R. B.

CXCVI.

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.

["The strain of invective," says the judicious Currie, of this letter, "goes on some time longer in the style in which our bard was too apt to indulge, and of which the reader has already seen so much."]

_Ellisland, 8th August, 1790._

Forgive me, my once dear, and ever dear friend, my seeming negligence.

You cannot sit down and fancy the busy life I lead.

I laid down my goose-feather to beat my brains for an apt simile, and had some thoughts of a country grannum at a family christening; a bride on the market-day before her marriage; or a tavern-keeper at an election-dinner; but the resemblance that hits my fancy best is, that blackguard miscreant, Satan, who roams about like a roaring lion, seeking, _searching_ whom he may devour. However, tossed about as I am, if I choose (and who would not choose) to bind down with the crampets of attention the brazen foundation of integrity, I may rear up the superstructure of Independence, and from its daring turrets bid defiance to the storms of fate. And is not this a "consummation devoutly to be wished?"

"Thy spirit, Independence, let me share; Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye!

Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky!"

Are not these n.o.ble verses? They are the introduction of Smollett's Ode to Independence: if you have not seen the poem, I will send it to you.--How wretched is the man that hangs on by the favours of the great! To shrink from every dignity of man, at the approach of a lordly piece of self-consequence, who, amid all his tinsel glitter, and stately hauteur, is but a creature formed as thou art--and perhaps not so well formed as thou art--came into the world a puling infant as thou didst, and must go out of it, as all men must, a naked corse.

R. B.

CXCVII.

TO DR. ANDERSON.

[The gentleman to whom this imperfect note is addressed was Dr. James Anderson, a well-known agricultural and miscellaneous writer, and the editor of a weekly miscellany called the Bee.]

SIR,

I am much indebted to my worthy friend, Dr. Blacklock, for introducing me to a gentleman of Dr. Anderson's celebrity; but when you do me the honour to ask my a.s.sistance in your proposed publication, alas, Sir!

you might as well think to cheapen a little honesty at the sign of an advocate's wig, or humility under the Geneva band. I am a miserable hurried devil, worn to the marrow in the friction of holding the noses of the poor publicans to the grindstone of the excise! and, like Milton's Satan, for private reasons, am forced

"To do what yet though d.a.m.n'd I would abhor."

--and, except a couplet or two of honest execration * * * *

R. B.

CXCVIII.

TO WILLIAM TYTLER, ESQ.,

OF WOODHOUSELEE.

[William Tytler was the "revered defender of the beauteous Stuart"--a man of genius and a gentleman.]

_Lawn Market, August, 1790._

SIR,

Enclosed I have sent you a sample of the old pieces that are still to be found among our peasantry in the west. I had once a great many of these fragments, and some of these here, entire; but as I had no idea then that anybody cared for them, I have forgotten them. I invariably hold it sacrilege to add anything of my own to help out with the shattered wrecks of these venerable old compositions; but they have many various readings. If you have not seen these before, I know they will flatter your true old-style Caledonian feelings; at any rate I am truly happy to have an opportunity of a.s.suring you how sincerely I am, revered Sir,

Your gratefully indebted humble servant,

R. B.

CXCIX.

TO CRAUFORD TAIT, ESQ.,

EDINBURGH.

[Margaret Chalmers had now, it appears by this letter, become Mrs.

Lewis Hay: her friend, Charlotte Hamilton, had been for some time Mrs.

Adair, of Scarborough: Miss Nimmo was the lady who introduced Burns to the far-famed Clarinda.]

_Ellisland_, 15th _October, 1790._

DEAR SIR,

Allow me to introduce to your acquaintance the bearer, Mr. Wm. Duncan, a friend of mine, whom I have long known and long loved. His father, whose only son he is, has a decent little property in Ayrshire, and has bred the young man to the law, in which department he comes up an adventurer to your good town. I shall give you my friend's character in two words: as to his head, he has talents enough, and more than enough for common life; as to his heart, when nature had kneaded the kindly clay that composes it, she said, "I can no more."

You, my good Sir, were born under kinder stars; but your fraternal sympathy, I well know can enter into the feelings of the young man, who goes into life with the laudable ambition to _do_ something, and to _be_ something among his fellow-creatures; but whom the consciousness of friendless obscurity presses to the earth, and wounds to the soul!