Your remark on the first stanza of my "Highland Mary" is just, but I cannot alter it, without injuring the poetry.
VI.
20th March 1793.
My Dear Sir,—The song prefixed ("Mary Morison") is one of my juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. I do not think it very remarkable, either for its merits or demerits. It is impossible (at least I feel it so in my stinted powers) to be always original, entertaining, and witty.
What is become of the list, etc., of your songs? I shall be out of all temper with you by and by. I have always looked on myself as the prince of indolent correspondents, and valued myself accordingly; and I will not, cannot bear rivalship from you, nor anybody else.
VII.
7th April 1793.
Thank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. You cannot imagine how much this business of composing for your publication has added to my enjoyments. What, with my early attachment to ballads, your book, etc., ballad-making is now as completely my hobby-horse as ever fortification was Uncle Toby's; so I'll e'en canter it away till I come to the limit of my race (God grant that I may take the right side of the winning-post!) and then cheerfully looking back on the honest folks with whom I have been happy, I shall say, or sing, "Sae merry as we a' hae been" and raising my last looks to the whole human race, the last words of the voice of Coila shall be, "Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!" So much for my last words; now for a few present remarks as they have occurred at random, on looking over your list.