dren's sea-bathing quarters, that the house may be kept perfectly neat and quiet!

In our sitting-room here, the ladies of Inverary have placed a large open chest, filled with dolls, bags, drawings, and purses, enough to have furnished a superb stall in any bazaar, with their prices annexed, and a written notice hung up, that these articles are to be sold for charitable purposes, while the landlady is ready to charge any article in the bill that we may happen to fancy. I was informed, when depositing the price of a reticule, that, last summer, this little shop, without a shopkeeper, realized the sum of £14! This modest appeal to our liberality was quite irresistible, but there is so perpetual a traffic going on in society now with ladies selling their own manufactures for some undeniably good purpose, that I often feel, like poor aunt Grizzy with the shirt buttons, and would much rather pay five shillings to be off the bargain, than give twenty for some perfectly useless piece of frippery, like the

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elegant thread-papers," or paper candlesticks with paper extinguishers, which seem intended to illustrate the opinion of an old lady in respect to presents, that "the more useless they are, the more elegant."

I was amused, when sitting at the inn window, to see the town-crier stroll lazily past, tolling his bell, and calling aloud with the true nasal drone of

a Highlander, not very unlike a cracked bagpipe, "There's a silver spoon been found in the street last night! if anybody lost it, he may get it again!" Several persons stopped him, pretending in jest to claim it, and one individual became so very earnest to ascertain whether it was 66 a big or a little one,” that the public functionary replied, "If ye had lost it, ye would have known that,” and acknowledged he had not yet been allowed to see the stray article himself, adding, in evident indignation, that the old woman who found this treasure would not trust him with a glimpse of it, but he manfully declared his intention of returning immediately, to decline advertising it any more, unless she showed him the spoon without reserve, adding, in a tone of injured dignity, "she wouldn't even tell me if it was a toddy-ladle, or a tea-spoon!" Diogenes tried all his life in vain to find an honest man, but we flatter ourselves that among womankind there would never have been so lamentable a scarcity, and especially now, when we may point with triumph to Inverary.

The late Duke of Argyll, like the majority of noble Scottish proprietors, was almost entirely an absentee; and, if a muster-roll were called over in Great Britain and Ireland of every landlord's name, how few in their own places could answer, "here!" One gentleman, on the look-out for a country residence, assured us he had inspected about fifty, each

so desirable, that he would like to have taken them all, while the owners had vanished to the Continent. There, in a miserable lodging, they will probably waste their existence on amusement instead of happiness, taking the shadow for the substance,—admiring side-scenes at the theatre, instead of their own magnificent landscapes,—seeing their children growing up around them without heart or principle,— frequenting the opera-house, instead of the church,— going through life without usefulness, and suffering death without consolation. It is a mournful exchange, and even with respect to minor comforts, I never can fancy the advantage of possessing ornamental vases instead of wash-hand basins, gilded ceilings instead of carpets, and marble statues instead of livery servants, "mais chacun à son goût.” Those only can estimate pleasures who have tried them, and perhaps when you and I succeed to our great estates, we may learn, like other landed proprietors, to hate the sight of them. As Lord Bacon remarks, "It is a melancholy state, having nothing more to desire, and a thousand things to fear." The most wretched feeling of all is, the want of a want; and I often think that poultry, which are, we know, unable to exist without swallowing a daily portion of stones and gravel, might aptly illustrate our absolute necessity for hardships and difficulties. As men are not born to sit down perfectly satisfied any

where in this world, I suppose the very perfection of all those beautiful castles, villas, and cottages so generally abandoned, leads to satiety and weariness; but I should like to convince myself by experience, that all my theories of "almost perfect happiness" are fallacious. Probably no one would have believed that the beautiful fruit in the garden of Hesperides was unpalatable till he tasted it, and, as far as one can guess externally, the proprietor of a noble estate, residing among an attached and grateful tenantry, might require the admonition of Philip's slave, "Remember you are mortal," in order to moderate his interest in all around him, when gazing on the patrimony bequeathed to him hy his ancestors, and about to be inherited by his children. Few have more cause for pleasurable feelings than the present. Duke of Argyll, successor to a long line of noble progenitors, and inheriting a place so abounding in natural beauty and in historical interest as Inverary, where the family of Argyll exercised an almost regal influence, which has made their name conspicuous in every page of our Scottish annals. When surrounded by the scene of their many bold exploits, I scarcely could grudge their memory the triumph of that old song, written in derision of our clan, "The Campbells are coming, the Sinclairs are running."

Inverary Castle is a dark, handsome, square building, with massy round towers at each corner,

and was founded in 1745, an odd year to choose for building a residence, when so many in Scotland were at that very time destroyed; but the Duke of Argyll took, as it turned out, the safe side on that occasion, rightly preferring, like so many of his ancestors, his religion even to his loyalty; and as two of his predecessors laid their heads on the block for the Protestant faith, he was equally true to his principles, though fortunately so great a sacrifice did not turn out to be necessary.

If the sunk story of Inverary Castle could but make itself visible, the house would be amazingly improved, as it only wants drawing up to acquire a suitable degree of ducal dignity and magnificence; and it is likewise considerably shortened by a singular looking plantation of laurel, a solid mass of which entirely surrounds the house, cutting off several feet from the apparent height of the walls. The whole bed of these evergreens is clipped so perfectly flat on the top, that you might almost drive a waggon over the surface, and at stated distances a narrow grass walk intersects them, the whole being surrounded by a strong iron railing. We stood for several minutes conjecturing what could have been the origin of this curious deformity, and guessed every cause except the right one. It could scarcely be a cover for game so near the house; it could never have been intended as an or