Burns writes a beautiful song on Mr. Cunhaming, whose wife desarted him--truly it is a most beautiful one.” “I like to read the Fabulous historys, about the histerys of Robin, Dickey, flapsay, and Peccay, and it is very amusing, for some were good birds and others bad, but Peccay was the most dutiful and obedient to her parients.” “Thomson is a beautiful author, and Pope, but nothing to Shakespear, of which I have a little knolege. _Macbeth_ is a pretty composition, but awful one.” “The _Newgate Calender_ is very instructive.” (!) “A sailor called here to say farewell; it must be dreadful to leave his native country when he might get a wife; or perhaps me, for I love him very much. But O I forgot, Isabella forbid me to speak about love.” This antiphlogistic regimen and lesson is ill to learn by our Maidie, for here she sins again: “Love is a very papithatick thing” (it is almost a pity to correct this into pathetic), “as well as troublesome and tiresome--but O Isabella forbid me to speak of it.” Here are her reflections on a pine-apple: “I think the price of a pine-apple is very dear: it is a whole bright goulden guinea, that might have sustained a poor family.” Here is a new vernal simile: “The hedges are sprouting like chicks from the eggs when they are newly hatched or as the vulgar say, _clacked_.” “Doctor Swift’s works are very funny; I got some of them by heart.” “Moreheads sermons are I hear much praised but I never read sermons of any kind; but I read novelettes and my Bible, and I never forget it, or my prayers.” Bravo Marjorie! She seems now, when still about six, to have broken out into song:-- “EPHIBOL (EPIGRAM OR EPITAPH--WHO KNOWS WHICH?) ON MY DEAR LOVE, ISABELLA.” Here lies sweet Isabel in bed, With a night-cap on her head; Her skin is soft, her face is fair, And she has very pretty hair: She and I in bed lies nice, And undisturbed by rats or mice. She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan, Though he plays upon the organ. Her nails are neat, her teeth are white; Her eyes are very, very bright. In a conspicuous town she lives, And to the poor her money gives. Here ends sweet Isabella’s story, And may it be much to her glory! Here are some bits at random:-- “Of summer I am very fond And love to bathe into a pond: The look of sunshine dies away, And will not let me out to play. I love the morning’s sun to spy Glittering through the casement’s eye; The rays of light are very sweet, And puts away the taste of meat. The balmy breeze comes down from heaven, And makes us like for to be living.”