parent into the jaws of a jail; whence death, the poor man's last and often best friend, rescued him. I know, sir, that to need your goodness is to have a claim on it; may I, therefore, beg your patronage to forward me in this affair, till I be appointed to a division-where, by the help of rigid economy, I will try to support that independence so dear to my soul, but which has been too often so distant from my situation? R. B. TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN. MY LORD-I know your lordship will disapprove of my ideas in a request I am going to make to you; but I have weighed, long and seriously weighed, my situation, my hopes, and turn of mind, and am fully fixed to my scheme, if I can possibly effectuate it. I wish to get into the Excise: I am told that your lordship's interest will easily procure me the grant from the Commissioners; and your lordship's patronage and goodness, which have already rescued me from obscurity, wretchedness, and exile, embolden me to ask that interest. You have likewise put it in my power to save the little tie of home that sheltered an aged mother, two brothers, and three sisters, from destruction. There, my lord, you have bound me over to the highest gratitude. My brother's farm is but a wretched lease, but I think he will probably weather out the remaining seven years of it; and after the assistance which I have given, and will give him, to keep the family together, I think, by my guess, I shall have rather better than two hundred pounds; and instead of seeking, what is almost impossible at present to find, a farm that I can certainly live by, with so small a stock, I shall lodge this sum in a banking-house, a sacred deposit, excepting only the calls of uncommon distress or necessitous old age. These, my lord, are my views: I have resolved from the maturest deliberation; and, now I am fixed, I shall leave no stone unturned to carry my resolve into execution. Your lordship's patronage is the strength of my hopes; nor have I yet applied to anybody else. Indeed, my heart sinks within me at the idea of applying to any other of the great who have honoured me with their countenance. I am ill qualified to dog the heels of greatness with the impertinence of solicitation, and tremble nearly as much at the thought of the cold promise as the cold denial; but to your lordship I have not only the honour, the comfort, but the pleasure of being your lordship's much obliged and deeply indebted humble servant, R. B. In his last letter to Clarinda, he had asked for a fourth interview. It had taken place on the night which we set down conjecturally as that of Wednesday the 23d January, being the second last Wednesday which he thought he should spend in Edinburgh on the present occasion. At this meeting, it would appear, the communications of the pair had been of a more fervent and unreserved kind than heretofore, insomuch as to leave self-accusing reflections in the bosom of Clarinda. Each wrote a letter to the other next day. TO CLARINDA. Thursday Morning [January 24?] 'Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain.' I have been tasking my reason, Clarinda, why a woman, who, for native genius, poignant wit, strength of mind, generous sincerity of soul, and the sweetest female tenderness, is without a peer, and whose personal charms have few, very, very few parallels, among her sex; why, or how she should fall to the blessed lot of a poor hairum-scairum poet, whom Fortune had kept for her particular use to wreak her temper on whenever she was in ill-humour. One time I conjectured, that as Fortune is the most capricious jade ever known, she may have taken, not a fit of remorse, but a paroxysm of whim, to raise the poor devil out of the mire, where he had so often and so conveniently served her as a stepping-stone, and given him the most glorious boon she ever had in her gift, merely for the maggot's sake, to see how his fool head and his fool heart will bear it. At other times I was vain enough to think that Nature, who has a great deal to say with Fortune, had given the coquettish goddess some such hint as- Here is a paragon of female excellence, whose equal, in all my former compositions, I never was lucky enough to hit on, and despair of ever doing so again; you have cast her rather in the shades of life; there is a certain poet of my making; among your frolics, it would not be amiss to attach him to this master-piece of my hand, to give her that immortality among mankind, which no woman, of any age, ever more deserved, and which few rhymsters of this age are better able to confer.' Evening, 9 o'clock. I am here, absolutely unfit to finish my letter-pretty hearty after a bowl, which has been constantly plied since dinner till this moment. I have been with Mr Schetki,' the musician, and he has set the song finely. I have no distinct ideas of anything, but that I have drunk your health twice to-night, and that you are all my soul holds dear in this world. SYLVANDER. 1 Mr Schetki was a respectable German musician, settled in Edinburgh. The song was A FAREWELL TO CLARINDA, ON LEAVING EDINBURGH. Clarinda, mistress of my soul, The measured time is run! To what dark cave of frozen night We part-but, by these precious drops No other light shall guide my steps She, the fair sun of all her sex, And shall a glimmering planet fix The letter of Clarinda expresses the distress of a pure-minded though loving woman, on having been betrayed into an equivocal situation. 'I am neither well nor happy to-day my heart reproaches me for last night. If you wish Clarinda to regain her peace, determine against everything but what the strictest delicacy warrants. .... Do not be displeased,' she adds, 'when I tell you I wish our parting was over. At a distance, we shall retain the same heartfelt affection and interestedness in each other's concerns; but absence will mellow and restrain those violent heart-agitations which, if continued much longer, would unhinge my very soul, and render me unfit for the duties of life.' TO CLARINDA. [Friday.] Clarinda, my life, you have wounded my soul. Can I think of your being unhappy, even though it be not described in your pathetic elegance of language, without being miserable? Clarinda, can I bear to be told from you that 'you will not see me to-morrow night-that you wish the hour of parting were come?' Do not let us impose on ourselves by sounds. * * Why, my love, talk to me in such strong terms; every word of which cuts me to the very soul? You know, a hint, the slightest signification of your wish, is to me a sacred command. * * Be reconciled, my angel, to your God, yourself, and me; and I pledge you Sylvander's honour-an oath, I daresay, you will trust without reserve-that you shall never more have reason to complain of his conduct. Now, my love, do not wound our next meeting with any averted looks. * I have marked the line of conduct— a line, I know, exactly to your taste-and which I will inviolably keep; but do not you shew the least inclination to make boundaries. Seeming distrust, where you know you may confide, is a cruel sin against sensibility. 'Delicacy, you know, it was which won me to you at once: take care you do not loosen the dearest, most sacred tie that unites us.' Clarinda, I would not have stung your soul-I would not have bruised your spirit, as that harsh, crucifying 'Take care' did mine; no, not to have gained heaven! Let me again appeal to your dear self, if Sylvander, even when he seemingly half transgressed the laws of decorum, if he did not shew more chastised, trembling, faltering delicacy, than the many of the world do in keeping these laws? Oh Love and Sensibility, ye have conspired against my Peace! I love to madness, and I feel to torture! Clarinda, how can I forgive myself, that I have ever touched a single chord in your bosom with pain! Would I do it willingly? Would any consideration, any gratification, make me do so? Oh, did you love like me, you would not, you could not, deny or put off a meeting with the man who adores you; who would die a thousand deaths before he would injure you; and who must soon bid you a long farewell! I had proposed bringing my bosom-friend, Mr Ainslie, to-morrow evening, at his strong request, to see you; as he has only time to stay with us about ten minutes, for an engagement. But I shall hear from you: this afternoon, for mercy's sake!-for, till I hear from you, I am wretched. Oh Clarinda, the tie that binds me to thee is intwisted, incorporated with my dearest threads of life! SYLVANDER. Another interview took place, and another letter had passed from Clarinda to Sylvander. Then we have a brief note from Sylvander TO CLARINDA. I was on the way, my love, to meet you (I never do things by halves) when I got your card. Mr Ainslie goes out of town tomorrow morning, to see a brother of his, who is newly arrived from France. I am determined that he and I shall call on you together. So look you, lest I should never see to-morrow, we will call on you to-night. Mary' and you may put off tea till about seven, at which time, in the Galloway phrase, 'an the beast be to the fore, and the branks bide hale,' expect the humblest of your humble servants, and his dearest friend. We only propose staying half an hour'for ought we ken.' I could suffer the lash of misery eleven months in the year, were the twelfth to be composed of hours like yesternight. You are the soul of my enjoyment-all else is of the stuff of stocks and stones! SYLVANDER. In his next letter, we have a new turn given to his feelings regarding the Excise scheme: TO CLARINDA. Sunday Noon. I have almost given up the Excise idea. I have been just now to wait on a great person, Miss's friend, Why will great people not only deafen us with the din of their equipage, and dazzle us with their fastidious pomp, but they must also be so very dictatorially wise? I have been questioned like a child about my matters, and blamed and schooled for my inscription on the Stirling window. Come, Clarinda!— Come, curse me, Jacob; come, defy me, Israel!' Sunday Night. I have been with Miss Nimmo. She is indeed 'a good soul,' as my Clarinda finely says. She has reconciled me, in a good measure, to the world with her friendly prattle. Schetki has sent me the song, set to a fine air of his composing. I have called the song Clarinda: I have carried it about in my pocket and hummed it over all day. Monday Morning. If my prayers have any weight in heaven, this morning looks in on you and finds you in the arms of peace, except where it is charmingly interrupted by the ardours of devotion. I find so much serenity of mind, so much positive pleasure, so much fearless daring toward the world, when I warm in devotion, or feel the glorious sensation-a consciousness of Almighty friendship-that I am sure I shall soon be an honest enthusiast. How are thy servants blest, O Lord! How sure is their defence! Eternal wisdom is their guide, Their help, Omnipotence !' I am, my dear madam, yours, SYLVANDER. 1 Miss Mary Peacock, a young friend of Clarinda, afterwards married to Mr James Gray, of the Edinburgh High School-a woman of literary talent, and most enthusiastic interest in all who blacked paper. |