No. 24. TO MY DEAR SIR, YOU may think, and too justly, that I am a selfish, ungrateful fellow, having received so many repeated instances of kindness from you, and yet never putting pen to paper to say, thank you; but if you knew what a devil of a life my conscience has led me on that account, your good heart would think yourself too much avenged. By the bye, there is nothing in the whole frame of man, which seems to me so unaccountable as that thing called conscience. Had the troublesome yelping cur powers efficient to prevent a mischief, he might be of use; but at the beginning of the business, his feeble efforts are to the workings of passion as the infant frosts of an autumnal morning to the unclouded fervour of the rising sun: and no sooner are the tumultuous doings of the wicked deed over, than, amidst the bitter native consequences of folly, in the very vortex of our horrors, up starts conscience and harrows us with the feelings of the d*****. I have inclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and prose, that if they merit a place in your truly entertaining miscellany, you are welcome to. The prose extract is literally as Mr. Sprott sent it me. The Inscription on the stone is as follows: HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSON, POET. No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, On the other side of the stone is as follows: By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who erected this stone, this burial-place is to remain for ever sacred to the memory of Robert Ferguson.' No. 25. EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM 8th March, 1787. I AM truly happy to know you have found a friend in *********; his patronage of you does him great honour. He is truly a good man. By far the best I ever knew, or perhaps ever shall know in this world. But I must not speak all I think of him, lest I should be thought partial. So you have obtained liberty from the magistrates to erect a stone over Ferguson's grave? I do not doubt it; such things have been, as Shakespeare says, in the olden-time.' 'The Poet's fate is here in emblem shewn, 'He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone.' It is I believe upon poor Butler's tomb that this is written. But how many brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and poor Ferguson, have asked for bread, and been served with the same sauce. The magistrates gave you liberty, did they; Oh, generous magistrates! * * * * celebrated over the three kingdoms for his public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor poet's memory! most generous! * once upon a time gave that same poet the mighty sum of eighteen pence for a copy of his works. But then it must be considered that the poet was at this time absolutely starving, and besought his aid with all the earnestness of hunger. And over and above he received a **** at least one third of the value, in exchange, but which I believe the poet afterwards very ungratefully expunged. * * worth Next week I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Edinburgh, and, as my stay will be for eight or ten days, I wish you or * * * * * would take a snug well aired bed-room for me, where I may have the pleasure of seeing you over a morning cup of tea. But by all accounts it will be a matter of some difficulty to see you at all, unless your company is bespoke a week before hand. There is a great rumour here concerning your great intimacy with the Duchess of and other ladies of distinction. I am really told that 'cards to invite fly by thousands each night;' and if you had one, I suppose there would also be 'bribes to your old secretary. It seems you are resolved to make hay while the sun shines, and avoid if possible the fate of poor Ferguson, **Quærenda pecunia primum est, virtus post nummos, is a good maxim to thrive by: you seemed to despise it while in this country, but probably some philosopher in Edinburgh has taught you better sense. Pray are you yet engraving as well as printing? are you yet seized With itch of picture in the front, With bays and wicked rhyme upon't?" But I must give up this trifling and attend to matters that more concern myself; so as the Aberdeen wit say, Adieu dryly, we sal drink phan we meet.* MADAM, No. 26. TO MRS DUNLOP. Edinburgh, March 22d, 1787. I READ your letter with watery eyes. A little, very little while ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of my own bosom ; now I am distinguished, patronized, befriended by you. Your friendly advices, I will not give them the cold name of criticisms, I receive with The writer is mistaken in supposing the magistrates of Edinburgh had any share in the transaction respecting the monument erected for Ferguson: this, it is evident, passed between Burns and the Kirk Session of the Canongate. reverence. I have made some small alterations in what I before had printed. I have the advice of some very judicious friends among the literati here, but with them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the privilege of thinking for myself. The noble earl of Glencairn, to whom, I owe more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his strictures: his hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, I follow implicitly. You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects; there I can give you no light. It is all 'Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun 'Was roll'd together, or had try'd his beams The appellation of a Scottish bard, is by far my highest pride; to continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with the routine of business, for which heaven knows I am unfit enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the honoured abodes of her heroes. But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have dallied long enough with life; 'tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged mother to care for; and some other bosom ties perhaps equally tender. Where the individual only suffers by the consequences of his own thoughtlessness, indolence, or folly, he may be excusable; nay shining |