I would not wait for
the second number; I hate delays in little marks of friendship, as I
hate dissimulation in the language of the heart. I am determined to
pay Charlotte a poetic compliment, if I could hit on some glorious old
Scotch air, in number second.[179] You will see a small attempt on a
shred of paper in the book: but though Dr. Blacklock commended it very
highly, I am not just satisfied with it myself. I intend to make it a
description of some kind: the whining cant of love, except in real
passion, and by a masterly hand, is to me as insufferable as the
preaching cant of old Father Smeaton, whig-minister at Kilmaurs.
Darts, flames, cupids, loves, graces, and all that farrago, are just a
Mauchline * * * * a senseless rabble.

I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight from the old, venerable
author of "Tullochgorum," "John of Badenyon," &c. I suppose you know
he is a clergyman. It is by far the finest poetic compliment I ever
got. I will send you a copy of it.

I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries, to wait on Mr. Miller about
his farms.--Do tell that to Lady Mackenzie, that she may give me
credit for a little wisdom. "I Wisdom dwell with Prudence." What a
blessed fire-side! How happy should I be to pass a winter evening
under their venerable roof! and smoke a pipe of tobacco, or drink
water-gruel with them! What solemn, lengthened, laughter-quashing
gravity of phiz! What sage remarks on the good-for-nothing sons and
daughters of indiscretion and folly! And what frugal lessons, as we
straitened the fire-side circle, on the uses of the poker and tongs!

Miss N. is very well, and begs to be remembered in the old way to you.
I used all my eloquence, all the persuasive flourishes of the hand,
and heart-melting modulation of periods in my power, to urge her out
to Harvieston, but all in vain. My rhetoric seems quite to have lost
its effect on the lovely half of mankind. I have seen the day--but
that is a "tale of other years."--In my conscience I believe that my
heart has been so oft on fire that it is absolutely vitrified. I look
on the sex with something like the admiration with which I regard the
starry sky in a frosty December night. I admire the beauty of the
Creator's workmanship; I am charmed with the wild but graceful
eccentricity of their motions, and--wish them good night. I mean this
with respect to a certain passion _dont j'ai eu l'honneur d'etre un
miserable esclave_: as for friendship, you and