littleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble under your indignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt; and largely impart that happiness to others, which, I am certain, will give yourselves so much pleasure to bestow!"

Why, dear madam, must I wake from this delightful reverie, and find it all a dream? Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I find myself poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of pity, or of adding one comfort to the friend I love?-Out upon the world! say I, that its affairs are administered so ill! They talk of reform;-good Heaven! what a reform would I make among the sons, and even the daughters of men!-Down, immediately, should go fools from the high places where misbegotten chanee has perked them up, and through life should they skulk, ever haunted by their native insignificance, as the body marches accompanied by its shadow. -As for a much more formidable class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do with them: had I a world, there should not be a knave in it.

But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill; and I would pour delight on the heart that sould kindly forgive, and generously love.

Still the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively tolerable-but there is a delicacy, a tenderness, accompanying every view in which we can place lovely woman, that are grated and shocked at the rude, capricious distinctions of fortune. Woman is the blood-royal of life: let there be slight degrees of precedency among them-but let them be all sacred.-Whether this last sentiment be right or wrong, I am not accountable; it is an original component feature of my mind.

No. CXXVI.

To Mrs. DUNLOP.

Ellisland, 17th December, 1791. Many thanks to you, madam, for your good news respecting the little floweret and the motherplant. I hope my poetic prayers have been heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of their fullest extent; and then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the representative of his late parent, in every thing but his abridged existence.

I have just finished the following song, which, to a lady the descendant of Wallace, and many heroes of his truly illustrious line, and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither preface nor apology.

Scene-A field of battle-time of the day, evening the wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following

SONG OF DEATH.

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,

Now gay with the broad setting sun;

Farewell, loves and friendships! ye dear, tender ties,

Our race of existence is run!

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go, frighten the coward and slave;

Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know, No terrors hast thou to the brave!

Thou strik'st the poor peasant-he sinks in the

dark,

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name:

Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!

In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands,

Our king and our country to save

While victory shines on life's last ebbing sandsO, who would not die with the brave!

The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses was, looking over with a musical friend, M'Donald's collection of highland airs, I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled Oran an Aoig, or The Song of Death, to the measure of which I have adapted my stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces, which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares at old mother earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to tran scribe for you. A dieu je vous commende!

No. CXXVII.

To Mrs. DUNLOP,

5th January, 1792.

You see my hurried life, madam: I can only command starts of time; however I am glad of one thing; since I finished the other sheet, the political blast that threatened my welfare is overblown. I have corresponded with commissioner Graham, for the board had made me the subject of their animadversions; and now I have the plea sure of informing you, that all is set to rights in that quarter. Now as to these informers, may the devil be let loose to but hold! I was praying. most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a swearing in this.

Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly officious, think what mischief they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or thoughtless blabbings! What a difference there is, in intrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, generosity, kindness -in all the charities and all the virtues, between one class of human beings and another! For instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed with, in the hospitable hall of D, their generous hearts-their uncontaminated, dignified minds-their informed and polished understandings-what a contrast, when compared-if such comparing were not downright sacrilege-with the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately plot the destruction of an honest man that never offended him, and with a grin of satisfaction see the unfortunate being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents, turned over to beggary and ruin!

Your cup, my dear madam, arrived safe. I had two worthy fellows dining with me the other day, when I, with great formality, produced my whig meleerie cup, and told them that it had been a family-piece among the descendants of sir William Wallace. This roused such an enthusiasm, that they insisted on bumpering the puneh round in it; and by and by, never did your great ancestor lay a Southron more completely to rest, than for a time did-your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the season of wishing. May God bless you, my dear friend, and bless me, the humblest and sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet many returns of the season! May all good things attend you and yours, wherever they are scattered over Ire earth!

No. CXXVIII.

To Mr. WILLIAM SMELLIE, Printer.

Dumfries, 22d January, 1792.

I sit down, my dear sir, to introduce a young lady to you, and a lady in the first ranks of fashion too. What a task! to you-who care no more for the herd of animals called young ladies, than you do for the herd of animals called young gentlemen. To you-who despise and detest the groupings and combinations of fashion, as an idiot painter that seems industrious to place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in the foreground of his picture, while men of sense and honesty are too often thrown in the dimmest shades. Mrs, Riddel, who will take this letter to town with her, and send it to you, is a character that, even in your own way, as a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an acquisition to your aequaintance. The lady too is a votary of the muses; and as I think myself somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I assure you that her verses, always correct, and often elegant, are much beyond the common run of the lady-poetesses of the day. She is a great admirer of your book, and hearing me say that I was acquainted with you, she begged to be known to you, as she is just going to pay her first visit to our Caledonian capital. I told her that her best way was, to desire her near relation, and your intimate friend, Craigdarroch, to have you at his house while she was there; and lest you might think of a lively West Indian girl of eighteen, as girls of eighteen too often deserve to be thought of, I should take care to remove that prejudice. To be impartial, however, in appreciating the lady's merits, she has one unlucky failing; a failing which you will easily discover, as she seems rather pleased with indulging in it; and a failing that you will as easily pardon, as it is a sin which very much besets yourself;-where she dislikes or de