Well, though we are here in the midst of all that is beautiful and luxurious, my heart pines after Glenalta, and I dream continually of the scene at parting from so many dear objects that we left behind. Switzerland, however, will charm me I am sure, and I promise myself a rich feast in those Alpine wilds which we are to visit. How astonishing to me is the preference which I often hear expressed for the artificial world over that of nature! Not all the splendour of this fine place could ever win me from the dear heathy mountains of Kerry. Fine things do not warm my heart, nor captivate my imagination; and I never find myself coveting my neighbours’ goods as I pass through the sumptuous dwellings that surround us here. All _my_ violations of the tenth commandment are kept for an humbler scale of beauty, but one far more interesting in my view of the matter. The sisters unite in kindest love; and now, dearest Julia, farewell. Your affectionate, EMILY DOUGLAS. LETTER XXXIII. ED. OTWAY, ESQ. TO REV. MR. OLIPHANT. _Marsden._ My dear and excellent Friend, I begin my letter with news which, if it convey to you in any proportion the pleasure which its announcement imparts to me, may well be called cheering intelligence. From the time that General Douglas heard of our late rector’s illness, he was anxious to procure the succession of that parish, in which Glenalta stands, for you; but doubtful of his power to accomplish the end in view, he begged that you might not be informed of his design. Last night’s post put us in possession at the same moment of the papers which mention Mr. Green’s death, and a letter stating the agreeable information that all difficulties in the way to your preferment are smoothed by the general’s promise to provide for a young person, by the gift of a small living, of which he has the advowson, in this country. The joy of this little circle is quite vociferous. Your young friends have not slept, I believe, since the glad tidings were communicated; and would gladly resign the happiness of travelling into new scenes, for the gratification of helping to make the bonfires which they think will redden the horizon in token of good will upon the present occasion. I heard Fanny telling her brother this morning that she had no doubt St. John’s Eve never presented such a blaze upon the Beacon Hill, as your appointment will kindle. This is a bold prophecy, but she stakes her credit on the justness of her prediction.