NORTHERN MEMOIRS. 137 



foundation of this mystical Mockeny, whose 

 glittering sholes are gently moved by the soft 

 breathings of Zephyrus, that dash the smaller 

 waves ashore, and discover to the angler the in- 

 tricate angles of Mockeny, so that here we as- 

 sume a poetick liberty, in some sort, to call 

 Scotland Arcadia. 



Theoph. This is a pretty romantick notion. 



Am. Call it what you will, you will find it 

 so, when you come but a mile below the bridg, 

 over which we must pass from Dromon to Tille- 

 barn ; there you'l see a large and spacious rock, 

 that surrounds the water on every side, so makes 

 a dam near the stern of a mill, on the skirts of 

 Mockeny ; where swiftly, yet sweetly, the water 

 glides along those knotty craggy torrs and cliffs, 

 till at last arising at an astonishing precipice, 

 where, dilating it self, yet, as if unwilling to be 

 divided, on a sudden you shall see such trepida- 

 tions on the surface, as if the streams were sen- 

 sible to apprehend a fear ; and waters not sepa- 

 rate without grief at parting. 



Theoph. Now you begin to be metaphorical. 



Arn. There's no metaphor in't. Have not you 

 seen burdened clouds embodied with the trea 

 s tires of rain, ready to distil ? if so, then look on 

 the top of that craggy mountain, and there you 

 may see, as if the waters, by a prophetick fore*, 

 sight, had foreknowledg of a disjunction, exprest 



