70 Travsactions. 
great confidence in the parties who are to edit and print for you. In 
all the instances of papers begun in this country by a number of pro- 
prietors, I have generally noticed that the property ultimately verged 
towards decay until the majority of the proprietors, worried and teased 
for money to carry it on, forfeited their shares, and thus condensed it in 
the hands of their active partners. This was actually the case with the 
Star. It was undertaken at first by not less than 24 persons. Ten of 
these forfeited, and the remainder agreed to sell. A gentleman and 
myself bought it, and if the whole property had not been thus vested in 
few hands it would have ceased to exist many years ago. Besides, the 
business of printing a newspaper is one of those in which a sleeping partner 
can never see his way. I should regret, moreover, your embarking in any 
scheme in which I might be expected to be of service when, from a prin- 
ciple of delicacy, I cannot render you the assistance I could wish. Mr 
—-— (the name is torn out; he began life as an apprentice in the office of 
the Dumfries Journal) is my old master, and I never will violate the 
respect which I have for his family. This sentiment, however, has not 
led to the opinion given in the preceding part of this paragraph. You 
have a right to print or publish as you please, but I really believe that 
Dumfries is not the market for two newspapers. This being my honest 
opinion, I know you will not be displeased with my candour, assured that 
I am with every wish for your welfare,—My dear sir, your much obliged, 
J. MAYNE. 
Mayne also sent the following poetic letter acknowledging 
the bun referred to. It is a very clever production, and is 
not, so far as Mr Wilson knows, contained in his published 
works :— 
London, 4th January, 1809. 
In the daft days o’ mirth and fun, 
The author o’ the Siller Gun 
To Grierson, friendship’s faithfu’ son, 
This Handsel Monday, 
Returns thanks for New’r-day bun 
Received on Sunday. 
The better day, the better meed, 
Handsel’d by you, I’m sure to speed ; 
Wow, man! but it be dainty bread, 
And brings to mind 
Pleasures lang past, and friends now dead, 
Or left behind. 
When I’ve been skelping through the rain, 
Or hunting after news in vain, 
T’'ll think on Nith’s sweet banks again, 
And taste your bun, 
For pleasure, when it follows pain, 
Warms like the sun. 
