Oh! what monster mentions Gay? We wish all fame to the memory of him and his panegyrist Sir William Jones. But his Pastorals are about as bad as his Beggar's Opera — vulgar both — if vulgarity there ever was on earth — in town or country — and we have been miserably awakened from our dream of the Golden Age. Away with us down again — far, far, away into the very bosom of that visionary but no unreal world. We hear the water-fall dinning in "Habbie's Howe." We see Scottish lassies bleaching claes on the brae — and our heart partakes the quiet of the heart of the Pentland Hills.