[This letter cannot be otherwise than obscure to many a reader; nor can we hope, by a mere explanation of the words individually, to let English light in upon northern darkness. The gentleman to whom it was addressed understood it well: he was of humble parentage, forced his way to distinction by his talents and his learning, and, having achieved eminence, sat quiet for a time, and seemed to be satisfied with himself. His love for pleasant company, and lively sallies of humour or of wit, led him to indulge in the pleasures of the table, and carried him to an early grave.

Jenny Geddes, the old and faithful servant of the Poet, was named by him, says Cromek, after the old woman who, in her zeal against religious innovation, threw a stool at the Dean of Edinburgh's head, when he attempted, in 1637, to introduce the Scottish Liturgy.—“ On Sunday, the twenty-third of July, the Dean of Edinburgh prepared to officiate in St. Giles's. The congregation continued quiet till the service began, when an old woman, impelled by sudden indignation, started up, and exclaiming aloud, 'Villain! dost thou say the mass at my lug?' threw the stool on which she had been sitting at the Dean's head. A wild uproar commenced that instant. The service was interrupted. The woman invaded the desk with execrations and outcries, and the Dean disengaged himself from his surplice to escape from their hands."—ED.]

No. LIII.

TO THE SAME.

MY DEAR FRIEND:

Mauchline, June 18, 1787.

I AM now arrived safe in my native country, after a very agreeable jaunt, and have the pleasure to find all my friends well. I breakfasted with your gray-headed, reverend friend, Mr. Smith; and was highly pleased both with the cordial welcome he gave me, and his most excellent appearance and sterling good sense.

I have been with Mr. Miller at Dalswinton, and am to meet him again in August. From my view of the lands, and his reception of my bardship, my hopes in that business are rather mended; but still they are but slender.

I am quite charmed with Dumfries folks-Mr. Burnside, the clergyman, in particular, is a man whom I shall ever gratefully remember; and his wife, Gude forgie me! I had almost broke the tenth commandment on her account. Simplicity, elegance, good sense, sweetness of disposition, good

humour, kind hospitality, are the constituents of her manner and heart: in short-but if I say one word more about her, I shall be directly in love with her.

I never, my friend, thought mankind very capable of anything generous; but the stateliness of the patricians in Edinburgh, and the servility of my plebeian brethren (who perhaps formerly eyed me askance) since I returned home, have nearly put me out of conceit altogether with my species. I have bought a pocket Milton, which I carry perpetually about with me, in order to study the sentiments-the dauntless magnanimity, the intrepid, unyielding independence, the desperate daring, and noble defiance of hardship, in that great personage, SATAN. 'Tis true, I have just now a little cash; but I am afraid the star that hitherto has shed its malignant, purpose-blasting rays full in my zenith; that noxious planet so baneful in its influences to the rhyming tribe, I much dread it is not yet beneath my horizon. Misfortune dodges the path of human life; the poetic mind finds itself miserably deranged in, and unfit for the walks of business; add to all, that thoughtless follies and hare-brained whims, like so many ignes fatui, eternally diverging from the right line of sober discretion, sparkle with step-bewitching blaze in the idly-gazing eyes of the poor heedless Bard, till, pop, "he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again." God grant this may be an unreal picture with respect to me! but should it

not, I have very little dependence on mankind. I will close my letter with this tribute my heart bids me pay you the many ties of acquaintance and friendship which I have, or think I have in life, I have felt along the lines, and, damn them, they are almost all of them of such frail contexture, that I am sure they would not stand the breath of the least adverse breeze of fortune; but from you, my ever dear Sir, I look with confidence for the Apostolic love that shall wait on me 66 through good report and bad report"-the love which Solomon emphatically says "is strong as death." My compliments to Mrs. Nicol, and all the circle of our common friends,

P.S. I shall be in Edinburgh about the latter end of July.

R. B.

No. LIV.

TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH.

MY DEAR FRIEND:

Edinburgh, 1787.

Ir once I were gone from this scene of hurry and dissipation, I promise myself the pleasure 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 Scotch 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 to send me the song in a day or two: you cannot imagine how much it will oblige me.

Direct to me at Mr. W. Cruickshank's, St. James's Square, New Town, Edinburgh.

R. B.

* Johnson, the publisher and proprietor of the Musical Museum.