No. XIII.

TO MR. ROBERT MUIR,

DEAR SIR:

KILMARNOCK.

Mossgiel, 20th March, 1786.

I AM heartily sorry I had not the pleasure of seeing you as you returned through Mauchline; but as I was engaged, I could not be in town before the evening.

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I here enclose you my "Scotch Drink," and "may the follow with a blessing for your edification." I hope, sometime before we hear the gowk, to have the pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have a gill between us, in a mutchkin-stoup; which will be a great comfort and consolation to,

Dear Sir,

Your humble servant,

ROBERT BURNESS.

[This is the last of the Poet's letters to which he has written his name according to the way of his ancestors : before this, however, he had sometimes signed it as it now appears; nay, he had ventured even to exhibit it modernized to his father. His poems were now about to go to the press, and he decided upon abiding by BURNS. I am indebted for this letter to the friendly hand of Mr. M'Crone, one of my publishers.—ED.]

No. XIV.

TO MR. M'WHINNIE.

WRITER, AYR.

Mossgiel, 17th April, 1786. Ir is injuring some hearts, those hearts that elegantly bear the impression of the good Creator, to say to them you give them the trouble of obliging a friend; for this reason, I only tell you that I gratify my own feelings in requesting your friendly offices with respect to the enclosed, because I know it will gratify yours to assist me in it to the utmost of your power.

I have sent you four copies, as I have no less than eight dozen, which is a great deal more than I shall ever need.

Be sure to remember a poor poet militant in your prayers. He looks forward with fear and trembling to that, to him, important moment which stamps the die with-with-with, perhaps, the eternal disgrace of,

My dear Sir,

Your humble,

afflicted, tormented,

ROBERT BURns.

[Burns, in this letter, enclosed some subscription lists for the first edition of his poems. He had many friends in Ayrshire; the Writers seem to have been active on his behalf. Mr. M'Whinnie not only subscribed himself, but induced others to do the same.—ED.]

No. XV.

TO MONS. JAMES SMITH,

MAUCHLINE.

Monday Morning, Mossgiel, 1786.

MY DEAR SIR:

I WENT to Dr. Douglas yesterday, fully resolved to take the opportunity of Captain Smith; but I found the Doctor with a Mr. and Mrs. White, both Jamaicans, and they have deranged my plans altogether. They assure him that to send me from Savannah la Mar to Port Antonio will cost my master, Charles Douglas, upwards of fifty pounds; besides running the risk of throwing myself into a pleuritic fever in consequence of hard travelling in the sun. On these accounts, he refuses sending me with Smith, but a vessel sails from Greenock the first of September, right for the place of my destination. The Captain of her is an intimate friend of Mr. Gavin Hamilton's, and as good a fellow as heart could wish with him I am destined to go. Where I shall shelter, I know not, but I hope to weather the storm. Perish the drop of blood of mine that fears them! I know their worst, and am prepared to meet it :

"I'll laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg,
As lang's I dow."

On Thursday morning, if you can muster as much self-denial as to be out of bed about seven o'clock, I shall see you as I ride through to Cumnock. After all, Heaven bless the sex! I feel there is still happiness for me among them:

"O woman, lovely woman! Heaven designed you
To temper man !-we had been brutes without you!"

R. B.

[Of James Smith much has already been written: the Poet said he was small of stature, but large of soul; he was a joyous and witty person. Burns was a frequent visitor at his shop in Mauchline, and shared with him and John Richmond all his little secrets in rhyme and love. The world was not kinder to James than it was to Robert: his speculations in Scotland failed: he went to Jamaica with the hope of mending his fortune, and found an early grave.-ED.]

No. XVI.

TO MR. DAVID BRICE.

Mossgiel, June, 12, 1786.

DEAR BRICE:

I RECEIVED your message by G. Paterson, and as I am not very throng at present, I just write to let you know that there is such a worthless, rhyming reprobate, as your humble servant, still in the land of the living, though I can scarcely say, in the place of hope. I have no news to tell you that will give me any pleasure to mention, or you to hear. Poor ill-advised, ungrateful Armour came home on Friday last. You have heard all the particulars of that affair, and a black affair it is. What she thinks of her conduct now, I dont know; one thing I do know she has made me completely miserable. Never man loved, or rather adored a woman more than I did her; and, to confess a truth between you and me, I do still love her to distraction after all, though I won't tell her so if I were to see her, which I don't want to do. My poor dear unfortunate Jean! how happy have I been in thy arms! It is not the losing her that makes me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel most severely: I foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal ruin.

May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury to me, as I from my very soul forgive her;