cannot displease, for it has no pretensions.
The author neither says he is a Geographer, nor an Antiquarian, nor very
learned in the History of Scotland, nor a Naturalist, nor a
Fossilist[1132]. The manners of the people, and the face of the country,
are all he attempts to describe, or seems to have thought of. Much were
it to be wished, that they who have travelled into more remote, and of
course, more curious, regions, had all possessed his good sense. Of the
state of learning, his observations on Glasgow University[1133] shew he
has formed a very sound judgement. He understands our climate too, and
he has accurately observed the changes, however slow and imperceptible
to us, which Scotland has undergone, in consequence of the blessings of
liberty and internal peace. I could have drawn my pen through the story
of the old woman at St. Andrews, being the only silly thing in the
book[1134]. He has taken the opportunity of ingrafting into the work
several good observations, which I dare say he had made upon men and
things, before he set foot on Scotch ground, by which it is considerably
enriched[1135]. A long journey, like a tall May-pole, though not very
beautiful itself, yet is pretty enough, when ornamented with flowers and
garlands; it furnishes a sort of cloak-pins for hanging the furniture of
your mind upon; and whoever sets out upon a journey, without furnishing
his mind previously with much study and useful knowledge, erects a
May-pole in December, and puts up very useless cloak-pins[1136].

'I hope the book will induce many of his countrymen to make the same
jaunt, and help to intermix the more liberal part of them still more
with us, and perhaps abate somewhat of that virulent antipathy which
many of them entertain against the Scotch: who certainly would never
have formed those _combinations_[1137] which he takes notice of, more
than their ancestors, had they not been necessary for their mutual
safety, at least for their success, in a country where they are treated
as foreigners. They would find us not deficient, at least in point of
hospitality, and they would be ashamed ever after to abuse us in
the mass.

'So much for the Tour. I have now, for the first time in my life, passed
a winter in the country; and never did three months roll on with more
swiftness and satisfaction. I used not only to wonder at, but pity,
those whose lot condemned them to winter any where but in either of the
capitals. But every place