by the appearances of mirth and festivity, is desirous to know
what had changed so gay a scene into mourning. We preserve the reply of
the servant as a specimen of Mr. Symson's verses, which are not of the
first quality:

Sir, 'tis truth you've told.
We did enjoy great mirth; but now, ah me!
Our joyful song's turn'd to an elegie.
A virtuous lady, not long since a bride,
Was to a hopeful plant by marriage tied,
And brought home hither. We did all rejoice,
Even for her sake. But presently our voice
Was turn'd to mourning for that little time
That she'd enjoy: she waned in her prime,
For Atropus, with her impartial knife,
Soon cut her thread, and therewithal her life;
And for the time we may it well remember,
It being in unfortunate September; .
Where we must leave her till the resurrection.
'Tis then the Saints enjoy their full perfection.

Mr. Symson also poured forth his elegiac strains upon the fate of
the widowed bridegroom, on which subject, after a long and querulous
effusion, the poet arrives at the sound conclusion, that if Baldoon had
walked on foot, which it seems was his general custom, he would have
escaped perishing by a fall from horseback. As the work in which it
occurs is so scarce as almost to be unique, and as it gives us the most
full account of one of the actors in this tragic tale which we have
rehearsed, we will, at the risk of being tedious, insert some short
specimens of Mr. Symson's composition. It is entitled:

"A Funeral Elegie, occasioned by the sad and much lamented death of that
worthily respected, and very much accomplished gentleman, David Dunbar,
younger, of Baldoon, only son and apparent heir to the right worshipful
Sir David Dunbar of Baldoon, Knight Baronet. He departed this life on
March 28, 1682, having received a bruise by a fall, as he was riding
the day preceding betwixt Leith and Holyrood House; and was honourably
interred in the Abbey Church of Holyrood House, on April 4, 1682."

Men might, and very justly too, conclude
Me guilty of the worst ingratitude,
Should I be silent, or should I forbear
At this sad accident to shed a tear;
A tear! said I? ah! that's a petit thing,
A very lean, slight, slender offering,
Too mean, I'm sure, for me, wherewith t'attend
The unexpected funeral of my friend:
A glass of briny tears charged up to th' b