thought it was all poetical painting. No such thing. If I have any romance with me, it is really, literally the romance of real life. The world does not suit me: It is cold, it is corrupt, it is joyless-I must have pleasures, and they must be pure. At the same time, I walk with the fear of common sense before my eyes; and therefore dare not join my brethren and sisters, the children of fancy, in their excursions to fairy-land; having sagaciously discovered that enchanted region to be like the lion's den, -many tracks of beasts going in, but none of any returning. The highway, again, is too crowded for me. People who think of nothing but running straight forward would justle me into the ditch, while I was dreaming of elysium. I had therefore a little quiet footpath of my own, which I took pleasure in decorating with simple flowers, cherished by my own hands. Into that I allured others, who equally hated sloth and bustle; and there we cultivated friendship, and gathered its fruits. Nothing was distorted, nothing was exaggerated; yet every thing was brightened and enlivened. The post waits, and must break my thread. You talk of the likeness of your unseen friend. The best likeness extant of me is M. There is a picture ; but 'tis a family-piece, full of children. What think you of Moome's grave, with this verse from the poem to her memory?— "And Charity, with open hand, "Shall some angelic form assume, In this case, Charity would be personified as the prominent figure-and, O how justly-Dear sir, adieu, affectionately. LETTER V... Laggan, March 15. 1802. . I AM going to indulge you with what, from me, you will accept as a great ra rity; viz. a short letter; so very short, that I will not even repeat any of the many acknowledgments M. desires me to make for favours received, while unexpectedly remaining so long in your family. I received six packets, containing certain invaluable manuscripts, which the kindness of my friends have rescued from oblivion, and to which I have behaved like a very ostrich. The sight of them has, however, awakened some maternal feelings. The nymph of the fountain, and the lines commemorating my dear John and Charlotte, were, how ever, wanting. I did not despair, thinking M. would bring them; nor mention them, thinking it barely possible that they might still arrive. Here she is, but here they are not. I wish you could procure from these, who have the only copies, the hymn for the sons of the clergy; and the poem relative to the dear departed. I have now got back copies of all the others, except that addressed to Mrs Dunlop, of which I did not retain one. If I had sent it off before either my enthusiasm or my courage cooled, it would have shared, perhaps, the fate of many other forgotten things, or be found with Astolpho's wits in the moon. I was, by distance and absence, so lost to all my friends, and, by constancy of affection, so endeared to them, that they treasured up my hasty scrawls, like memorials wafted from another planet. Had they been common friends, there would not be any materials for the edifice you are constructing, vulgarly stiled a book. It is more valuable as a monument of their attachment than of my ability. There is little modesty in all this; for the inference is, what attractions must I possess to win and attach such friends : So the best way to escape mere egotism is, to run away as fast as possible; which I shall do, after assuring you, that, run where I will, you shall always find me very truly yours. DEAR SIR. LETTER VI. Laggan, May 6. 1802. I WILL yet add a few lines to the songs, as you wish. You would admire my condescension in this instance, as much |