mingled, I may have seen men and manners in a different phasis from what is common, which may assist originality of thought. Still I know very well the novelty of my character has by far the greatest share in the learned and polite notice I have lately had and in a language where Pope and Churchill have raised the laugh, and Shenstone and Gray drawn the tear; where Thomson and Beattie have painted the landscape, and Lyttelton and Collins described the heart, I am not vain enough to hope for distinguished poetic fame. R. B. [To the accomplished Dr. Moore the Poet seems to have unbosomed himself more than to most of his patronizing friends. Nor is this to be wondered atMoore was not only a fine scholar and a man of genius, but he was one of the kindest and most accessible of mankind. Burns seems to have possessed a natural tact for dicovering how far he might go in laying his bosom bare to his companions and correspondents, and he certainly hit, as if by inspiration, the character of Dr. Moore, who, with the secrecy of a physician, and the prudence of a friend, received the communications of the rustic bard, read to the London literati such portions of the Poet's letters as he knew would be most relished: quoted the finest passages of his poems, and spread his fame with a diligence which could only arise from a hearty appreciation of his great merit. The following letter was written to Burns, Jan. 23rd, 1787 it is dated from Clifford-street, London: "SIR-I have just received your letter, by which I find I have reason to complain of my friend Mrs. Dunlop, for transmitting to you extracts from my letters to her, by much too freely and too carelessly written for your perusal. I must forgive her, however, in consideration of her good intention, as you will forgive me, I hope, for the freedom I use with certain expressions, in consideration of my admiration of the poems in general. If I may judge of the author's disposition from his works, with all the other good qualities of a poet, he has not the irritable temper ascribed to that race of men by one of their own number, whom you have the happiness to resemble in ease and curious felicity of expression. Indeed the poetical beauties, however original and brilliant, and lavishly scattered, are not all I admire in your works; the love of your native country, that feeling sensibility to all the objects of humanity, and the independent spirit which breathes through the whole, give me a most favourable impression of the Poet, and have made me often regret that I did not see the poems, the certain effect of which would have been my seeing the author, last summer, when I was longer in Scotland than I have been for many years. “I rejoice very sincerely at the encouragement you receive at Edinburgh, and I think you peculiarly fortunate in the patronage of Dr. Blair, who I am informed interests himself very much for you. I beg to be remembered to him; nobody can have a warmer regard for that gentleman than I have, which, independent of the worth of his character, would be kept alive by the memory of our common friend, the late Mr. George B- e. "Before I received your letter, I sent inclosed in a letter to a sonnet by Miss Williams, a young "Moun poetical lady, which she wrote on reading your "While soon the garden's flaunting flowers' decay, The Mountain-daisy,' cherish'd by the ray 'Mid penury's bare soil and bitter gale; By genius in her native vigour nurst, On nature with impassion'd look he gazed; Scotia! from rude affliction shield thy bard; His heaven-taught numbers Fame herself will guard.' "I have been trying to add to the number of your subscribers, but find many of my acquaintance are already among them. I have only to add, that with every sentiment of esteem, and the most cordial good wishes, "I am "Your obedient humble servant, "J. MOORE."-ED.] No. XXXVII. TO THE REV. G. LOWRIE, NEWMILLS, NEAR KILMARNOCK. Edinburgh, Feb. 5th, 1787. REVEREND AND DEAR SIR: WHEN I look at the date of your kind letter, my heart reproaches me severely with ingratitude in neglecting so long to answer it. I will not trouble you with any account, by way of apology, of my hurried life and distracted attention: do me the justice to believe that my delay by no means proceeded from want of respect. I feel, and ever shall feel for you, the mingled sentiments of esteem for a friend and reverence for a father. I thank you, Sir, with all my soul for your friendly hints, though I do not need them so much as my friends are apt to imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper accounts and distant reports; but, in reality, I have no great temptation to be intoxicated with the cup of prosperity. Novelty may attract the attention of mankind awhile; to it I owe my present éclat; but I see the time not far distant when the popular tide which has borne me to a height of which I am, perhaps, unworthy, shall recede with silent celerity, and leave me a barren waste of sand, to descend at my leisure to my former station. I do not say this in the affectation of modesty; I see the consequence is unavoidable, and am prepared for it. I had been at a good deal of pains to form a just, impartial estimate of my intellectual powers before I came here; I have not added, since I came to Edinburgh, anything to the account; and I trust I shall take every atom of it back to my shades, the coverts of my unnoticed, early years. In Dr. Blacklock, whom I see very often, I have found what I would have expected in our friend, a clear head and an excellent heart. By far the most agreeable hours I spend in Edinburgh must be placed to the account of Miss Lowrie and her piano-forte. I cannot help repeating to you and Mrs. Lowrie a compliment that Mr. Mackenzie, the celebrated "Man of Feeling," paid to Miss Lowrie, the other night, at the concert. I had come in at the interlude, and sat down by him till I saw Miss Lowrie in a seat not very distant, and went up to pay my respects to her. On my return to Mr. Mackenzie he asked me who she was; I told him 'twas the daughter of a reverend friend of mine in the west country. He returned, there was something very striking, to his idea, in her appear ance. On my desiring to know what it was, he was |