“‘Dear Sir,
“‘I would chide you for the slackness of your correspondence; but having blamed you wrongeously last time, I shall say nothing ’till I hear from you, which I hope will be soon.
“‘Ther’s a little business I would communicate to you, befor I come to the more entertaining part of our correspondence.
“‘I’m going (hard task!) to complain,
and beg your assistance. When I came up here I brought very little along
w’ me; expecting some more, upon the selling of Widehope, which was
to have been sold that day my mother was buried, now ’tis unsold yet,
but will be disposed of, as soon as it can be conve-
| APPENDIX. | 223 |
“‘Now I imagine you seized wt a fine, romantic kind of melancholy, on the fading of the year, now I figure you wandering, philosophical, and pensive, amidst the brown, wither’d groves: while the leaves rustle under your feet, the sun gives a farewell parting gleam, and the birds
‘Stir the faint note and but attempt to sing;’ |
| 224 | APPENDIX. |
‘I sing of winter & his gelid reign Nor let a rhyming insect of the spring Deem it a barren theme, to me ’tis fall Of manly charms; to me who court the shade, Whom the gay seasons suit not, and who shun The glare of summer. Welcome! kindred glooms! Drear awfull, wintry horrors, welcome all &c.’ |
‘Nor can I O departing summer! choose But consecrate one pitying line to you; Sing your last tempr’d days, and sunny calms, That cheer the spirits and serene the soul.’ |
“‘I believe it had been much more for your
entertainment, if in this letter I had cited other people instead of
myself: but I must refer that ’till another time. If you have not
seen it already, I have just now in my hands an original of Sr Alexander Brands (the craz’d
scots knight wt the woful countenance) you would
relish. I belive it might make mis John catch hold of
his knees, which I take in him to be a degree of mirth, only inferiour, to
falling back again with an elastic spring ’tis very
| APPENDIX. | 225 |
“I was in London lately a night; and in the old play house saw a comedy acted, called, Love makes a man, or the Fops Fortune, where I beheld Miller and Cibber, shine to my infinite entertainment. in and about London this month of Sept. near a hundred people have dy’d by accident and suicide, there was one blacksmith tyr’d of the hammer, who hang’d himself and left written behind him this concise epitaph
‘I. Joe Pope liv’d w’out hope And dy’d by a rope’ |
[The following is written upon the margin:—]
“‘Mr. Muir has ample fund for politicks, in the present posture of affairs, as you’ll find by the public news. I should be glad to know that great minister’s frame just now. keep it to yourself. You may whisper it too in Mess John’s ear.—far otherwise is his lately mysterious Br Mt. Tait employed.—Started a superannuated fortune and just now upon the full scent.—’tis comical enough to see him from amongst the rubbish of his controversial divinity and politics furbishing up his antient rusty gallantry
“‘Remember me to all friends. Mr. Rickle, Mis John, Br John, &c.
