It will doubtless afford much pleasure to the liberal portion of the inhabitants of this city, to understand that a subscription has been set on foot in different parts of the kingdom, for the wife and five small children of poor Burns, the Scotch poet. There has already been subscribed-- At Dumfries (where the Bard lived) £104 12 0 At Edinburgh ... ... ... 64 16 0 At Liverpool ... ... ... 67 10 0 Whoever, in Bristol, from their admiration of departed genius, may wish to contribute, in rescuing from distress the family of Robert Burns, will be pleased to leave their donations with Mr. Cottle, High-Street. Mr. Nichol, of Pall-Mall, London, will publicly acknowledge the receipt of all monies subscribed in this city. The sum we transmitted to the general fund, did credit to the liberality of Bristol. Mr. Coleridge had often, in the keenest terms, expressed his contemptuous indignation at the Scotch patrons of the poet, in making him an exciseman! so that something biting was expected. The Poem was entitled, "To a Friend, who had declared his intention of writing no more Poetry." In reading the Poem immediately after it was written, the rasping force which Mr. C. gave to the following concluding lines was inimitable. "Is thy Burns dead? And shall he die unwept, and sink to earth, Without the meed of one melodious tear? Thy Burns, and nature's own beloved Bard, Who to 'the illustrious of his native land,'[35] So properly did look for patronage. Ghost of Maecenas! hide thy blushing face! They took him from the sickle and the plough-- To guage ale firkins! O, for shame return! On a bleak rock, midway the Aonian Mount, There stands a lone and melancholy tree, Whose aged branches to the midnight blast Make solemn music, pluck its darkest bough, Ere yet th' unwholesome night dew be exhaled, And weeping, wreath it round thy Poet's tomb: Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow, Pick stinking henbane, and the dusky flowers Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit; These, with stopped nostril, and glove-guarded hand, Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine Th' illustrious brow of Scotch Nobility!" If Mr. C.'s nature had been less benevolent, and he had given full vent to the irascible and satirical, the restrained elements of which abounded in his spirit, he would have obtained the least enviable of all kinds of pre-eminence, and have become the undisputed modern Juvenal. Mr. George Burnet resided sometimes with his relations, sometimes with Mr. Coleridge, at Stowey. Mr. and Mrs. C. happened to be now in Bristol, when the former was summoned home on account of Burnet's sudden and serious illness. On reaching Stowey, Mr. C. sent me the following letter. "Stowey. My dear friend,