at home; but that a Mr. Scott had put all the people mad by printing a lying poem, about a man that never existed, "What the d--was to be seen about the Trossacks, more than in an hundred other places? A few rocks and bushes, nothing else." He gave me the outlines of the story of the Lady of the Lake, with great exactness, and added several improvements of his own. I asked him if there was any truth in it at all; or, if it was wholly a fiction? He said, there was once indeed a man who sculked and defended himself in and about Loch-Ketturin: That an old Gaelic song, related almost the same story, but that Mr. Scott had been quite misled with regard to the names, -he was mistaken about them altogether;-he translated some parts of

the

song into English, which were not much illustrative of any story :. He, however, persisted in asserting that the stories were fundamentally the same.

He told me further, that Mr. Burrel intended to build a bower in the lonely Isle of Loch-Ketturin, in which he meant to place the prettiest girl that could be found in Edinburgh, during the summer months to personate the Lady of the Lake;-that she was to be splendidly dressed in the Highland Tartans, and ferry the company over to the island. That Robert MacLean, a weaver at the bridge of Turk, was to be the Goblin of Correi-Uriskin, and had already procured the skin of a monstrous shaggy black goat, which was to form a principal part of his dress while in that capacity;-that in fact interest and honour both combined to induce MacLean to turn a Goblin this very summer; for in a conversation which

|| he had with two ladies, high in rank, last year, he informed them with great seriousness, that the Goblin actually haunted the Den occasionally to this day, at stated periods, and if they were there on such a day, at such an hour, he would forfeit his ears if they did not see him; they promised to him that they would come, and reward him with a large sum of money if he fulfilled his. engagement ;--that of course Robert: was holding himself in readiness to: appear himself in case this only surviv-. ing brownic, whom they suppose to have been once the king of the whole. tribe, should neglect to pay his periodical visit to that lonely seat of his ancient regal court..

After these playful anecdotes, the reader will be a little astonished at hearing, that this man actually believed the tale of the goblin; and that he had vis sited Correi-Uriskin, not many years, ago at his usual term; in confirmation. of which he related the following story:

"A certain man, who was once the. best shot in the glen, who is still alive, but whose name I have forgot, went out early one day in winter to shoot wild deer on the ledges of Ben-Venue; and, on the skirts of the hill, near by the den of the ghost, he met with an old man, whose face was wrinkled, his eyes red, and his beard as white as snow, leaning and trembling over a staff-he begged of the lad, whom we shall denominate Duncan, to give him something to eat. Duncan said he had brought very little for himself, but he would share it with him, and gave him some cakes and cheese. The old stranger accepted of the boon with thankfulness, and assured the hunter that he

should not have cause to rue what he had done. Immediately after this, Duncan started a fine stag, fired at him, and wounded him, as he thought, mortally. The stag halted exceedingly, yet notwithstanding every exertion on the part of his pursuer, he always eluded his grasp, though the latter was for the most part quite hard upon him. He loaded and fired nine successive times, without being able to make any farther impression upon the Stag;-he grew quite fatigued,-the sun went down, the winter day was drawing fast to a close ;-his prey was neither nearer, nor more distant than he was in the morning; though he had followed him many a weary mile;-he stopped to load his gun once more with the last shot that he had remaining, when he beheld the Stag fall down quite exhausted; he hasted up to him, and, wonderful to relate! instead of a Stag, he found the identical old man lying, whose necessity he had relieved in the morning!-he stood up, and in a menacing mein and voice, addressed him as follows:

"Return, return, Duncan, you have just come far enough;-if you come one step further, you shall never return!-mark what I say!-if it had not been for your kindness and beneficence this morning, you should never have seen your friends and family again!but go home, and let the poor remains of my exhausted herd rest in peace; I have but seven now left me in all my wild domain, but these never shall bleed beneath the hand of mortal man."Duncan went home in fear and trembling, and, fond as he was of hunting, has never since that day taken a gun n his hand.

After having tasted plentifully of old Mrs. Stuart's Highland cheer, I set, out with a heart bounding with joy, to put my scheme in execution. I traced every ravine and labyrinth that winded around the rocky pyramids ;-climbed every insulated mass, and thundersplintered pinnacle, fantastic as the cones of the gathering thunder-cloud, and huge as the ancient pile that was reared on the valley of Shinar. Mr. Scott has superseded the possibility of ever more pleasing, by a second description of the Trossacks, but in so doing he has certainly added to the pleasure arising from a view of them. Whoever goes to survey the Trossacks, let him have the 11th, 12th, and 18th divisions of the first canto of the Lady of the Lake in his heart; a little Highland whisky in his head; and then he shall see the most wonderful scene that nature ever produced. If he goes without any of these necessary ingredients, without one verse of poetry in his mind, and "Without a drappie in his noddle;" he may as well stay at home; he will see little, that shall either astonish or delight him, or if it even do the one, shall fail of accomplishing the other. The fancy must be aroused,

and the imagination and spirits exhilarated in order that he may enjoy these romantic scenes and groves of wonder with the proper zest. This is no chiThis is no chimera, Sir, I can attest its truth from experience. I once went with a friend to view the Craig of Glen-Whargen in Nithsdale, it was late before we reached it ;—we were hungry and wearied, having fished all day;-it was no rock at all!-the Cat-Craig at the back of our house was much more striking!— it was a mere trifle,-we sat down by a well at its base;―dined on such provisions as we had, and by repeated applications to a bottle full of whisky, emptied it clean out;-the rock continued to improve; we drank out of the bottle alternately, and in so doing were obliged to hold up our faces towards the rock of Glen-Whargen,-it was so grand and sublime, that it was not without an effort we could ever bring our heads back to their natural position. Still as the whisky diminished the rock of Glen-Whargen increased in size and magnificence; and by the time the bottle was empty, we were fixed to the spot in amazement at that stupendous pile; and both of us agreed that it was such a rock as never was looked upon by man!

The most delightful view of the Trossacks is, that which is first seen, I mean the one from the highest part of the road leading from the corner of LochAchray, to the mouth of the pass; and the most wonderful is that from a rock about mid-way between the pass and Beinnan, where the whole extent of the Trossacks are seen rising behind one another, like the billows of a stormy

Ocean.

I went next to the top of a cliff, north of the pass, that I might enjoy a view of the setting sun on Loch-Ketturin.The evening was calm and serene.There was not the slightest breeze playing on the surface of the water, nor the smallest speck of vapour floating in the firmament over it. It was indeed a delightful scene, and I would have sent you an excellent description of it, had not Mr. Scott previously done it for But what astonished and delighted me most of all, was the appearance of Roderick Dhu's barge far west on the lake,

me.

"Which bearing downwards from Glengyle, "Steer'd full upon the lonely isle.” She however weathered it, and bore onward to the base of my castle. As the bark approached, I heard a great number of voices from it joining in a Gaelic song, the effect of which on the woods and rocks was truly admirable. I was so transported with the singular coincidence, that I waved my hat and shouted aloud, "Roderick Vich Alpine Dhu, ho eiro," while all the crew wav ed their bonnets and shouted in return. This chief of the mountains was no other than Mr. Stuart with a boatful of the people of Strathgartney, whom he had that day raised to assist him in clearing away some wood west on the banks of the lake. With him I spent the evening, and we were as happy as Highland cheer and Highland whisky could make us. He related the followstory to me, which I turned into rhyme to try the effect of that classic country on my imagination. I am, Sir, Your obedient servant,

MALISE.