--R. B.

* * * * *

CVII.

TO MR. MUIR.

[The change which Burns says in this letter took place in his ideas,
refers, it is said, to his West India voyage, on which, it appears by
one of his letters to Smith, he meditated for some time after his
debut in Edinburgh.]

_Mossgiel, 7th March_, 1788.

DEAR SIR,

I have partly changed my ideas, my dear friend, since I saw you. I
took old Glenconner with mo to Mr. Miller's farm, and he was so
pleased with it, that I have wrote an offer to Mr. Miller, which, if
he accepts, I shall sit down a plain farmer, the happiest of lives
when a man can live by it. In this case I shall not stay in Edinburgh
above a week. I set out on Monday, and would have come by Kilmarnock,
but there are several small sums owing me for my first edition about
Galston and Newmills, and I shall set off so early as to dispatch my
business, and reach Glasgow by night. When I return, I shall devote a
forenoon or two to make some kind of acknowledgment for all the
kindness I owe your friendship. Now that I hope to settle with some
credit and comfort at home, there was not any friendship or friendly
correspondence that promised me more pleasure than yours; I hope I
will not be disappointed. I trust the spring will renew your shattered
frame, and make your friends happy. You and I have often agreed that
life is no great blessing on the whole. The close of life, indeed, to
a reasoning eye, is,

"Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun
Was roll'd together, or had try'd his beams
Athwart their gloom profound."[183]

But an honest man has nothing to fear. If we lie down in the grave,
the whole man a piece of broken machinery, to moulder with the clods
of the valley, be it so: at least there is an end of pain, care, woes,
and wants: if that part of us called mind does survive the apparent
destruction of the man--away with old-wife prejudices and tales! Every
age and every nation has had a different set of stories; and as the
many are always weak, of consequence, they have often, perhaps always,
been deceived; a man conscious of having acted an honest part among
his fellow-creatures--even granting that he may have been the sport at
times of passions and instincts--he goes to a great unknown Being, who
could have no other end in giving him existence but to make him happy,
who gave him those passions and instincts, and well knows their force.

These, my wort