["The strain of invective," says the
judicious
Currie, of this letter,
"goes on some time longer in the style in which our bard was too apt
to indulge, and of which the reader has already seen so much.
"goes on some time longer in the style in which our bard was too apt
to indulge, and of which the reader has already seen so much.
Robert Forst
[Inquiries have been made in vain after the name of Burns's ci-devant
friend, who had so deeply wounded his feelings. ]
_8th August, 1790. _
DEAR MADAM,
After a long day's toil, plague, and care, I sit down to write to you.
Ask me not why I have delayed it so long! It was owing to hurry,
indolence, and fifty other things; in short to anything--but
forgetfulness of _la plus aimable de son sexe. _ By the bye, you are
indebted your best courtesy to me for this last compliment; as I pay
it from my sincere conviction of its truth--a quality rather rare in
compliments of these grinning, bowing, scraping times.
Well, I hope writing to _you_ will ease a little my troubled soul.
Sorely has it been bruised to-day! A ci-devant friend of mine, and an
intimate acquaintance of yours, has given my feelings a wound that I
perceive will gangrene dangerously ere it cure. He has wounded my
pride!
R. B.
* * * * *
CXCVI.
TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.
["The strain of invective," says the judicious Currie, of this letter,
"goes on some time longer in the style in which our bard was too apt
to indulge, and of which the reader has already seen so much. "]
_Ellisland, 8th August, 1790. _
Forgive me, my once dear, and ever dear friend, my seeming negligence.
You cannot sit down and fancy the busy life I lead.
I laid down my goose-feather to beat my brains for an apt simile, and
had some thoughts of a country grannum at a family christening; a
bride on the market-day before her marriage; or a tavern-keeper at an
election-dinner; but the resemblance that hits my fancy best is, that
blackguard miscreant, Satan, who roams about like a roaring lion,
seeking, _searching_ whom he may devour. However, tossed about as I
am, if I choose (and who would not choose) to bind down with the
crampets of attention the brazen foundation of integrity, I may rear
up the superstructure of Independence, and from its daring turrets bid
defiance to the storms of fate. And is not this a "consummation
devoutly to be wished? "
"Thy spirit, Independence, let me share;
Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye!
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky! "
Are not these noble verses? They are the introduction of Smollett's
Ode to Independence: if you have not seen the poem, I will send it to
you. --How wretched is the man that hangs on by the favours of the
great! To shrink from every dignity of man, at the approach of a
lordly piece of self-consequence, who, amid all his tinsel glitter,
and stately hauteur, is but a creature formed as thou art--and perhaps
not so well formed as thou art--came into the world a puling infant as
thou didst, and must go out of it, as all men must, a naked corse.
R. B.
* * * * *
CXCVII.
