three times in a day;
An ye crowdie!
An ye crowdie!
Robert Forst
_
MY DEAR FRIEND,
As I am in a complete Decemberish humour, gloomy, sullen, stupid as
even the Deity of Dulness herself could wish, I shall not drawl out a
heavy letter with a number of heavier apologies for my late silence.
Only one I shall mention, because I know you will sympathize in it:
these four months, a sweet little girl, my youngest child, has been so
ill, that every day, a week or less, threatened to terminate her
existence. There had much need be many pleasures annexed to the states
of husband and father, for, God knows, they have many peculiar cares.
I cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours these ties
frequently give me. I see a train of helpless little folks; me and my
exertions all their stay: and on what a brittle thread does the life
of man hang! If I am nipt off at the command of fate! even in all the
vigour of manhood as I am--such things happen every day--gracious God!
what would become of my little flock! 'Tis here that I envy your
people of fortune. --A father on his death-bed, taking an everlasting
leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but the man of competent
fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency and friends; while
I--but I shall run distracted if I think any longer on the subject!
To leave talking of the matter so gravely, I shall sing with the old
Scots ballad--
"O that I had ne'er been married,
I would never had nae care;
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,
They cry crowdie! evermair.
Crowdie! ance; crowdie! twice;
Crowdie!
three times in a day;
An ye crowdie! ony mair,
Ye'll crowdie! a' my meal away. "--
* * * * *
_December 24th. _
We have had a brilliant theatre here this season; only, as all other
business does, it experiences a stagnation of trade from the
epidemical complaint of the country, _want of cash. _ I mentioned our
theatre merely to lug in an occasional Address which I wrote for the
benefit-night of one of the actresses, and which is as follows:--
ADDRESS,
SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, DEC. 4, 1795, AT
THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES.
Still anxious to secure your partial favour, &c.
_25th, Christmas-Morning. _
This, my much-loved friend, is a morning of wishes--accept mine--so
heaven hear me as they are sincere! that blessings may attend your
steps, and affliction know you not! In the charming words of my
favourite author, "The Man of Feeling," "May the Great Spirit bear up
the weight of thy gray hairs, and blunt the arrow that brings them
rest! "
Now that I talk of authors, how do you like Cowper? Is not the "Task"
a glorious poem? The religion of the "Task," bating a few scraps of
Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of God and nature; the religion
that exalts, that ennobles man. Were not you to send me your "Zeluco,"
in return for mine?
MY DEAR FRIEND,
As I am in a complete Decemberish humour, gloomy, sullen, stupid as
even the Deity of Dulness herself could wish, I shall not drawl out a
heavy letter with a number of heavier apologies for my late silence.
Only one I shall mention, because I know you will sympathize in it:
these four months, a sweet little girl, my youngest child, has been so
ill, that every day, a week or less, threatened to terminate her
existence. There had much need be many pleasures annexed to the states
of husband and father, for, God knows, they have many peculiar cares.
I cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours these ties
frequently give me. I see a train of helpless little folks; me and my
exertions all their stay: and on what a brittle thread does the life
of man hang! If I am nipt off at the command of fate! even in all the
vigour of manhood as I am--such things happen every day--gracious God!
what would become of my little flock! 'Tis here that I envy your
people of fortune. --A father on his death-bed, taking an everlasting
leave of his children, has indeed woe enough; but the man of competent
fortune leaves his sons and daughters independency and friends; while
I--but I shall run distracted if I think any longer on the subject!
To leave talking of the matter so gravely, I shall sing with the old
Scots ballad--
"O that I had ne'er been married,
I would never had nae care;
Now I've gotten wife and bairns,
They cry crowdie! evermair.
Crowdie! ance; crowdie! twice;
Crowdie!
three times in a day;
An ye crowdie! ony mair,
Ye'll crowdie! a' my meal away. "--
* * * * *
_December 24th. _
We have had a brilliant theatre here this season; only, as all other
business does, it experiences a stagnation of trade from the
epidemical complaint of the country, _want of cash. _ I mentioned our
theatre merely to lug in an occasional Address which I wrote for the
benefit-night of one of the actresses, and which is as follows:--
ADDRESS,
SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT, DEC. 4, 1795, AT
THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES.
Still anxious to secure your partial favour, &c.
_25th, Christmas-Morning. _
This, my much-loved friend, is a morning of wishes--accept mine--so
heaven hear me as they are sincere! that blessings may attend your
steps, and affliction know you not! In the charming words of my
favourite author, "The Man of Feeling," "May the Great Spirit bear up
the weight of thy gray hairs, and blunt the arrow that brings them
rest! "
Now that I talk of authors, how do you like Cowper? Is not the "Task"
a glorious poem? The religion of the "Task," bating a few scraps of
Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of God and nature; the religion
that exalts, that ennobles man. Were not you to send me your "Zeluco,"
in return for mine?
