that I envy him the power of serving you. I had a letter from him a while ago, but it was so dry, so distant, so like a card to one of his clients, that I could scarce bear to read it, and have not yet answered it. He is a good, honest fellow; and can write a friendly letter, which would do equal honour to his head and his heart, as a whole sheaf of his letters I have by me will witness: and though Fame does not blow her trumpet at my approach now, as she did then, when he first honoured me with his friendship, yet I am as proud as ever; and when I am laid in my grave, I wish to be stretched at my full length, that I may occupy every inch of ground which I have a right to.

You would laugh, were you to see me where I am just now-would to heaven you were here to laugh with me! though I am afraid that crying would be our first employment. Here am I set, a solitary hermit, in the solitary room of a solitary inn, with a solitary bottle of wine by me-as grave and as stupid as an owl-but, like that owl, still faithful to my old song; in confirmation of which, my dear Mrs. Mack, here is your good health! may the hand-wal'd benisons o' heaven bless your bonnie face; and the wratch wha skellies at your weelfare, may the auld tinkler deil get him to clout his rotten heart! Amen!

You must know, my dearest Madam, that these now many years, wherever I am, in whatever company, when a married lady is called as a toast, I constantly give you; but, as your name has never passed my lips, even to my most intimate friend, I give you by the name of Mrs.

Mack. This is so well known among my ac quaintances, that when my married lady is called for, the toast-master will say 'O, we need not ask him who it is-here's Mrs. Mack! I have also, among my convivial friends, set on foot a round of toasts, which I call a round of Arcadian Shepherdesses; that is, a round of favourite ladies, under female names celebrated in ancient song; and then, you are my Clarinda: so, my lovely Clarinda, I devote this glass of wine to a most ardent wish for your happiness!

In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer,
Point out a cens'ring world, and bid me fear:
Above that world on wings of love I rise,

I know its worst-and can that worst despise.
"Wrong'd, injur'd, shunn'd; unpitied, unredrest,
The mock'd quotation of the scorner's jest.'
Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall,
Clarinda, rich reward! o'erpays them all!

I have been rhyming a little of late, but I do not know if they are worth postage.-Tell me

SYLVANDER.

At what period of the Correspondence the following Poem was sent is uncertain.

'I burn, I burn, as when thro' ripen'd corn,
By driving winds the crackling flames are borne !"
Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal night;
Now bless the hour which charm'd my guilty sight.
In vain the laws their feeble force oppose;
Chain'd at his feet they groan, Love's vanquish'd foes:
In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye;
I dare not combat-but I turn and fly:
Conscience in vain upbraids the unhallow'd fire;
Love grasps his scorpions-stifled they expire:
Reason drops headlong from his sacred throne,
Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone;
Each thought, intoxicated, homage yields,
And riots wanton in forbidden fields!

By all on high adoring mortals know!
By all the conscious villain fears below!
By your dear self! the last, great oath I swear;
Nor life, nor soul, were ever half so dear!

4 F

APPENDIX.

The following Poems and Songs, which have been collected from various sources, will be found a valuable addition

to the works of our celebrated Poet.

MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T.

CHORUS.

My lady's gown there's gairs upon't,
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't ;
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet,
My lord thinks muckle mair upon't.

My

Y lord a hunting he is gane,

But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane,

By Colin's cottage lies his game,

If Colin's Jenny be at hame.

My lady's gown, &c.

My lady's white, my lady's red,
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude,
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher gude
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed.
My lady's gown, &c.

Out o'er yon moor, out o'er yon moss,
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass,
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass,
A lily in a wilderness.

My lady's gown, &c.