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the inhuman fellow, who could shoot a hare at this season, when they all of them have young ones. Indeed there is something in that business of destroying for our sport individuals in the animal creation that do not injure us materially, which I could never reconcile to my ideas of vir

tue.

On seeing a fellow wound a hare with a shot,
April, 1789.

Inhuman man! curse on thy barb'rous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye!
May never pity sooth thee with a sigh,
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,
The bitter little that of life remains ;

No more the thickening brakes or verdant plains, To thee a home, or food, or pastime yield.

Seek, mangled innocent, some wonted form;
That wonted form, alas! thy dying bed,
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head,
The cold earth with thy blood-stained bosom warm.

Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its woe;
The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side;
Ah! helpless nurslings, who will now provide
That life a mother only can bestow?

Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn,
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn,

And curse the ruthless wretch, and mourn thy hapless fate.

Let me know how you like my poem. I am doubtful whether it would not be an improvement to keep out the last stanza but one altogether.

C

is a glorious production of the author of You, he, and the noble colonel of the C F are to me

"Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my breast."

I have a good mind to make verses on you all, to the tune of " three gude fellows ayont the glen."

No. LXXIII.

The poem in the preceding letter, had also been sent by our bard to Dr. Gregory, for his criticism. The following is that gentleman's reply.

Dear sir,

From Dr. GREGORY.

Edinburgh, 2d June, 1789. I take the first leisure hour I could command, to thank you, for your letter, and the copy of verses enclosed in it. As there is real poetic merit, I mean both fancy, and tenderness, and some happy expressions, in them, I think they well deserve that you should revise them carefully, and polish them to the utmost. This I am sure you can do if you please, for you have great command both of expression and of rhymes; and you may judge from the two last pieces of Mrs. Hunter's poetry, that I gave you, how much correctness and high polish enhance the value of such composi tions. As you desire it, I shall, with great freedom, give you my most rigorous criticisms on your verses. I wish you would give me another edition of them, much amended, and I will send it to Mrs. Hunter, who I am sure will have much pleasure

in reading it. Pray give me likewise for myself, and her too, a copy (as much amended as you please) of the Water Fowl on Loch Turit.

The Wounded Hare is a pretty good subject; but the measure or stanza you have chosen for it, is not a good one: it does not flow well; and the rhyme of the fourth line is almost lost by its distance from the first; and the two interposed, close rhymes. If I were you, I would put it into a differ ent stanza yet.

Stanza 1. The execrations in the first two lines, are too strong or coarse; but they may pass. "Murder-aiming" is a bad compound epithet, and not very intelligible. "Blood-stained," in stanza iii. line 4, has the same fault: bleeding bosom is infinitely better. You have accustomed yourself to such epithets, and have no notion how stiff and quaint they appear to others, and how incongruous with poetie faney, and tender sentiments. Suppose Pope had written, "Why that blood-stained bosom gored," how would you have liked it? Form is neither a poetic, nor a dignified, nor a plain, common word: it is a mere sportsman's word; unsuitable to pathetic or serious poetry.

"Mangled" is a coarse word. "Innocent" in this scene is a nursery word; but both may pass.

Stanza 4. "Who will now provide that life a mother only can bestow," will not do at all: it is not grammar-it is not intelligible. Do you mean "provide for that life which the mother had be stowed and used to provide for?"

There was a ridiculous slip of the pen, "Feel. ing" (I suppose) for Fellow," in the title of your copy of verses; but even fellow would be wrong: it is but a colloquial and vulgar word, unsuitable to your sentiments. "Shot" is improper too.-On seeing a person (or a sportsman) wound a hare; it is needless to add with what weapon: but if you think otherwise, you should say, with a fowlingpiece.

Let me see you when you come to town, and I will shew you some more of Mrs. Hunter's po

ems.

No. LXXIV.

To Mr. M'AULEY, of Dumbarton.

Dear sir,

4th June, 1789. Though I am not without my fears respecting my fate, at that grand, universal inquest of right and wrong, commonly called The Last Day, yet I trust there is one sin, which that arch vagabond, Satan, who I understand is to be king's evidence, cannot throw in my teeth, I mean ingratitude. There is a certain pretty large quantum of kindness for which I remain, and, from inability, I fear must still remain, your debtor; but though unable to repay the debt, I assure you, sir, I shall ever warmly remember the obligation. It gives me the sincerest pleasure to hear by my old acquaintance, Mr. Kennedy, that you are, in immortal Allan's language," Hale and weel, and living;" and that your charming family are well, and promising to be an amiable and respectable addition to the com

It must be admitted, that this criticism is not more distinguished by its good sense, than by its freedom from ceremony. It is impossible not to smile at the manner in which the poet may be supposed to have received it. In fact it appears, as the sailors say, to have thrown him quite aback. In a letter which he wrote soon after, he says, "Dr. G is a good man, but he crucifies me." -And again," I believe in the iron justice of Dr. G-; but, like the devils, I believe and tremble." However, he profited by these criticisms, as the reader will find, by comparing this first edition of the poem, with that published among the Poems, vol. iii. E.

pany of performers, whom the Great Manager of the drama of Man is bringing into action for the succeeding age.

With respect to my welfare, a subject in which you once warmly and effectively interested yourself, I am here in my old way, holding my plough, marking the growth of my corn, or the health of my dairy and at times sauntering by the delightful windings of the Nith, on the margin of which I have built my humble domicile, praying for seasonable weather, or holding an intrigue with the muses; the only gipseys with whom I have now any intercourse. As I am entered into the holy state of matrimony, I trust my face is turned completely Zion-ward; and as it is a rule with all honest fellows, to repeat no grievances, I hope that the little poetic licences of former days, will of course fall under the oblivious influence of some good-natured statute of celestial proscription. In my family devotion, which, like a good presbyte rian, I occasionally give to my household folks, I am extremely fond of the psalm, "Let not the er rors of my youth, &c." and that other, "Lo children are God's heritage, &c." in which last, Mrs. Burns, who, by the bye, has a glorious "woodnote wild" at either old song or psalmody, joins me with the pathos of Handel's Messiah.

Dear madam,

No. LXXV.

To Mrs. DUNLOP.

Ellisland, 21st June, 1789. Will you take the effusions, the miserable effusions of low spirits, just as they flow from their bitter spring? I know not of any particular cause for this worst of all my foes besetting me, but for some time my soul has been beclouded with a thick,

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