early out, but I am going to borrow till I get more.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 141: Pope. _Essay on Man_]

* * * * *

II.

TO MR. JOHN MURDOCH,

SCHOOLMASTER,

STABLES-INN BUILDINGS, LONDON.

[John Murdoch, one of the poet's early teachers, removed from the west
of Scotland to London, where he lived to a good old age, and loved to
talk of the pious William Burness and his eminent son.]

_Lochlea, 15th January, 1783._

DEAR SIR,

As I have an opportunity of sending you a letter without putting you
to that expense which any production of mine would but ill repay, I
embrace it with pleasure, to tell you that I have not forgotten, nor
ever will forget, the many obligations I lie under to your kindness
and friendship.

I do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to know what has been the
result of all the pains of an indulgent father, and a masterly
teacher; and I wish I could gratify your curiosity with such a recital
as you would be pleased with; but that is what I am afraid will not be
the case. I have, indeed, kept pretty clear of vicious habits; and, in
this respect, I hope, my conduct will not disgrace the education I
have gotten; but, as a man of the world, I am most miserably
deficient. One would have thought that, bred as I have been, under a
father, who has figured pretty well as _un homme des affaires_, I
might have been, what the world calls, a pushing, active fellow; but
to tell you the truth, Sir, there is hardly anything more my reverse.
I seem to be one sent into the world to see and observe; and I very
easily compound with the knave who tricks me of my money, if there be
anything original about him, which shows me human nature in a
different light from anything I have seen before. In short, the joy of
my heart is to "study men, their manners, and their ways;" and for
this darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other
consideration. I am quite indolent about those great concerns that set
the bustling, busy sons of care agog; and if I have to answer for the
present hour, I am very easy with regard to anything further. Even the
last, worst shift of the unfortunate and the wretched, does not much
terrify me: I know that even then, my talent for what country folks
call a "sensible crack," when once it is sanctified by a hoary head,
would procure me so much esteem, that even then--I would learn to be
happy.[142] However, I am under no apprehensions about that;