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ashington. We dined at the Royal Hotel, an apartment which was worthy of the cause which we met. We chose for president, r. Preston of Virginia, one of the most elent and accomplished gentlemen I ever knew my life. The bust of our illustrious deliver was the chief ornament to the saloon in hich we dined; it was crowned with a chapt of laurels, and placed in a conspicuous siiation. Mr. M'Culloch, the editor of that ost excellent weekly paper " the Scotsman," nd some Englishmen, who associate the name f our glorious country with that of liberty, ere present; which was so much the more greeable to our feelings, as Burns' anniversay was celebrated the same evening. Nothing ould exceed the harmony, the good order and he elegance with which every thing was conlucted. After the cloth was removed, the nost delicious wines were introduced, (for which, by the way, we had to pay enormously nigh,) and we drank with enthusiasm, the coasts which were proposed: you may easily magine that Washington and "the mountain nymph, sweet Liberty," were not forgotten on the occasion. I left my friends at table at an early hour,

"When, fully sated with the luscious banquet,
I hastily took leave"

It is with pleasure that I see in your last letter, the expression "happy country" applied to the United States. Whilst our country is

anticipating centuries, and prosecuting, under the auspices of its chief, a stupendous system of modern improvement, Mr. Munroe is putting in requisition its best talents, to render us secure at home and respected abroad, to make us feel that in giving unbounded scope to our enterprize and industry, no foreign foe will be able to depredate upon the fruits of either; and to make the nations of the world feel, that the United States are now laying broad and deep the foundations of that system of civil and political liberty,* which is at no distaut day to cheer and rouse the benumbed energies of Europe, and shaking Tyranny, Superstition and Ignorance from their seats.

The execution of Arbuthnot and Ambrister is a great subject of discussion at present. The slavish government papers are filled with expressions of horror at this circumstance—they call it an outrage, murder, &c. &c. without mentioning a syllable about Morillo's massacres of British subjects.-They have again and again regaled their readers with accounts of the putting to death, in cold blood, of dozens of their fellow-citizens, allies of the patriots, by the worthy representative of the sanguinary

* "The example of America has already done much for the cause of liberty; and the very existence of such a country, under such a government, is a tower of strength, and a standard of encouragement, for all who may hereafter have to struggle for the restoration or the extension of their rights. It shows within what limits popular institutions are safe and practicable; and what a large infusion of democracy is consistent with good government, and the good order of society." Edinburgh Review, 1820.

erdinand; and they never expressed the least ssatisfaction with such proceedings! On the ontrary, they were always held up as acts of ubstantial justice, and as a warning to their deluded" countrymen, against having any ning to do with the Independents.

When I first arrived in this Land o' Cakes, had much difficulty in understanding the Scotch dialect. The language of the lower lasses was perfect jargon to me, and even that of respectable persons appeared to be such an outlandish lingo, that I could not for some ime understand what they would be at. I winna for "I will not;" I dinna ken for " I do not know;" bairns for " children;" gude neight (guttural) for "good night," are instances of the beauty of their language. The perusal of Burns with a glossary, and of the far-famed Scotch novels, has made me more familiar with this singular dialect, which, from the mouth of a handsome lassie, is not without its

*

* It may not be uninteresting to subjoin the opinion of Cowper concerning Burns, when his poems first appeared. In a letter to Mr. Rose, he expresses himself in the following terms on the Scotch bard: "I have read Burns's Poems, and have read them twice; and though they be written in a language that is new to me, and many of them on subjects much inferior to the author's ability, I think them on the whole a very extraordinary production. It will be a pity if he should not hereafter devest bimself of barbarism, and content himself with writing pure English, in which he appears perfectly qualified to excel."-Again" Poor Burns loses much of his deserved praise in this country, through our ignorance of his language. I despair of meeting with an Englishman who will take the pains to understand him. His candle is bright, but shut up in a dark lantern. I len to a very sensible neighbour of mine, but his uncouth dialect spoiled all," &c.

charms-You know that the original Scotish language was the Gaelic, which is now that of the Highlanders. Separated by their moun tains and rocks, and divided by a peculiar language from the rest of Scotland, the Highlanders have ever continued a distinct and unmixt race, and have preserved the unadulterated remains of the ancient Celts, to whose dress and manners, Europe has presented nothing simi

lar.

At the close of the lectures, I will make a pedestrious tour through the Highlands, and hope to be able to give you an insight into the singularities of that country.

'The death of Sir Samuel Romilly will occa sion a political contest for a new member of Parliament. Sir Murray Maxwell, Mr. Lamb, and Hobhouse, (the author of those Letters from Paris, which the Quarterly Review took for a quiz,) are the candidates for the ensuing election. As it is probable that I will never again have an opportunity of witnessing a political struggle of this nature, I will leave Edinburgh in a few days for the "Devil's drawing-room," as Strap calls the capital of Albion. My next letter will be directed from London, where I shall only remain long enough to make myself acquainted with the proceedings of the ensuing elections. In the interim, as Gray wrote to Dr. Wharton, " pray for me till I see you, for I dread Edinburgh and the itch, and expect to find very little in my way worth the perils I am to endure."

LETTER IX.

Mighty London seem'd

With all its temples, domes and palaces,
Like some sublime assemblage of tall cliffs,
That bring down the deep stillness of the heavens
To shroud them in the desert.-

WILSON'S City of the Plague.

London, March 1st, 1819.

As I left Edinburgh a mist hung over the town, so that I could only catch here and there a glimpse of the castle as I passed. The spires of the churches and the towers seemed to float in the air, and they disappeared before my gaze "like the baseless fabric of a vision." The weather continued misty and hazy till we entered the mouth of the Thames, when the sun burst forth in gorgeous magnificence. As we sailed along, how bright, how clear appeared the deep blue of heaven through the broken clouds! The last shower left a beautiful rainbow, which spanned the water in all its varie-' gated colours; whilst the "joyful king of day" smiled through the tears of the storm. In the evening, I stretched myself on deck, and gazed on the glorious luminary, as he sunk below the horizon, and smiled as he departed through the circling clouds that, like a golden veil, hung over the ocean's brim. All nature, hushed in hallowed silence, reflected the crimson tints that glowed in the streaked west. At night I again took my station on deck, and contemplated the little waves that, like drops of light,

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