No. LXXIII. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. You must not think, my good Sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to the ingenious and worthy artist, that the design and execution of the Cotter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion, one of the happiest productions of Allan's pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not quite pleased with it.. The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your phiz. This should make the piece interesting to your family every way. Burns finds you out among Tell me whether Mrs the figures. I cannot express the feeling of admiration with which I have read your pathetic Address to the Wood-lark, your elegant Panegyric on Caledonia, and your affecting verses on Chloris's illness. Every repeated perusal of these gives new delight. The Laddie, lie near other song to “ equal to these, is very pleasing. me," though not No. LXXIV. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. Altered from an old English song. Tune-" JOHN ANDERSON MY JO." How cruel are the parents, The ravening hawk pursuing, A while her pinions tries: No shelter or retreat, She trusts the ruthless falconer, SONG. Tune-" DEIL TAK THE WARS." MARK yonder pomp of costly fashion, Round the wealthy, titled bride: But when compar'd with real passion, Poor is all that princely pride. What are the showy treasures? May draw the wond'ring gaze, And courtly grandeur bright The fancy may delight, But never, never can come near the heart. Lovely as yonder sweet op'ning flower is, O then the heart alarming, And all resistless charming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul ! Ambition would disown The world's imperial crown, Even Avarice would deny His worshipp'd deity, And feel thro' ev'ry vein Love's raptures roll. Well! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders: your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for poetizing, provided that the strait jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can in a post or two administer a little of the intoxicating portion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's frenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment "holding high converse" with the Muses, and have not a word to throw away on such a prosaic dog as you are. ! No. LXXV. MR BURNS to MR THOMSON. May, 1795. TEN thousand thanks for your elegant present: though I am ashamed of the value of it, being bestowed on a man who has not by any means merited such an instance of kindness. I have shewn it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in classing it as a first-rate production. My phiz is sae kenspeckle, that the very joiner's apprentice whom Mrs Burns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that day,) knew it at once.-My most grateful compliments to Allan, who has honoured my rustic muse so much with his masterly pencil. One strange coincidence is, that the little one who is making the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is the most striking likeness of an ill-deedie, d-n'd, wee, rumble-gairie, urchin of mine, whom, from that propensity to witty wickedness, and manfu' mischief, which even at twa days auld, I foresaw would form the striking features of his disposition, I named Willie Nicol, after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the masters of a grammar-school in a city which shall be nameless. Give the enclosed epigram to my much-valued friend Cunningham, and tell him that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom his friendly partiality in speaking of me, in a manner intro duced me I mean a well-known military and lite rary character, Colonel Dirom. You do not tell me how you liked songs. Are they condemned ? my two last No. LXXVI. MR THOMSON to MR BURNS. 13th May, 1795. It gives me great pleasure to find that you are so well satisfied with Mr Allan's production. The chance resemblance of your little fellow, whose promising disposition appeared so very early, and suggested whom he should be named after, is curious enough. I am acquainted with that person, who is a prodigy of learning and genius, and a pleasant fellow, though no saint. You really make me blush when you tell me you have not merited the drawing from me. I do not think I can ever repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you for the liberal and kind manner in which you have entered into the spirit of my undertaking, which could not have been perfected without you. So I beg you would not make a fool of me again, by speaking of obligation. I like your two last songs very much, and am happy to find you are in such a high fit of poetizing. Long may it last! Clarke has made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative ballad of William and |