I would not
put it in the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to insinuate,
that I clubbed a share in the work from mercenary motives.
put it in the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to insinuate,
that I clubbed a share in the work from mercenary motives.
Robert Forst
]
It is probable, Madam, that this page may be read, when the hand that
now writes it shall be mouldering in the dust: may it then bear
witness, that I present you these volumes as a tribute of gratitude,
on my part ardent and sincere, as your and Mr. Graham's goodness to me
has been generous and noble! May every child of yours, in the hour of
need, find such a friend as I shall teach every child of mine, that
their father found in you.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXIV.
TO THE REV. G. BAIRD.
[It was proposed to publish a new edition of the poems of Michael
Bruce, by subscription, and give the profits to his mother, a woman
eighty years old, and poor and helpless, and Burns was asked for a
poem to give a new impulse to the publication. ]
_Ellisland, 1791. _
REVEREND SIR,
Why did you, my dear Sir, write to me in such a hesitating style on
the business of poor Bruce? Don't I know, and have I not felt, the
many ills, the peculiar ills that poetic flesh is heir to? You shall
have your choice of all the unpublished poems I have; and had your
letter had my direction, so as to have reached me sooner (it only came
to my hand this moment), I should have directly put you out of
suspense on the subject. I only ask, that some prefatory advertisement
in the book, as well as the subscription bills, may bear, that the
publication is solely for the benefit of Bruce's mother.
I would not
put it in the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to insinuate,
that I clubbed a share in the work from mercenary motives. Nor need
you give me credit for any remarkable generosity in my part of the
business. I have such a host of peccadilloes, failings, follies, and
backslidings (anybody but myself might perhaps give some of them a
worse appellation), that by way of some balance, however trifling, in
the account, I am fain to do any good that occurs in my very limited
power to a fellow-creature, just for the selfish purpose of clearing a
little the vista of retrospection.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Francis Wallace Burns, the godson of Mrs. Dunlop, to whom this letter
refers, died at the age of fourteen--he was a fine and a promising
youth. ]
_Ellisland, 11th April, 1791. _
I am once more able, my honoured friend, to return you, with my own
hand, thanks for the many instances of your friendship, and
particularly for your kind anxiety in this last disaster, that my evil
genius had in store for me. However, life is chequered--joy and
sorrow--for on Saturday morning last, Mrs. Burns made me a present of
a fine boy; rather stouter, but not so handsome as your godson was at
his time of life. Indeed I look on your little namesake to be my _chef
d'oeuvre_ in that species of manufacture, as I look on Tam o'
Shanter to be my standard performance in the poetical line. 'Tis
true, both the one and the other discover a spice of roguish waggery,
that might perhaps be as well spared; but then they also show, in my
opinion, a force of genius and a finishing polish that I despair of
ever excelling.
It is probable, Madam, that this page may be read, when the hand that
now writes it shall be mouldering in the dust: may it then bear
witness, that I present you these volumes as a tribute of gratitude,
on my part ardent and sincere, as your and Mr. Graham's goodness to me
has been generous and noble! May every child of yours, in the hour of
need, find such a friend as I shall teach every child of mine, that
their father found in you.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXIV.
TO THE REV. G. BAIRD.
[It was proposed to publish a new edition of the poems of Michael
Bruce, by subscription, and give the profits to his mother, a woman
eighty years old, and poor and helpless, and Burns was asked for a
poem to give a new impulse to the publication. ]
_Ellisland, 1791. _
REVEREND SIR,
Why did you, my dear Sir, write to me in such a hesitating style on
the business of poor Bruce? Don't I know, and have I not felt, the
many ills, the peculiar ills that poetic flesh is heir to? You shall
have your choice of all the unpublished poems I have; and had your
letter had my direction, so as to have reached me sooner (it only came
to my hand this moment), I should have directly put you out of
suspense on the subject. I only ask, that some prefatory advertisement
in the book, as well as the subscription bills, may bear, that the
publication is solely for the benefit of Bruce's mother.
I would not
put it in the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to insinuate,
that I clubbed a share in the work from mercenary motives. Nor need
you give me credit for any remarkable generosity in my part of the
business. I have such a host of peccadilloes, failings, follies, and
backslidings (anybody but myself might perhaps give some of them a
worse appellation), that by way of some balance, however trifling, in
the account, I am fain to do any good that occurs in my very limited
power to a fellow-creature, just for the selfish purpose of clearing a
little the vista of retrospection.
R. B.
* * * * *
CCXV.
TO MRS. DUNLOP.
[Francis Wallace Burns, the godson of Mrs. Dunlop, to whom this letter
refers, died at the age of fourteen--he was a fine and a promising
youth. ]
_Ellisland, 11th April, 1791. _
I am once more able, my honoured friend, to return you, with my own
hand, thanks for the many instances of your friendship, and
particularly for your kind anxiety in this last disaster, that my evil
genius had in store for me. However, life is chequered--joy and
sorrow--for on Saturday morning last, Mrs. Burns made me a present of
a fine boy; rather stouter, but not so handsome as your godson was at
his time of life. Indeed I look on your little namesake to be my _chef
d'oeuvre_ in that species of manufacture, as I look on Tam o'
Shanter to be my standard performance in the poetical line. 'Tis
true, both the one and the other discover a spice of roguish waggery,
that might perhaps be as well spared; but then they also show, in my
opinion, a force of genius and a finishing polish that I despair of
ever excelling.
