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Letter from Gavin Kinloch.

hae to dree: sae, whan I gaed hame I thocht I micht try what pairt wad open to me;

an’
my

e'e first fixed on whare king David was mournin' for Absolam ; an' neist I read about Rachel weepin' for her children, an' I liket somehow or ither to see that she wadna be comfortet: an' the third telt, hoo Jacob grat langsyne, whan he thocht Joseph was dead, an' Benjamin (the son of his auld days, ye ken, wham he was sae bun' up in) to be ta'en

awa.

It maybe, because we ken best, the waes that we hae oursels, or because the misfortunes o ithers dinna cum sae far ben to the heart as our ain, but it stuck upon my breast than, an'aye sinsyne, that I hae muckle mair cause to greet than either Absolam's father or Benjamin's. My bairn, besides bein' a weel doin' lad that never vexed me nor his mither a' his days, was the only ane that God had been pleased to gie us; an', waes me! the houp that wad nae doubt help to haud up Jacob's heart coudna be in mine, for it pleased Him, that it shou'd be mysel wha was appointet to close his een; an' sae, tho' I may gang to him, I ken weel that Sandy canna cum back to me.

Nae doubt, as Andrew Ettleweel our el'er, aye tells me, we shou'd be resigned to the Almichty whan he tak's awa', as weel as thankfu' whan he gies: but I aften think that what they did, wha pleased God langsyne, an' that he didna reprove them for, He'll forgie in me, for I'm sure that He wha was sae guid to the patriarch, an' the Son o' Jesse, 'll no be unco sair upon the like o' me, gin. I wis' wi' the ane that it had pleased Him to tak’ me instead o' my bairn, an' think like the ither, (maybe ower aften) that

my
auld

gray hairs, 'll sune gang doun wi' sorrow to

the grave.

Ye'll be wearit noo, oʻsic a waefu' letter as this, sae I'll just tak’ fareweel o' ye again. Tho' it's no likely that ye'll hear frae me ony mair, I'll no forget yir kin’ness in prenting what I sent ye o' Sandy's, an' ye may be sure that I'll remain

Yir lovin' frien' till death,
Gowan Brae, Nov. 13th, 1818. GAVIN KINLOCH

N

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Anecdote of Alexander I.

ANECDOTE OF ALEXANDER L.

Although not a little has been vaunted about the generosity (real or spurious) of a late Royal Personage, yet we imagine our readers will be more than pleased with the following communication of an anecdote connected with a living piece of Royalty. Concomitant instances are certainly rare of an equal degree of condescension and true feeling; but perhaps we should not be surprised at it in a man who could appropriate two or three hours in endeavouring to rescue a fellow-creature from the effects of a drowning state.

A poor woman in St. Ninians, (Stirlingshire) by designation Elizabeth Willcox, was supported in a great measure by the exertions of her son, John Duncan, a sailor in our merchant servicc. He had the misfortune to be at St. Petersburgh, when the late Emperor Paul seized upon all the British shipping within bis dominions, the consequence of which was John's imprisonment. Betty, not getting her regular allowance, had the temerity to write to the Emperor requesting her son's liberty, and stating that he was the source of her sole dependance, as she had arrived at that time of life when she could do little for herself. In consequence of this application, it would seem, on the accession of Alexander, John had his liberty restored, and the mother, out of gratitude, sent him two pairs of elegant silk stockings, knitted by herself, accompanied with a letter thanking him for having attended to the prayers of the widow, on behalf of her only son. The Emperor, upou the receipt of the stockings is reported to have said, “ This woman has her heart in its right place;' and iimmediately answered her letter, expressing his feelings for the motherly attention she had shown for her son, and inclosing her an order on London for £100; at the same time requesting her to come over to Russia and learn his countrywomen to knit in the like handsome manner: if that did not suit her, to inform him how she had arrived at such a state of perfection in that art. Betty, in her reply, requested her men of business (door neighbours) to say, as unhappily she could not write herself, and those whom she employed were desired to put down her diction verbatim: “ That as for gaun to Russia, she was ower auld, and didna like to leave her ain kintra ; and that she learned to work stockings gaun at the cow's tail”.

Anecdote of Alexander I.

Betty with her little fortune bought some cotton, spun it, and knitted a pair of pantaloons, in the fabrication of which nothing was used but her wires. These she likewise sent the Emperor, and, as a memorial of her correspondence with a crowned head, or as an heir-loom to keep her descendants in remembrance of her knack at knitting, ordered a handsome house-clock to be made, the horlage of which was expressive of the transaction, having in the centre a ship rocking with the motion of the pendulum, and below, she motto of

“ Wha would ha'e thought it,

Tliat stockings wad bought it.” The four corners were graced with portraits of the Emperor Alexander reviewing his troops Betty at her usual occupation of knitting-Jack, her son, taking farewell of his wife--and Jack at sea with a fair wind. Betty did not live long to enjoy the Emperor's bounty. She died a few years ago, and soon after the latter occurrence.

We cannot vouch for the authenticity of the following highly poetical epitaph; but it is said, when Jack learned his mother's death, that he was seized with the first poetic mania he had ever been known to possess,—thinking, doubtless, that as his mother had done so much for him, he could do little less for her—and after no small time spent in belabouring his brain, produced the following:

“ Here lies Betty Willcox,
Snug in her death-box."

S. M. C.

JEU D'ESPRIT.

The following little Jcu d'esprit was written on the arrival of Mr. Rose in the Statira frigate, in America, for the purpose of bringing to a termination the differences which then existed between that country and Britain.

That Britain sues for peace, these facts disclose,
She sends a messenger of peace—the Rose;
The Bark which brings this messenger of peace,
Is named Stat-ira--that's let anger cease.

The Port-FolioA Bull.- A Pun-An Irishman and Driver,

The Port-Folio.

A thing of shreds and patches.--Hamlet

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A Bull.An Irishman having put on mourning for her late majesty was told that he had forgotten to put a black ribband to his watch: “ No, said he, I did not forget it.” “ But when you were lately in mourning, you had a black watch ribband." “ O yes, but then I was in mourning for myself.'

A Pun.-A gentleman and his wife visiting at a friend's house, happened to be too late for breakfast one morning. The lady, however, being first dressed, proceeded to the parlour, and left her husband in the act of shaving: Pray, Ma'am, said the host, what is become of Mr. this morning? He is not yet, said the lady, bare-faced enough to appear in your presence, Sir.

A Pun-Crombe, in the memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus, said he was every day under the dominion of a certain word, such for mustance as the word led, which not only governed him, but all the world besides. For, said he, nobleman and drunkards are pimp-led; physicians and pulses are fee-led; the patients and oranges are pil-led; a new-married man and an ass arę sada led; cats and dice are rat-led ; swine and nobility are sty-led ; coquettes and a tinder-box are spark-led.

An Irishman and Drivsr.-An Irish gentleman having fallen asleep in one of the night coaches, was, with considerable difficulty, awakened by the driver at the end of the stage, for his customary fee. Och, botheration t'ye, says Pat, there's a sixpence, and if you had not wakened me out of my comfortable nap with your confounded gibberish, I would have given you a shilling.

Receipt for Extravagant Charges,-A gentleman who had been often on the Kent road, had occasion to travel that way some time ago, and on entering a certain coffee-house near the sea-side-Pray, waiter,'-— Coming, Sir.' Waiter! I say.'

Yes, Sir. · Waiter!“Be with you presently, Sir.' Waiter! . Your pleasure, Sir. Pray what do you charge for sixpen’

Toasts.-A Mortifying Explanation.-Dr. Shebbeare and Paddy.

worth of Brandy and water?' • Sir! What do you charge, I say, for sixpen'-worth of brandy and water?'

Why, sixpence, to be sure, Sir. O, very well

, bring me sixpen'-worth, for I am determined never to call for any thing in this place without knowing the price first.'

Toasts. ---At an annual dinner of the sapient society, a wise head gave

for a toast the three C's, which he called the Country-the King, and the Constitution. Another learned wight, determined not to be behind hand, very consequentially gave the three R's, that is, said he,– Reading, Riting, and Rithmctica'

The Mortifying Explanation. A certain monk preaching to the populace, made a most enormous and uncouth noise, by which a good woman, one of his auditors, was so much afflicted, that she burst into a flood of tears. The preacher attributing her grief to remorse of conscience, excited within her by his eloquence, sent for her, and asked her why she was so piteously aafflicted by his discourse. Why, father,' answered the mourner, I am a poor widow, and was accustomed to maintain myself by the labour of an Ass, which was left me by my late husband. But alas! my poor beast is dead, and your preaching brought his braying so strongly to my recollection, that I could not restrain my grief.

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Dr. Shebbeare and Paddy-When the Doctor was adjudged to and on the pillory, on account of his sixth letter to the people of England, towards the close of executing the sentence, it began to rain, and as the Doctor was particularly well dressed, some of his friends sent up an Irish chairman, with an umbrella to hold over him.

Next day Paddy appeared at the Doctor's lodgings, ' hoping his honour was very well, and that he got no cold the day before. Pray, my friend, (says the Doctor) have yon not been paid for your services, yesterday?'

() yes, your honour, I got a guinea. • And don't you think that sufficient for a quarter of an hour's standing?'. Why to be sure in regard to work I can't say but it is-but-your honour, consider the disgrace. The Doctor, so far from being displeased at the reply, gave him a crown more, for whieh Paddy was so thankful, that he left him his address, if ever he should have occasion for his services again.

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