Tuesday evening, some time about
seven or after, I shall wait on you for your farewell commands.
seven or after, I shall wait on you for your farewell commands.
Robert Burns
, advocate, afterwards a
judge, under the title of Lord Newton. ]
SIR,
The enclosed poem was written in consequence of your suggestion, last
time I had the pleasure of seeing you. It cost me an hour or two of
next morning's sleep, but did not please me; so it lay by, an
ill-digested effort, till the other day that I gave it a critic brush.
These kind of subjects are much hackneyed; and, besides, the wailings
of the rhyming tribe over the ashes of the great are cursedly
suspicious, and out of all character for sincerity. These ideas damped
my muse's fire; however, I have done the best I could, and, at all
events, it gives me an opportunity of declaring that I have the honour
to be, Sir, your obliged humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXXIX.
TO MISS M----N.
[This letter appeared for the first time in the "Letters to Clarinda,"
a little work which was speedily suppressed--it is, on the whole, a
sort of Corydon and Phillis affair, with here and there expressions
too graphic, and passages over-warm. Who the lady was is not known--or
known only to one. ]
_Saturday Noon, No. 2, St. James's Square_,
_New Town, Edinburgh_
Here have I sat, my 'dear Madam, in the stony altitude of perplexed
study for fifteen vexatious minutes, my head askew, bending over the
intended card; my fixed eye insensible to the very light of day poured
around; my pendulous goose-feather, loaded with ink, hanging over the
future letter, all for the important purpose of writing a
complimentary card to accompany your trinket.
Compliment is such a miserable Greenland expression, lies at such a
chilly polar distance from the torrid zone of my constitution, that I
cannot, for the very soul of me, use it to any person for whom I have
the twentieth part of the esteem every one must have for you who knows
you.
As I leave town in three or four days, I can give myself the pleasure
of calling on you only for a minute.
Tuesday evening, some time about
seven or after, I shall wait on you for your farewell commands.
The hinge of your box I put into the hands of the proper connoisseur.
The broken glass, likewise, went under review; but deliberative wisdom
thought it would too much endanger the whole fabric.
I am, dear Madam,
With all sincerity of enthusiasm,
Your very obedient servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
XC.
TO MISS CHALMERS.
[Some dozen or so, it is said, of the most beautiful letters that
Burns ever wrote, and dedicated to the beauty of Charlotte Hamilton,
were destroyed by that lady, in a moment when anger was too strong for
reflection. ]
_Edinburgh, Nov. _ 21, 1787.
I have one vexatious fault to the kindly-welcome, well-filled sheet
which I owe to your and Charlotte's goodness,--it contains too much
sense, sentiment, and good-spelling. It is impossible that even you
two, whom I declare to my God I will give credit for any degree of
excellence the sex are capable of attaining, it is impossible you can
go on to correspond at that rate; so like those who, Shenstone says,
retire because they make a good speech, I shall, after a few letters,
hear no more of you. I insist that you shall write whatever comes
first: what you see, what you read, what you hear, what you admire,
what you dislike, trifles, bagatelles, nonsense; or to fill up a
corner, e'en put down a laugh at full length. Now none of your polite
hints about flattery; I leave that to your lovers, if you have or
shall have any; though, thank heaven, I have found at last two girls
who can be luxuriantly happy in their own minds and with one another,
without that commonly necessary appendage to female bliss--A LOVER.
Charlotte and you are just two favourite resting-places for my soul in
her wanderings through the weary, thorny wilderness of this world. God
knows I am ill-fitted for the struggle: I glory in being a Poet, and I
want to be thought a wise man--I would fondly be generous, and I wish
to be rich.
judge, under the title of Lord Newton. ]
SIR,
The enclosed poem was written in consequence of your suggestion, last
time I had the pleasure of seeing you. It cost me an hour or two of
next morning's sleep, but did not please me; so it lay by, an
ill-digested effort, till the other day that I gave it a critic brush.
These kind of subjects are much hackneyed; and, besides, the wailings
of the rhyming tribe over the ashes of the great are cursedly
suspicious, and out of all character for sincerity. These ideas damped
my muse's fire; however, I have done the best I could, and, at all
events, it gives me an opportunity of declaring that I have the honour
to be, Sir, your obliged humble servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
LXXXIX.
TO MISS M----N.
[This letter appeared for the first time in the "Letters to Clarinda,"
a little work which was speedily suppressed--it is, on the whole, a
sort of Corydon and Phillis affair, with here and there expressions
too graphic, and passages over-warm. Who the lady was is not known--or
known only to one. ]
_Saturday Noon, No. 2, St. James's Square_,
_New Town, Edinburgh_
Here have I sat, my 'dear Madam, in the stony altitude of perplexed
study for fifteen vexatious minutes, my head askew, bending over the
intended card; my fixed eye insensible to the very light of day poured
around; my pendulous goose-feather, loaded with ink, hanging over the
future letter, all for the important purpose of writing a
complimentary card to accompany your trinket.
Compliment is such a miserable Greenland expression, lies at such a
chilly polar distance from the torrid zone of my constitution, that I
cannot, for the very soul of me, use it to any person for whom I have
the twentieth part of the esteem every one must have for you who knows
you.
As I leave town in three or four days, I can give myself the pleasure
of calling on you only for a minute.
Tuesday evening, some time about
seven or after, I shall wait on you for your farewell commands.
The hinge of your box I put into the hands of the proper connoisseur.
The broken glass, likewise, went under review; but deliberative wisdom
thought it would too much endanger the whole fabric.
I am, dear Madam,
With all sincerity of enthusiasm,
Your very obedient servant,
R. B.
* * * * *
XC.
TO MISS CHALMERS.
[Some dozen or so, it is said, of the most beautiful letters that
Burns ever wrote, and dedicated to the beauty of Charlotte Hamilton,
were destroyed by that lady, in a moment when anger was too strong for
reflection. ]
_Edinburgh, Nov. _ 21, 1787.
I have one vexatious fault to the kindly-welcome, well-filled sheet
which I owe to your and Charlotte's goodness,--it contains too much
sense, sentiment, and good-spelling. It is impossible that even you
two, whom I declare to my God I will give credit for any degree of
excellence the sex are capable of attaining, it is impossible you can
go on to correspond at that rate; so like those who, Shenstone says,
retire because they make a good speech, I shall, after a few letters,
hear no more of you. I insist that you shall write whatever comes
first: what you see, what you read, what you hear, what you admire,
what you dislike, trifles, bagatelles, nonsense; or to fill up a
corner, e'en put down a laugh at full length. Now none of your polite
hints about flattery; I leave that to your lovers, if you have or
shall have any; though, thank heaven, I have found at last two girls
who can be luxuriantly happy in their own minds and with one another,
without that commonly necessary appendage to female bliss--A LOVER.
Charlotte and you are just two favourite resting-places for my soul in
her wanderings through the weary, thorny wilderness of this world. God
knows I am ill-fitted for the struggle: I glory in being a Poet, and I
want to be thought a wise man--I would fondly be generous, and I wish
to be rich.
