cellent method for improvement, and what I be lieve every poet does, to place some favourite clas sic author in his own walks of study and composition, before him, as a model. Though your author had not mentioned the name, I could have, at half a glance, guessed his model to be Thomson. Will my brother-poet forgive me, if I venture to hint, that his imitation of that immortal bard is, in two or three places, rather more servile than such a genius as his required?-e. g.

To sooth the madding passions all to peace.

Address.

To sooth the throbbing passions into peace.

Thomson.

I think the Address is, in simplicity, harmony, and elegance of versification, fully equal to the Seasons. Like Thomson too he has looked into nature for himself: you meet with no copied description. One particular criticism I made at first reading; in no one instance has he said too much. He never flags in his progress, but, like a true poet of nature's making, kindles in his course. His beginning is simple, and modest, as if distrustful of the strength of his pinion; only, I do not altogether like

"Truth,

The soul of every song that's nobly great."

Fiction is the soul of many a song that is nobly great. Perhaps I am wrong: this may be but a prose-criticism. Is not the phrase, in line 7, page 6, "Great lake," too much vulgarized by everyday language, for so sublime a poem ?

"Great mass of waters, theme for nobler song,"

is perhaps no emendation. His enumeration of a comparison with other lakes, is at once harmonious and poetic. Every reader's ideas must sweep the

Winding margin of a hundred miles."

The perspective that follows mountains bluethe imprisoned billows beating in vain-the wooded isles-the digression on the yew-tree-" Ben-lomond's lofty cloud-envelop'd head," &c. are beautiful. A thunder-storm is a subject, which has been often tried, yet our poet in his grand picture has interjected a circumstance, so far as I know, entirely original :

"the gloom

Deep seam'd with frequent streaks of moving fire."

In his preface to the storm," the glens how dark between," ," is noble highland landscape! The "rain ploughing the red mould," too, is beautifully fancied. Ben-lomond's "lofty, pathless top," is a good expression; and the surrounding view from it, is truly great: the

66

"Silver mist,

Beneath the beaming sun,"

is well described; and here he has contrived to ens liven his poem with a little of that passion which bids fair, I think, to usurp the modern muses altogether. I know not how far this episode is a beauty upon the whole, but the swain's wish to carry some faint idea of the vision bright," to entertain her "partial listening ear," is a pretty thought. But in my opinion the most beautiful passages in the whole poem, are the fowls crowding, in wintry frosts, to Loch-lomond's "hospitable flood;" their wheeling round, their lighting, mixing, diving, &c.; and the glorious description of the sportsman. This last is equal to any thing in the Seasons. The idea of "the floating tribes distant seen, far glistering to the moon," provoking his eye as he is obliged to leave them, is a noble ray of poetic genius. "The howling winds," the "hideous roar" of "the white cascades," are all in the same style.

56518B

I forget that while I am thus holding forth with the heedless warmth of an enthusiast, I am per haps tiring you with nonsense. I must however mention, that the last verse of the sixteenth page is one of the most elegant compliments I have ever seen. I must likewise notice that beautiful paragraph, beginning, "The gleaming lake;" &c. I dare not go into the particular beauties of the two last paragraphs, but they are admirably fine, and truly Ossianic.

I must beg your pardon for this lengthened scrawl. I had no idea of it when I began.-I should like to know who the author is; but, whoever he be, please present him with my grateful thanks for the entertainment he has afforded me*.

A friend of mine desired me to commission for him, two books, Letters on the Religion essential to man, a book you sent me before; and, The World unmasked, or the Philosopher the greatest cheat. Send me them by the first opportunity. The Bible you sent me is truly elegant; I only wish it had been in two volumes.

Madam,

No. LVII.

To Mrs. DUNLOP,

AT MOREHAM MAINS.

Mauchline, 13th November, 1788 I had the very great pleasure of dining at Dun lop yesterday. Men are said to flatter women be cause they are weak; if it is so, poets must be

The poem, entitled An address to Loch-lo mond, is said to be written by a gentleman, now one of the masters of the High-school at Edinburgh, and the same who translated the beautiful story of the Paria, as published in the Bee of Dr. Anderson.

* *

weaker still; for Misses R. and K. and Miss G. M'K. with their flattering attentions, and artful compliments, absolutely turned my head. I own they did not lard me over as many a poet does his patron but they so intoxicated me with their sly insinuations and de licate inuendos of compliment, that if it had not been for a lucky recollection, how much additional weight and lustre your good opinion and friend ship must give me in that circle, I had certainly looked upon myself as a person of no small conse quence. I dare not say one word how much I was. charmed with the major's friendly welcome, ele gant manner, and acute remark, lest I should be thought to balance my orientalisms of applause over against the finest quey in Ayrshire, which he made me a present of to help and adorn my farm-stock. As it was on hallow-day, I am deter. mined annually, as that day returns, to decorate her horns with an ode of gratitude to the family of Dunlop.

So soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, L will take the first conveniency to dedicate a day, or perhaps two, to you and friendship, under the guarantee of the major's hospitality. There will soon be three score and ten miles of permanent distance between us; and now that your friendship and friendly correspondence is entwisted with the heart-strings of my enjoyment of life, I must indulge myself in a happy day of "The feast of reason and the flow of soul."

* Heifer.

No. LVIII.

To *****

Sir,

Nov. 8, 1788. Notwithstanding the opprobrious epithets with which some of our philosophers and gloomy sectaries have branded our nature-the principle of universal selfishness, the proneness to all evil, they have given us; still, the detestation in which inhumanity to the distressed, or insolence to the fallen, are held by all mankind, shews that they are not natives of the human heart. Even the unhappy partner of our kind, who is undone, the bitter consequence of his follies or his crimes, who but sympathizes with the miseries of this ruined profligate brother? we forget the injuries, and feel for the man.

I went, last Wednesday, to my parish church, most cordially to join in grateful acknowledgments to the Author of all Good, for the consequent blessings of the glorious revolution. To that auspicious event we owe no less than our liberties civil and religious; to it we are likewise indebted for the present royal family, the ruling features of whose administration have ever been, mildness to the subject, and tenderness of his rights.

Bred and educated in revolution principles, the principles of reason and common sense, it could not be any silly political prejudice which made my heart revolt at the harsh, abusive manner, in which the reverend gentleman mentioned the house of Stewart, and which, I am afraid, was too much the language of the day. We may rejoice sufficiently in our deliverance from past evils, without cruelly raking up the ashes of those, whose misfortune it was, perhaps, as much as their crime, to be the authors of those evils; and we may bless God for all his goodness to us as a nation, without, at the same time, cursing a few ruined, powerless exiles, who only harboured ideas, and made attempts, that most of