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Of a steady and grateful disposition,

- And diffusive benevolence.
Though naturally of a warm teinper,

And easily stirred up,
Yet was he a shining example
Of fervent and unreserved benignity;

For, though he might have been
The most dangerous and dreadful

Of enemies,
He was the best and kindest

Of friends.
Nor did he ever look cool

Even upon his foes;
Though his fondest admirers
Too often turned their backs upon him.
Oh! undeserving and invidious times !

When such illustrious examples
Are thus wantonly made light of;

Such resplendent virtues

Thus basely blown upon! Tho' rather the promoter of a cheerful glass in others,

And somewhat given to smoaking,

Yet he was never seen in liquor,
Which was his utmost abhorrence.
Raking, which ruins most constitutions,

Was far from spoiling his,
Though it often threw him into inflammatory disorders.

His days, which were short, Were ended by a gentle and gradual decay: His substance wasted, and his strength consumed, A temporal period was put to his finite existence

By his being seized with a cold,

In one of the warm days
Of the fatal month of May.
His loss, and cheering influence,
Is often and feelingly regretted'

By his friends,
Who erected this monument in memory

Of his endearing virtues.



Resumed from Vol. II. p. 534. THE prospect from the other and more lofty pinnacle of Dumbarton Rock, on account of its height and situation, must, when the atmosphere is at all clear, be both extensive and interesting; as the spectator on this exalted spot would obtain a commanding view of the Clyde with its enclosing hills, and the river Leven, uniting Loch Lomond with the Clyde, as well as of all the picturesque beauty which adorns the lovely valley through which this short stream may be truly said to meander. Nor could the spectator avoid being struck with the sublimity of Ben Lomond, surrounded by the Grampians and other lofty mountains at the extremity of this valley. Unfortunately for us, however, the bad. ness of the day was such as to render all objects invisible except those in the immediate vicinity. We were not, therefore, detained long upon the summit, but soon descended, and retracing our steps for a short distance, again came into the road.

My companion, having gratified his curiosity respecting Wallace's sword, was now as desirous of returning to Glasgow as he had been but a few minutes before of reaching Dumbarton Castle, and notwithstanding the fatigue and hunger he must have felt, he would not be persuaded to enter the town and obtain some slight rest and refreshment, but, wishing me a pleasant ramble and good morning, proceeded back to Glasgow, where he arrived at about five o'clock, after a walk of about thirty miles without either rest or food. I, on the contrary, was too selfishly inclined to think of being so hard upon my appetite and limbs, and accordingly entered the first inn I met with in the town. Some large black letters stretching across the front of the building, informed me, if my recollection be correct, that it was Hammerman Tavern, although the miserable and cold appearance of its interior would scarcely have entitled it to rank with a poor country English ale-house. The sight of some new oat cakes before the fire, however, tempted me to remain. I was shown into a nasty comfortless little back room, where I sat myself down to rest; and, rather wavering in my resolution, began to consider the nature of my undertaking. For some few monients, forgetful of the pleasure I was certain to derive from my walk, I, with shame, confess the consideration that I was about to enter by myself, on my first pedestrian excursion, so wild a country as the Highlands, at so great a distance from home, together with the dullness of the day, and the wetness of my clothes, had such a powerful effect upon my mind, as almost to make me wish I had not set out upon the expedition. Whilst I was revolving the subject in my mind, I contrived to make a hearty meal of oat cake and butter, with a bottle of Edinburgh ale, which, happily, soon recruited my body and spirits, and perceiving that the rain had ceased, and the sky become less gloomy, I left Dumbarton a little before three, and, with a determined pace, pursued my way along the western bank of the river Leven. The transparent stream of the Leven winds through a most delightful valley, whose sides are interspersed with wood, heath, and cultivated ground, enlivened by many picturesque villages and a few elegant seats. The dark green of the whims, a shrub similar to our heath, but at certain seasons covered with a yellow flower, and the rugged. ness of the surface of the lands, observable in some parts, gave to the view an aspect differing from the generality of English scenery, and rendered it peculiarly attractive to me, who had been accustomed to a much more fertile soil. The charms of nature, however, do not alone constitute the whole beauty of this vale, since it obtains considerable additional interest when looked upon as the birth place of Buchanan and Smollett. A monument has been erected to the memory of each of these celebrated men; the one on the eastern and the other on the western side of the river. That which is dedicated to the memory of Buchanan I could not spare sufficient time to visit, as it was some distance out of my way. Smollett's monument stands in a field at the entrance to a little village called Renton, not more than a few feet from the road. It consists of a pillar terminated at the top by an oval shaped ornament, and standing on a raised stone pedestal, in which is a large slab of white marble, contajniug a Latin inscription, of which Dr. Graham of Aberfoyle has given the following elegant translation:

Halt, traveller!
If the grace of wit, if fertility of genius,
If masterly skill in the delineation of manners,
Have ever been the objects of thy admiration,

Pause a little over the memory of

TOBIAS SMOLLETT, M.D. With those virtues, both of the man and of the citizen, Which claim thy applause and imitation

He was eminently adorned :
Deeply versed in various departments of literature,

He handed down his name to posterity,
By a felicity of writing peculiar to himself;
When he was snatched from the world,

By a premature death,
In the 51st year of his age.
Far from his native land,
Near Leghorn, in Italy,

Lie his remains.
In memory of his many and distinguished excellencies,

Unavailing record, alas ! of affection,
Was erected on the banks of the Leven,

The place of his nativity,

And subject of his latest song, by. JAMES SMOLLETT of Bonhill, his cousin german,

Who ought rather to have received

This last tribute from him. The epithet of perishable in addition to that of unavailing, might have been most prophetically applied to this much neglected “record of affection !""*Mr. James Smollett, of Bonhill, who paid this token of respect to the genius of his relative, has long since been dead, and the monument has been suffered to remain in a decayed state, to the great disgrace of his countrymen. A considerable fragment of the marble slab, containing the inscription, and most of the iron


railing, which formerly protected the monument from the prying and mischievous hands of mortals, is now seen mouldering among the weeds around the pedestal! Let, however, the ingratitude of his countrymen suffer such frail monuments to sink into decay, the descriptive talents of Smollet will ever be a source of admiration and amusement as long as Scotland shall feel proud to boast of the genius she has produced.

Before leaving this sweet rale, I cannot refrain from introducing Smollett's “ picturesque and accurately descriptive ode to Leven water:”—

On Leven's banks while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the Arcadian plain.
Pure stream! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs 1 wont to lave;
No torrents stain tby limpid source;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polished pebbles spread;
While lightly poised, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave the crystal food;
The springing trout in speckled pride ;
The salmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war,
The silver eel and mottled par.
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And hedges flowered with eglantine.
Still on thy bank, so gayly green
May numerous herds and Mocks be seen,
And lasses chanting o'er the pail,
And shepherds piping in the daie,
And ancient faith that knows no guile,
And industry embrowned with toil,
And hearts rcsolved, and hands prepared,

The blessings they enjoy to guard. A mile or two beyond Renton, at a turn of the road, my whole attention was suddenly engaged with a

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