ly adapted for poetical composition. The feuds and political
dissensions which, half a century earlier, would have rendered the
richer and wealthier part of the kingdom indisposed to countenance a
poem, the scene of which was laid in the Highlands, were now sunk in the
generous compassion which the English, more than any other nation, feel
for the misfortunes of an honourable foe. The Poems of Ossian had
by their popularity sufficiently shown that, if writings on Highland
subjects were qualified to interest the reader, mere national prejudices
were, in the present day, very unlikely to interfere with their success.

I had also read a great deal, seen much, and heard more, of that
romantic country where I was in the habit of spending some time
every autumn; and the scenery of Lock Katrine was connected with the
recollection of many a dear friend and merry expedition of former days.
This poem, the action of which lay among scenes so beautiful and so
deeply imprinted on my recollections, was a labour of love, and it was
no less so to recall the manners and incidents introduced. The frequent
custom of James IV., and particularly of James V., to walk through their
kingdom in disguise, afforded me the hint of an incident which never
fails to be interesting if managed with the slightest address or
dexterity.

I may now confess, however, that the employment, though attended with
great pleasure, was not without its doubts and anxieties. A lady, to
whom I was nearly related, and with whom I lived, during her whole life,
on the most brotherly terms of affection, was residing with me at the
time when the work was in progress, and used to ask me, what I could
possibly do to rise so early in the morning (that happening to be the
most convenient to me for composition). At last I told her the subject
of my meditations; and I can never forget the anxiety and affection
expressed in her reply. "Do not be so rash," she said, "my dearest
cousin. [2] You are already popular,--more so, perhaps, than you
yourself will believe, or than even I, or other partial friends, can
fairly allow to your merit. You stand high,--do not rashly attempt
to climb higher, and incur the risk of a fall; for, depend upon it,
a favourite will not be permitted even to stumble with impunity." I
replied to this affectionate expostulation in the words of Montrose,--

"'He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it