mind's eye, in my heart's core: they will be in time enough for a week to come. I am truly happy your headache is better.-Oh, how can pain or evil be so daringly, unfeelingly, cruelly savage as to wound so noble a mind, so lovely a form!

My little fellow is all my namesake :-Write me soon. My every, strongest good wishes attend you, Clarinda! SYLVANDER.

I know not what I have written-I am pestered with people around

me.

In this letter was enclosed his autobiography, apparently in consequence of a promise he had made at the late interview. Clarinda told him, in answer, that she had read it as Desdemona listened to the narration of Othello. One thing, however, affected her painfully-his hostility to Calvinism, of which she, from conviction, was an adherent. She wished him seriously to examine the subject, as she had done. She also glanced at a declaration he had once made to her, that he never could find a woman who could love as ardently as himself. She can well believe it, and would have him rather not marry at all than join himself to any other person. 'Unless,' she says, 'a woman were qualified for the companion, the friend, and the mistress, she would not do for you. The last may gain Sylvander, but the others alone can keep him.' In a postscript, she announced-and perhaps Burns felt that this was a very important postscript-that she was to be in his square 'this afternoon near two o'clock,' when, if his room was towards the street, she would have the pleasure of giving him a nod.

TO CLARINDA.

Tuesday Night [Jan. 8 ?]

I am delighted, charming Clarinda, with your honest enthusiasm for religion. Those of either sex, but particularly the female, who are lukewarm in that most important of all things, O my soul, come not thou into their secrets!' I feel myself deeply interested in your good opinion, and will lay before you the outlines of my belief. He who is our Author and Preserver, and will one day be our Judge, must be (not for his sake in the way of duty, but from the native impulse of our hearts) the object of our reverential awe and grateful adoration: He is Almighty and all-bounteous, we are weak and dependent; hence prayer and every other sort of devotion. He is not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to everlasting life; consequently it must be in every one's power to embrace his offer of 'everlasting life; otherwise he could not, in justice, condemn those who did not. A mind pervaded, actuated,

BURNS'S RELIGIOUS PROFESSIONS.

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and governed by purity, truth, and charity, though it does not merit heaven, yet is an absolutely necessary pre-requisite, without which heaven can neither be obtained nor enjoyed; and, by divine promise, such a mind shall never fail of attaining everlasting life:' hence the impure, the deceiving, and the uncharitable, extrude themselves from eternal bliss, by their unfitness for enjoying it. The Supreme Being has put the immediate administration of all this, for wise and good ends known to himself, into the hands of Jesus Christ—a great personage, whose relation to him we cannot comprehend, but whose relation to us is [that of] a guide and Saviour; and who, except for our own obstinacy and misconduct, will bring us all, through various ways, and by various means, to bliss at last.

These are my tenets, my lovely friend; and which, I think, cannot be well disputed. My creed is pretty nearly expressed in the last clause of Jamie Deans's grace, an honest weaver in Ayrshire: Lord, grant that we may lead a gude life! for a gude life maks a gude end; at least it helps weel!'

6

I am flattered by the entertainment you tell me you have found in my packet. You see me as I have been, you know me as I am, and may guess at what I am likely to be. I too may say, ' Talk not of love,' &c. for indeed he has plunged me deep in wo! Not that I ever saw a woman who pleased unexceptionably, as my Clarinda elegantly says, 'in the companion, the friend, and the mistress.' One indeed I could except-One, before passion threw its mists over my discernment, I knew the first of women! Her name is indelibly written in my heart's core-but I dare not look in on it—a degree of agony would be the consequence. Oh! thou perfidious, cruel, mischief-making demon, who presidest over that frantic passionthou may'st, thou dost poison my peace, but thou shalt not taint my honour-I would not, for a single moment, give an asylum to the most distant imagination, that would shadow the faintest outline of a selfish gratification, at the expense of her whose happiness is twisted with the threads of my existence.- -May she be as happy as she deserves! And if my tenderest, faithfulest friendship, can add to her bliss, I shall at least have one solid mine of enjoyment in my bosom! Don't guess at these ravings!

I watched at our front window to-day, but was disappointed. It has been a day of disappointments. I am just risen from a two hours' bout after supper, with silly or sordid souls, who could relish nothing in common with me but the port.-One-Tis now 'witching time of night; and whatever is out of joint in the foregoing scrawl, impute it to enchantments and spells; for I can't look over it, but will seal it up directly, as I don't care for to-morrow's criticisms on it.

You are by this time fast asleep, Clarinda; may good angels attend and guard you as constantly and faithfully as my good wishes do.

'Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces.'

John Milton, I wish thy soul better rest than I expect on my pillow to-night! Oh for a little of the cart-horse part of human nature! Good-night, my dearest Clarinda! SYLVANDER.

We have in this letter an explicit view of the poet's religious convictions. In addressing an orthodox lady, whose good opinion he was anxious to gain and keep, he would not understate his faith; yet we see that it is far from the orthodox standard. It does not admit the divinity of Christ, though regarding him as a divinely-commissioned being. It makes good works nearly allsufficient. At the same time Burns avows devout feelings and pious practices. Such had now been for several years the religious character and condition of our great poet; and he does not appear to have afterwards greatly changed his views. What might have been the difference had Burns been reared under a system more captivating to the imaginative part of our nature, and more easily to be reconciled to philanthropical feelings, it would be vain to conjecture. As it is, the orthodox Presbyterian Calvinist has the regret of viewing the vigorous intellect of Burns as one which wholly repudiated, and lived in direct antagonism with, that code of doctrine which has been so long and with so little variation maintained in Scotland.

In Clarinda's letter, written next morning, but not sent away till it was furnished with a postscript a day later, she speaks of her children, one of whom is ill, and requires her care: then she adverts to Fielding's Amelia, and says she could be equally forgiving to a penitent husband, if he did not treat herself with positive unkindness. She cannot imagine who is the fair one he alludes to in his last epistle. She first thought of his Jean, though uncertain if she possesses his 'tenderest, faithfulest friendship.' She cannot understand that bonny lassie-refusing him after such proofs of love. She admires him for his continued fondness towards her. Finally, she promises to fulfil her promise of giving him a nod at his window.

TO CLARINDA.

Thursday Noon [Jan. 10?] I am certain I saw you, Clarinda; but you don't look to the proper storey for a poet's lodging,

"Where Speculation roosted near the sky.'

I could almost have thrown myself over for very vexation. Why didn't you look higher? It has spoilt my peace for this day. To be so near my charming Clarinda; to miss her look while it was search

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ing for me. I am sure the soul is capable of disease, for mine has convulsed itself into an inflammatory fever. I am sorry for your little boy: do let me know to-morrow how he is.

You have converted me, Clarinda (I shall love that name while I live there is heavenly music in it!) Booth and Amelia I know well. Your sentiments on that subject, as they are on every subject, are just and noble. To be feelingly alive to kindness and to unkindness' is a charming female character.

What I said in my last letter, the powers of fuddling sociality only know for me. By yours, I understand my good star has been partly in my horizon when I got wild in my reveries. Had that evil planet, which has almost all my life shed its baleful rays on my devoted head, been as usual in its zenith, I had certainly blabbed something that would have pointed out to you the dear object of my tenderest friendship, and, in spite of me, something more. Had that fatal information escaped me, and it was merely chance or kind stars that it did not, I had been undone! You would never have written me, except, perhaps, once more! Oh, I could curse circumstances! and the coarse tie of human laws which keeps fast what common sense would loose, and which bars that happiness itself cannot give-happiness which otherwise love and honour would warrant ! But hold-I shall make no more hairbreadth 'scapes.'

My friendship, Clarinda, is a liferent business. My likings are both strong and eternal. I told you I had but one male friend: I have but two female. I should have a third, but she is surrounded by the blandishments of flattery and courtship. Her I register in my heart's core by Peggy Chalmers: Miss Nimmo can tell you how divine she is. She is worthy of a place in the same bosom with my Clarinda. That is the highest compliment I can pay her. Farewell, Clarinda! Remember

SYLVANDER.

In her answer of the evening of the same day, Clarinda deplores her inability to detect the poet's window. She chides him for his ravings, and entreats him to limit himself to friendship. She is proud of being ranked with Miss Chalmers; but wonders he does not include Miss Nimmo, who has a sincere regard for him. 'She has almost wept to me at mentioning your intimacy with a certain famous or infamous man in town [Nicol ?] I composed lines addressed to you some time ago, containing a hint upon the occasion. I had not courage to send them to you: if you say you will not be angry, I will yet.' This allusion, it will be found, calls forth the jealous irritability of the poet. She promises that her next letter shall be on her favourite theme-religion. Finally, she hints a wish that he could join her in a drive in the Fly' to Leith, whither she has to take her ailing child for the

air.

TO CLARINDA.

Saturday Morning.

Your thoughts on religion, Clarinda, shall be welcome. You may perhaps distrust me when I say 'tis also my favourite topic; but mine is the religion of the bosom. I hate the very idea of a controversial divinity; as I firmly believe, that every honest, upright man, of whatever sect, will be accepted of the Deity. If your verses, as you seem to hint, contain censure, except you want an occasion to break with me, don't send them. I have a little infirmity in my disposition, that where I fondly love, or highly esteem, I cannot bear reproach.

Reverence thyself' is a sacred maxim, and I wish to cherish it. I think I told you Lord Bolingbroke's saying to Swift- Adieu, dear Swift, with all thy faults I love thee entirely; make an effort to love me with all mine.' A glorious sentiment, and without which there can be no friendship! I do highly, very highly esteem you indeed, Clarinda-you merit it all! Perhaps, too, I scorn dissimulation ! I could fondly love you: judge, then, what a maddening sting your reproach would be. Oh! I have sins to Heaven, but none to you!" With what pleasure would I meet you to-day, but I cannot walk to meet the Fly. I hope to be able to see you on foot, about the middle of next week.

I am interrupted-perhaps you are not sorry for it, you will tell me-but I wont anticipate blame. Oh Clarinda! did you know how dear to me is your look of kindness, your smile of approbation! you would not, either in prose or verse, risk a censorious remark.

'Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe!'

SYLVANDER.

After a letter from Clarinda, which has been lost, Sylvander writes as follows:

TO CLARINDA.

You talk of weeping, Clarinda: some involuntary drops wet your lines as I read them. Offend me, my dearest angel! You cannot offend me you never offended me. If you had ever given me the least shadow of offence, so pardon me my God as I forgive Clarinda. I have read yours again; it has blotted my paper. Though I find your letter has agitated me into a violent headache, I shall take a chair and be with you about eight. A friend is to be with us at tea, on my account, which hinders me from coming sooner. Forgive, my dearest Clarinda, my unguarded expressions! For Heaven's sake, forgive me, or I shall never be able to bear my own mind!-Your unhappy SYLVANDER.