O lively, O most charming pug:
Thy graceful air and heavenly mug!
The beauties of his mind do shine,
And every bit is shaped and fine.
Your teeth are whiter than the snow;
Your a great buck, your a great beau;
Your eyes are of so nice a shape,
More like a Christian's than an ape;
Your cheek is like the rose's blume;
Your hair is like the raven's plume;
His nose's cast is of the Roman:
He is a very pretty woman.
I could not get a rhyme for Roman,
So was obliged to call him woman.
This last joke is good. She repeats it when writing of James the Second
being killed at Roxburgh:--
He was killed by a cannon splinter,
Quite in the middle of the winter;
Perhaps it was not at that time,
But I can get no other rhyme.
Here is one of her last letters, dated Kirkcaldy, 12th October, 1811.
You can see how her nature is deepening and enriching:--
MY DEAR MOTHER--You will think that I entirely forget you but
I assure you that you are greatly mistaken. I think of you
always and often sigh to think of the distance between us two
loving creatures of nature. We have regular hours for all our
occupations first at 7 o'clock we go to the dancing and come
home at 8 we then read our Bible and get our repeating and
then play till ten then we get our music till 11 when we get
our writing and accounts we sew from 12 till 1 after which I
get my gramer and then work till five. At 7 we come and knit
till 8 when we dont go to the dancing. This is an exact
description. I must take a hasty farewell to her whom I love,
reverence and doat on and who I hope thinks the same of