No. CXXXII.

TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.

Ellisland, Jan. 6, 1789.

MANY happy returns of the season to you, my dear Sir! May you be comparatively happy up to your comparative worth among the sons of men; which wish would, I am sure, make you one of the most blest of the human race.

I do not know if passing a "Writer to the sig net" be a trial of scientific merit, or a mere business of friends and interest. However it be, let me quote you my two favourite passages, which, though I have repeated them ten thousand times, still they rouse my manhood and steel my resolution like inspiration.

"On Reason build resolve,

That column of true majesty in man."

"Hear, Alfred, hero of the state,

YOUNG.

Thy genius heaven's high will declare;

The triumph of the truly great,

Is never, never to despair!

Is never to despair!"

MASQUE OF Alfred.

I grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle for bread, business, notice, and distinction, in common

with hundreds.-But who are they? Men, like yourself, and of that aggregate body your compeers, seven tenths of them come short of your advantages natural and accidental; while two of those that remain, either neglect their parts, as flowers blooming in a desert, or mis-spend their strength, like a bull goring a bramble bush.

But to change the theme: I am still catering for Johnson's publication; and among others, I have brushed up the following old favourite song a little, with a view to your worship. I have only altered a word here and there; but if you like the humour of it, we shall think of a stanza or two to add to it.

R. B.

[The name of the song which the poet brushed up and sent to his friend, is no where intimated. He was at this period, and indeed for years after, collecting and amending scraps of old song for the Musical Museum. ED.]

No. CXXXIII.

ΤΟ

PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.

SIR,

Ellisland, 20th Jan. 1789.

THE inclosed sealed packet I sent to Edinburgh, a few days after I had the happiness of meeting you in Ayrshire, but you were gone for the Continent. I have now added a few more of my productions, those for which I am indebted to the Nithsdale Muses. The piece inscribed to R. G. Esq. is a copy of verses I sent Mr. Graham, of Fintry, accompanying a request for his assistance in a matter, to me, of very great moment. To that gentleman I am already doubly indebted: for deeds of kindness of serious import to my dearest interests, done in a manner grateful to the delicate feelings of sensibility. This poem is a species of composition new to me, but I do not intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as you will see by the "Poet's Progress." These fragments, if my design succeed, are but a small part of the intended whole. I propose it shall be the work of my utmost exertions, ripened by years; of course I do not wish it much known.

The fragment beginning "A little upright, pert, tart, &c." I have not shewn to man living, till I now send it you. It forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. This particular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching; but, lest idle conjecture should pretend to point out the original, please to let it be for your single, sole inspection.

Need I make any apology for this trouble, to a gentleman who has treated me with such marked benevolence and peculiar kindness-who has entered into my interests with so much zeal, and on whose critical decisions I can so fully depend? A poet as I am by trade, these decisions are to me of the last consequence. My late transient acquaintance among some of the mere rank and file of greatness, I resign with ease; but to the distinguished champions of genius and learning, I shall be ever ambitious of being known. The native genius and accurate discernment in Mr. Stewart's critical strictures; the justness, (iron justice, for he has no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner) of Dr. Gregory's remarks, and the delicacy of Professor Dalzel's taste, I shall ever revere. I shall be in Edinburgh some time next month. I have the honor to be, Sir,

Your highly obliged, and very humble servant,
R. B.

[The poet alludes to the merciless, though not wholly unmerited, strictures of Dr. Gregory on the poem of the "Wounded Hare," when he says he has no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner. Stewart was more gentle in his criticisms: of him and his lady—a poetess of no mean powers-Burns ever spoke in terms almost rapturous; they were kind to him when friends were few and praise scanty-he was not a man to forget such obligations.-ED.]

No. CXXXIV.

TO BISHOP GEDDES.

VENERABLE FATHER,

Ellisland, 3d Feb. 1789.

As I am conscious that wherever I am, you do me the honor to interest yourself in my welfare, it gives me pleasure to inform you, that I am here at last, stationary in the serious business of life, and have now not only the retired leisure, but the hearty inclination, to attend to those great and important questions-what I am? where I am? and for what I am destined?