No More Learning

_

Since I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have not had time to
write you further. When I say that I had not time, that as usual
means, that the three demons, indolence, business, and ennui, have so
completely shared my hours among them, as not to leave me a five
minutes' fragment to take up a pen in.

Thank heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upwards with the renovating
year. Now I shall in good earnest take up Thomson's songs. I dare say
he thinks I have used him unkindly, and I must own with too much
appearance of truth. Apropos, do you know the much admired old
Highland air called "The Sutor's Dochter? " It is a first-rate
favourite of mine, and I have written what I reckon one of my best
songs to it. I will send it to you as it was sung with great applause
in some fashionable circles by Major Roberston, of Lude, who was here
with his corps.

* * * * *

There is one commission that I must trouble you with. I lately lost a
valuable seal, a present from a departed friend which vexes me much.

I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which I fancy would make a
very decent one; and I want to cut my armorial bearing on it; will you
be so obliging as inquire what will be the expense of such a business?
I do not know that my name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, at
all; but I have invented arms for myself, so you know I shall be chief
of the name; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled
to supporters. These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I am
a bit of a herald, and shall give you, _secundum artem_, my arms. On a
field, azure, a holly-bush, seeded, proper, in base; a shepherd's pipe
and crook, saltier-wise, also proper in chief.
On a wreath of the
colours, a wood lark perching on a sprig of bay-tree, proper, for
crest. Two mottos; round the top of the crest, _Wood-notes wild_: at
the bottom of the shield, in the usual place, _Better a wee bush than
nae bield. _ By the shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the
nonsense of painters of Arcadia, but a _stock and horn_, and a _club_,
such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, in Allan's quarto edition
of the _Gentle Shepherd. _ By the bye, do you know Allan? He must be a
man of very great genius--Why is he not more known? --Has he no
patrons? or do "Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain beat keen and
heavy" on him! I once, and but once, got a glance of that noble
edition of the noblest pastoral in the world; and dear as it was, I
mean dear as to my pocket, I would have bought it; but I was told
that it was printed and engraved for subscribers only. He is the
_only_ artist who has hit _genuine_ pastoral _costume. _ What, my dear
Cunningham, is there in riches, that they narrow and harden the heart
so? I think, that were I as rich as the sun, I should be as generous
as the day; but as I have no reason to imagine my soul a nobler one
than any other man's, I must conclude that wealth imparts a bird-lime
quality to the possessor, at which the man, in his native poverty,
would have revolted. What has led me to this, is the idea, of such
merit as Mr. Allan possesses, and such riches us a nabob or government
contractor possesses, and why they do not form a mutual league. Let
wealth shelter and cherish unprotected merit, and the gratitude and
celebrity of that merit will richly repay it.

R. B.