The * * * *, so far as I was a
reader, exhibited such a brilliancy of point, such an elegance of
paragraph, and such a variety of intelligence, that I can hardly
conceive it possible to continue a daily paper in the same degree of
excellence: but if there was a man who had abilities equal to the
task, that man's assistance the proprietors have lost.
reader, exhibited such a brilliancy of point, such an elegance of
paragraph, and such a variety of intelligence, that I can hardly
conceive it possible to continue a daily paper in the same degree of
excellence: but if there was a man who had abilities equal to the
task, that man's assistance the proprietors have lost.
Robert Forst
That there is an incomprehensible
Great Being, to whom I owe my existence, and that he must be
intimately acquainted with the operations and progress of the internal
machinery, and consequent outward deportment of this creature which he
has made; these are, I think, self-evident propositions. That there is
a real and eternal distinction between virtue and vice, and
consequently, that I am an accountable creature; that from the seeming
nature of the human mind, as well as from the evident imperfection,
nay, positive injustice, in the administration of affairs, both in the
natural and moral worlds, there must be a retributive scene of
existence beyond the grave; must, I think, be allowed by every one who
will give himself a moment's reflection. I will go farther, and affirm
that from the sublimity, excellence, and purity of his doctrine and
precepts, unparalleled by all the aggregated wisdom and learning of
many preceding ages, though, _to appearance_, he himself was the
obscurest and most illiterate of our species; therefore Jesus Christ
was from God.
Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others,
this is my criterion of goodness; and whatever injures society at
large, or any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity.
What think you, madam, of my creed? I trust that I have said nothing
that will lessen me in the eye of one, whose good opinion I value
almost next to the approbation of my own mind.
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXVIII.
TO MR. ----.
[The name of the person to whom the following letter is addressed is
unknown: he seems, from his letter to Burns to have been intimate with
the unfortunate poet, Robert Fergusson, who, in richness of
conversation and plenitude of fancy, reminded him, he said, of Robert
Burns. ]
1789.
MY DEAR SIR,
The hurry of a farmer in this particular season, and the indolence of
a poet at all times and seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for
neglecting so long to answer your obliging letter of the 5th of
August.
That you have done well in quitting your laborious concern in * * * *, I
do not doubt; the weighty reasons you mention, were, I hope, very, and
deservedly indeed, weighty ones, and your health is a matter of the
last importance; but whether the remaining proprietors of the paper
have also done well, is what I much doubt.
The * * * *, so far as I was a
reader, exhibited such a brilliancy of point, such an elegance of
paragraph, and such a variety of intelligence, that I can hardly
conceive it possible to continue a daily paper in the same degree of
excellence: but if there was a man who had abilities equal to the
task, that man's assistance the proprietors have lost.
When I received your letter I was transcribing for * * * *, my letter to
the magistrates of the Canongate, Edinburgh, begging their permission
to place a tombstone over poor Fergusson, and their edict in
consequence of my petition, but now I shall send them to * * * * * *. Poor
Fergusson! If there be a life beyond the grave, which I trust there
is; and if there be a good God presiding over all nature, which I am
sure there is; thou art now enjoying existence in a glorious world,
where worth of the heart alone is distinction in the man; where
riches, deprived of all their pleasure-purchasing powers, return to
their native sordid matter; where titles and honours are the
disregarded reveries of an idle dream; and where that heavy virtue,
which is the negative consequence of steady dulness, and those
thoughtless, though often destructive follies which are unavoidable
aberrations of frail human nature, will be thrown into equal oblivion
as if they had never been!
Adieu my dear sir! So soon as your present views and schemes are
concentered in an aim, I shall be glad to hear from you; as your
welfare and happiness is by no means a subject indifferent to
Yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXIX.
TO MISS WILLIAMS.
[Helen Maria Williams acknowledged this letter, with the critical
pencilling, on her poem on the Slave Trade, which it enclosed: she
agreed, she said, with all his objections, save one, but considered
his praise too high. ]
_Ellisland, 1789. _
MADAM,
Of the many problems in the nature of that wonderful creature, man,
this is one of the most extraordinary, that he shall go on from day to
day, from week to week, from month to month, or perhaps from year to
year, suffering a hundred times more in an hour from the impotent
consciousness of neglecting what he ought to do, than the very doing
of it would cost him. I am deeply indebted to you, first for a most
elegant poetic compliment; then for a polite, obliging letter; and,
lastly, for your excellent poem on the Slave Trade; and yet, wretch
that I am! though the debts were debts of honour, and the creditor a
lady, I have put off and put off even the very acknowledgment of the
obligation, until you must indeed be the very angel I take you for, if
you can forgive me.
Your poem I have read with the highest pleasure. I have a way whenever
I read a book, I mean a book in our own trade, Madam, a poetic one,
and when it is my own property, that I take a pencil and mark at the
ends of verses, or note on margins and odd paper, little criticisms of
approbation or disapprobation as I peruse along.
Great Being, to whom I owe my existence, and that he must be
intimately acquainted with the operations and progress of the internal
machinery, and consequent outward deportment of this creature which he
has made; these are, I think, self-evident propositions. That there is
a real and eternal distinction between virtue and vice, and
consequently, that I am an accountable creature; that from the seeming
nature of the human mind, as well as from the evident imperfection,
nay, positive injustice, in the administration of affairs, both in the
natural and moral worlds, there must be a retributive scene of
existence beyond the grave; must, I think, be allowed by every one who
will give himself a moment's reflection. I will go farther, and affirm
that from the sublimity, excellence, and purity of his doctrine and
precepts, unparalleled by all the aggregated wisdom and learning of
many preceding ages, though, _to appearance_, he himself was the
obscurest and most illiterate of our species; therefore Jesus Christ
was from God.
Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others,
this is my criterion of goodness; and whatever injures society at
large, or any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity.
What think you, madam, of my creed? I trust that I have said nothing
that will lessen me in the eye of one, whose good opinion I value
almost next to the approbation of my own mind.
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXVIII.
TO MR. ----.
[The name of the person to whom the following letter is addressed is
unknown: he seems, from his letter to Burns to have been intimate with
the unfortunate poet, Robert Fergusson, who, in richness of
conversation and plenitude of fancy, reminded him, he said, of Robert
Burns. ]
1789.
MY DEAR SIR,
The hurry of a farmer in this particular season, and the indolence of
a poet at all times and seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for
neglecting so long to answer your obliging letter of the 5th of
August.
That you have done well in quitting your laborious concern in * * * *, I
do not doubt; the weighty reasons you mention, were, I hope, very, and
deservedly indeed, weighty ones, and your health is a matter of the
last importance; but whether the remaining proprietors of the paper
have also done well, is what I much doubt.
The * * * *, so far as I was a
reader, exhibited such a brilliancy of point, such an elegance of
paragraph, and such a variety of intelligence, that I can hardly
conceive it possible to continue a daily paper in the same degree of
excellence: but if there was a man who had abilities equal to the
task, that man's assistance the proprietors have lost.
When I received your letter I was transcribing for * * * *, my letter to
the magistrates of the Canongate, Edinburgh, begging their permission
to place a tombstone over poor Fergusson, and their edict in
consequence of my petition, but now I shall send them to * * * * * *. Poor
Fergusson! If there be a life beyond the grave, which I trust there
is; and if there be a good God presiding over all nature, which I am
sure there is; thou art now enjoying existence in a glorious world,
where worth of the heart alone is distinction in the man; where
riches, deprived of all their pleasure-purchasing powers, return to
their native sordid matter; where titles and honours are the
disregarded reveries of an idle dream; and where that heavy virtue,
which is the negative consequence of steady dulness, and those
thoughtless, though often destructive follies which are unavoidable
aberrations of frail human nature, will be thrown into equal oblivion
as if they had never been!
Adieu my dear sir! So soon as your present views and schemes are
concentered in an aim, I shall be glad to hear from you; as your
welfare and happiness is by no means a subject indifferent to
Yours,
R. B.
* * * * *
CLXIX.
TO MISS WILLIAMS.
[Helen Maria Williams acknowledged this letter, with the critical
pencilling, on her poem on the Slave Trade, which it enclosed: she
agreed, she said, with all his objections, save one, but considered
his praise too high. ]
_Ellisland, 1789. _
MADAM,
Of the many problems in the nature of that wonderful creature, man,
this is one of the most extraordinary, that he shall go on from day to
day, from week to week, from month to month, or perhaps from year to
year, suffering a hundred times more in an hour from the impotent
consciousness of neglecting what he ought to do, than the very doing
of it would cost him. I am deeply indebted to you, first for a most
elegant poetic compliment; then for a polite, obliging letter; and,
lastly, for your excellent poem on the Slave Trade; and yet, wretch
that I am! though the debts were debts of honour, and the creditor a
lady, I have put off and put off even the very acknowledgment of the
obligation, until you must indeed be the very angel I take you for, if
you can forgive me.
Your poem I have read with the highest pleasure. I have a way whenever
I read a book, I mean a book in our own trade, Madam, a poetic one,
and when it is my own property, that I take a pencil and mark at the
ends of verses, or note on margins and odd paper, little criticisms of
approbation or disapprobation as I peruse along.
