I shall be in Edinburgh middle of next week. My farming ideas I shall keep private till I see. I got a letter from Clarinda yesterday, and she tells me she has got no letter of mine but one. Tell her that I wrote to her from Glasgow, from Kilmarnock, from Mauchline, and yesterday from Cumnock as I returned from Dumfries. Indeed she is the only person in Edinburgh I have written to till this day. How are your soul and body putting up?--a little like man and wife I suppose.--Your faithful friend, ROBERT BURNS. * * * * LXXIX.--To MR. RICHARD BROWN. MAUCHLINE, 7_th March_ 1788. I have been out of the country, my dear friend, and have not had an opportunity of writing till now, when, I am afraid, you will be gone out of the country too. I have been looking at farms, and, after all, perhaps I may settle in the character of a farmer. I have got so vicious a bent to idleness, and have ever been so little a man of business, that it will take no ordinary effort to bring my mind properly into the routine: but you will say a "great effort is worthy of you." I say so myself; and butter up my vanity with all the stimulating compliments I can think of. Men of grave, geometrical minds, the sons of "which was to be demonstrated," may cry up reason as much as they please; but I have always found an honest passion, or native instinct, the truest auxiliary in the warfare of this world. Reason almost always comes to me like an unlucky wife to a poor devil of a husband, just in sufficient time to add her reproaches to his other grievances. I am gratified with your kind inquiries after Jean; as, after all, I may say with Othello-- Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee! I go for Edinburgh on Monday.--Yours, ROBERT BURNS. * * * * * LXXX.--TO MR. ROBERT MUIR. MOSSGIEL, 7_th March_ 1788.