October, 1785.

IF ever any young man, in the vestibule of the world, chance to throw his eye over these pages, let him pay a warm attention to the following observations; as I assure him they are the fruit of a poor devil's dear-bought experience.—I have literally, like that great poet and great gallant, and by consequence, that great fool, Solomon,-" turned my eyes to behold madness and folly."-Nay, I have, with all the ardor of a lively, fanciful, and whimsical imagination, accompanied with a warm, feeling, poetic heart-shaken hands with their intoxicating friendship.

In the first place, let my pupil, as he tenders his own peace, keep up a regular, warm intercourse with the Deity.

(Here the MSS. abruptly close.)

FRAGMENTS,

MISCELLANEOUS REMARKS,

&c.

"Every single observation that is published by a man of genius, be it ever so trivial, should be esteemed of importance; because he speaks from his own impressions: whereas common men publish common things, which they have perhaps gleaned from frivolous writers."

Shenstone.

I

LIKE to have quotations for every occasion: They give one's ideas so pat, and save one the trouble of finding expression adequate to one's feelings. I think it is one of the greatest pleasures attending a poetic genius, that we can give our woes, cares, joys, loves, &c. an embodied form in verse: which, to me, is ever immediate Goldsmith says finely of his muse

ease.

"Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe;
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so."

What a creature is man! A little alarm

last

last night, and to-day, that I am mortal, has made such a revolution on my spirits! There is no philosophy, no divinity, that comes half so much home to the mind. I have no idea of courage that braves Heaven: 'Tis the wild ravings of an imaginary hero in Bedlam.

My favorite feature in Milton's Satan is, his manly fortitude in supporting what cannot be remedied-in short, the wild, broken fragments of a noble, exalted mind in ruins. I meant no more by saying he was a favorite hero of mine.

I am just risen from a two-hours' bout after supper, with silly or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in common with me-but the port. "One"-Tis now "witching time of night;" and whatever is out of joint in the foregoing scrawl, impute it to enchantments and spells; for I can't look over it, but will seal it up directly, as I don't care for to-morrow's criticisms on it.

We ought, when we wish to be economists in happiness; we ought, in the first place, to fix

the

the standard of our own character; and when, on full examination, we know where we stand, and how much ground we occupy, let us contend for it as property; and those who seem to doubt, or deny us what is justly ours, let us either pity their prejudices, or despise their judgment.

J

I know you will say this is self-conceit; but I call it self-knowledge: the one is the overweening opinion of a fool, who fancies himself to be, what he wishes himself to be thought; the other is the honest justice that a man of sense, who has thoroughly examined the subject, owes to himself. Without this standard, this column, in our mind, we are perpetually at the mercy of the petulance, the mistakes, the prejudices, nay the very weakness and wickedness of our fellow-creatures.

Away, then, with disquietudes! Let us pray with the honest weaver of Kilbarchan, "L-d, send us a gude conceit o' oursel!" Or in the words of the auld sang;

"Who does me disdain, I can scorn them again, And I'll never mind any such foes."

Your thoughts on religion shall be welcome.

You

You may perhaps distrust me when I say 'tis also my favorite topic; but mine is the religion of the bosom. I hate the very idea of a controversial divinity; as I firmly believe that every honest, upright man, of whatever sect, will be accepted of the Deity. I despise the superstition of a fanatic, but I love the religion of a man.

Why have I not heard from you? To-day I well expected it; and before supper, when a letter to me was announced, my heart danced with rapture: but behold! 'twas some fool who had taken it into his head to turn poet; and made me an offering of the first fruits of his nonsense.

I believe there is no holding converse, or carrying on correspondence, with an amiable fine woman, without some mixture of that delicious passion, whose most devoted slave I have more than once had the honor of being : but why be hurt or offended on that account? Can no honest man have a prepossession for a fine woman, but he must run his head against an intrigue? Take a little of the tender witchcraft of love, and add to it the generous, the honorable sentiments of manly friendship; and I know but

one