t a distance from friends, you should need money, you know
my direction by post.

The enclosed is from Gilbert, brought by your sister Nanny. It was
unluckily forgot. Yours to Gilbert goes by post.--I heard from them
yesterday, they are all well.

Adieu.

R. B.

* * * * *

CLVIII.

TO MRS. M'MURDO,

DRUMLANRIG.

[Of this accomplished lady, Mrs. M'Murdo, of Drumlanrig, and her
daughters, something has been said in the notes on the songs: the poem
alluded to was the song of "Bonnie Jean."]

_Ellisland, 2d May, 1789._

MADAM,

I have finished the piece which had the happy fortune to be honoured
with your approbation; and never did little miss with more sparkling
pleasure show her applauded sampler to partial mamma, than I now send
my poem to you and Mr. M'Murdo if he is returned to Drumlanrig. You
cannot easily imagine what thin-skinned animals--what sensitive plants
poor poets are. How do we shrink into the embittered corner of
self-abasement, when neglected or condemned by those to whom we look
up! and how do we, in erect importance, add another cubit to our
stature on being noticed and applauded by those whom we honour and
respect! My late visit to Drumlanrig has, I can tell you, Madam, given
me a balloon waft up Parnassus, where on my fancied elevation I regard
my poetic self with no small degree of complacency. Surely with all
their sins, the rhyming tribe are not ungrateful creatures.--I
recollect your goodness to your humble guest--I see Mr. M'Murdo adding
to the politeness of the gentleman, the kindness of a friend, and my
heart swells as it would burst, with warm emotions and ardent wishes!
It may be it is not gratitude--it may be a mixed sensation. That
strange, shifting, doubling animal man is so generally, at best, but a
negative, often a worthless creature, that we cannot see real goodness
and native worth without feeling the bosom glow with sympathetic
approbation.

With every sentiment of grateful respect,

I have the honour to be,

Madam,

Your obliged and grateful humble servant,

R. B.

* * * * *

CLIX.

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.

[Honest Jamie Thomson, who shot the hare because she browsed with her
companions on his father's "wheat-braird," had no idea he was pulling
down such a burst of indignation on his head as this letter with the
poem which it enclosed expresses.]

_Ellisland, 4th May, 1789._

M