We preserve the reply of the servant as a specimen of Mr.Symson's verses, which are not of the first quality: Sir, 'tis truth you've told.
We did enjoy great mirth; but now, ah me! Our joyful song's turn'd to an elegie.
A virtuous lady, not long since a bride, Was to a hopeful plant by marriage tied, And brought home hither.

We did all rejoice, Even for her sake.

But presently our voice Was turn'd to mourning for that little time That she'd enjoy: she waned in her prime, For Atropus, with her impartial knife, Soon cut her thread, and therewithal her life; And for the time we may it well remember, It being in unfortunate September; .
Where we must leave her till the resurrection.
'Tis then the Saints enjoy their full perfection.
Mr.Symson also poured forth his elegiac strains upon the fate of the widowed bridegroom, on which subject, after a long and querulous effusion, the poet arrives at the sound conclusion, that if Baldoon had walked on foot, which it seems was his general custom, he would have escaped perishing by a fall from horseback.

As the work in which it occurs is so scarce as almost to be unique, and as it gives us the most full account of one of the actors in this tragic tale which we have rehearsed, we will, at the risk of being tedious, insert some short specimens of Mr.Symson's composition.

It is entitled: "A Funeral Elegie, occasioned by the sad and much lamented death of that worthily respected, and very much accomplished gentleman, David Dunbar, younger, of Baldoon, only son and apparent heir to the right worshipful Sir David Dunbar of Baldoon, Knight Baronet.