MISS DUNBARS LAST LETTER. 73 



But to the Book ; contrary to all my anticipa- 

 tions, I have lived to have it in my hand ! What shall 

 I say of it ? It would seem, from the very little of it I 

 have yet read, as if I were quite satisfied with seeing 

 and handling it. I look into every chapter, I glance 

 over the whole, but, somewhat childlike, I feel too happy 

 to read.' 



Hugh, with no suspicion that the end was near, had 

 begun his reply to this letter, and finished two or three 

 pages, when he received the following notice : ' Forres, 

 June 30, 1835, Miss Dunbar, of Boath, died here last 

 night at half-past ten o'clock.' Here is his unfinished 

 letter. 



' Cromarty, June, 1835. 



1 1 have sitten down to write you at the side of a 

 little cliff, grey with moss and lichens, and half hid in 

 fern, that rises on the northern sweep of the hill of Cro- 

 marty. The Moray Frith is at my feet. Towards the 

 north I see it spreading out from the edge of the preci- 

 pice below, league beyond league, till I lose it in the 

 long blue line of the horizon ; while the shores of Moray, 

 with their pale undulating strip of sand, rise over it 

 towards the east. The sun is bright overhead ; but the 

 sky is dappled with clouds, and the whole landscape is 

 checkered with an ever-changing carpeting of sunshine 

 and shadow. There is a sail on the far horizon so very 

 bright and so very minute, that I can liken it only to a 

 spark of fire ; the tower over Forres is also lighted up, 

 with the old castle beyond ; and still further to the west 

 I can see the coast line so thickly inlaid with spark-like 

 mansion-houses and villages, that I can only resemble it 

 to a belt of purple speckled with pearls. A true lover 

 of nature will not love it the less should circumstances 

 render his interviews with it brief and occasional ; ab- 



