Burns, on this occasion, had returned to Edinburgh in what was, for him, really rather a chastened mood. His absence had been on important business, and that business had progressed to such a degree that he felt himself on the verge of a great crisis in his life, and was well minded that it should be a crisis for good and not for evil. He had surveyed the farmlands in the exquisite valley of the Nith, and had made ’a poet’s, not a farmer’s choice’ of Elliesland, where he intended to settle forthwith and turn farmer in serious earnest. Furthermore, an appointment in the Excise had been insured to him by the interest of powerful friends, and that was another practical, sensible, wage-earning feather in his cap. Of certain interesting domestic complications at Mauchline it hardly does to speak with any degree of knowledge or understanding, but there can be little question that, at this time, there loomed large in the poet’s mind some idea of an arrangement with the patient, twin-bearing Jean, which should do some tardy justice to that long-suffering female. It is fairly plain, in any case, that during his absence in the south, Sylvander had cooled considerably to his Clarinda. Not that he did not adore her still, in a proper poet’s way, but he had begun to adore someone else, with practical ends in view. So matters with his fascinating little friend in the Potterrow must be brought to a pleasant conclusion. It would cause him more than a pang, but still, there must be an end to all things—the best of friends must part. He meant to remain in Edinburgh for a few days only, merely to wind up business matters with his publisher and pay a few visits of farewell. Then he would turn his back upon the capital of his triumphs and his disappointments, and turn over a new leaf in life and love. This might have happened without further hindrance, and things have settled themselves comfortably to everybody’s satisfaction (except, perhaps, Clarinda’s), had it not been for Herries’s most unlucky and misguided letter. This awaited the poet at his lodging, under a pile of correspondence accumulated for him by his henchman Nicol. This admiring attendant of genius also awaited the arrival of Burns in his rooms, and the two spent a convivial evening of reunion. The Bard was already elevated enough in his spirits, owing to the festive nature of his journey, but it was with that kind of elevation which turns to querulousness at very slight provocation. ’Here’s letters enough to last a body a lifetime,’ he grumbled, turning over a pile of papers, where several missives of Clarinda’s lay, still unopened, it is sad to state. ’Here’s a packet from some unknown,’ he added; ’thick paper, and a fine crest upon the seal.’ He broke it open. As he read the few lines in Herries’s upright, clear-cut writing, the blood rushed in purple to his face, and he started to his feet.