Ο shakes her expressive head. She says, no such times were they toil was thy abhorrence. Want hovered over thy loom, and poverty stalked with thee as thy shadow. True, my faithful guide,-true is your accusation. I own I grovelled in obscurity; no hopes to inspire, no muse to soothe my struggling breast, till you, my dear friend, saw the glimmering spark, blew it to a flame, and rescued the buried muse from oblivion. How often has she soothed my troubled mind, and enabled me to breathe my melancholy plaints, dissolved me to joy, or swelled me to raptures,-and shall I blame you for this. No, my dear sir, your name inspires her theme, and her best services shall be at your feet. Since I left Paisley, I have met with some encouragement, but I assure you, sir, that my occupation is greatly against my success in collecting subscribers. A packman is a character which none esteem, and almost every one despises. The idea which people of all ranks entertain of them is, that they are mean-spirited, loquacious liars, cunning and illiterate, watching every opportunity, and using every low and mean art within their power to cheat. When any one applies to a genteel person, pretending to be a poet, he is treated with ridicule and contempt; and even though he should produce a specimen, it is either thrown back again, without being thought worthy of perusal, or else read with prejudice. I find also that a poet's fame is his wealth. Of this the booksellers to whom I applied with proposals have complained, saying, "it was a pity I was not better known." I think, therefore, it will be my best scheme to collect the manuscripts in an orderly manner, and send them to some gentleman for correction. Since I saw you, I have finished several pieces in English verse, particularly a poem entitled " Lochwinnoch," in which I hope I have drawn the character of Mr. M'D. so as to please you, and perhaps himself, yet after all, you cannot conceive the diffiulties which at present involve, Dear Sir, Your humble servant, ALEX. WILSON. TO MR. THOMAS CRICHTON, PAISLEY. Tower of Auchinbothie, Sept. 1790. DEAR FRIEND,-It undoubtedly requires a greater degree of fortitude, and a firmer constitution, for a feeling mind to struggle with adversity, and it is often their lot. Under the pressure of virtuous misfortunes, thousands pine in secret, till disease settles on their frame, and consumes the little of life they have left; while others are unhappy only in the eyes of the world. Blessed with hearts unsusceptible of feeling the past, or fearing the future, they only endure the present sufferings, which hope dissipates with endearing smiles and ceaseless promises. A sensibility under misfortune gives every new distress innumerable stings, but when once hope takes her residence in the heart, their numbers diminish, their terrors disappear, and, though under real suffering for the present, we forget them in the anticipation of the future scenes of approaching happiness. Such, my dear Sir, are the thoughts that for ever revolve through my breast,—such the melancholy reflections of one lost to every beam of hope,-and such, amid the most dismal, the most complicated horrors of distress. Driven by poverty and disease to the solitudes of retirement, at the same period when the flush of youth, the thirst of fame, the ex b Mr. M'Dougal, a gentleman then residing near Lochwinnoch, to whom Wilson dedicated his second edition, and some verses. This letter was written after he had traversed a part of his native country for subscribers to the first edition of his poems. pected applause of the world, and the charms of ambition welcomed him to the field. Had I but one hope more left of enjoying life and health, methinks I could cheerfully suffer the miseries that now surround me; but, alas, I feel my body decay daily, my spirits and strength continually decrease, and something within tells me that dissolution, dreadful dissolution, is not far distant. No heart can conceive the terrors of those who tremble under the appre hension of death. This increases their love of life, and every new advance of the King of Terrors overwhelms them with despair. How hard, how difficult, how unhappy to prepare for eternity; and yet how dreadful to live or to die unprepared. Oh, that I were enabled to make it my study to interest myself in His favour, who has the keys of Hell and of Death. Then all the vanities of life would appear what they really are, and the shades of death would brighten up a glorious path to everlasting mansions of felicity. My dear Sir, you will no doubt be surprised to hear me talk in this manner, but are not you more surprised that you found me so long a stranger to these things. They are the sincere effusions of my soul; and I hope, that through the divine aid, they shall be my future delight, whether health shall again return, or death has lifted the commissioned dart. My health is in a very declining state. The surgeon believes my disease to be an inflammation of the lungs. I intend to stay sometime longer in the country, and to hear from you would be acceptable to the unfortunate ALEX. WILSON. P.S.-Excuse this shift for want of paper," and a "The above letter," says Crichton, "was written on an old leaf of paper, torn from a book of accounts, ruled with red lines for money columns." direct to me, care of William Ewing, Innkeeper, Lochwinnoch, who will get your letter conveyed to me, or write by the bearer, who returns to-morrow. Since the foregoing sheets were in the press, this friend and biographer of the poet, has "paid the debt of nature." The following excellent article, describing his remarkable death, appeared in the "Renfrewshire Advertiser" of Nov. 23, 1844. We cannot allow the sudden departure of this venerable man to be the subject of announcement merely in the lists of an obituary, or in the chronicle of passing events. Mr. Crichton has been long a justly esteemed citizen of the community of Paisley. He held an important office in connexion with one of our municipal institutions, the duties of which he discharged faithfully for the long period of half a century. His career has been marked by a course of humble, unobtrusive, and unostentatious usefulness; and he has been gathered to his fathers like a shock of corn when it is ripe. Mr. Crichton was born in Paisley, of reputable parents, on January 7th, 1761. His profession was that of a teacher of youth, and all his labours in this most useful department, were subordinated to the great end of imbuing the young mind with the seeds of moral and religious principle. He was elected master of the Town's Hospital in July, 1791. He became an elder in the Middle Church parish in 1798; and was chosen Session Clerk to the High parish in 1805. At the time of his death, he was the senior elder of all the Presbyterian denominations in Paisley; and as the father of the Free Middle Church Session, he was honoured to lay the foundation stone, a few months ago, of the church of that congregation; an edifice which he just lived to see completed, and at the opening of which, on Friday se'nnight, he was enabled to be present, and with feelings of no common interest engaged in the services. Although he had almost completed his 84th year, he enjoyed no ordinary measure of health both in body and mind, and his death on Monday last [18th November] was really a translation. On the afternoon of that day, his minister, the Rev. Mr. Forrester, had conversed with him for an hour. The main subject of the conversation was his favourite topic, the history and statistics of the town; and he was remarkably lively and cheerful. Shortly after Mr. Forrester left him, he was employed in copying some poetical pieces of his own composition, when the pen suddenly dropped from his hand; he lay back in his easy chair, and instantly expired. The lines which he had written were as follows: "Isaiah, Judah's bard, in strains sublime, Here the trace of the falling pen is drawn across the paper, as it dropped from the writer's fingers. A slight moan indicated to his wife and daughter something unusual. They were in a moment at his side, but all was over. The pen, it was found, had stopped in the middle of the word "glory," near the termination of the line, and a faint diagonal scratch along the paper indicates the course which it assumed, after the hand that held it became incapable of action. A smile rested on his face, and he seemed as one softly asleep. Mr. Crichton was a person of considerable literary attainments and habits. Possessing a sound understanding, and a remarkably retentive memory, he was singularly fond of reading, and he thus laid up in store large masses of useful information, which he was ever ready to communicate. He had a particular fondness for the productions of the British bards; and he was the author of several poetical picces of considerable merit. In the periodicals of the day, particularly the Scots Magazine, and the Edinburgh Christian Instructor, he wrote a variety of useful articles; and his biographical accounts of Dr. Witherspoon, Dr. Snodgrass, and Dr. Findlay, are exceedingly interesting and valuable. With the eminent person at the head of this list he was personally acquainted, and no topics interested and delighted him so much as those connected with the career of that illustrious president of New Jersey College in America. A few years ago, Dr. Ashbel Green, the successor of Witherspoon in the college, and now the father of the American Presbyterian Church, applied to Mr. Crichton, through a friend in Glasgow, for information regarding him with the view of a more extended life than had yet appeared. Mr. Crichton supplied ample materials for this purpose; and when Dr. Burns was lately in Philadelphia, the venerable Dr. Green inquired of him particularly about his much respected correspondent, and sent him his kind remembrances. On all subjects connected with the management of the poor, Mr. Crichton was well informed, and his views were peculiarly judicious and sound. On various occasions he furnished most accurate and useful information for different statistical works on the subject. He was not a man of theory, and having no peculiar system of opinions to maintain, he contributed at all times from his store of knowledge those facts, and those facts only, which form the elements of system, and its only sure basis. |