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GUY MANNERING;
OR,
THE ASTROLOGER.
CHAPTER I.
Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
And merrily bend the stile a;
A merry heart goes all the day,
A sad one tires in a mile a.
Let the reader conceive to himself a clear frosty November morning, the scene an open heath, having for the back-ground that huge chain of mountains in which Skiddaw and Saddleback are pre eminent; let him look along that blind road, by which I mean that track so slightly marked by the passengers' footsteps, that it
