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great way off, and over terrible mountains, as indeed we could perceive them to be from the windows, I did not care to hinder his going, as I like to see spirit in young
man." The rest of the family returned by the way of Dunkeld, which the ladies likewise commended as a monstrous pleasant place. Mr Blubber dissented a little, saying, “ he could not see the pleasure of always looking at the same things; hills, and wood, and water, over and over again." The river here, he owned, was a pretty rural thing enough; but, for his part, he should think it much more lively if it had a few ships and lighters on it. Miss Blubber did not agree with him as to the ships and lighters; but she confessed, she thought a little company would improve it a good deal. Miss Betsy differed from both, and declared, she relished nothing so much as solitude and retirement. This led to a description of a second hermitage
they had visited at this place, from which, and some of the grottoes adjoining, Miss Betsy had taken down some sweet copies of verses, as she called them, in her memorandum-book. The fall of water here had struck the family much. Mrs Blubber observed, how like it was to the cascade at Vauxhall; her eldest daughter remarked, however, that the fancy of looking at it through panes of different-coloured glass in the Hermitage-room, was an improvement on that at Spring-gardens.
The bridge at Perth was the last section of the family-journal that we discoursed on. The ladies had inadvertently crossed it in the carriage to see the palace at Scone, at which they complained there was nothing to be seen; and Mr Blubber complained of the extravagance of the Toll on the bridge, which he declared was higher than at Blackfriars. He was assured, however, that he had paid no more than the legal charge, by his landlord, Mr Marshall, at whose house he received some consolation from an excellent dinner, and a bed, he said, which the Lord Mayor of London might have laid on. “ I hope there is no offence, (continued Mr Blubber, very politely,) as I understand the landlord is an Englishman: but, at the King's Arms, I met with the only real good buttered toast that I have seen in Scotland.”
But however various were the remarks of the family on the particulars of their journey in detail, I found they had perfectly settled their respective opinions of travelling in general. The ladies had formed their conclusion, that it was monstrous pleasant, and the gentleman his, that it was monstrous dear.
No. 42. SATURDAY, June 19, 1779.
When I first undertook this publication, it was suggested by some of my friends, and, indeed, accorded entirely with my own ideas, that there should be nothing of religion in it. There is a sacredness in the subject, that might seem profaned by its introduction into a work, which, to be extensively read, must sometimes be ludicrous, and often ironical. This consideration will apply, in the strongest manner, to any thing mystic or controversial; but it may, perhaps, admit of an exception, when religion is only introduced as a feeling, not a system, as appealing to the sentiments of the heart, not to the disquisitions of the head. The following story holds it up in that light, and is therefore, I think, admissible into the Mirror. It was sent to my editor as a translation from the French. Of this my readers will judge. Perhaps they might be apt to suspect, without any suggestion from me, that it is an original, not a translation. Indeed, I cannot help thinking, that it contains in it much of that picturesque description, and that power of awakening the tender feelings, which so remarkably distinguish the composition of a gentleman, whose writings I have often read with pleasure. But, be that as it may, as I felt myself interested in the narrative, and believed that it would affect my readers in the like manner, I have ventured to give it entire as I received it, though it will take up the room of three successive papers.