IMPROMPTU,
On seeing that the Publisher of the Messenger had changed the color of its covers.
| So you're changing your colors, I see, master White, But say now d'ye think it is perfectly right? Yet I own, on reflection, it is not so wrong, And the reason, I think, is sufficiently strong: Give it up? Then I'll tell you at once to your shame, You're a man of all colors yourself—by your name; For all the seven colors, you know, must unite To make the commixture that people call white. |
P. Q.
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
MR. WHITE,—On looking over a young lady's Album a few evenings since, I met with the following lines, of which, with her permission, I immediately took a copy. I now enclose them to you for insertion in the Messenger, hoping that some one of your numerous readers may not only be able to tell me in what language they are written, but let me still further into the secret by giving me a translation of them.
| "'Adhmhur mar dhia neo bhasmhor 'ta "'N t'oglach gu caidreach a shuis re d' sqa: "Sa chluin, sa chìth re faad na hùin "Do bhriara droigheal, 's do fhrea gradh cùin." |
I was also allowed to transcribe from the same source, two other pieces which I send you herewith, under an impression that they are well worthy a place in your interesting miscellany.