ndence as beneath them, had become
in consequence little better than mendicants--too good to work for their
bread, but not too good virtually to beg it; and, looking upon them as
beacons of warning, I determined that, with God's help, I should give
their error a wide offing, and never associate the ideas of meanness
with an honest calling, or deem myself too good to be independent. And,
in the second place, as I saw that the notice, and more especially the
hospitalities, of persons in the upper walks, seemed to exercise a
deteriorating effect on even strong-minded men in circumstances such as
mine, I resolved rather to avoid than court the attentions from this
class which were now beginning to come my way. Johnson describes his
"Ortogrul of Basra" as a thoughtful and meditative man; and yet he tells
us, that after he had seen the palace of the Vizier, and "admired the
walls hung with golden tapestry, and the floors covered with silken
carpets, he despised the simple neatness of his own little habitation."
And the lesson of the fiction is, I fear, too obviously exemplified in
the real history of one of the strongest-minded men of the last
age--Robert Burns. The poet seems to have left much of his early
complacency in his humble home behind him, in the splendid mansions of
the men who, while they failed worthily to patronize him, injured him by
their hospitalities. I found it more difficult, however, to hold by this
second resolution than by the first. As I was not large enough to be
made a lion of, the invitations which came my way were usually those of
real kindness; and the advances of kindness I found it impossible always
to repel; and so it happened that I did at times find myself in company
in which the working man might be deemed misplaced and in danger. On two
several occasions, for instance, after declining previous invitations
not a few, I had to spend a week at a time, as the guest of my respected
friend Miss Dunbar of Boath; and my native place was visited by few
superior men that I had not to meet at some hospitable board. But I
trust I may say, that the temptation failed to injure me; and that on
such occasions I returned to my obscure employments and lowly home,
grateful for the kindness I had received, but in no degree discontented
with my lot.

Miss Dunbar belonged, as I have said, to a type of literary lady now
well-nigh passed away, but of which we find frequent trace in the
epistolary literature of the