disposition, rectitude of principle, and singular delicacy of sentiment, as she ascribes to him, must enchant a person of her taste and feeling. The porch, like our own, is often the most decorated and pleasant part of the dwelling; yet, I flatter myself, my dear friend's case will not confirm this observation, but that she will find herself just as happy at the close of this century. Her great fear at present is, that her lord should be called out to Channel service; but, I hope, now that Lord Howe has so completely established our superiority there, it will no longer be accounted a post of danger. You never tell me a word about your son John, which you ought to do, in common charity, to afford me a pretext for saying something about mine. When did you hear from him, from St. Helena? I have used all means to get Charlotte home, for near a month past, and am now likely to succeed. I see Robespierre, too, has been lately the object of a young lady's enthusiasm. I hope he will meet some enthusiast soon, who will send him on a journey he is little prepared for. Mr. Grant is still ideal chaplain, for the choice is not declared; but we think the same appointment in an old regiment would be better.* With kind love to you all, in which the pastor joins, I am, very gratefully, yours, A. G. *Referring to a proposal to procure a military chaplaincy for Mr. Grant.-ED. LETTER XX. TO MRS. BROWN, GLASGOW. My dear Mrs. Brown, Laggan, August 17, 1794. I am very tired and very stupid, yet the recollection of you, and all your kindness and goodness, comes so strong on my mind, that I cannot omit this opportunity of writing to you. I do not believe I owe you anything on the writing score, for I have not only written most meritoriously through a thousand obstacles, but have so sung and celebrated you, that both sides of the Tweed have resounded with your praise, and all the Grampians have re-echoed it. So you see it is you that are in my debt. Besides, as Falstaff most judiciously said to Prince Hal, "Thou owest me thy love; and thy love is worth a million, Jean.” If my hand, which is at present nearly disabled by an accident, would let me, I would tell you how I spent the brightest and finest summer I ever saw in these Northern regions; but I have not time to enlarge, nor have I acquired the said Falstaff's happy knack of imitating the honourable Romans in brevity. Suffice it, that the first part was delightfully serene and tranquil, and the latter part agitated and melancholy on poor Isabella's account, who, you will be glad to hear, is now recovering from a dangerous illness: you would hear of her wonderful adventure in Drumochter, which, I dare say, increased, if not produced, her indisposition. Since Mrs. Macintosh and her spouse came here, I have accompanied them to Moy Hall,* for a short visit, the lady of which mansion has the honour to be related to the lord of this august dwelling. Were I at leisure to exert all my narrative and descriptive powers, you, too, should accompany me there, to share the lady's superlative civility, admire the Laird's superior urbanity, and traverse the lake in a pleasureboat, as I did, to visit the ruins on the Island, and explore the wooded shores; not to mention the garden gay with flowers, rich in fruits, and abundant in wasps, one of which stung my hand, which has since been inflamed, and procured much idleness and sympathy. I have not room for half the compliments and good wishes my family send to yours. When W. C. returns to Glasgow, I will pay my epistolary debt to your sister, who, by the by, has "said the thing that was not" about writing by said W. I am your very true but drowsy A. G. LETTER XXI. TO MRS. MACINTOSH, GLASGOW. My dear Madam, Laggan, August 30, 1794, Though I had not received your letter, inclination would prompt me to write to you without the stimulus of having anything important to say; but if you expect me to be punctual, you must give ample license *The ancient seat of the Chief of Mackintosh, near Inverness. for dullness and absurdity, besides a full allowance to my happy talent of digression, my rare felicity in parenthesis, and my peculiar knack at circumlocution. Do not let the solemnity of my parting with you* too deeply impress you; it was merely the effect of a momentary impulse, which I could not control; I am sorry it saddened so much of your journey. I, too, consumed the time at home in sympathetic dejection; for the impression did not wear off so soon as these bursts of tenderness and melancholy generally do. The acuteness of my feelings, and the horror with which I shrink from the evils of life, are but short-lived in my mind, by reason of a happy facility in rousing up images of joy and comfort, and catching at the bright side of every object, and every prospect. To a projector or adventurer, this might prove a dangerous faculty; but to one whose fate it is to walk peaceably (though sometimes pensively) through the obscure bye-paths of life, it is an advantage to have a quickness in discovering every violet that springs up among brambles, and every rainbow that smiles through the tears of the sky. I think the soft melancholy produced in your mind by the music of your Irish piper, would have a sweet accordance with the sensations which those "sympathetic glooms" about Dunkeld are so well fitted to inspire. I, for my part, though a stranger to the art of music, am well acquainted with its power, and subject to its influence, in its rudest forms; particularly when it breathes the spirit of that sentiment which, for the * Mr. and Mrs. Macintosh had lately made a visit of some weeks at Laggan. time, predominates in my mind, or wakes some tender remembrance with which accident has connected it. When my dearest little boy was in the last stage of that illness which proved fatal to him, we had three maids who had all good voices; one was afraid to sit up alone to attend my calls, on which the nurse-maid agreed to sit with her, and lull the infant beside her. The solitary maid was then afraid to stay alone in her attic abode. The result was, that the three Syrens sung in concert a great part of the night, which seemed to soothe the dear sufferer so much, that when they ceased, he often desired they would begin again. He listened to it three hours before he expired. I never hear the most imperfect note of Cro Challin* since, without feeling my heart-strings accord with it : "It gives a very echo from the seat, and were I to hear those moving sounds which, we are told, "drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek," they could not open every source of anguish more effectually. You have it now in your power to taste the pathos of music in its full extent, Mr. Balfour, I am told, having unrivalled power in doing justice to our old plaintive melodies. We were consoled for your short stay by knowing you found his family at Dunchattan. Charlotte is, and looks much better than when you saw her. This has been a day of joyful quiet to her, and no less joyful bustle to every one else. The servants, tenants, and children, are all busy making our * Cro Challin is a sweet and very popular strain of pastoral music, invariably sung in every Highland fold. |