much admired old
Highland air called "The Sutor's Dochter?" It is a first-rate
favourite of mine, and I have written what I reckon one of my best
songs to it. I will send it to you as it was sung with great applause
in some fashionable circles by Major Roberston, of Lude, who was here
with his corps.

* * * * *

There is one commission that I must trouble you with. I lately lost a
valuable seal, a present from a departed friend which vexes me much.

I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which I fancy would make a
very decent one; and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it; will you
be so obliging as inquire what will be the expense of such a business?
I do not know that my name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, at
all; but I have invented arms for myself, so you know I shall be chief
of the name; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled
to supporters. These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I am
a bit of a herald, and shall give you, _secundum artem_, my arms. On a
field, azure, a holly-bush, seeded, proper, in base; a shepherd's pipe
and crook, saltier-wise, also proper in chief. On a wreath of the
colours, a wood lark perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, for
crest. Two mottos; round the top of the crest, _Wood-notes wild_: at
the bottom of the shield, in the usual place, _Better a wee bush than
nae bield._ By the shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the
nonsense of painters of Arcadia, but a _stock and horn_, and a _club_,
such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, in Allan's quarto edition
of the _Gentle Shepherd._ By the bye, do you know Allan? He must be a
man of very great genius--Why is he not more known?--Has he no
patrons? or do "Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain beat keen and
heavy" on him! I once, and but once, got a glance of that noble
edition of the noblest pastoral in the world; and dear as it was, I
mean dear as to my pocket, I would have bought it; but I was told
that it was printed and engraved for subscribers only. He is the
_only_ artist who has hit _genuine_ pastoral _costume._ What, my dear
Cunningham, is there in riches, that they narrow and harden the heart
so? I think, that were I as rich as the sun, I should be as generous
as the day; but as I have no reason to imagine my soul a nobler one
than any other man's, I must conclude that wealth imparts a bird-lime
quality to the possessor, at which the man, in his