We rather praised the Sectarian, when it appeared; and we
now avail ourselves of a second edition of the Dominic's Legacy,
a work by the same author, though of a \ cry different kind, to perform an act of justice to the latter publication, with which we have only very recently become acquainted.
The Dominie's Legacy is a series of stories, supposed to have been collected by a person of this class indicated in the title. They relate
entirely to subjects of middle or low life in Scotland ; that is to say, the incidents are such as are common to the million ; the feelings are those of nature, and the persons and characters are mere men and women. It is curious to think that the sympathies of mankind have been so systematically and successfully perverted, that the interest felt in individuals seems to be inversely as the number and importance of the class to which they belong. Novel-readers weep at the fictitious distresses of a lord, when they would turn away with disgust from those of a mechanic or farmer: whereas the woes of him who has a million fellow-sufferers are a million times more important than those of him who is alone. Tales like these, therefore, which unravel the web of pride, and teach nature to prevail over art, have a value beyond that of pleasing the imagination or agreeably exciting the sympathies.
The Dominic' s Legacy might be named the Sorrows of Middle Life,—or, since the page is not always edged with black, its Pains and Pleasures. The stories are "lights and shadows" of Scottish existence, and do not a little resemble the work of that name. Their charm consists chiefly in their simplicity, and a certain familiar pathos, which takes the reader's heart by slow but sure approaches. Where power is required, the author is far from being deficient ; and in his descriptions of natural objects, he shows himself possessed of the true Scottish feeling—an affectionate lover and a tasteful appreciator of the scenes of his youth. Many of the stories may appear poor in incident, and deficient in shining events ; but, to use an expression of the author's, they are " morsels of Nature's furnishing," and have her quiet and unpretending force. She does not overcome by efforts; her power works unseen the effect is felt, and the cause only to be speculated upon. If the best of these tales were reduced to their skeletons, they would give as little promise of the full story as the poor basket of bones does of the glorious form of humanity, when clothed with all its complicated machinery of flesh and blood and nerve. What, for instance, is the beautiful tale of" Mary Ogilvie," hut a youthful disappointment, and the marriage of a widow and a widower who had been betrothed in youth, and whose marriage had gone off ? This is the groundwork of the tale, and yet how faint an idea it gives of the play of feeling and sentiment in which the author rejoices in it—of the sweetness and beauty of the heorine's character—of the honesty and candour of the hero—of the scenes of domestic enjoyment and domestic superstition it pictures, and the beautifully-contrasted views it gives of hollow splendour and unpresuming happiness—of the miseries of living for show and form, and the overflowing delights of dwelling in candour and simplicity among the honest and kind, for the reciprocation of good offices I Such are the merits of one of the tales—many others possess merit in a nearly equal degree : there is in the "Love Match" a powerful picture, not of fictitious but real distress, and of the hopes and fears of an amiable couple, fighting against poverty and debt—in vain, for they have but industry and good intentions in their favour. In "Minister Tam," a subdued pathos, is combined with a quiet humour, which may be said to be the characteristic
excellence of the Scotch writers of fiction of the present day. Pleasanter reading than the history of " Minister Tam" is not to be had ; and yet it makes the heart ache—not with the low andheavy agony which real sorrow gives, but with that gentle sadness not inconsistent with pleasure.
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