When dazzle thus his diamond sparks,
And brighten as they fall.

If late I've staid, forgive the crime,
For reckless roll the hours,
And noiseless falls the foot of time
In love's and beauty's bowers.

Some of the author's best things are among his imitations; but we have no doubt that he could have written as well without imitating; and we earnestly advise him to make the attempt. The two following Scotch Songs are very pretty, especially if we consider that a Yankee wrote them.

SONG.

In imitation of Burns' “Nannie, O."
On ee'ning clouds a' skirt wi' blue
The setting sun blinks cannie, O;
An' I maun stap the weary pleugh,
Syne hame I'll gae to Nannie, O.

Owre brae, owre linn, when Nannie ca's,
I leap wi' heart so bonnie, O;
I dinna fear the roaring fa's,
My thoughts are a' of Nannie, O.

Nae simmer smile on flowery braes
Is half sae sweet an' cannie, O;
As that aboon thy bosom plays,
My dear, my lovely Nannie, O.
Gie me but that-I'll ask nae mair,
Gin days and night's be cannie, O;
O haith! I'll hae nae warly care,
But live and love for Nannie, O.
Let ilka coof gang far awa
For siller a' sae bonnie, O;
On me can portooth never fa'
Sae rich wi' love and Nannie, O.

TO A BUTTERFLY.
Awa-awa!-insensate thing,
Frae morn tull night upo' the wing,
Wha's life is but a simmer's day,
An' wasted a' in sports and play.

Sae mony a lassie gie's her time
To dress, to folly, or to crime,
Content to die, to show her power
Like ither insects o' the hour.

The Notes are entertaining, and the Preace is honest and fearless, without being mpudent. It affords, indeed, a very pleasint contrast to those with which the liteary aspirants of this day usually think it itting to introduce themselves;-and which t is difficult to read, without seeing, in ne's mind's eye, an awkward vulgar booby ntering a parlour where twenty people nay look at him all at once, and striving n vain to hide his consternation by an xtra swagger.

MISCELLANY.

THE REPUBLIC OF LETTERS.

and obscure men are coming forward, and
acting on the age, when science is antici-
pated, and discoveries of vast importance
made, and by individuals whose fame and
history are without record. All this is felt
where it should and must be felt. The
philosopher, so called, feels it, and the pub-
lic feel it. One is called on for his ex-
planations, and for new applications of the
discovery; the other, to know something of
what is giving character to the age, and
thus promotes it by its patronage.
Science, too, has taken a new direction.
It has become practical and useful. It is
useful to its possessor as well as to others.
Nations have patronized it, and individuals
have patronized it. Long tolerated evils in
some of the most important kinds of labour
have been investigated by the scholars of
the sciences, their causes discovered, and
danger averted. But what is peculiar, and
to which we shall more particularly advert,
is the voluntary admission of the public of
all ranks, ages, and sexes, to the practical
study of the sciences which have most at-
tracted the age.

This has long been the course of things
in Europe, at least in England. The pre-
sent Sir H. Davy, Sir J. E. Smith, and the
Astronomer Royal, gave courses of lectures
to the most brilliant and polite, as well as
the best informed classes of the community.
The "Institution" was thronged by both
sexes, and of the highest ranks. The best
compliment, the truest respect was thus
paid to an honourable use of the mind, and
the expression of both has something re-
tributive in it. The honor returns on those
who pay it.

or a dangerous thing. It is well for us to know truly as much as we can. Physical truth, we may all learn; and the arts themselves, however arbitrary in their rules, and however exact they must be to be perfect, may be equally learned. They leave, indeed, but little for the imagination. We must learn much of what has been always known, and feel that men deemed ordinary are far before us. Still, what we do learn is truth; we have a sure possession in something real; and if it be but one thing, we feel in our labour for that, the mind has, for once at least, been distinctly and positively directed to some of its appropriate uses.

It is no objection to public instructions in the sciences, that what we thus get can be applied to nothing else. All truth is related, and all knowledge has its application. A man who knows something listens with an interest to those who know more. Poetry, novels, plays, sermons, orations, essays, get much of their imagery and illustration from the arts and the sciences; and if we would read or hear wisely, we must know something of their language, and something of their principles. There is less excuse now than there ever was, for total ignorance respecting these subjects; we must know something about them, for the means of knowledge are ample, and of easy use. It has become fashionable too, to make use of the mind in this way; and however trifling the motive in its ordinary operation, we here feel a respect for it; we feel for it somewhat as we do for habit when it keeps men from vice; for our impulses are not always towards virtue, or learning.

There is one feature in this mode of in- There is another view which the subject struction which deserves particular notice. admits, and which we cannot pass unnoticIt is the value it derives from those who ed. It has been particularly striking in give it. When such men as were just Dr Bigelow's lectures this season. The named become our teachers, we feel a pre-study of the arts-and the same is true of fect confidence in their instructions. They the sciences—is full of instruction concernhave been long known, and known by what they have done. It is because they are prominent men in their times, that they have been selected to fill high and responsible offices. They have been followed in all their labours by other minds, jealous for themselves, or for their science; and ardently bent on discerning error or imposture. The public feels safe when they are favoured with the results of such labours, and if they are wise in their purposes in listening to them, their own minds are enlarged, and what seemed useful amusement becomes valuable learning.

ing the progress of the mind. The infancy of the arts was the infancy of man. He originally had few wants, and the means for satisfying these were many and near. His wants have at length taken the start of the means, and from the moment when they were just balanced, he has been reaching forward for practicable good to the remote and the uncertain, and his mind has gone on before him. It is a beautiful feature in the lectures just named-this history of our race as it has been recorded in the arts; and though it must have been at once noticed by all who have heard them, we could not but thus express the pleasure it has given us. Man is the most interesting thing presented to us in the vast universe; and what faithfully illustrates him, must be studied and listened to with the deepest interest.

We feel a deep interest in the success of attempts which have been made in our own city and country for promoting the same objects. We feel obliged to the men who ONE of the characteristics of these times leave the academy for a time, and come to the liberality of letters. Learning is no the private lecture room, with their raised ›nger an exclusive privilege, and learned means of instruction, their apparatus of all We would, in passing, acknowledge our hen have ceased to be a distinct class. kinds, brought from abroad at a vast indi-obligations to Dr Bigelow for the useful earning has become united to art-a nat-vidual expense, and removed at great risk. gratification his lectures are yielding us; ral alliance. Men were once kept under We feel so too, because we are in some sort but this might get its worst name by some y the pressure of circumstances, and fine mitted in this way into the republic of let of our readers, and the lecturer wants neiinds were lost to the mass, because pre-ters; and who has ever heard of it without ther flattery nor compliment. We are cription divided the direction and uses of feeling some desire of citizenship? It is deeply obliged that professional and acahe intellect. But we live when unlettered not true that a little learning is an useless demic leisure is occupied for our instruc

264

tion and gratification. It is honorable to vested with an imperishable form. This ed. We pursued to Charlestown Common, the community, that elaborate learning is will not be, unless such information is not and then retired to Cambridge. When ever brought within its reach. It is unnePrescott with his regiment of minute men, cessary to say how honoured they are who only welcomed but sought. For ourselves, the army collected at Cambridge, Colonel we shall be most ready to aid in this im- and John Robinson, his Lieutenant Colonel, so bring it. Our attendance on these lectures has portant work, by all the scanty means were prompt at being at their post. On the convinced us of the importance of seriously within our power: we shall always gladly 16th of June, Colonel Prescott and Colonel setting about the erection of a public Lec-find room for communications, which help, Bridge were ordered upon Breed's Hill to ture room. It is something more and worse in any way or measure, to illustrate the heave up a breast-work; they laboured all night, and were left to fight the British. than pity, that here, where we have men more important events of our past history, Reinforcements were ordered, but not one disposed to labour for us, and to procure for us splendid collections of all kinds, to aid in-or the characters of those who were emi-company went in order. Many went to In the present nent among our fathers. instance we have no doubt that our readers will join with us in the thanks which we proffer to the Rev. Mr Thaxter.

struction, we have no suitable place for their accommodation, or our own. We feel this the more, when we see so much done, so much taste exhibited, and so much money spent on other edifices. We build temples to preserve our wealth and its records, but leave almost houseless a far better treasury. We cannot but hope that something will be soon done in this regard; and we hardly

know a case in which a small individual ex

penditure will procure so much general accommodation. There are cases in which monuments to one age must remain for the spirit of after times to rear. The times of heroes are these. But honor to learning and to learned men, can be paid at all times, and by any community which values them. In the present instance personal convenience and interest come in aid of the cause, and they have not always made their de

mands in vain.

LETTER FROM AN OLD SOLDIER.

SIR,

Edgartown, November 30, 1824.

Your friend J. A. J—— showed me your last paper, in which some observations were made respecting the neglect of suitable respect to Colonel Prescott. He is not the only one that is neglected. I make no objection to the monument on Breed's Hill, but I think it a great neglect that so little notice is taken of Concord Bridge, and the men who first faced the British troops. Much is said of Lexington-the British met with no opposition there; I was an eye witness to the following facts. The people of Westford and Acton, some few of Concord, were the first who faced the British at Concord bridge. The British had placed about ninety men as a guard at the North Bridge; we had then no certain information that any had been killed at Lexington; we saw the British making de

the whole body; they killed Colonel Davis,
of Acton, and a Mr Hosmer.
Our people
then fired over one another's heads, being
in a long column, two and two: they killed

two and wounded eleven.

Lieutenant

An article in a late number of this Gazette, in which we remarked, in passing, struction in the town of Concord; it was upon the mistake in the popular estimate proposed to advance to the bridge; on this of Col. Prescott's services on Breed's Hill, Colonel Robinson, of Westford, together has obtained for us a new correspondent; with Major Buttrick, took the lead; strict whose communication we give below, with orders were given not to fire, unless the no other alteration than the suppression of British fired first; when they advanced about half way on the causeway the British a few sentences relative to matters where-fired one gun, a second, a third, and then in our readers would not be interested. It is quite time that the people of this land should feel and should distinctly manifest an earnest and anxious curiosity respect ing all the occurrences of that revolution to Hawkstone, said to be the greatest beauty which they owe every thing. When a na- of the British army, had his cheeks so badtion fights for existence, it sends forth its ly wounded that it disfigured him much, of best to the battle; and the men who urged which he bitterly complained. On this, the that contest were worthy of the cause which British fled, and assembled on the hill, the north side of Concord, and dressed their brought them to the field. A peaceful yeo-wounded, and then began their retreat. As manry stood with unaccustomed arms to defend their own fields, and men came forth from the regular occupations of society and all the walks of busy life; and from these materials was formed, almost at once, an armed array which fearlessly met and conquered and captured men, whose only trade was war, and their only home a camp. There must exist somewhere, at this day, exact knowledge of all the occurrences of that remarkable period, and now that this knowledge is passing away with the few

who possess it, let it be gathered and in

Bunker's Hill; some went from there as volunteers, part of which belonged to General Starks' regiment. Among the volunteers was the ever-to-be-lamented General Warren. When he was introduced to Colonel Prescott, the Colonel said, "General Warren, I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance with you, but from your known character, I shall fight with cheerfulness under you." General Warren replied, "Colonel Prescott, I have not come to take command, but to learn to fight under you." This I had from Colonel Robinson, and believe as much as if I had heard with my ears; a braver and more upright man I never knew. Such men as Prescott and Robinson, ought not to be forgotten by those who write the history of the commencement and prosecution of our glorious revolution. The vile slanders cast upon old General Putnam are totally without foundation. He did all that man could do to reinforce Prescott on Breed's Hill. A braver man never lived. At that time our army was little better than a mob, without discipline, and under little command, till General Washington came and Gates, and gave to it some regularity. Whole regiments were ordered on perilous duty at once, and the loss of men was from a small circle. The Breed's Hill loss fell upon the county of Middlesex, about one half of the loss was in Prescott's regiment, viz. fortynine killed and forty-five wounded. This Gates, and in '76 victory delivered Boston, evil was remedied by Washington and

&c. A decent monument at Concord

Bridge, where the first spark was struck, and quite as glorious as Breed's Hill, considering the circumstances, would be doing no more honour to Robinson and Buttrick than they richly deserve. I have lived in obscurity on this island, and never thought myself of importance enough, and capable of doing justice to a historical account of the transactions of the memorable 19th of April. they descended the hill near the road that 1775, or of the 17th of June. Many anecdotes of those days, that would do honour to individcomes out from Bedford they were pursued; Colonel Bridge, with a few men from Bed-uals, it is most probable will be forgotten ford and Chelmsford, came up, and killed The following is one. The Rev. Edward several men. We pursued them and killed Brooks, who lived at Medford, got intellisome; when they got to Lexington, they gence of a small party going with relief to meet the British; they had a wagon-load; Mr were so close pursued and fatigued, that Brooks mustered a few men, waylaid them they must have soon surrendered, had not Lord Percy met them with a large rein- near West Cambridge meetinghouse, and forcement and two field-pieces. They fired shot the horses, and wounded the lieutenant who commanded them, took several pris them, but the balls went high over our oners before the British came up, and re heads. But no cannon ever did more exetired. cution, such stories of their effects had been spread by the tories through our troops, that from this time more went back than pursu

I am, sir, with respect, yours.
JOSEPH THAXTER.

MR RUSSELL'S GRAMMAR OF COMPOSItion.

LETTERS FROM A TRAVELLER.
No. III.

Edinburgh, September 27.

The

265 work will show precisely,-what is not now to use the elegant simile of Mrs Dolly Duteasy to learn, how far, and in what way ton, "like a squirrel's cage hung out of a In our fourteenth number we reviewed composition is connected with grammar, three pair of stairs window." My walk for this work, and we spoke of it with undue logic, and rhetoric. It should certainly be some hours was enchanting. Life has few severity. Two very candid letters from the made a distinct study; but the best possible pleasures to equal the feelings of a pedesauthor have convinced us of our error; and way of illustrating the identity of this branch trian traveller through a new and romantic we hasten to make this acknowledgment, not of education, must be by clearly defining country in a fine autumn morning. only because our duty to our readers requires the relations between it and the collateral independence of circumstances, the carethis, but from an especial unwillingness to and auxiliary studies. lessness of what may happen, and readiness do Mr Russell injustice, and give him good It is due to Mr Russell to state, that his to be pleased with any thing or every thing cause to regard us as at variance with him. rules of orthograghy, which we strongly "'i the air or the earth," constitute, togethHis Latin Grammar delighted us; it seem- reprobated, are sanctioned by high author-er, a state of mind as delightful as it is uned to supply what we considered a great ities; but neither these authorities, nor the common in this sublunary pilgrimage. About want; it applied the principle of analysis reasons they give, satisfy us at all. We two miles from Dumbarton is Leven-water, to the study of language. We believe that can give Mr Russell credit for one excel- celebrated in song, and near it the village the time has come when this principle is to lent and uncommon trait,-to wit,-an ab- of Renton, and the monument to the membe applied to all modes and departments of horrence of book-making; indeed, his brev- ory of Dr Smollett. A little further is instruction; and that the use of this "No-ity sometimes makes him obscure. No mas- Balloch Castle and the southern part of vum Organum" will advance the best in- ter should undertake to teach composition Loch Lomond. Here I was overtaken by terests of education, and vastly increase the who could not, if occasion required, explain a carter, whose name I afterwards discovgood resulting from it, and characterize every part of this work; but it is a fault, ered to be Mc Millan, a tenant of the Duke most honourably the age which is wise that the important parts of it require so of Argyle, and as he was well acquainted enough to avail itself of it. This good work much explanation. The book should have with the country, and pursuing the same is begun, and we may hope that it will be been larger, or else more strictly elemen- road with myself, I was glad to walk on prosecuted zealously. It has engaged the tary; as it is, however, it may answer one with him. We soon came to a toll-house, attention of some of the finest intellects in of two purposes;-to him who has studied which was also an ale or whiskey house; this part of our country; and there are rhetoric, it may recall the practical and and as the weather had by this time become those whose professional business it is to useful parts of what he has learned; or may very threatening and stormy, I felt it inteach, who will bring in aid of this ob- serve to introduce to these studies one who cumbent on me to invite my fellow travelject the strenuous efforts of no common tal- has yet to become acquainted with them. ler to refresh himself with a gill of whisents. It is pleasant to find gentlemen who key, which he despatched undiluted, obare engaged in the work of instruction at a serving, after he had bolted it, that it was distance, holding the same views, aiming at not quite the right thing, which might be the same object, and pursuing it with deobtained a short distance further, as well cided ability; and it is desirable that there as a more commodious shelter from the apshould exist between them that harmony proaching rain. I was not disposed to which naturally grows out of identity of leave the situation, as I doubted whether I opinion and purpose. On Monday last I bid adieu to Glas- should find a better; but he was so urgent gow, and having equipped myself with an that I complied with his request to accomold sea-coat, of which the longitude was di-pany him. After we had left the house, minished by the assistance of a penknife, a my companion gave me to understand that small knapsack, and leather spatterdashes, it was a custom-house, and insinuated that with an umbrella in my hand, set off on my his cart contained a few bandanna handkertravels. My first object was Dumbarton, chiefs, and other articles which would not whither I proceeded in a steam-boat, down admit of close investigation in such an esthe Clyde, which is here a narrow river, tablishment. We soon arrived at a thatchwinding smoothly and gracefully through ed hut, into which I followed him, for the cultivated fields, adorned, at short intervals, rain now began to descend in torrents. with country seats, and now and then a The interior of this place beggared all dechurch or castle. The weather, at first, scription, which, therefore, I shall not atshowed some disposition to be fair, but be- tempt. The owner was rather shy of me, fore we arrived, which we did about six P. though Mc Millan introduced me as an old M., it rained violently. At Dumbarton I friend of his. He then caused him to prostopped for the night, and sent a letter of duce a large bottle of whiskey, or, as he callintroduction, which I had received from ed it, tea, which he assured me, with a Miss B-, to her brother, a Surgeon in this wink, was genuine. To cut the matter place. He immediately called on me, and short, I soon found that I had got into a den invited me to breakfast with him the fol- of Highland smugglers, and that my good lowing morning and visit the Castle. But friend, the worthy John Mc Millan, was far the morning was so beautifully fair, that I from being the least among them. As the could not bring myself to spend three or whiskey, of which he swallowed an immodefour hours of it waiting for breakfast; so, rate quantity, did its good office, he began having "snatched a short repast," called to insinuate that he thought my pocket was on the Doctor, left my excuses, and sur- the most valuable part of my coat, wanted veyed the exterior of the old frowning cas- much to sell me a poney, and the like "bald tle to my satisfaction, "I cocked up my and disjointed chat." At first, all this was We should beg leave to amend this sen- bonnet and marched amain" towards the rather amusing, but, at length, I began to ence by substituting "difficult" for "impos- north. The rock of Dumbarton stands up feel a little uneasiness; for the day was sible;" which last is a bad word, and should like a sugar loaf on the banks of the Clyde, passing away, and I did not approve the nobe used as seldom as possible. "Practice bearing some slight resemblance in its tion of proceeding very far on a lonely makes perfect;" and we yet hope to tell our shape and situation, to Ascutney, near Highland road with Mr Mac, who showed -eaders that Mr Russell has published a strict | Windsor, on the Connecticut; and the cas- no disposition to part company, but pressed ■nalysis of the art of composition. Such a tle is built on the top of it, "perched up," me to ride with him to Tarbet, at the head

The writer of the article upon the Grammar of Composition was disappointed at finding the work decidedly inferior to the Latin Grammar in its strict application of analysis, and this disappointment influenced his opinion of the real merits of the book. The answer to this charge Mr Russell shall give. In his letter he says, with respect to" the charge that my book does not present the subject in an analytic form, I would beg of you once more to consider the reason I have given. The three ingredients of composition, are Subject, Thought, and Language. The first of these is as wide as the universe; the second embraces intelectual philosophy and logic; or, in other words, the powers, as they have been called, of the mind, and their right exercise: he third includes every thing connected with rhetoric and grammar. Now, a fair analysis leaves no gap in that to which it is applied: it must be carried throughout. To reat composition analytically in a schoolbook, is impossible. The heads merely of an analysis of the branches of science that are involved in composition, would occupy more space than all the pages of the Gram

mar."

MY DEAR FRIENDS,

of the lake. He grew more and more communicative, and related some of his adventures with excise officers, which would have been, perhaps, more entertaining in another place, than they were just then. At length the train of his associations led to Rob Roy and Scott's novel; and he roundly declared that his own life and adventures were much more worthy to be made into a novel than those of Rob, and proposed to me to prepare such a work, for which he promised to send me materials to Edinburgh, where he understood me to be going. The rain at length ceased, and I intimated to this future rival of Rob Roy, that I proposed to proceed on my journey. He accordingly departed to prepare his cart, with a view of accompanying me, but his horse had strayed away into a distant part of a field, or park, as they are here termed. Mac ran hastily after him, calling to me to "wait, while he caught the beastie." I thought proper, however, to wish the cottager-who, by the way, was a most sinister looking fellow-a good morning, and telling him that Mr Mac Millan might overtake me, if he chose, with his vehicle, I marched off, trusting that it would take him some time to catch his powney, and a good deal more to catch me, after he had done so.

I passed nothing very remarkable till I reached Luss Inn, which is nine or ten miles further, except the seat of the Colquhouns and the Burn of Bannochar. I arrived here about three o'clock, and after dinner proceeded on my walk. The sky, which had continued to lower since the morning, now again became perfectly clear. The Loch, at Luss, is about three miles in width; but this diminishes very fast as you proceed northward, very soon becoming less than two. It is impossible to conceive a more romantic and beautiful walk than that between Luss and Tarbet. The road lies on the western side of the Loch, following the various curves and indentations of the shore, and winding along between the water on the one hand, and lofty mountains on the other. On the opposite side, the hills of Rob Roy's country seemed to rise almost perpendicularly from the edge of the lake, while their figures were reflected from its still surface below;-far above them all the lofty Ben Lomond reared his brown and heathy summit, gilded with the rays of the evening sun, while every thing else around me was in shadow, and so solitary and still, that I could almost imagine I heard the echo of my own footsteps. I think there was not a single house, certainly not more than one, for the whole distance, which is eight miles; nor did I see a living thing, except a young woman who passed me just after I left Luss, a few black-nosed Highland sheep, and a lively little dog who joined me early in the afternoon, and capered along before me to Tarbet. I may, once for all, observe here, that however beautiful and romantic the scenery of the Highlands may be, a New Englander will not be so much struck with its sublimity, for there are many parts of our own country that excel them

in this particular. Loch Lomond is a pond
when compared with Champlain, and even
Ascutney, I believe, is more lofty than the
Ben. I reached Tarbet about six o'clock,
having achieved something more than twen-
ty miles for my first day's journey; yet it
seemed to me that I had hardly walked
ten, so trifling was the fatigue, and so
agreeably had the time, for the most part,
been employed.

meal. The good body was very averse to any kind of remuneration, but at length accepted a trifle, though she assured me I should have been heartily welcome. Two miles farther brought me to the northern part of Loch Ard, and the pass in which Capt. Thornton was defeated by Helen Mc Gregor. You will perceive that I speak of these matters, and persons, as having really existed, and, indeed, it is not easy to think About seven o'clock on Wednesday morn- of them differently; for, so true to nature ing, I turned my face towards the eastward. are the novelist's descriptions of what you The first step was the passage of the Loch, do see, that they give an air of reality to which I effected in a small boat; but, al- the fictitious parts of the narrative. Loch though it was provided with two stout row- Ard is a beautiful lake, about three miles ers, yet being of clumsy form, and the in length. It contracts towards the south, wind strongly against us, we were unable to and gives rise to the river Forth; and here reach the other side before nine. Here I is the place where Rob slipped from his was set on shore near the foot of Ben Lo-horse and escaped from his guard. About mond, and began to scramble up a craggy a mile from the southern end of Loch Ard path into the Mc Gregor's country. Trav- is the little inn of Aberfoyle, in which the ellers usually ascend the Ben, but I did not Baillie and his companions met of yore choose to afford either the time or labour, such a rough reception. There was now, for the chance of the prospect, which it was however, no willow wand across the door, ten to one I should not see, as the floating nor any thing else to prevent my doing clouds were numerous, and often entirely that justice to the landlady's vivers, which enveloped his head. I preferred enjoying was to be expected from a New Eng the circuitous mountain path on the north land pedestrian under the influence of of him, which I took accordingly, and found Highland air. From Aberfoyle my road it very pleasant. The morning was fine, lay north-easterly, towards the Trosachs. though rather windy, and my walk was These were distant something more than through a half road, and half footpath, made five miles, and I had already walked sixteen chiefly by the course of winter torrents. It from Loch Lomond. Moreover, it was was, of course, often wet and boggy, but four o'clock, with every appearance of a much of it was quite dry. Every thing storm, nor was there any house on the around was wild, uncultivated, and solitary, road. After some hesitation, however, I covered with rocks, ferns, and heath; but set forward. The landlady directed me to the ferns were just changing their colour to keep the path till I came to a "sclate quarshades of yellow and brown, and, with the pur- ry," where I should find a road paved withple bell-heather, and other species of heath, (something which I could not understand), gave a variegated appearance to the land-"but," said she, "you munna keep that, scape, which was by no means unpleasing. but haud straught on." With this direcAbout two or three miles from Loch tion I adventured up among the hills again, Lomond is a small Loch, called Arklet. over crags, and through gullies, in a very Here the road, or path, I should call it, di- wild, dark, and threatening afternoon. At vided, and I had my choice, either to go the end of about two miles I reached what east to Loch Katrine, and down the lake to I supposed must be the "sclate quarry." the Trosachs, or south-east to the Clachan Here the road was divided into two, one of Aberfoyle. I preferred the latter, since going to the right, and the other to the it was uncertain whether I should find a left, while “straught on" was a bog, flowboat at the head of Loch Katrine. So I moss, or some such thing. The points of followed the path towards the Clachan, wind- the compass, in the lurid state of the sky, ing among the hills, and now and then pass- and in the midst of these hills, were not to ing a single thatched hovel; these, however, be distinguished by any manner of means were very rare, and my walk was, on the short of a magnetic needle. In this dilemwhole, as solitary as one could wish. The ma I did as most people do in like cases, next lake I passed was Loch Ghon;-this that is to say, took the wrong road. I is not much larger than many ponds within soon perceived before me a Highlander a dozen miles of Boston, but much more with his poney, and a two-wheeled vehicle, beautiful than any that I now recollect. On y'clept, in this country, a gig, scrambling the banks of this lake, about ten miles along up one rugged declivity, and down from Loch Lomond, and pleasantly situated another. This establishment being none in a small green vale, or opening between of the most expeditious, I overtook it with the hills, I perceived a Highland cottage, out much difficulty, and learned from the into which I crept,-for one could not driver that I must return and take the easily walk in,-to ask for some water. other road. Arriving again at the fork, The tenant, an old woman, was quite hos- held a council with myself, whether to enpitable, and gave me a pint bowl full of counter a certain glen which the Gael had excellent milk, which I drank with little described in the usual lucid manner, or to ceremony. She set before me certain arti- retrace my footsteps, and take up my quar cles which she called " scones," and which ters for the night at the inn. In this emer we should call flap-jacks, with some new gency, fortune took upon herself to end t butter and cheese, of which I made a hearty debate in a manner very decisive, and, s

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Night rests in beauty on Mont Alto. Beneath its shade the beauteous Arno sleeps In Vallombrosa's bosom, and dark trees Upon the beauty of that silent river. Bend with a calm and quiet shadow down Still in the west, a melancholy smile Mantles the lips of day, and twilight pale Moves like a spectre in the dusky sky; While eve's sweet star on the fast-fading year Smiles calmly :-Music steals at intervals From out the upland dingle of tall firs, Across the water, with a tremulous swell, And a faint foot-fall sounds, where dim and dark Hangs the gray willow from the river's brink, O'er-shadowing its current. Slowly there The lover's gondola drops down the stream, Or in its eddy sighs the rippling wave. Silent,-save when its dipping oar is heard, Mouldering and moss-grown, through the lapse of Thy roof. Serenely, from the giant limb

In motionless beauty stands the giant oak,
Whilst those, that saw its green and flourishing

Are

Whose secret springs the star-light pale discloses,
gone and are forgotten. Soft the fount,
Gushes in hollow music, and beyond
The broader river sweeps its silent way,
Mingling a silver current with that sea,
On noiseless wing along that fair blue sea
Whose waters have no tides, coming nor going.
The halcyon flits,-and where the wearied storm
Left a loud moaning, all is peace again.

A calm is on the deep! The winds that came O'er the dark sea-surge with a tremulous breathing,

And mourned on the dark cliff where weeds grew
rank,

And to the Autumnal death-dirge the deep sea
Heaved its long billows,-with a cheerless song
Have passed away to the cold earth again,
Like a way-faring mourner. Silently
Up from the calm sea's dim and distant verge,