No. 7.

You surely cannot blame, my dear.-P. 189.

The writer of this narrative, who had not seen the smoke of a town, even at a distance, for fifteen years before, went with the lady to whom the journal is addressed, to Glasgow in October, with an intention to return immediately; but what betwixt bad weather, urgency of friends, &c. &c. was half unwillingly detained till January following; hence the amicable contention here recited,

No. 8.

Vehicular, and eke pedestrian.-P. 191,

It is customary in these mountainous districts, to travel with a running footman, not for the sake of state, for the travellers are perfectly satisfied with their innate dignity; nor from scarcity of horses, which on a diminutive scale abound in these lofty regions; but it has been discovered, that two animals eat more than one, which consideration has due weight with people who are not purse-proud.

No. 9.

The famous pass of Killicranky.-P. 200.

Killicrankie, the Rinn Ruaradh of the Highland bards, who have celebrated the battles fought at this pass in numberless heroic ballads, particularly that betwixt a body of Highlanders led by Viscount DUNDEE, and King WILLIAM'S troops commanded by General MACKAY, where both leaders fell, and the victory remained with the latter, after

a great havoc among the Highlanders, many of them men of note, who still continue to live in grateful song.

No. 10.

For lighting us safe thro' Drumochter.-P. 203.

A part of the Grampian mountains over which the military road is carried; it is impassable in severe winters, and one travels through twenty miles of ensire solitude, interrupted only by an inn built amid the waste, at the public expence.

TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY DUNDAS,

WITH A POEM ON THE DEATH OF

SIR RALPH ABERCROMBY.

Now when the thunder of dread War is o'er,
And Peace her olive plants on BRITAIN'S shore,
Descending from the toilsome steep of power,
In tranquil shades to share the social hour,
Wilt thou, DUNDAS, this tribute sad receive,
(No fairer tribute has the Muse to give),
The plausive lay-the mournful cypress wreath,
The hard-won meed of Valour's glorious death:
Tho' with thy country's sorrows doom'd to blend
The heart-drawn sigh that mourns the long-lov'd friend;
Tho' painful memory sorrowing marks the day
When to the fatal field you sketch'd his way,

Bid him to Afric stem the hostile flood,
And plant those laurels,-water'd with his blood
Yet when you see the cloudless glory blaze
That shed its lustre on his closing days,

And hear th' applauding world that fame resound
With which thy counsels and his acts are crown'd,
In public joy thy private sorrows drown,
And taste unmix'd the sweets of fair renown:
And when you see your country's troubles cease,
And Commerce flourish in the shades of Peace,
The will Divine with sacred awe revere,

Nor think such blessings can be bought too dear!

ON THE

DEATH

OF

SIR RALPH ABERCROMBY,

KNIGHT OF THE BATH.

BLEST

LEST was the Chief, who full of days and fame, No longer rul'd o'er War's vindictive flame, But pleas'd to see the mad contention cease, Hung up his trophies in the hall of Peace,His shining arms, no longer stain'd with gore, And heard the clarion's deadly blast no more; Saw his kind sovereign, with approving eye Bestow the hard-earn'd meed of victory; Heard his glad country's universal voice, Applausive, justify their Sovereign's choice;