Few greater embarrassments can occur than arise from the meeting of travellers in these horrible, crevices, Sometimes the sludge is so deep as to cover the backs of the animals, and, in some cases, they are even obliged to drive in the oxen, and to make a kind of bridge of their suffocated carcases. The roots of the bamboos, which are studded with hard and short prickles, and project into the path, contribute no inconsiderable share of the miseries of these dreadful passes. In this journey, especially, the better class of people are carried on the backs of men, harnessed and accoutred for the purpose. Besides their human load, these men carry a roll of leaves of the Vijao, of which to construct the nightly habitations of the party. These leaves are two feet in length, and a foot and a half in breadth; and, being covered with a down, from which the rain runs off, they make good temporary roofs to the huts, whose sides are formed at the resting place, by cutting a few trees, and inclining them to each other. The common price for the conveyance of the living load through this pass of horrors, which oc cupies from twelve to twenty days, is from ten to fourteen dollars, which, notwithstanding the cheapness of provisions, seems to be a very slight recompense for the labour and danger. There is, however, another pass, less terrific, though the danger from cold is greater. It goes by the sources of the Cauca and the Magdalena, between two summits called Coconoco and Houila, whence, if the carrier of goods is nearly be nighted, he deposites his goods and descends, lest he should be frozen to death, by the excessive severity of the cold.

A RAMBLE IN THE HIGHLANDS.

Concluded from Vol. V. page 209,

THE strange habiliments, which I literally invented and fabricated for myself the preceding evening, procured me the following morning a perfectly dry suit of clothes; an acquisition that gave me a superiority over my companions in that day's equipment. After having breakfasted, we sallied forth for Stirling. Im mediately on leaving the village, which I should have mentioned, is on the very borders of the Highlands, we

deviated to the left up a rising ground, for the purpose of obtaining a sight of the Bracklin bridge, and the cascade over which it stretches. Although the ground we were then ascending possessed a mountainous character, a certain degree of tameness pervaded it, which, united with the extent of flat country beneath us, to the right, evidently betokened our departure from the Highlands.

We had proceeded little more than a mile when we suddenly discovered a cleft running down the side of the hill, and our path descending a short distance between some fragments of stone, brought us to the bridge, a frail wooden structure, jutting across this fissure. Irregular masses of rock, in inany parts scoop. ed into smooth cavities by the force of the rushing torrent, pent in the boisterous water, that splashed and rolled over in huge vollies of feam, with an awful impetuosity, as it swept down its rugged channel. The frailty of the structure on which we stood, and the water flowing scarcely two yards below it, enhanced the effect. The bridge was of so rough a construction, that a considerable open space occurred between each of the planks. The water, seen through these apertures, appeared to rush with a more frightful velocity, and I could not refrain from shuddering at the thought how momentary would be the resistance opposed by so fragile a bridge to so overwhelming a current.

Descending again into the road, we found a country on either side of us, much resembling common-place English scenery. This association, which perhaps was the only charm the view possessed, was not the less pleasurable, even in comparison with the magnificent scenery we had just left.

About two miles from Doune a heavy shower of rain commenced, and continued till we reached that town, where we housed ourselves for an hour or two, in order to procure dinner.

Our inn was not of the first rank, and its whiskey scarcely prevented our fingers from becoming benumbed before we had satisfied the demands of our craving appetites. We all felt exceedingly eager to be again in action, that we might recover the circulation of our almost staguant blood, and dissipate the unpleasant

sensation produced by the wet and cold. Unfortunately for me, it was my turn to be paymaster. I took upon myself the duties of this office with much reluctance; but, as my companions had left me to discharge them, I was obliged by absolute necessity. My fingers had scarcely any feeling left in them, and with difficulty I extracted from my pocket, drenched with wet, the amount of the bill. To fasten the buckles of my knapsack was a still more arduous undertaking, and between these two tedious operations, I was not able to leave the inn until half an hour after my companions. At the extremity of the town, my feelings, although they had been for the last hour insensible to every thing, except my own miserable condition, derived peculiar gratification in recognizing some of the features of a landscape, which had often struck my attention among my brother's sketches; through an opening to the right, sloping down to the river Forth, whose banks are here delightfully wooded, I commanded a view of Stirling, rising in the distance, with all the grandeur of the old town of Edinburgh, when viewed from the Glasgow road, but surrounded with scenery of a less rigid cultivation, and such as possesses a greater tendency to remind the English traveller of his home. The fore ground was equally as interesting as the distance; but my situation merely allowed me to steal a transient glance of the ruins of Doune castle amidst the trees on one side of the opening.

My difficulties now encreased, for, upon enquiry, I found that there were three different roads to Stirling; one along the side of the river; another, the longest by two or three miles, through Dumblaine; and the other, the direct carriage road, between these two. Which of these three my companions had taken, I was totally at a loss to determine. Probably, with no better reason than the trite maxim of Ovid,

Medio tutissimus ibis,

I fixed upon the latter.

I ran about two miles, in hopes of overtaking my companions, and having met a gentleman's groom, who was exercising a pair of greyhounds on the road, I enquired of him. He, however, had not seen them.

The lad examined and questioned me with a considerable degree of curiosity, but not more so than my appearance and shattered apparel warranted. At last he asked me if it was my intention to enlist in any of the regiments then in Stirling castle; and was very much astonished to learn, on the contrary, that I was a cockney travelling for pleasure.

When I came within a mile of Stirling, it occurred to me, that my friends might have had the curiosity to visit Dumblaine; accordingly, the evening being tolerably fine, and my feet in excellent order, I turned hack, not a little induced by the pleasing associations I had in my mind with the song of "Sweet Jessie." This digression, however, was totally unsuccessful; but I was much gratified with a sight of the ruins of the old cathedral, mingling with the walls of the present church; and the thought of this day's ramble recurs to me with feelings of pleasure whenever I hear the air sung.

As I was entering Stirling, at eight o'clock, it was growing dark. I hastened directly to the Saracen's Head, which I understood was the best inu in the town, and in which I expected to meet with my companions. With all the impudence I could summon, for it required not a little, having, in three day's ramble, walked through both my shoes and stockings, I entered the threshold, and immediately inquired if four gentlemen had arrived there on foot. Notwithstanding my inquiry was answered in the negative, finding myself in good quarters, I ordered my tea and bed to be prepared immediately.

The next morning, whilst I was in the act of endeavouring to better my condition, by trying on an assortment of shoes, one of my fellow travellers made his appearance, and informed me I might procure a vacant place outside of the Edinburgh mail, which would leave in the course of half an hour. I requested him to secure this place for me; and shortly being restored to my companions, was, by the aid of the mail, safely conducted through Falkirk and Linlithgow to Edinburgh, about noon. At Linlithgow I obtained a glimpse of the old palace, sufficiently to imbibe a desire of examining it at some future period. This, and a many No. 40.

other spots, which I have here treated with a shameful brevity, I have since had the pleasure of visiting; and, should a leisure opportunity occur, I shall feel much gratification in making up for the deficiencies of this slight sketch of a pleasant week's ramble in the High4ands.

J

C. E

CHARACTER OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE: Occasioned by a perusal of his “Remains,” edited by. Robert Southey, Esq.

Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy marked him for her own,

Gray!

IN the letters and miscellaneous writings of Kirke White, we see plainly exemplified the effects of adverse circumstances on an understanding naturally strong, and an imagination decidedly of the first class. Pensiveness and regret are the prevailing features in all his compositions; and almost the whole of his images are drawn from similar sources: accordingly, he makes repeated allusions to the darker sides, both of human affairs, and of natural objects. Misfortune, Midnight, Solitude, &c. are his darling themes; and though he occasionally breaks forth in lighter strains, it is only for a moment, and he quickly relapses into that state of morbid melancholy, which he appeared so prone to indulge. Some of his verses are written in a tone of pathetic sensibility, almost bordering on despair; but still they exhibit the depression of a strong mind, differing essentially from the insipid complainings and misanthropic murmurs of discontent, which abound so much in modern poetry. Like the effusions of a noble bard of the present day, they make us intimately acquainted with the character of their author; and thereby excite a more lively interest in his sentiments and feelings. We see him struggling, with unsubdued vi