, at least easy, and south a sang to soothe my misery.

'Twas at the same time I set about composing an air in the old Scotch
style.--I am not musical scholar enough to prick down my tune
properly, so it can never see the light, and perhaps 'tis no great
matter; but the following were the verses I composed to suit it:--

O raging fortune's withering blast
Has laid my leaf full low, O![156]

The tune consisted of three parts, so that the above verses just went
through the whole air.

* * * * *

_October_, 1785.

If ever any young man, in the vestibule of the world, chance to throw
his eye over these pages, let him pay a warm attention to the
following observations, as I assure him they are the fruit of a poor
devil's dear-bought experience.--I have literally, like that great
poet and great gallant, and by consequence, that great fool, Solomon,
"turned my eyes to behold madness and folly." Nay, I have, with all
the ardour of a lively, fanciful, and whimsical imagination,
accompanied with a warm, feeling, poetic heart, shaken hands with
their intoxicating friendship.

In the first place, let my pupil, as he tenders his own peace, keep up
a regular, warm intercourse with the Deity. * * * *

This is all worth quoting in my MSS., and more than all.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 145: See Songs and Ballads, No. I.]

[Footnote 146: See Winter. A Dirge. Poem I.]

[Footnote 147: Song XIV.]

[Footnote 148: Poem IX.]

[Footnote 149: Song V]

[Footnote 150: Song XVII.]

[Footnote 151: Poem X.]

[Footnote 152: Poem XI.]

[Footnote 153: "The Mill, Mill, O," is by Allan Ramsay.]

[Footnote 154: Song VIII.]

[Footnote 155: Alluding to the misfortunes he feelingly laments before
this verse. (This is the author's note.)]

[Footnote 156: Song II.]

* * * * *

IX.

TO MR. JAMES BURNESS,

MONTROSE.

[The elder Burns, whose death this letter intimates, lies buried in
the kirk-yard of Alloway, with a tombstone recording his worth.]

_Lochlea_, 17_th Feb._ 1784.

DEAR COUSIN,

I would have returned you my thanks for your kind favour of the 13th
of December sooner, had it not been that I waited to give you an
account of that melancholy event, which, for some time past, we have
from day to day expected.

On the 13th current I lost the best of fathers. Though, to be sure, we
have had long warning of the impending stroke; stil