I have no doubt but scholarcraft may be caught as a Scotsman catches the itch,-by friction. How else can you account for it, that born blockheads, by mere dint of handling books, grow so wise that even they themselves are equally convinced of and surpris'd at their own parts? I once carried this philosophy to that degree that in a knot of country folks who had a library amongst them, and who, to the honor of their good sense, made me factotum in the business; one of our members, a little, wise-looking, squat, upright, jabbering body of a taylor, I advised him, instead of turning over the leaves, to bind the book on his back.—Johnie took the hint; and as our meetings were every fourth Saturday, and Pricklouse having a good Scots mile to walk in coming, and, of course, another in returning, Bodkin was sure to lay his hands on some heavy quarto, or ponderous folio, with, and under which, wrapt up in his grey plaid, he grew wise, as he grew weary, all the way home. He carried this so far, that an old musty Hebrew concordance which we had in a present from a neighbouring priest, by mere dint of applying it, as doctors do a blistering plaister, between his shoulders, Stitch, in a dozen pilgrimages, acquired as much rational theology as the said priest had done by forty years perusal of the pages. Tell me, and tell me truly, what you think of this theory. Yours, SPUNKIE. No. LIV. To Mr. ROBERT AINSLIE. April 26, 1793. I AM d-mnably out of humour, my dear Ainslie, and that is the reason, why I take up the pen to you: 'tis the nearest way, (probatum est) to recover my spirits again. I received your last, and was much entertained with it; but I will not at this time, nor at any other time, answer it. Answer a letter? I never could answer a letter in my life!—I have written many a letter in return for letters I have received; but then-they were origi nal matter-spurt-away! zig, here; zag, there; as if the Devil that, my Grannie (an old woman indeed!) often told me, rode in will-'o-wisp, or, in her more classic phrase, SPUNKIE, were looking over my elbow.-Happy thought that idea has engendered in my head! SPUNKIE-thou shalt henceforth be my symbol, signature, and tutelary genius! Like thee, hap-step-and-lowp, here-awa-there-awa, higglety-pigglety, pell-mell, hither-and-yon, ram-stam, happy-go-lucky, up tails-a'by-the light-o'-the-moon; has been, is, and shall be, my progress through the Mosses and Moors of this vile, bleak, barren wilderness of a life of ours. Come then my guardian spirit! like thee, may I skip away, amusing myself by and at my own light: and if any opaque-souled lubber of mankind complain that my elfine, lambent, glimmerous wanderings have misled his stupid steps over precipices, or into bogs; let the thick-headed Blunderbuss recollect that he is not SPUNKIE :-that SPUNKIE'S Wanderings could not copied be; * I have no doubt but scholarcraft may be caught as a Scotsman catches the itch,-by friction. How else can you account for it, that born blockheads, by mere dint of handling books, grow so wise that even they themselves are equally convinced of and surpris'd at their own parts? I once carried this philosophy to that degree that in a knot of country folks who had a library amongst them, and who, to the honor of their good sense, made me factotum in the business; one of our members, a little, wise-looking, squat, upright, jabbering body of a taylor, I advised him, instead of turning over the leaves, to bind the book on his back.-Johnie took the hint; and as our meetings were every fourth Saturday, and Pricklouse having a good Scots mile to walk in coming, and, of course, another in returning, Bodkin was sure to lay his hands on some heavy quarto, or ponderous folio, with, and under which, wrapt up in his grey plaid, he grew wise, as he grew weary, all the way home. He carried this so far, that an old musty Hebrew concordance which we had in a present from a neighbouring priest, by mere dint of applying it, as doctors do a blistering plaister, between his shoulders, Stitch, in a dozen pilgrimages, acquired as much rational theology as the said priest had done by forty years perusal of the pages. Tell me, and tell me truly, what you think of this theory. PERMIT me to present you with the enclosed song as a small though grateful tribute for the honor of your acquaintance. I have, in these verses, attempted some faint sketches of your portrait in the unembellished simple manner of descriptive TRUTH.-Flattery, I leave to your LOVERS, whose exaggerating fancies may make them imagine you still nearer perfection than you really are. Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the powers of BEAUTY; as, if they are really POETS of nature's making, their feelings must be finer, and their taste more delicate than most of the world. In the cheerful bloom of SPRING, or the pensive mildness of AUTUMN; the grandeur of SUMMER, or the hoary majesty of WINTER; the poet feels a charm unknown to the rest of his species. Even the sight of a fine flower, or the company of a fine woman, (by far the finest part of God's works below) have sensations for the poetic heart that the HERD of man are strangers to. On this last account, Madam, I am, as in many other things, indebted to Mr. Hamilton's kindness in introducing me to you. Your lovers may view you with a wish, I look on you with pleasure; their hearts, in your presence, may glow with desire, mine rises with admiration. That the arrows of misfortune, however they should, as incident to humanity, glance a slight wound, may never reach your heart-that the snares of villainy may never beset you in the road of life-that INNOCENCE may hand you by the path of HONOR to the dwelling of PEACE, is the sincere wish of him who has the honor to be, &c. MY LADY, No. LVI. To LADY GLENCAIRN. THE honor you have done your poor poet, in writing him so very obliging a letter, and the pleasure the inclosed beautiful verses have given him, came very seasonably to his aid amid the cheerless gloom and sinking despondency of diseased nerves and December weather. As to forgetting the family of Glencairn, Heaven is my witness with what sincerity I could use those old verses which please me more in their rude simplicity than the most elegant lines I ever saw. If thee Jerusalem I forget, Skill part from my right hand.— My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave, Jerusalem, and thee above My chief joy do not set.— When I am tempted to do any thing improper, I dare not because I look on myself as accountable to your ladyship and family. Now and then when I have the honor to be called to the tables of the great, if I happen to meet with any mortification from the stately stupidity of self-sufficient squires, or the luxuriant insolence of upstart nabobs, I get above the creatures by calling to remembrance that I am patronised by the noble house of Glencairn; and at gala-times, such as New-year's day, a christening, or the kirn-night, when my punch-bowl is brought from its dusty corner and filled up in honor of the occasion, I begin with,—The Countess of Glencairn! My good woman, with the enthusiasm of a grateful heart, next cries, My Lord! and so the toast goes on until I end with Lady Harriet's |