Among the profusion of idle compliments which insidious craft, or unmeaning folly incessantly offers at your shrine-a shrine, how far exalted above such adoration-permit me, were it but for rarity's sake, to pay you the honest tribute of a warm heart, and an independent mind; and to assure you, that I am, thou most amiable, and most accomplished of thy sex, with the most respectful esteem, and fervent regard, thine, &c on him, could only have envied my feelings and situation. But I hate the theme, and never more shall write or speak on it. One thing I shall proudly say, that I can pay Mrs a higher tribute of esteem, and appreciate her amiable worth more truly, than any man whom I have seen approach her. No. CXLIV. TO THE SAME. I WILL wait on you, my ever-valued friend, but whether in the morning I am not sure. Sunday closes a period of our curst revenue business, and may probably keep me employed with my pen until noon. Fine employment for a poet's pen! There is a species of the human genus that I call the gin-horse class: what enviable dogs they are. Round, and round, and round they go,-Mundell's ox that drives his cotton mill, is their exact prototype -without an idea or a wish beyond their circle: fat, sleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and contented; while here I sit, altogether Novemberish, a d- melange of fretfulness and melancholy; not enough of the one to rouse me to passion, nor of the other to repose me in torpor; my soul flouncing and fluttering round her tenement, like a wild finch, caught amid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust into a cage. Well, I am persuaded that it was of me the Hebrew sage prophesied, when he foretold-" And behold, on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it shall not prosper!" If my resentment is awakened, it is sure to be where it dare not squeak; and if No. CXLVI. TO THE SAME. I HAVE often told you, my dear friend, that you had a spice of caprice in your composition, and you have as often disavowed it, even perhaps while your opinions were, at the moment, irrefragably proving it. Could any thing estrange me from a friend such as you?-No! To-morrow I shall have the honour of waiting on you. Farewell, thou first of friends, and most accomplished of women; even with all thy little caprices! I I have RETURN your common-place book. perused it with much pleasure, and would have continued my criticisms, but as it seems the critic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures must lose their value. If it is true that "offences come only from the heart," before you 1 am guiltless. To admire, esteem, and prize you, as the most accomplished of women, and the first of friends -if these are crimes, I am the most offending thing alive. In a face where I used to meet the kind Pray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent complacency of friendly confidence, now to visitors of No. CXLV. TO THE SAME. R. B. I HAVE this moment got the song from Sand I am sorry to see that he has spoilt it a good deal. It shall be a lesson to me how I lend him any thing again. I have sent you Werter, truly happy to have any the smallest opportunity of obliging you. 'Tis true, madam, I saw you once since I was at W. ; and that once froze the very life-blood of my heart. Your reception of me was such, that a wretch meeting the eye of his judge, about to pronounce sentence of death find cold neglect, and contemptuous scorn-is a wrench that my heart can ill bear. It is, however, some kind of miserable good luck that while de-haut-en-bas rigour may depress an unoffending wretch to the ground, it has a tendency to rouse a stubborn something in his bosom, which, though it cannot heal the wounds of his soul, is at least an opiate to blunt their poignancy. With the profoundest respect for your abilities; the most sincere esteem, and ardent regard for your gentle heart and amiable manners; and the most fervent wish and prayer for your welfare, peace, and bliss, I have the honour to be, madam, your most devoted humble servant. No. CXLVIII. TO JOHN SYME, ESQ. You know that among other high dignities, you have the honour to be my supreme court of critical judicature, from which there is no appeal. I inclose you a song which I composed since I saw you, and I am going to give you the history of it. Do you know that among much that I admire in the characters and manners of those great folks whom I have now the honour to call my acquaintances, the O family, there is nothing charms me more than Mr O's unconcealable attachment to that incomparable woman. Did you ever, my dear Syme, meet with a man who owed more to the Divine Giver of all good things than Mr O.? A fine fortune; a pleasing exterior; self-evident amiable dispositions, and an ingenious upright mind, and that informed too, much beyond the usual run of young fellows of his rank and fortune; and to all this, such a woman!-but of her I shall say nothing at all, in despair of saying any thing adequate : in my song, I have endeavoured to do justice to what would be his feelings on seeing, in the scene I have drawn, the habitation of his Lucy. As I am a good deal pleased with my performance, I in my first fervour thought of sending it to Mrs Ŏ. but on second thoughts, perhaps what I offer as the honest incense of genuine respect, might, from the well-known character of poverty and poetry, be construed into some modification or other of that servility which my soul abhors." sibility you know I possess, and sincerity none will deny me. To oppose those prejudices which have been raised against me, is not the business of this letter. Indeed it is a warfare I know not how to wage. The powers of positive vice I can in some degree calculate, and against direct malevolence I can be on my guard; but who can estimate the fatuity of giddy caprice, or ward off the unthinking mischief of precipitate folly? I have a favour to request of you, madam, and of your sister Mrs through your means. You know, that, at the wish of my late friend, I made a collection of all my trines in verse which I had ever written. They are many of them local, some of them puerile, and silly, and all of them unfit for the public eye. As I have some little fame at stake, a fame that I trust may live, when the hate of those who "watch for my halting," and the contumelious sneer of those whom accident has made my superiors, will, with themselves, be gone to the regions of oblivion; I am uneasy now for the fate of those manuscripts.- Will Mrs have the goodness to destroy them, or return them to me? As a pledge of friendship they were bestowed; and that circumstance, indeed, was all their merit. Most unhappily for me, that merit they no longer possess, and I hope that Mrs's goodness, which I well know, and ever will revere, will not refuse this favour to a man whom she once held in some degree of estimation. With the sincerest esteem I have the honour to be, madam, &c, MADAM, No. CXLIX. TO MISS NOTHING short of a kind of absolute necessity could have made me trouble you with this letter. Except my ardent and just esteem for your sense, taste, and worth, every sentiment arising in my breast, as I put pen to paper to you, is painful. The scenes I have past with the friend of my soul, and his amiable connexions! The wrench at my heart to think that he is gone, for ever gone from me, never more to meet in the wanderings of a weary world; and the cutting reflection of all, that I had most unfortunately, though most undeservedly, lost the confidence of that soul of worth, ere it took its flight! These, madam, are sensations of no ordinary anguish. However, you, also, may be offended with some imputed improprieties of mine; sen The song inclosed was the one beginning with "Owat ye wha's in you town.” No. CL. TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 25th February, 1794. CANST thou minister to a mind diseased? Canst thou speak peace and rest to a soul tossed on a sea of troubles, without one friendly star to guide her course, and dreading that the next surge may overwhelm her? Canst thou give to a frame, tremblingly alive to the tortures of suspense, the stability and hardihood of the rock that braves the blast? If thou canst not do the least of these, why wouldst thou disturb me in my miseries, with thy inquiries after me? that my feelings at times could only be envied | And so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that by a reprobate spirit listening to the sentence charming hymn. that dooms it to perdition. Are you deep in the language of consolation? I have exhausted in reflection every topic of comfort. A heart at ease would have been charmed with my sentiments and reasonings; but as to myself, I was like Judas Iscariot preaching the gospel; he might melt and mould the hearts of those around him, but his own kept its native incorrigibility. Still there are two great pillars that bear us up, amid the wreck of misfortune and misery. The ONE is composed of the different modifications of a certain noble, stubborn something in man, known by the names of courage, fortitude, magnanimity. The OTHER is made up These are no ideal pleasures; they are real delights, and I ask what of the delights among the sons of men are superior, not to say, equal to them? And they have this precious, vast addition, that conscious virtue stamps them for her own; and lays hold on them to bring herself into the presence of a witnessing, judging, and approving God. MADAM, No. CLI. ΤΟ DEAD TO THE LIVING. of those feelings and sentiments, which, how- SUPPOSES HIMSELF TO BE WRITING FROM THE ever the sceptic may deny them, or the enthusiast disfigure them, are yet, I am convinced, original and component parts of the human soul; those senses of the mind, if I may be allowed the expression, which connect us with, and link us to, those awful obscure realities an all-powerful and equally beneficent God; and a world to come, beyond death and the grave. The first gives the nerve of combat, while a ray of hope beams on the field;-the last pours the balm of comfort into the wounds which time can never cure. I DARE say this is the first epistle you ever received from this nether world. I write you from the regions of Hell, amid the horrors of the damned. The time and manner of my leaving your earth I do not exactly know; as I took my departure in the heat of a fever of intoxication, contracted at your too hospitable mansion; but on my arrival here, I was fairly tried and sentenced to endure the purgatorial I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, tortures of this infernal confine, for the space that you and I ever talked on the subject of of ninety-nine years, eleven months, and religion at all. I know some who laugh at it, twenty-nine days; and all on account of the as the trick of the crafty FEW, to lead the impropriety of my conduct yesternight under undiscerning MANY; or at most as an uncertain your roof. Here am I, laid on a bed of pitiless obscurity, which mankind can never know any furze, with my aching head reclined on a pilthing of, and with which they are fools if they low of ever-piercing thorn, while an infernal give themselves much to do. Nor would I tormentor, wrinkled, and old, and cruel, his quarrel with a man for his irreligion, any more name, I think, is Recollection, with a whip of than I would for his want of a musical ear. I scorpions, forbids peace or rest to approach would regret that he was shut out from what,me, and keeps anguish eternally awake. Still, to me and to others were such superlative sources of enjoyment. It is in this point of view, and for this reason, that I will deeply imbue the mind of every child of mine with religion. If my son should happen to be a man of feeling, sentiment, and taste, I shall thus add largely to his enjoyments. Let me flatter myself that this sweet little fellow who is just now running about my desk, will be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing heart; and an imagination, delighted with the painter, and rapt with the poet. Let me figure him, wandering out in a sweet evening, to inhale the balmy gales, and enjoy the growing luxuriance of the spring; himself the while in the blooming youth of life. He looks abroad on all nature, and through nature up to nature's God. His soul, by swift, delighting degrees, is wrapt above this sublunary sphere, until he can be silent no longer, and bursts out into the glorious enthusiasm of Thomson.— These, as they change, Almighty Father, these madam, if I could in any measure be reinstated in the good opinion of the fair circle whom my conduct last night so much injured, I think it would be an alleviation to my torments. For this reason I trouble you with this letter. To the men of the company I will make no apology.-Your husband, who insisted on my drinking more than I chose, has no right to blame me; and the other gentlemen were partakers of my guilt. But to you, madam, I have much to apologize. Your good opinion I valued as one of the greatest acquisitions I had made on earth, and I was truly a beast to forfeit it. There was a Miss I too, a woman of fine sense, gentle and unassuming manners-do make, on iny part, a miserable d-d wretch's best apology to her. A Mrs G, a charming woman, did me the honour to be prejudiced in my favour; this makes me hope that I have not outraged her beyond all forgiveness. To all the other ladies please present my humblest contrition for my conduct, and my petition for their gracious pardon. O all ye powers of decency and decorum! whisper to them that my errors, though great, were involuntary-that an intoxicated man is the vilest of beasts-that it was not in my nature to be brutal to any one-that to be rude to a woman, when in my senses, was impossible with me-but Regret! Remorse! Shame! ye three hellhounds that ever dog my steps and bay at my heels, spare me! spare me ! Forgive the offences, and pity the perdition of, madam, your humble slave. No. CLII. TO MRS DUNLOP. MY DEAR FRIEND, 15th December, 1795. As I am in a complete Decemberish humour, gloomy, sullen, stupid, as even the deity of Dulness herself could wish, I shall not drawl out a heavy letter with a number of heavier apologies, for my late silence. Only one I shall mention, because I know you will sympathize in it: these four months, a sweet little girl, my youngest child, has been so ill, that every day, a week or less threatened to terminate her existence. There had much need be many pleasures annexed to the states of husband and father, for God knows, they have many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours these ties frequently give me. I see a train of helpless little folks; me and my exertions all their stay; and on what a brittle thread does the life of man bang! If I am nipt off at the command of fate; even in all the vigour of manhood as I am, such things happen every day-gracious God! what would become of my little flock! 'Tis here that I envy your people of fortune.-A father on his death-bed, taking an everlasting leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but the man of competent fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency and friends; while I-but I shall run distracted if I think any longer on the subject! To leave talking of the matter so gravely, I shall sing with the old Scots ballad— "O that I had ne'er been married, Crowdie! ance; crowdie! twice; Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away." periences a stagnation of trade from the epide mical complaint of the country, want of cash. I mention our theatre merely to lug in an occasional Address, which I wrote for the benefitnight of one of the actresses, and which is as follows: ADDRESS. Spoken by MISS FONTENELLE on her benefit-night, Dec. 4, 1795, at the Theatre, Dumfries. STILL anxious to secure your partial favour, Can you but Miss, I own I have my fears, ance; Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand I could no more-askance the creature eyeing, Firm as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fix'd belief, That Misery's another word for Grief: I also think-so may I be a bride! That so much laughter, so much life enjoy'd December 24th. We have had a brilliant theatre here, this season; only, as all other business has, it ex 25th, Christmas Morning. THIS, my much-loved friend, is a morning of wishes: accept mine-so Heaven hear me as. they are sincere! that blessings may attend your steps, and affliction know you not! In the charming words of my favourite author, The Man of Feeling, "May the great spirit bear up the weight of thy gray hairs; and blunt the arrow that brings them rest!" Now that I talk of authors, how do you like Cowper? is not the Task a glorious poem? The religion of the Task, bating a few scraps of Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of God and Nature: the religion that exalts, that en'nobles man. Were not you to send me your Zeluco in return for mine? Tell me how you like my marks and notes through the book. I would not give a farthing for a book, unless I were at liberty to blot it with my criticisms. I have lately collected, for a friend's perusal, all my letters; I mean those which I first sketched, in a rough draught, and afterwards wrote out fair. On looking over some old musty papers, which from time to time I had Darcelled by, as trash that were scarce worth reserving, and which yet, at the same time, I id not care to destroy, I discovered many of hose rude sketches, and have written, and am writing them out, in a bound MS. for my friend's library. As I wrote always to you the rhapsody of the moment, I cannot find a single scroll to you, except one, about the commencement of our acquaintance. If there were any possible conveyance, I would send you a perusal of my book. No. CLIII. TO MRS DUNLOP, IN LONDON. Dumfries, 20th December, 1795. I HAVE been prodigiously disappointed in this London journey of yours. In the first place, when your last to me reached Dumfries, I was in the country, and did not return until too late to answer your letter; in the next place, I thought you would certainly take this route; and now I know not what is become of you, or whether this may reach you at all. God grant that it may find you and yours in prospering health and good spirits. Do let me hear from you the soonest possible. As I hope to get a frank from my friend Captain Miller, I shall, every leisure hour, take up the pen, and gossip away whatever comes first, prose or poesy, sermon or song. In this last article, I have abounded of late. I have often mentioned to you a superb publication of Scottish songs which is making its appearance in your great metropolis, and where I have the honour to preside over the Scottish verse, as no less a personage than Peter Pindar does over the English. I wrote the following for a favourite air.. to act in the capacity of supervisor here, and I assure you, what with the load of business, and what with that business being new to me, I could scarcely have commanded ten minutes to have spoken to you, had you been in town, much less to have written you an epistle. This appointment is only temporary, and during the illness of the present incumbent; but I look forward to an early period when I shall be appointed in full form: a consummation devoutly to be wished! My political sins seem to be forgiven me. THIS is the season (New-year's-day is now my date) of wishing! and mine are most fervently offered up for you! May life to you be a positive blessing while it lasts, for your own sake; and that it may yet be greatly prolonged, is my wish for my own sake, and for the sake of the rest of your friends! What a transient business is life! Very lately I was a boy; but t'other day I was a young man ; and I already begin to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening joints of old age coming fast o'er my frame. With all my follies of youth, and, I fear, a few vices of manhood. still I congratulate myself on having had, in early days, religion strongly impressed on my mind. I have nothing to say to any one as to which sect he belongs to, or what creed he believes; but I look on the mai. who is firmly persuaded of infinite wisdom and goodness, superintending and directing every circumstance that can happen in his lot-I felicitate such a man as having a solid foundation for his mental enjoyment; a firm prop and sure stay, in the hour of difficulty, trouble, and distress; and a never-failing anchor of hope, when he looks beyond the grave. January, 12. You will have seen our worthy and ingenious friend, the Doctor, long ere this. I hope he is well, and beg to be remembered to him. I have just been reading over again, I dare say for the hundred and fiftieth time, his View of Society and Manners; and still I read it with delight. His humour is perfectly original—it is neither the humour of Addison, nor Swift, nor Sterne, nor of any body but Dr Moore. By the bye, you have deprived me of Zeluco; remember that, when you are disposed to rake up the sins of my neglect from among the ashes of laziness. He has paid me a pretty compliment, by quoting me in his last publication.* |