Attached friend, CAROLINE DOUGLAS. Mr. Oliphant returns from his northern trip next week. LETTER V. ARTHUR HOWARD TO CHARLES FALKLAND. My dear Falkland, Here comes the day for sealing my promised packet, which you will find to contain the last week's register of matters and things as time glides on at Glenalta.--Well; shall I begin by giving you this day's impression, or travel, like a crab, backwards, in order to get forward? As the latter will be in the Irish style, and also conformable to my promise, I suppose that I must give it the preference. To return then--I made up my budget on Wednesday night, went to bed, tossed about rather feverishly for an hour or two, partly from this plaguy cough, which was, I conclude, excited by my journey, and partly, no doubt, from the irritation of my temper. Sleep, however, that "sweet restorer," as _our_ poet so beautifully calls it, came ere long to my aid, and my eyes were closed until they opened at once upon Lewis, and the most brilliant sunshine I ever beheld! "Lewis, I will get up before the family are stirring--I want to look about me, and see something of this place before breakfast." "Lord, sir," replied my squire, "the people of this house I believe live without sleep, at least if I may judge by what I have seen as yet. I was up myself at half past six, and the young ladies were coming then from the sea when I went down stairs. They are off upon some other prank now, for I saw two of them on donkies, and Mr. Frederick is, I know not where, but certainly not in his room, for the door and windows of it are wide open." I jumped up, and at eight o'clock sallied forth in quest of adventures. The Glen, in which my aunt's dwelling is situated, is most assuredly quite lovely; and this time of the year is so charming in itself, that it is provoking that all things here should not be in harmony. Just conceive a set of Blue Stockings in a scene fit for nothing but love-music and romance,--faith it is mortifying; not that I am near so angry as I was when I last wrote. No; they are all very prudent, I must own; but the accursed thing is _there_, and only waiting for an opportunity to overwhelm me;--but to my diary.