near set me to work. One afternoon I strolled down the approach towards the Duke's house alone, being unwilling to tax the complaisance of any of the family with attending me, and always loving a solitary ramble. I was thus deprived of the usual expedient of getting their private key to let myself into these elysian walks, in which I delighted to wander. The family that inhabit the mansion were not at home. However, hearing the Tilt murmur softly, and the birds sing sweetly within, I felt the true Highland impatience of bounds and inclosures, and, observing that part of the wall was formed by the bridge of the Tilt, which was then very low, I scrambled, with an agility that would do honour to one of R.'s goats, down the parapet wall, and over the broken craggs below the arch, till I got in dry and safe. My joy at outwitting the keepers, and feeling myself independent of locks and bars, broke out in a few stanzas, which I have not yet written down. As far as my pencil sketch assists memory, they begin thus:

Thy

Thy jealous walls, great Duke, in vain

All access would refuse;

What bounds can highland steps restrain,

What pow'r keep out the muse ?
Where'er I go, I bring with me

That mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.

Would you engross each breathing sweet
Yon violet banks exhale,

Or trees, with od❜rous blooms replete,
That scent the enamour'd gale ?

Alike they smile for you

and me,

Like nature and sweet liberty, &c. &c.

There is a great deal more; but I must not fill up with trifles a paper allotted to more serious subjects. I think, however, I ought to tell you, as the moral of my little story, how the fear of detection disturbed this stolen intrusion. I was resolved to meditate a while in placid ease, as if tranquillity would come when bidden, and sought the thickest shades, but

"Still as I went, I look'd behind,
I heard a voice in every wind,
And snatch'd a fearful joy."

At length I set up my rest under a broad spreading cedar, beside the statue of Diana,

* Duke of Athol.

which seemed to protect me. I thought of Dryden's description:

The graceful goddess was array'd in green,
About her feet were little beagles seen,

That watch'd with upward eyes the motions of
their queen."

This figure was not so appropriate; it was scarce arrayed at all; and the crescent was the only mark by which the sylvan goddess was distinguished. Here, however, I composed myself, was busy with my pencil, and forgot my fears; when, all on a sudden, a monstrous heron bent its heavy flight to my sheltering tree with such noisy impetuosity, that I started up in terror, thought of hunters and I know not what, felt the horrors of detected guilt, and finally took a short leave of Diana, and again committed myself to the protection of the nymph of the Tilt. Now you are to give this story importance, and make it instructive by your comments.

*

C. treats his wife worse, if possible, than you could expect. "Tis miserable to see so much innocence, understanding, and good humour,

humour, sacrificed to such a strange compound of folly and madness, who has neither the spirit nor manners of a gentleman, to make one tolerate his eccentricities. I hope, nay, am sure, Charlotte will rather live, bloom, and die in single blessedness, than throw herself away in this manner. Now that in her apparent merit, and the general esteem she has obtained, I reap the fruit of all my cares, the agonies of fear and sorrow, which I have hitherto felt on her account, are richly paid in self gratulation. In trying to improve her, I have improved myself. My strenuous efforts for that purpose have exalted my mind above follies and frivolities, to which it might have sunk. The cruel singularity of her fate called forth in her support all the energies of my mind, and brought into exertion powers that I should not otherwise have known myself to possess. The kindness my other children receive from those who have no relative tie to them, I consider as a reward for my maternal tenderness to her. You see, my good friend, what it is to confer benefits on the superstitious; for I do not consider even you as merely generous

and

and sympathising, but as an agent, impelled by an over-ruling impulse, to do what you cannot possibly avoid doing. I write a few lines, below, to Charlotte. Excuse it, and believe me very truly

Yours.

LETTER XI.

TO MRS. MACINTOSH, GLASGOW.

Laggan, July 6, 1796.

I WISH to write both to you and Charlotte to-day, but shall begin with you: having conquered some scruples of modesty which checked my first intention, I shall bluntly avow the purport of this, which is, to request you would leave all the comforts and conveniencies of your own pleasant and spacious dwelling, all the beauties which summer scatters so profusely over the Dune, and all the pleasures of refined and elegant society, to encounter the fatigue and disgust produced by a long journey, over dark moors

and