A rare excerpt from Henry Mackenzie's ^gMan of Feeling^g in the author's hand. The extract which Mackenzie (1745- 1831) chose to set down for his niece is taken from chapter 34 'He meets an old acquaintance', and varies from the printed text only so far as the capitalisation of the phrase 'Streaks of Complacency'. Why Mackenzie chose this passage above all others from his famous novel as memento for his niece is not clear; however, as it is written for a close family member, it may well have also some autobiographical meaning. Mackenzie withdrew from public view, according to Henry Cockburn, in the following month and seems to have decided to settle into a quiet retirement. 'With advancing years, Henry Mackenzie had to resign himself to being thrown into a new age and era, regarding himself as one of the "old School of Writers" looking back to "those Days long since past & gone when fancy flowed on me, & Composition easy". In a melancholy vein and with his health declining, he increasingly felt like "a poor old invalid," inevitably "now so much out of the world". It would be quite in character for him to indicate an acceptance of his own mortality and probably felt this section of the text best reflected the view he had of his own decline at this time in his life. Hanna Davidson, the recipient of the fragment, was a daughter of Henry's favourite sister Hannah Mackenzie, who had in 1755 married John Davidson of Ravelrig in 1755. We have been not been able to find any extant passage from 'Man of Feeling' in its author's hand, the original manuscript having very probably ended up as waste paper after being set up in type. The full passage is as follows:- 'When Harley heard the tread of his feet behind him, he could not help stealing back a glance at his fellow-traveller. He seemed to bend under the weight of his knapsack; he halted on his walk, and one of his arms was supported by a sling, and lay motionless across his breast. He had that steady look of sorrow, which indicates that its owner has gazed upon his griefs till he has forgotten to lament them; yet not without those Streaks of Complacency which a good mind will sometimes throw into the countenance, through all the incumbent load of its depression.'