of my few friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock; I had composed
the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia--"The Gloomy Night Is
Gathering Fast," when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine
overthrew all my schemes by opening new prospects to my poetic
ambition. The doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose applause I
had not dared to hope. His opinion, that I would meet with
encouragement in Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so much, that
away I posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single
letter of introduction. The baneful star that had so long shed its
blasting influence in my zenith for once made a revolution to the
nadir; and a kind Providence placed me under the patronage of one of
the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. _Oublie moi, grand Dieu, si
jamais je l'oublie_ [Forget me, Great God, if I ever forget him!].

I need relate no further. At Edinburgh I was in a new world; I mingled
among many classes of men, but all of them new to me, and I was all
attention to "catch" the characters and "the manners living as they
rise." Whether I have profited, time will show.


POETS ARE BORN--THEN MADE

[_To Dr. Moore_]

ELLISLAND, 4th January, 1789.

. . . The character and employment of a poet were formerly my pleasure,
but are now my pride. I know that a very great deal of my late _éclat_
was owing to the singularity of my situation and the honest prejudice
of Scotsmen; but still, as I said in the preface to my first edition, I