with which you are so good as favor the per

formances of

Dear Sir,

Your very humble Servant.

No. VII.

To JOHN BALLANTINE, Esq. BANKER, AYR.

Edinburgh, 13th Dec. 1786.

MY HONORED FRIEND,

I

WOULD not write you till I could have it in my power to give you some account of myself and my matters, which by the bye is often no easy task. I arrived here on Tuesday was se'nnight and have suffered ever since I came to town with a miserable head-ache and stomach complaint, but am now a good deal better.-I have found a worthy warm friend in Mr. Dalrymple, of Orangefield, who introduced me to Lord Glencairn, a man whose worth and brotherly kindness to me, I shall remember when time shall be no more.-By his interest it is passed in the Caledonian hunt, and entered in their books, that they are to take each a copy of

the

the second edition, for which they are to pay one guinea. I have been introduced to a good many of the Noblesse, but my avowed patrons and patronesses are, the Duchess of Gordon-The Countess of Glencairn, with my Lord, and Lady Betty*-The Dean of Faculty-Sir John Whitefoord.—I have likewise warm friends among the literati; Professors Stewart, Blair, and Mr. M'Kenzie-the Man of feeling.An unknown hand left ten guineas for the Aryshire bard with Mr. Sibbald, which I got. -I since have discovered my generous unknown friend to be Patrick Miller, Esq. brother to the Justice Clerk; and drank a glass of claret with him by invitation at his own house yesternight. I am nearly agreed with Creech to print my book, and I suppose I will begin on Monday. I will send a subscription bill or two, next post; when I intend writing my first kind patron, Mr. Aiken. I saw his son to day and he is very well.

Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned friends, put me in the periodical paper called the Lounger, a copy of which I here enclose

you

* Lady Betty Cunningham.

The paper here alluded to, was written by Mr. M'Kenzie, the celebrated author of the Man of Feeling.

you-I was, sir, when I was first honored with your notice, too obscure; now I tremble lest I should be ruined by being dragged too suddenly into the glare of polite and learned observation.

I shall certainly, my ever honored patron, write you an account of my every step; and better health and more spirits may enable me to make it something better than this stupid matter of fact epistle.

I have the honor to be,

Good Sir,

Your ever grateful humble servant.

If any of my friends write me, my direction

is, care of Mr. Creech, bookseller.

No. VIII.*

To MR. WILLIAM CHALMERS,

WRITER, AYR,

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Edinburgh, Dec. 27, 1786.

I CONFESS I have sinned the sin for which there is hardly any forgiveness-ingratitude to friendship-in not writing you sooner; but of all men living, I had intended to send you an entertaining letter; and by all the plodding, stupid powers, that in nodding, conceited majesty, preside over the dull routine of business-A heavily-solemn oath this!-I am, and have been, ever since I came to Edinburgh, as unfit to write a letter of humor, as to write a commentary on the Revelation of St. John the Divine, who was banished to the Isle of Patmos, by the cruel and bloody Domitian, son to Vespasian and brother to Titus, both emperors of Rome, and who was himself an emperor, and raised the second or third persecution, I forget which, against the Christians, and after throwing the said Apostle John

* This letter is now presented entire.

1

John, brother to the Apostle James, commonly called James the greater, to distinguish him from another James, who was, on some account or other, known by the name of James the less, after throwing him into a caldron of boiling oil, from which he was miraculously preserved, he banished the poor son of Zebedee, to a desart island in the Archipelago, where he was gifted with the second sight, and saw as many wild beasts as I have seen since I came to Edinburgh; which, a circumstance not very uncommon in story-telling, brings me back to where I set out.

To make you some amends for what, before you reach this paragraph, you will have suffered; I enclose you two poems I have carded and spun since I past Glenbuck.

One blank in the address to Edinburgh"Fair B," is heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I have had the honor to be more than once.

There has not been any thing nearly like her, in all the combinations of beauty, grace, and goodness, the Great Creator has formed, since Milton's Eve on the first day of her existence.

My direction is-care of Andrew Bruce, merchant, Bridge-Street.