bribe him to loosen or pull off a shoe from one of his horses, but the ambush failed. Proh mirum! The driver was incorruptible. Your verses have given much delight, and I think will produce their proper effect.* They produced a powerful one immediately, for the morning after I read them, we all set out in procession to the Bruar, where none of the ladies had been these seven or eight years, and again enjoyed them there. The passages we most admired are the description of the dying trouts. Of the high fall" twisting strength," is a happy picture of the upper part. The characters of the birds, "mild and mellow" is the thrush itself. The benevolent anxiety for their happiness and safety I highly approve. The two stanzas beginning "Here haply too"-darkly dashing, is most descriptively Ossianic.

Here I cannot deny myself the pleasure of mentioning an incident which happened yesterday at the Bruar. As we passed the door of a most miserable hovel, an old woman curtsied to us, with looks of such poverty and such contentment, that each of us involuntarily gave her some money. She was astonished, and in the confusion of her gratitude invited us in. Miss

The Humble Petition of Bruar-water to the Duke of Athole. See Poems, p. 238.

C. and I, that we might not hurt her delicacy, entered-but, good God! what wretchedness! It was a cow-house, her own cottage had been burnt last winter. The poor old creature stood perfectly silent-looked at Miss C. then at the money, and burst into tears-Miss C. joined her, and with a vehemence of sensibility took out her purse, and empied it into the old woman's lap. What a charming scene! A sweet accomplished girl of seventeen in so angelic a situation. Take your pencil and paint her in your most glowing tints. Hold her up amidst the darkness of this scene of human woe, to the icy dames that flaunt through the gayeties of life without ever feeling one generous, one great

emotion.

Two days after you left us, I went to Taymouth. It is a charming place, but still I think art has been too busy. Let me be your Cicerone for two days at Dunkeld, and you will acknowledge that in the beauties of naked nature we are not surpassed. The loch, the Gothic arcade, and the fall of the hermitage, gave me most delight. But I think the last has not been taken proper advantage of. The hermitage is too much in the common place style. Every body expects the couch, the book press, and the hairy gown. The duke's idea I think better. A rich and elegant apartment is an excellent contrast to a scene of Alpine horrors.

I must now beg your permission (unless you have some other design) to have your verses printed. They appear to me extremely correct, and some particular stanzas would give universal pleasure. Let me know however if you incline to give them any farther touches.

Were they in some of the public papers, we could more easily disseminate them among our friends, which many of us are anxious to do.

When you pay your promised visit to the Braes of Ochtertyre, Mr. and Mrs. Graham of Balgowan beg to have the pleasure of conducting you to the bower of Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, which is now in their possession. The Duchess would give any consideration for another sight of your letter to Dr. Moore; we must fall upon some method of procuring it for her. I shall enclose this to our mutual friend Dr. B******** who may forward it. I shall be extremely happy to hear from you at your first leisure. Inclose your letter in a cover addressed to the Duke of Athole, Dunkeld.

God bless you,

J***** W*****

No. 40.

FROM MR. JOHN MURDOCH.

MY DEAR SIR,

As

London, 28th. October, 1787.

my friend, Mr. Brown, is going from this place to your neighbourhood, I embrace the opportunity of telling you that I am yet alive, tolerably well, and always in expectation of being better. By the much-valued letters before me, I see that it was my duty to have given you this intelligence about three years and nine months ago; and have nothing to alledge as an excuse, but that we poor, busy, bustling bodies in London, are so much taken up with the various pursuits in which we are here engaged, that we seldom think of any person, creature, place, or thing, that is absent. But this is not altogether the case with me;

for I often think of

you, and Hornie, and Russel, and an unfathomed depth, and lowan brunstane, all in the same minute, although you and they are (as I suppose) at a considerable distance. I flatter myself, however, with the pleasing thought, that you and I shall meet some time or other, either in Scotland or England. If ever you come hither, you will have the satisfaction of seeing

your Poems relished by the Caledonians in London, full as much as they can be by those of Edinburgh. We frequently repeat some of your verses in our Caledonian society; and you may believe that I am not a little vain, that I have had some share in cultivating such a genius. I was not absolutely certain that you were the author, till a few days ago, when I made a visit to Mrs. Hill, Dr. M'Comb's eldest daughter, who lives in town, and who told me that she was informed of it by a letter from her sister in Edinburgh, with whom you had been in company when in that capital.

Pray let me know if you have any intention of visiting this huge, overgrown metropolis. It would afford matter for a large poem. Here you would have an opportunity of indulging your vein in the study of mankind, perhaps to a greater degree than in any city upon the face of the globe; for the inhabitants of London, as you know, are a collection of all nations, kindreds, and tongues, who make it, as it were, the centre of their commerce.

* *

Present my respectful compliments to Mrs. Burns, to my dear friend Gilbert, and all the rest of her amiable children. May the Father of the universe bless you all with those principles and dispositions, that the best of parents took such uncommon pains to instil into your minds,