keeping a farm in his own hands, she shows that, without the prompt and cordial assistance of a dependant population, the nature of the climate is such, that he could neither lay in his fuel, nor sow nor reap his crop, without maintaining a far greater number of labourers than are wanted where the crops are far more valuable.

"The laird's kindly tenants," she adds, " in the olden time, and still in many places, paid a part of their rent in what is called kain, consisting of a stated quantity of poultry and eggs, and, in some instances, lambs and wedders. This kept always a fulness in the house; and promoted a pleasing and popular intercourse. When the good woman brought her kain, the lady of the mansion, not only ordered her to eat in her presence, but graciously inquired for her family and welfare; and found no mean satisfaction in listening to language, eloquent, respectful, and impressive. The kain was a due; yet received as a gift; and there was a constant intercourse of kindness. Powder, shot, snuff, and simple medicines, were bestowed with courteous liberality; and fish, game, kids, and lambs, in their season, came in as gifts from all quarters. But how incomprehensible is this strife betwixt graciousness and gratitude, to those who have not witnessed the manners of past times! and how different was such a household, from the cold and hungry state, to which wealth cannot give warmth or plenty!" I. p. 166, 168.

We should now be preparing to take our farewell of Mrs. Grant and her Highlanders: yet we think it but fair, before we part with them, to lay before our readers an actual example of those powers of thought and expression, and of that lofty and enthusiastic character which she has so vehemently asserted to be communicated to the lowest of the race, by the nature of their situation and employments. For this purpose, we shall therefore subjoin a few stanzas of a modern Gaelic poem, which she has translated, she assures us, quite literally, and printed at large in the work before us. The author of this singular production was unable either to read or write,-lived all his days in a state of extreme poverty,-and had never followed any profession but that of a hunter. In his youth, he inhabited a lonely cottage among the mountains; but, as the infirmities of old age came upon him, had been forced to remove to a more temperate and populous district. The occasion of his composing this poem is narrated by our author as follows.

« One night, in autumn 1772 or 1773, I am not sure which, as he was sitting quietly in the cottage where he resided, some cattle-drovers came in, called for whisky, and began to divide their profits. They addressed some conversation to him, and offered him liquor. Habitually sober and taciturn, he declined both, and sat, looking on in an absolute silence. At first they were provoked at finding him so unso cial, and finally suspected him of being a spy, waiting to discover what

profit they made of their bargains. They got up in a rage, and turned the poor hunter out of doors. He took shelter in a barn, and had lain long in solitary meditation, when he discovered a more suitable associate. This was an owl, seated on a beam opposite to him. He was too much chagrined by his late expulsion, to sleep; and, to banish the sense of the insult, amused himself with composing the following poem, containing a sketch of the occupations and delights of his former life." II. p. 245, 246.

The poem is far too long to be extracted; and, indeed, we have left ourselves room only for a few detached stanzas, in the multiplied epithets of which, the curious reader may trace the genius of an original language,—and all, we think, will be struck with the tone of enthusiasm and pathos, which, this untutored bard has contrived to communicate to an effusion, which treats neither of love, nor of battles, nor of any of the subjects which address themselves to the greater passions of our nature. After an imaginary and striking dialogue with the owl, he addresses himself to the rock Guanich, the most conspicuous eminence in the range in his favourite sport.

"Rock of my heart! the secure rock

That rock where my childhood was cherished!

The joyous rock,-fresh, flowery, haunt of birds,→
The rock of hinds, and bounding stags.-

Loud were the eagles round its precipices,-
Sweet its cuckoos and swans.

More cheering still the bleating

Of its fawns, kid-spotted.

Rock of my heart!—the great rock!

Beloved is the green plain under its extremity.

More delightful is the deep valley behind it,

Than the rich fields and proud castles of the stranger!

More pleasant to me than the humming song of the rustic,

Over the quern, as he grinds the crackling corn.

The low cry of the stag, of brownish hue,

On the declivity of the mountain in the storm.

Rock of my heart! thou rock of refuge!

The rock of leaves, of water-cresses, of freshening showers;
Of the lofty, beautiful, grassy heights:

Far distant from the shelly brink of the sea.

On the hillock of fairies I sit, where the retiring sun
Points his last beam upwards to the summit of the hill.
I look on the end of Loch Treig:

The sheltering rock where the chase was wont to be.

I see the dark lakes dim at a distance;

I see the mighty pile, and many-coloured mountain :
I see in the deep vale, the last dwelling of Ossian of Fingal :
I see the hill of flat sepulchral stones.

I see the towering Bennevis,

And the red cairn at its foot;

And the deep and secret corry behind it.

I see the lonely western mountains, and the sea beyond them.

Once more I hail the streamy hill;

Honoured as it is above the hills around.

Hail to Loch Eroch side, haunt of many deer!

It was my happiness to be there.

་ Carry my blessing to the lake,

Extended far, and deeply sheltered,

To the water of Lemina of the wild ducks ;
Nurse of the spotted fawn and kid.

Lake of my heart art thou! O lake!
Where played the shy water-fowl:
And many a white and stately swan
Did swim slowly amid their sport.

Haunts of my youth! I have now addressed you all,—
Unwillingly do I take my leave of you :-

Of you and your swift inhabitants,

The deer of the deep glens between the little hills.

The most sorrowful farewell that ever was taken

Of the deer in whom was my great delight.

I shall never more direct the hounds :

I and thou, my faithful white dog.

The thick wood has taken from you the roe

The steepy height has taken from me the stag.

Yet are we not disgraced, my hero!

For age has fallen upon us both." II. 251, 253, 254, 257-260.

This is certainly rather of a loftier mood than we should expect from a huntsman or whipper-in of Saxon breed; and would have appeared still more heroical, if we had been able to make room for "the banners of Alexander of the Glen," and the commemoration of various other worthies of high rank and prowess. But it is absolutely necessary that we should now draw to a conclusion.

The Letters annexed to these Essays, are like all Mrs. Grant's letters, lively, impressive, and original; though sometimes in bad taste, and generally verbose. For the benefit of those who have not seen her former collection, we annex a few specimens>

"I tell you, C. I am sometimes tempted to say, with Wat Tyler's mob, "It was never merry world since gentlemen came up ;" that is to say, since all manner of people must needs be ladies and gentlemen. There is no fixed standard for sentiment or opinion, more than for rank or place. Change, endless mutation, is the thing; and while people are chasing a Proteus with vain diligence, the pursuit leaves no leisure for friendship, or for any serious or tranquil enjoy. ment. People must wear every thing that is new,-must read every thing that is new,-and for that only reason ;-must be every where,— see every thing, and know every body. The consequence is, that they are like rich people's children, who know no pleasure but getting new toys, breaking them, and throwing them away; while ours build a house of turf and pebbles, spend a whole day in gathering materials, call, and almost think it a palace, when they have done, and then rejoice over it for a week, from the triumph of their conscious efforts in producing it.

"Dear C. whatever you learn, do not learn to despise peace, friendship, and needle work. That unquenchable thirst for amusement, that urges some people, without a rural idea, without materials for thought, to fly through these recesses in summer, merely to change, and to say they have been in odd, wild places, is a fatal symptom of a deranged system. What can one expect of young people, drunk with conceit, idleness, and boundless liberty, but what happens to other drunken people,-transitions from the feverish joys of an irregular imagination, to irksome languor, and intolerable self-reproach? II. p. 316-318.

"Certainly a female writer is an incongruous thing! Minerva and the Muses never married; and they were in the right of it.-When I tell you that I write almost extempore, it is not to boast of my blunders, but to make the truest, best apology for writing at all: which would have been inexcusable, either in my past happy or sorrowful days, if I devoted much time to that occupation.-I feel very sore about the dissertation, in this age of doubt, when people begin to cavil when they get out of the cradle, and go on doubting, till they find truth in the grave, II. p. 291, 292.

"If I have any romance with me, it is really and literally the romance of real life. The world does not suit me: It is cold, it is corrupt, it is joyless-I must have pleasures, and they must be pure. At the same time, I walk with the fear of common sense before my eyes; and therefore dare not join my brethren and sisters, the children of fancy, in their excursion to fairyland; having sagaciously discovered that enchanted region to be like the lion's den,-many tracts of beasts going in, but none of any returning. The highway, again, is too crowded for me. People who think of nothing but running straight forward would justle me into the ditch, while I was dreaming of Elysium. I had therefore a little quiet footpath of my own, which I took pleasure in decorating with simple flowers, cherished by my own hands Into that I allured others, who equally hated sloth and bustle; and there we cultivated friendship, and gathered its fruits. Nothing

was distorted, nothing was exaggerated; yet every thing was brightened and enlivened. II. p. 276-277.

"I have said my say, and closed my evidence: Further I shall never, by any provocation, be led. My feet are much too tender to tread the thorny paths of controversy. I feel elastic and thankful, as the period draws near, when we shall all shelter in that blessed asylum, Woodend. This, to be sure, is a very beautiful, though very expen sive place. I sit here, like an owl in a turret, contemplating the scene I have no desire to mix in. Sometimes I go a while down to the pump-room, but oftener to the woody rocks that rise above our dwelling, to see Mr. P.'s ships sail by; or catch with delight the cold blast from Caledonia, and think I see it waving the amber locks of my dear boy, or bending the trees planted by his still dearer father round our once happy dwelling." II. p. 322, 323

There is a very animated letter, giving an account of the variations of her own feelings and opinions as to the comparative merit of the Highlands and Lowlands. When she first went to reside in the former, the tranquil cheerfulness and comfort of the cultivated country continually haunted her imagination; and, lang after she had learned to love the majestic aspect of the mountains, and to decypher the lofty character of their natives, she still hankered after the softer delights of the plains she had left behind. An opportunity at last occurred of visiting these regretted regions; and the result is described as follows.

"In 1793, I again went southwards, and began to look for the beau tiful country I had left behind. It was gone. I saw nothing round me but tame, flat nature, and formal, frigid art. The people were such a set of new-sprung, insulated beings, so uninteresting: And for the mobility-bless them!-they were so ungraceful and ungracious, so devoid of all courtesy and all sentiment !—the worst of them were like bears, and the very best like sheep at most. O how I did lift up my joyful voice, when I drew near the mountains of Perthshire! and at the pass of Killicrankie I worshipped the genius of the mountains with devotion the most ardent! And this morning I nounted the height above the house-beheld the rising sun irradiate so many beautiful wreaths of mist, slowly ascending the aerial mountains;-nay, more, I had the whole parish in my view at once, and saw the blue smokes of eighteen hamlets at once, slowly rising through the calm dewy air; every one of which hamlets had some circumstance about it that interested me, or some body in it that I knew or cared for. How populous, how vital is the Strath! And with what a mixture of emotions did I behold it!" II. p. 339-41.

This to be sure, is not exactly the style of Madame du Deffand; and yet there are very many people who will like it quite as well; And even those who would be most scandalized at the comparison, must confess, that it indicates a far loftier, a far purer, and a far happier character, an that of the witty lady, with whose it may be contrasted.