No. XII. To Mr. JAMES CANDLISH, STUDENT IN PHYSIC, COLLEGE, GLASGOW. Edinburgh, March 21, 1787. MY EVER DEAR OLD ACQUAINTANCE, I WAS equally surprised and pleased at your letter; though I dare say you will think by my delaying so long to write to you, that I am so drowned in the intoxication of good fortune as to be indifferent to old and once dear connections. The truth is, I was determined to write a good letter, full of argument, amplification, erudition, and, as Bayes says, all that. I thought of it, and thought of it, but for my soul I cannot and lest you should mistake the cause of my silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don't give yourself credit though, that the strength of your logic scares me: the truth is, I never mean to meet you on that ground at all. You have shewn me one thing, which was to be demonstrated; that strong pride of reasoning, with a little affectation of singularity, may mislead the best you best of hearts. I, likewise, since and I were first acquainted, in the pride of despising old women's stories, ventured in "the daring path Spinosa trod;" but experience of the weakness, not the strength, of human powers, made me glad to grasp at revealed religion, I must stop, but don't impute my brevity to a wrong cause. I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, "The old man with his deeds" as when we were sporting about the lady thorn. I shall be four weeks here yet, at least; and so I shall expect to hear from you-welcome sense, wel come nonsense. I am, with the warmest sincerity, My dear old friend, No. XIII. TO THE SAME. Yours, MY DEAR FRIEND, IF If once I were gone from this scene of hurry and dissipation, I promise myself the plea sure sure of that correspondence being renewed which has been so long broken. At present I have time for nothing. Dissipation and business engross every moment. I am engaged in assisting an honest Scots enthusiast,* a friend of mine, who is an engraver, and has taken it into his head to publish a collection of all our songs set to music, of which the words and music are done by Scotsmen. This, you will easily guess, is an undertaking exactly to my taste. I have collected, begged, borrowed, and stolen all the songs I could meet with. Pompey's Ghost, words and music, I beg from you immediately, to go into his second number: the first is already published. I shall shew you the first number when I see you in Glasgow, which will be in a fortnight or less. Do be so kind as send me the song in a day or two: you cannot imagine how much it will oblige me. Direct to me at Mr. W. Cruikshank's, St. James's Square, New Town, Edinburgh. No. *Johnson, the publisher of the Scots Musical Museum. No. XIV. To WILLIAM CREECH, Esq. (of Edinburgh,) LONDON. Selkirk, 13th May, 1787. MY HONORED FRIEND, THE inclosed I have just wrote, nearly extempore, in a solitary Inn in Selkirk, after a miserable wet day's riding.-I have been over most of East Lothian, Berwick, Roxburgh, and Selkirkshires; and next week I begin a tour through the north of England. Yesterday I dined with Lady Hariot, sister to my noble patron,* Quem Deus conservet! I would write till I would tire you as much with dull prose as I dare say by this time you are with wretched verse, but I am jaded to death; so, with a grateful farewell, I have the honor to be, Good Sir, yours sincerely. Auld * James, Earl of Glencairn. I. Auld chuckie Reekie's* sair distrest, Down droops her ance wee'l burnish't crest, Can yield ava, Her darling bird that she loe's best Willie's awa! II. O Willie was a witty wight, And had o' things an unco' slight; And trig an' braw: ** But now they'll busk her like a fright Willie's awa! III. The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd, The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd; We've lost a birkie weel worth gowd, IV. Willie's awa! Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks and fools, He wha could brush them down to mools |