If
farming do not appear eligible, I shall have recourse to my other
shift: but this to a friend.
farming do not appear eligible, I shall have recourse to my other
shift: but this to a friend.
Robert Burns
Now it
rejoices my heart to have met with such a fellow as you, who, though
you are not just such a hopeless fool as I, yet I trust you will never
listen so much to the temptations of the devil as to grow so very wise
that you will in the least disrespect an honest follow because he is a
fool. In short, I have set you down as the staff of my old age, when
the whole list of my friends will, after a decent share of pity, have
forgot me.
Though in the morn comes sturt and strife,
Yet joy may come at noon;
And I hope to live a merry, merry life
When a' thir days are done.
Write me soon, were it but a few lines just to tell me how that good
sagacious man your father is--that kind dainty body your mother--that
strapping chiel your brother Douglas--and my friend Rachel, who is as
far before Rachel of old, as she was before her blear-eyed sister
Leah.
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXIII.
TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
[The "savage hospitality," of which Burns complains in this letter,
was at that time an evil fashion in Scotland: the bottle was made to
circulate rapidly, and every glass was drunk "clean caup out. "]
_Mauchline, July, 1787. _
MY DEAR SIR,
My life, since I saw you last, has been one continued hurry; that
savage hospitality which knocks a man down with strong liquors, is
the devil. I have a sore warfare in this world; the devil, the world,
and the flesh are three formidable foes. The first I generally try to
fly from; the second, alas! generally flies from me; but the third is
my plague, worse than the ten plagues of Egypt.
I have been looking over several farms in this country; one in
particular, in Nithsdale, pleased me so well, that if my offer to the
proprietor is accepted, I shall commence farmer at Whit-Sunday.
If
farming do not appear eligible, I shall have recourse to my other
shift: but this to a friend.
I set out for Edinburgh on Monday morning; how long I stay there is
uncertain, but you will know so soon as I can inform you myself.
However I determine, poesy must be laid aside for some time; my mind
has been vitiated with idleness, and it will take a good deal of
effort to habituate it to the routine of business.
I am, my dear Sir,
Yours sincerely,
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXIV.
TO DR. MOORE.
[Dr. Moore was one of the first to point out the beauty of the lyric
compositions of Burns. "'Green grow the Rashes,' and of the two
songs," says he, "which follow, beginning 'Again rejoicing nature
sees,' and 'The gloomy night is gathering fast;' the latter is
exquisite. By the way, I imagine you have a peculiar talent for such
compositions which you ought to indulge: no kind of poetry demands
more delicacy or higher polishing. " On this letter to Moore all the
biographies of Burns are founded. ]
_Mauchline, 2d August, 1787. _
SIR,
For some months past I have been rambling over the country, but I am
now confined with some lingering complaints, originating, as I take
it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this miserable
fog of ennui, I have taken a whim to give you a history of myself.
rejoices my heart to have met with such a fellow as you, who, though
you are not just such a hopeless fool as I, yet I trust you will never
listen so much to the temptations of the devil as to grow so very wise
that you will in the least disrespect an honest follow because he is a
fool. In short, I have set you down as the staff of my old age, when
the whole list of my friends will, after a decent share of pity, have
forgot me.
Though in the morn comes sturt and strife,
Yet joy may come at noon;
And I hope to live a merry, merry life
When a' thir days are done.
Write me soon, were it but a few lines just to tell me how that good
sagacious man your father is--that kind dainty body your mother--that
strapping chiel your brother Douglas--and my friend Rachel, who is as
far before Rachel of old, as she was before her blear-eyed sister
Leah.
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXIII.
TO ROBERT AINSLIE, ESQ.
[The "savage hospitality," of which Burns complains in this letter,
was at that time an evil fashion in Scotland: the bottle was made to
circulate rapidly, and every glass was drunk "clean caup out. "]
_Mauchline, July, 1787. _
MY DEAR SIR,
My life, since I saw you last, has been one continued hurry; that
savage hospitality which knocks a man down with strong liquors, is
the devil. I have a sore warfare in this world; the devil, the world,
and the flesh are three formidable foes. The first I generally try to
fly from; the second, alas! generally flies from me; but the third is
my plague, worse than the ten plagues of Egypt.
I have been looking over several farms in this country; one in
particular, in Nithsdale, pleased me so well, that if my offer to the
proprietor is accepted, I shall commence farmer at Whit-Sunday.
If
farming do not appear eligible, I shall have recourse to my other
shift: but this to a friend.
I set out for Edinburgh on Monday morning; how long I stay there is
uncertain, but you will know so soon as I can inform you myself.
However I determine, poesy must be laid aside for some time; my mind
has been vitiated with idleness, and it will take a good deal of
effort to habituate it to the routine of business.
I am, my dear Sir,
Yours sincerely,
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXIV.
TO DR. MOORE.
[Dr. Moore was one of the first to point out the beauty of the lyric
compositions of Burns. "'Green grow the Rashes,' and of the two
songs," says he, "which follow, beginning 'Again rejoicing nature
sees,' and 'The gloomy night is gathering fast;' the latter is
exquisite. By the way, I imagine you have a peculiar talent for such
compositions which you ought to indulge: no kind of poetry demands
more delicacy or higher polishing. " On this letter to Moore all the
biographies of Burns are founded. ]
_Mauchline, 2d August, 1787. _
SIR,
For some months past I have been rambling over the country, but I am
now confined with some lingering complaints, originating, as I take
it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this miserable
fog of ennui, I have taken a whim to give you a history of myself.
