witching poetry is like bewitching woman; she has in all ages been accused of misleading mankind from the councils of wisdom and the paths of prudence, involving them in difficulties, baiting them with poverty, branding them with infamy, and plunging them in the whirling vortex of ruin; yet, where is the man but must own that all our happiness on earth is not worthy the name-that even the holy hermit's solitary prospect of paradisaical bliss is but the glitter of a northern sun rising over a frozen region, compared with the many pleasures, the nameless raptures that we owe to the lovely Queen of the heart of Man! No. No. CXXXIX. TO JOHN M'MURDO, Esq. December, 1793. SIR, IT is said that we take the greatest liberties with our greatest friends, and I pay myself a very high compliment in the manner in which I am going to apply the remark. I have owed you money longer than ever I owed it to any man. Here is Ker's account, and here are six guineas; and now, I don't owe a shilling to man or woman either. But for these damned dirty, dog's-ear'd little pages,* I had done myself the honour to have waited on you long ago. Independent of the obligations your hospitality has laid me under; the consciousness of your superiority *Scottish Bank Notes. superiority in the rank of man and gentleman of itself was fully as much as I could ever make head against; but to owe you money too, was more than I could face. I think I once mentioned something of a collection of Scots songs I have some years been making: I send you a perusal of what I have got together. I could not conveniently spare them above five or six days, and five or six glances of them will probably more than suffice you. A very few of them are my own. When you are tired of them, please leave them with Mr. Clint, of the King's arms. There is not another copy of the collection in the world; and I should be sorry that any unfortunate negligence should deprive me of what has cost me a good deal of pains. No. No. CXL. To MRS. R*****. Who was to bespeak a Play one Evening at the DUMFRIES Theatre. I AM thinking to send my Address to some periodical publication, but it has not got your sanction, so pray look over it. As to the Tuesday's play, let me beg of you, my dear Madam, to give us, The Wonder, a Woman keeps a Secret! to which please add, The Spoilt Child-you will highly oblige me by so doing. Ah, what an enviable creature you are! There now, this cursed gloomy blue-devil day, you are going to a party of choice spirits σε Το "To play the shapes Of frolic fancy, and incessant form But as you rejoice with them that do rejoice, do also remember to weep with them that weep, and pity your melancholy friend. No. |