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