I am just going to trouble your critical patience with the first sketch of a stanza I have been framing, as I passed along the road. The subject is Liberty: you know, my honoured friend, how dear the theme is to me. I design it an irregular ode for General Washington's birth-day. After having mentioned the degeneracy of other kingdoms I come to Scotland thus: Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, To thee I turn with swimming eyes; Where is that soul of freedom fled? Immingled with the mighty dead! Beneath the hallowed turf where Wallace lies! Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death; Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep, Disturb ye not the hero's sleep. You will probably have another scrawl from me in a stage or two. R. B. * * * * * CXCIII.--To MR. JAMES JOHNSON. DUMFRIES, 1794. My Dear Friend,--You should have heard from me long ago; but over and above some vexatious share in the pecuniary losses of these accursed times, I have all this winter been plagued with low spirits and blue devils, so that _I have almost hung my harp on the willow trees_. I am just now busy correcting a new edition of my poems, and this, with my ordinary business, finds me in full employment. I send you by my friend, Mr. Wallace, forty-one songs for your fifth volume; if we cannot finish it any other way, what would you think of Scotch words to some beautiful Irish airs? In the meantime, at your leisure, give a copy of the _Museum_ to my worthy friend, Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird of Glenriddel's, that I may insert every anecdote I can learn, together with my own criticisms and remarks on the songs. A copy of this kind I shall leave with you, the editor, to publish at some after period, by way of making the _Museum_ a book famous to the end of time, and you renowned for ever. I have got a highland dirk, for which I have great veneration, as it once was the dirk of _Lord Balmerino_. It fell into bad hands, who stripped it of the silver mounting, as well as the knife and fork. I have some thoughts of sending it to your care, to get it mounted anew.--Yours, etc., R. B. * * * * * CXCIV.--To MR. PETER MILLER, JUN., OF DALSWINION.[131] DUMFRIES, _Nov. 1794._ Dear Sir,--Your offer is indeed truly generous, and sincerely do I thank you for it; but in my present situation, I find that I dare not accept it. You well know my political sentiments; and were I an insular individual, unconnected with a wife and a family of children, with the most fervid enthusiasm I would have volunteered my services; I then could and would have despised all consequences that might have ensued.