It wound as near as near could be, But what it is she cannot tell; On the other side it seemed to be Of the huge broad-breasted old oak-tree.

COLERIDGE.
Mrs.Bethune Baliol's memorandum begins thus:-- It is five-and-thirty, or perhaps nearer forty years ago, since, to relieve the dejection of spirits occasioned by a great family loss sustained two or three months before, I undertook what was called the short Highland tour.

This had become in some degree fashionable; but though the military roads were excellent, yet the accommodation was so indifferent that it was reckoned a little adventure to accomplish it.
Besides, the Highlands, though now as peaceable as any part of King George's dominions, was a sound which still carried terror, while so many survived who had witnessed the insurrection of 1745; and a vague idea of fear was impressed on many as they looked from the towers of Stirling northward to the huge chain of mountains, which rises like a dusky rampart to conceal in its recesses a people whose dress, manners, and language differed still very much from those of their Lowland countrymen.

For my part, I come of a race not greatly subject to apprehensions arising from imagination only.

I had some Highland relatives; know several of their families of distinction; and though only having the company of my bower-maiden, Mrs.Alice Lambskin, I went on my journey fearless.
But then I had a guide and cicerone, almost equal to Greatheart in the Pilgrim's Progress, in no less a person than Donald MacLeish, the postilion whom I hired at Stirling, with a pair of able-bodied horses, as steady as Donald himself, to drag my carriage, my duenna, and myself, wheresoever it was my pleasure to go.
Donald MacLeish was one of a race of post-boys whom, I suppose, mail-coaches and steamboats have put out of fashion.