‘My dear Sir,—I hope I am not, as a satirist
said a good many years ago of an obnoxious monster, “the most impudent
man alive”; but certainly this is one of the most impudent letters I ever
wrote. Without, however, troubling you with a long preface, I will state the
fact. There is a poem lately published, written by a young man of the name of
Pollok, a dissenting clergyman here,
which I really think in point of genius and poetical power a very wonderful
one. It is called ‘The Course
of Time,’ and contains, among many passages liable to
criticism, others, moral and descriptive, of infinite genius and merit, if I,
whom age only entitles to speak of such things, may be trusted. Knowing the
author a little, and more from other impartial persons, I believe him to be as
amiable as a man as he is ingenious as a poet. But alas! young as he is, he has
the seeds of disease and death in his frame, which make his life very uncertain
and likely to be short. A journey, and short residence, to a warmer climate,
his benevolent physician, whom he has interested in the strongest manner,
thinks the only chance he has for life or health; but, alas! like most poets,
the expense of such an emigration is beyond his means. To supply these, a
subscription has been set afoot here, and there are great hopes that 100l. or 150l. may thereby be raised
for his journey and other expenses. Now for my impudence—it is to lay
your beneficence under the tax of two or three guineas to this subscription,
| THE AUTHOR OF 'THE COURSE OF TIME' | 449 |
‘I remain, my dear Sir, with the most sincere regard, your most faithful and obedient servant,
