imagination,
delighted with the painter, and rapt with the poet. Let me figure him
wandering out in a sweet evening, to inhale the balmy gales, and enjoy
the growing luxuriance of spring; himself the while in the blooming
youth of life. He looks abroad on all nature, and through nature up to
nature's God. His soul, by swift delighting degrees, is rapt above
this sublunary sphere, until he can be silent no longer, and bursts
out into the glorious enthusiasm of Thomson,

"These, as they change, Almighty Father, these
Are but the varied God.--The rolling year
Is full of thee."

And so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that charming hymn. These
are no ideal pleasures, they are real delights; and I ask what of the
delights among the sons of men are superior, not to say equal to them?
And they have this precious, vast addition, that conscious virtue
stamps them for her own; and lays hold on them to bring herself into
the presence of a witnessing, judging, and approving God.

R. B.

* * * * *

CCXCIII.

TO THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

[The original letter is in the possession of the Hon. Mrs. Halland, of
Poynings: it is undated, but from a memorandum on the back it appears
to have been written in May, 1794.]

_May, 1794._

MY LORD,

When you cast your eye on the name at the bottom of this letter, and
on the title-page of the book I do myself the honour to send your
lordship, a more pleasurable feeling than my vanity tells me that it
must be a name not entirely unknown to you. The generous patronage of
your late illustrious brother found me in the lowest obscurity: he
introduced my rustic muse to the partiality of my country; and to him
I owe all. My sense of his goodness, and the anguish of my soul at
losing my truly noble protector and friend, I have endeavoured to
express in a poem to his memory, which I have now published. This
edition is just from the press; and in my gratitude to the dead, and
my respect for the living (fame belies you, my lord, if you possess
not the same dignity of man, which was your noble brother's
characteristic feature), I had destined a copy for the Earl of
Glencairn. I learnt just now that you are in town:--allow me to
present it you.

I know, my lord, such is the vile, venal contagion which pervades the
world of letters, that professions of respect from an author,
particularly from a poet, to a lord, are more than suspicious. I clai