No. CI. To MRS. DUNLOP. 8th August, 1790. DEAR MADAM, AFTER a long day's toil, care, I sit down to write to you. plague, and Ask me not why I have delayed it so long? It was owing to hurry, indolence, and fifty other things; in short to any thing-but forgetfulness of la plus aimable de son sexe. By the bye, you are indebted your best courtesy to me for this last compliment; as I pay it from my sincere conviction of its truth-a quality rather rare in compliments of these grinning, bowing, scraping times. Well I hope writing to you, will ease a little my troubled soul. Sorely has it been bruised VOL. II. Y to-day! to-day! A ci-devant friend of mind, and an intimate acquaintance of yours, has given my feelings a wound that I perceive will gangrene dangerously ere it cure. pride! He has wounded my No. No. CII. To MR. CUNNINGHAM. Ellisland, 8th August, 1790. FORGIVE me, my once dear, and ever dear friend, my seeming negligence. You cannot sit down and fancy the busy life I lead. I laid down my goose feather to beat my brains for an apt simile, and had some thoughts of a country grannum at a family christening; a bride on the market-day before her marriage; a tavern-keeper at an election-dinner, &c. &c.; but the resemblance that hits my fancy best is, that blackguard miscreant, Satan, who roams about like a roaring lion, seeking, searching whom he may devour. However, tossed about as I am, if I chuse (and who would not chuse) to bind down with the crampets of attention the brazen foundation of integrity, I may rear up the superstructure Y 2 perstructure of Independence, and from its daring turrets, bid defiance to the storms of fate. And is not this a "consummation devoutly to be wished?" "Thy spirit, Independence, let me share; Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye! Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare. Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky!" Are not these noble verses? They are the introduction of Smollet's Ode to Independence: If you have not seen the poem, I will send it to you. How wretched is the man that hangs on by the favors of the great! To shrink from every dignity of man, at the approach of a lordly piece of self-consequence, who amid all his tinsel glitter, and stately hauteur, is but a creature formed as thou art-and perhaps not so well formed as thou art came into the world a puling infant as thou didst, and must go out of it as all men must, a naked corse.* * No. * The preceding letter explains the feelings under which this was written. The strain of indignant invective goes on some time longer in the style which our bard was too apt to indulge, and of which the reader has already seen so much. E. No. CIII. From DR. BLACKLOCK. Edinburgh, 1st September, 1790. How does my dear friend, much I languish to hear, His fortune, relations, and all that are dear? Of this from himself I inclose you a plan, care, In which more or less human nature must share, Some |