My oldest boy resolves to be a soldier; he
is a clever scholar, and his head has been turned by
Caesar. My second and third boys are in Christ's School,
and are distinguished in their classes; they climb to
the head, and keep their places. The other three are at
their mother's knee at home, and have a strong capacity
for mirth and mischief.
"I have not destroyed my Scottish poem. I mean to
remodel it, and infuse into it something more of the
spark of living life. But my pen has of late strayed
into the regions of prose. Poetry is too much its own
reward; and one cannot always write for a barren smile,
and a thriftless clap on the back. We must live; and
the white bread and the brown can only be obtained by
gross payment. There is no poet and a wife and six
children fed now like the prophet Elijah--they are more
likely to be devoured by critics, than fed by ravens. I
cannot hope that Heaven will feed me and mine while I
sing. So farewell to song for a season.
"My brother's[41] want of success has surprised me too.
He had a fair share of talent; and, had he cultivated
his powers with care, and given himself fair play, his
fate would have been different. But he sees nature
rather through a curious medium than with the tasteful
eye of poetry, and must please himself with the praise
of those who love singular and curious things.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71