MY DEAR FRIEND,
There is not a man in the world whom I would wish to oblige before yourself, and I am sorry that I cannot comply with your flattering proposal that I should write an ode for your ensuing anniversary. A few days prior to the receipt of yours, Wylie was chosen for our next year's president, and in a moment of enthusiasm I came under a promise to furnish him with something of that kind for what he calls his night. I shall attempt something; however, I tremble when I think of it. To do justice to the subject would require the abilities of a Campbell or a Scott, and I almost despair of being able to produce anything half so good as what has already been by different hands given to the public. Besides, I know that the society are determined to have a blazing account of our meeting sent to some of the newspapers. Of course, my rhymes are designed to be attached as a train to the dazzling luminary, or a lang wiggle-waglin tail to a callan's dragon [boy's kite]. We have clever fellows in the society—men of genius, and college-bred; but there seems to be a jealousy subsisting among them, or a fear of one another, which has prevented any account worthy of our former meetings from being given in print. I hope our next will be better. Smith had the best concert on Tuesday night, both for performance and attendance, that ever I witnessed in this place; and who could tamely return all at once to sowenbrods and cauld seat-trees ? [1] Allow me now to thank you for the music you sent me. Except ‘The Fair-haired Child,’ all the airs are new to me. I have found a set of ‘Peggy O‘Leven’ here, so you need not mind about it. I was quite sensible that in the song I sent you ‘The Five Friends,’ [2] our most worthy friend Smith deserved something more than merely musical to be said of him; but the shortness of the stanza confined one so much, that I could not get my breath half out about any of you. Let me hear from you soon; your happiness and welfare ever add to mine. I would send you some rhymes, but have not leisure at present to copy them.
I remain,
MY DEAR FRIEND,
Yours most faithfully,
R. T.
[1] Note by Ramsay.—“Sown brad,—a board used by weavers on which they put the sowens or paste used for stiffening the yarn. Seat-tree,—the wooden seat occupied by the weavers at the loom.”
[2] This refers to No. 144.—Ed