have gravely planned a comparative view of you, Fielding, Richardson,
and Smollett, in your different qualities and merits as novel-writers.
This, I own, betrays my ridiculous vanity, and I may probably never
bring the business to bear; and I am fond of the spirit young Elihu
shows in the book of Job--"And I said, I will also declare my
opinion," I have quite disfigured my copy of the book with my
annotations. I never take it up without at the same time taking my
pencil, and marking with asterisms, parentheses, &c., wherever I meet
with an original thought, a nervous remark on life and manners, a
remarkable well-turned period, or a character sketched with uncommon
precision.

Though I should hardly think of fairly writing out my "Comparative
View," I shall certainly trouble you with my remarks, such as they
are.

I have just received from my gentleman that horrid summons in the book
of Revelations--"That time shall be no more!"

The little collection of sonnets have some charming poetry in them. If
_indeed_ I am indebted to the fair author for the book, and not, as I
rather suspect, to a celebrated author of the other sex, I should
certainly have written to the lady, with my grateful acknowledgments,
and my own ideas of the comparative excellence of her pieces. I would
do this last, not from any vanity of thinking that my remarks could be
of much consequence to Mrs. Smith, but merely from my own feelings as
an author, doing as I would be done by.

R. B.

* * * * *

CXCIII.

TO MR. MURDOCH,

TEACHER OF FRENCH, LONDON.

[The account of himself, promised to Murdoch by Burns, was never
written.]

_Ellisland, July 16, 1790._

MY DEAR SIR,

I received a letter from you a long time ago, but unfortunately, as
it was in the time of my peregrinations and journeyings through
Scotland, I mislaid or lost it, and by consequence your direction
along with it. Luckily my good star brought me acquainted with Mr.
Kennedy, who, I understand, is an acquaintance of yours: and by his
means and mediation I hope to replace that link which my unfortunate
negligence had so unluckily broke in the chain of our correspondence.
I was the more vexed at the vile accident, as my brother William, a
journeyman saddler, has been for some time in London; and wished above
all things for your direction, that he might have paid his respects to
his father's friend.

His last address he sent me was, "W