TO DR. MOORE.
[The sonnets alluded to by Burns were those of Charlotte Smith: the poet"s copy is now before me, with a few marks of his pen on the margins.]
_Dumfries, Excise-Office, 14th July, 1790._
SIR,
Coming into town this morning, to attend my duty in this office, it being collection-day, I met with a gentleman who tells me he is on his way to London; so I take the opportunity of writing to you, as franking is at present under a temporary death. I shall have some s.n.a.t.c.hes of leisure through the day, amid our horrid business and bustle, and I shall improve them as well as I can; but let my letter be as stupid as * * * * * * * * *, as miscellaneous as a newspaper, as short as a hungry grace-before-meat, or as long as a law-paper in the Douglas cause; as ill-spelt as country John"s billet-doux, or as unsightly a scrawl as Betty Byre-Mucker"s answer to it; I hope, considering circ.u.mstances, you will forgive it; and as it will put you to no expense of postage, I shall have the less reflection about it.
I am sadly ungrateful in not returning you my thanks for your most valuable present, _Zeluco._ In fact, you are in some degree blameable for my neglect. You were pleased to express a wish for my opinion of the work, which so flattered me, that nothing less would serve my overweening fancy, than a formal criticism on the book. In fact, I have gravely planned a comparative view of you, Fielding, Richardson, and Smollett, in your different qualities and merits as novel-writers.
This, I own, betrays my ridiculous vanity, and I may probably never bring the business to bear; and I am fond of the spirit young Elihu shows in the book of Job--"And I said, I will also declare my opinion," I have quite disfigured my copy of the book with my annotations. I never take it up without at the same time taking my pencil, and marking with asterisms, parentheses, &c., wherever I meet with an original thought, a nervous remark on life and manners, a remarkable well-turned period, or a character sketched with uncommon precision.
Though I should hardly think of fairly writing out my "Comparative View," I shall certainly trouble you with my remarks, such as they are.
I have just received from my gentleman that horrid summons in the book of Revelations--"That time shall be no more!"
The little collection of sonnets have some charming poetry in them. If _indeed_ I am indebted to the fair author for the book, and not, as I rather suspect, to a celebrated author of the other s.e.x, I should certainly have written to the lady, with my grateful acknowledgments, and my own ideas of the comparative excellence of her pieces. I would do this last, not from any vanity of thinking that my remarks could be of much consequence to Mrs. Smith, but merely from my own feelings as an author, doing as I would be done by.
R. B.
CXCIII.
TO MR. MURDOCH,
TEACHER OF FRENCH, LONDON.
[The account of himself, promised to Murdoch by Burns, was never written.]
_Ellisland, July 16, 1790._
MY DEAR SIR,
I received a letter from you a long time ago, but unfortunately, as it was in the time of my peregrinations and journeyings through Scotland, I mislaid or lost it, and by consequence your direction along with it. Luckily my good star brought me acquainted with Mr.
Kennedy, who, I understand, is an acquaintance of yours: and by his means and mediation I hope to replace that link which my unfortunate negligence had so unluckily broke in the chain of our correspondence.
I was the more vexed at the vile accident, as my brother William, a journeyman saddler, has been for some time in London; and wished above all things for your direction, that he might have paid his respects to his father"s friend.
His last address he sent me was, "Wm. Burns, at Mr. Barber"s, saddler, No. 181, Strand." I writ him by Mr. Kennedy, but neglected to ask him for your address; so, if you 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,
R. B.
CXCIV.
TO MR. M"MURDO.
[This hasty note was accompanied by the splendid elegy on Matthew Henderson, and no one could better feel than M"Murdo, to whom it is addressed, the difference between the music of verse and the clangour of politics.]
_Ellisland, 2d August, 1790._
SIR,
Now that you are over with the sirens of Flattery, the harpies of Corruption, and the furies of Ambition, these infernal deities, that on all sides, and in all parties, preside over the villanous business of politics, permit a rustic muse of your acquaintance to do her best to soothe you with a song.--
You knew Henderson--I have not flattered his memory.
I have the honour to be, Sir,
Your obliged humble servant,
R. B.
CXCV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Inquiries have been made in vain after the name of Burns"s ci-devant friend, who had so deeply wounded his feelings.]
_8th August, 1790._
DEAR MADAM,
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 anything--but forgetfulness of _la plus aimable de son s.e.xe._ By the bye, you are indebted your best courtesy to me for this last compliment; as I pay it from my sincere conviction of its truth--a quality rather rare in compliments of these grinning, bowing, sc.r.a.ping times.
Well, I hope writing to _you_ will ease a little my troubled soul.
Sorely has it been bruised to-day! A ci-devant friend of mine, and an intimate acquaintance of yours, has given my feelings a wound that I perceive will gangrene dangerously ere it cure. He has wounded my pride!