President Quincy said afterwards to one of my class. that the performances were "highly creditable." I have been chosen, with others, to preside over the destinies of Harvardiana* during the ensuing year. This was somewhat flattering to my vanity considering that I'm one of the youngest in my class. . . . Shack, pity me! I am in love-and have been so for some time, hopelessly in love. Perhaps you know how to pity me. . . Your affectionate friend, J. R. L. TO THE SAME Boston, Aug. 14, 1837. My dear Friend,-. . . I have just returned from an excursion into the country, where I have been engaged shooting and fishing and going through the usual routine of country amusements. But I am glad to get home again. ... ... To-day it is clearing up, and we shall have a specimen of our pleasant weather, which is as delightful as any in the world—as Whittier says (and I shall always like him the better for "sticking up" for old New England), "My own green land forever!" Yankee-land, after all, is no place to be sneezed at, especially when 'tis one's birthplace. Hath not Montgomery said, "There is a land of ev'ry land the pride, Beloved of Heaven o'er all the earth beside"? The college magazine of that date. and something else too, which I can't recall, about a spot in that land? And what are they—that land and that spot? "That land thy country, and that spot thy home!" Shack, how well I remember the first time I ever saw you" to speak to." You were a haughty (not by nature, but rank) Senior, I an humble Freshman, too proud to wear a jacket and afraid to wear a coat! You spoke to me kindly-how astonished I was! In my bashfulness I had always considered the Seniors as a superior race. But now I saw that, like Southey's "Ereenia," they could stoop to love a mortal. You were the first Senior I ever visited, and, if you recollect, it was no easy task to induce me to visit you, and then I did it stealthily "Eheu! jam satis!" methinks I hear you exclaim, but they are (those days of Freshmanic innocence) "A something glittering in the sun TO G. B. LORING I ... Elmwood, Cambridge, Wednesday, Aug. 23, 1837. I tak' my pen in hand, dear Lorin,' Wi' gems his mem'ry's pockets storin' Frae learning's mine. "Owre"-O'er. 2 Yet, as I ane day hope to climb Thro' some sma' chink to realms o' rhyme, If I scrawl verse, But say I might hae wasted time. 3 Besides, I'm readin' Burns the poet, Wad be (tho' far I fa' below it) 4 Having set Pegasus agoin', Wi' weel-nibb'd pen, and ink aflowin' An' let ye ken in stanzas glowin' What I'm about. 5 At present, then, your friend's reposin' Upon a couch, his een half-closin.' Sma', common minds wad think him dozin' While a' the time he's fast composin' These lines to you. * Quaere. "In writin' werse," as Sam Veller says (?) thus-"I might hae wasted time In writn' werse "-scil. verse. +"Ise "-I will-I'll. "Aiblins "-Anglice, perhaps. "Fou"-corned. *"Ae". 6 You must excuse this ramblin' letter; An' 'twas but late yestreen I met her 7 Those liquid een o' winsome blue (Like sparklin' draps o' heav'n's ain dew), Are aye before me; Where'er I turn they meet my view An' hover owre me! 8 To think o' her an' naething but her An' aften scarce escape the gutter 9 Fu' aft I've talk'd o' laughin' girls Wi' mickle glee But she, alas! my heartstrings dirls t In spite o' me! -One, in contradistinction to "Ane," which is used as in "Any one," "One says," etc. +"Dirls"-causes to flutter. ΙΟ Na, ne'er till now I've felt the sway Sighs aft as if it fain wad stay II 10 o'clock P.M. Geordie, while I was up here writin', This letter dull to you inditin' (Duty with Inclination fightin' To keep me to it), For rhymes my harmless goosequill bitin,' 12 "Knew what?" you cry, 66 as I'm a sinner You know perhaps I'm sure I dinna!" While I sat here She had come down to stay to dinner! * 13 How ilka word o' hers I drank (You will not blame me if I'm frank)! Deep in my breast! Methought this earth were a' a blank, By her unblest. *Now she is gone my spirits, alas! have fled with her, as you may see by the dulness of my versification. |