The Letters of Robert Burns by Robert Burns

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27

Produced by Charles Franks, Debra Storr and PG Distributed Proofreaders

BURNS'S LETTERS.

THE LETTERS OF ROBERT BURNS,

SELECTED AND ARRANGED,

WITH AN INTRODUCTION,

BY J. LOGIE ROBERTSON, M.A.

_"You shall write whatever comes first,--what you see, what you read,
what you hear, what you admire, what you dislike; trifles, bagatelles,
nonsense, or, to fill up a corner, e'en put down a laugh at full
length"_--Burns.

_"My life reminded me of a ruined temple: what strength, what proportion
in some parts! what unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruin in
others!"_--Burns.

GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE

To Ellison or Alison Begbie (?)

To Ellison Begbie

To Ellison Begbie

To Ellison Begbie

To Ellison Begbie

To his Father

To Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., of Ballochmyle

To Mr. John Murdoch, schoolmaster, Staples Inn Buildings, London

To his Cousin, Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose

To Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose

To Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose

To Thomas Orr, Park, Kirkoswald

To Miss Margaret Kennedy

To Miss----, Ayrshire

To Mr. John Richmond, law clerk, Edinburgh

To Mr. James Smith, shopkeeper, Mauchline

To Mr. Robert Muir, wine merchant, Kilmarnock

To Mr. John Ballantine, banker, Ayr

To Mr. M'Whinnie, writer, Ayr

To John Arnot, Esquire, of Dalquatswood

To Mr. David Brice, shoemaker, Glasgow

To Mr. John Richmond, Edinburgh

To Mr. John Richmond

To Mr. John Kennedy

To his Cousin, Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose

To Mrs. Stewart, of Stair

To Mr. Robert Aikin, writer, Ayr

To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline; inclosing him verses on dining with Lord
Daer

To Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop

To Miss Alexander

In the Name of the Nine. _Amen_

To James Dalrymple, Esquire, Orangefield

To Sir. John Whitefoord

To Mr. Gavin Hamilton, Mauchline

To Mr. John Ballantine, banker, at one time Provost of Ayr

To Mr. Robert Muir

To Mr. William Chambers, writer, Ayr

To the Earl of Eglinton

To Mr. John Ballantine

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Dr. Moore

To the Rev. G. Lawrie, Newmilns, near Kilmarnock

To the Earl of Buchan

To Mr. James Candlish, student in physic, Glasgow College

To Mr. Peter Stuart, Editor of "The Star," London

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Dr. Moore

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. William Nicol, classical master, High School, Edinburgh

To Mr. William Nicol

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Mr. James Smith, Linlithgow, formerly of Mauchline

To Mr. John Richmond

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Dr. Moore

To Mr. Archibald Lawrie

To Mr. Robert Muir, Kilmarnock

To Mr. Gavin Hamilton

To Mr. Walker, Blair of Athole

To his Brother, Mr. Gilbert Burns, Mossgiel

To Mr. Patrick Miller, Dalswinton

To Rev. John Skinner

To Miss Margaret Chalmers, Harvieston

To Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop House, Stewarton

To Mr. James Hoy, Gordon Castle

To the Earl of Glencairn

To Miss Chalmers

To Miss Chalmers

To Miss Chalmers

To Mr. Richard Brown, Irvine

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mrs. Dunlop

To the Rev. John Skinner

To Mrs. Rose, of Kilravock

To Richard Brown, Greenock

To Mr. William Cruikshank

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Mr. Richard Brown

To Mr. Robert Muir

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. William Nicol (perhaps)

To Miss Chalmers

THE CLARINDA LETTERS

GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE (RESUMED)--

To Mr. Gavin Hamilton

To Mr. William Dunbar, W.S., Edinburgh

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. James Smith, Avon Printfield, Linlithgow

To Professor Dugald Stewart

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. Samuel Brown, Kirkoswald

To Mr. James Johnson, engraver, Edinburgh

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mrs. Dunlop, at Mr. Dunlop's, Haddington

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. Beugo, engraver, Edinburgh

To Mr. Robert Graham, of Fintry

To his Wife, at Mauchline.

To Miss Chalmers, Edinburgh

To Mr. Morison, wright, Mauchline

To Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop

To Mr. Peter Hill

To the Editor of the "Star"

To Mrs. Dunlop, at Moreham Mains

To Dr. Blacklock

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. John Tennant

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Dr. Moore, London

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Professor Dugald Stewart

To Mr. Robert Cleghorn, Saughton Mills

To Bishop Geddes, Edinburgh

To Mr. James Burness

To Mrs. Dunlop

To, Mrs. M'Lehose (formerly Clarinda)

To Dr. Moore

To his Brother, Mr. William Burns

To Mr. Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh

To Mrs. M'Murdo, Drumlanrig

To Mr. Cunningham

To Mr. Richard Brown

To Mr. Robert Ainslie

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Miss Helen Maria Williams

To Mr. Robert Graham, of Fintry.

To David Sillar, merchant, Irvine.

To Mr. John Logan, of Knock Shinriock

To Mr. Peter Stuart, editor, London

To his Brother, William Burns, saddler, Newcastle-on-Tyne

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Captain Riddel, Friars Carse

To Mr. Robert Ainslie, W.S.

To Mr. Richard Brown, Port-Glasgow

To Mr. R. Graham, of Fintry

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Lady Winifred M. Constable

To Mr. Charles K. Sharpe, of Hoddam

To his Brother, Gilbert Burns, Mossgiel

To Mr. William Dunbar, W.S.

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh

To Mr. W. Nicol

To Mr. Cunningham, writer, Edinburgh

To Mr. Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Dr. John Moore, London

To Mr. Murdoch, teacher of French, London

To Mr. Cunningham

To Mr. Crauford Tait, W.S., Edinburgh

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. William Dunbar, W.S.

To Mr. Peter Hill

To Dr. Moore

To Mrs. Dunlop

To the Rev. Arch. Alison

To the Rev. G. Haird

To Mr. Cunningharn, writer, Edinburgh

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. Cunningham

To Mr. Thomas Sloan

To Mr. Ainslie

To Miss Davies

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. William Smellie, printer

To Mr. William Nicol

To Mr. Francis Grose, F.S.A

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. Cunningham

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. R. Graham, Fintry

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. Robert Graham, of Fintry

To Mr. Alex. Cunningham, W.S., Edinbiugh

To Mr. Cunningham

To Miss Benson, York, afterwards Mrs. Basil Montagu

To Mr. John Francis Erskine, of Mar

To Miss M'Murdo, Drumlanrig

To John M'Murdo, Esq., Drumlanrig

To Mrs. Riddel

To Mrs. Riddel

To Mrs. Riddel

To Mrs. Riddel

To Mr. Cunningham

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. James Johnson

To Mr. Peter Hill, Jun., of Dalswinton

To Mrs. Riddel

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mrs. Dunlop, in London

To the Hon. The Provost, etc., of Damfries

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr James Johnson

To Mr. Cunningham

To Mr. Gilbert Burns

To Mrs. Burns

To Mrs. Dunlop

To Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose

To his Father-in-law, James Armour, mason, Mauchline

THE THOMSON LETTERS

BURNS'S LETTERS.

It is not perhaps generally known that the prose of Burns exceeds in
quantity his verse. The world remembers him as a poet, and forgets or
overlooks his letters. His place among the poets has never been
denied--it is in the first rank; nor is he lowest, though little
remembered, among letter-writers. His letters gave Jeffrey a higher
opinion of him as a man than did his poetry, though on both alike the
critic saw the seal and impress of genius. Dugald Stewart thought his
letters objects of wonder scarcely less than his poetry. And Robertson,
comparing his prose with his verse, thought the former the more
extraordinary of the two. In the popular view of his genius there is,
however, no denying the fact that his poetry has eclipsed his prose.

His prose consists mostly of letters, but it also includes a noble
fragment of autobiography; three journals of observations made at
Mossgiel, Edinburgh, and Ellisland respectively; two itineraries, the
one of his border tour, the other of his tour in the Highlands; and
historical notes to two collections of Scottish songs. A full
enumeration of his prose productions would take account also of his
masonic minutes, his inscriptions, a rather curious business paper drawn
up by the poet-exciseman in prosecution of a smuggler, and of course his
various prefaces, notably the dedication of his poems to the members of
the Caledonian Hunt.

His letters, however, far exceed the sum of his other-prose writings.
Close upon five hundred and forty have already been published. These are
not all the letters he ever wrote. Where, for example, is the literary
correspondence in which he engaged so enthusiastically with his
Kirkoswald schoolfellows? "Though I had not three farthings' worth of
business in the world, yet every post brought me as many letters as if I
had been a broad-plodding son of daybook and ledger." Where are the
letters which brought to the ploughman at Lochlie such a constant and
copious stream of replies? The circumstances of his position will
explain why they perished: he was then "a youth and all unknown to
fame." It is even doubtful if the five hundred and forty published
letters include all the letters of Burns that now exist. Scarcely a year
passes but some epistolary scrap in the well-known handwriting is
unearthed and ceremoniously added to the previous sum total, And yet,
notwithstanding losses past or within recall, it is probable that we
have long had the whole of Burns's most characteristic letters. It was
inevitable that these should be preserved and published. His fame was so
rooted in the popular regard in his lifetime, that a characteristic
letter from his hand was sure to be received as something singularly
precious. It must not be forgotten, however, that Burns's personality
was so intense as to colour the smallest fragment of his correspondence,
and it is on this account desirable that every note he penned that yet
remains unpublished should be produced. It might give no new feature to
our conception of his character; but it would help the shading--which,
in the portraiture of any person, must chiefly be furnished by the minor
and more commonplace actions of his everyday life.

The correspondence of Burns, as we have it, commences, presumably, near
the close of his twenty-second year, and extends to all but exactly the
middle of his thirty-eighth. The dates are a day somewhere at the end of
1780, and Monday, 18th July 1796. Between these limits lies the printed
correspondence of sixteen years. The sum total of this correspondence
allows about thirty-four letters to each year, but the actual
distribution is very unequal, ranging from the minimum, in 1782, of one,
a masonic letter addressed to Sir John Whitefoord of Ballochmyle, to the
maximum number of ninety-two, in 1788, the great year of the Clarinda
episode. It is in 1786, the year of the publication of his first volume
at Kilmarnock, the year of his literary birth, that his correspondence
first becomes heavy. It rises at a leap from two letters in the
preceding year to as many as forty-four. The phenomenal increase is
partly explained by the success of his poems. He became a man that was
worth the knowing, whose correspondence was worth preserving. The six
years of his published correspondence previous to the discovery of his
genius in 1786 are represented by only fourteen letters in all. But in
those years his letters, though both numerous and prized above the
common, were not considered as likely to be of future interest, and were
therefore suffered to live or die as chance might determine. They mostly
perished, the recipients thinking it hardly worth their while to be sae
nice wi' Robin as to preserve them.

After the recognition of his power in 1786, the record of his preserved
letters shews, for the ten years of his literary life, several
fluctuations which admit of easy explanation. Commencing with 1787, the
numbers are:--78, 92, 54, 33, 44, 31, 66, 30, 27, 24. The first of these
years was totally severed from rural occupations, or business of any
kind, if we except the publication of the first Edinburgh edition of his
poems. It was a complete holiday year to him. He was either resident in
Edinburgh, studying men and manners, or touring about the country,
visiting those places which history, song, or scenery had made famous.
Wherever he was, his fame brought him the acquaintance of a great many
new people. His leisure and the novelty of his situation afforded him
both opportunity and subject for an extensive correspondence. For a
large part of the next year, 1788, he was similarly circumstanced, and
the number of his letters was exceptionally increased by his
entanglement with Mrs. M'Lehose. To her alone, in less than three months
of this year, he wrote at least thirty-six letters,--considerably over
one-third of the entire epistolary produce of the year. In 1789 we find
the number of his letters fall to fifty-four. This was, perhaps, the
happiest year of his life. He was now comfortably established as a
farmer in a home of his own, busied with healthy rural work, and finding
in the happy fireside clime which he was making for wife and weans "the
true pathos and sublime" of human duty. He has still, however, time and
inclination to write on the average one letter a week. For each of the
next three years the average number is thirty-six. In 1793 the number
suddenly goes up to sixty-six: the increase is due to the heartiness
with which he took up the scheme of George Thomson to popularise and
perpetuate the best old Scottish airs by fitting them with words worthy
of their merits. He wrote, in this year, twenty-six letters in support
of the scheme.

There is a sad falling off in Burns's ordinary correspondence in the
last three years of his life. The amount of it scarcely touches twenty
letters per year. Even the correspondence with Thomson, though on a
subject so dear to the heart of Burns, rousing at once both his
patriotism and his poetry, sinks to about ten letters per year, and is
irregular at that. Burns was losing hope and health, and caring less and
less for the world's favour and the world's friendships. He had lost
largely in self-respect as well as in the respect of friends. The loss
gave him little heart to write.

Burns's correspondents, as far as we know them, numbered over a hundred
and fifty persons. The number is large and significant. Neither Gray,
nor Cowper, nor Byron commanded so wide a circle. They had not the
far-reaching sympathies of Burns. They were all more or less fastidious
in their choice of correspondents. Burns, on the contrary, was as
catholic, or as careless, in his friendships as his own _Cæsar_--who

"Wad spend an hour caressin'
Ev'n wi' a tinkler gipsy's messan."

He moved freely up and down the whole social scale, blind to the
imaginary distinctions of blood and title and the extrinsic differences
of wealth, seeing true superiority in an honest manly heart, and bearing
himself wherever he found it as an equal and a brother. His
correspondents were of every social grade--peers and peasants; of every
intellectual attainment--philosophers like Dugald Stewart, and simple
swains like Thomas Orr; and of almost every variety of calling, from
professional men of recognised eminence to obscure shopkeepers, cottars,
and tradesmen. They include servant-girls, gentlewomen, and ladies of
titled rank; country schoolmasters and college professors; men of law of
all degrees, from poor John Richmond, a plain law-clerk with a lodging
in the Lawnmarket, to the Honourable Henry Erskine, Dean of the Faculty;
farmers, small and large; lairds, large and small; shoemakers and
shopkeepers; ministers, bankers, and doctors; printers, booksellers,
editors; knights, earls--nay, a duke; factors and wine-merchants; army
officers, and officers of Excise. His female correspondents were women
of superior intelligence and accomplishments. They can lay claim to a
large proportion of his letters. Mrs. McLehose takes forty-eight; Mrs.
Dunlop, forty-two; Maria Riddell, eighteen; Peggy Chalmers, eleven.
These four ladies received among them rather more than one-fourth of the
whole of his published correspondence. No four of his male
correspondents can be accredited with so many, even though George
Thomson for his individual share claims fifty-six.

It is rather remarkable that so few of the letters are addressed to his
own relatives. His cousin, James Burness of Montrose, and his own
younger brother William receive, indeed, ten and eight respectively; but
to his other brother Gilbert, with whom he was on the most affectionate
and confidential terms, there fall but three; to his wife only two; one
to his father; and none to either his sisters or his mother. A maternal
uncle, Samuel Brown, is favoured with one--if, indeed, the old man was
not scandalised with it--and there are two to James Armour, mason in
Mauchline, his somewhat stony-hearted father-in-law.

Burns's letters exhibit quite as much variety of mood--seldom, of
course, so picturesquely conveyed--as his poems. He is, in promiscuous
alternation, refined, gross, sentimental, serious, humorous, indignant,
repentant, dignified, vulgar, tender, manly, sceptical, reverential,
rakish, pathetic, sympathetic, satirical, playful, pitiably self-abased,
mysteriously self-exalted. His letters are confessions and revelations.
They are as sincerely and spontaneously autobiographical of his inner
life as the sacred lyrics of David the Hebrew. They were indited with as
much free fearless abandonment. The advice he gave to young Andrew to
keep something to himsel', not to be told even to a bosom crony, was a
maxim of worldly prudence which he himself did not practice. He did not
"reck his own rede." And, though that habit of unguarded expression
brought upon him the wrath and revenge of the Philistines, and kept him
in material poverty all his days, yet, prompted as it always was by
sincerity, and nearly always by absolute truth, it has made the manhood
of to-day richer, stronger, and nobler. The world to-day has all the
more the courage of its opinions that Burns exercised as a right the
freedom of sincere and enlightened speech--and suffered for his bravery.

The subjects of his letters are numerous, and, to a pretty large extent,
of much the same sort as the subjects of his poems. Often, indeed, you
have the anticipation of an image or a sentiment which his poetry has
made familiar. You have a glimpse of green buds which afterwards unfold
into fragrance and colour. This is an interesting connection, of which
one or two examples may be given. So early as 1781 he wrote to Alison
Begbie--"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." Alison Begbie becomes
Mary Morison, and the sentiment, so elegantly turned in prose for her,
is thus melodiously transmuted for the lady-loves of all
languishing lovers--

"O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake would gladly dee,
Or canst thou break that heart of his
Wha's only faut is loving thee?

If love for love thou wiltna gie,
At least be pity on me shown:
A thocht ungentle canna be
The thocht o' Mary Morison!"

Again, in the first month of 1783 he writes to Murdoch, the
schoolmaster--"I am quite indolent about those great concerns that set
the bustling busy sons of care agog; and if I have wherewith to answer
for the present hour, I am very easy with regard to anything further.
Even the last worst shift of the unfortunate and wretched does not
greatly terrify me." Just one year later this sentiment was sent current
in the well-known stanza concluding--

"But, Davie lad, ne'er fash your head
Though we hae little gear;
We're fit to win our daily bread
As lang's we're hale an' fier;
Mair speer na, nor fear na;
Auld age ne'er mind a fig,
The last o't, the warst o't,
Is only for to beg!"

Again, in the letter last referred to occurs the passage--"I am a strict
economist, not indeed for the sake of the money, but one of the
principal parts in my composition is a kind of pride, and I scorn to
fear the face of any man living. Above everything I abhor as hell the
idea of sneaking into a corner to avoid a dun." This is metrically
rendered, in May 1786, in the following lines:--

"To catch dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her,
And gather gear by every wile
That's justified by honour:--
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent."

It would be easy to multiply examples: he is jostled in his letters by
market-men before he is "hog-shouthered and jundied" by them in his
verse; and the legends of Alloway Kirk are narrated in a letter to Grose
before the immortal tale of Tam o'Shanter is woven for _The Antiquities
of Scotland_.

There is nothing morbid or narrow in Burns's letters. They are frank and
healthy. You can spend a day over them, and feel at the end of it as if
you had been wandering at large through the freedom of nature. They seem
to have been written in the open air. The first condition necessary to
an appreciative understanding of them is to concern yourself with the
sentiment. And, indeed, the strength and sincerity of the sentiment
by-and-by draw you away to oblivion of the style, however much it may at
first strike you as redundant and affected. They are not the letters of
a literary man. They have nothing suggestive of the studious chamber and
the midnight lamp. There is often a narrowness of idea in the merely
literary man which limits his auditory to men of his peculiar pattern.
To this narrowness Burns, with all his faults of style, was a stranger.
His letters are the utterances of a man who refused to be imprisoned in
any single department of human thought. He was no specialist, pinned to
one standpoint, and making the width of the world commensurate with the
narrowness of his own horizon. He moved about, he looked abroad; he had
no pet subject, no restricted field of study; nature and human nature in
their multitudinous phases and many retreats were his range, and he
expressed his views as freely and vigorously as he took them.

The general tone of the letters is high. The subject is not seldom of
supreme interest. Questions are discussed which are rarely discussed in
ordinary correspondence. The writer rises above creeds and formularies
and arbitrarily established rule. He speculates on a theology beyond the
bounds of Calvinism, on a philosophy of the soul above the dialectics of
the schoolmen, on a morality at variance with conventional law. He
interrogates the intuitions of the mind and the intimations of nature in
order that, if possible, he may learn something of the soul's origin,
destiny, and supremest duty. But let us hear himself:--

_(a)_ "I have ever looked on mankind in the lump to be nothing better
than a foolish, head-strong, credulous, unthinking mob; and their
universal belief has ever had extremely little weight with me.... I
am drawn by conviction like a Man, not by a halter like an Ass."

_(b)_ "_'On Earth Discord! A gloomy Heaven above opening its jealous
gates to the nineteen-thousandth part of the tithe of mankind! And
below an inexorable Hell expanding its leviathan jaws for the vast
residue of mortals!'_ O doctrine comfortable and healing to the weary
wounded soul of man! Ye sons and daughters of affliction, to whom day
brings no pleasure and night yields no rest, be comforted! 'Tis one
to but nineteen hundred thousand that your situation will mend in
this world, and 'tis nineteen hundred thousand to one, by the dogmas
of theology, that you will be damned eternally in the world to come."

_(c)_ "A pillar that bears us up amid the wreck of misfortune and
misery is to be found in those feelings and sentiments which, however
the sceptic may deny or the enthusiast disfigure them, are yet, I am
convinced, original and component parts of the human soul; those
_senses of the mind_, if I may be allowed the expression, which link
us to the awful obscure realities of an all-powerful and equally
beneficent God and a world-to-come beyond death and the grave."

_(d)_ "Can it be possible that when I resign this frail, feverish
being I shall still find myself in conscious existence?... Shall I
yet be warm in life, seeing and seen, enjoying and enjoyed? Ye
venerable Sages and holy Flamens, is there probability in your
conjectures, truth in your stories, of another world beyond death, or
are they all alike baseless visions and fabricated fables? If there
is another life, it must only be for the just, the benevolent, the
amiable, and the humane; what a flattering idea then is a world to
come! Would to God I as firmly believed it as I ardently wish it!...
Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters! I trust thou art no
impostor.... I trust that in Thee shall all the families of the earth
be blessed."

_(e)_ "From the seeming nature of the human mind, as well as from the
evident imperfections in the administration of affairs, in both the
natural and moral worlds, there must be a retributive scene of
existence beyond the grave."

_(f)_ "I never hear the loud solitary whistle of the curlew in a
summer's noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey plover
in an autumn morning, without feeling an elevation of soul like the
enthusiasm of Devotion or Poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to what
can this be owing? Are we a piece of machinery, that, like the Æolian
harp, passive, takes the impression of the passing accident? Or do
these workings argue something within us above the trodden clod?"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27