MY DEAR CUNNINGHAM, December, 1789. Where are you? And what are you doing? Can you be that son of levity, who takes up a friendship as he takes up a fashion; or are you, like some other of the worthiest fellows in the world, the victim of indolence, laden with fetters of ever-increasing weight.

man; but like electricity, phlogiston, &c. the subject is so involved in darkness, that we want data to go upon. One thing frightens me much; that we are to live for ever, seems too good news to be true. That we are to enter into a new scene of existence, where, exempt from want and pain, we shall enjoy ourselves and our friends without satiety or separation-how much should I be indebted to any one who could fully assure me that this was certain!

My time is once more expired. I will write to Mr. Cleghorn soon. God bless him and all his concerns! And may all the powers that preside over conviviality and friendship, be present with all their kindest influence, when the bearer of this, Mr. Syme, and you meet! I wish I could also make one.—I think we should be.

What strange beings we are! Since we have a portion of conscious existence, equally capable of enjoying pleasure, happiness, and rapture, or of suffering pain, wretchedness, and misery, it surely worthy of an inquiry, whether there be not such a thing as a science of life; whether method, economy, and fertility of expedients be not applicable to enjoyment; and whether there be not a want of dexterity in pleasure, which renders our little scantling of happiness still less; and a profuseness, an intoxication in bliss which leads to satiety, disgust, and self-abhorrence. There is not a doubt but that health, talents, character, decent competency, respectable friends, are real substantial blessings; and Finally, brethren, farewell! Whatsoever yet do we not daily see those who enjoy many things are lovely, whatsoever things are gentle, or all of these good things, contrive, notwith-whatsoever things are charitable, whatsoever standing, to be as unhappy as others to whose things are kind, think on these things, and lot few of them have fallen. I believe one great think on ROBERT BURNS. source of this mistake or misconduct is owing to a certain stimulus, with us called ambition, which goads us up the hill of life, not as we ascend other eminences, for the laudable curiosity of viewing an extended landscape, but rather for the dishonest pride of looking down on others of our fellow-creatures, seemingly dimiautive, in humble stations, &c. &c.

Sunday, 14th February, 1790. GOD help me! I am now obliged to join

Night to day, and Sunday to the week."

.

No. CXLIV.

TO MR. PETER HILL.

Ellisland, 2d March, 1790. Ar a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly Society, it was resolved to augment their library by the following books, which you are to send us as soon as possible :- The Mirror, The Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the World, (these for my own sake I wish to have by the first carrier) Knox's History of the Reformation; Rae's History of the Rebellion in 1715; any good History of the Rebellion in 1745; A Display of the Secession Act and TestimoIny, by Mr. GIBB; Hervey's Meditations; Beveridge's Thoughts; and another copy of Watson's Body of Divinity.

If there be any truth in the orthodox faith of
these churches, I am
past redemption,
and what is worse,
to all eternity.
am deeply read in Boston's Fourfold State,
Marshall on Sanctification, Gutherie's Trial of
a Saving Interest, &c. but "There is no balm
in Gilead, there is no physician there," for me;
so I shall e' en turn Arminian, and trust to
"Sincere, though imperfect obedience."

Tuesday, 16th.

I wrote to Mr. A. Masterton three or four months ago, to pay some money he owed me into your hands, and lately I wrote to you to the same purpose, but I have heard from neither one nor other of you.

In addition to the books I commissioned in my last, I want very much, An Index to the Excise Laws, or an abridgment of all the StaLUCKILY for me I was prevented from the tutes now in force, relative to the Excise, by discussion of the knotty point at which I had Jellinger Symons: I want three copies of this just made a full stop. All my fears and cares book; if it is now to be had, cheap or dear, get are of this world: if there is another, an honest it for me. An honest country neighbour of man has nothing to fear from it. I hate a man mine wants, too, A Family Bible, the larger that wishes to be a Deist, but I fear, every fair, the better, but second-handed, for he does not unprejudiced inquirer must in some degree be a choose to give above ten shillings for the book. sceptic. It is not that there are any very stag-I want likewise for myself, as you can pick gering arguments against the immortality of them up, second-handed or cheap, copies of

Otway's Dramatic Works, Ben Jonson's, | swarms of fresh hands just come from the counDryden's, Congreve's, Wycherley's, Vanbrugh's, try that the town is quite overstocked, and exCibber's, or any Dramatic Works of the more cept one is a particularly good workman, (which modern-Macklin, Garrick, Foote, Colman, or you know I am not, nor I am afraid ever will Sheridan. A good copy too of Moliere, in be), it is hard to get a place: However, I don't French, I much want. Any other good dra-yet despair to bring up my lee-way, and shail matic authors in that language I want also; endeavour if possible to sail within three or four but comic authors chiefly, though I should wish to have Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire too. I am in no hurry for all, or any of these, but if you accidentally meet with them very cheap, get them for me.

And now, to quit the dry walk of business, how do you do, my dear friend? and how is Mrs. Hill? I trust if now and then not so elegantly handsome, at least as amiable, and sings as divinely as ever. My good-wife too has a charming "wood-note wild;" now could we four

points of the wind. The encouragement here is not what I expected, wages being very low in proportion to the expense of living, but yet, if I can only lay by the money that is spent by others in my situation in dissipation and riot, I expect soon to return you the money I borrowed of you and live comfortably besides.

In the mean time I wish you would send up all my best linen shirts to London, which you may easily do by sending them to some of your Edinburgh friends, to be shipped from Leith. Some of them are too little; don't send any but what are good, and I wish one of my sisters could find as much time as to trim my shirts at the breast, for there is no such thing to be seen I am out of all patience with this vile world, here as a plain shirt, even for wearing, which is for one thing. Mankind are by nature benevo- what I want these for. I mean to get one or lent creatures; except in a few scoundrelly in- two new shirts here for Sundays, but I assure stances, I do not think that avarice of the good you that linen here is a very expensive article. things we chance to have, is born with us; but I am going to write to Gilbert to send me an we are placed here amid so much nakedness, and Ayrshire cheese; if he can spare it he will send hunger, and poverty, and want, that we are un-it to you, and you may send it with the shirts, der a cursed necessity of studying selfishness, in but I expect to hear from you before that time. order that we may EXIST! Still there are, in The cheese I could get here; but I will have a every age, a few souls, that all the wants and pride in eating Ayrshire cheese in London, and woes of life cannot debase to selfishness, or even the expense of sending it will be little, as you to the necessary alloy of caution and prudence. are sending the shirts any how. If ever I am in danger of vanity, it is when I contemplate myself on this side of my disposition and character. God knows I am no saint; I have a whole host of follies and sins to answer for; but if I could, and I believe I do it as far as I can, I would wipe away all tears from all Adieu !

eyes.

No. CXLV.

FROM WILLIAM BURNS, THE POET'S

DEAR BROTHER,

BROTHER.

London, 21st March, 1790.

I write this by J. Stevenson, in his lodgings, while he is writing to Gilbert. He is well and hearty, which is a blessing to me as well as to him: We were at Covent Garden chapel this forenoon, to hear the Calf preach; he is grown very fat, and is as boisterous as ever. There is a whole colony of Kilmarnock people here, so we don't want for acquaintance.

Remember me to my sisters and all the family. I shall give you all the observations I have made on London in my next, when I shall have seen more of it.

I am, dear Brother, yours, &c.

No. CXLVI.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

W. B

I PAVE been here three weeks come Tuesday, and would have written you sooner, but was not settled in a place of work.--We were ten days on our passage from Shields; the weather being caim I was not sick, except one day when it Ellisland, 10th April, 190. blew pretty hard. I got into work the Friday I HAVE just now, my ever-honoured friend after I came to town, I wrought there only enjoyed a very high luxury, in reading a paper eight days, their job being done. I got work of the Lounger. You know my national pre again in a shop in the Strand, the next day af- judices. I had often read and admired the Specter I left my former master. It is only a tem-tator, Adventurer, Rambler, and World; but porary place, but I expect to be settled soon in still with a certain regret, that they were so a shop to my mind, although it will be a harder

task than I at first imagined, for there are such

• Vide Poetical Address to the Calf.

thoroughly and entirely English. Alas! have I often said to myself, what are all the boasted advantages which my country reaps from the Union, that can counterbalance the annihilation of her independence, and even her very name! I often repeat that couplet of my favourite poet, Goldsmith

States of native liberty possest, Though very poor, may yet be very blest."

46

am quite in raptures with them: I should be glad to have your opinion of some of the papers. The one I have just read, Lounger, No. 61, has cost me more honest tears than any thing I have read of a long time. M'Kenzie has been called the Addison of the Scots, and in my opinion, Addison would not be hurt at the comparison. If he has not Addison's exquisite humour, he as certainly outdoes him in the tender and the pathetic. His Man of Feeling (but I am not counsel-learned in the laws of criticism), Nothing can reconcile me to the common I estimate as the first performance in its kind I terms, English ambassador, English court," ever saw. From what books, meral or even &c. And I am out of all patience to see that pious, will the susceptible young mind receive equivocal character, Hastings, impeached by impressions more congenial to humanity and "the Commons of England." Tell me, my kindness, generosity and benevolence; in short, friend, is this weak prejudice? I believe in my more of all that ennobles the soul to herself, or conscience such ideas, as, "my country; her endears her to others-than from the simple afindependence; her honour; the illustrious fecting tale of poor Harley. names that mark the history of my native Still, with all my admiration of M'Kenzie's land," &c.-I believe these, among your men of writings, I do not know if they are the fittest the world-men who in fact guide for the most reading for a young man who is about to set part and govern our world, are looked on as so out, as the phrase is, to make his way into life. many modifications of wrongheadedness. They Do not you think, Madam, that among the few know the use of bawling out such terms, to favoured of Heaven in the structure of their rouse or lead THE RABBLE; but for their own minds (for such there certainly are), there may private use, with almost all the able statesmen be a purity, a tenderness, a dignity, an elegance that ever existed, or now exist, when they talk of soul, which are of no use, nay, in some deof right and wrong, they only mean proper and gree, absolutety disqualifying for the truly imimproper; and their measure of conduct is, not portant business of making a man's way into what they OUGHT, but what they DARE. For life. If I am not much mistaken, my gallant the truth of this I shall not ransack the history of nations, but appeal to one of the ablest judges of men, and himself one of the ablest men that ever lived the celebrated Earl of Chesterfield. In fact, a man who could thoroughly controul his vices whenever they interfered with his interest, and who could completely put on the appearance of every virtue as often as it suited his purposes, is, on the Stanhopian plan, the perfect I have been manufacturing some verses lateman; a man to lead nations. But are greatly; but as I have got the most hurried season abilities, complete without a flaw, and polished of excise business over, I hope to have more leiwithout a blemish, the standard of human ex- sure to transcribe any thing that may show how cellence? This is certainly the staunch opinion much I have the honour to be, Madam, yours, of men of the world; but I call on honour, vir- &c. tue, and worth, to give the Stygian doctrine a loud negative! However, this must be allowed, that, if you abstract from man the idea of an existence beyond the grave, then, the true measure of human conduct is proper and improper: Virtue and vice, as dispositions of the heart, are in that case, of scarcely the import and value to the world at large, as harmony and discord in the modifications of sound; and a delicate sense of honour, like a nice ear for music, though it MY DEAR BURNS, may sometimes give the possessor an ecstasy un- I AM much indebted to you for your last known to the coarser organs of the herd, yet, friendly, elegant epistle, and it shall make a considering the harsh gratings, and inharmonic part of the vanity of my composition, to retain jars, in this ill-tuned state of being, it is odds your correspondence through life. It was rebut the individual would be as happy, and cer-markable your introducing the name of Miss tainly would be as much respected by the true judges of society, as it would then stand, with out either a good ear or a good heart.

You must know I have just met with the Mirror and I ounger for the first time, and I

young friend, A

is very much under these disqualifications; and for the young fe males of a family I could mention, well may they excite parental solicitude, for I, a common acquaintance, or as my vanity will have it, an humble friend, have often trembled for a turn of mind which may render them eminently happy or peculiarly miserable!

No. CXLVII.

FROM MR. CUNNINGHAM.
Edinburgh, 25th May, 1790.

Burnet, at a time when she was in such ill health; and I am sure it will grieve your gentle heart, to hear of her being in the last stage of a consumption. Alas! that so much beauty, innocence, and virtue, should be nipt in the

bud. Hers was the smile of cheerfulness of the book. In fact, I have gravely planned a sensibility, not of allurement; and her elegance of manners corresponded with the purity and elevation of her mind.

find a spare half minute, please let my brother) know by a card where and when he will find you, and the poor fellow will joyfully wait on you, as one of the few surviving friends of the man whose name, and Christian name too, he has the honour to bear.

The next letter I write you shall be a long one. I have much to tell you of "hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach," with all the eventful history of a life, the early years of which owed so much to your kind tutorage; but this at an hour of leisure. My kindest compliments to Mrs. Murdoch and family.

I am ever, my dear Sir,
Your obliged friend.

No. CL.

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

DEAR MADAM,

8th August, 1790. AFTER a long day's toil, plague, and care, I sit down to write to you. Ask me not why I have delayed it so long? It was owing to hurry, indolence, and fifty other things; in short, to any thing-but forgetfulness of la plus aimable de son sexe. By the bye, you are indebted your best courtesy to me for this last compliment; as I pay it from sincere conviction of its truth -a quality rather rare in compliments of these grinning, bowing, scraping times.

Well, I hope writing to you, will ease a little This letter was communicated to the Editor by a my troubled soul. Sorely has it been bruised gentleman to whose liberal advice and information he to-day! A ci-devant friend of mine, and an inis much indebted, Mr. John Murdoch, the early in-timate acqaintance of yours, has given my feelstructor of the poet; accompanied by the following ings a wound that I perceive will gangrene dangerously ere it cure. He has wounded my pride!

interesting note:

London, Hart-Street, Bloomsbury, 28th Dec. 1807.
DEAR SIK,

THE following letter, which I lately found among my papers, I copy for your perusal, partly because it is Burns's, partly because it makes honourable men. tion of my rational Christian friend, his father; and likewise because it is rather flattering to myself. I glory in no one thing so much as an intimacy with good men;-the friendship of others reflects no honour. When I recollect the pleasure, (and I hope benefit), I received from the conversation of WILLIAM BURNS, especially when on the Lord's day we walked together for about two miles, to the house of prayer, there publicly to adore and praise the Giver of all good, I entertain an ardent hope, that together we shall renew the glorious theme in distant worlds," with powers more adequate to the mighty subject, THE EX

UBERANT BENEFICENCE OF THE GREAT CREATOR.
But to the letter:-

FROM MR. MURDOCH TO THE BARD,
GIVING HIM AN ACCOUNT OF THE DEATH OF
HIS BROTHER WILLIAM.

Be assured, my dear friend, that I cordially sympathize with you all, and particularly with Mrs. W. Burns, who is undoubtedly one of the most tender and affectionate mothers that ever lived. Remember me to her in the most friendly manner, when you see her, or write.-Please present my best compliments to Mrs. R. Burns, and to your brother and sisters.-There is no occasion for me to exhort you to filial duty, and to use your united endeavours in rendering the evening of life as comfortable as possible to a mother, who has dedicated so great a part of it in promoting your temporal and spiritual welfare.

Your letter to Dr. Moore, I delivered at his house, and shall most likely know your opinion of Zeleuco, the first time I meet with him. I wish and hope for a long letter. Be particular about your mother's health. I hope she is too much a Christian to be afflicted above measure, or to sorrow as those who have no hope.

One of the most pleasing hopes I have is to visit you all; but I am commonly disappointed in what I most ardently wish for. I am, dear Sir,

Yours sincerely,
JOHN MURDOCH.

Hart-Street, Boomsbury-Square, London, MY DEAR FRIEND, Sept. 4th, 1790. YOURS of the 16th of July, I received on the 26th, in th afternoon, per favour of my friend Mr. Kennedy, and at the same time was informed that your brother was ill. Being engaged in business till late that evening, I set out next morning to see him, and had thought of three or four medical gentlemen of my versation of my dear young friend; but my promises I promised myself a deal of happiness in the conacquaintance, to one or other of whom I might apply of this nature generally prove fallacious. Two visits for advice, provided it should be necessary. But when At one of them, I went to Mr. Barber's, to my great astonishment and were the utmost that I received. heart-felt grief, I found that my young friend had, on however, he repeated a lesson which I had given him Saturday, bid an everlasting farewell to all sublunary about twenty years before, when he was a mere child, things. It was about a fortnight before that he had concerning the pity and tenderness due to animals. found me out, by Mr. Stevenson's accidentally calling To that lesson, (which it seems was brought to the leat my shop to buy something. We had only one in-vel of his capacity), he declared himself indebted for terview, and that was highly entertaining to me in se almost all the philanthropy he possessed. veral respects. He mentioned some instruction I had given him when very young, to which he said he owed, in a great measure, the philanthropy he possessed. He also took notice of my exhorting you all, when I wrote, about eight years ago, to the man who, of all mankind that I ever knew, stood highest in my esteem, "not to let go your integrity."-You may ea. sily conceive that such conversation was both pleasing and encouraging to me: I anticipated a deal of ratio nal happiness from future conversations.-Vain are our expectations and nopes. They are so almost always Perhaps, (nay, certainly), for our good. Were it not for disappointed hopes we could hardly spend a thought on another state of existence, or be in any degree reconciled to the quitting of this.

I know of no one source of consolation to those who have lost young relatives, equal to that of their being of a good disposition, and of a promising character.

Let not parents and teachers imagine that it is needless to talk seriously to children. They are sooner fit to be reasoned with than is generally thought. Strong and indelible impressions are to be made before the mind be agitated and ruffled by the numerous train of distracting cares and unruly passions, whereby it is frequently rendered almost unsusceptible of the principles and precepts of rational religion and sound morality.

But I find myself digressing again. Poor William! then in the bloom and vigour of youth, caught a putrid fever, and, in a few days, as real chief mourner, I followed his remains to the land of forgetfulness.

JOHN MURDOCH.

CROMER.