and I now begin once more to share in satisfaction and enjoyment with the rest of my fellow-creatures.

Many thanks, my much esteemed friend, for your kind letters; but why will you make me run the risk of being contemptible and mercenary in my own eyes? When I pique myself on my independent spirit, I hope it is neither poetic license, nor poetic rant; and I am so Hattered with the honour you have done me, in making me your compeer in friendship and friendly correspondence, than I cannot without pain, and a degree of mortification, be reminded of the real inequality between our situations.

Most sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear Madam, in the good news of Anthony. Not only your anxiety about his fate, but my own esteem for such a noble, warm-hearted, manly young fellow, in the little I had of his acquaintance, has interested me deeply in his fortunes.

66

Falconer, the unfortunate author of the Shipwreck," which you so much admire, is no more. After witnessing the dreadful catastrophe he so feelingly describes in his poem, and after weathering many hard gales of fortune, he went to the bottom with the Aurora frigate

I forget what part of Scotland had the honour of giving him birth; but he was the son of obscurity and misfortune. He was one of those daring adventurous spirits which Scotland, beyond any other country, is remarkable for producing." Little does the fond mother think, as she hangs delighted over the sweet little leech at her bosom, where the poor fellow may hereafter wander, and what may be his fate. I remember a stanza in an old Scottish ballad, which, notwithstanding its rude simplicity, speaks feelingly to the heart:

"Little did my mother think,

That day she cradled me, What land I was to travel in,

Or what death I should die!"† Old Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite study and pursuit of mine, and now I am on

*["Falconer," says Currie," was in early life a sailor-boy, on board a man of war, in which capacity he attracted the notice of Campbell, the author of the satire on Dr. Johnson, entitled Lexiphanes,' then purser of the ship. Campbell took him as a servant, and delighted in giving him instruction; and when Falconer afterwards acquired celebrity boasted of him as a scholar. The Editor had this information from a surgeon of a man of war, in 1777, who knew both Campbell and Falconer, and who himself perished soon after by shipwreck, on the coast of America."

Falconer's parentage was humble, but his education was above the common he displayed his poetic talents at an early age in a poem published in 1751, in memory of Frederick Prince of Wales: the Shipwreck, by which his name will be known to posterity, appeared in 1762, and obtained for him the notice of the Duke of York. His marine Dictionary, printed in 1769, introduced his name to many on whom the pathos of his poetry was lost: nor should it be forgotten that, before he sailed on his last fatal expedition, he wrote a poem called the Demagogue, in which he satirised with skill, as well as bitterness, one of the profligate patriots of the day. Falconer was a native of one of the towns in the coast of Fife, and his parents, who had suffered some misfortunes,

that subject, allow me to give you two stanzas of another old simple ballad, which I am sure will please you. The catastrophe of the piece is a poor ruined female, lamenting her fate. She concludes with this pathetic wish:

"O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd;
O that my mother had ne'er to me sung!
O that my cradle had never been rock'd!
But that I had died when I was young!
O that the grave it were my bed;

My blankets were my winding sheet;
The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a'!
And O sae sound as I should sleep!"

I do not remember, in all my reading, to have met with any thing more truly the language of misery than the exclamation in the last line.

Misery is like love; to speak its language truly,

the author must have felt it.

I am every day expecting the doctor to give your little godsont the small pox. They are rife in the country, and I tremble for his fate. By the way, I cannot help congratulating you on his looks and spirit. Every person who sees him acknowledges him to be the finest, handI am myself delighted with the manly swell of his little chest, and a certain miniature dignity in the carriage of his head, and the glance of his fine eye, which promise the undaunted gallantry of an independent mind.

somest child he has ever seen.

black

time forbids. I promise you poetry until you I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but are tired of it, next time I have the honour of assuring you how truly I am, &c.

No. CLXXVIII.

TO MR. PETER HILL,

BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.

R. B.

Ellisland, 2nd Feb. 1790.

No! I will not say one word about apologies or excuses for not writing-I am a poor, ras

removed to one of the sea-ports of England, where they both died soon after of an epidemic fever, leaving poor Falconer, then a boy, forlorn and destitute; in consequence of which he entered on board a man of war. He died in 1770.]

[This touching sentiment occurs in the Ballad of the "Queen's Marie," or as some sets have it, "Mary Hamilton." One stanza will indicate the ballad to which we allude; it is thus:

Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
This day she'll have but three ;
There was Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton,
And Mary Carmichael, and me.

(See Border Minstrelsy.)

Queen Mary had four attendants of her own Christian name. In the ballad quoted by Burns, one of these gentlewomen is described as murdering her illegitimate child, and suffering for the crime; and the verse quoted is one of her last expressions at the place of execution.]

The bard's second son, Francis.

2 Y

cally gauger, condemned to gallop at least 200 miles every week to inspect dirty ponds and yeasty barrels, and where can I find time to write to, or importance to interest, any body? The upbraidings of my conscience, nay the upbraidings of my wife, have persecuted me on your account these two or three months past. I wish to God I was a great man, that my correspondence might throw light upon you, to let the world see what you really are: and then I would make your fortune, without putting my hand in my pocket for you, which, like all other great men, I suppose I would avoid as much as possible. What are you doing, and how are you doing? Have you lately seen any of my few friends? What has become of the BOROUGH REFORM, or how is the fate of my poor name-sake Mademoiselle Burns decided? O man but for thee and thy selfish appetites, and dishonest artifices, that beauteous form, and that once innocent and still ingenuous mind, might have shone conspicuous and lovely in the faithful wife, and the affectionate mother; and shall the unfortunate sacrifice to thy pleasures have no claim on thy humanity !*

I saw lately in a Review some extracts from a new poem, called the Village Curate; send it me. I want likewise a cheap copy of The World. Mr. Armstrong, the young poet, who does me the honour to mention me so kindly in his works, please give him my best thanks for the copy of his book I shall write him, my first leisure hour. I like his poetry much, but I think his style in prose quite astonishing. Your book came safe, and I am going to trouble you with farther commissions. I call it troubling you-because I want only BOOKS; the cheapest way, the best; so you may have to hunt for them in the evening auctions. I want Smollett's Works, for the sake of his incomparable humour. I have already Roderick Random, and Humphrey Clinker.-Peregrine Pickle, Launcelot Greaves, and Ferdinand, Count Fathom, I still want; but as I said, the veriest ordinary copies will serve me. nice only in the appearance of my poets. I forget the price of Cowper's Poems, but, I believe, I must have them. I saw the other day proposals for a publication, entitled, "Banks's new and complete Christian's Family Bible," printed for C. Cooke, Paternoster-row, London.-He promises at least to give in the

I am

*[The frail female here alluded to had been the subject of some rather oppressive magisterial proceedings, which took their character from Creech, and roused some public feeling in her behalf.]

[Perhaps no set of men more effectually avail themselves of the easy credulity of the public than a certain description of Paternoster-row booksellers. Three hundred and odd engravings!-and by the first artists in London, too!no wonder that Burns was dazzled by the splendour of the promise. It is no unusual thing for this class of impostors to illustrate the Holy Scriptures by plates originally engraved for the History of England, and I have actually seen subjects

work, I think it is three hundred and odd engravings, to which he has put the names of the first artists in London.-You will know the character of the performance, as some numbers of it are published; and, if it is really what it pretends to be, set me down as a subscriber, and send me the published numbers.†

Let me hear from you, your first leisure minute, and trust me you shall in future have no reason to complain of my silence. The dazzling perplexity of novelty will dissipate, and leave me to pursue my course in the quiet path of methodical routine.

THAT d-mned mare of yours is dead. I would freely have given her price to have saved her; she has vexed me beyond description. Indebted as I was to your goodness beyond what I can ever repay, I eagerly grasped at your offer to have the mare with me. That I might at least shew my readiness in wishing to be grateful, I took every care of her in my power. She was never crossed for riding above half a score of times by me, or in my keeping. I drew her in the plough, one of three, for one poor week. I refused fifty-five shillings for her, which was the highest bode I could squeeze for her. I fed her up and had her in fine order for Dumfries fair; when, four or five days before the fair, she was seized with an unac countable disorder in the sinews, or somewhere in the bones of the neck; with a weakness or total want of power in her fillets, and in short the whole vertebræ of her spine seemed to be diseased and unhinged, and in eight-and-forty hours, in spite of the two best farriers in the country, she died and be d-mned to her! The farriers said that she had been quite strained in the fillets beyond cure before you had bought her; and that the poor devil, though she might keep a little flesh, had been jaded and quite worn out with fatigue and oppression. Whe she was with me, she was under my own eye, and I assure you, my much valued friend every thing was done for her that could be

designed by our celebrated artist Stothard, from Clariss Harlowe and the Novelist's Magazine, converted, with credible dexterity, by these Bookselling- Bres.aws, inte Scriptural embellishments! One of these venders of Fam Bibles' lately called on me to consult me professionally about a folio engraving he brought with him.-It represented Mons. Buffon, seated, contemplating various groups đấ animals that surrounded him: he merely wished. be said, to be informed whether by unclothing the Naturalist, and giving him a rather more resolute look, the plate cold out. at a trifling expense, be made to pass for Daniel in the Lion's Den !"-CROMEK.]

done; and the accident has vexed me to the heart. In fact I could not pluck up spirits to write to you, on account of the unfortunate business.

You must

There is little new in this country. Our theatrical company, of which you must have heard, leave us this week. Their merit and character are indeed very great, both on the stage and in private life; not a worthless creature among them; and their encouragement has been accordingly. Their usual run is from eighteen to twenty-five pounds a night: seldom less than the one, and the house will hold no inore than the other. There have been repeated instances of sending away six, and eight, and ten pounds a night for want of room. A new theatre is to be built by subscription; the first stone is to be laid on Friday first to come. Three hundred guineas have been raised by thirty subscribers, and thirty more might have been got if wanted. The manager, Mr. Sutherland, was introduced to me by a friend from Ayr; and a worthier or cleverer fellow I have rarely met with. Some of our clergy have slipt in by stealth now and then; but they have got up a farce of their own. have heard how the Rev. Mr. Lawson of Kirkmahoe, seconded by the Rev. Mr. Kirkpatrick of Dunscore, and the rest of that faction, have accused, in formal process, the unfortunate and Rev. Mr. Heron of Kirkgunzeon, that, in ordaining Mr. Nielson to the cure of souls in Kirkbean, he, the said Heron, feloniously and treasonably bound the said Nielson to the confession of faith, so far as it was agreeable to reason and the word of God! Mrs. B. begs to be remembered most gratefully to you. Little Bobby and Frank are charmingly well and healthy. I am jaded to death with fatigue. For these two or three months, on an average, I have not ridden less than two hundred miles per week. I have done little in the poetic way. I have given Mr. Sutherland two Prologues; one of which was delivered last week. I have likewise strung four or five barbarous stanzas, to the tune of Chevy Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor unfortunate mare, beginning (the name she got here was Peg Nicholson)

"Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,

As ever trode on airn;

But now she's floating down the Nith,
And past the mouth o'Cairn."

little Neddy, and all the family; I hope Ned is a good scholar, and will come out to gather nuts and apples with me next harvest.* R. B.

No. CLXXX.

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.

Ellisland, 13th February, 1790.

I BEG your pardon, my dear and much valued friend, for writing to you on this very unfashionable, unsightly sheet

"My poverty, but not my will, consents."

But to make amends, since of modish post I have none, except one poor widowed half-sheet of gilt, which lies in my drawer among my plebeian fool's-cap pages, like the widow of a man of fashion, whom that unpolite scoundrel, Necessity, has driven from Burgundy and Pineapple, to a dish of Bohea, with the scandalbearing helpmate of a village priest; or a glass of whisky-toddy, with a ruby-nosed yoke-fellow of a foot-padding exciseman-I make a ments in that my only scrap of gilt paper. vow to enclose this sheet-full of epistolary frag

I am indeed your unworthy debtor for three friendly letters. I ought to have written to you long ere now, but it is a literal fact I have scarcely a spare moment. It is not that I will to her guardian angel, nor his grace the Duke not write to you; Miss Burnet is not more dear of Queensberry to the powers of darkness, than friend Cunningham to me. I cannot write to you; should you doubt it, take the following fragment, which was inthat I can antithesize sentiment, and circumvotended for you some time ago, and be convinced lute periods, as well as any coiner of phrase in the regions of philology.

my

MY DEAR CUNNINGHAM,

It is not that

December, 1789.

[See page 293.]

[The nuts, which the poet promised the son of his friend, might be gathered on every burn-bank in the vale of Nith; not so the apples; a few might be seen in private gardens, and gentlemen's orchards, but they were not to be found giving beauty to the hedge-rows, and fragrance to the public road, as in the sunnier regions of the south. The ancient

golden pippin, and the true honey-pear, were plentiful in the old orchard of the house of Comyn, at Dalswinton, but the garden of Ellistand, during the superintendence of the poet, produced only green kale and gooseberries--it is otherwise now.-CUNNINGHAM.]

2 Y 2

692

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 yet do we not daily see those who enjoy many or all of these good things contrive notwithstanding to be as unhappy as others to whose lot few of them have fallen? I believe one great 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 diminutive in humbler stations, &c.

Sunday, 14th February, 1790.

GOD help me! I am now obliged to join

"Night to day, and Sunday to the week."

If there be any truth in the orthodox faith of these churches, I am d-mned past redemption, and what is worse, d-mned to all eternity. I am deeply read in Boston's Four-fold State, Marshal on Sanctification, Guthrie'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."

It was

I AM much indebted to you for your last friendly elegant epistle, and it shall make a part of the vanity of my composition to retain your correspondence through life. remarkable your introducing the name of Miss 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 consumption. Alas! that so much beauty, innocence, and virtue, should be nipt in the bud! Hers was the smile of cheerfulness-of sensibility, not of allurement; and her elegance of manners corresponded with the purity and elevation of her mind.

How does your friendly muse? I am sure she still retains her affection for you, and that you have many of her favours in your possession, which I have not seen. I weary much to hear from you. * # * I beseech you do not forget me.

* * I most sincerely hope all your concerns in life prosper, and that your roof-tree enjoys the blessing of good health. All your friends here are well, among whom, and not the least, is your acquaintance Cleghorn. As for myself, I am well, as far as * *** will let a man be; but with these I am happy. When you meet with my very agreeable friend, J. Syme, give him for me a hearty squeeze, and bid

God bless him.

Is there any probability of your being soon in Edinburgh?"

man has nothing to fear from it. I hate a man that wishes to be a Deist; but I fear, every fair, unprejudiced inquirer must in some degree be a Sceptic. It is not that there are any very staggering arguments against the immortality of 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.

Finally, brethren, farewell! Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are gentle, whatsoever things are charitable, whatsoever things are kind, think on these things, and think on

No. CLXXXI.

TO MR. HILL.

R. B.*

Ellisland, 2nd March, 1790. AT 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

January 28th, 1790.

"In some instances it is reckoned unpardonable to quote any one's own words, but the value I have for your friendship nothing can more truly or more elegantly express than "Time but the impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear.' "Having written to you twice without having heard from you, I am apt to think my letters have miscarried. My erejecture is only framed upon the chapter of accidents turning up against me, as it too often does, in the trivial, and I ma with truth add, the more important affairs of life; but I shall continue occasionally to inform you what is going on among the circle of your friends in these parts. In these days of merriment, I have frequently heard your name pr claimed at the jovial board-under the roof of our hospitant friend at Stenhouse-mills, there were no

'Lingering moments number'd with care.'

"I saw your Address to the New-year, in the Dumfries Journal. Of your productions I shall say nothing, but my acquaintances allege that when your name is mentioned, which every man of celebrity must know often happens. I am the champion, the Mendoza, against all snarling critics, and narrow-minded reptiles, of whom a few on this planet

do crawl.

"With best compliments to your wife, and her black-eyed sister, I remain, yours, &c."]