with such indignation against the very memory of those who would have subverted them-that a certain people under our national protection, should complain, not against our monarch and a few favourite advisers, but against our WHOLE LEGISLATIVE BODY, for similar oppression, and almost in the very same terms, as our forefathers did of the House of Stewart! I will not, I cannot enter into the merits of the cause, but I dare say the American Congress, in 1776, will be allowed to be as able and as enlightened as the English Convention was in 1688; and that their posterity will celebrate the centenary of their deliverance from us, as duly and sincerely as we do ours from the oppressive measures of the wrong-headed house of Stewart. To conclude, Sir: let every man who has a tear for the many miseries incident to humanity, feel for a family illustrious as any in Europe, and unfortunate beyond historic precedent; and let every Briton, (and particularly every Scotsman) who ever looked with reverential pity on the dotage of a parent, cast a veil over the fatal mistakes of the kings of his forefathers.* No. *This letter was sent to the publisher of some newspaper, probably the publisher of the Edinburgh Evening Courant. E. No. LX. To MRS. DUNLOP. Ellisland, 17th Dec. 1788. MY DEAR HONOURED FRIEND, YOURS, dated Edinburgh, which I have just read, makes me very unhappy. Almost "blind, and wholly deaf," are melancholy news of human nature; but when told of a muchloved and honoured friend, they carry misery in the sound. Goodness on your part, and gratitude on mine, began a tie, which has gradually and strongly entwisted itself among the dearest cords of my bosom; and I tremble at the omens of your late and present ailing habit and shattered health. You miscalculate matters widely, when you forbid my waiting on you, lest it should hurt my worldly concerns. My small scale of farming is exceedingly more simple and easy than what you have lately seen at Moreham Mains. But be that as it may, the heart of the man, and the fancy of the poet, are the two grand considerations for which I live: if miry ridges and dirty dunghills are to engross the best part of the functions of my soul immortal, I had better been a rook or a magpie at once, and then I should not have been plagued with any idea superior to breaking of clods, and picking up grubs: not to mention barn-door cocks or mallards, creatures with which I could almost exchange lives at any time. If you continue so deaf, I am afraid a visit will be of no great pleasure to either of us; but if I hear your are got so well again as to be able to relish conversation, look you to it, Madam, for I will make my threatenings good. I am to be at the new-year-day fair of Ayr, and, by all that is sacred in the word Friend! I will come and see you. Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your old schoolfellow and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways of the world! They spoil these "social offsprings of the heart." Two veterans of the "men of the world" would have met with little more heartworkings than two old hacks worn out on the road. Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase; "Auld lang syne," exceedingly expressive.There is an old song and tune which has often thrilled thrilled through my soul. You know I am an enthusiast in old Scotch songs: I shall give you the verses on the other sheet, as I suppose Mr. Ker will save you the postage.* Light be the turf on the breast of the Heaven inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment! There is more of the fire of native genius in it than half a dozen of modern English Bacchanalians. Now I am on my hobby horse, I cannot help inserting two other old stanzas which please me mightily. Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An' fill it in a silver tassie; A service to my bonnie lassie; The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith; Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry; The ship rides by the Berwick-law, The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar, It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. No. * Here follows the song of Auld lang syne, as printed vol. iv. p. 122. E. No. LXI. To MISS DAVIES. (A young Lady who had heard he had been making a Ballad on her, inclosing that Ballad.) December, 1788. MADAM, I UNDE UNDERSTAND My very worthy neighbour, Mr. Riddel, has informed you that I have made you the subject of some verses. There is something so provoking in the idea of being the burden of a ballad that I do not think Job or Moses, though such patterns of patience and meekness, could have resisted the curiosity to know what that ballad was: so my worthy friend has done me a mischief, which, I dare say, he never intended; and reduced me to the unfortunate alternative of leaving your curiosity ungratified, or else disgusting you with foolish |