_
O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full-moon
of discretion, and chief of many counsellors!
O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full-moon
of discretion, and chief of many counsellors!
Robert Forst
Mrs.
Riddel, who will take this
letter to town with her, and send it to you, is a character that, even
in your own way, as a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an
acquisition to your acquaintance. The lady, too, is a votary to the
muses; and as I think myself somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I
assure you that her verses, always correct, and often elegant, are
much beyond the common run of the _lady-poetesses_ of the day. She is
a great admirer of your book; and, hearing me say that I was
acquainted with you, she begged to be known to you, as she is just
going to pay her first visit to our Caledonian capital. I told her
that her best way was, to desire her near relation, and your intimate
friend, Craigdarroch, to have you at his house while she was there;
and lest you might think of a lively West Indian girl, of eighteen, as
girls of eighteen too often deserve to be thought of, I should take
care to remove that prejudice. To be impartial, however, in
appreciating the lady's merits, she has one unlucky failing: a failing
which you will easily discover, as she seems rather pleased with
indulging in it; and a failing that you will easily pardon, as it is a
sin which very much besets yourself;--where she dislikes, or despises,
she is apt to make no more a secret of it, than where she esteems and
respects.
I will not present you with the unmeaning _compliments of the season_,
but I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that
Fortune may never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a Knave, or
set your character on the judgment of a Fool; but that, upright and
erect, you may walk to an honest grave, where men of letters shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to science, and men of worth shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to human nature.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVIII.
TO MR. W. NICOL.
[This ironical letter was in answer to one from Nicol, containing
counsel and reproof. ]
_20th February, 1792.
_
O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full-moon
of discretion, and chief of many counsellors! How infinitely is thy
puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave
indebted to thy supereminent goodness, that from the luminous path of
thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring
wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of
calculation, from the simple copulation of units, up to the hidden
mysteries of fluxions! May one feeble ray of that light of wisdom
which darts from thy sensorium, straight as the arrow of heaven, and
bright as the meteor of inspiration, may it be my portion, so that I
may be less unworthy of the face and favour of that father of proverbs
and master of maxims, that antipode of folly, and magnet among the
sages, the wise and witty Willie Nicol! Amen! Amen! Yea, so be it!
For me! I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing! From the cave of my
ignorance, amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes of my
political heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a toad through the
iron-barred lucerne of a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory
of a summer sun! Sorely sighing in bitterness of soul, I say, when
shall my name be the quotation of the wise, and my countenance be the
delight of the godly, like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many
hills? As for him, his works are perfect: never did the pen of calumny
blur the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of hatred fly at
his dwelling.
Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfine lamp of my glimmerous
understanding, purged from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine
like the constellation of thy intellectual powers! --As for thee, thy
thoughts are pure, and thy lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed
breath of the powers of darkness, and the pleasures of darkness,
pollute the sacred flame of thy sky-descended and heaven-bound
desires: never did the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded serene
of thy cerulean imagination. O that like thine were the tenor of my
life, like thine the tenor of my conversation! then should no friend
fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in my weakness!
letter to town with her, and send it to you, is a character that, even
in your own way, as a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an
acquisition to your acquaintance. The lady, too, is a votary to the
muses; and as I think myself somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I
assure you that her verses, always correct, and often elegant, are
much beyond the common run of the _lady-poetesses_ of the day. She is
a great admirer of your book; and, hearing me say that I was
acquainted with you, she begged to be known to you, as she is just
going to pay her first visit to our Caledonian capital. I told her
that her best way was, to desire her near relation, and your intimate
friend, Craigdarroch, to have you at his house while she was there;
and lest you might think of a lively West Indian girl, of eighteen, as
girls of eighteen too often deserve to be thought of, I should take
care to remove that prejudice. To be impartial, however, in
appreciating the lady's merits, she has one unlucky failing: a failing
which you will easily discover, as she seems rather pleased with
indulging in it; and a failing that you will easily pardon, as it is a
sin which very much besets yourself;--where she dislikes, or despises,
she is apt to make no more a secret of it, than where she esteems and
respects.
I will not present you with the unmeaning _compliments of the season_,
but I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that
Fortune may never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a Knave, or
set your character on the judgment of a Fool; but that, upright and
erect, you may walk to an honest grave, where men of letters shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to science, and men of worth shall
say, here lies a man who did honour to human nature.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXXVIII.
TO MR. W. NICOL.
[This ironical letter was in answer to one from Nicol, containing
counsel and reproof. ]
_20th February, 1792.
_
O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full-moon
of discretion, and chief of many counsellors! How infinitely is thy
puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave
indebted to thy supereminent goodness, that from the luminous path of
thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring
wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of
calculation, from the simple copulation of units, up to the hidden
mysteries of fluxions! May one feeble ray of that light of wisdom
which darts from thy sensorium, straight as the arrow of heaven, and
bright as the meteor of inspiration, may it be my portion, so that I
may be less unworthy of the face and favour of that father of proverbs
and master of maxims, that antipode of folly, and magnet among the
sages, the wise and witty Willie Nicol! Amen! Amen! Yea, so be it!
For me! I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing! From the cave of my
ignorance, amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes of my
political heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a toad through the
iron-barred lucerne of a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory
of a summer sun! Sorely sighing in bitterness of soul, I say, when
shall my name be the quotation of the wise, and my countenance be the
delight of the godly, like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many
hills? As for him, his works are perfect: never did the pen of calumny
blur the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of hatred fly at
his dwelling.
Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfine lamp of my glimmerous
understanding, purged from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine
like the constellation of thy intellectual powers! --As for thee, thy
thoughts are pure, and thy lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed
breath of the powers of darkness, and the pleasures of darkness,
pollute the sacred flame of thy sky-descended and heaven-bound
desires: never did the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded serene
of thy cerulean imagination. O that like thine were the tenor of my
life, like thine the tenor of my conversation! then should no friend
fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in my weakness!
