ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

some merchant, banker, or such like person in London, for the matter of twelve pounds, till I get money upon the selling of the land, which I am at last certain of: if you could either give it me yourself, or procure it: though you owe it not to my merit, yet you owe it to your own nature, which I know so well as to say no more on the subject; only allow me to add, that when I first fell upon such a project (the only thing I have for it in my present circumstances), knowing the selfish inhumane temper of the generality of the world, you were the first person that offered to my thoughts, as one to whom I had the confidence to make such an address.

Now I imagine you seized with a fine romantic kind of melancholy on the fading of the year,now I figure you wandering, philosophical and pensive, amidst brown withered 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.

Then again, when the heavens wear a more gloomy aspect, the winds whistle and the waters spout, I see you in the well known cleugh, beneath the solemn arch of tall, thick, embowering trees, listening to the amusing lull of the many steep, moss-grown cascades, while deep, divine contemplation, the genius of the place, prompts each swelling awful thought. I am sure you would not resign your place in that scene at an easy rate: none ever enjoyed it to the height you do, and you are worthy of it. There I walk in

spirit, and disport in its beloved gloom. This country I am in is not very entertaining; no variety but that of woods, and them we have in abundance: but where is the living stream? the airy mountain? or the hanging rock? with twenty other things, that elegantly please the lover of nature. Nature delights me in every form. I am just now painting her in her most lugubrious dress, for my own amusement, describing winter as it presents itself. After my first proposal of the subject,

I sing of winter, and his gelid reign;
Nor let a rhyming insect of the spring
Deem it a barren theme, to me 'tis full

Of manly charms: to me, who court the shade,
When the gay seasons suit not, and who shun
The glare of summer. Welcome, kindred glooms!
Drear awful wintry horrors, welcome all! &c.

After this introduction, I say, which insists for a few lines further, I prosecute the purport of the following ones:

Now can I, O departing Summer! choose
But consecrate one pitying line to you:

Sing your last temper'd days and sunny calms,
That cheer the spirits and serene the soul.

Then terrible floods, and high winds, that usually happen about this time of the year, and have already happened here (I wish you have not felt them too dreadfully), the first produced the enclosed lines; the last are not completed.Mr. Richleton's poem on Winter, which I still

[graphic]

ave, first put the design into my head-in it are me,-being Some masterly strokes that awakened I on a present amusement, it is ten to one but I drop it whenever another fancy comes across. 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 Sir Alexander Brands (the crazed Scots knight with the woful countenance), you would relish. believe it might make Mis John catch hold of his knees, which I take in him to be a degree of mirth, only inferior to falling back again with an elastic spring. It is every (here a word is obliterated) printed in the Evening Post: so, perhaps you have seen these panegyrics of our declining bard: one on the princess's birthday; the other on his majesty, and in (obliterated) cantos; they are written in the spirit of a complicated craziness.

I was in London lately a night, and in the old playhouse saw a comedy acted, called Love makes a Man, or the Fop's Fortune, where I beheld Miller and Cibber shine to my infinite entertainment. In and about London this month of September, near a hundred people have died by accident and suicide. There was one blacksmith, tired of the hammer, who hung himself, and left written behind him this concise epitaph: I, Joe Pope,

[graphic]

you in case you be not prepared to defend yourself: but if your purse be valiant, please to inquire for Jean or Elizabeth Thomson, at the Rev. Mr. Gusthart's; and if this letter be not sufficient testimony of the debt, I will send you whatever you shall desire. It is late, and I would not lose this post. Like a laconic man of business, therefore, I must here stop short; though I have several things to impart to you, and through your canal, to the dearest, truest, heartiest youth that treads on Scottish ground.

The next letter I write you shall be washed clean from business in the Castalian fountain.

I am whipping and spurring to finish a tragedy for you this winter, but am still at some distance from the goal, which makes me fear being distanced. Remember me to all friends, and above them all, heartily, heartily to Mr. Forbes : though my affection to him is not fanned by letters, yet it is as high as when I was his brother in the Virtû, and played at chess with him in a post chaise. I am, dear Ross, most sincerely and affectionately yours,

JAMES THOMSON.

JAMES THOMSON TO MR. ROSS.

DEAR SIR,

London, Jan. 12, 1737.

HAVING been entirely in the country of late, finishing my play, I did not receive yours till some days ago. It was kind in you not to draw rashly upon me, which at present had put me into danger; but very soon, that is to say, about two months hence,

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »