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attempt, that I did not see whatever there is to be seen from the summit of Ben Ledi. I reached it, but in vain; and I need not conjecture and describe, like Brydone on Etna, what I did not see. Did I choose thus to deceive you, I should at any rate do it with comparative truth, or rather falsehood; since I sat myself down on its topmost stone, whereas that personage, like Eustace in other cases, only ascended with the pen, and in his closet. Heaven knows, it is difficult enough to describe what we have seen, without troubling ourselves by attempting to look through clouds as dense as a millstone, and by stringing together epithets with a map before us. Yet the views ought to be fine, since Ben Ledi commands a very interresting variety of country. That they are so in the direction of Stirling, I can vouch; as they also are over Loch Lubnaig to the north: but, to me, it was like the vanishing of images in a magic lantern: like the glance of the lightning in a dark night; gone before I could say, it is here. I thought that I had known Highland rain in all its forms and mixtures and varieties; in Sky, in Mull, in Shetland, at Fort William, at Killin, on the summit of Ben Lawers, and in the depths of Glenco. But nothing like the rain on Ben Ledi did I ever behold, before or since. In an instant, and without warning or preparation, the showers descended in one broad stream, like a cascade, from the clouds, and in an instant they ceased again. We have heard, in an ode to Molly, of counting the drops of rain: but there were no drops here to be counted; it was one solid sheet of

water.

"There is a peculiarity in these summer showers of the Highlands, which a Lowlander knows not, but will not easily forget when he has experienced it. If he carries an umbrella, it will be useful for him to be told, that, like his fowling piece when the dogs have scent, he must keep it ready cocked. If there is but a button to undo, or a ring to slip off, he will often be wet through before he can get either effected. There is an interval of fair weather: even the cloud

which is to produce the rain is not very obvious; when in an instant, and without a sprinkling, or even a harbinger drop, the whole is let go on your head as if a bucket had been emptied on it.

"Perhaps the clouds and rain of this cloudy and rainy region are the reason that sun dials are so common in this country; not only at Kilmahog, where there are a dozen, but whereever you go. So it is in almost all the villages; and even the solitary house, that has not a stone step to its door, or any pretence to geometry in its walls, carries the evidence of its mathematical knowledge on its front, in the shape of a rusty gnomon. These incessant dials in this land of clouds, offer some apology for the celebrated question respecting the use of the sun to the dial. The policy is, however, profound: because, if he should miss it at Inverness, he may hit it at Callander, or elsewhere, some time between the vernal and the autumnal equinoxes. But nothing equals the ingenuity of the artist at Glamis, who seems to have been determined that if time escaped him on one quarter, he would catch it on some other. It would be hard indeed, if, in the revolution of a year, the sun did not light one of the hundred faces of this most ingenious polyedron: for he can scarcely peep through a pin hole, without being caught in the act by the tip of some one of the gnomons, that bristle their north poles like a hedgehog all round it.

"I wish I could speak of the inns at Callander as I have spoken of that at Dollar; but it is a mixed world, inns and all, and we must take it as it comes.

"When you hear Pe-ggy called, as if the first vowel was just about to thaw, like Sir John Mandeville's story, and when you hear Peggy answer co-ming, you must not prepare to be impatient, but recollect that motion cannot be performed without time. If you are wet, the fire will be lighted by the time you are dry; at least if the peat is not wet too. The smoke of wet peat is wholesome: and if you are not used to it, they are: which is the

same thing. There is neither poker nor tongs; you can stir it with your umbrella: nor bellows; you can blow it; unless you are asthmatic or what is better still, Peggy will fan it with her Petticoat. 66 Peggy, is the supper coming?" In time, comes mutton, called chops, then mustard, by and by a knife and fork; successively, a plate, a candle, and salt. When the mutton is cold, the pepper arrives, and then the bread, and lastly the whisky. The water is reserved for the second course. It is good policy to place these various matters in all directions, because they conceal the defects of Mrs. Maclarty's table cloth. By this time, the fire is dying; Peggy waits till it is dead, and then the whole process of the peat and the petticoat is to be gone over again. It is all in vain. "Is the bed ready?" By the time you have fallen asleep once or twice, it is ready. When you enter, it is damp: but how should it be dry in such a climate. The blankets feel so heavy that you expect to get warm in time. Not at all: they have the property of weight without warmth: though there is a fulling mill at Kilmahog. You awaken at two o'clock; very cold, and find that they have slipped over on the floor.

"It is vain to try again, and you get up at five. Water being so contemptibly common, it is probable that there is none present: or if there is, it has a delicious flavour of stale whisky: so that you may almost imagine the Highland rills to run grog. There is no soap in Mrs. Maclarty's house. It is prudent also to learn to shave without a looking glass; because, if there is one, it is so furrowed and striped and striated, either cross-wise, or perpendicularly, or diagonally, that, in consequence of what Sir Isaac Newton might call its fits of irregular reflection and transmission, you cut your nose if it distorts you one way, and your ear if it protracts you in the opposite direction. The towel being either wet or dirty, or both, you wipe yourself in the moreen curtains, unless you prefer the sheets. When you return to your sitting room, the table is "overed with glasses, and mugs, and

circles of dried whiskey and porter. The fire place is full of white ashes: you labour to open a window, if it will open, that you may get a little of the morning air and there being no sash-line, it falls on your fingers, as it did on Susanna's. Should you break a pane, it is of no consequence, as it will never be mended again. The clothes which you sent to be washed, are brought up wet; and those which you sent to be dried, smoked.

"You now become impatient for the breakfast; and as it will not arrive, you go into the kitchen to assist in making the kettle boil. You will not accelerate this: but you will see the economy of Mrs. Maclarty's kitchen. The kettle, an inch thick, is hanging on a black crook in the smoke, not on the fire, likely to boil to-morrow. If you should be near a forest, there is a train of chips lying from the fire-place to the wood-corner, and the landlady is busy, not in separating the two, but in picking out any stray piece that seems likely to be lighted before its turn comes. You need not ask why the houses do not take fire : because it is all that the fire itself can do, with all its exertions. Round this fire are a few oat cakes, stuck on edge in the ashes to dry; perhaps a herring and on the floor, at hand, are a heap or two of bed clothes, a cat, a few melancholy fowls, a couple of black dogs, and perchance a pig, or more; with a pile of undescribables, consisting of horse collars, old shoes, petticoats, a few dirty plates and horn spoons, a kilt, possibly a bagpipe, a wooden beaker, an empty gill and a pint stoup, a water bucket, and a greasy candlestick, a rake, a spinning wheel, two or three frowsy fleeces and a shepherd's plaid, an iron pot full of potatoes, a never-washed milk-tub, some more potatoes, a griddle, a threelegged stool, and heaven and earth know what more. All this time, two or three naked children are peeping at you out of some unintelligible recess, perchance contesting with the chickens and the dogs for the fire, while Peggy is sitting over it unsnooded: one hand in her head, and the other, no one knows where, as she is

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ON tiptoe, laughing like the blue-eyed May
And looking aslant, where a spoil'd urchin strives
(In vain) to reach the flowers she holds on high,
Stands a young girl fresh as the dawn, with all
Her bright hair given to the golden sun!

There standeth she whom Midnight never saw,
Nor Fashion stared on with its arrogant eye,
Nor gallant tempted ;-beautiful as youth;
Waisted like Hebe; and with Dian's step,
As she, with sandals newly laced, would rise
To hunt the fawn through woods of Thessaly.
-From all the garden of her beauty nought
Has flown; no rose is thwarted by pale hours;
But on her living lip bright crimson bangs,
And in her cheek the flushing morning lies,
And in her breath the odorous hyacinth.

B.

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B.

ON DRESS.

To the Editor of the European Magazine.

SIR-Having already communicated to you some ideas on the influence which the form of Government has on dress, I shall offer a few remarks on that article in general, well aware of the powerful effect which it has on our minds in most cases, and of the effect which it produces, not only in society, but in our success or failure in our in tercourse with mankind. Dress and address are the two great external objects which are the first agents on our feelings; we judge men more by these, than by their writings, and as the organs of perception are first acted upon, we seldom wait to form our decision from actions or from report: the latter indeed is often very fallacious, but the impressions of dress and address are very generally irresistible. A man's writings may be at variance with his life, so may dress and address; yet, when that is the case, the garb sits uneasily, and, as the counterfeit is more perceptible, we place too often implicit reliance on easy gentlemanlike manners, neat, chaste, and fashionable dress. Address being a very superior quality, it is the most important, but, although dress is an object of less magnitude, yet it is indispensably necessary to adorn and set forth the former, which, without it, labours under great difficulties, and will be unavailing with the ignorant, who form the larger mass of the population in every country. Wise men alone set little value on dress, men who are absorbed in abstruse knowledge are apt to lose sight of address, but it is very incorrect to undervalue them entirely, since they are quite compatible with wisdom and with virtue. The only thing then to be ascertained is, what is the nearest point to perfection in dress? And as I have already observed that climate, country, form of government, warlike or peaceful habits, prosperity, civilization, and the rank held amongst nations affect materially the style of dress; I shall here take my stand in Great Britain, and as near St. James's as possible, where the Regia Solis is most

likely to produce fashion and elegance. What is the dress most becoming to persons in the rank of the nobility and gentry, and of professional men? I say men, because a certain latitude of captivation is allowed to the other sex in every class. What is most likely to produce attraction and respect? for these are the charms and the power of dress. Is it costliness? no; our nobility have assumed a simplicity, except when officially habited, which renders rich habits not only unnecessary but out of use. Is it the extreme of fashion? no; for the extreme of fashion becomes to it, what the caricature is to the portrait. Is it frequent change, incessantly on the wing for novelty? no; because, first, every fashion is not becoming; secondly, such changeful clothing bespeaks levity, and is only to be overlooked in the college youth, or the very young man entering into life, and thirdly, because rank, personal appearance, and our habits must be consulted in the adoption of every new fashion. They cannot be equally genteel, becoming, and elegant, so that the best friend to the tailor may often be his own enemy, by making himself ridiculous. Should we aim at something striking? no; a person becomes a scenic performer in the drama of life thereby; and again, if a man or woman sticks to one garb or character in dress, the eye is tired of the sporting frock, the farmer cut, the quaker-like dittoes of one sex, and of the prim style of the other, which must soon be antiquated and rejected by persons of taste. Constant mourning suits grave professions, but one who would wish to pass for a fashionable, well dressed person, and is not a professional man, cannot adhere to the same wearisome garb. On many occasions it casts a gloom over the drawing room, or dinner circle, and there are certain times when good breeding forbids it--birthdays, weddings, festivals, &c. &c. It is likewise a bad riding or travelling dress, and admits of no mediocrity_as to fashion, make, texture, or age. In

deed the moderate novelty of clothes, elegant workmanship, a good fit, and the very best materials are indispensable ingredients in dress of every colour and kind. Persons are very apt to think that black becomes all classes, persons, and complexions: this is a very gross error, nearly as great as the assumption of military undress tunic, pantaloons, black cravat and spurs, these sit ill on every one who is not military, and whose carriage and gentlemanlike deportment do not evince the military man. Both of these dresses, so very common at present, are very trying to the wearers. Black is also very uncertain in its effect on the loveliest sex: the neck and arm which rivals the Parian marble, the lily and the rose blended in the cheek, shine, in mourning, like the star piercing the thick black cloud; but the dingy Jewess, swarthy foreigner, smoke dried female citizen, with low forehead and oily hair, small grey eyes and ignoble countenance, seems like the union of obscurity and fog, a November evening, or a winter's morning, in a narrow street. There are certain colours which must always be offensive to the eye; there are likewise blendings of colours which cannot fail to be harmonious, others which are as ill-judged, and produce the worst effect. Contrasts may be most happy, or the reverse-spots, stripes, chequers, and mixtures, have no alliance with nobility; they are trying, they are the taste and livery of the lower orders, and always seem to be contrived for economy, for a quick and ready sale to the vender, to hide uncleanliness, to disguise the person for some purpose or other to the wearer. These fancies too are trying to beauty, and still further confound deformity. Middling people in class and appearance may assume a middling style of dress, and although a handsome youth, or virgin may wear almost any thing, yet groom coats, coloured silk kerchiefs, caricature hats, brown beavers, coachmanlike form in dress, can never become the former, if he be of the nobility or gentry, nor can a Belcher tied round a lovely neck, add attractions to the wearer, no more than the huge um

brella, flapping leghorn, shapeless and ridiculous hat it may save the complexion, but a deep veil would answer the same end, and give grace and modesty to her whose charms are thus delicately withdrawn from the inquiring eye of the beholder. Tartans of all kinds bear and command respect, when worn by the chieftain, the clan, and its adherents, whether by the one sex or the other, and whether it be in stuff or silk; but neither it nor any assemblage of many colours is becoming. What would be thought of a harlequin silk? Over dressing and underdressing are two great means of disfiguring a person, as are colours at enmity with each other, purple and light blue, lilac and pink, or red, and the like. There are colours also which no gentleman can think of wearing in cloth, pompadowr, brownish yellow, drab, light blue, nor could he (in these days,) ever be considered as any thing but a caricature in a striped coat, even striped waistcoats and trowsers will ever be more fanciful than becoming, let who will wear them. The unie or plain neat style must always prevailroyal blue, black, white, mild buff colour, whilst the contrasts of black and green, blue and scarlet, when in cloth and not in uniform. Black and blue are at war with all harmony. Yellow and lilac, pea-green and dark blue are trying colours to a female, but loveliness can bear them out; the two first are odious in male attire, even the very bright yellow waistcoat. In addition to all this outline many more observations might be made; but the limits which I have proposed to myself will not admit them, and I should be afraid of tiring my reader by going into the lengthy detail. Over-length or great curtailing of skirts must always produce a ridiculous effect, as must over amplitude, or a tail like a bird; just so, sweeping trains, and very short petticoats, are to be studiously avoided, except when the former is the finish of a dress robe, which, by the by, suits not all alike. In all these circumstances; stature, size, age, condition, convenience, and effect, ought to be fairly consulted, since what adorns one person, is a satire upon another. In point

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