In the mean time I wish you would send up all my best linen shirts to London, which you may easily do by sending them to some of your Edinburgh friends, to be shipped from Leith. Some of them are too little; don't send any but what are good, and I wish one of my sisters could find as much time as to trim my shirts at the breast, for there is no such thing to be seen here as a plain shirt, even for wearing, which is what I want these for. I mean to get one or two new shirts here for Sundays, but I assure you that linen here is a very expensive article. I am going to write to Gilbert to send me an Ayrshire cheese; if he can spare it he will send it to you, and you may send it with the shirts, but I expect to hear from you before that time. The cheese I could get here; but I will have a pride in eating Ayrshire cheese in London, and the expense of sending it will be little, as you are sending the shirts any how. I write this by J. Stevenson, in his lodgings, while he is writing to Gilbert. He is well and hearty, which is a blessing to me as well as to him: We were at Covent Garden chapel this forenoon, to hear the Calf preach; he is grown very fat, and is as boisterous as ever. There is a whole colony of Kilmarnock people here, so we don't want for acquaintance. Remember me to my sisters and all the family. I shall give you all the observations I have made in London in my next, when I shall have seen more of it. I am, Dear Brother, yours, &c. W. B. * Vide Poetical Address to The Calf. Dr. Currie's edition, vol. ii, p. 68. No. IV. From Mr. MURDOCH to the BARD, Giving an account of the death of his brother William. Hart-Street, Bloomsbury-Square, London, MY DEAR FRIEND, September 14th, 1790. YOURS of the 16th of July, I received on the 26th, in the afternoon, per favor of my friend Mr. Kennedy, and at the same time was informed that your brother was ill. Being engaged in business till late that evening, I set out next morning to see him, and had thought of three or four medical gentlemen of my acquaintance, to one or other of whom I might apply for advice, provided it should be necessary. But when I went to Mr. Barber's to my great astonishment and heart-felt grief, I found that my young friend had, on Saturday, bid an everlasting farewel to all sublunary things. It was about a fortnight before that he had found me out, by Mr. Stevenson's accidentally calling at my shop to buy something. We had only one interview, and that was highly entertaining to me in several respects. He mentioned some instruction I had given him when very young, to which he said he owed, in a great measure, the philanthropy he possessed. He also took notice of my exhorting you all, when I wrote, about eight years ago, to the man who, of all mankind that I ever knew, stood highest in my esteem, "not to let go your integrity."-You may easily conceive that such conversation was both pleasing and encouraging to me: I anticipated a deal of rational happiness from future conversations. Vain are our expectations and hopes. They are so almost always-Perhaps, (nay, certainly,) for our good. Were it not for disappointed hopes we could hardly spend a thought on another state of existence, or be in any degree reconciled to the quitting of this. I know of no one source of consolation to those who have lost young relatives equal to that of their being of a good disposition, and of a promising charac ter. Be assured, my dear friend, that I cordially sympathize with you all, and particularly with Mrs. Burns, who is undoubtedly one of the most tender and affectionate mothers that ever lived. Remember me to her in the most friendly manner, when you see her, or write. Please present my best compliments to Mrs. R. Burns, and to your brother and sisters.-There is no occasion for me to exhort you to filial duty, and to use your united endeavours in rendering the evening of life as comfortable as possible to a mother, who has dedicated so great a part of it in promoting your temporal and spiritual welfare. Your letter to Dr. Moore, I delivered at his house, and shall most likely know your opinion of Zeluco, the first time I meet with him. I wish and hope for a long letter. Be particular about your mother's health. I hope she is too much a Christian to be afflicted above measure, or to sorrow as those who have no hope. One of the most pleasing hopes I have is to visit you all; but I am commonly disappointed in what I most ardently wish for. I am, Dear Sir, Yours sincerely, JOHN MURDOCH. |