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496 of the Commonwealth, Restoration, and Revolution; its services in Ireland, in Holland, and upon the continent; and finally in the Peninsula, and at Waterloo; and while he has shown a thorough acquaintanceship with the history of these various wars, his work is pervaded throughout not only with the high chivalrous magnanimity of a British soldier, but the exactness of a careful thinker, and the taste of a correct and eloquent writer.

The rest of Colonel Mackinnon's life may be briefly summed up, as it was one of peace and domestic enjoyment. After he had settled in England, he married Miss Dent, the eldest daughter of Mr. Dent, M.P. for Pool, a young lady of great attractions, but who brought him no family. With her he led a happy and retired life, surrounded by the society of those who loved him; and cheered, as we may well think, by those studies which he turned to such an honourable account. It was thought that, from his strong robust frame and healthy constitution, he would have survived to a good old age; but the sedentary life to which his wound confined him, proved too much for a system so dependent upon active and exciting exercise. After having scarcely ever felt a day's illness, he died at Hertford Street, May Fair, London, on the 22d of June, 1836, being only forty-six years old.

MACNISH,, LL.D. The literary age in which we live, the age of periodical writing, is peculiarly unfavourable to individual distinction. A magazine or even a newspaper of the present day, instead of being the mere thing of shreds and patches which it usually was at the beginning of the nineteenth century, is now a repertory of the best writings, both in prose and verse; and the ablest of our writers, instead of trying their mere infant strength and boyish preludings in the columns of a journal, where, in the event of failure, they can hide themselves in the incognito of a letter of the alphabet, often spend their whole intellectual existence as periodical writers, and under a fictitious signature. Hence it is, that in the columns of a common daily print, or a weekly or monthly magazine, we find such essays, tales, and poems, such profound, original thinking, and eloquent writing, as would compose whole libraries of good standard authorships But who is the Thunderer of this newspaper, or the Christopher North of that magazine? the A and B and Z whoso contributions we so eagerly expect, and from which we derive such pleasure or instruction? We cannot tell: their individuality is only known to their own personal circle, while beyond they are mere letters of the alphabet, and as such, are but undistinguished particles in the mighty world of thought. Thus would many of our best writers pass away, were it not that the biographer arrests them in their passage to oblivion, and gives them a local habitation and a name. And among these was a personage only known under the mystic title of the "Modern Pythagorean," but who was no other than Robert Macnish, the.subject of the present notice.

This physician, philosopher, poet, and miscellaneous writer, was born in Henderson's Court, Jamaica Street, Glasgow, on the 15th of February, 1802. As his father and grandfather were both of the medical profession, it was resolved that Robert should be devoted to the same course; and, with this view, his education was conducted first at the private schools of Glasgow and Hamilton, and afterwards at the university of his native city. At the age of eighteen, having passed his examination before the College of Surgeons, he obtained the degree of Magister Chirurgice from the college of Glasgow. Being thus qualified to commence the duties of his profession, he went as assistant of Dr. Henderson