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A NOVEL.

Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart has ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand?

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ΤΟ

THOMAS CAMPBELL, Esq.

AUTHOR OF

“THE PLEASURES OF HOPE,”

&c. &c. &c.

THESE VOLUMES

ARE

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.

MARCH 27th, 1816.

ST. CLYDE.

CHAPTER I.

Ye've heard this while how I've been licket,
And by fell death was nearly nicket;
Grim loon! he gat me by the fecket,

And sair me sheuk;

But by gude luck I lap a wicket,

And turned a neuk.'

BURNS.

MACTAGGART,

the postmaster of Bute, arranging, one morning, the letters for delivery that came over from the Largs, found one addressed to Mr. Whiggans, and which was not sealed. Discovering a letter of unusual size open, curiosity prompted Mactaggart to unfold it, but what was his surprise to find its contents an invoice of

hibited goods.

VOL. I.

B

pro

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