time as ambrosia.  I crossed in that place, because the waterfall made steps, as it were, to the next hill.  To be sure, they were covered with water, but I was already entirely wet with the mist, so that it did not matter.  I kept on scrambling, as it happened, in the right direction, till, about seven, some of the shepherds found me.  The moment they came, all my feverish strength departed, and they carried me home, where my arrival relieved my friends of distress far greater than I had undergone; for I had my grand solitude, my Ossianic visions, and the pleasure of sustaining myself; while they had only doubt, amounting to anguish, and a fruitless search through the night.

Entirely contrary to my forebodings, I only suffered for this a few days, and was able to take a parting look at my prison, as I went down the lake, with feelings of complacency.  It was a majestic-looking hill, that Tongue, with the deep ravines on either side, and the richest robe of heather I have anywhere seen.

Mr. S. gave all the men who were looking for me a dinner in the barn, and he and Mrs. S. ministered to them; and they talked of Burns,—­really the national writer, and known by them, apparently, as none other is,—­and of hair-breadth ’scapes by flood and fell.  Afterwards they were all brought up to see me, and it was gratifying to note the good breeding and good feeling with which they deported themselves.  Indeed, this adventure created quite an intimate feeling between us and the people there.  I had been much pleased before, in attending one of their dances, at the genuine independence and politeness of their conduct.  They were willing to dance their Highland flings and strathspeys, for our amusement, and did it as naturally and as freely as they would have offered the stranger the best chair.

JOANNA BAILLIE.—­HOWITTS.—­SMITH.

I have mentioned with satisfaction seeing some persons who illustrated the past dynasty in the progress of thought here:  Wordsworth, Dr. Chalmers, De Quincey, Andrew Combe.  With a still higher pleasure, because to one of my own sex, whom I have honored almost above any, I went to pay my court to Joanna Baillie.  I found on her brow, not, indeed, a coronal of gold; but a serenity and strength undimmed and unbroken by the weight of more than fourscore years, or by the scanty appreciation which her thoughts have received.  We found her in her little calm retreat, at Hampstead, surrounded by marks of love and reverence from distinguished and excellent friends.  Near her was the sister, older than herself, yet still sprightly and full of active kindness, whose character and their mutual relations she has, in one of her last poems, indicated with such a happy mixture of sagacity, humor, and tender pathos, and with so absolute a truth of outline.

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