[Footnote 2: This resembles in its doggrel style _Scotland's Glory and her Shame_, and _A Poem on the Burgess Oath_. Can any of your correspondents, familiar with Scottish typographical curiosities, tell me who was the author, or authors, of these?] [Footnote 3: _A Phoenix, or the Solemn League and Covenant, &c._, 12mo. pp. 168, with a frontispiece representing Charles burning the book of the Solemn League and Covenant, above the flames from which hovers a phoenix.] [Footnote 4: I have not met with the name of such a bookseller elsewhere, and would like to hear the history of this book; it was again published with the addition of _The Martial Achievements of the Robertsons of Struan_, and in imitation of the original is printed at Edinburgh by and for Alexander Robertson, in Morison's Close, where subscribers may call for their copies (1785?).] * * * * * LEGENDS OF THE CO. CLARE. In the west of Clare, for many miles the country seems to consist of nothing but fields of grey limestone flags, which gives it an appearance of the greatest desolation: Cromwell is reported to have said of it, "that there was neither wood in it to hang a man, nor water to drown him, nor earth to bury him!" The soil is not, however, by any means as barren as it looks; and the following legend is related of the way in which an ancestor of one of the most extensive landed proprietors in the county obtained his estates. 'Twas on a dismal evening in the depth of winter, that one of Cromwell's officers was passing through this part of the country; his courage and gallantry in the "good cause" had obtained for him a large grant of land in Clare, and he was now on his journey to it. Picturing to himself a land flowing with milk and honey, his disappointment may therefore be imagined when, at the close of a weary day's journey, he found himself bewildered amid such a scene of desolation. From the inquiries he had made at the last inhabited place he had passed, he was led to conclude that he could not be far distant from the "land of promise," where he might turn his sword into a pruning-hook, and rest from all his toils and dangers. Could this be the place of which his imagination had formed so fair a vision? Hours had elapsed since he had seen a human being; and, as the solitude added to the dismal appearance of the road, bitterly did the veteran curse the folly that had enticed him into the land of bogs and "Papistrie." Troublous therefore as the times were, the tramp of an approaching steed sent a thrill of pleasure through the heart of the Puritan. The rider soon joined him, and as he seemed peaceably disposed, they entered into conversation; and the stranger soon became acquainted with the old soldier's errand, and the disappointment he had experienced. Artfully taking advantage of the occasion, the stranger, who professed an acquaintance with the country, used every means to aggravate the disgust of his fellow-traveller, till the