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To clasp in distant wilds her friend,
Near utmost Thule's farthest end,
Then all the tedious way o'erpast,
To shrink beneath the chilling blast:
The foggy damps of ev'n to bear,
The ærial mountain's nipping air;
To share the frugal plain repast,
And on some holidays to fast;

To bear the harsh discordant noise

Of whimpering girls and blustering boys;
Say, envious man, where now thy boast ?
Thy proud pre-eminence is lost;
Now friendship's freshest wreathe allow
To bloom round NANCY's honour'd brow!
While grateful, I the verse inscribe,

The meanest of the tuneful tribe,

Yet still I claim some small esteem,

While she and friendship are my theme! Dear Muse, I scarcely could expect, That after fourteen years neglect,

And coy retreat, and stately distance, You would have lent me your assistance: But I must bid a long good-night,

Or more important duties slight;

The dearest friends at last must sever,

Once more, sweet Maid! adieu for ever!

POSTSCRIPT.

JEAN, fetch that heap of tangled yarn,
And bring those stockings here to darn,
And get from ANNE the dairy keys,
That I may go and count my cheese:
To every useful occupation,
Befitting of my place and station,
I'll henceforth dedicate my time,
And if again I write in rhyme,
"Twill be a shrewd severe lampoon
On country wives who fly to town,
And leave their dairy and relations,
To curl their hair, and follow fashions:
Or else an acrimonious satire
On matrons, who in spite of Nature,
With common useful duties quarrel,
To plant in vain the barren laurel !

N 3

NOTES

ON THE

JOURNAL

FROM

GLASGOW TO LAGGAN.

No. 1.

When in the Penseroso grot.-P. 163.

A beautiful recess so named by NANCY. It is formed by the steepy wooded banks of a turbulent mountain stream, where a large circular bason is worn deep in its rocky channel, and where the water seems to repose after its rapid journey down the mountain. Ivy and woodbine hang over this recess in natural festoons, and the spirit of freshwhich scems to reside there exclusively, encourages wild flowers in every crevice; there the wind never blew but in mild whispers; there the sun never shone but through green curtains: Whoever wishes to see this grot, has only to trace the midmost of three sister streams that descend

ness,

from the hills of Inchnacardoch on the road to Portclair by Fort Augustus.

No. 2.

That saints and angels might not hear.-P. 165.

Need it be added, that this is a true description of a real person, and a genuine friendship? Will not every reader of feeling and understanding, discover this? and what other readers are there worth writing for?

No. 3.

Say, worthy CLAN, whose honest heart.-P. 169.

A lady, whose powers of pleasing were such that her phrases were adopted implicitly in her own circle, rallying this gentleman on his enthusiasm for his name, called him CLAN by way of a ludicrous title; he bore it good humouredly, and the sharer of his honours was thence called LADY CLAN.

No. 4.

That JAMES immur'd his noble son.-P. 178.

JAMES IV., who was led in the fourteenth year of his age to head a faction against his father's favourites, which finally ended in the destruction of that monarch. His son had been so long secluded in Stirling castle, that he had but an indistinct remembrance of his father's person, insomuch that he mistook Admiral Wood for him, and burst into tears of concern and tenderness on finding his mistake.

No. 5.

His letter'd gifts; and could the Muse.—P. 181.

Life of WALLACE, and Bishop WELLWOOD's Memoirs of the History of England, read by the Author with sedulous attention in the seventh year of her age, on the banks of lake Ontario, where neither Tom Thumb nor Jack the giantkiller could be procured to lay a proper foundation for the love of valour and patriotism.

No, 6.

Since LEIGHTON taught and blest the place.-P. 185. LEIGHTON, the younger son of a noble family, eminent for his learning, piety, and benevolence, was bishop of Dumblane about the middle of the 16th century. He was indeed the last bishop there, and chose that diocese as the smallest in Scotland, that he might be more equal to the performance of his duty, which his conscientious and diligent discharge of it made a very laborious one. A full, and I doubt not, faithful account of this venerable prelate and amiable man, may be found in BURNET's Memoirs, where it may be truly said, that

"Round his name the varying stile refines ;"

for, when speaking of his friend the Bishop of Dumblane, BURNET's language assumes a dignity, simplicity and pathos, worthy of the subject, and very unlike that of the rest of the book, which would however be worth reading, were it but for the sake of this one character. The cathedral of Dumblane still partly exists, a fine solemn looking ruin.

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