Wordsworth is dished. Southey is in purgatory; Scott is dying; and Byron is married. Herbert is frozen to death in Scandinavia. Moore has lost his manliness. Coleridge is always in a fog. Joanna Baillie is writing a system of cookery. Montgomery is in a madhouse, or ought to be. Campbell is sick of a constipation in the bowels. Hogg is herding sheep in Ettrick Forest; and Wilson has taken the plague. O wretched writers! Unfortunate bards! What is Bobby Miller's back shop to do this winter! Alas! alas! alas! a wild doe is a noble animal; write an address to one, and it shall be inferior to one I have written — for half a barrel of red herrings!