In the matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My favourite authors are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone, particularly his _Elegies;_ Thomson; _Man of Feeling,_--a book I prize next to the Bible; _Man of the World_; Sterne, especially his _Sentimental Journey_; Macpherson's _Ossian_, etc.;--these are the glorious models after which I endeavour to form my conduct, and 'tis incongruous--'tis absurd to suppose that the man whose mind glows with sentiments lighted up at their sacred flame--the man whose heart distends with benevolence to all the human race--he "who can soar above this little scene of things"--can he descend to mind the paltry concerns about which the terrae-filial race fret, and fume, and vex themselves! O, how the glorious triumph swells my heart! I forget that I am a poor insignificant devil, unnoticed and unknown, stalking up and down fairs and markets, when I happen to be in them reading a page or two of mankind, and "catching the manners living as they rise," whilst the men of business jostle me on every side as an idle incumbrance in their way. But, I daresay, I have by this time tired your patience; so I shall conclude with begging you to give Mrs. Murdoch--not my compliments, for that is a mere commonplace story; but my warmest, kindest wishes for her welfare; and accept the same for yourself, from,--Dear Sir, yours, etc. [Footnote 5: "The last o't, the warst o't, Is only for to beg." --_First Epistle to Davie._] [Footnote 6: "For the glorious privilege Of being independent." --_Epistle to a Young Friend. _] * * * * * IX.--To HIS COUSIN, MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE. LOCHLIE, _21st June, 1783._ DEAR SIR,--My father received your favour of the both current, and as he has been for some months very poorly in health, and is in his own opinion (and, indeed, in almost every body's else) in a dying condition, he has only, with great difficulty, written a few farewell lines to each of his brothers-in-law. For this melancholy reason, I now hold the pen for him to thank you for your kind letter, and to assure you, Sir, that it shall not be my fault if my father's correspondence in the north die with him. My brother writes to John Caird,[6] and to him I must refer you for the news of our family.