I have been with my mother, these fourteen months. She is sinking fast to the grave. I am happy I am here to lay her head in it.—Jeanie has been married, these five years, and goes between her own and her mother’s house, to take care of her.—John is in London, following out his business.—William has been in Glasgow.
LETTER by the Writer of the Journal to his Friend, inclosing the last part of the manuscript.
Edinburgh, May, 1818.
DEAR JOHN,
These three months, I can find nothing to do. I am a burden on Jeanie and her husband. I wish I was a soldier again. I cannot even get labouring work. God will bless those, I hope, who have been good to me. I have seen my folly. I would be useful, but can get nothing to do. My mother is at her rest,—God receive her soul!—I will go to South America. Maria de Parides will put me in a way to do for myself, and be a burden to no one. Or, I shall go to Spain, and live in Boho.—I will go to Buenos Ayres.—Farewell! John, this is all I have to leave you. It is your’s: do with it as you think proper. If I succeed in the South, I will return and lay my bones beside my parents: if not, I will never come back.
FINIS.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A ruinous castle on the shore.
[2] A rocky islet in the river Forth.