And
if the bias, the instinctive bias, of their souls run the same way,
why may they not be FRIENDS?
if the bias, the instinctive bias, of their souls run the same way,
why may they not be FRIENDS?
Robert Forst
Nor
have I any cause to repent it. If I have not got polite tattle, modish
manners, and fashionable dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with
the multiform curse of boarding-school affectation: and I have got the
handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, and
the kindest heart in the county. Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her
creed, that I am _le plus bel esprit, et le plus honnete homme_ in the
universe; although she scarcely ever in her life, except the
Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms of David in
metre, spent five minutes together either on prose or verse. I must
except also from this last a certain late publication of Scots poems,
which she has perused very devoutly; and all the ballads in the
country, as she has (O the partial lover! you will cry) the finest
"wood-note wild" I ever heard. I am the more particular in this lady's
character, as I know she will henceforth have the honour of a share in
your best wishes. She is still at Mauchline, as I am building my
house; for this hovel that I shelter in, while occasionally here, is
pervious to every blast that blows, and every shower that falls; and I
am only preserved from being chilled to death by being suffocated with
smoke. I do not find my farm that pennyworth I was taught to expect,
but I believe, in time, it may be a saving bargain. You will be
pleased to hear that I have laid aside idle _eclat_, and bind every
day after my reapers.
To save me from that horrid situation of at any time going down in a
losing bargain of a farm, to misery, I have taken my Excise
instructions, and have my commission in my pocket for any emergency of
fortune. If I could set all before your view, whatever disrespect you,
in common with the world, have for this business, I know you would
approve of my idea.
I will make no apology, dear Madam, for this egotistic detail; I know
you and your sister will be interested in every circumstance of it.
What signify the silly, idle gewgaws of wealth, or the ideal trumpery
of greatness! When fellow-partakers of the same nature fear the same
God, have the same benevolence of heart, the same nobleness of soul,
the same detestation at everything dishonest, and the same scorn at
everything unworthy--if they are not in the dependence of absolute
beggary, in the name of common sense are they not EQUALS?
And
if the bias, the instinctive bias, of their souls run the same way,
why may they not be FRIENDS?
When I may have an opportunity of sending you this, Heaven only knows.
Shenstone says, "When one is confined idle within doors by bad
weather, the best antidote against _ennui_ is to read the letters of
or write to, one's friends;" in that case then, if the weather
continues thus, I may scrawl you half a quire.
I very lately--to wit, since harvest began--wrote a poem, not in
imitation, but in the manner, of Pope's Moral Epistles. It is only a
short essay, just to try the strength of my muse's pinion in that way.
I will send you a copy of it, when once I have heard from you. I have
likewise been laying the foundation of some pretty large poetic works:
how the superstructure will come on, I leave to that great maker and
marrer of projects--TIME. Johnson's collection of Scots songs
is going on in the third volume; and, of consequence, finds me a
consumpt for a great deal of idle metre. One of the most tolerable
things I have done in that way is two stanzas I made to an air, a
musical gentleman of my acquaintance composed for the anniversary of
his wedding-day, which happens on the seventh of November. Take it as
follows:--
"The day returns--my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet," &c. [188]
I shall give over this letter for shame. If I should be seized with a
scribbling fit, before this goes away, I shall make it another letter;
and then you may allow your patience a week's respite between the two.
I have not room for more than the old, kind, hearty farewell.
* * * * *
To make some amends, _mes cheres Mesdames_, for dragging you on to
this second sheet, and to relieve a little the tiresomeness of my
unstudied and uncorrectible prose, I shall transcribe you some of my
late poetic bagatelles; though I have, these eight or ten months, done
very little that way. One day in a hermitage on the banks of Nith,
belonging to a gentleman in my neighbourhood, who is so good as give
me a key at pleasure, I wrote as follows; supposing myself the
sequestered, venerable inhabitant of the lonely mansion.
LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE
HERMITAGE.
have I any cause to repent it. If I have not got polite tattle, modish
manners, and fashionable dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with
the multiform curse of boarding-school affectation: and I have got the
handsomest figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, and
the kindest heart in the county. Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as her
creed, that I am _le plus bel esprit, et le plus honnete homme_ in the
universe; although she scarcely ever in her life, except the
Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms of David in
metre, spent five minutes together either on prose or verse. I must
except also from this last a certain late publication of Scots poems,
which she has perused very devoutly; and all the ballads in the
country, as she has (O the partial lover! you will cry) the finest
"wood-note wild" I ever heard. I am the more particular in this lady's
character, as I know she will henceforth have the honour of a share in
your best wishes. She is still at Mauchline, as I am building my
house; for this hovel that I shelter in, while occasionally here, is
pervious to every blast that blows, and every shower that falls; and I
am only preserved from being chilled to death by being suffocated with
smoke. I do not find my farm that pennyworth I was taught to expect,
but I believe, in time, it may be a saving bargain. You will be
pleased to hear that I have laid aside idle _eclat_, and bind every
day after my reapers.
To save me from that horrid situation of at any time going down in a
losing bargain of a farm, to misery, I have taken my Excise
instructions, and have my commission in my pocket for any emergency of
fortune. If I could set all before your view, whatever disrespect you,
in common with the world, have for this business, I know you would
approve of my idea.
I will make no apology, dear Madam, for this egotistic detail; I know
you and your sister will be interested in every circumstance of it.
What signify the silly, idle gewgaws of wealth, or the ideal trumpery
of greatness! When fellow-partakers of the same nature fear the same
God, have the same benevolence of heart, the same nobleness of soul,
the same detestation at everything dishonest, and the same scorn at
everything unworthy--if they are not in the dependence of absolute
beggary, in the name of common sense are they not EQUALS?
And
if the bias, the instinctive bias, of their souls run the same way,
why may they not be FRIENDS?
When I may have an opportunity of sending you this, Heaven only knows.
Shenstone says, "When one is confined idle within doors by bad
weather, the best antidote against _ennui_ is to read the letters of
or write to, one's friends;" in that case then, if the weather
continues thus, I may scrawl you half a quire.
I very lately--to wit, since harvest began--wrote a poem, not in
imitation, but in the manner, of Pope's Moral Epistles. It is only a
short essay, just to try the strength of my muse's pinion in that way.
I will send you a copy of it, when once I have heard from you. I have
likewise been laying the foundation of some pretty large poetic works:
how the superstructure will come on, I leave to that great maker and
marrer of projects--TIME. Johnson's collection of Scots songs
is going on in the third volume; and, of consequence, finds me a
consumpt for a great deal of idle metre. One of the most tolerable
things I have done in that way is two stanzas I made to an air, a
musical gentleman of my acquaintance composed for the anniversary of
his wedding-day, which happens on the seventh of November. Take it as
follows:--
"The day returns--my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet," &c. [188]
I shall give over this letter for shame. If I should be seized with a
scribbling fit, before this goes away, I shall make it another letter;
and then you may allow your patience a week's respite between the two.
I have not room for more than the old, kind, hearty farewell.
* * * * *
To make some amends, _mes cheres Mesdames_, for dragging you on to
this second sheet, and to relieve a little the tiresomeness of my
unstudied and uncorrectible prose, I shall transcribe you some of my
late poetic bagatelles; though I have, these eight or ten months, done
very little that way. One day in a hermitage on the banks of Nith,
belonging to a gentleman in my neighbourhood, who is so good as give
me a key at pleasure, I wrote as follows; supposing myself the
sequestered, venerable inhabitant of the lonely mansion.
LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE
HERMITAGE.
