No. CCXLVIII. TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. Dumfries, 1795. SIR, You will see by your subscribers' list, that I have been about nine months of that number. I am sorry to inform you, that in that time, seven or eight of your papers either have never been sent me, or else have never reached me. To be deprived of any one number of the first newspaper in Great Britain for information, ability and independence, is what I can ill brook and bear; but to be deprived of that most admirable oration of the Marquis of Lansdowne, when he made the great, though ineffectual attempt, (in the language of the poet, I fear too true,) "to save a SINKING STATE this was a loss that I neither can, nor will forgive you. That paper, Sir, never reached me; but I demand it of you. I am a BRITON; and must be interested in the cause of LIBERTY:-I am a MAN; and the RIGHTS of HUMAN NATURE cannot be indifferent to me. However, do not let me mislead you: I am not a man in that situation of life, which, as your subscriber, can be of any consequence to you, in the eyes of those to whom SITUATION OF LIFE ALONE is the criterion of MAN.-I am but a plain tradesman, in this distant, obscure country town: but that humble domicile in which I shelter my wife and children, is the CASTELLUM of a BRITON; and that scanty, hard-earned income which supports them, is as truly my property, as the most magnificent fortune, of the most PUISSANT MEMBER of your HOUSE of NOBLES. These, Sir, are my sentiments; and to them I subscribe my name: and were I a man of ability and consequence enough to address the PUBLIC, with that name should they appear. ["This letter" says Cormek" owes its origin to the following circumstance. A neighbour of the Poet's at Dumfries, called on him and complained that he had been greatly disappointed in the irregular delivery of the Paper of The Morning Chronicle. Burns asked, Why do not you write to the Editors of the Paper ?' Good God, Sir, can I presume to write to the learned Editors of a Newspaper?-Well, if you are afraid of writing to the Editors of a Newspaper, I am not; and if you think proper, I'll draw up a sketch of a letter which you may copy. Burn's tore a leaf from his excise book, and instantly produced the sketch which I have transcribed, and which is here printed. The poor man thanked him, and took the letter home. However, that caution which the watchfulness of his enemies had taught him to exercise, prompted him to the prudence of begging a friend to wait on the person for whom it was written, and request the favour to have it returned. This request was complied with, and the paper never appeared in print.” James Perry, editor and proprietor of the Morning Chronicle, was one of the most intelligent and enterprising of British Journalists. He considered himself to be a sound old Whig, and by his satiric sallies and sharp scrutiny of public men and motives was as a thistle and a thorn to the Tories for a full quarter of a century. He was one of the first in giving interest and importance to "The folio of four pages," which it has maintained and more than maintained since. Perry was a native of Aberdeen: he was social and friendly and held fast by his integrity, during very trying and changeful times. ED.] No. CCXLIX. TO COLONEL W. DUNBAR. I AM not gone to Elysium, most noble Colonel, but am still here in this sublunary world, serving my God by propagating his image, and honouring my king by begetting him loyal subjects. Many happy returns of the season await my friend! May the thorns of care never beset his path! May peace be an inmate of his bosom, and rapture a frequent visitor of his soul! May the blood-hounds of misfortune never trace his steps, nor the screech-owl of sorrow alarm his dwelling! May enjoyment tell thy hours, and pleasure number thy days, thou friend of the Bard! Blessed be he that blesseth thee, and cursed be he that curseth thee! [William Dunbar was one of the Edinburgh friends of the Poet; and Colonel of the Crochallan Fencibles-a Club of choice Spirits, whose motto was wit and wine. ED.] SIR, No. CCL. TO MR. HERON, OF HERON. Dumfries, 1794, or 1795. I ENCLOSE YOU some copies of a couple of poli tical ballads; one of which, I believe, you have never seen. Would to Heaven I could make you master of as many votes in the Stewartry-but "Who does the utmost that he can, Does well, acts nobly, angels could no more." In order to bring my humble efforts to bear with more effect on the foe, I have privately printed a good many copies of both ballads, and have sent them among friends all about the country. To pillory on Parnassus the rank reprobation of character, the utter dereliction of all principle, in a profligate junto which has not only outraged virtue, but violated common decency; which, spurning even hypocrisy as paltry iniquity below their daring; -to unmask their flagitiousness to the broadest day-to deliver such over to their merited fate, is surely not merely innocent, but laudable; is not only propriety, but virtue. You have already, as |