You know how you feel at
the iron gripe of ruthless oppression: you know how you bear the
galling sneer of contumelious greatness. I hold you out the
conveniences, the comforts of life, independence, and character, on
the one hand; I tender you civility, dependence, and wretchedness, on
the other. I will not insult your understanding by bidding you make a
choice."

This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my humble station,
and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the plough-tail. Still, my
lord, while the drops of life warm my heart, gratitude to that
dear-loved country in which I boast my birth, and gratitude to those
her distinguished sons who have honoured me so much with their
patronage and approbation, shall, while stealing through my humble
shades; ever distend my bosom, and at times, as now, draw forth the
swelling tear.

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 167: Imitated from Pope's Eloisa to Abelard.]

* * * * *

L.

TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH.

[James Candlish, a student of medicine, was well acquainted with the
poetry of Lowe, author of that sublime lyric, "Mary's Dream," and at
the request of Burns sent Lowe's classic song of "Pompey's Ghost," to
the Musical Museum.]

_Edinburgh, March 21, 1787._

MY EVER DEAR OLD ACQUAINTANCE,

I was equally surprised and pleased at your letter, though I dare say
you will think by my delaying so long to write to you that I am so
drowned in the intoxication of good fortune as to be indifferent to
old, and once dear connexions. The truth is, I was determined to write
a good letter, full of argument, amplification, erudition, and, as
Bayes says, _all that._ I thought of it, and thought of it, and, by my
soul, I could not; and, lest you should mistake the cause of my
silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don't give yourself credit,
though, that the strength of your logic scares me: the truth is, I
never mean to meet you on that ground at all. You have shown me one
thing which was to be demonstrated: that strong pride of reasoning,
with a little affectation of singularity, may mislead the best of
hearts. I likewise, since you and I were first acquainted, in the
pride of despising old woman's stories, ventured in "the daring path
Spinosa trod;" but experience of the weakness, not the strength of
human powers, made me glad to grasp at revealed religion.

I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, "The old man with his
deeds