No More Learning

Muir; and with wishing you a merry New-Year's day, I
shall conclude. I am, honoured sir, your dutiful son,

ROBERT BURNESS.

P. S. My meal is nearly out, but I am going to borrow till I get more.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 141: Pope. _Essay on Man_]

* * * * *




II.


TO MR. JOHN MURDOCH,

SCHOOLMASTER,

STABLES-INN BUILDINGS, LONDON.

[John Murdoch, one of the poet's early teachers, removed from the west
of Scotland to London, where he lived to a good old age, and loved to
talk of the pious William Burness and his eminent son. ]

_Lochlea, 15th January, 1783. _

DEAR SIR,

As I have an opportunity of sending you a letter without putting you
to that expense which any production of mine would but ill repay, I
embrace it with pleasure, to tell you that I have not forgotten, nor
ever will forget, the many obligations I lie under to your kindness
and friendship.

I do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to know what has been the
result of all the pains of an indulgent father, and a masterly
teacher; and I wish I could gratify your curiosity with such a recital
as you would be pleased with; but that is what I am afraid will not be
the case. I have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious habits; and, in
this respect, I hope, my conduct will not disgrace the education I
have gotten; but, as a man of the world, I am most miserably
deficient. One would have thought that, bred as I have been, under a
father, who has figured pretty well as _un homme des affaires_, I
might have been, what the world calls, a pushing, active fellow; but
to tell you the truth, Sir, there is hardly anything more my reverse.
I seem to be one sent into the world to see and observe; and I very
easily compound with the knave who tricks me of my money, if there be
anything original about him, which shows me human nature in a
different light from anything I have seen before. In short, the joy of
my heart is to "study men, their manners, and their ways;" and for
this darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other
consideration. I am quite indolent about those great concerns that set
the bustling, busy sons of care agog; and if I have to answer for the
present hour, I am very easy with regard to anything further. Even the
last, worst shift of the unfortunate and the wretched, does not much
terrify me: I know that even then, my talent for what country folks
call a "sensible crack," when once it is sanctified by a hoary head,
would procure me so much esteem, that even then--I would learn to be
happy. [142] However, I am under no apprehensions about that; for though
indolent, yet so far as an extremely delicate constitution permits, I
am not lazy; and in many things, expecially in tavern matters, I am a
strict economist; not, indeed, for the sake of the money; but one of
the principal parts in my composition is a kind of pride of stomach;
and I scorn to fear the face of any man living: above everything, I
abhor as hell, the idea of sneaking in a corner to avoid a
dun--possibly some pitiful, sordid wretch, who in my heart I despise
and detest. 'Tis this, and this alone, that endears economy to me. In
the matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My favourite authors
are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone, particularly his
"Elegies;" Thomson; "Man of Feeling"--a book I prize next to the
Bible; "Man of the World;" Sterne, especially his "Sentimental
Journey;" Macpherson's "Ossian," &c. ; these are the glorious models
after which I endeavour to form my conduct, and 'tis incongruous, 'tis
absurd to suppose that the man whose mind glows with sentiments
lighted up at their sacred flame--the man whose heart distends with
benevolence to all the human race--he "who can soar above this little
scene of things"--can he descend to mind the paltry concerns about
which the terraefilial race fret, and fume, and vex themselves! O how
the glorious triumph swells my heart! I forget that I am a poor,
insignificant devil, unnoticed and unknown, stalking up and down fairs
and markets, when I happen to be in them, reading a page or two of
mankind, and "catching the manners living as they rise," whilst the
men of business jostle me on every side, as an idle encumbrance in
their way. --But I dare say I have by this time tired your patience; so
I shall conclude with begging you to give Mrs. Murdoch--not my
compliments, for that is a mere common-place story; but my warmest,
kindest wishes for her welfare; and accept of the same for yourself,
from,

Dear Sir, yours. --R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 142: The last shift alluded to here must be the condition of
an itinerant beggar.