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OR

HOURS IN ENGLAND AND WALES.

BY

CATHERINE SINCLAIR,

DAUGHTER OF THE LATE BIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN SINCLAIR, BART.

AUTHORESS OF MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS, MODERN SOCIETY, CHARLIE

SEYMOUR, AND THE NURSERY PLUTARCH.

“ Smack went the whip, round went the wheels."

CowPER.

Dedicated to the Travellers' Club.

EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM WHYTE AND CO.

BOOKSELLERS TO THE QUEEN-DOWAGER;
LONGMAN, ORME AND CO.; HAMILTON, ADAMS AND CO.; J. DUNCAN;
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO. ; WHITTAKER, AND Co. LONDON ;
W. CURRY, JUN. AND CO. DUBLIN; AND W. COLLINS, GLASGOW.

MDCCCXXXVIII.

30 NOV 1963

LIBRA

RY

EDINBURGH:
Printed by Balfour & Jack, Niddry Street.

PREFACE.

Books were treated formerly like persons accused of witchcraft-either drowned in the waters of oblivion, or burned in a hot fire of criticism ; but now, a wide and rapid torrent of literature streams throughout the country, bearing conspicuously on its surface, for some hours, whatever“ waifs or strays” may be thrown in, and speedily consigning all to the unfathomable depths of forgetfulness. Scarcely a single living author carries sufficient ballast or anchorage to linger behind his rivals, and to retain his place in the notice of spectators, who are too eagerly watching for what follows, to preserve any remembrance of what is past. The very utmost that can be hoped, then, for this humble volume is, that it may be permitted to float like a feather before the eye of an indulgent public during the usual period allotted to new publications, and afterwards to share the fate already awarded to crowds of more deserving contemporaries. Books are all

“ like poppies spread,
We seize the flower, the bloom is shed ;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white-then melts for ever :

Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place,-
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm.”

If no works were published but those professedly written for the press, printers might leave off business. Every orator, as a matter of course, declares himself “unaccustomed to public speaking,” while every author as regularly protests his antipathy to printing, and throws whatever blame may be apprehended, on those importunate friends whose solicitations are at the service of all who can hold a pen. The consequence is, that we daily read “Rough Notes,” which evidently betray a laborious process of composition ; '“ Slight Sketches,” finished with the minuteness of miniature painting ; and

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