follows:--

"The day returns--my bosom burns,
The blissful day we twa did meet," &c.[188]

I shall give over this letter for shame. If I should be seized with a
scribbling fit, before this goes away, I shall make it another letter;
and then you may allow your patience a week's respite between the two.
I have not room for more than the old, kind, hearty farewell.

* * * * *

To make some amends, _mes cheres Mesdames_, for dragging you on to
this second sheet, and to relieve a little the tiresomeness of my
unstudied and uncorrectible prose, I shall transcribe you some of my
late poetic bagatelles; though I have, these eight or ten months, done
very little that way. One day in a hermitage on the banks of Nith,
belonging to a gentleman in my neighbourhood, who is so good as give
me a key at pleasure, I wrote as follows; supposing myself the
sequestered, venerable inhabitant of the lonely mansion.

LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE

HERMITAGE.

"Thou whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed."[189]

R. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 188: Song LXIX.]

[Footnote 189: Poems LXXXIX. and XC.]

* * * * *

CXXXV.

TO MR. MORISON,

MAUCHLINE.

[Morison, of Mauchline, made most of the poet's furniture, for
Ellisland: from Mauchline, too, came that eight-day clock, which was
sold, at the death of the poet's widow, for thirty-eight pounds, to
one who would have paid one hundred, sooner than wanted it.]

_Ellisland, September 22, 1788._

MY DEAR SIR,

Necessity obliges me to go into my new house even before it be
plastered. I will inhabit the one end until the other is finished.
About three weeks more, I think, will at farthest be my time, beyond
which I cannot stay in this present house. If ever you wished to
deserve the blessing of him that was ready to perish; if ever you were
in a situation that a little kindness would have rescued you from many
evils; if ever you hope to find rest in future states of untried
being--get these matters of mine ready. My servant will be out in the
beginning of next week for the clock. My compliments to Mrs. Morison.

I am,

After all my tribulation,

Dear Sir, yours,

R. B.

* * * * *

CXXXVI.

TO MRS. DUNLOP,

OF DUNLOP.

[Burns had no great respect for critics who found blemishes without
perceiving beauties: he expresses his con