No More Learning

This is the unfortunate story that gave rise to my
printed poem, "The Lament. " This was a most melancholy affair, which I
cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given me one or two
of the principal qualifications for a place among those who have lost
the chart, and mistaken the reckoning of rationality. I gave up my
part of the farm to my brother; in truth it was only nominally mine;
and made what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But,
before leaving my native country for ever, I resolved to publish my
poems. I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my power; I
thought they had merit; and it was a delicious idea that I should be
called a clever fellow, even though it should never reach my ears--a
poor negro-driver--or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, and
gone to the world of spirits! I can truly say, that _pauvre inconnu_
as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself and of my
works as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their
favour. It ever was my opinion that the mistakes and blunders, both in
a rational and religious point of view, of which we see thousands
daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of themselves. --To know
myself had been all along my constant study. I weighed myself alone; I
balanced myself with others; I watched every means of information, to
see how much ground I occupied as a man and as a poet; I studied
assiduously Nature's design in my formation--where the lights and
shades in my character were intended. I was pretty confident my poems
would meet with some applause; but, at the worst, the roar of the
Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West
Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies,
of which I had got subscriptions for about three hundred and
fifty. --My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with
from the public; and besides I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly
twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of
indenting myself, for want of money to procure my passage. As soon as
I was master of nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the torrid
zone, I took a steerage passage in the first ship that was to sail
from the Clyde, for

"Hungry ruin had me in the wind. "

I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the
terrors of a jail; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the
merciless pack of the law at my heels.
I had taken the last farewell
of my few friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock; I had
composed the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia--"The gloomy
night is gathering fast," when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend
of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by opening new prospects to my
poetic ambition. The doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose
applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion, that I would meet with
encouragement in Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so much,
that away I posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a
single letter of introduction. The baneful star that had so long shed
its blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a revolution to the
nadir; and a kind Providence placed me under the patronage of one of
the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. _Oublie-moi, grand Dieu, si
jamais je l'oublie! _

I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I was in a new world; I mingled
among many classes of men, but all of them new to me, and I was all
attention to "catch" the characters and "the manners living as they
rise. " Whether I have profited, time will show.

* * * * *

My most respectful compliments to Miss Williams. Her very elegant and
friendly letter I cannot answer at present, as my presence is
requisite in Edinburgh, and I set out to-morrow.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 175: Idiot for idiotic. ]

[Footnote 176: Paradise Lost, b. iv]

[Footnote 177: "Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to his Bastard Child.