exposed. 'Among the school-fellows of the author were FRANCIS HORNER and HENRY BROUGHAM. HORNER gave early promise of the character by which he since became distinguished as a British statesman. He was then, as ever after, grave, studious, honorable, kindsteadily pursuing his own cultivation, and with all his actions marked by thoughtful, ness and dignity. BROUGHAM, also, showed the germs which have since ripened into brilliant notoriety. He was pugnacious, resolute, fixed in his own opinions, and without a particle of reverence for authority. The tone of manners in the High-School was intolerable. Vulgarity and rudeness were the order of the day. The boys were coarse in language, ventilating the most indecent ideas in a dialect of broadest Scotch, and so destitute of common civility, that no lady could venture to be seen within the walls. A taste for literature was so unheard of, that COCKBURN expresses a doubt whether he ever voluntarily read a single book, or even fifty pages, during his whole career at the High-School.

'The dress of the boys was unique. It consisted of a round black hat; a shirt fastened at the neck by a black ribbon, and, except on dress-days, unruffled; a cloth waistcoat, rather large, with two rows of buttons and of button-holes, so that it could be buttoned on either side, which, when one side got dirty, was convenient; a single breasted jacket, which, in due time, got a tail and became a coat; brown corduroy breeches, tied at the knees by a showy knot of brown cotton tape; worsted stockings in winter, blue cotton stockings in summer, and white cotton for dress; clumsy shoes, made to be used on either foot, and each requiring to be used on alternate feet daily ; brass or copper buckles. The coat and waistcoat were always of glaring colors, such as bright-blue, grass-green, and scarlet. No such machinery as what are now termed braces, or suspenders, had then been imagined.'

'In the year 1793, the embryo Judge was sent to the College of Edinburgh. Here much of his time was wasted in vain attempts to pursue the wearisome Latin. Among his teachers were one or two, in their day, not unknown by name to the academic youth of this country. Old ANDREW DALZELL, the author of the once famous 'Collec tanea Graeca,' was then in his prime. An amiable enthusiast in classical learning, if not a successful teacher, he infused a contagion of his own example even into the dullest youths. He could never stimulate them into activity in the pursuit of knowledge, but as they passively listened to his persuasive course, they were inspired with a vague ambition for literary excellence, and delicious dreams of virtue and poetry. DUGALD STEWART was the brightest ornament of the College at that time. He was about the middle size, weakly-limbed, and with an appearance of feebleness which gave an air of delicacy to his gait and structure. His forehead was large and bald, his eyebrows bushy, his eyes gray and intelligent, and capable of conveying any emotion, from indignation to pity, from serene sense to hearty humor; in which they were powerfully aided by his lips, which, though rather large, perhaps, were flexible and expressive. The voice was singularly pleasing; and, as he managed it, a slight burr only made his tones softer. His ear, both for music and for speech, was exquisite; his gesture was

simple and elegant, though not free from a tinge of professional formality; and his whole manner that of an academical gentleman.' In DUGALD STEWART's mind, calm thought supplied the place of genius, and even of originality of talent. His turn for mathematics did not chill the warmth of his moral demonstrations. The dignity of his science and habits was graced by a strong turn for quiet humor. Though devoted to the teaching of philosophy, his clear, practical intellect was averse to metaphysical refinements, but delighted in the eloquent exposition of topics relating to the moral endowments and aspirations of human nature. 'He lectured standing; from notes which, with their successive additions, must at last have been nearly as full as his spoken words. His lecturing manner was professorial, but gentleman-like; calm and expository, but rising into greatness, or softening into tenderness, whenever his subject required it. A slight asthmatic tendency made him often clear his throat; and such was my admiration,' says our author, of the whole exhibition, that MACVEY NAPIER told him, not long ago, that I had said there was eloquence in his very spitting. 'Then,' said he, 'I am glad there was at least one thing in which I had no competitor.''

The change from ancient to modern manners in Edinburgh society was, at this period, in rapid progress. Much of this was due to the enlarged intercourse with England and the world. But the immediate cause was the growth of the city, which, with the overflowing of the population from the old town to the new, altered the style of living, and destroyed numerous local arrangements and associations, that had existed almost from time immemorial. The dignitaries of the old school looked upon the progress of innovation with terror. They saw in it only the desecration of prescriptive gentilities by a rude and vulgar touch. Well did they remember the ancient glories of Saint CECILIA's Hall, crowded with the brilliant circles of aristocratic fashion - gentlemen of renown in literature and society, shining with their side-curls, and frills, and ruffles, and silver buckles; stately matrons, stiffened in hoops and gorgeous satin; and tender beauties with high-heeled shoes, powdered and pomatumed hair, and headdresses lofty and terrible, like the tower of Lebanon. In those days, the sage discipline had not yet deserted the ball-room. Martinet dowagers and venerable beaux presided over the ceremonies with solemn precision. No couple could dance without tickets assigning their place in the mysteries, on pain of being expelled as intruders. The procuring of tickets before the day of the ball, was a formidable operation. Those who were in the favor of the managers fared the best, but as much intrigue was often necessary to secure the prize as to accomplish the election of a Pope. Refreshments of the most simple character only were provided. Tea was sipped in side-rooms, and at the end of the dance the lady was presented with an orange by her partner; but the tea and the oranges, like every thing else, were subject to the most severe regulations. The austerity of the law, however, did not produce refinement of manners. In this respect, the formal age was inferior to the freer one. Profane swearing was common, it not universal, among the higher ranks. Nor was temperance, in any degree, the order of the day. It was by no means unusual for gentlemen who had dined with ladies to be decidedly the worse for liquor before re-joining them. To get drunk in a tavern was regarded as the natural consequence of going into one. The prevailing dinnerhour was about three o'clock, and, if there was no company, two o'clock was quite common. The procession from the drawing-room to the dining-room was less formidable than at present. There was no such alarming arrangement as that of each gentlemen approaching a lady, and the two joining arms. This would have excited no less horror than the waltz did on its first introduction into Edinburgh circles. All the ladies first took up the line of march by themselves, in a regular row, according to the established rules of precedence. Then the gentlemen moved off in a single file, and, on reaching the dining-room, found the ladies lingering about the backs of the chairs to see what would be their fate in the selection of partners.

'The dinners were not very different from modern dinners, except in a less liberal use of French cookery. Ice was not known, except in a few houses of the highest class. There was less drinking at dinners and more after it than now. The staple wines

were sherry and port. Champagne was never seen. Claret was the ordinary beverage, which was exempt from duty, and very cheap.'

There would be no end to the extracts we have pencilled as we read, were we to give them all wherefore we content ourselves with a selection from the same, being by no means certain that we have taken the best, where all are good. This little touch of childish reminiscence is delightful :

'THE valley of the Gala is associated with my earliest recollections. The old ale-house at Heriot was the first inn I ever entered. My father, who, I think, was then convener of the county of Edinburgh, went out to attend some meeting of road-trustees, and he took a parcel of us with him. He rode; and we had a chaise to ourselves happiness enough for boys. But more was in store for us. For he remained at the mansion-house of Middleton with his friend Mr. HEPBURN, and we went on, about four miles further, to Heriot House, where we breakfasted and passed the day, fishing, bathing, and rioting. It was the first inn of most of the party. What delight! A house to ourselves, on a moor; a burn; nobody to interfere with us; the power of ringing the bell as we chose; the ordering of our own dinner; blowing the peat fire; laughing as often and as loud as we liked. What a day! We rang the hand-bell for the pure pleasure of ringing, and enjoyed our independence by always going out and in by the window. This dear little inn does not now exist, but its place is marked by a square of ash-trees. It was a bright, beautiful August day.'

As a specimen of simple word-painting, observe the following well-limned picture:

'AND SOPHIA or, as she was always called, SUPHY JOHNSTONE, of the HILTON family. There was an original! Her father, from some whim, resolved to see how it would turn out, and gave her no education whatever. Possessed of great natural vigor of mind, she passed her youth in utter rusticity; in the course of which, however, she made herself a good carpenter and a good smith - arts which she practised occasionally, even to the shoeing of a horse, I believe, till after the middle of her life. It was not till after she became a woman that she taught herself to read and write; and then she read incessantly. She must have been about sixty before I ever saw her, which was chiefly, and often, at Niddrie. Her dress was always the same a man's hat when out of doors, and generally, when within them, a cloth covering exactly like a man's greatcoat, buttoned closely from the chin to the ground, worsted stockings, strong shoes, with large brass clasps. And in this raiment she sat in any drawing-room, and at any table, amidst all the fashion and aristocracy of the land, respected and liked. For her dispositions were excellent; her talk intelligent and racy, rich both in old anecdote and in shrewd modern observation, and spiced with a good deal of plain sarcasm; her understanding powerful; all her opinions free, and very freely expressed; and neither loneliness, nor very slender means, ever brought sourness or melancholy to her face or her heart.

'Sitting, with her back to the light, in the usual arm-chair by the side of the fire, in the Niddrie drawing-room, with her great-coat and her hat, her dark wrinkled face, and firmly-pursed mouth, the two feet set flat on the floor and close together, so that the public had a full view of the substantial shoes, the book held by the two hands very near the eyes, if the quick ear overheard any presumptuous folly, be it from solemn gentlemen or fine lady, down went the volume, up the spectacles-That's surely great nonsense, Sir,' though she had never seen him before; then, a little Quart and Tierce would begin, and the wight must have been very lucky if it did not end by his being

smote.

'Her own proper den was in a flat on the ground-floor of a house in Windmill-street, where her sole companion was a single female servant. When the servant went out, which she generally took the liberty of doing for the whole of Sunday, SUPHY's orders were that she should lock the door, and take the key with her. This saved SUPHY the torment of always rising; for people went away when they found the house, as they thought, shut up. But she had a hole through which she saw them perfectly well; and, if she was inclined, she conversed through this orifice; and when tired of them, told them to go away.'

Lord ESKGROVE, one of the Scottish judges, sits for the subjoined portrait : 'BROUGHAM tormented him, and sat on his skirts wherever he went, for above a year. The Justice liked passive counsel who let him dawdle on with culprits and juries in his own way; and consequently he hated the talent, the eloquence, the energy, and all the

discomposing qualities of BROUGHAM. At last it seemed as if a court-day was to be blessed by his absence, and the poor Justice was delighting himself with the prospect of being allowed to deal with things as he chose; when lo! his enemy appeared - tall, cool, and resolute. 'I declare,' said the Justice, that man BROOM, Or BROUGHAM, is the torment of my life!' His revenge, as usual, consisted in sneering at BROUGHAM's eloquence by calling it or him the Harangue. Well, gentle-men, what did the Harangue say next? Why it said this,' (misstating it;) but here, gentle-men, the Harangue was most plainly wrongg, and not intelligibill.'

'As usual, then, with stronger heads than his, every thing was connected by his terror with republican horrors. I heard him, in condemning a tailor to death for murdering a soldier by stabbing him, aggravate the offence thus: And not only did you murder him, whereby he was berea-ved of his life, but you did thrust, or push, or pierce, or project, or propell, the le-thall weapon through the belly-band of his regimen-tal breeches, which were his Majes-ty's!'

'In the trial of GLENGARRY for murder in a duel, a lady of great beauty was called as a witness. She came into court veiled. But before administering the oath, ESKGROVE gave her this exposition of her duty: Youngg woman! you will now consider yourself as in the presence of ALMIGHTY GOD, and of this High Court. Lift up your veil; throw off all modesty, and look me in the face.''

Another of the sage judges of that era is thus cleverly hit off. COCKBURN's pen is a brush dipped in rare colors:

'Or the younger judges, who belonged to the generation with which I was now connected, the most remarkable were Lord GLENLEE, Lord HERMAND, Lord MEADOWBANK, and Lord CULLEN ; all of whom I knew personally.

'I was so intimately connected, as a relation and friend, with Lord KILKERRAN's son GEORGE FERGUSSON, Lord HERMAND, that it may perhaps be supposed that I cannot speak candidly about him. But he has often been described in a way neither agreeable to truth, nor respectable for himself. His celebrity arose entirely from his personal character. For, although he attained considerable practice at the bar, and was a quick and vigorous judge, and took a keen part in all the public measures of his time, he was not so important in these spheres as to have been a man of mark in them, independently of his individual peculiarities. But these made him one of the most singular, and indeed incredible, of our old originals. They often threw even ESKGROVE into the shade during that person's life; and after he died, no Edinburgh man, by worth and singularity alone, belonged so much as HERMAND did to the public.

His external appearance was as striking as every thing else about him. Tall and thin, with gray lively eyes, and a long face strongly expressive of whatever emotion he was under, his air and manner were distinctly those of a well-born and well-bred gentleman. His dress for society, the style of which he stuck to almost as firmly as he did to his principles, reminded us of the olden time, when trowsers would have insulted any company, and braces were deemed an impeachment of nature. Neither the disclosure of the long neck by the narrow bit of muslin stock, nor the outbreak of the linen between the upper and nether garments, nor the short coat-sleeves, with the consequent length of bare wrist, could hide his being one of the aristocracy. And if they had, the thin and powdered gray hair, flowing down into a long thin gentleman-like pigtail, would have attested it. His morning raiment in the country was delightful. The articles, rough and strange, would of themselves have attracted notice in a museum. But set upon GEORGE FERGUSSON, at his paradise of Hermand, during vacation, on going forth for a long day's work- often manual- at his farm, with his gray felt hat and tall weeding-hoe what could be more agrestic or picturesque!

'Till about the age of thirty, when he began to get into practice, he was a pretty regular student; and he was always fond of reading, and being read to, but not methodically, nor in any particular line. He had thus gathered a respectable chaos of accidental knowledge. Of his various and very respectable mental powers, acuteness was perhaps the most striking. His affections were warm and steady; his honor of the highest and purest order.

'But all this will not produce a curious man. What was it that made HERMAND such an established wonder and delight? It seems to me to have been the supremacy in his composition of a single quality-intensity of temperament, which was so conspicuous that it prevented many people from perceiving any thing else in him. He could not be indifferent. Repose, except in bed, where however he slept zealously, was unnatural and contemptible to him. It used to be said that if HERMAND had made the heavens, he would have permitted no fixed stars. His constitutional animation never failed to carry him a flight beyond ordinary mortals. Was he in an argument, or at whist, or over his wine; in court, or at an election, or a road meeting; consulting with a ploughman, or talking with a child; he was sure to blaze out in a style that nobody could have fancied, or could resist enjoying. Those who only saw the operation of this ardor in