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This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Letters of Robert Burns

R >> Robert Burns >> The Letters of Robert Burns




_(g)_ "Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our wishes and our
powers? Why is the most generous wish to make others blest, impotent
and ineffectual?... Out upon the world! say I, that its affairs are
administered so ill."

_(h)_ "At first glance, several of your propositions startled me as
paradoxical. That the martial clangour of a trumpet had something in
it vastly more grand, heroic, and sublime than the twingle-twangle of
a jew's-harp; that the delicate flexure of a rose-twig, when the
half-blown flower is heavy with the tears of the dawn, was infinitely
more beautiful and elegant than the upright stub of a burdock; and
that, from something innate and independent of all associations of
ideas--these I had set down as irrefragable orthodox
truths."[a]

_(i)_ "O, I could curse circumstances, and the coarse tie of human
laws which keeps fast what common-sense would loose, and which bars
that happiness it cannot give--happiness which otherwise love and
honour would warrant!"

_(j)_ "If there is no man on earth to whom your heart and affections
are justly due, it may savour of imprudence, but never of
criminality, to bestow that heart and those affections where you
please. The God of love meant and made those delicious attachments to
be bestowed on somebody."

The inequalities of fortune, the pleasures of friendship, the miseries
of poverty, the glories of independence, the privileges of wealth allied
to generosity, the sin of ingratitude, and similar topics, are
continually recurring to prove the elevation at which his spirit usually
soared and surveyed mankind. It has been charged against him[b] that
these subjects were not the food of his daily contemplation, but were
lugged into his letters for the sake of effect, and that their clumsy
introduction was frequently apologised for by the complaint that the
writer had nothing else to write about. The frequent apologies here
spoken of will be hard to find, and the critic's only reason for
advancing the charge, for which he would fain find support in the
fancied apologies of Burns, is that many of the letters "relate neither
to facts nor feelings peculiarly connected with the author or his
correspondent." This only means that a very large proportion of Burns's
letters are not like the letters of ordinary men, and therefore do not
satisfy the critic's idea or definition of a letter. They treat of
themes that are not specially _a propos_ of passing events, and
therefore they are forced and affected. Few are likely to be imposed
upon by such shallow reasoning. Another critic[c] avers that "while
Burns says nothing of difficulties at all, he yet leaves an admirable
letter, out of nothing, in your hands!" We may pit the one critic
against the other, and so leave them, while we peruse the letters, and
form an opinion for ourselves.

While both the verse and the prose of Burns are revelations, his letters
reveal more than his poems the failings and frailties of the man. His
poems, taken altogether, shew him at his best, as we wish to--and as we
mainly do--remember him; a man to be loved, admired, even envied, and by
no means pitied, for his soul, though often vexed with the irritations
incidental to an obscure and toiling lot, has a strength and buoyancy
which readily raise it to divine altitudes, where it might well be
content to see and smile at the petty class distinctions and the paltry
social tyranny from which those irritations chiefly spring. His letters,
on the other hand, present him to us less frequently on those commanding
altitudes. He is oftener careful and concerned about many things,
groping occasionally in the world's ways for the world's gifts, and
handicapped in the struggle for them by a contemptuous and half-hearted
adoption of the world's methods of winning them.

The same personality that stands forth in the poems is everywhere
present in all essential features in the letters. We have in the latter
the same view of life, present and future; the same fierce contentment
with honest poverty; the same aggressive independency of manhood; the
same patriotism, susceptibility to female loveliness, love of sociality,
undaunted likes and dislikes. The humour is the same, though often too
elaborately expressed.[d] In one important respect, however, his letters
fail to reflect that image of him which his poetry presents. It is
remarkable that his descriptions of rural nature, and one might add of
rustic life, so full and plentiful in his verse, are so few and slight
in his letters. He seems to have reserved these descriptions for
his verse.

The best, because the most genuine, biography of Burns is furnished by
his own writings. His letters will, if carefully studied, disprove many
of the positions taken up so confidently by would-be interpreters of his
history. It is not the purpose of this discursive paper to take up the
details of the Clarinda episode; but philandering is scarcely the word
by which to describe the mutual relations of the lovers. As for Mrs.
M'Lehose, the severest thing that can with justice be said against her
is that, if she maintained her virtue, she endangered her reputation.
One remarkable position taken up by a recent writer[e] on the subject of
Burns's amours is, that he never really loved any woman, and least of
all Jean Armour. The letters would rather warrant the converse of his
statement. They go to prove that while Burns's affections were more than
oriental in their strength and liberality, they were especially centred
upon Jean. He felt "a miserable blank in his heart with want of her;" "a
rooted attachment for her;" "had no reason on her part to rue his
marriage with her;" and "never saw where he could have made it better."
If Burns was never really in love, it is more than probable that the
whole world has been mistaking some other passion for it. It is this
same writer who in one breath speaks of Burns philandering with
Clarinda, and yet declaring his attachment to her in the best songs he
ever wrote. Another error which the letters should correct is the belief
expressed in some quarters that Burns was no longer capable of producing
poetry after his fatal residence in Edinburgh. It was, as a matter of
fact, subsequent to his residence in Edinburgh that he wrote the poems
for which he is now, and for which he will be longest, famous--namely,
his songs. The writer already referred to compares the composition of
these songs to the carving of cherry-stones. They were, he says in
effect, the amusement of a man who could do nothing better in
literature! The world has agreed that they are the best things Burns has
done; and rates him for their sake in the highest rank of its poets. The
truth is that Burns came to Ellisland with numerous schemes of future
poetical work, vigorous hopes of carrying some of them, and an
inspiration and faculty of utterance unimpaired. It was in Dumfriesshire
that he composed the most tenderly and melodiously seraphic of his
lyrics--"To Mary in Heaven" and "Highland Mary;" the most powerful and
popular of his narrative poems--"Tam O' Shanter;" the first of all
patriotic odes--"Bruce's Address to his Army"; and the noblest manifesto
of the rights and hopes of manhood--"A Man's a Man for a' that."

With one word on his style as a prose-writer this short paper must
close. The most diverse opinions have been uttered on the subject. The
critics trip up each other with charming independency. To Jeffrey they
seemed to be "all composed as exercises and for display." Carlyle
declared that they were written "for the most part with singular force
and even gracefulness," and that when Burns wrote "to trusted friends on
real interests, his style became simple, vigorous, expressive, sometimes
even beautiful." Dr. Waddell prefers him to Cowper and Byron as a
letter-writer. Scott, while allowing passages of great eloquence, found
in the letters "strong marks of affectation, with a tincture of
pedantry." Taine thinks "Burns brought ridicule on himself by imitating
the men of the academy and the court." Lockhart thought, with Walker,
that "he accommodated his style to the tastes" of his correspondents.
And so on.

It is worth while to learn from Burns himself what he thought of his
talent for prose-composition. And in the first place it is to be noted
that he practised prose-composition before he took to poetry. At sixteen
he was carrying on an extensive literary correspondence, which was
virtually a competition in essay-writing. He kept copies of the letters
he liked best, and was flattered to find that he was superior to his
correspondents. He studied the essayists of Queen Anne's time, and
formed his style upon theirs, and that of their most distinguished
followers. Steele, Addison, Swift, Sterne, and Mackenzie were his
models. He liked their rounded sentences, and caught their conventional
phrases. He found delight in imitating them. He volunteered his services
with the pen on behalf of his fellow-swains. He became the "Complete
Letter-Writer" of his parish, and was proud of his function and his
faculty. He was aware of his "abilities at a billet-doux." To the very
last he had a high opinion of himself as a writer of letters. He speaks
of one letter being in his "very best manner;" and of waiting for an
hour of inspiration to write another that should be as good. He retained
copies of about thirty of his longer letters, and had them bound for
preservation.

The most serious, almost the only charge brought against the prose style
of Burns is the charge of affectation more or less occasional. All the
earlier critics make it or imply it, and with such an apparent show of
proof that it has generally been believed. Later critics, while unable
to deny the feature of his style which so looks like affectation, have
explained it to such good effect as to make it appear a beauty; they
have asked us to regard it as the happy result of a sympathetic mind
adapting itself to the object of its address. This looks very like
blaming Burns's correspondents for the badness of his style. There is
some truth in the explanation, putting it even so extremely. But when
this allowance is made, there still remains a wide and well-marked
difference between his use of English prose and his mastery of Scottish
verse. The latter is complete--it is the mastery of an originator of
style. The former, on the other hand, is the attainment of a clever
pupil when the sentiment is commonplace; when it is deep and vehement,
it is often, in the language of Carlyle, "the effort of a man to express
something which he has no organ fit for expressing." Common people, to
whom niceties of style are unknown, and who read primarily or
exclusively for the sake of the matter, perceive nothing of this
affectation, and think scarcely less highly of Burns's letters than they
do of his poetry.

J. LOGIE ROBERTSON.

7 LOCKHARTON TERRACE,
SLATEFORD, EDINBURGH.


[Footnote a: This is really the exposure of an absurdity.]

[Footnote b: By Jeffrey.]

[Footnote c: Dr. Hately Waddell.]

[Footnote d: See, for example, the _Cheese_ Letter to Peter Hill, or the
_Snail's-horns_ Letter to Mrs. Dunlop.]

[Footnote e: Mr. R. L. Stevenson.]




GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE.


LETTERS


I.--To ELLISON OR ALISON BEGBIE (?) [1]

What you may think of this letter when you see the name that subscribes
it I cannot know; and perhaps I ought to make a long preface of
apologies for the freedom I am going to take; but as my heart means no
offence, but, on the contrary, is rather too warmly interested in your
favour,--for that reason I hope you will forgive me when I tell you that
I most sincerely and affectionately love you. I am a stranger in these
matters, A---, as I assure you that you are the first woman to whom I
ever made such a declaration; so I declare I am at a loss how
to proceed.

I have more than once come into your company with a resolution to say
what I have just now told you; but my resolution always failed me, and
even now my heart trembles for the consequence of what I have said. I
hope, my dear A----, you will not despise me because I am ignorant of
the flattering arts of courtship: I hope my inexperience of the work
will plead for me. I can only say I sincerely love you, and there is
nothing on earth I so ardently wish for, or that could possibly give me
so much happiness, as one day to see you mine.

I think you cannot doubt my sincerity, as I am sure that whenever I see
you my very looks betray me: and when once you are convinced I am
sincere, I am perfectly certain you have too much goodness and humanity
to allow an honest man to languish in suspense only because he loves you
too well. And I am certain that in such a state of anxiety as I myself
at present feel, an absolute denial would be a much preferable state.

[Footnote 1: The original MS. of the foregoing letter is the property
of John Adam, Esquire, Greenock, and the letter was first published
in 1878. If it is a genuine love-letter, and not a mere exercise in
love-letter writing, it was probably the first of the short series to
Alison Begbie, who is supposed to have been the daughter of a small
farmer, and who has been identified with the Mary Morison of the
well-known lyric. The sentiment of the last paragraph of the letter
agrees with the sentiment of the last stanza of the song.]

* * * * *

II.-To ELLISON BEGBIE.

[LOCHLIE, 1780.]

MY DEAR E.,--I do not remember, in the course of your acquaintance and
mine, ever to have heard your opinion on the ordinary way of falling in
love, amongst people in our station in life; I do not mean the persons
who proceed in the way of bargain, but those whose affection is really
placed on the person.

Though I be, as you know very well, but a very awkward lover myself,
yet, as I have some opportunities of observing the conduct of others who
are much better skilled in the affair of courtship than I am, I often
think it is owing to lucky chance, more than to good management, that
there are not more unhappy marriages than usually are.

It is natural for a young fellow to like the acquaintance of the
females, and customary for him to keep them company when occasion
serves; some one of them is more agreeable to him than the rest; there
is something, he knows not what, pleases him, he knows not how, in her
company. This I take to be what is called love with the greater part of
us; and I must own, my dear E., it is a hard game such a one as you have
to play when you meet with such a lover. You cannot refuse but he is
sincere, and yet though you use him ever so favourably, perhaps in a few
months, or at farthest in a year or two, the same unaccountable fancy
may make him as distractedly fond of another, whilst you are quite
forgot. I am aware that perhaps the next time I have the pleasure of
seeing you, you may bid me take my own lesson home, and tell me that the
passion I have professed for you is perhaps one of those transient
flashes I have been describing; but I hope, my dear E., you will do me
the justice to believe me, when I assure you that the love I have for
you is founded on the sacred principles of virtue and honour, and by
consequence so long as you continue possessed of those amiable qualities
which first inspired my passion for you, so long must I continue to love
you. Believe me, my dear, it is love like this alone which can render
the marriage state happy. People may talk of flames and raptures as long
as they please, and a warm fancy, with a flow of youthful spirits, may
make them feel something like what they describe; but sure I am the
nobler faculties of the mind with kindred feelings of the heart can only
be the foundation of friendship, and it has always been my opinion that
the married life was only friendship in a more exalted degree.

If you will be so good as to grant my wishes, and it should please
Providence to spare us to the latest periods of life, I can look forward
and see that, even then, though bent down with wrinkled age--even then,
when all other worldly circumstances will be indifferent to me, I will
regard my E. with the tenderest affection, and for this plain reason,
because she is still possessed of those noble qualities, improved to a
much higher degree, which first inspired my affection for her.

O! happy state, when souls each other draw,
Where love is liberty, and nature law.

I know, were I to speak in such a style to many a girl, who thinks
herself possessed of no small share of sense, she would think it
ridiculous--but the language of the heart is, my dear E., the only
courtship I shall ever use to you.

When I look over what I have written, I am sensible it is vastly
different from the ordinary style of courtship--but I shall make no
apology--I know your good nature will excuse what your good sense may
see amiss.

* * * * *

III.--TO ELLISON BEGBIE.

[LOCHLIE, 1780.]

I verily believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feelings of love are
as rare in the world as the pure genuine principles of virtue and piety.
This, I hope, will account for the uncommon style of all my letters to
you. By uncommon, I mean their being written in such a serious manner,
which, to tell you the truth, has made me often afraid lest you should
take me for some zealous bigot, who conversed with his mistress as he
would converse with his minister. I don't know how it is, my dear; for
though, except your company, there is nothing on earth gives me so much
pleasure as writing to you, yet it never gives me those giddy raptures
so much talked of among lovers. I have often thought, that if a
well-grounded affection be not really a part of virtue, 'tis something
extremely akin to it. Whenever the thought of my E. warms my heart,
every feeling of humanity, every principle of generosity, kindles in my
breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark of malice and envy, which are
but too apt to infest me. I grasp every creature in the arms of
universal benevolence, and equally participate in the pleasures of the
happy, and sympathise with the miseries of the unfortunate. I assure
you, my dear, I often look up to the Divine disposer of events with an
eye of gratitude for the blessing which I hope He intends to bestow on
me, in bestowing you. I sincerely wish that He may bless my endeavours
to make your life as comfortable and happy as possible, both in
sweetening the rougher parts of my natural temper, and bettering the
unkindly circumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a passion, at
least in my view, worthy of a man, and, I will add, worthy of a
Christian. The sordid earth-worm may profess love to a woman's person,
whilst, in reality, his affection is centred in her pocket; and the
slavish drudge may go a-wooing as he goes to the horse-market, to choose
one who is stout and firm, and as we say of an old horse, one who will
be a good drudge and draw kindly. I disdain their dirty, puny ideas. I
would be heartily out of humour with myself, if I thought I were capable
of having so poor a notion of the sex, which were designed to crown the
pleasures of society. Poor devils! I don't envy them their happiness who
have such notions. For my part, I propose quite other pleasures with my
dear partner.

* * * * *

IV.--TO ELLISON BEGBIE.

[LOCHLIE, 178l.]

MY DEAR E.,--I have often thought it a peculiarly unlucky circumstance
in love, that though, in every other situation in life, telling the
truth is not only the safest, but actually by far the easiest way of
proceeding, a lover is never under greater difficulty in acting, or more
puzzled for expression, than when his passion is sincere, and his
intentions are honourable. I do not think that it is very difficult for
a person of ordinary capacity to talk of love and fondness which are not
felt, and to make vows of constancy and fidelity which are never
intended to be performed, if he be villain enough to practice such
detestable conduct; but to a man whose heart glows with the principles
of integrity and truth, and who sincerely loves a woman of amiable
person, uncommon refinement of sentiment, and purity of manners--to such
a one, in such circumstances, I can assure you, my dear, from my own
feelings at this present moment, courtship is a task indeed. There is
such a number of foreboding fears and distrustful anxieties crowd into
my mind when I am in your company, or when I sit down to write to you,
that what to speak or what to write, I am altogether at a loss.

There is one rule which I have hitherto practised, and which I shall
invariably keep with you, and that is, honestly to tell you the plain
truth. There is something so mean and unmanly in the arts of
dissimulation and falsehood, that I am surprised they can be used by any
one in so noble, so generous a passion as virtuous love. No, my dear E.,
I shall never endeavour to gain your favour by such detestable
practices. If you will be so good and so generous as to admit me for
your partner, your companion, your bosom friend through life, there is
nothing on this side of eternity shall give me greater transport; but I
shall never think of purchasing your hand by any arts unworthy of a man,
and, I will add, of a Christian. There is one thing, my dear, which I
earnestly request of you, and it is this: that you would soon either put
an end to my hopes by a peremptory refusal, or cure me of my fears by a
generous consent.

It would oblige me much if you would send me a line or two when
convenient. I shall only add, further, that if behaviour, regulated
(though perhaps but very imperfectly) by the rules of honour and virtue,
if a heart devoted to love and esteem you, and an earnest endeavour to
promote your happiness; if these are qualities you would wish in a
friend, in a husband, I hope you shall ever find them in your real
friend and sincere lover.

* * * * *

V.-To ELLISON BEGBOE.

[LOCHLIE, 1781.]

I ought, in good manners, to have acknowledged the receipt of your
letter before this time, but my heart was so shocked with the contents
of it, that I can scarcely yet collect my thoughts so as to write you on
the subject. I will not attempt to describe what I felt on receiving
your letter. I read it over and over, again and again, and though it was
in the politest language of refusal, still it was peremptory; "you were
sorry you could not make me a return, but you wish me" what, without
you, I never can obtain, "you wish me all kind of happiness." It would
be weak and unmanly to say that without you I never can be happy; but
sure I am, that sharing life with you would have given it a relish,
that, wanting you, I can never taste.

Your uncommon personal advantages, and your superior good sense, do not
so much strike me; these, possibly, in a few instances may be met with
in others; but that amiable goodness, that tender feminine softness,
that endearing sweetness of disposition, with all the charming offspring
of a warm feeling heart--these I never again expect to meet with, in
such a degree, in this world. All these charming qualities, heightened
by an education much beyond anything I have ever met in any woman I ever
dared to approach, have made an impression on my heart that I do not
think the world can ever efface. My imagination has fondly flattered
myself with a wish, I dare not say it ever reached a hope, that possibly
I might one day call you mine. I had formed the most delightful images,
and my fancy fondly brooded over them; but now I am wretched for the
loss of what I really had no right to expect. I must now think no more
of you as a mistress; still I presume to ask to be admitted as a friend.
As such I wish to be allowed to wait on you, and as I expect to remove
in a few days a little further off, and you, I suppose, will soon leave
this place, I wish to see or hear from you soon; and if an expression
should perhaps escape me, rather too warm for friendship, I hope you
will pardon it in, my dear Miss--, (pardon me the dear expression for
once) R. B.

* * * * *

VI.--TO HIS FATHER.

IRVINE, _December 27,_ 1781.

HONOURED SIR,--I have purposely delayed writing in the hope that I
should have the pleasure of seeing you on New Year's day; but work comes
so hard upon us that I do not choose to be absent on that account, as
well as for some other little reasons which I shall tell you at meeting.
My health is nearly the same as when you were here, only my sleep is a
little sounder, and on the whole I am rather better than otherwise,
though I mend by very slow degrees. The weakness of my nerves has so
debilitated my mind that I dare neither review my past wants nor look
forward into futurity; for the least anxiety or perturbation in my
breast produces most unhappy effects on my whole frame. Sometimes,
indeed, when for an hour or two my spirits are a little lightened, I
glimmer a little into futurity; but my principal, and indeed my only
pleasurable, employment, is looking backwards and forwards in a moral
and religious way; I am quite transported at the thought, that ere long,
perhaps very soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to all the pains, and
uneasiness, and disquietudes of this weary life; for I assure you I am
heartily tired of it; and, if I do not very much deceive myself, I could
contentedly and gladly resign it.

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