Augustus, my letters furnished you with an unbroken series, of which take this succinct and pithy sequel.* I had been all this while projecting a visit to Glasgow, but had deferred it from time to time, out of sympathy for Mrs. Newmarch, who hoped for her lord's return, and would feel most forlorn without me; but the marriage of her father, the Governor, and the crowd of company which succeeded, leaving her no room to complain of solitude, I went southwards in the summer of 1777, to Glasgow, where my visit, only meant for a month, was drawn out to near a year, which was most agreeably spent. I look back upon it, indeed, as one of the most pleasant periods of my life; not being passed in a perpetual flutter of idle visits, but in confirming and strengthening the friendships of my earlier years, and making new and valuable additions to them, which have been ever since a source of great comfort and pleasure to me. Leaving the excellent family, with whom I spent this year of felicity, I returned home through Perth, where I had the high gratification of meeting some of my distant relations, who were people of distinguished merit, and whose taste and manners were so suited to my own, that my heart adopted them to a nearer connexion than those distant ties can form. Those lovely sisters,† who lived in this world with all their views directed to another, and meekly sheltered in the shade of retirement qualities *Here followed a detail of events at Fort-Augustus for some years previous to the Author's marriage, in 1779.-ED. The late Mrs. Young, of Perth; and Mrs. Bonar, married to the Minister of Cramond.-(1807.)-See Vol. I., Letter XXX. entitled to universal esteem and admiration, lived only long enough to prove that they could fulfil every duty, and grace every department of life. In the bloom of youth, tenderly beloved by the worthiest of husbands, blessed with everything their regulated and modest wishes could aspire to, they obeyed the irresistible summons. The youngest, who was the most beautiful, departed in her twenty-second year, in the high triumphs of faith, taking not only a serene but joyful leave of friends whom she loved with unusual tenderness. Her sister, in whose arms she died, was immediately seized with the same disorder, and met death with the same well-grounded heroism. "Surely to blissful realms those souls are flown, My dear, you will excuse this digressive tribute to departed excellence. What havoc has been lately made in the little circle of those I loved! "Yes, even here, amidst those secret shades, And death's dread dart is ever in my sight." Indeed my meditations hover so constantly about the confines of the world unknown, where my aching eyes are continually exploring the departing footsteps of those who still live in my remembrance, that I now see this world and all its vanities, as the apostle says we do futurity, "through a glass darkly." These frequent excursions of the mind into the trackless ocean of vast eternity, contribute not a little to throw a dim shade over everything that dazzles and attracts, in this valley of vision.-Unwillingly must I return to my Fort-Augustus narrative, though no motive less potent than a desire to gratify you, would induce me to retrace such a series of crime, folly, and misfortune. Hear then, and be, if not amused, at least instructed. All this happened in 1779, when Mrs. Newmarch, Curtis the surgeon, and I, as by common consent, took our final leave of the place in the space of one month. He took shelter in the East Indies, she at Inverness, and I in Laggan and matrimony. We left the demons of discord and deceit to rule their votaries ; none of us would have liked to have outstayed the other. My year's residence in Clydesdale had revived and cherished the love of peace, virtue, and decorum in my heart. The disorders of that most beautiful, but most unhappy place, Fort-Augustus, had shown me vice and folly in their ugliest aspect. Judge, then, whether, in the midst of tranquillity, mutual affection, domestic harmony, and the esteem and good-will of a decent neighbourhood, I did not enjoy my situation, without repining after languid idleness, insipid chit-chat, artificial wants, poor attempts at finery, and all the mortifications which result from the feeble efforts of inferior people to grasp that fleeting phantom, fashion. I am a wretched narrator, and miserable chronologer; I write fluently from my heart, but very lamely from my memory. Two marriages, however, not of the number said to be made in heaven, I will detail; and let Desdemona heedfully attend, for it is no small plague to me to rake up my recollections. My father removed from Fort-Augustus to Fort George some years ago,* where he lives very happily, and derives much pleasure from his grandchildren. Different friends from Glasgow and Edinburgh have visited us in this retreat.-By the death of my third son, a charming infant, who lived not many days, I was convinced of what I could not have easily believed, that the death of such an infant could produce severe feelings of sorrow for the time; a thing both sinful and unaccountable. I had, however, another son remaining, in whom all my delight was centered, and who was, indeed, an extraordinary child, spoke, walked, and showed tokens of sensibility and understanding long before the usual period. Strong, robust, and manly, we looked on him as the future pillar of our family, and never dreaded that stroke which we bore so ill when it came. In the fatal May of 1789 our children were seized with the measles, and had it favourably, all but the darling and pride of our hearts; who being seized at the same time with a worm fever, which we were not aware of, and knew not how to manage, made his escape from the troubles of life, and left us overwhelmed with the most sinful and extravagant sorrow. But you are no novice in distress, and I will not awaken your griefs, by opening afresh the wounds of mine. My constitution, enfeebled by the rapid increase of my family, was greatly impaired by this shock, but I have had better health since the birth of my twins, who, I hope, will continue to be the youngest. My spirits are pretty equal, though that sad event has added to my habits of musing. * In 1783. The soil here is very rich, though the climate is cold and gloomy. I am very fond of the lower class of people; they have sentiment, serious habits, and a kind of natural courtesy; in short, they are not mob, an animal which Smollet most emphatically says he detests in its head, midriff, and members; and, in this point, I do not greatly differ with him. You would wonder how many of the genteeler class live here. They are not rich to be sure; so much the better for us. For, "Where no contiguous palace rears its head, To shame the meanness of the humble shed," people do very well, and keep each other in countenance. They have been mostly in the army, are socially and kindly disposed, and have more both of spirit and good-breeding than is usually met with in people of their pitch; and, as for an inclination to gaiety and hospitality, you may judge of them by what you have seen among your quondam neighbours in Ireland. If they have foibles, why should I expatiate on them? They have treated us with uniform kindness and civility, and shown us as much friendship as, in their idea, it becomes them to show to such as are not kindred, the sole measure of affection here. I shall quit the ungrateful topic of censure with observing, that, after all, they have more dignity in their pride, and less absurdity in their vanity, than your Hibernian friends, for whom, too, I still retain a sort of kindness, after all; but indeed I saw an excellent sample of them. I have made a great acquisition of late; a fine young creature, a relation of Mr. Grant's, who is |