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choose to be absent on that account, as well as for some other little reasons which I shall tell you at meeting. My health is nearly the same as when you were here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and on the whole I am rather better than otherwise, though I mend by very slow degrees. The weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my mind, that I dare neither review past wants, nor look forward into futurity; for the least anxiety or perturbation in my breast produces most unhappy effects on my whole frame. Sometimes, indeed, when for an hour or two my spirits are a little lightened, I glimmer a little into futurity; but my principal, and indeed my only pleasurable employment is looking backwards and forwards in a moral and religious way; I am quite transported at the thought, that ere long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains, and uneasiness, and disquietudes of this life; for I assure you I am heartily tired of it; and if I do not very much deceive myself, I could contentedly and gladly resign it.

weary

"The soul, uneasy, and confined at home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come."

It is for this reason I am more pleased with the 15th, 16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chapter of Revelation, than with any ten times as many verses in the whole Bible, and would not exchange the noble enthusiasm with which they inspire me for all that this world has to offer. As for this world, I despair of ever making a figure in it.

I am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I shall never again be capable of entering into such scenes. Indeed I am altogether unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I foresee that poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am in some measure prepared, and daily

and his contempt of life, founded on this despair, is the genuine expression of a youthful and generous mind. In such a state of reflection and of suffering, the imagination of Burns naturally passed the dark boundaries of our earthly horizon, and rested on those beautiful creations of a better world, where there is neither thirst, nor hunger, nor sorrow, and where happiness shall be in proportion to the capacity of happiness."-M.

preparing to meet them. I have but just time and paper to return you my grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, which were too much neglected at the time of giving them, but which I hope have been remembered ere it is yet too late. Present my dutiful respects to my mother, and my compliments to Mr and Mrs Muir; and with wishing you a merry New-Year's day I shall conclude. I am, honoured sir, your dutiful son, ROBERT BURNESS.

P. S. My meal is nearly out, but I am going to borrow till I get more.

No. II.

TO MR JOHN MURDOCH, SCHOOLMASTER,

STAPLES INN BUILDINGS, LONDON.

LOCHLEA, 15th January, 1783.

DEAR SIR,

As I have an opportunity of sending you a letter without putting you to that expense, which any production of

* As exhibiting the progress of the Poet's studies, as well as the names of his favourite authors, this letter, addressed to his old teacher at Lochlea, Mr Murdoch, is very interesting, and affords us an insight into the origin of part of that sentimentalism and exaggeration of feeling which are occasionally perceptible, both in his prose and poetical works. After this confession, it is no marvel to us, that the muse of Coila, when she presented herself to the imaginings of her only and choicest son, when sitting "lanely by the ingle cheek," had "a hair-brained sentimental trace strongly marked in her face." Burns, at this period, however, had a full consciousness of his own innate powers, and the pride of genius breaks out in almost every line. The glorious triumph does indeed swell his heart, and in his confidential letter to his early preceptor, he makes no attempt to conceal it. Mr Murdoch, Allan Cunningham informs us, lived to a good old age, and died in London several years ago, respected, but poor.-M.

mine would but ill repay, I embrace it with pleasure, to tell you that I have not forgotten, nor ever will forget, the many obligations I lie under to your kindness and friendship.

I do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to know what has been the result of all the pains of an indulgent father, and a masterly teacher; and I wish I could gratify your curiosity with such a recital as you would be pleased with ; but that is what I am afraid will not be the case. I have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious habits; and, in this respect, I hope, my conduct will not disgrace the education I have gotten; but, as a man of the world, I am most miserably deficient. One would have thought that, bred as I have been, under a father, who has figured pretty well as un homme des affaires, I might have been, what the world calls, a pushing, active fellow; but to tell you the truth, Sir, there is hardly any thing more my reverse. I seem to be one sent into the world, to see and observe; and I very easily compound with the knave who tricks me of my money, if there be any thing original about him, which shows me human nature in a different light from any thing I have seen before. In short, the joy of my heart is to study men, their manners, and their ways ;" and for this darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other consideration. I am quite indolent about those great concerns that set the bustling, busy sons of care agog; and if I have to answer for the present hour, I am very easy with regard to any thing further. Even the last, worst shift of the unfortunate and the wretched does not much terrify me: I know that even then, my talent for what country folks call

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a sensible crack," when once it is sanctified by a hoary head, would procure me so much esteem, that even thenI would learn to be happy.* However, I am under no apprehensions about that; for though indolent, yet so far as

The last shift alluded to here must be the condition of an itinerant beggar.

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an extremely delicate constitution permits, I am not lazy ; and in many things, especially in tavern matters, I am a strict economist; not, indeed, for the sake of the money; but one of the principal parts in my composition is a kind of pride of stomach; and I scorn to fear the face of any man living above every thing, I abhor as hell, the idea of sneaking in a corner to avoid a dun--possibly some pitiful, sordid wretch, who in my heart I despise and detest. 'Tis this, and this alone, that endears economy to me. In the matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My favourite authors are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone, particularly his "Elegies;" Thomson; "Man of Feeling"

-a book I prize next to the Bible; "Man of the World;" Sterne, especially his "Sentimental Journey;" Macpherson's "Ossian," &c.; these are the glorious models after which I endeavour to form my conduct, and 'tis incongru ous, 'tis absurd to suppose that the man whose mind glows with sentiments lighted up at their sacred flame-the man whose heart distends with benevolence to all the human race-he "who can soar above this little scene of things"can he descend to mind the paltry concerns about which the terræfilial race fret, and fume, and vex themselves! O how the glorious triumph swells my heart! I forget that I am a poor, insignificant devil, unnoticed and unknown, stalking up and down fairs and markets, when I happen to be in them, reading a page or two of mankind, and "catching the manners living as they rise," whilst the men of business jostle me on every side, as an idle incumbrance in their way. But I dare say I have by this time tired your patience; so I shall conclude with begging you to give Mrs Murdoch-not my compliments, for that is a mere commonplace story; but my warmest, kindest wishes for her welfare; and accept of the same for yourself, from, Dear Sir, yours.—R. B.

No. III.

TO MR JAMES BURNESS,

WRITER, MONTROSE.

LOCHLEA, 21st June, 1783.

DEAR SIR,

My father received your favour of the 10th current, and as he has been for some months very poorly in health, and is in his own opinion (and, indeed, in almost every body's

* This gentleman (the son of an elder brother of my father's), when he was very young, lost his father, and having discovered in his father's repositories some of my father's letters, he requested that the correspondence might be renewed. My father continued till the last year of his life to correspond with his nephew, and it was afterwards kept up by my brother. Extracts from some of my brother's letter's to his cousin, are introduced in this edition for the purpose of exhibiting the Poet before he had attracted the notice of the public, and in his domestic family relations afterwards.-Gilbert Burns.

We are informed by Mr Cunningham, in his recent edition of Burns' works, that "James Burness, son of the Poet's uncle, lives at Montrose, and has seen fame come to his house in a twofold way; viz. through his eminent cousin Robert, and dearer still, through his own grandson, Lieutenant Burnes, with whose talents and intrepidity the world is well acquainted. He is now, as may be surmised, says our authority, descending into the vale of years; his faculties are still unimpared, and his love of his own ancient name nothing lessened. He adheres-and we honour him for it to the spelling of his ancestors; and is not at all pleased at the change made in the name, and even sighs, it is said, because his grandsons have adopted, in part, the Poet's modification." It is a hateful affectation this of altering the ancient spelling of either surname or place, but it is one very common, and one which is calculated to breed inextricable confusion, in tracing family history, or ascertaining with precision, localities. The letter before us exhibits Burns in the character of a man of business, and we humbly think he writes upon the evils of paper currency, the depression of trade, and the decay of the agricultural interests, with the best political economist of the present day. He has generally been supposed to be a very indifferent farmer, but the following compliment paid to his observation in dairy matters, by no incompetent judge, we think right to insert.

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