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 (pFBI[J[™JEIIi)Bic^yaiL]L.]IAM STOBART^ 
 
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■fa^/^**- 
 
 LIFE 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 J. G. LOCKHART, LL. B. 
 
 Of him who walked in glory and in joy, 
 Bcliind his plough upon the mountain side- 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ESSAY ON HIS WRITINGS, 
 
 PREPARED FOR THIS EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 WILLIAM STODART, No. 6 COURTLANDT STREET. 
 
 C. S. FRANCIS, 252 BROADWAY. 
 
 SOLD ALSO BY 11. C. SLEiaBT, AND WHITE, OALLAHER AND WHITE. 
 
 1831. 
 

 " Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1831, 
 by William Stodart, in the office of the Clerk of the Southern 
 District of New York." 
 
 t2Jl'05 
 
 SLEIQHT AND ROBINSON, PRINTERS. 
 
4- 
 
 AN ESSAY 
 
 > 5 
 
 - _!^ ON THE 
 
 f^'y WRITINGS OF BURNS, 
 
 <r^ FOR THE AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 It is a circumstance not a little remarkable, that one who 
 consents to approach so difficult a subject as that of the fame 
 of Burns, should have it in his power to state, that hitherto, 
 almost to a man, his biographers, critics, and reviewers, 
 have been either his relations, personal friends, or Scots- 
 men.* Supposing" that these persons were ^1 remarkable 
 for inflexible impartiality, dispassionate judg-ment, and cool- 
 ness of temperament, it must still be allowed that they 
 were men, and therefore could not be totally unaffected 
 by the incidents of consanguinity, intimacy, or nativity. 
 In any view of the case, it is not totally immaterial to be en- 
 abled to say that if this subject be handled here with infe- 
 rior skill, it is discussed on neutral g-round. Generals, who 
 would have a thcroug-h knowledge of what is doing in all 
 parts of the field, usually ascend an eminence to detach 
 themselves from the obscurity which the smoke produces. 
 Perhaps there could not exist a more fit place to discuss the 
 nature and extent of the poetical claims of Burns, than ou 
 western ground, standing here, as we do, uninfluenced by the 
 strong biases so well known to exist, on behalf of illustrious 
 names, in all large and old societies. It may also be safely 
 
 * These writers are Gilbert Burns, Thomson, Dr. Currie, Cro- 
 mek, Walker, Peterkin, Heron, Scott, Jelircy, Wordsworth, Camp- 
 bell, and Wilson. 
 
 It need not be asked if the writers of the articles respecting Purns, 
 found in the Edinburgh Review, are Scottish ; those in the Uuar- 
 ttjily were written by Sir Walter Scott. 
 
IV ESSAY. 
 
 assumed as a position, that even literature, the filtering' 
 stone of human opinion, requires itself to be occasionally 
 purified. 
 
 A cause, argued in the same manner, sometimes issues in 
 a different result when carried into another court. A change 
 of air sometimes effects in the constitution of a patient, and 
 pari passu in a creed, what no 
 
 " poppies, mandragoras. 
 Or drowsy syrups," 
 
 could. At the same time, it is devoutly to be desired that it 
 may not be inferred, from these premises, that literature and 
 good taste are about to receive a deadly shock from the per- 
 petration of heresies irreconcilable with their canons ; these 
 prefatory remarks are introduced simply to prepare the 
 mind of the reader for the discussion of the con as well as 
 the pro on the subject of the poetical merits of Robert 
 Burns, which has at least the promise of novelty. 
 
 It is unnecessary to detain the reader longer, except to 
 say that a preface to the republication of a volume of such lite- 
 rary importance as a new life of Burns, seemed io be natural- 
 ly demanded, and that it appeared incumbent on one who was 
 about to add any thing to a subject on which much had been 
 already said, if he could not enlighten by new trains of 
 thought, at least to show that his interference was not alto- 
 gether idle or ostentatious ; but a candid perusal of this no- 
 tice will evince, that it does not aspire to critical profundity, 
 nor is it claimed to be worthy of being placed by the side of 
 the other papers already appended to the works of Burns. 
 
 As there are sceptics on all topics and creeds, so there ex- 
 ist questioners of the solidity of the pretensions preferred for 
 Burns by his reviewers and countrymen. And even where 
 such pretensions are admitted in part, it has been contended 
 that, although he may be allowed to be a good Scottish poet, 
 yet, from the very circumstance of the Scots being his na-^ 
 tive language, he is very naturtilly, d priori, disqualified 
 froan arriving at the same fclicily and skill in the use of Eng- 
 
ESSAY. V 
 
 lish, and more especially when it is considered that the copia 
 vcrborum is one of the essential qualities of a great poet. 
 
 It is further asserted that all his biographers, commenta- 
 tors, and reviewers, as before stated, have been chiefly if not 
 altogether of his own country. 
 
 It is also said that his fame has never been so great in Eng- 
 land as his admirers and eulogists have claimed for him ; that 
 his centenary has not yet been completed (that ordeal to which, 
 by common consent, all cases of this sort have been referred) ; 
 nay, that, dating from his death, which was premature, only 
 thirty-five years of it have elapsed ; that foreign translations 
 of his works have not yet appeared, to such an extent as would 
 justify the claims of his country and friends ; and that yet, 
 with regard to writers of a more recent date, (Scott and By- 
 ron,) a very ample translation of their works into the differ- 
 ent languages of Europe has given to their fame its desired 
 apex ; that the Scots, being a highly national people, would, 
 to carry a point on behalf of a popular native writer, at any 
 time move heaven and earth, and that Burns has propitiated 
 their favor by the patriotic tendencies and subject matter of 
 many of his productions : that his works are, for the greater 
 part, not pleasing to the English reader without a glossary ; 
 that to employ this is irksome ; and that his most universally 
 celebrated productions are altogether English, and more- 
 over very few in number ; and lastly, that one must have been 
 born a Scotsman to relish with gout the writings of Burns. 
 
 If the question relative to the nature and extent of the po- 
 etical claims of Burns were to be argued as a disputed point, 
 at this hour, and in the manner put in the foregoing 
 objections, yet, under judicial impulses, we should feel 
 inclined, for ourselves, although they are candidly placed 
 before the reader, to treat these sceptical battalia, in 
 their full amount, as little better than ingenious specula- 
 tions, or a species of tour deforce, and not entitled to grave 
 refutation. Still is there enough about the array to deserve 
 notice, which may be condensed to two or three special 
 
VI ESSAY. 
 
 points. First : What, in reality have the biographers and 
 countrymen of Burns claimed for him 7 
 
 It is not claimed for Burns, that he wrote an elaborate tra- 
 gedy, or an epic poem, or even a connected treatise on any 
 given subject ; what is in reality demanded for him by his 
 judicious friends, cannot perhaps be better stated, than in 
 the lang-uag-e of a most eloquent writer in the Edinburgh 
 Review : 
 
 " Burns first came upon the world as a prodigy ; and was, 
 in that character, entertained by it, in the usual fashion, with 
 loud, vague, tumultuous wonder, speedily subsiding into 
 censure and neglect ; till his early and most mournful death 
 again awakened an enthusiasm for him, which, especially as 
 there was nothing now to be done, and much to be spoken, 
 has prolonged itself even to our own time. It is true, ' the 
 nine' days have long since elapsed; and the very continu- 
 ance of this clamor proves that Burns was no vulgar wonder. 
 Accordingly, even iu sober judgments, where, as yearspassed 
 by, he has come to rest more and more exclusively on his own 
 intrinsic merits, and may now be well nigh shorn of that ca- 
 Gual radiance, he appears not only as a true British poet, but 
 as one of the most considerable British men of the eighteenth 
 century. Let it not be objected that he did little ; he did 
 much, if we consider where, and how. If the work performed 
 was small, we must remember he had his very materials to 
 discover ; for the metal he worked in lay hid under the de- 
 sert, where no eye but his had guessed its existence ; and 
 we may almost say, that with his own hands he had to con- 
 struct the tools for fashioning it. For he found himself in the 
 deepest obscurity, without help, without instruction, without 
 model, or with models only of the meanest sort. An edu- 
 cated man stands, as it were, in the midst of a boundless arse- 
 nal and magazine, filled with all the weapons and engines 
 which man's skill has been able to devise from the earliest 
 time ; and he works accordingly, with a strength borrowed 
 from all past ages. How different is his state, who stands on 
 the outside of that storehouse, and feels that its gates must 
 
ESSAY. Vll 
 
 be stormed, or remain forever shut ag-ainst him ! His means 
 are the commonest and rudest ; tine mere work done is no 
 measure of iiis strength. A dwarf behind his steam-engine 
 may remove mountains ; but no dwarf will hew them down 
 with the pickaxe : and he naust be a Titan that hurls them 
 abroad with his arms. 
 
 "It is in this last shape that Burns presents himself. Born 
 in an ag-e the most prosaic Britain had yet seen, and in 
 H condition the most disadvantageous, where his mind, if it 
 accomplished aught, must accomplish it under the pressure 
 of continual bodily toil, nay of penury, and desponding ap- 
 prehension of the worst evils, and with no furtherance but 
 such knowledge as dwells in a poor man's hut, and the 
 rhymes of a Ferguson or Ramsay for his standard of beanty, 
 he sinks not under all these impediments. Through the 
 fogs and darkness of that obscure region, his eagle eye dis- 
 cerns the true relations of the world and human life; he grows 
 into intellectual strength, and trains himself into intellec- 
 tual expertness. Impelled by the irrepressible movement 
 of his inward spirit, he struggles forward into the general 
 view, and with haughty modesty lays down before us, as the 
 fruit of his labors, a gift which time has pronounced impe- 
 rishable. Add to all this, that his darksome, drudging child- 
 hood and youth was by far the kindliest of his whole life ; 
 and that he died in his thirty-seventh year ; and then asJTif 
 it he strange that his poems are imperfect, and of small ex- 
 tent, or that his genius attained no mastery of his art? 
 Alas ! his sun shone as through a tropical tornado ; and the 
 pale shadows of death eclipsed it at noon ! Shrowded in 
 such baleful vapors, the genius of Burns was never seen in 
 clear azured splendor enlightening the world. But some 
 beams from it did, by fits, pierco through ; and it tinted 
 those clouds with rainbow and orient colors, into a glory and 
 stern grandeur, wliich men silently gazed on ^yith wonder 
 and tears !" 
 
Vlll ESSAY. 
 
 It is very true that many of the commentarieg of the pub- 
 lishers, biographers, and reviewers of Burns, bear the marka 
 of unequivocal eulog-y; and that the verdicts of his analyti- 
 cal judges and critics do not uniformly agree. But whoever 
 looks at the text of other poets of nature, and then at the an- 
 notations which smother it, will not marvel at such discre- 
 pancies ; and as to the laudatory inclinings, if it be consi- 
 dered that the public voice of Scotland had unanimously 
 been raised on behalf of the poet, even in deafening roar, 
 in meetings select, literary, legislative, deliberative, and po- 
 pular, this echo from those interested in the sale of the works 
 of Burns falls rather short of what might have been ex- 
 pected. One of the most important criticisms (important be- 
 cause it was early, and indubitably impartial) pronounced 
 upon the poetry of the Caledonian bard, was given by the 
 celebrated premier, William Pitt. 
 
 At the late Lord Liverpool's table, soon after Burns' death, 
 Mr. Pitt said, *• I can think of no verse since Shakspeare's, 
 that has so much the appearance of coming sweetly from 
 nature." (Page 237.) One of the most eloquent i^w^Zts^ 
 statesmen ever heard in debate, here runs the parallel be- 
 tween Burns and the great Bard of Avon. The next favora- 
 ble eminent English authority is that of Lord Byron, ex- 
 pressed with brevity and decision. (Page 314.) These are 
 followed by the concurrent decisions of Campbell and Sir 
 Walter Scott— (315 to 318.) That thellatter, as authorities, 
 are of less weight, on national grounds solely, must be ob- 
 vious to every reader.' At the same time, intriyisically^ they 
 are as unobjectionable every way as if they were English, 
 French, or American. 
 
 In answering the question, what is claimed for Burns ? it 
 is obvious that justice demands, that in estimating the pro- 
 ductions of genius, the abstract idea of quantity should be 
 utterly dismissed. 
 
 Who would disparage Shakspeare for his lioness-like bar-, 
 rennesa 1 Or who would place Lopez de Vega above him for 
 
ESSAY. IX 
 
 his rabbit fecundity 7 How many ship loads of "poetical 
 trifles," "poetical effusions," metrical essays, and collections 
 of poems, dedicated and undedicated, critically noticed and 
 unnoticed, would be equitably required to poise that single 
 production of a giant pen, Gray's Elegy 1 or our bard's 
 "Scots wha hae," &c. What architect would divert the 
 admiration of the spectator from the Temples of Jupiter 
 and Minerva, and claim it for the Pyramids? Or what 
 critical eye would, while inspiring- delight from the pro- 
 portions of the Venus de Medicis, or the Apollo Belvidere, 
 wander to the colossal but comparatively inelegant figure 
 of the Elephant 1 
 
 In divinity, the folios of Gill enjoy as profound a tranquil- 
 lity as their author does, many years since entombed: — 
 while the Meditations of Hervey, and the Night Thoughts of 
 Young, in duodecimo, are found in every polite orthodox 
 library. It would be proper without doubt to estimate fairly 
 the regrets which have been poured forth so copiously, and, 
 as every one believes, sincerely, over the early decease of 
 Burns, and the consequent loss of his continuous literary 
 labors. But who can truly desire that the poet of nature 
 should have continued to write until he had no readers for 
 his last production? Who can answer, that he would have 
 gone on to rise in interest 1 Might he not have gone on to- 
 wards the climax attained by Martinus Scriblcrus 7 Would 
 it have been desirable to have found him throwing crude, 
 diluted water-gruel stuff of poetry, generated by the lees of 
 Port, Burgundy, Champagne, late hours, and the carbon 
 of sea coal, by the side of that balsamic nectar-like 
 menstruum, which the green fields, the genial warmth 
 of the blessed sun, and the pure air, teeming from the fresh 
 earth, concocted in a genial brain, in the kail-yard, or behind 
 the plough at MossgieH Was it indeed desirable that Burns 
 should, because he had acquired "fair fame," have gone on 
 to have beaten his inch of precious metal into the length and 
 breadth necessary for covering an acre of ground 1 Thy 
 
X ESSAY. 
 
 poets of olden timea wrote " because they were moved," and 
 dictated from the overflowing's of nature ; but do not the 
 moderns throw out bars of bullion to their first customers, 
 and do not later comers recisive only paper I 
 
 It has been justly remarked, that the earliest productions 
 of many eminent writers have been the most successful. 
 Fielding's Tom Jones, and his Amelia have been respectively 
 compared to the rising- and the setting- sun. Whatever Cer- 
 vantes wrote besides Don Q,uixote, has in the wide world's 
 estimate never compared with it. Le Sag-e did not add ma- 
 terially to the fame of the writer of Gil Bias, in placing by its 
 side Le Diable Boiteaux. P.iiss Burney's Evelina evinces 
 more vigor than any subsequent production from her pen. 
 Paradise Lost was a more successful poem than Paradise 
 Regained. Campbell has put forth nothing latterly which 
 even approaches the combined refinement, vigor, and 
 pathos, of his " Pleasures of Hope," " Wounded Hussar," and 
 "Exile of Erin." Many persons maintain there is more 
 sweetness and power in the Childe Harold of Lord Byron, 
 than in any of his other works. Opinions are advanced in 
 favor of the Spy, as the most vigorous of Cooper's novels 
 And there is little doubt that the earlier writings of Washing- 
 ton Irving have decidedly the most racy points about them. 
 There appears to be a limited period in the life of man for 
 the production of chef d'ceuvres and master pieces. After 
 this period has passed, the trumpet may be sounded, and the 
 word of command may be given, but the troops will not rush 
 to the charge : they halt, take breath, and do their business 
 leisurely and mechanically. 
 
 It is asserted that " the countrymen of Burns have been toa 
 partial." 
 
 It appears as natural that the first honors of a poet should 
 spring from his country, as it does that light should enter at 
 the window and not at the door. 
 
 A false conclusion is evidently attempted to be drawn from. 
 the admitted fact of Scottish nationality : but how in reality 
 
ESSAY. XI 
 
 do the particulars of Burns' case stand 1 First the poet him- 
 self doubted and distrusted his own powers from the begin- 
 ning- : he blushes at the sight of his verses in a magazine. 
 He retreats behind, and proposes to hiinself, as beacons of 
 excellence, such writers as Ferguson, Allan Ramsay, 
 and others scarcely known abroad, except from the pages 
 of Burns' biographers; and, observes the poet of Scot- 
 land, with profound modesty, " Doctor Blacklock belonged 
 to a set of critics for whose applause I had not dared to 
 hope." 
 
 And when a change in his literary prospects justified his 
 appearance in Edinburgh; and when he was bidden to the 
 banquets of the wise, the learned, and the great, he was in 
 reality undergoing his fearful probation ; for, during the en- 
 joyment of these honors, he was " conned" and " noted :" 
 there were conditions annexed to this beneficial contract ; and 
 Burns on his part delivered himself, to be sifted, catechised, 
 and weighed by golden scales, on which were marked grains 
 as well as pennyweights. The Scotch characteristic prudence 
 did not forsake the Blairs, the Walkers, the Ramsays, and the 
 Blacklocks, his examiners : but he came from this ordeal like 
 gold from the hands of the assayer. As proof indubitable, 
 the second edition of Burns' Poems came out during this visit 
 to the Scottish Athens— came out triumphantly, under the 
 very eye of the Gamaliels of that day. Besides, the cry opened 
 by the pack of malcontents respecting the manners and mo- 
 rals of Burns proves that there were enough ready then as 
 there is always to be found in every country and in every 
 age, to repress rising talent, and to sink extraordinary pre- 
 tensions to the common level; not by the fair, straight-for_ 
 ward and manly course of showing professional inability, 
 but by the thousand times repeated destestable trick, of 
 stabbing the poet through the man. How many victims may 
 be numbered of this Anthropophagi, this Polyphemus-like 
 policy'* Pope was ridiculed for personal deformity, and 
 dubbed A P E, by Dennis, who was a barnacle only stuck to 
 1 
 
XU ESSAY. 
 
 the planks of the poet's fame ; nay, he was by one envions 
 personag-e threatened with a sound horsewhipping- — because 
 the world chose to admire him. Byron's infelicity in 
 the connubial state was probably marred, and his exile 
 effected by the same cause. Is it necessary to recount what 
 the malig-nity of his enemies did for Columbus, the dispenser 
 of a new world to an ungrateful throne'? or to introduce the 
 cases of Milton, Creighton, and a thousand others, who paid 
 "the reg-ular tax on merit,"— the censure and hatred of co- 
 temporaries 1 But to return to Burns : it may be well in- 
 ferred, that had those of his cotemporaries who did attack 
 him on other grounds, considered him vulnerable on the side 
 of his claimed elevation as a poet of high rank, they would 
 have carried on the war in that quarter — as there his sensi- 
 bilities, after all, must have been the keenest. 
 
 We now arrive at the discussion of by far the most im- 
 posing* of the objections to the pretensions of Burns, viz. : as 
 founded upon the dialectical language in which he wrote. We 
 are compelled to believe that Burns did not himself feel the 
 same freedom in composing in English as in the Scottish 
 dialect, because he himself tells us so. "These English 
 songs," says he, "g^ravcl me to death. I have not that com- 
 mand of the language that I have of my native tong-ue :" and 
 again, " so much for namby-pamby. I may after all, try my 
 hand at it in Scots verse. There I am always most at home." 
 (Page 257 of this work.) But there is other collateral evidence 
 to be found in his letters. Doubtless, had all his compositions 
 been as acceptable to an English ear as his last, and which 
 has been pronounced his best, viz., " Scots wha hae wi' Wal- 
 lace bled," the works of Burns must have had a larg^er circu- 
 lation in England, in Europe, and in the United States. 
 
 The general reader is impatient of any kind of glos- 
 sary : the very act of reference is a task reluctantly per- 
 formed, even with the propelling motive of subsequent g-rati- 
 fication ; and whether this glossary be placed at the end of 
 the book, at the top of the page, as in orthoepical dictionaries^ 
 
ESSAY. Xlll 
 
 or at the bottom of it, as in some editions of Burns' works, it 
 entails any where an effort which interferes with the indo- 
 lence and neutrality of the largest number of readers, and 
 particularly of the unlearned ; and the difficulty is without 
 remedy. You may translate from a foreign lang-uag-e ; but 
 a translation would hardly be seriously attempted from a 
 dialectical production. There are persons who profess to 
 admire the Scots dialect, who are not natives ; but may not 
 this taste be formed in the same manner as any other of an 
 artificial nature, or be nothing more than a genuflexion 
 conceded to fashion, and the impossibility of not being 
 pleased with any part or parcel of the works of a successful 
 poetl 
 
 But whatever degree of evidence exists as to the assumed 
 fact of the dialect of Burns having abridged the limits of his 
 fame ; otherwise, it is pretty certain that the adherence to 
 the dialect accelerated the "roar of applause" which attend- 
 ed his early productions, and especially the satirical ones, 
 among his own countrymen. But this by no means subtracts 
 a particle from his actual and intrinsic greatness. The qua- 
 lity OF THE THOUGHTS must decide, and decide solely, upon 
 the calibre of the writer in whatever language or dialect 
 written or spoken. And the fact is at least asserted in the 
 pages of the following work, that Burns has the merit of be- 
 ing the pioneer for his country's dialect : that after the print- 
 ing of his poems, a taste was created for the Scottish dialect 
 amongst English readers generally; and it may be without 
 much risk asserted, that Scott introduced Scottish provin- 
 cialisms into the Waverley novels upon this precedent. 
 Whatever has been said upon this subject generally, has been 
 best said by Burns himself— see page 257. Perhaps, in re- 
 nouncing the separation of the Scots idiom from the English 
 in lyrics, he is right. Often, by the introduction of the Scot- 
 tish dialect, euphonical effect is increased ; and from a care- 
 ful examination of the glosaarjj it is found that the elision 
 
XIV ESSAY. 
 
 of the consonants, as in the cases oifrae, (from,) vnV (with,) 
 o', (ofj) is frequent. 
 
 None can feel more sensibly the fact than the writer of this, 
 that the English languag-e is rendered infinitely less desira- 
 ble, as the vehicle of musical sounds, by the harshness of its 
 construction, in reference to the number of consonants with 
 which it abounds, and the strong-, and, to a foreign ear, 
 revolting, and frequent sound sound of S. This remark is 
 however not new, nor put forth as such. 
 
 It may be observed, that notwithstanding the foregoing 
 reply to objectors to the high rank amongst poets, claimed 
 for Burns by his countrymen, still some of the objections have 
 not, been fairly met at all,but at any rate, that the gordian knot 
 is in statu quo, viz., the question what precise station among 
 poets shall be assigned to Burns 7 That his centenary pro- 
 bation is not yet completed certainly cannot be denied; 
 and we shall be content with further remarking, that much 
 farther off from the completion of this period, stand Byron 
 and Scott. In reply to the allegation, that the reprint of the 
 works of Burns has not been so great as that of the works of 
 Byron and Scott, it is difficult to ascertain the fact demon- 
 strably ; and as the assertion admits not of positive proof, it 
 must therefore rest for what it is : but, if true, it may be 
 accounted for in several ways, without disparagement to 
 Burns, The numbers of the reading 'public throughout Eu- 
 rope since Burns' time have most astonishingly increased, 
 not to say even multiplied ; and therefore the demand for re- 
 prints would naturally absorb new productions in preference 
 to older works : secondly, the subject matter of the works of 
 Scott and Byron falls in better with the prevalent taste of 
 modern Europe, without reference to the rank of the respec- 
 tive productions ; not to insist further on the almost insur- 
 mountable difficulty of effecting a competent translation of 
 Scottish poetry into European languages; and especially 
 such poetry as that of Burns. It is asked, " What precise 
 station among the poets shall be assigned to Burns 1 " They 
 
ESSAY. XV 
 
 who incline to the ultra side of the question, say that he is 
 unhesitatingly to be placed in the first class, viz., to take 
 rank with Homer, Virg-il, Shakspeare, Milton, Dante, Tasso, 
 and Camoens, "not," it is said, "on account of any sing-le 
 actual performance of Burns having- paralleled in greatness, 
 magnitude, and elaborateness, the chef d'ceuvre of either of 
 these great masters ; but that the whole chain of his produc- 
 tions, (to employ a lawyer's metaphor,) is so bright and strong, 
 and the quality of each link is so fine, and the steel of such a 
 temper, as to give evidence, that, had his circumstances and 
 habits of life admitted of continuous attention, as well as of 
 fitful ardor, neither an epic poem, nor a tragedy of the very 
 first character, would have been found beyond the compass 
 of those herculean powers evidenced by what he haa 
 achieved." 
 
 To this it is replied, that were it fair to claim distinction 
 for any writer conjecturally and prospectively, viz., to give 
 him reputation in advance for what he might do, on the score 
 of what he has done. Burns would be entitled to this award — 
 what he has done is done so well, as to render it difficult to 
 say whether he has, in the same departments of composition, 
 even an equal. It is not too much to say, that in many of his 
 pieces the most cynical have not found room to lay a finger 
 on a fault. In pathos, closeness to nature, sweetness, and 
 simplicity, (which latter quality includes the idea of strength,) 
 he is great among the greatest. And were this the place to 
 give a critique on his writings, or had not this been already 
 done, this were easily shown. But if reputation in advance 
 were claimed for Homer, it could not be yielded; because 
 uncertainty and variation attend the productions of the first 
 writers that ever lived. Who could bear, immediately after 
 being excited by the Iliad, to take up the Odyssey 1 What 
 reader covild ever be satisfied with the coldness of Paradise 
 Regained, after having had his imagination heated by Para- 
 dise Lost l Who, then, could or would take the responsibi- 
 
 1* 
 
SVl ESSAY. 
 
 lity of answering for what Burns might have written, on the 
 grounds of what he has written? 
 
 The writer of the masteily article on Burns, in the^Edin- 
 burgh Review, No. 96, pronounces' the poet to be strongest 
 in his songs. 
 
 Taking up this for authority, it could not place him, if he 
 graduated from this prominent point of excellence, so high 
 as his ultra advocates would claim. It is very much to be 
 doubted, if the highest poetical rank could be claimed for 
 any lyrical writer, however eminent. Anacreon seems to 
 take high ground in this class. But may not something of 
 this be set down to his exceedingly chaste and high- wrought 
 style, (as well as to his other characteristics,) and which 
 seems to place his productions on the verge of another order 
 of composition, and to bring them very close to the rigid and 
 subdued beauties of Virgil 7 They who excite in us emotions 
 of sublimity, who achieve poetical greatness, carry us be- 
 yond the joys of sense — they transport us into the world of 
 metaphysics, and of spirits ; they raise us up to Heaven, 
 carry us down to hell— provide fellow-beings in both places — 
 and give them passions and employments suited to their situ- 
 ation there. By the very contemplation of svich existences, 
 we add a sort of dignity to our being ; our thoughts are 
 drawn out of ourselves, diverted from all commonplaces; 
 and such as are competent to this task, of elevating us in 
 our own estimation and consciousness, which these flights 
 of abstraction, somehow or other effect ; such writers may 
 be called great. Many of Burns' pieces look this way ; but 
 some complete fabric of metaphysics seems to be wanting. 
 The porticos, vestibules and corridors appear to be provided ; 
 but time and fate deprived us, it would seem, of the great 
 temple itself, which should have lifted its lofty head and 
 joined itself to the clouds. 
 
 Homer, with the hand of a giant, mingles gods with men, 
 »hows us Olympus, awfulJupiter, the jealous and revenge- 
 ful Juno, the sage and untiring Minerva, the beautiful and 
 
ESSAY. xvii 
 
 voluptuous ApoUOj and the Venus who from the sky ravished 
 the imagination. 
 
 Virg-il makes us accompany his hero into Elysium ; to 
 converse with the sages of the primeval ages ; or leads us 
 down to Tartarus to wander amongst unhappy ghosts. 
 
 Ariosto decoys us by the truth of his realities into all the 
 wildness of magic and chivalry. 
 
 Tasso martials "helm and hauberk," knight and steed, 
 Saracen and Christian, on the hill of Calvary, or parades 
 them in the garden of Gethsemane: thus engrafting reli- 
 gious faith upon heroic emprize. 
 
 Milton compasses all space, and demands the universe for 
 the scene of his mighty drama. His personages are nothing 
 less than the Godhead, the Savior, archangels, burning 
 seraphims, myriads of angels ; the arch destroyer and his 
 legions; and man, such as we cannot now behold him. 
 
 Shakspeare peoples the air, the water, and the earth, with 
 fantastic forms and shapes, engendered by his fancy ; — from 
 the tiny gossamer fairy, as big as agate on alderman's fore- 
 finger, to the heavy, huge, creeping Caliban; subjects them 
 to laws of his own framing, and fills the mind of man with 
 sage aphorisms drawn from the conduct of " airy nothings ;" 
 or, arising in tragic majesty, selects some mighty lord of the 
 earth, sitting in the chair of power, nodding command to 
 his satraps, and folding his arms in security and self-suffi- 
 ciency — him he pinions by the Titanian force of some master- 
 passion ; poisons his food, snatches from him "nature's sweet 
 restorer balmy sleep," and fills his imagination with hideous 
 phantasms, until, like the wild beast in the toils, he rushes 
 with his eyes wide open into the world of spirits. In all these- 
 instances, common affairs of wassailing and the wine cup, 
 the scented rose, the soft madrigal, and the "lascivious 
 pleasing of a lute;" the sounds of the sackbut and "dulci- 
 mer" are left far behind in the blue and fading distance. To 
 make our claims to greatness solid, we must, it appears, 
 either cast into a new mould, and intensely elevate what we 
 
XVlll ESSAY. 
 
 see around us, cover the " thick rotundity o' the globe ''" •with 
 imaginary creations, or go into other spheres in search oj 
 new modes of being. 
 
 If such are the indispensable conditions to the occupancy 
 of the first rank among poets, many besides Burns, for whom 
 it has been claimed, must be content to be established in the 
 second : and it is there we place him. 
 
 It remains to speakof Mr. Lockhart's execution of his task. 
 There appears to be a singularity of character and arrange- 
 ment about these successive biographies of Burns. It has 
 been thought necessary that each of them should be complete 
 in itself. Hence the reader has to travel over some old 
 ground, in order to get at the new parts of the road. Mr. 
 Lockhart has himself evidently been conscious of this in the 
 following passage : 
 
 "As to the earlier part of Burns' history, Currie and 
 Walker appear to have left little unexplored : it is chiefly 
 concerning the incidents of his closing years, that their ac- 
 counts have been supposed to admit of a supplement." (Pre- 
 fatory notice, page 22.) Hence some of the matter found in 
 Currie's Life of Burns, owing to the plan of the work being 
 as above described, is repeated in the beginning of Mr. 
 Lockhart's new biography : still, however, justice requires 
 that it be stated, that by the side of this, even in the earlier 
 pages of the new life, is found novel matter, and sometimes 
 an enlargement of the old. In the advanced pages, the fresh- 
 ness and excellent quality of the materiel are every where 
 discernible : and Mr. Lockhart's distinguishing trait, as 
 Burns' biographer, appears to be, that he was not of the opi- 
 nion that, 
 
 " The social condition of the individual of whom he was 
 treating, could seem to place him at such a distance from the 
 exalted reader, that ceremony might be discarded with him, 
 and his memory sacrificed as it were almost without com- 
 punction." And accordingly his approaches towards, and 
 handling of, Burns' vulnerable points, are evidently made 
 
ESSAY. X!X 
 
 with the tenderness and forbearance of a brother ; Indeed, he 
 exhibits more delicacy than even Burns' brother Gilbert. 
 
 Station in life may perhaps partly account for this, and it 
 may be in part accounted for from the period of time elapsed, 
 which, as it g-oes on to leave the peculiarities of the man fur- 
 ther in the distance, increases the delig-ht and estimation en- 
 tertained for the poet. The letters of Burns interspersed in 
 this volume, are, if there were no other attraction, inva- 
 luable. 
 
 The universally desired information respecting- the family 
 of Burns, is in this work furnished, up to the year 1827. — 
 (Page 295.) Many will, doubtless, wish it had been more 
 ample. 
 
 Amidst the cravings of a depraved literary appetite for 
 exaggerated situation, extraordinary incident, and exciting 
 climaxes, which constitute the features of the greater part of 
 the works of imagination of the day, it is pleasing to be 
 enabled to record, that this volume, presenting a very differ- 
 ent bill of fare, has had such an extensive circulation in 
 Great Britain, as to determine the publishers on bringing it 
 before the American pul;lic, to whom, it is confidently be- 
 lieved, their selection will prove acceptable. 
 
PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 Some apology must be deemed necessary for 
 any new attempt to write the Life of Burns. 
 The present adventurer on that field has only 
 this to offer — that D]*. Currie's Memoir cannot 
 be, with propriety, detached from the collection 
 of the Poet's works, which it was expressly de- 
 signed to accompany ; and the regretted projec- 
 tor of Constable's Miscellany sought in vain for 
 any other narrative sufficiently detailed to meet 
 the purposes of this publication. 
 
 The last reprint of Dr. Currie's Edition had 
 the advantage of being supperintended by Mr. 
 Gilbert Burns ; and that excellent man, availing 
 himself of the labors of Cromek, Walker, and 
 Peterkin, and supplying many blanks from the 
 stores of his own recollection, produced at last a 
 book, in which almost every thing that should 
 be (and some things that never should have 
 been) told, of his brother's history, may be 
 found. There is however, at least for indolent 
 readers, no small inconvenience in the arrange- 
 ment which Currie's Memoir, thus enlarged, pre- 
 sents. The frequent references to notes, appen- 
 dices, and Letters not included in the same vo- 
 
XXll PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 lume, are Bomewhat perplexing. And it may, 
 moreover, be seriously questioned, whether Gil- 
 bert Burns' best method of answering many of 
 his amiable author's unconscious mis-statements 
 and exaggerations, would not have been to ex- 
 punge them altogether from a work with which 
 posterity were to connect, in any shape or mea- 
 sure, the authority of his own name. 
 
 As to criticism on Burns' poetry, no one can 
 suppose that any thing of consequence remains 
 to be added on a subject which has engaged suc- 
 cessively the pens of Mackenzie, Heron, Cur- 
 rie, Scott, Jeffrey, Walker, Wordsworth, Camp- 
 bell, and Wilson. 
 
 The humble purpose of the following Essay 
 was, therefore, no more than to compress, with- 
 in the limits of a single small volume, the sub- 
 tance of materials already open to all the world, 
 and sufficient, in every point of view, for those 
 who have leisure to collect, and candor to weigh 
 them. 
 
 For any little touches of novelty that may be 
 discovered in a Narrative, thus un ambitiously 
 undertaken, the writer is indebted to respecta- 
 ble authorities, which shall be cited as he pro- 
 ceeds. As to the earlier part of Burns' histo- 
 ry, Currie and Walker appear to have left little 
 unexplored ; it is chiefly concerning the inci- 
 dents of his closing years that their accounts 
 have been supposed to admit of a supplement. 
 
 j 
 
LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "My father was a farmer vtpon the Carrick Border, 
 And soberly he brought me up in decency and order." 
 
 Robert Burns was born on the 25th of Janua- 
 ary 1759, in a clay-built cottage, about two miles 
 to the south of the town of Ayr, and in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of the Kirk of Alloway, and the 
 "Auld Brig o' Doon." About a week after- 
 wards, part of the frail dwelHng, which his father 
 had constructed with his own hands, gave way at 
 midnight ; and the infant poet and his mother 
 were carried through the storm, to the shelter of a 
 neighboring hovel. 
 
 The father, William Burnes or Burness, (for 
 so he spelt his name,) was the son of a farmer in 
 Kincardineshire, whence he removed at 19 years 
 of age, in consequence of domestic embarrass- 
 ments. The farm on which the family lived,formed 
 part of the estate forfeited, in consequence of the 
 Rebellion of 1715, by the noble house of Keith 
 Marischall ; and the poet took pleasure in saying, 
 2 
 
20 
 
 LIFE OF 
 
 that his humble ancestors shared the principles 
 and the fall of their chiefs. Indeed, after Wilham 
 Burnes settled in the west of Scotland, there pre- 
 vailed a vague notion that he himself had been out 
 in the insurrection of 1745-6 ; but though Robert 
 would fain have interpreted his father's silence in 
 favor of a tale which flattered his imagination, his 
 brother Gilbert always treated it as a mere fiction, 
 and such it was.* It is easy to suppose that when 
 any obscure northern stranger fixed himself in 
 those days in the Low Country, such rumors 
 were likely enough to be circulated concerning 
 him. 
 
 William Burnes labored for some years in the 
 neighborhood of Edinburgh as a gardener, and 
 then found his way into Ayrshire. At the time 
 when Robert was born, he was gardener and 
 overseer to a gentleman of small estate, Mr. Fer- 
 guson of Doonholm ; but resided on a few acres 
 of land, which he had on lease from another pro- 
 prietor, and where he had originally intended to 
 establish himself as a nurseryman. He married 
 Agnes Brown in December 1757, and the poet 
 was their first-born. 
 
 Wilham Burnes seems to have been, in his hum- 
 ble station, a man eminently entitled to respect. 
 He had received the ordinary learning of a Scot- 
 tish parish school, and profited largely both by that 
 and by his own experience in the world. " I have 
 met with few" (said the poet, f after he had him- 
 self seen a good deal of mankind) " who under- 
 
 * Gilbert found among- his father's papers a certificate 
 of the minister of his native parish, testifying- that "the 
 bearer, William Burnes, had no hand in the late wicked re- 
 bellion." 
 
 t Letter of Burns to Dr. Moore, 22d August, 1787. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. ^1 
 
 Stood men, their manners and their ways, equal 
 to my father." He was a strictly religious man. 
 There exists in his handwriting a little manual of 
 theology, in the form of a dialogue, which he drew 
 up for the use of his children, and from which it 
 appears that he had adopted more of the Armini- 
 an than of the Calvinistic doctrine ; a circumstance 
 not to be wondered at, when we consider that he 
 had been educated in a district which was never 
 numbered among the strong-holds of the Presby- 
 terian church. The affectionate reverence with 
 which his children ever regarded him, is attested 
 by all who have described him as he appeared in 
 his domestic circle ; but there needs no evidence 
 beside that of the poet himself, who has painted, 
 in colors that will never fade, " the saint, the fa- 
 ther, and the husband," of the Cottar^s Saturday 
 Night. 
 
 Agnes Brown, the wife of this good man, is 
 described, as " a very sagacious woman, without 
 any appearance of forwardness, or awkwardness 
 of manner ;"* and it seems that,in features, andjas 
 he grew up, in general address, the poet resembled 
 her more than his father, f She had an inexhaus- 
 tible store of ballads and traditionary tales, and ap- 
 pears to have nourished his infant imagination by 
 this means, while her husband paid more atten- 
 tion to " the weightier matters of the law." 
 
 These worthy people labored hard for the sup- 
 port of an increasing family. William was oc- 
 cupied with Mr. Ferguson's service, and Agnes — 
 like the wyfe of Auchtermuchtie, who ruled 
 
 " Baith calvis and kye, 
 And a' the house baith in and out," 
 
 * Letter of ISIr. Mackenzie, surgeon at Ervine, Morrison, 
 vol. ii. p. 261. t Ibid. 
 
22 LIFE OF 
 
 contrived to manage a small dairy as well as her 
 children. But though their honesty and diligence 
 merited better things, their condition continued to 
 be very uncomfortable ; and our poet (in his let- 
 ter to Dr. Moore) accounts distinctly for his being 
 born and bred " a very poor man's son." by the 
 remark, that " stubborn, ungainly integrity, and 
 headlong, ungovernable irascibility, are disquali- 
 fying circumstances." 
 
 These defects of temper did not, however, ob- 
 scure the sterling worth of William Burnesinthe 
 eyes of Mr. Ferguson ; who, when his gardener 
 expressed a wish to try his fortune on a farm of 
 his then vacant, and confessed at the same time his 
 inability to meet the charges of stocking it, at once 
 advanced lOOZ. towards the removal of the diffi- 
 culty. Burnes accordingly removed to this farm 
 (that of Mount Oliphant, in the parish of Ayr) at 
 Whitsuntide 1766, when his eldest son was be- 
 tween six and seven years of age. But the soil 
 proved to be of the most ungrateful description ; 
 and Mr. Ferguson dying, and his affairs falling in- 
 to the hands of a harsh factor, (who afterwards 
 sat for his picture in the Twa Dogs,) Burnes was 
 glad to give up his bargain at the end of six years. 
 He then removed about ten miles to a larger and 
 better farm, that of Lochlea, in the parish of Tar- 
 bolton. But here, after a short interval of pros- 
 perity, some unfortunate misunderstanding took 
 place as to the conditions of the lease ; the dis- 
 pute was referred to arbitration ; and after three 
 years of suspense, the result involved Burnes in 
 ruin. The worthy man lived to know of this 
 decision ; but death saved him from witnessing its 
 necessary consequences. He died of consumption 
 on the 13th February, 1784. Severe labor, and 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 23 
 
 hopes only renewed to be baffled, had at last ex- 
 hausted a robust but irritable structure and tem- 
 perament of body and of mind. 
 
 In the midst of the harassing struggles which 
 found this termination, William Burnes appears to 
 have used his utmost exertions for promoting the 
 mental improvement of his children — a duty rare- 
 ly neglected by Scottish parents, however humble 
 their station, and scanty their means may be. Ro- 
 bert was sent, in his sixth year, to a small school 
 at AUoway Miln, about a mile from the house in 
 which he was born ; but Campbell, the teacher, 
 being in the course of a few months removed to 
 another situation, Burnes and four or five of his 
 neighbors engaged Mr. John Murdoch to supply 
 his place, lodging him by turns in their own houses 
 and insuring to him a small payment of money 
 quarterly. Robert Burns, and Gilbert his next 
 brother, were the aptest and the favorite pupils of 
 this worthy man, who survived till very lately, and 
 who has, in a letter published at length by Currie, 
 detailed, with honest pride, the part which he had 
 in the early education of our poet. He became 
 the frequent inmate and confidential friend of the 
 family, and speaks with enthusiasm of the virtues 
 of William Burnes, and of the peaceful and hap- 
 py life of his humble abode. 
 
 " He was (says Murdoch) a tender and affec- 
 tionate father ; he took pleasure in leading his 
 children in the path of virtue ; not in driving them 
 as some parents do, to the performance of duties 
 to which they themselves are averse. He took 
 care to find fault but very seldom ; and therefore, 
 when he did rebuke, he was listened to with a 
 kind of reverential awe. A look of disapproba- 
 tion was fglt ; a reproof was severely so ; and a 
 2+. 
 
24 LIFE OF 
 
 stripe with the tawz, even on the skjrt of the coat, 
 gave heart-felt pain, produced a loud lamentation, 
 and brought forth a flood of tears. 
 
 " He had the art of gaining the esteem and 
 good-will of those that were laborers under him, 
 I think I never saw him angry but twice ; the one 
 time it was with the foreman of the band, for not 
 reaping the field as he was desired ; and the other 
 time, it was with an old man, for using smutty 
 inuendos and double entendres." 
 
 "In this mean cottage, of which I myself was 
 at times an inhabitant, I really believe there dwelt 
 a larger portion of content than in any place in 
 Europe. The Cottar^ s Saturday Night will give 
 some idea of the temper and manners that pre- 
 vailed there." 
 
 The boys, under the joint tuition of Murdoch 
 and their father, made rapid progress in reading, 
 spelling, and writing ; they committed psalms and 
 hymns to memory with extraordinary ease — the 
 teacher taking care (as he tells us) thattheyshould 
 understand the exact meaning of each word in the 
 sentence ere they tried to get it by heart. " As 
 soon," * says he, " as they were capable of it, I 
 taught them to turn verse into its natural prose or- 
 der : sometimes to substitute synonymous expres- 
 sions for poetical words ; and to supply all the 
 ellipses. Robert and Gilbert were generally at the 
 upper end of the class, even when ranged with 
 boys by far their seniors. The books most com- 
 monly used in the school were the Spelling Book, 
 the New Testament, the Bible, Mason's Collection 
 of Prose and Verse, and Fisher'' s English Gram- 
 mar,'' — " Gilbert always appeared to me to 
 
 t Currie's Life, p. 88. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 25 
 
 possess a more lively imagination, and to be more 
 of the wit, than Robert. I attempted to teach them 
 a little church-music. Here they were left far be- 
 hind by all the rest of the school. Robert's ear, 
 in particular, was remarkably dull, and his voice 
 untunable. It was long before I could get them 
 to distinguish one tune from another. Robert's 
 countenance was generally grave and expressive 
 of a serious, contemplative, and thoughtful mind. 
 Gilbert's face said. Mirth, with thee 1 mean to live ; 
 and, certainly, if any person who knew the two 
 boys, had been asked which of them was the most 
 likely to court the Muses, he would never have 
 guessed that Robert had a propensity of that kind.'* 
 " At those years," says the poet himself, in 
 1787, " I was by no means a favorite with any 
 body. I was a good deal noted for a retentive 
 memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my dis- 
 position, and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say 
 idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Though 
 it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made 
 an excellent English scholar; and by the time 
 I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a cri- 
 tic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In my 
 infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 
 old woman who resided in the family, remarkable 
 for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She 
 had, I suppose, the largest collection in the coun- 
 try of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, 
 fairies brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kel- 
 pies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, 
 cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and 
 other trumpery. * This cultivated the latent seeds 
 
 * Mr. Robert Chambers tells me that this woman's name 
 was Jenny Wilson, and that she outlived Burns, with whom 
 she was a g-reat favorite. 
 
26 LIFE OF 
 
 of poetry ; but had so strong an effect on my im- 
 agination, that to tliis hour, in my nocturnal ram- 
 bles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspi- 
 cious places ; and though nobody can be more 
 sceptical than I am in such matters, yet it often 
 takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these 
 idle terrors. The earliest composition that I re- 
 collect taking pleasure in was The Vision of 
 Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, How 
 are thy servants blest, O Lord! I particularly re- 
 member one half-stanza, which was music to my 
 boyish ear — 
 
 "For thoug-h on dreadful whirls we hung- 
 High on the broken wave — '■ 
 
 I met with these pieces in Mason^s English Col- 
 lection, one of my school-book. The first two 
 books I ever read in private, and which gave me 
 more pleasure than any two books I ever read 
 since, were. The Life of Hannibal, and The His- 
 tory of Sir Williain Wallace. * Hannibal gave 
 my young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut 
 in raptures up and down after the recruiting drum 
 and bagpipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a 
 soldier ; while the story of Wallace poured a tide 
 of Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will 
 boil along there till the flood-gates of life shut in 
 eternal rest." f 
 
 And speaking of the same period and books 
 to Mrs. Dunlop, he says, " for several of my 
 earlier years I had few other authors ; and many 
 a solitary hour have I stole out, after the labori- 
 
 * The Hannibal was lent by Mr. Murdoch ; the Wallace 
 by a neighboring- blacksmith, 
 t Letter to Dr, Moore, 1787. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 27 
 
 ous vocations of the day, to shed a tear over 
 their glorious but unfortunate stories. In those 
 boyish days I remember in particular being struck 
 with that part of Wallace's story where these 
 lines occur — 
 
 " Syne to theLeg^len wood, when it was late. 
 To make a silent and a safe retreat." 
 
 " I chose a fine summer day, the only day my 
 line of life allowed, and walked half a dozen 
 miles to pay my respects to the Leglen wood, 
 with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim 
 did to Loretto ; and explored every den and dell 
 where I could suppose my heroic countrymen to 
 have lodged." 
 
 Murdoch continued his instructions until the 
 family had been about two years at Mount Oli- 
 phant — when he left for a time that part of the 
 country. " There being no school near us," says 
 Gilbert Burns, " and our little services being al- 
 ready useful on the farm, my father underook to 
 teach us arithmetic in the winter evenings by can- 
 dle-light — and in this way my two elder sisters 
 received all the education they ever received." 
 
 Gilbert tells an anecdote which must not be 
 omitted here, since it furnishes an early instance 
 of the liveliness of his brother's imagination. Mur- 
 doch, being on a visit to the family, read aloud 
 one evening part of the tragedy of Titus Androni- 
 cus — the circle listened with the deepest interest 
 until he came to Act 2, sc. 5, where Lavinia is in- 
 troduced " with her hands cut off, and her tongue 
 cut out." At this the children entreated, with 
 one voice, in an agony of distress, that their friend 
 would read no more. '' If ye will not hear the 
 play out," said William Burnes, " it need not be 
 
28 LIFE OF 
 
 left with you."—'' If it be left," cries Robert, 
 " I will burn it." His father was about to chide 
 him for this return to Murdoch's kindness. --but the 
 good young man interfered, saying he liked to 
 see so much sensibility, and left The School for 
 Love in place of his translucent tragedy. At this 
 time Robert was nine years of age. 
 
 " Nothing," continues Gilbert Burns, " could 
 be more retired than our general manner of living 
 at Mount Oliphant ; we rarely saw any body but 
 the members of our own family. There were no 
 boys of our own age, or near it, in the neighbor- 
 hood. Indeed the greatest part of the land in the 
 vicinity was at that time possessed by shopkeepers, 
 and people of that stamp, who had retired from 
 business, or who kept their farm in the country, 
 at the same time that they followed business in 
 town. My father was for some time almost the 
 only companion we had. He conversed familiar- 
 ly on all subjects with us, as if we had been men ; 
 and was at great pains, while we accompanied 
 him in the labors of the farm, to lead the conver- 
 sation to such subjects as might tend to increase 
 our knowledge, or confirm us in virtuous habits. 
 He borrowed Salmon's Geographical Grammar 
 for us, and endeavored to make us acquainted 
 with the situation and history of the different 
 countries in the world , while, from a book-soci- 
 ety in Ayr, he procured for us the reading of Z>er- 
 ham's Physico and Astro-Theology, and Ray^s 
 Wisdo??i of God in the Creation, to give us some 
 idea of astronomy and natural history. Robert 
 read all these books with an avidity and industry 
 scarcely to be equaled. My fatlier had been a 
 subscriber to Stackhovse's History of the Bible. 
 From this Robert collected a competent know- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 29 
 
 ledge of ancient history ; for Jio book was so volu- 
 minous as to slacken Ms industry, or so antiquated 
 as to damp his researches.''^ A collection of letters 
 by eminent English authors, is mentioned as hav- 
 ing fallen into Burns' hands much about the same 
 time, and greatly delighted him. 
 
 When Burns was about thirteen or fourteen 
 years old, his father sent him and Gilbert " week 
 about, during a summer quarter," to the parish 
 school of Dalrymple, two or three miles distant 
 from Mount Oliphant, for the improvement of 
 their penmanship. The good man could not pay 
 two fees ; or his two boys could not be spared at 
 the same time from the labor of the farm ! 
 
 " We lived very poorly," says the poet. " I 
 was a dexterous ploughman for my age ; and the 
 next eldest to me was a brother, (Gilbert,) who 
 could drive the plough very well, and help me to 
 thrash the corn. A novel writer might perhaps 
 have viewed these scenes with some satisfaction, 
 but so did not I. My indignation yet boils at the 
 recollection of the scoundrel factor's insolent let- 
 ters, which used to set us all in tears." 
 
 Gilbert Burns gives his brother's situation at 
 this period in greater detail — " To the buffetings 
 of misfortune," says he, " we could only oppose 
 hard labor and the most rigid economy. We 
 lived very sparingly. For several years butcher's 
 meat was a stranger in the house, while all the 
 members of the family exerted themselves to the 
 utmost of their strength and rather beyond it, in 
 the labors of the farm. My brother, at the age 
 of thirteen, assisted in thrashing the crop of corn, 
 and at fifteen was the principal laborer on the 
 farm, for we had no hired servant, male or female. 
 The anguish of mind we felt at our tender years, 
 
30 LIFE OF 
 
 under these straits and difficulties, was very greaj;. 
 To think of our father growing old, (for he v/as 
 now above fifty,) broken down with the long con- 
 tinued fatigues of his life, with a wife and five 
 other children, and in a declining state of circum- 
 stances, these reflections produced in my brother's 
 mind and mine sensations of the deepest distress. 
 I doubt not but the hard labor and sorrow of 
 this period of his life, was in a great measure the 
 cause of that depression of spirits with which 
 Robert was so often afflicted through his whole 
 life afterwards. At this time he was almost con- 
 stantly afflicted in the evenings with a dull head- 
 ache, which at a future period of his life, was ex- 
 changed for a palpitation of the heart, and a 
 threatening of fainting and suftbcation in his bed, 
 in the night-time." 
 
 The year after this, Burns was able to gain 
 three weeks of respite, one before, and two after 
 the harvest, from the labors which were thus strain, 
 ing his youthful strength. His tutor Murdoch 
 was now established in the town of Ayr, and 
 the boy spent one of these weeks in revising the 
 English grammar with him ; the other two were 
 given to French. He labored enthusiastically in 
 the new pursuit, and came home at the end of a 
 fortnight with a dictionary and a Telemaque, of 
 which he made such use at his leisure hours, by 
 himself, that in a short time (if we may believe 
 Gilbert) he was able to understand any ordinary 
 bookof French prose. His progress, whatever it 
 really amounted to, was looked on as something 
 of a prodigy ; and a writing-master in Ayr, a friend 
 of Murdoch, insisted that Robert Burns must next 
 attempt the rudiments of the Latin tongue. He 
 did so, but with little perseverance, we may be 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 31 
 
 sure, since the results were of no sort of value. 
 Burns' Latin consisted of a few scraps of hack- 
 neyed quotations, such as many that never looked 
 into Ruddiman's Rudiments can apply, on occa- 
 sion, quite as skillfully as he ever appears to have 
 done. The matter is one of no importance ; we 
 might perhaps safely dismiss it with parodying 
 what Ben Jonson said of Shakspeare ; he had 
 little French, and no Latin ; and yet it is proper to 
 mention, that he is found, years after he left Ayr- 
 shire, writing to Edinburgh in some anxiety about 
 a copy of Moliere. 
 
 He had read, however, and read well, ere his 
 sixteenth year elapsed, no contemptible amount of 
 the literature of his own country. In addition to 
 the books which have already been mentioned, he 
 tells us that, ere the family quitted Mount Oli- 
 phant, he had read " the Spectator, some plays of 
 Shakspeare, Pope, (the Homer included,) TuU 
 and Dickson on Agriculture, Locke on the Human 
 Understanding, Justice's British Gardener's Di- 
 rectory, Boyl's Lectures, Taylor's Scripture Doc. 
 trine of Original Sin, A Select Collection of Eng- 
 lish Songs, Harvey's Meditations,'^' (a book which 
 has ever been very popular among the Scottish 
 peasantry,) " and the works of Allan Ramsay ;" 
 and Gilbert adds to this list Pamela, (the first no- 
 vel either of the brothers read,) two stray volumes 
 of Peregrine Pickle, two of Count Fathom, and a 
 single volume of " some English historian," con- 
 taining the reigns of James L, and his son. The 
 " Collection of Songs," says Burns,* "was my vade 
 mecmn. I pored over them, driving my cart, or 
 walking to labor, song by song, verse by verse ; 
 
 ♦ Letter to Dr. Moore, 1787. 
 3 
 
32 LIFE OF 
 
 carefully noticing the true, tender, or sublime, 
 from affectation or fustian ; and I am convinced 
 I owe to this practice much of my critic -craft, such 
 as it is." 
 
 He derived, during this period, considerable 
 advantage from the vicinity of Mount Oliphant to 
 the town of Ayr — a place then, and still, distin- 
 guished by the residence of many respectable gen- 
 tlemen's families, and a consequent elegance of 
 society and manners, not common in remote pro- 
 vincial situations. To his friend, Mr. Murdoch, 
 he no doubt owed, in the first instance, whatever 
 attentions he received there from the people older 
 as well as higher than himself : some such persons 
 appear to have taken a pleasure in lending him 
 books, and surely no kindness could have been 
 more useful to him than this. As for his coevals, 
 he himself says, very justly, "It is not commonly 
 at that green age that our young gentry have a 
 just sense of the distance between them and their 
 ragged playfellows. My young superiors," he 
 proceeds, " never insulted the clouterly appearance 
 of my plough-boy carcass, the two extremes of 
 which were often exposed to all the inclemencies 
 of all the seasons. They would give me stray 
 volumes of books : among them, even then, I 
 could pick up some observation ; and one, whose 
 heart I am sure not even the Munny * Begum 
 scenes have tainted, helped me to a little French. 
 Parting with these, my young friends and bene- 
 factors, as they occasionally went off for the East 
 or West Indies, was often to me a sore affliction, 
 — but I was soon called to more serious evils." — 
 
 * The allusion here is to one of the sons of Dr. John Mal- 
 colm, afterwards highly distinguished in the service of the 
 East India Company. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 33 
 
 (Letter to Moore.) The condition of the family 
 during the last two years of their residence at 
 Mount Oliphant, when the struggle which ended 
 in their removal was rapidly approaching its cri- 
 sis, has been already described ; nor need we 
 dwell again on the untimely burden of sorrow, as 
 well as toil, which fell to the share of the youth- 
 ful poet, and which would have broken altogether 
 any mind wherein feehngs like his had existed, 
 without strength like his to control them. 
 
 The removal of the family to Lochlea, in the 
 parish of Tarbolton, took place when Burns was 
 in his sixteenth year. He had some time before 
 this made his first attempt in verse, and the oc- 
 casion is thus described by himself in his letter 
 to Moore. 
 
 " This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a 
 hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galley-slave, 
 brought me to my sixteenth year ; a little before 
 which period I first committed the sin of Rhyme. 
 You know our country custom of coupling a man 
 and woman together as partners in the labors of 
 harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partner was 
 a bewitching creature, a year youngerthan myself 
 My scarcity of English denies me the power of 
 doing her justice in that language ; but you know 
 the Scottish idiom — she was a bonie, sweet, son- 
 sie lass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to 
 herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, 
 which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse 
 prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be 
 the first of human joys, our dearest bles^tig here 
 below ! How she caught the contagion, I cannot 
 tell : you medical people talk much of infection 
 from breathing the same air, the touch, &c. ; but 
 J never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did 
 
34 LIFE OF 
 
 not know myself why I liked so much to loiter be- 
 hind with her, when returning in the evening from 
 our labors ; why the tones of her voice made my 
 heart-strings thrill like an JColian harp ; and par- 
 ticularly why my pulse beat such a furious ratan, 
 when I looked and fingered over her little hand to 
 pickoutthc cruel nettle-stings andthistles. Among 
 her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweet- 
 ly ; and it was her favorite reel, to which I at- 
 tempted giving an embodied vehicle in Rhyme. I 
 was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could 
 make verses like printed ones, composed by men 
 who had Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a 
 song, which was said to be composed by a small 
 country laird's son, on one of his father's maids, 
 with whom he was in love ; and I saw no reason 
 why I might not rhyme as well as he : for ex- 
 cepting that he could smear sheep, and cast peats, 
 his father living in the moorlands, he had no more 
 scholar-craft than myself. 
 
 " Thus with me began love and poetry; which at 
 times have been my only, and till within the last 
 twelve months, have been my highest enjoyment." 
 
 The earliest of the poet's productions is the lit- 
 tle ballad, 
 
 "O once I loved a bonnie lass, 
 
 Ay, and I iove her still, 
 And whilst that honor warms my breast, 
 
 I'll love my handsome Nell," &c. 
 
 Burns himself characterizes it as " a very pue- 
 rile and silly performance ;" yet it contains here 
 and there lines of which he need hardly have 
 been ashamed at any period of his life : 
 
 " She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 
 
 Baith decent and genteel, 
 And then there's something in her gait 
 
 Gars any dress look xoeeiy 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 35 
 
 " Silly and puerile as it is," said the poet, long 
 afterwards, " I am always pleased with this song, 
 as it recalls to my mind those happy days when 
 my heart was yet honest, and my tongue sincere. . . 
 I composed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion, and 
 to this hour I never recollect it but my heart 
 melts, my blood sallies, at the remembrance." 
 (MS. Memorandum book, August 1783.) 
 
 In his first epistle to Lapraik (1785) he says — 
 
 " Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
 I to the crambo-jingle fell, 
 
 Tho' rude and I'oug-h; 
 Yet crooning to a body^s sell 
 
 Does weel eneugh^ " 
 
 And in some nobler veres, entitled " On my 
 Early days," we have the following passage : 
 
 "I mind it weel in early date, 
 
 When I was beardless, young-, and blate 
 
 And first could thrash tlie barn, 
 Or haud a yokin' o' the pleug-h. 
 All' tho' Jbrjbughten sair eneugh^ 
 
 \et unco proud to learn — 
 Whenjirst amang the yellow corn 
 
 A man I reckoned vms, 
 An' wi' the lave ilk merry morn 
 
 Could rank my rig and lass — 
 Still shearing- and clearing- 
 
 The tither stookit raw, 
 Wi' claivers and haivers 
 
 W^earing- the day awa — 
 E'en then a wish, I mind its power 
 A wish that to my latest hour 
 
 Shall strongly heave my breast : 
 That I for poor auld Scotland's sake. 
 Some useful plan or book could make. 
 Or sing- a sang-, at least ; 
 The rough bur-thistle spreading wide 
 
 Amang the bearded bear, 
 Jturn'd the xcccder-clips aside, 
 
 And spared the symbol dear." 
 
3G LIFE OF 
 
 He is hardly to be envied who can contemplate 
 without ennotion, this exquisite picture of young 
 nature and young genius. It was amidst such, 
 scenes, that this extraordinary being felt those 
 first indefinite stirrings of immortal ambition, 
 which he has himself shadowed out under the 
 magnificent image of the blind gropings of Ho- 
 mer's Cyclops, around the walls of his cave." * 
 
 * Letter to Dr. Moore. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 37 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' O enviable early days, 
 
 When dancing" thoughtless pleasure's maze, 
 
 To care and g-uilt unknown! 
 How ill exchang-ed for riper times, 
 To feel the follies or the crimes 
 
 Of others — or my own !" 
 
 As has been alreadymentioned,WilliamBurnes 
 now quitted Mount Oliphant for Lochlea, in the 
 parish of Tarbolton, where, for some Uttle space, 
 fortune appeared to smile on his industry and 
 frugahty. Robert and Gilbert were employed by 
 their father as regular laborers — he allowing 
 them 11. of wages each per annum; from which 
 sum, however, the value of any home-made 
 clothes received by the youths was exactly de- 
 ducted. Robert Burns' person, inured to daily 
 toil, and continually exposed to every variety of 
 weather, presented, before the usual time, every 
 characteristic of robust and vigorous manhood. 
 He says himself, that he never feared a compe- 
 titor in any species of rural exertion ; and Gilbert 
 Burns, a man of uncommon bodily strength, adds, 
 that neither he, nor any laborer he ever saw at 
 work, was equal to the youthful poet, either in 
 the corn-field, or the severer tasks of the thrash- 
 ing-floor. Gilbert says, that Robert's literary zeal 
 slackened considerably after their removal to 
 
38 LIFE OF 
 
 Tarbolton. He was separated from his acquaint- 
 ances of the town of Ayr, and probably missed 
 not only the stimulus of their conversation, but 
 the kindness that had furnished him with his sup- 
 ply, such as it was, of books. But the main 
 source of his change of habits about this period, 
 was, it is confessed on all hands, the precocious 
 fervor of one of his own turbulent passions. 
 
 "In my seventeenth year," says Burns, "to give 
 my manners a brush, I went to a country dancing- 
 school. My father had an unaccountable antipa- 
 thy against these meetings ; and my going was, 
 what to this moment I repent, in opposition to his 
 wishes. My father was subject to strong pas- 
 sions ; from that instance of disobedience in me, 
 he took a sort of dislike to me, which I believe 
 was one cause of the dissipation which marked 
 my succeeding years.* I say dissipation, compa- 
 ratively with the strictness, and sobriety, and re- 
 gularity of Presbyterian country life ; for though 
 the Will-o'-Wisp meteors of thoughtless whim 
 were almost the sole lights of my path, yet early 
 
 * "I wonder," says Gilbert, "how Robert could attribute 
 to our father that lasting- resentment of his g'oing- to a danc- 
 ing-school ag-ainst his will, of which he was incapable. I be- 
 lieve the truth was, that aloout this time he began to see the 
 dangerous impetuosity of my brother's passions, as well as 
 his not being amenable to counsel, which often irritated my 
 father, and which he would naturally think a dancing-school 
 was not likely to correct. But he was proud of Robert's 
 genius, which he bestowed more expense on cultivating than 
 on the rest of the family — and he was equally delighted with 
 his warmth of heart, and conversational powers. He had 
 indeed that dislike of dancing-schools which Robert men- 
 tions ; but so far overcame it during Robert's first month of 
 attendance, that he permitted the rest of the family that 
 were fit for it, to accompany him during the second month. 
 Robert excelled in dancing, and was for some time distract- 
 edly fond of it." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 39 
 
 ingrained piety and virtue kept me for several 
 years afterwards within the line of innocence. 
 The great misfortune of my life was to want an 
 aim. I saw my father's situation entailed on me 
 perpetual labor. The only two openings by which 
 I could enter the temple of Fortune, were the gate 
 of niggardly economy, or the path of little chican- 
 ing bargain-making. The first is so contracted an 
 aperture, I could never squeeze myself into it ; — 
 the last I always hated — there was contamination 
 in the very entrance ! Thus abandoned of aim or 
 view in life, with a strong appetite for sociability, 
 as well from native hilarity, as from a pride of ob- 
 servation and remark; a constitutional melancholy 
 or hypochondriacism that made me fly solitude ; 
 add to these incentives to social life, my reputa- 
 tion for bookish knowledge, a certain wild logical 
 talent, and a strength of thought, something like 
 the rudiments of good sense ; and it will not seem 
 surprising that I was generally a welcome guest 
 where I visited, or any great wonder that, always 
 where two or three met together, there was I 
 among them. But far beyond all other impulses of 
 my heart, was un penchant pour Vadorable moiti6 
 du genre humain. My heart was completely tinder, 
 and was eternally lighted up by some goddess or 
 other ; and as in every other warfare in this world 
 my fortune was various, sometimes I was received 
 with favor, and sometimes I was mortified with 
 a repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, 
 I feared no competitor, and thus I set absolute 
 want at defiance ; and as I never cared farther for 
 my labors than while I was in actual exercise, I 
 spent the evenings in the way after my own heart. 
 A country lad seldom carries on a love adventure 
 
40 LIFE OF 
 
 without an assisting confidant. I possessed a cu- 
 riosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that recom- 
 mended me as a proper second on these occa- 
 sions, and I dare say, I felt as much pleasure in 
 being in the secret of half the lovers of the parish 
 of Tarbolton, as ever did statesman in knowing: 
 the intrigues of half the courts of Europe." 
 
 In regard to the same critical period of Burns^ 
 life, his excellent brother writes as follows : " The 
 seven years we lived in Tarbolton parish (extend- 
 ing from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth of 
 my brother's age) were not marked by much li- 
 terary improvement; but, during this time, the 
 foundation was laid of certain habits in my bro- 
 ther's character, which afterwards became but too 
 prominent, and which malice and envy have taken 
 delight to enlarge on. Though, when young, he 
 was bashful and awkward in his intercourse with 
 women, yet when he approached manhood, his 
 attachment to their society became very strong,^ 
 and he was constantly the victim of some fair en- 
 slaver. The symptoms of his passion were often 
 such as nearly to equal those of the celebrated 
 Sappho. I never indeed knew that he fainted^ 
 sunk, and died away : but the agitations of his 
 mind and body exceeded any thing of the kind I 
 ever knew in real life. He had always a particu- 
 lar jealousy of people who were richer than him- 
 self, or who had more consequence in life. His 
 love, therefore, rarely settled on persons of this 
 description. When he selected any one out of 
 the sovereignty of his good pleasure to whom he 
 should pay his particular attention, she was in- 
 stantly invested with a. sufficient stock of charms 
 out of the plentiful stores of his own imagination ; 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 41 
 
 and there was often a great dissimilitude between 
 his fair captivator, as she appeared to others, and 
 as she seemed when invested with the attributes 
 he gave her. One generally reigned paramount 
 in his affections ; but as Yorick's affections flowed 
 out toward Madame de L — at the remise door 
 while the eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, 
 so Robert was frequently encountering other at- 
 tractions, vv^hich formed so many under-plots in 
 the drama of his love." 
 
 Thus occupied with labor, love, and dancing, 
 the youth " without an aim," found leisure occa- 
 sionally to clothe the sufficiently various moods 
 of his mind in rhymes. It was as early as se- 
 venteen, (he tells us,"^) that he wrote some stan- 
 zas which begin beautifully : 
 
 "I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing- 
 
 Gaily in the sunny beam ; 
 Listening to the wild birds singing, 
 
 By a falling crystal stream. 
 Straiglit the sky grew black and daring, 
 
 Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave, 
 Trees with aged arms were warring, 
 
 O'er the swelling drumlie wave. 
 Such was life's deceitful morning," &c. 
 
 On comparing these verses with those on 
 " Handsome Nell," the advance achieved by the 
 young bard in the course of two short years, must 
 be regarded with admiration ; nor should a minor 
 circumstance be entirely overlooked, that in the 
 piece which we have just been quoting, their oc- 
 curs but one Scotch word. It was about this time, 
 also, that he wrote a ballad of much less ambitious 
 vein, which, years after, he says, he used to con 
 
 * Reliqucs, p. 242. 
 
42 LIFE OF 
 
 over with delight, because of the faithfulness 
 with which it recalled to him the circumstances 
 and feelings of his opening manhood. 
 
 — "My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, 
 And carefully he bred me up in decency and order. 
 He bade me act a manly part, tho' I had ne'er a farthing- ; 
 For without an honest, maiily heart, no man was worth re- 
 g-ardinsr. 
 
 Then out into the world my course I did determine ; 
 Tho' to he rich was not my wish, yet to be great was charm- 
 ing : 
 My talents they were not the worst, nor yet my education ; 
 Resolved was I at least to try to mend my situation. 
 
 No help, nor hope, nor view had I, nor person to befriend mc ; 
 So I must toil, and sweat, and broil, and labor to sustain me. 
 To ploug-h and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me 
 
 early ; 
 For one, he said, to labor bred, was a match for fortune 
 
 fairly. 
 
 Thus all obscure, unknown and poor, thro' life I'm doomed 
 
 to wander ; 
 Till down my weary bones I lay, in everlasting" slumber. 
 No view, nor care, but shun whate'er niig-ht breed r^e pain 
 
 or sorrow ; 
 I live to-day, as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow." &cv 
 
 These are the only two of his very early pro» 
 ductions in which we have nothing expressly 
 about love. The rest were composed to cdebrate- 
 the charms of those rural beauties who followed 
 each other in the dominion of his fancy — or shar- 
 ed the capacious throne between them ; and we 
 may easily believe, that one who posses.'^ed, with 
 his other qualifications, such powers of flattering, 
 feared competitors as little in the diversions of 
 his evenings as in the toils of his day. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 43 
 
 The rural lover, in those districts, pursues his 
 tender vocation in a style, the especial fascination 
 of which town-bred swains may find it somewhat 
 difficult to comprehend. After the labors of the 
 day are over, nay, very often after he is supposed 
 by the inmates of his own fireside to be in his bed, 
 the happy youth thinks little of walking many long 
 Scotch miles to the residence of his mistress, 
 who, upon the signal of a tap at her window, 
 comes forth to spend a soft hour or two beneath 
 the harvest moon, or, if the weather be severe, 
 (a circumstance which never prevents the journey 
 from being accomplished,) amidst the sheaves of 
 her father's barn. This " chappin' out," as they 
 call it, is a custom of which parents commonly 
 wink at, if they do not openly approve, the ob- 
 servance ; and the consequences are far, very far, 
 more frequently quite harmless, than persons not 
 familiar with the peculiar manners and feelings 
 of our peasantry may find it easy to believe. 
 Excursions of this class form the theme of almost 
 all the songs which Burns is known to have pro- 
 duced about this period, — and such of these ju- 
 venile performances as have been preserved, are, 
 without exception, beautiful. They show how 
 powerfully his boyish fancy had been affected by 
 the old rural minstrelsy of his own country, and 
 how easily his native taste caught the secret of 
 its charm. The truth and simplicity of nature 
 breathe in every line — the images are always 
 just, often originally happy — and the growing re- 
 finement of his ear and judgment, may be traced 
 in the terser language and more mellow flow of 
 each successive ballad. 
 
 The best of the songs written at this time is 
 that beginning, — 
 
 4 
 
44 LIFE or 
 
 " It was upon a Lammas night, 
 
 When corn rigs are boiinie, 
 Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 
 
 I held awa to Annie. 
 The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 
 
 Till, 'tween the late and early, 
 Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 
 
 To see me thro' the barley," &c* 
 
 We may let the poet carry on his own story, 
 " A circumstance," says he,* " which made some 
 alteration on my mind and manners, was, that I 
 spent my nineteenth summer on a smuggling 
 coast, a good distance from home, at a noted 
 school,"]" to learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, 
 &c., in which I made a good progress. But I 
 made a greater progress in the knowledge of man- 
 kind. The contraband trade was at that time 
 very successful, and it sometimes happened to me 
 to fall in with those who carried it on. Scenes 
 of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation were 
 till this time new to me ; but I was no enemy to 
 social life. Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, 
 and to mix without fear in a drunken squabble, 
 yet I went on with a high hand with my geometry, 
 till the sun entered Virgo, a month which is al- 
 ways a carnival in my bosom, when a charming 
 Jilette, who lived next door to the school, overset 
 my trigonometry, and set, me off at a tangent 
 from the sphere of my studies. I, however, strug- 
 gled on with my sines and co-sines for a few days 
 more ; but stepping into the garden one charming 
 noon to take the sun's altitude, there I met my 
 angel, like 
 
 * Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
 Herself a fairer flower.' 
 
 * Letter to Dr. Moore. 
 
 t This was the school of Kirkoswald's. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 45 
 
 " It was in vain to think of doing any more 
 good at school. The remaining week I staid, I 
 did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about 
 her, or steal out to meet her ; and the last two 
 nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been a 
 mortal sin, the image of this modest and innocent 
 girl had kept me guiltless. 
 
 " I returned home very considerably improved. 
 My reading was enlarged with the very important 
 addition of Thomson's and Shenstone's Works ; 
 I had seen human nature in a new phasis ; and 1 
 engaged several of my school-fellows to keep up a 
 literary correspondence with me. This improved 
 me in composition. I had met with a collection of 
 letters by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, and I 
 pored over them most devoutly ; I kept copies of 
 any of my own letters that pleased me ; and a 
 comparison between them and the composition of 
 most of my correspondents flattered my vanity. 
 I carried this whim so far, that though I had not 
 three farthings worth of business in the world, yet 
 almost every post brought me as many letters as 
 if I had been a broad plodding son of day-book 
 and ledger. 
 
 "My life flowed on much in the same course 
 till my twenty-third year. Vive Vamour, et vive la 
 bagatelle^ were my sole principles of action. The 
 addition of two more authors to my library gave 
 me great pleasure ; Sterne and McKenzie — Tris- 
 tram Shandy and The Man of Feeling — were my 
 bosom favorites. Poesy was still a darling walk 
 for my mind ; but it was only indulged in accord- 
 ing to the humor of the hour. I had usually half 
 a dozen or more pieces on hand ; I took up one 
 or other, as it suited the momentary tone of the 
 
46 LIFE OF 
 
 mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered on 
 fetigue. My passions, once lighted up, raged like 
 so many devils, till they found vent in rhyme ; and 
 then the conning over my verses, like a spell, 
 soothed all into quiet." 
 
 Of the rhymes of those days, fevi', when he 
 wrote his letter to Moore, had appeared in print. 
 Winter J a dirge, an admirably versified piece, is of 
 their number ; the Death of Poor Mailie, Maine's 
 Elegy, and John Barleycorn ; and one charming 
 song, inspired by the Nymph of Kirkoswald's, 
 whose attractions put an end to his trigonometry. 
 
 " Now westlin winds, and slaug-htering- guns, 
 
 Bring- Autumn's pleasant weather ; 
 The moorcock sprmgs, on whirring wings, 
 
 Amang the blooming heather. . . . 
 — Peggy dear, the evening's clear, 
 
 Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
 The sky is blue, the fields in view. 
 
 All fading green and yellow ; 
 Come let us stray our gladsome way," &c. 
 
 John Barleycorn is a clever old ballad, very 
 cleverly new-modeled and extended ; but the 
 Death and Elegy of Poor Mailie deserves more 
 attention. The expiring animal's admonitions 
 touching the education of the " poor toop lamb, 
 her son and heir," and the "yowie, silly thing," 
 her daughter, are from the same peculiar vein of 
 sly homely wit, imbedded upon fancy, which he 
 afterwards dug with a bolder hand in the Ttca 
 Dogs, and perhaps to its utmost depth, in his 
 Death and Dr. Hornbook. It need scarcely be 
 added, that poor Mailie was a real personage, 
 though she did not actually die until some time 
 after her last words were written. She had been 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 47 
 
 purchased by Burns in a frolic, and became ex- 
 ceedingly attached to his person. 
 
 " Thro' all the town she trotted by him ; 
 A lang" half-mile she could descry him; 
 VVi' kindly bleat, when she did spy hiin, 
 
 She ran wi' speed : 
 A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him, 
 
 Than Mailie dead." 
 
 These Httle pieces are in a much broader dialect 
 tlian any of their predecessors. His merriment 
 and satire were, from the beginning, Scotch. 
 
 Notwithstanding the luxurious tone of some of 
 Burns' pieces produced in those times, we are as- 
 sured by himself (and his brother unhesitatingly 
 confirms the statement) that no positive vice min- 
 gled in any of his loves, until after he had reached 
 his twenty-third year. He has already told us, that 
 his short residence "away from home," at Kirk- 
 oswald's, where he mixed in the society of sea- 
 faring men and smugglers, produced an unfavor- 
 able alteration on some of his habits ; but in 1781- 
 2 he spent six months at Irvine ; and it is from 
 this period that his brother dates a serious change. 
 
 " As his numerous connexions," says Gilbert, 
 '• v/ere governed by the strictest rules of virtue 
 and modesty, (from which he never deviated till his 
 twenty-third year,) he became anxious to be in a 
 situation to marry. This was not likely to be the 
 case while he remained a farmer, as the stocking 
 of a farm required a sum of money he saw no 
 probability of being master of for a great while. 
 He and I had for several years taken land of our 
 father, for the purpose of raising llax on our own 
 account ; and in the course of selling it, Robert 
 began to tjiink of turning flax-drcsser, both as be- 
 
 4* 
 
48 LIFE OF 
 
 ing suitable to his grand view of settling in life? 
 and as subservient to the flax-raising."* Burns, 
 accordingly,went to a half-brother of his mother's, 
 by name Peacock, a flax-dresser in Irvine, with the 
 view of learning this new trade, and for some time 
 he applied himself diligently ; but misfortune after 
 misfortune attended him. The shop accidentally 
 caught fire during the carousal of a new-year's- 
 day's morning, and Robert " was left, like a true 
 poet, not worth a sixpence." — " I was obliged," 
 says he, " to give up this scheme ; the clouds of 
 misfortune were gathering thick round my father's 
 head ; and what was worst of all, he was visibly 
 far gone in a consumption ; and, to crown my dis- 
 tress, a helle Jille whom I adored, and who had 
 pledged her soul to meet me in the field of matri- 
 mony, jilted me, with peculiar circumstances of 
 mortification.f The finishing evil that brought 
 up the rear of this infernal file, was, my consti- 
 
 * David Sillar assured Mr. Robert Chambers that this no- 
 tion orig-inated with William Burnes, who thoug-ht of becom- 
 ing- entirely a lint-farmer ; and, by way of keeping- as much 
 of the profits as he could within his family, of making his 
 eldest son a flax-drcsser. 
 
 t Some letters referring- to this affair are omitted in the 
 " General Correspondence" of Gilbert's edition ; for what 
 reason I know not. They are surely as well worth preserv- 
 ing- as many in the Collection, particularly when their early 
 date is considered. The first of them begins thus : — " I ve- 
 rily believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feelings of 
 love are as rai-e in the world as the pure genuine principles 
 of virtue and piety. This, I hope, will account for the un- 
 common 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 
 Jiis 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 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 49 
 
 tutional melancholy being increased to such a de" 
 gree, that for three months I was in a state of mind 
 scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches 
 who have got their mittimus — Depart from me ye 
 cw'sed." The following letter, addressed by Burns 
 to his father, three days before the unfortunate 
 fire took place, will show abundantly that the 
 gloom of his spirits had little need of that aggra- 
 vation. When we consider by whom, to whom, 
 and under what circumstances, it was written, the 
 letter is every way a remarkable one : 
 
 so much talked of among' lovers. I have often thoug^ht, 
 that if a well-grounded affection be not really a part of vir- 
 tue, 'tis something extremely akin to it. Wlienever the 
 thought of my E. warms my heart, every feeling of huma- 
 nity, every principle of generosity, kindles in my breast. It 
 extinguishes every dirty spark of malice and envy, which 
 are but too apt to invest me. I grasp every creature in the 
 arms of universal benevolence, and equally participate in 
 the pleasures of the happy, and sympatliize with the mise- 
 ries of the unfortunate. 1 assure you, my dear, I often look 
 up to the divine Disposer of events, with an eye of gratitude 
 for tlie blessing wliich I hope he intends to bestow on me, in 
 bestowing you." 
 
 What follows is from Burns' letter, in answer to that in 
 which the young woman intimated her final rejection of his 
 vows. — " 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 to 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 never can taste." In such excellent English 
 did Burns woo his country maidens in at most Iiis twentieth 
 year. 
 
50 LIFE OF 
 
 " Honored 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 past wants, nor look forward into futu- 
 rity ; 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 alightened, I glimmer 
 a little into futurity; but my principal, and indeed 
 my only pleasurable employment, is looking back- 
 wards 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 disqui- 
 etudes of this weary life ; for T assure you I am 
 heartily tired of it ; and, if I do not very much 
 deceive myself, I could contentedly and gladly 
 resign it. 
 
 ' The BDul, uneasy, and courniedat home, 
 Rests and expatiates in a life to come.' 
 
 " It is for this reason I am more pleased with 
 the I5th, 16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chapter 
 of Revelation, than with any ten times as many 
 verses in the whole Bible, and would not exchange 
 the noble enthusiasm v/ith which they inspire me 
 for all that this world has to olfer.* As for this 
 
 * The verses of Scripture here alluded to, [are as follows: 
 " 15. Therefore arc they before the throne of God, and 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 51 
 
 world, I despair of ever making a figure in it. I 
 am not formed for the bustle of the busy, nor the 
 ilutter of the gay. I shall never again be capable 
 of entering into such scenes. Indeed, I am altoge- 
 ther unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I 
 foresee that poverty and obscurity probably await 
 me, and I am in some measure prepared, and daily 
 preparing, to meet them. I have but just time and 
 paper to return you my grateful thanks for the 
 lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, 
 which were too much neglected at the time of 
 giving^them, but which I hope have been remem- 
 bered ere it is yet too late. Present my dutiful re- 
 spects to my mother, and my compliments to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Muir ; and, with wishing you a merry 
 New-year's-day, I shall conclude. 
 " I am, honored Sir, your dutiful son, 
 
 " Robert Burns," 
 
 " P. S. — My meal is nearly out ; but I am go- 
 ing to borrow, till I get more." 
 
 " This letter," says Dr. Currie, " written seve- 
 ral years before the publication of his Poems, when 
 his name was as obscure as his condition was 
 humble,displaysthe philosophic melancholy which 
 so generally forms the poetical temperament, and 
 that buoyant and ambitious spirit which indicates 
 
 serve him day and nig-ht in his temple ; and he that sitteth 
 on tlie throne shall dwell among- them. 
 
 •' 16. They shall hung-er no more, neither thirst any more ; 
 neither shall the sun li.frhton them, nor any heat. 
 
 " 17. For the Lamb that is in the midst of the throne shall 
 feed theiti, and shall lead them rmto livin/>- fountains of wa- 
 ters ; and Goc] shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." 
 
52 LIFE OF 
 
 a mind conscious of its strength. At Irvine, Burns 
 at this time possessed a single room for his lodg- 
 ings, rented, perhaps, at the rate of a shiUing a 
 week. He passed his days in constant labor as a 
 flax-dresser, and his food consisted chiefly of oat- 
 meal, sent to him from his father's family. The 
 store of this humble, though wholesome nutri- 
 ment, it appears, was nearly exhausted, and he 
 was about to borrow till he should obtain a supply. 
 Yet even in this situation, his active imagination 
 had formed to itself pictures of eminence and dis- 
 tinction. His despair of making a figure in the 
 world, shows how ardently he wished for honor- 
 able fame ; and his contempt of life, founded on 
 this despair, is the genuine expression of a youth- 
 ful and generous mind. In such a state of reflec- 
 tion, and of suffering, the imagination of Burns 
 naturally passed the dark boundaries of our 
 earthly horizon, and rested on those beautiful re- 
 presentations of a better world, where there is 
 neither thirst, nor hunger, nor sorrow, and where 
 happiness shall be in proportion to the capacity 
 of happiness," — Life^ p. 102. 
 
 Unhappily for himself and for the world, it was 
 not always in the recollections of his virtuous 
 home and the study of his Bible, that Burns sought 
 for consolation amidst the heavy distresses which 
 "his youth was heir to." Irvine is a small sea-port : 
 and here, as atKirkoswald's, the adventurous spi- 
 rits of a smuggling coast, with all their jovial ha- 
 bits, were to be met with in abundance. "He con- 
 tracted some acquaintance," says Gilbert, " of a 
 freer manner of thinking and living than he had 
 been used to, whose society prepared him for 
 overleaping the bounds of rigid virtue, which had 
 hitherto restrained him." 
 
 I owe to Mr. Robert Chambers, (author of Tra- 
 
ROBERT BURNS* 53 
 
 dilions of Edinburgh) the following note of a 
 conversation which he had, in June 1826, with a 
 respectable old citizen of this town : " Burns was, 
 at the time of his residence among us, an older 
 looking man than might have been expected from 
 his age — very darkly complexioned, with a strong 
 dark eye — of a thoughtful appearance, amounting 
 to what might be called a gloomy attentiveness ; 
 so much so, that when in company which did not 
 call forth his brilliant powers of conversation, he 
 might often be seen, for a considerable space toge- 
 ther, leaning down on his palm, with his elbow 
 resting on his knee. He was in common silent 
 and reserved ; but when he found a man to his 
 mind, he constantly made a point of attaching 
 himself to his company, and endeavoring to bring 
 out his powers. It was among women alone that 
 he uniformly exerted himself, and uniformly shone. 
 People remarked even then, that when Robert 
 Burns did speak, he always spoke to the point, 
 and in general with a sententious brevity. His 
 moody thoughtfulness, and laconic style of expres- 
 sion, were both inherited from his father, who, 
 for his station in life, was a very singular person." 
 One of the most intimate companions of Burns, 
 while he remained at Irvine, seems to have been 
 that David Sillar, to whom the Epistle to Davie, 
 a Brother Poet, was subsequently addressed. 
 Sillar was at this time a poor schoolmaster in Ir- 
 vine, enjoying considerable reputation as a writer 
 of local verses : and, according to all accounts, 
 extremely jovial in his life and conversation «* 
 
 * If this person had some share in leading Burns int^ 
 convivial dissipations, it is proper to observe, that his own 
 conduct in after life made abundant atonemsnt for that, 
 and all his ether early irreg'ularitics. Mr. Sillar became iu 
 
54 LIFE OF 
 
 Burns himself thus sums up the resuUs of his 
 residence at Irvine : " From this adventure I 
 learned something of a town life : but the princi- 
 pal thing which give my mind a turn, was a friend- 
 ship I formed with a young fellow, a very noble 
 character, but a hapless son of misfortune. He 
 was the son of a simple mechanic ; but a great 
 man in the neighborhood, taking him under his 
 patronage, gave him a genteel education, with a 
 view of bettering his situation in life. The patron 
 dying just as he was ready to lanch out into the 
 world, the poor fellow in despair went to sea ; 
 where, after a variety of good and ill fortune, a 
 little before I was acquainted with him, he had 
 been set ashore by an American privateer, on the 
 wild coast of Connaught, stripped of every thing. 
 
 His mind was fraught with indepen- 
 
 dence, magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I 
 loved and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, 
 and of course strove to imitate him. In some mea- 
 sure I succeeded ; I had pride before, but he 
 taught it to flow in proper channels. His know- 
 ledge of the world was vastly superior to mine ; 
 and I was all attention to learn. He was the only 
 man I ever saw who was a greater fool than my- 
 self, where woman was the presiding star ; but he 
 spoke of illicit love with the levity of a sailor — 
 which hitherto I had regarded with honor. Here 
 
 the sequel much more remarkable for strict habits of abste- 
 miousness, than his unfortunate friend ever in reality was 
 for the reverse ; and worldly prosperity having" attended his 
 industry in a very uncommon degree, he survived till lately 
 (if he ooes not still survive) one of the most respectable, as 
 well as wealthy, inhabitants of his native town. He pub- 
 lished a volume of poems, in some of which considerable 
 ingenuity is displayed ; and often filled with much credit 
 the situation of a boroug-h magistrate. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 55 
 
 his friendship did me a mischief.''^ Professor 
 Walker, when preparing to write his Sketch of the 
 Poet's life, was informed by an aged inhabitant of 
 Irvine, that Burns' chief delight while there was 
 in discussing religious topics, particularly in those 
 circles which usually gather in a Scotch church- 
 yard afler service. The senior added, that Burns 
 commonly took the high Calvinistic side in such 
 debates ; and concluded with a boast, that " the 
 lad" was indebted to himself in a great measure 
 for the gradual adoption of " more liberal opi- 
 nions." It was during the same period, that tiie 
 poet was first initiated in the mysteries of free 
 masonry, " which was," says his brother, " his 
 first introduction to the life of a boon companion." 
 He was introduced to St. Mary's Lodge of Tar- 
 bolton by John Ranken, a very dissipated man of 
 considerable talents, to whom he afterwards in- 
 dited a poetical epistle, which will be noticed in 
 its place. 
 
 " Rhyme," Burns says, " I had given up;" (on 
 going to Irvine ;) " but meeting with Ferguson's 
 Scottish Poems, I strung anew my wildly sounding 
 lyre with emulating vigor." Neither llax-dress- 
 ing nor the tavern could keep him long from his 
 proper vocation. But it was probably this acciden- 
 tal meeting with Ferguson, that in a great measure 
 finally determined the *Sco«i5/t character of Burns' 
 poetry ; and indeed, but for the lasting sense of 
 this obligation, and some natural sympathy with 
 the personal misfortunes of Ferguson's life, it 
 would be difficult to account for the very high 
 terms in which Burns always mentions his pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 Shortly before Burns went to Irvine, he, his 
 brother Gilbert, and some seven or eight young 
 5 
 
56 LIFE OF 
 
 men besides, all of the parish of Tarbolton, had 
 formed themselves into a society, which they call- 
 ed the Bachelors' Club ; and which met one even- 
 ing in every month for the purposes of mutual en- 
 tertainment and improvement. That their cups 
 were but modestly filled is evident ; for the rules 
 of the club did not permit any member to spend 
 more than threepence at a sitting. A question 
 was announced for discussion at the close of each 
 meeting ; and at the next they came prepared to 
 deliver their sentiments upon the subject-matter 
 thus proposed. Burns drew up the regulations, 
 and evidently was the principal person. He in- 
 troduced his friend Sillar during his stay at Irvine, 
 and the meetings appear to have continued as 
 long as the family remained in Tarbolton. Of 
 the sort of questions discussed, we may form some 
 notion from the minute of one evening, still extant 
 in Burns' handwriting. — Question for Hallow- 
 e'en, (Nov. 11,) 1780. — " Suppose a young man, 
 bred a farmer, but without any fortune, has it in 
 his power to marry either of two women, the one a 
 girl of large fortune, but neither handsome in per- 
 son, nor agreeable in conversation, but who can 
 manage the household affairs of a farm well 
 enough ; the oilier of them a girl every way agree- 
 able in person, conversation, and behavior, but with- 
 out any fortune : which of them shall he choose ?" 
 Burns, as may be guessed, took the imprudent 
 side in this discussion. 
 
 " On one solitary occasion," says he, " we re- 
 solved to meet at Tarbolton in July, on the race- 
 night, and have a dance in honor of our society. 
 Accordingly, we did meet, each one with apartner, 
 and spent the evening in such innocence and mer- 
 riment, such cheerfulness and good humor, that 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 57 
 
 every brother will long remember it with delight." 
 There can be no doubt that Burns would not have 
 patronized this sober association so long, unless he 
 had experienced at its assemblies the pleasure of 
 a stimulated mind ; and as little, that to the habit 
 of arranging his thoughts, and expressing them 
 in somewhat of a formal shape, thus early culti- 
 vated, we ought to attribute much of that conver- 
 sational skill which, when he first mingled with 
 the upper world, was generally considered as the 
 most remarkable of all his personal accomplish- 
 ments. Burns' associates of the Bachelors' Club, 
 must have been young men possessed of talents 
 and acquirements, otherwise such minds as his 
 and Gilbert's could not have persisted in measur- 
 ing themselves against theirs ; and we may be- 
 lieve that the periodical display of the poet's own 
 vigor and resources, at these club-meetings, and 
 (more frequently than his brother approved) at 
 the Free Mason Lodges of Irvine and Tarbolton, 
 extended his rural reputation ; and, by degrees, 
 prepared persons not immediately included in his 
 own circle, for the extraordinary impression which 
 his poetical efforts were ere long to create all 
 over " the Carrick border." 
 
 Mr. David Sillar gives an account of the begin- 
 ning of his own acquaintance with Burns, and in- 
 troduction into this Bachelors' Club, which will 
 always be read with much interest : " Mr. Robert 
 Burns was some time in the parish of Tarbolton 
 prior lo my acquaintance with him. His social 
 disposition easily procured him acquaintance ; but 
 a certain satirical seasoning with which he and all 
 poetical geniuses are in some degree influenced, 
 while it set the rustic circle in a roar, was not un- 
 accompanied with its kindred attendant, suspicious 
 
58 LIFE OF 
 
 fear. I recollect hearing his neighbors observe, 
 he had a great deal to say for himself, and that 
 they suspected his principles. He wore the only 
 tied hair in the parish : and in the church, his 
 plaid, which was of a particular color, I think 
 fiUemot, he wrapped in a particular manner round 
 his shoulders. These surmises, and his exterior, 
 had such a magnetical influence on my curiosity, 
 as made me particularly solicitous of his acquaint- 
 ance. Whether my acquaintance with Gilbert 
 was casual or premeditated, I am not now certain. 
 By him I was introduced, not only to his brother, 
 but to the whole of that family, where in a short 
 time, I became a frequent, and I believe, not un- 
 welcome visitant. After the commencement of 
 my acquaintance with the bard, we frequently met 
 upon Sundays at church, when, between sermons, 
 instead of going with our friends or lasses to the 
 inn, we often took a walk in the fields. In these 
 walks, I have frequently been struck with bis faci- 
 lity in addressing the fair sex ; and many times, 
 when I have been bashfully anxious how to ex- 
 press myself, he would have entered into conver- 
 sation with them with the greatest ease and free- 
 dom ; and it was generally a death-blow to our 
 conversation, however agreeable, to meet a female 
 acquaintance. Some of the few opportunities of 
 a noontide walk that a country life allows her la- 
 borious sons, he spent on the banks of the river, 
 or in the woods, in the neighborhood of Stair, a 
 situation peculiarly adapted to the genius of a ru- 
 ral bard. Some book (generally one of those 
 mentioned in his letter to Mr. Murdoch) he always 
 carried and read, when not otherwise employed. 
 It was hkewise his custom to read at table. In 
 one of my visits to Lochlea, in time of a sowea 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 59 
 
 r^cpper, he was so intent on reading, I think Tris- 
 tram Shandy, that his spoon falling out of his hand, 
 made him exclaim, in a tone scarcely imitable, 
 *Alas, poor Yorick !' Such was Burns, and such 
 were his associates, when, in May, 1781, I was 
 admitted a member of the Bachelors' Club." — 
 Letter to Mr. Aiken of Ayr, in Morrison^s Burns, 
 vol. ii. pp. 257-260. 
 
 The misfortunes of William Buraes thickened 
 apace, as has already been seen, and were ap- 
 proaching their crisis at the time when Robert 
 came home from his flax-dressing experiment at 
 Irvine. The good old man died soon after ; and 
 among other evils which he thus escaped, was an 
 affliction that would, in his eyes, have been severe. 
 The poet had not, as he confesses, come unscath- 
 ed out of the society of those persons of " liberal 
 opinions" with whom he consorted in Irvine ; and 
 he expressly attributes to their lessons, the scrape 
 into which he fell soon after " he put his hand to 
 plough again." He was compelled, according to 
 the then all but universal custom of rural parishes 
 in Scotland, to do penance in church, before the 
 congregation, in consequence of the birth of an 
 illegitimate child ; and whatever may be thought 
 of the propriety of such exhibitions, there can be 
 no difference of opinion as to the culpable levity 
 with which he describes the nature of his offence, 
 and the still more reprehensible bitterness with 
 which, in his Epistle to Ranken,* he inveighs 
 
 * There is much humor in some of the verses; £13, 
 " 'Twas ae nig-ht lately, in my fun, 
 I gaed a roving- wi' my gun, 
 An' brought a paitrick to the grun', 
 
 A bonnie hen, 
 And, as the twaliglit was begun. 
 
 Thought nanc wad ken," &c. 
 5* 
 
60 LIFE OF 
 
 against the clergyman, who, in rebuking him, only 
 performed what was then a regular part of the 
 clerical duty, and a part of it that could never 
 have been at all agreeable to the worthy man 
 whom he satirizes under the appellation of " Dad- 
 die Auld." The Poefs Welcome to an Illegitimate 
 Child was composed on the same occasion — a 
 piece in which some very manly feelings are ex- 
 pressed, along with others which it can give no 
 one pleasure to contemplate. There is a song in 
 honor of the same occasion, or a similar one 
 about the same period. The rantiii' Dog the Dad- 
 die oH^ — which exhibits the poet as glorying, and 
 only glorying in his shame. 
 
 When I consider his tender affection for the 
 surviving members of his own family, and the re- 
 verence with which he ever regarded the memo- 
 ry of the father whom he had so recently buried, 
 I cannot believe that Burns has thought fit to re- 
 cord in verse all the feelings which this exposure 
 excited in his bosom. " To waive (in his own lan- 
 guage) the quantum of the sin," he who, two years 
 afterwards, wrote the Coilar^s Saturday Night, had 
 not, we may be sure, hardened his heart to the 
 thought of bringing additional sorrow and unex- 
 pected shame to the fireside of a widowed mother. 
 But his false pride recoiled from letting his jovial 
 associates guess how little he was able to drown 
 the whispers of the still small voice ; and the fer- 
 menting bitterness of a mind ill at ease within it- 
 self, escaped (as may be too often traced in the 
 history of satirists) in the shape of angry sarcasms 
 against others, who, whatever their private errors 
 might be, had at least done him no wrong. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 61 
 
 It is impossible not to smile at one item of con- 
 solation which Burns 'proposes to himself on this 
 occasion : 
 
 " The mair they talk, Pm kend the better; 
 E'en let them clash! 
 
 This is indeed a singular manifestation of " the 
 last infirmity of noble minds," 
 
62 LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " The star thai rules niy luckless lot 
 Has fated me the russet coat, 
 And damn'd my fortune to the groat: 
 
 But in requit, 
 Has bless' d me wi' a random siiot 
 O' country wit." 
 
 Three months before the death of William 
 Burnes, Robert and Gilbert took the farm of Moss- 
 giel,* in the neighboring parish of MauchHne, 
 with the view of providing a shelter for their pa- 
 rents in the storm, which they had seen gradually 
 thickening, and knew must soon burst ; and to this 
 place the whole family removed on William's 
 death. " It was stocked by the property and in- 
 dividual savings ofthe whole family, (says Gilbert,) 
 and was a joint concern among us. Every mem- 
 ber of the family was allowed ordinary wages for 
 the labor he performed on the farm. My bro- 
 ther's allowance and mine was £7 per annum 
 each. And during the whole time this family con- 
 cern lasted, which was four years, as well as du- 
 ring the preceding period at Lochlea, Robert's 
 expenses never, in any one year, exceeded his 
 slender income." 
 
 " I entered on this farm," says the poet, f " with 
 a full resolution, come, go, I will he wise. I read 
 farming books, I calculated crops, I attended mar- 
 
 * The farm consisted of 119 acres, and the rent was 90/. 
 t Letter to Dr. Moore. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 63 
 
 kets ; and, in short in spite of the devil, and the 
 world, and the flesh, I believe I should have been 
 a wise man ; but the first year, from unfortunately 
 buying bad seed, the second, from a late harvest, 
 we lost half our crops. This overset all my wis- 
 dom, and I returned, like the dog to his vomit, and the 
 sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire.^^ 
 "At the time that our poet took the resolution 
 of becoming tvise, he procured," says Gilbert, *'a 
 little book of blank paper, with the purpose, ex- 
 pressed on the first page, of making farming me- 
 morandums. These farming memorandums are 
 curious enough," Gilbert slyly adds, " and a spe- 
 cimen may gratify the reader." — specimens accor- 
 dingly he gives ; as, 
 
 " O why the deuce should I repine, 
 
 And be an ill foreboder 7 
 I'm twenty-three, and five-foot nine, — 
 
 I'll g-o and be a sodger," &c. 
 
 " O leave novells, ye Mauchline belles, 
 Ye're safer at your spinning- wheel ; 
 Such witching books are baited hooks 
 For rakish rooks — like Rob Mossg-iel. 
 Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 
 They make your youthful fancies reel, 
 They heat your veins, and fire your brains, 
 And then ye're prey for Rob Mossgiel," &.c. &c. 
 
 The four years during which Burns resided on 
 this cold and ungrateful farm of Mossgiel, were 
 the most important of his life. It was then that 
 his genius developed its highest energies ; on the 
 works produced in these years his fame was first 
 established, and must evercontinue mainly to rest ; 
 it was then also that his personal character came 
 out in all its brightest lights, and in all but its 
 darkest shadows ; and indeed from the commence- 
 
64 LIFE OF 
 
 merit of this period, the history of the man may 
 be traced, step by ste^', ia his own immortal wri- 
 tings. 
 
 Burns now beg.n to know that nature had 
 meant him for a poet; and dihgently, though as 
 yet in secret, he labored in what he felt to be his 
 destined vocation. Gilbert continued for some 
 time to be his chief, often indeed his only confi- 
 dant ; and any thing more interesting and delight- 
 ful than this excellent man's account of the man- 
 ner in which the poems included in the first of his 
 brother's publications were composed, is certainly 
 not to be found in the annals of literary history. 
 
 The reader has already seen, that long before 
 the earliest of them was known beyond the domes- 
 tic circle, the strength of Burns' understanding, 
 and the keenness of his wh, as displayed in his or- 
 dinary conversation, and more particularly at ma- 
 sonic meetings and debating clubs, (of which he 
 formed one in Mauchline, on the Tarbolton model, 
 immediately on his removal to Mossgiel,) had 
 made his name known to some considerable extent 
 in the country about Tarbolton, Mauchline, and 
 Irvine : and this prepared the way for his poetry. 
 Professor Walker gives an anecdote on this head, 
 which must not be omitted. Burns already num- 
 bered several clergymen among his acquaintances: 
 indeed, we know from himself, that at this period 
 he was not a little flattered, and justly so, no 
 question, with being permitted to mingle occasion, 
 ally in their society.* One of these gentlemen 
 told the Professor, that after entering on the cleri- 
 cal profession, he had repeatedly met Burns in 
 company, " where," said he, " the acuteness and 
 
 * Letter to Dr. Moore, sub initio. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 65 
 
 originality displayed by him, the depth of his dis- 
 cernment, the force of his expressions, and the au- 
 thoritative energy of his understanding, had 
 created a sense of his power, of the extent of which 
 I was unconscious, till it was revealed to me by 
 accident. On the occasion of my second appear- 
 ance in the pulpii, I came with an assured and tran- 
 quil mind, and though a few persons of education 
 were present, advanced some length in the service 
 with my confidence andself-possessionunimpaired; 
 but when I saw Burns, who was of a different 
 parish, unexpectedly enter the church, I was af- 
 fected with a tremor and embarrassment, which 
 suddenly apprised me of the impression which my 
 mind, unknown to itself, had previously received." 
 The Professor adds, that the person who had thus 
 unconsciously been measuring the stature of the 
 intellectual giant, was not only a man of good ta- 
 lents and education, but " remarkable for a more 
 than ordinary portion of constitutional firmness."* 
 Every Scotch peasant who makes any preten- 
 sion to understandinor, is a theological critic — at 
 least such was the case — and Burns, no doubt, had 
 long ere this time distinguished himself conside- 
 rably among those hard-headed groups that may 
 usually be seen gathered together in the church- 
 yard after the sermon is over. It may be guessed 
 that from the time of his residence at Irving, his 
 strictures were too often delivered in no reverend 
 vein. " Polemical divinity," says he to Dr. Moore, 
 in 1787, " about this time, was putting the coun- 
 try half mad, and I, ambitious of shining in con- 
 versation-parties on Sundays, at funerals, &c., used 
 to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and indis- 
 
 * Life prefixed lo Morrison's Burns, p. 45. 
 
66 LIFE OP 
 
 cretion, that I raised a hue-and-cry of heresy 
 against me, which has not ceased to this hour." 
 There are some plain allusions to this matter in 
 Mr. David Sillar's letter, already quoted, and a 
 surviving friend told Allan Cunningham, the other 
 day, " that he first saw Burns on the afternoon of 
 the Monday of a Mauchline sacrament, lounging 
 on horseback at the door of a public house, hold- 
 ing forth on religious topics to a whole crowd of 
 country people, who presently became so much 
 shocked with his levities, that they fairly hissed 
 him from the ground." 
 
 To understand Burns' situation at this time, at 
 once patronized by a number of clergymen, and 
 attended with "a hue-and-cry of heresy," we must 
 remember his own words, " that polemical divini- 
 ty was putting the country half mad." Of both 
 the two parties which, ever since the revolution 
 of 1688, have pretty equally divided the Church 
 of Scotland, it so happened that some of the most 
 zealous and conspicuous leaders and partisans 
 were thus opposed to each other, in constant 
 warfare, in this particular district ; and their feuds 
 being of course taken up among their congrega- 
 tions, and spleen and prejudice at work, even 
 more furiously in the cottage than in the manse, he 
 who, to the annoyance of the one set of belHgerents, 
 could talk like Burns, might count pretty surely, 
 with whatever alloy his wit happened to be min- 
 gled, in whatever shape the precious " circulat- 
 ing medium" might be cast, on the applause and 
 countenance of the enemy. And it is needless 
 to add, they were the less scrupulous sect of the 
 two that enjoyed the co-operation, such as it was 
 then, and far more important, as in the sequel it 
 came to be, of our poet. 
 
EGBERT bur::3. 67 
 
 William Burnes, as wehave already seen, though 
 a most exemplary and devout man, entertained 
 opinions very different from those which common- 
 ly obtained among the rigid Calvinists of his dis- 
 trict. The worthy and pious old man himself, 
 therefore, had not improbably infused into his 
 son's mind its first prejudice against these persons ; 
 though had he lived to witness the manner in 
 which Robert assailed them, there can be no doubt 
 his sorrow would have equalled their anger. The 
 jovial spirits Vv'ith whom Burns associated at Ir- 
 vine, and afterwards, were of course habitual de- 
 riders of the manners, as well as the tenets of the 
 
 "Orthodox, orthodox, wha believe in John Knox." 
 
 We have already observed the effect of the young 
 poet's own first collision with the ruling powers of 
 presbyterian discipline ; but it was in the very act 
 of settling at Mossgiel that Burns formed the con- 
 nection, which, more than any circumstance be- 
 sides, influenced him as to the matter now in ques- 
 tion. The farm belonged to the estate of the Earl 
 of Loudon, but the brothers held it on a sub-lease 
 from Mr. Gavin Hamilton, writer (i. e. attorney) 
 in Mauchline, a man, by every account, of en- 
 gaging manners, open, kind, generous, and high- 
 spirited, betv/een whom and Robert Burns, in spite 
 of considerable inequality of condition, a close 
 and intimate friendship was ere long formed. Just 
 about this time it happened that Hamilton was at 
 open feud with Mr. Auld, the minister of Mauch- 
 line, (the same who had already rebuked the poet,) 
 and the ruling elders of the parish, in consequence 
 of certain irregularities in his personal conduct 
 and deportment, which, according to the usual 
 strict notions of kirk disciplhie, were considered 
 () 
 
68 LIFE OF 
 
 as fairly demanding the vigorous inteference of 
 these authorities. The notice of this person, his 
 own landlord, and as it would seem, one of the 
 principal inhabitants of the village of Mauchline 
 at the time, must, of course, have been very flat- 
 tering to our polemical young farmer. He es- 
 poused Gavin Hamilton's quarrel warmly. Ha- 
 milton was naturally enough disposed to mix up 
 his personal affair with the standing controversies 
 whereon Auld was at variance with a large and 
 powerful body of his brother clergymen ; and by 
 degrees Mr. Hamilton's ardent proteg^ came to be 
 as vehemently interested in the church politics of 
 Ayrshire, as he could have been in politics of an- 
 other order, had he happened to be a freeman of 
 some open borough, and his patron a candidate 
 for the honor of representing it in St. Stephen's. 
 Mr. Cromek has been severely criticised for 
 some details of Mr. Gavin Hamilton's dissentions 
 with his parish minister ;* but perhaps it might 
 have been well to limit the censure to the tone 
 and spirit of the narrative,f since there is no doubt 
 that these petty squabbles had a large share in di- 
 recting the early energies of Burns' poetical ta- 
 lents. Even in the west of Scotland, such mat- 
 ters would hardly excite much notice now-a-days, 
 but they were quite enough to produce a world of 
 vexation and controversy forty years ago ; and the 
 English reader to whom all such details are de- 
 nied, will certainly never be able to comprehend 
 either the merits or demerits of many of Burns' most 
 remarkable productions. Since I have touched on 
 this matter at all, I may as well add, that Hamil- 
 ton's family, though professedly adhering (as, in 
 
 * Edingburgh Review, vol. XIII. p. 273. 
 t Kdiqucs, p. 164., &c. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 69 
 
 (Iced, if they were to be Christians at all in that dis- 
 trict, they must needs have done) to the Presbyte- 
 rian Establishment, had always lain under a strong 
 suspicion of Episcopalianism. Gavin's grandfa- 
 ther had been curate of Kirkoswald's in the trou- 
 bled times that preceded the Revolution, and in- 
 curred great and lasting popular hatred, in conse- 
 quence of being supposed to have had a principal 
 hand in bringing a thousand of the Highland host 
 into that region in 1787-8. The district was com- 
 monly said not to have entirely recovered the ef- 
 fects of that savage visitation in less than a hun- 
 dred years ; and the descendants and representa- 
 tives of the Covenanters, whom the curate of Kirk- 
 oswald's had the reputation at least of persecuting, 
 were commonly supposed to regard with anything 
 rather than ready good-will, his grandson, the 
 witty writer of Mauchline. A well-nursed preju- 
 dice of this kind was likely enough to be met by 
 counter-spleen, and such seems to have been the 
 truth of the case. The lapse of another genera- 
 tion has sufficed to wipe out every trace of feuds, 
 that were still abundantly discernible, in the days 
 when Ayrshire first began to ring with the equally 
 zealous applause and vituperation of, 
 
 " Poet Burns, 
 "And his pricst-skelping- turns." 
 
 It is impossible to look back now to the civil 
 "vvar, which then raged among the churchmen of 
 the west of Scotland, without confessing, that on 
 either side there was much to regret, and not a 
 little to blame. Proud and haughty spirits were 
 unfortunately opposed to each other; and in the 
 superabundant display of zeal as to doctrinal points, 
 .neither party seems to have mingled much of the 
 charity of the Christian temper. The whole exhi' 
 
70 LIFE OF 
 
 bition was most unlovely — the spectacle of such 
 indecent violence amono; the leadino; Ecclesias- 
 tics of the district, acted most unfavourably on 
 many men's minds — and no one can doubt that in 
 the at best unsettled state of Robert Burns' prin- 
 ciples, the unhappy effect must have been power- 
 ful indeed as to him. 
 
 Macgill and Dalrymple, the two ministers of the 
 town of Ayr, had long been suspected of entertain- 
 ing heterodox opinions on several points, particu- 
 larly the doctrine of original sin, and even of the 
 Trinity ; and the former at length published an 
 Essay, which was considered as demanding the 
 notice of the Church-courts. More than a year was 
 spent in the discussions which arose out of this ; 
 and at last Dr. Macgill was fain to acknowledge 
 his errors, and promise that he would take an early 
 opportunity of apologizing for them to his own 
 congregation from the pulpit— which promise, how- 
 ever, he never performed. The gentry of the coun- 
 try took, for the most part, the side of Macgill, 
 who was a man of cold unpopular manners, but of 
 unreproached moral character, and possessed of 
 some accomplishments, though certainly not of 
 distinguished talents. The bulk of the lower or- 
 ders espoused, with far more fervid zeal, the cause 
 of those who conducted the prosecution against 
 this erring doctor. Gavin Hamilton, and all per- 
 sons of his stamp, were of course on the side of 
 Macgill — Auld, and the Mauchline elders, with 
 his enemies. Mr. Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, 
 a man of remarkable talents, particularly in pub- 
 lic speaking, had the principal management of 
 Macgill's cause before the Presbytery, and, I be- 
 lieve, also before the Synod. He was an intimate 
 friend of Hamilton, and through him had about 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 71 
 
 this time formed an acquaintance, which soon ri- 
 pened into a warm friendship, with Burns. Burns, 
 therefore, was from the beginning a zealous, as 
 in the end he was perhaps the most effective par- 
 tizan, of the side on which Aiken had staked so 
 much of his reputation. Macgill, Dalrymple, and 
 their brethren, suspected, with more or less jus- 
 tice, of leaning to heterodox opinions, are the 
 New Light pastors of his earliest satires. 
 
 The prominent antagonists of these men, and 
 chosen champions of the Auld Light, in Ayrshire, 
 it must now be admitted on all hands, presented, 
 in many particulars of personal conduct and de- 
 meanor, as broad a mark as ever tempted the 
 shafts of a satirist. These men prided themselves 
 on being the legitimate and undegenerate descend- 
 ants and representatives of the haughty Puritans, 
 who chiefly conducted the overthrow of Popery in 
 Scotland, and who ruled for a time, and would 
 fain have continued to rule, over both king and 
 people, with a more tyrannical dominion than ever 
 the Catholic priesthood itself had been able to ex- 
 ercise amidst that high-spirited nation. With the 
 horrors of the Papal system forever in their 
 mouths, these men were in fact as bigoted monks, 
 and almost as relentless inquisitors in their hearts, 
 as ever wore cowl and cord — austere and ungra- 
 cious of aspect, coarse and repulsive of address 
 and manners— very Pharisees as to the lesser mat- 
 ters of the law, and many of them, to all outward 
 appearance at least, overflowing with pharisaical 
 self-conceit, as well as monastic bile. That ad- 
 mirable qualities lay concealed under this ungainly 
 exterior, and mingled with and checked the worst 
 of these gloomy passions, no candid man will per- 
 mit himself to doubt or suspect for a moment ; and 
 G* 
 
72 LIFE OF 
 
 that Burns has grossly overcharged his portraits 
 of them, deepening shadows that were of them- 
 selves sufficiently dark, and excluding altogether 
 those brighter, and perhaps softer, traits of cha- 
 racter, which redeemed the originals within the 
 sympathies of many of the worthiest and best of 
 men, seems equally clear. Their bitterest ene- 
 mies dared not at least to bring against them, even 
 when the feud was at its height of fervor, charges 
 of that heinous sort, which they fearlessly, and I 
 fear justly, preferred against their antagonists. 
 No one ever accused them of signing the Articles, 
 administering the sacraments,and eating the bread 
 of a Church, whose fundamental doctrines they 
 disbeUeved, and,by insinuation at least, disavowed. 
 The law of Church-patronage was another sub- 
 ject on which controversy ran high and furious in 
 the district at the same period ; the actual condi- 
 tion of things on this head being upheld by all the 
 men of the New Light, and condemned as equally 
 at variance with the precepts of the gospel, and 
 the rights of freemen, by not a few of the other 
 party, and, in particular, by certain conspicuous 
 zealots in the immediate neighborhood of Burns. 
 While this warfare raged, there broke out an in- 
 testine discord within the camp of the faction 
 which he loved not. Two ofthe foremost leaders 
 of the Auld Light party quarrelled about a ques- 
 tion of parish boundaries ; the matter was taken up 
 in the Presbytery of Kilmarnock, and there, in the 
 open court, to which the announcement ofthe dis- 
 cussion had drawn a multitude of the country peo- 
 ple, and Burns among the rest, the reverend di- 
 vines, hitherto sworn friends and associates, lost 
 all command of temper, and abused each other co- 
 ram i^opulo, with a fiery virulence of personal in- 
 
EGBERT BURNS. 73 
 
 vective, such as has long been banished from all 
 popular assemblies, wherein the laws of courtesy 
 are enforced by those of a certain unwritten code. 
 
 " The first of my poetic offspring that saw the 
 light," says Burns, " was a burlesque lamentation 
 on a quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both 
 of them dramatis personm in my Holy Fair. I 
 had a notion myself, that the piece had some me- 
 rit ; but to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it 
 to a friend who was very fond of such things, and 
 told him that I could not guess who was the au- 
 thor of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. With 
 a certain description of the clergy, as well as 
 laity, it met with a roar of applaiise.^^ 
 
 This was The Holy Tuilzie, or Twa Herds, a 
 piece not given either by Currie or Gilbert Burns, 
 though printed without scruple by the Rev. Ha- 
 milton Paul, and certainly omitted, for no very in- 
 telligible reason, in editions where The Holy Fair, 
 The Ordination, <^c., found admittance. The two 
 herds, or pastors, were Mr. Moodie, minister of 
 lliccartoun, and that favorite victim of Burns' 
 John Russell, then minister at Kilmarnock, and 
 afterwards of Stirhng. 
 
 " From this time," Burns says, " I began to be 
 known in the country as a maker of rhymes. . . 
 Holy WilUe^s Prayer next made its appearance, 
 and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they 
 held several meetings to look over their spiritual 
 artillery, and see if any of it might be pointed 
 against profane rhymers :" — and to a place among 
 profane rhymers, the author of this terrible inflic- 
 tion had unquestionably established his right. Sir 
 Walter Scott speaks of it as '' a piece of satire 
 more exquisitely severe than any which Burns 
 ever afterwards wrote— but unfortunately cast in a 
 
74 Ltl-E OF 
 
 form too daringly profane to be received into Dr, 
 Currie's collection."* Burns' reverend editor, Mr, 
 Paul, nevertheless presents Holy Willie's Prayer 
 at full length ; and even calls on the friends of re- 
 ligion to bless the memory of the poet who took 
 such a judicious method of " leading the liberal 
 mind to a rational view of the nature of prayer." 
 " This," says that bold commentator, " was not 
 only the prayer of Holy Willie, but it is merely 
 the metrical version of every prayer that is offered 
 up by those who call themselves the pure reform- 
 ed church of Scotland. In the course of his read- 
 ing and polemical warfare. Burns embraced and 
 defended the opinions of Taylor of Norwich, Mac- 
 gill, and that school of Divines. He could not re- 
 concile his mind to that picture of the Being,whose 
 very essence is love, which is drawn by the high. 
 Calvinists or the representatives of the Covenant- 
 ers — namely, that he is disposed to grant salva- 
 tion to none but a few of their sect ; that the whole 
 Pagan world, the disciples of Mahomet, the Roma» 
 Catholics, the Lutherans, and even the Calvinists- 
 who differ from them in certain tenets, must, like 
 Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, descend to the pit o€ 
 perdition, man, woman, and child, without the pos- 
 sibility of escape ; but such are the identical doc- 
 trines of the Cameronians of the present day, and 
 such was Holy Willie's style of prayer. The hy- 
 pocrisy and dishonesty of the man, who was at the 
 time a reputed saint, were perceived by the dis- 
 cerning penetration of Burns, and to expose them h& 
 considered his duty. The terrible viev/ of the De- 
 ity exhibited in that able production is precisely 
 the same view which is given of him, indiflerent 
 
 * Quarterly Review, No. 1, p. 22. 
 
ROBERT EURNS. 75 
 
 words, by many devout preachers at present. 
 They inculcate, that the greatest sinner is the 
 greatest favorite of heaven — that a reformed bawd 
 is more acceptable to the Almighty than a pure 
 virgin, who has hardly ever transgressed even in 
 thought — that the lost sheep alone will be saved, 
 and that the ninety-and-nine out of the hundred 
 will be left in the wilderness, to perish without 
 mercy — that the Savior of the world loves the 
 elect, not from any lovely qualities which they pos- 
 sess, for they are hateful in his sight, but ' he loves 
 them because he loves them.' Such are the sen- 
 timents which are breathed by those who are de- 
 nominated High Calvinists, and from which the 
 soul of a poet who loves mankind, and who has 
 not studied the system in all its bearings, recoils 
 with horror. . . . The gloomy, forbidding repre- 
 sentation which they give of the Supreme Being, 
 has a tendency to produce insanity, and lead to 
 suicide." — Life of Burns, pp. 40 — 41. 
 
 The Reverend Hamilton Paul maybe considered 
 as expressing in the above, and in other passages 
 of a similar tendency, the sentiments with which 
 even the most audacious of Burns' anti-Calvinis- 
 tic satires were received among the Ayrshire di- 
 vines of the New Light; that performances so blas- 
 phemous should have been, not only pardoned, but 
 applauded by ministers of religion, is a singular 
 circumstance, which may go far to make the reader 
 comprehend the exaggerated state of party feeling 
 in Burns' native countj^, at the period when he 
 first appealed to the public ear : nor is it fair to 
 pronounce sentence upon the young and reckless 
 satirist, without taking into consideration the un- 
 deniable fact — that in his worst offenses of this 
 kind, he was encouraged and abetted by those, 
 
76 LIFE OF 
 
 who, to say nothing more about their profesgional 
 character and authority, were almost the only 
 persons of liberal education whose society he had 
 any opportunity of approaching at the period in 
 question. Had Burns received, at this time, from 
 his clerical friends and patrons, such advice as 
 was tendered, when rather too late, by a layman 
 who was as far from bigotry on religious subjects 
 as any man in the world, this great genius might 
 have made his first approaches to the public no- 
 tice in a very different character. 
 
 " Let your bright talents," — (thus wrote the ex- 
 cellent John Ramsay of Ochtertyre, in October 
 1787,)—" Let those bright talents which the Al- 
 mighty has bestowed on you, be henceforth em- 
 ployed to the noble purpose of supporting the cause 
 of truth and virtue. An imagination so varied and 
 forcible as yours, may do this in many different 
 modes ; nor is it necessary to be always serious, 
 which you have been to good purpose ; good mo- 
 rals may be recommended in a comedy, or even in 
 a song. Great allowances are due to the heat and 
 inexperience of youth ; — and few poets can boast, 
 like Thomson, of never having written a line, 
 which, dying, they would wishtoblot. In particular, 
 I wish you to keep clear of the thorny walks of sa- 
 tire, which makes a man a hundred enemies for 
 one friend, and is doubly dangerous when one is 
 supposed to extend the slips and weaknesses of in- 
 dividuals to their sect or party. About modes of 
 faith, serious and excellent men have always dif- 
 fered ; and there are certain curious questions, 
 which may afford scope to men of metaphysical 
 heads, but seldom mend the heart or temper. 
 Whilst these points are beyond human ken, it is 
 
ROBERT BURXS. 77 
 
 sujfficient that all our sects concur in their views 
 of morals. You will forgive me for these hints. '^ 
 Few such hints, it is likely, ever reached his 
 ears in the days when they might have been most 
 useful — days of which the principal honors and 
 distinctions are thus alluded toby himself: 
 
 "I've been at drunken writers' feasts: 
 Nay, been bitch-fou 'mang- godly priests." 
 
 It is amusing to observe how soon even really 
 Bucolic bards learn the tricks of their trade : Burns 
 knew already what lustre a compliment gains from 
 being set in sarcasm, when he made Willie call 
 for special notice to 
 
 'Gaun Hamilton's deserts, 
 
 He drinks, and swears, and plays at carts ; 
 Yet has sae mony takin' arts 
 
 Wi' g-reat and sma', 
 Frac God's ain priests the people's hearts 
 
 He steals awa," &c. 
 
 Nor is his other patron, Aiken, introduced with 
 inferior skill, as having merited Willie's most fer- 
 vent execration by his " glib-tongued" defense of 
 the heterodox doctor of Ayr: 
 
 "Lord ! visit them wha did employ him, 
 And for thy people's sake destroy 'em." 
 
 Burns owed a compliment to this gentlemctn's 
 elocutionary talents. " I never knew there was 
 any merit in my poems," said he, "until Mr. 
 Aiken read them into repute." 
 
 Encouraged by the "roar of applause" which 
 greeted these pieces, thus orally promulgated and 
 recommended, he produced in succession various 
 satires wherein the same set of persons were lash- 
 ed ; as The Ordination ; The Kirk's Alarm ; &c. 
 &c.; and last, and bust undoubtedly, The Holy 
 
78 LIFE OF 
 
 Fair, in which, unUke the others that have been 
 mentioned, satire keeps its own place, and is sub- 
 servient to the poetry of Burns. This was, indeed, 
 an extraordinary performance ; no partizan of any 
 sect could whisper that malice had formed its prin- 
 cipal inspiration, or that its chief attraction lay in 
 the boldness with which individuals, entitled and 
 accustomed to respect, were held up to ridicule ; it 
 was acknowledged amidst the sternest mutterings 
 of wrath, that national manners were once more in 
 the hands of a national poet ; and hardly denied by 
 those who shook their heads the most gravely over 
 the indiscretions of particular passages, or even 
 by those who justly regretted a too prevailing tone 
 of levity in the treatment of a subject essentially 
 solemn, that the Muse of Christ's Kirk on the 
 Green had awakened, after the slumber of ages, 
 with all the vigor of her regal youth about her, in 
 " the auld clay biggin " of Mossgiel. 
 
 TheHoly Fair, however, created admiration, not 
 surprise, among the circle of domestic friends who 
 had been admitted to watch the steps of his pro- 
 gress in an art of which, beyond that circle, little 
 or nothing was heard until the youthful poet pro- 
 duced at length a satirical master-piece. It is not 
 possible to reconcile the statements of Gilbert and 
 others, as to some of the minutiae of the chronolo- 
 gical history of Burns' previous performances; but 
 there can be no doubt, that although from choice 
 or accident, his first provincial fame was that of a 
 satirist, he had, some time before any of his philip- 
 pics on the Auld Light divines made their appear- 
 ance, exhibited to those who enjoyed his personal 
 confidence, a range of imaginative power hardly 
 inferior to what the Holy Fair itself displays; and, 
 at least, such a rapidly improving skill in poetical 
 
EGBERT BURNS. 79 
 
 language and versification, as must have prepared 
 them for witnessing without wonder, even the most 
 perfect specimens of his art. 
 
 Gilbert says, that " among the earliest of his 
 poems," was the Epistle to Davie, (i. e. Mr. Da- 
 vid Sillar,) and Mr. Walker believes that this was 
 written very soon afterthe deathofWilliamBurnes. 
 This piece is in the veryintricate and difficult mea- 
 sure of the Cherry and the Slae ; and, on the whole, 
 the poet moves with ease and grace in his very un- 
 necessary trammels ; but young poets are careless 
 beforehand of difficulties which would startle the 
 experienced ; and great poets may overcome any 
 difficulties if they once grapple with them; so that 
 I should rather ground my distrust of Gilbert's 
 statement, if it must be literally taken, on the ce- 
 lebration of Jean, with which the epistle termi- 
 nates : and, after all, she is celebrated in the con- 
 cluding stanzas, which may have been added some 
 time after the first draft. The gloomy circum- 
 stances of the poet's personal condition, as de- 
 scribed in this piece, were common, it cannot be 
 doubted, to all the years of his youthful history ; 
 so that no particular date is to be founded upon 
 these ; and if this was the first, certainly it was 
 not the last occasion, on which Burns exercised 
 his fancy in the coloring of the very worst issue 
 that could attend a life of unsuccessful toil. But 
 Gilbert's recollections, however on trivial points 
 inaccurate, will always be more interesting than 
 any thing that could be put in their place. 
 
 *« Robert," says he, " often composed without 
 any regular plan. When anything made a strong 
 impression on his mind, so as to rouse it to poetic 
 exertion, he would give way to the impulse, and 
 embody the thought in rhyme. If he hit on two 
 7 
 
80 LIFE OF 
 
 or three stanzas to please him, he would then 
 think of proper introductory, connecting, and con- 
 cluding stanzas ; hence the middle of a poem was 
 often first produced. It was, I think, in summer 
 1784, when in the interval of harder labor, he 
 and I were weedingin the garden, (kail-yard,) that 
 he repeated to me the principal part of this epistle 
 (to Davie). I believe the first idea of Robert's 
 becoming an author was started on this occasion. 
 I was much pleased with the epistle, and said to 
 him, I was of opinion it would bear being printed, 
 and that it would be well received by people of 
 taste ; that I thought it at last equal, if not supe- 
 rior, to many of Allan Ramsay's epistles, and that 
 the merit of these, and much other Scotch poetry, 
 seemed to consist principally in the knack of the 
 expression — but here, there was a strain of inter- 
 esting sentiment, and the Scotticism of the lan- 
 guage scarcely seemed affected, but appeared to 
 be the natural language of the poet ; that, besides, 
 there was certainly some novelty in a poet point- 
 ing out the consolations that were in store for him 
 when he should go a-begging. Robert seemed 
 very well pleased with my criticism, and we talked 
 of sending it to some magazine ; but as this plan 
 afforded no opportunity of knowing how it would 
 take, the idea was dropped. 
 
 " It was, I think, in the winter following, as we 
 were going together with carts for coal to the 
 family, (and I could yet point out the particu- 
 lar spot,) that the author first repeated to me the 
 Address to the Deil. The curious idea of such an 
 address was suggested to him, by running over in 
 his mind the many ludicrous accounts and repre- 
 sentations we have, from various quarters, of this 
 august personage. Death and Doctor Hornbook, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 81 
 
 though not published in the Kilmarnock edition, 
 was producedearly in the year 1785. The school- 
 master of Tarbolton parish, to eke up the scanty 
 subsistence allowedto that useful class of men, had 
 set up a shop of grocery goods. Having acciden- 
 tally fallen in with some medical books, and 
 become most hobby-horsically attached to the 
 study of medicine, he had added the sale of a few 
 medicines to his little trade. He had got a 
 shop-bill printed, at the bottom of which, over- 
 looking his own incapacity, he had advertised, 
 that " Advice would be given in common disorders 
 at the shop gratis." Robert was at a mason 
 meeting in Tarbolton, when the Dominie unfortu- 
 .nately made too ostentatious a display of his me- 
 dical skill. As he parted in the evening from 
 this mixture of pedantry and physic, at the place 
 where he describes his meeting with Death, one 
 of those floating ideas of apparitions, he mentions 
 in his letter to Dr. Moore, crossed his mind ; this 
 set him to work for the rest of the way home. 
 These circumstances he related when he repeated 
 the verses to me next afternoon, as I was holding 
 the plough, and he was letting the water off the 
 field beside me. The EpisUe to John Lapraik 
 was produced exactly on the occasion described 
 by the author. He says in that poem, On 
 Fasten-e'en we had a rochin' (p. 235). I believe he 
 has omitted the word rocking in the glossary. It 
 is a term derived from those primitive times, when 
 the country-women employed their spare hours 
 in spinning on the rock, or distaff. This simple 
 implement is a very portable one, and well fitted 
 to the social inclination of meeting in a neigh- 
 bor's house ; hence the phrase of going a-rockingy 
 or with the rock. As the connection the phrase 
 
82 LIFE OF 
 
 had with the implement was forgotten when the 
 rock gave place to the spinning-wheel, the phrase 
 came to be used by both sexes on social occa- 
 sions, and men talk of going with their rocks as 
 well as women. It was at one of these rocJcings 
 at our house, when we had twelve or fifteen young 
 people with their rocks, that Lapraik's song be- 
 ginning — " When I upon thy bosom lean,"* was 
 sung, and we were informed who was the author. 
 Upon this Robert wrote his first epistle to La- 
 praik ; and his second in reply to his answer. The 
 verses to the Mouse and Mountain Daisy were 
 composed on the occasion mentioned and while 
 the author was holding the plough ; I could point 
 out the particular spot where each was composed. 
 Holding the plough was a favorite situation '^with 
 Robert for'poetic compositions, and some of his 
 best verses were produced while he was at that 
 exercise. Several of the poems were produced 
 for the purpose of bringing forward some favor- 
 ite sentiment of the author. He used to remark 
 to me, that he could not well conceive a more 
 mortifying picture of human life, than a man 
 seeking work. In casting about in his mind how 
 this sentiment might be brought forward, the elegy, 
 Man was made to Mourn, was composed. Robert 
 had frequently remarked to me, that he thought 
 there was something peculiarly venerable in the 
 phrase, ' Let us worship God,' used by a decent, 
 sober head of a family introducing family worship. 
 
 * Burns was never a fastidious critic ; but it is not very 
 easy to understand his admiration of Lapraik's poetry. Em- 
 boldened by Burns' success, he, too, published ; but the only 
 one of his productions that is ever remembered now is this ; 
 and even this survives chiefly because Burns has praised it. 
 The opening- verse, however, is pretty. It may be seen at 
 length in Allan Cunning-ham's " Scottish Song-s," vol. iii. 
 p. 290. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 83 
 
 To this sentiment of the author the world is in- 
 debted for the Cottar^s Saturday Night, The 
 hint of the plan, and title of the poem, were taken 
 from Ferguson's Farmer^s Ingle. 
 
 "When Robert had not some pleasure in view, in 
 which I was not thought fit to participate, we used 
 frequently to walk together, when the weather was 
 favorable) on the Sunday afternoons, (those pre- 
 cious breathing-times to the laboring part of the 
 community,) and enjoyed such Sundays as would 
 make one regret to see their number abridged. 
 It was in one of these walks that I first had the 
 pleasure of hearing the author repeat the Cottar^ s 
 Saturday Night. I do not recollect to have read 
 or heard any thing by which I was more highly 
 electrified. The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the 
 eighteenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through 
 my soul." 
 
 The poems mentioned by Gilbert Burns in the 
 above extract, are among the most popular of his 
 brother's performances ; and there may be a time 
 for recurring to some of their peculiar merits as 
 works of art. It may be mentioned here, that 
 John Wilson, alias Dr. Hornbook, was not merely 
 compelled to shut up shop as an apothecary, or 
 druggistrather,bythe satire which bears his name j 
 but so irresistible was the tide of ridicule, that 
 his pupils, one by one, deserted him, and he aban- 
 doned his Schoolcraft also. Removing to Glasgow, 
 and turning himself successfully to commercial 
 pursuits. Dr. Hornbook, survived the local storm 
 which he could not efl!ectually withstand, and was 
 often heard in his latter days, when waxing cheer- 
 ful and communicative over a bowl of punch, " in 
 the Saltmarket," to bless the lucky hour in which 
 the dominie of Tarbolton provoked the castigatioa 
 7* 
 
84 LIFE OF 
 
 of Robert Burns. In those days the Scotch uni- 
 versities did not turn out doctors of physic by the 
 hundred, according to the modern fashion introdu- 
 ced by the necessities of the French revolutionary 
 war; Mr. Wilson's wasprobably the only medicine 
 chest from which salts and senna were distributed 
 for the benefit of a considerable circuit of pa- 
 rishes ; and his advice, to say the least of the 
 matter, was perhaps as good as could be had, for 
 love or money, among the wise women who were 
 the only rivals of his practice. The poem which 
 drove him from Ayrshire was not, we may be- 
 lieve, either expected or designed to produce any 
 such serious effect. Poor Hornbook and the 
 poet were old acquaintances, and in some sort 
 rival wits at the time in the mason lodge. 
 
 In Man was made to Mourn, whatever might 
 be the casual idea that set the poet to work, it 
 is but too evident, that he wrote from the habi- 
 tual feelings of his own bosom. The indignation 
 with which he through life contemplated the in- 
 equality of human condition, and particularly, 
 — and who shall say, with absolute injustice? — the 
 contrast between his own worldly circumstances 
 and intellectual rank, was never more bitterly, nor 
 more loftily expressed, than in some of those 
 stanzas. 
 
 " See yonder poor, o'erlabor'd wig-ht, 
 
 So abject, mean, and vile, 
 Who beg-s a brother of the earth 
 
 To g-ive him leave to toil. 
 If I'm desig'n'd yon lordling-'s slave — 
 
 By Nature's laws desig-n'd — 
 Why was an independent wish 
 
 E'er planted in my mind 7" 
 
 The same feeling strong, but triumphed over in 
 the moment of inspiration, as it ought ever to 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 85 
 
 have'beenin the plain exercise of such an under- 
 standing as his, may be read in every stanza of 
 the Epistle to Davie, 
 
 " It's no in titles nor in rank, 
 
 It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 
 
 To purchase peace and rest ; 
 It's no in books, it's no in lear, 
 
 To mak us truly blest 
 
 Think ye, that such as you and I, 
 
 Wha drudg-e and drive through wet and dry, 
 
 Wi' never-ceasing toil ; 
 Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
 Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 
 
 As hardly worth their while 7" 
 
 In Man was made to Mourn, Burns appears to 
 have taken many hints from an ancient ballad, en- 
 titled The Life and Age of Man, which begins 
 thus : 
 
 " Upon the sixteen hunder year of God, and fifty-three, 
 Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear, as writings 
 
 testifie ; 
 On January the sixteenth day, as I did lie alone, 
 With many a sigh and sob aid say— Ah ! man is made to 
 
 moan !" 
 
 " I had an old grand uncle," says the poet, in 
 one of his letters to Mrs. Dunlop, " with whom 
 my mother lived in her girlish years ; the good old 
 man, for such he was, was blind long ere he died ; 
 during which time his highest enjoyment was to 
 sit down and cry, while my mother would sing the 
 simple old song of The Life and Age of Man."* 
 
 The Cottar's Saturday Night is perhaps, of 
 all Burns' pieces, the one whose exclusion from 
 
 * This ballad may be seen in Cromek's Select Scottish 
 Songs. 
 
86 LIFE OF 
 
 the collection, were such things possible now-a- 
 days, would be the most injurious, if not to the 
 genius, at least to the character, of the man. In 
 spite of many feeble lines, and some heavy stan- 
 zas, it appears to me, that even his genius would 
 suffer more in estimation, by being contemplated 
 in the absence of this poem, than of any other 
 single performance he has left us. Loftier flights 
 he certainly has made, but in these he remained 
 but a short while on the wing, and effort is too 
 often perceptible ; here the motion is easy, gen- 
 tle, placidly undulating. There is more of the 
 conscious security of power, than in any other of 
 his serious pieces of considerable length ; the 
 whole has the appearance of coming in a full stream 
 from the fountain of the heart — a stream that 
 soothes the ear, and has no glare on the surface. 
 
 It is delightful to turn from any of the pieces 
 which present so great a genius as writhing under 
 an inevitable burden, to this, where his buoyant 
 energy seems not even to feel the pressure. The 
 miseries of toil and penury, who shall affect to 
 treat as unreal? Yet they shrunk to small dimen- 
 sions in the presence of a spirit thus exalted at 
 once, and softened, by the pieties of virgin love, 
 filial reverence, and domestic devotion. 
 
 That he who thus enthusiastically apprehended, 
 and thus exquisitely painted, the artless beauty 
 and solemnity of the feelings and thoughts that en- 
 noble the life of the Scottish peasant, could wit- 
 ness observances in which the very highest of these 
 redeeming influences are most powerfully and 
 gracefully displayed, and yet describe them in a 
 vein of unmixed merriment — that the same man 
 should have produced the Cottar^s Saturday 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 87 
 
 Night and the Holy Fair about the same time — 
 will ever continue to move wonder and regret. 
 
 " The annual celebration of the Sacrament of 
 the Lord's Supper in the rural parishes of Scot- 
 land has much in it," says the unfortunate Heron, 
 *' of those old popish festivals, in which supersti- 
 tion, traffic, and amusement, used to be strangely- 
 intermingled. Burns saw and seized in it one of 
 the happiest of all subjects to afford scope for the 
 display of that strong and piercing sagacity, by 
 which he could almost intuitively distinguish the 
 reasonable from the absurd, and the becoming from 
 the ridiculous; of that picturesque power of fancy 
 which enabled him to represent scenes, and per- 
 sons, and groups, and looks, and attitudes, and 
 gestures, in a manner almost as lively and impres- 
 sive, even in words, as if all the artifices and en- 
 ergies of the pencil had been employed ; of that 
 knowledge which he had necessarily acquired of 
 the manners, passions, and prejudices of the rus- 
 tics around him — of whatever was ridiculous, no 
 less than whatever was affectingly beautiful in 
 rural life."* This is very good so far as it goes ; 
 but who ever disputed the exquisite graphic truth, 
 so far as it goes, of the poem to which the critic 
 refers ? The question remains as it stood ; is there 
 then nothing besides a strange mixture of super- 
 stition, traffic, and amusement, in the scene which 
 such an annual celebration in a rural parish of 
 Scotland presents ? Does nothing of what is " af- 
 fectingly beautiful in rural life," make a part in 
 the original which was before the poet's eyes ? 
 Were " Superstition," " Hypocrisy," and " Fun," 
 the only influences which he might justly have 
 
 ♦ Heron's Memoirs of Burns, (Edinburg-h, 1797,) p. 14. 
 
88 LIFE Of 
 
 impersonated ? It would be hard, I think, to speak 
 so even of the old popish festivals to which Mr. 
 Heron alludes ; it would be hard surely to say it 
 of any festival in which, mingled as they may be 
 with sanctimonious pretenders, and surrounded 
 with giddy groups of onlookers, a mighty multi- 
 tude of devout men are assembled for the worship 
 of God, beneath the open heaven, and above the 
 tombs of their fathers. 
 
 Let us beware, however, of pushing our censure 
 of a young poet, mad with the inspiration of the 
 moment, from whatever source derived, too far. 
 It can hardly be doubted that the author of the 
 Coilar^s Saturday Night had felt, in his time, 
 all that any man can feel in the contemplation of 
 the most subhme of the religious observances of 
 his country ; and as little, that he had taken up the 
 subject of this rural sacrament in a solemn mood, 
 he might have produced a piece as gravely beauti- 
 ful, as his Holy Fair is quaint, graphic, and pic- 
 turesque. A scene of family worship, on the 
 other hand, I can easily imagine to have come 
 from his hand as pregnant with the ludicrous as 
 that Holy Fair itself. The family prayers of the 
 Saturday's night, and the rural celebration of the 
 Eucharist, are parts of the same system — the sys- 
 tem which has made the people of Scotland what 
 they are — and what, it is to be hoped, they will 
 continue to be. And when men ask of themselves 
 what this great national poet really thought of a 
 system in which minds immeasurably inferior to 
 his can see so much to venerate, it is surely just 
 that they should pay most attention to what he has 
 delivered under the gravest sanction. In noble 
 natures, we may be sure, the source of tears lies 
 nearer the heart than that of smiles. 
 
EGBERT BURNS. SU 
 
 The Reverend Hamilton Paul does not desert 
 his post on occasion of the Holy Fair ; he de- 
 fends that piece as manfully as Holy Willie ; and, 
 indeed, expressly applauds Burns for having en- 
 deavored to explode " abuses discountenanced by 
 the General Assembly." The General Assembly 
 would no doubt say, both of the poet and the com- 
 mentator, nan talia auxilio, ' 
 
 Hallowe'en^ a descriptive poem, perhaps ev^n 
 more exquisitely wrought than the Holy Fair, and 
 containing nothing that could offend the feelings 
 of any body, was produced about the same peri- 
 od. Burns' art had now reached its climax ; but 
 it is time that we should revert more particularly 
 to the personal history of the poet. 
 
 He seems to have very soon perceived, that the 
 farm of Mossgiel could at the best furnish no more 
 than the bare means of existence to so large a fa- 
 mily ; and wearied with the " prospects drear," 
 from which he only escaped in occasional inter- 
 vals of social merriment, or when gay flashes of 
 solitary fancy, for they were no more, threw sun- 
 shine on every thing, he very naturally took up 
 the notion of quitting Scotland for a time, and try. 
 ing his fortune in the West Indies, where, as is well 
 known, the managers of the plantations are, in the 
 great majority of cases, Scotchmen of Burns' own 
 rank and condition. His letters show, that on two 
 or three different occasions, long before his poet- 
 ry had excited any attention, he had applied for, and 
 nearly obtained appointments of this sort, through 
 the intervention of his acquaintances in the sea- 
 port of Irvine. Petty accidents, not worth de- 
 scribing, interfered to disappoint him from time to 
 time ; but at last a new burst of misfortune ren- 
 dered him doubly anxious to escape from his na- 
 
90 LIFE OF 
 
 tive land ; and but for an accident, which no one 
 will call petty, his arrangements would certainly 
 have been completed. 
 
 But we must not come quite so rapidly to the 
 last of his Ayrshire love-stories. 
 
 How many lesser romances of this order were 
 evolved and completed during his residence at 
 Mossgiel, it is needless to inquire ; that they were 
 many, his songs prove, for in those days he wrote 
 no love-songs on imaginary heroines.* Mary 
 Morrison — Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows — 
 On Cessnot bank there lives a lass — belong to this 
 period ; and there are three or four inspired by 
 Mary Campbell — the object of by far the deep- 
 est passion that ever Burns knew, and which he 
 has accordingly immortalized in the noblest of 
 his elegiacs. 
 
 In introducing to Mr. Thompson's notice the 
 song,— 
 
 " Will ye g-o to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 And leave auld Scotia's shore? — 
 Will ye g-o to the Indies, my Mary, 
 
 Across the Atlantic's roar 7" 
 
 Burns says, " In my early years, when I was 
 thinking of going to the West Indies, I took this 
 farewell of a dear girl ;" and, afterwards, in a 
 note on — 
 
 " Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
 
 The Castle o' Montgomerie ; 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. 
 
 Your waters never drumlie ; 
 There Summer first unfaulds her robes, 
 
 And there they lang-cst tarry, 
 For there I took the last farewell 
 
 O' my sweet Highland Mary." 
 
 * Letters to Mr. Thompson, No. IV. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 91 
 
 he adds, — " After a pretty long trial of the most 
 ardent reciprocal affection, we met by appoint- 
 ment on the second Sunday of May, in a seques- 
 tered spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent 
 a day in taking a farewell before she should embark 
 for the West Highlands, to arrange matters 
 among her friends for oar projected change of 
 life. At the close of the autumn following she 
 crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where 
 she had scarce landed when she was seized with 
 a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to 
 her grave in a few days, before I could even hear 
 of her illness;" and Mr. Cromek, speaking of the 
 same " day of parting love," gives, though with- 
 out mentioning his authority, some further parti- 
 culars, which no one would willingly believe to 
 be apochryphal. " This adieu," says that zealous 
 inquirer into the details of Burns' story, " was 
 performed with all those simple and striking cere- 
 monials, which rustic sentiment has devised to pro- 
 long tender emotions, and to impose awe. The 
 lovers stood on each side of a small purling brook 
 — they laved their hands in the limpid stream — 
 and, holding a Bible between them, pronounced 
 their vows to be faithful to each other. They parted 
 — never to meet again." It is proper to add, that 
 Mr. Cromek's story, which even Allan Cunning- 
 ham was disposed to receive with suspicion, has 
 recently been conlirmed very strongly by the ac- 
 cidental discovery of a Bible, presented by Burns 
 to Mary Campbell, in the possession of her still 
 surviving sister at Ardrossan. Upon the boards 
 of the first volume is inscribed, in Burns' hand- 
 writing, — " And ye shall not swear by my name 
 falsely — I am the Lord. — Levit. chap. xix. v. 12." 
 On the second volume, — " Thoushalt not forswear 
 8 
 
92 LIFE OF 
 
 thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oath. 
 St. Matth. chap, v., v. 33." And on a blank leaf 
 of eitlier, — " Robert Burns, Mossgeil." 
 
 How lasting was the poet's remembrance of this 
 pure love, and its tragic termination, will be seen 
 hereafter.* 
 
 Highland Mary, however seems to have died 
 ere her lover had made any of his more serious 
 attempts in poetry. In the Epistle to Mr. Sillar, 
 (as we have already hinted,) the very earliest, ac- 
 cording to Gilbert, of these attempts, the poet 
 celebrates " his Davie and his Jean." 
 
 This was Jean Armour, a young woman, a step 
 if any thing, above Burns' own rank in life,j" the 
 daughter of a respectable man, a master-mason, 
 in the village of Mauchline, where she was at the 
 time the reigning toast, and who still survives, as 
 the respected widow of our poet. There are 
 numberless allusions to her maiden charms in the 
 best pieces which he produced at Mossgeil. 
 
 The time is not yet come, in which all the de- 
 tails of this story can be expected. Jean Armour 
 found herself " as ladies wish to be that love their 
 lords.^^ And how slightly such a circumstance 
 might affect the character and reputation of a 
 young woman in her sphere of rural life at that 
 period, every Scotsman will understand — to any 
 
 * Cromck, p. 238. 
 
 t " In Mauchline there dwells six proper young- belles, 
 
 The pride of the place and its neighborhood a'; 
 Their carriage and dress, a strang-er would g-wess, 
 
 In Lou'on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 
 
 " Aliss Miller is fine, Illiss Markland's divine, 
 Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw; 
 
 There's beauty and fortune to get with Miss Morton^ 
 But Armour^ the jewel for mo o' them a'." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 93 
 
 but a Scotsman, it might, perhaps, be difficult to 
 explain. The manly readiness with which the 
 young rustics commonly come forward to avert 
 by marriage the worst consequences of such in- 
 discretions, cannot be denied ; nor, perhaps, is 
 there any class of society in any country, in which 
 matrimonial infidelity is less known than among 
 the female peasantry of Scotland. 
 
 Burns' worldly circumstances were in a most 
 miserable state when he was informed of Miss Ar- 
 mour's condition ; and the first announcement of 
 it staggered him like a blow. He saw nothing 
 for it but to fly the country at once ; and, in a 
 note to James Smith of Mauchline, the confident 
 of his amour, he thus wrote: — "Against two 
 things I am fixed as fate — staying at home, and 
 owning her conjugally. The first, by Heaven, I 
 will not do ! — the last, by hell, I will never do ! — xV 
 good God bless you, and make you happy, up to 
 the warmest weeping wish of parting friend- 
 ship If you see Jean, tell her I will meet 
 
 her, so help me God in my hour of need." 
 
 The lovers met accordingly ; and the result of 
 the meeting was what waste be anticipated from 
 the tenderness and the manliness of Burns' feel- 
 ings. All dread of personal inconvenience yielded 
 at once to the tears of the woman he loved, and 
 ere they parted, he gave into her keeping a writ- 
 ten acknowledgment of marriage, which, when 
 produced by a person in Miss Armour's condition 
 is, according to the Scots law, to be accepted as 
 legal evidence of an irregular marriage having 
 really taken place ; it being of course understood 
 that the marriage was to be formally avowed as 
 soon as the consequences of their imprudence 
 could no longer be concealed from her family. 
 
94 LIFE OF 
 
 The disclosure was deferred to the last mo- 
 ment, and it was received hy the father of Miss 
 Armour with equal surprise and anger. Burns', 
 confessing himself to be unequal to the mainte- 
 nance of a family, proposed to go immediately to 
 Jamaica, where he hoped to find better fortunes. 
 He offered, if this were rejected, to abandon his 
 farm, which was by this time a hopeless concern, 
 and earn bread at least for his wife and children 
 as a daily laborer at home ; but nothing could ap- 
 pease the indignation of Armour, who, Professor 
 Walker hints, had entertained previously a very 
 bad opinion of Burns' whole character. By what 
 arguments he prevailed on his daughter to take so 
 strange and so painful a step we know not ; but 
 the fact is certain, that, at his urgent entreaty, she 
 destroyed the document,* which must have been 
 
 ♦ The comments of the Rev. Hamilton Paul, on this deli- 
 cate part of the poet's story, are too meritorious to be omitted. 
 
 " The scenery of the Ayr," says he, " from Sorn to the an- 
 cient burg-h at its mouth, thoug-h it may equalled in grandeur 
 is 'scarcely any where surpassed in beauty- To trace its 
 meanders, to wander amid its green woods, to lean over its 
 precipitous and rocky banks, to explore its coves, to survey 
 its Gothic towers, and to admire its modern edifices, is not 
 only highly delightful, but truly inspiring. If the poet, in 
 his excursions along the banks of the river, or in penetrating 
 into the deepest recesses of the grove, be accompanied by his 
 favorite fair one, whose admiration of rural and sylvan beau- 
 ty is akin to his own, however hazardous the experiment, the 
 bliss is ecstatic. To warn the young and unsuspecting of 
 their danger, is only to stimulate their curiosity. The well- 
 meant disjsuasive of Thomson is more seductive in its ten- 
 dency than the admirers ofthat poet's mortality are aware — 
 
 ' Ah ! then, ye Fair, 
 Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts : 
 Dare not the infectious sigh — nor in the bower, 
 Wliere woodbines tiaunt, and roses shed a couch, 
 While evening draws her crimson curtains round, 
 Trust your soft minutes with betraying man.' 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 95 
 
 to her the most most precious of her possessions — 
 the only evidence of her marriage. 
 
 It was under such extraordinary circumstances 
 that Miss Armour became the mother of twins. 
 
 Burns' love and pride, the two most powerful 
 feelings of his mind, had been equally wounded. 
 His anger and grief together drove him, accord- 
 ing to every account, to the verge of absolute in- 
 sanity ; and some of his letters on this occasion, 
 both published and unpublished, have certainly all 
 the appearance of having been written in as deep 
 a concentration of despair as ever preceded the 
 most awful of human calamities. His first thought 
 had been, as we have seen, to fly at once from the 
 scene of his disgrace and misery ; and this course 
 seemed now to be absolutely necessary. He was 
 summoned to find security for the maintenance of 
 the children whom he was prevented from legiti- 
 mating, and such was his poverty that he could 
 
 We are decidedly of opinion, that the inexperienced fair will 
 be equally disposed to disregard this sentimental prohibition 
 and to accept the invitation of another bard, whose libertin- 
 ism is less disg-uised, — 
 
 "Will you go to the bower I have shaded for you 
 your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew." 
 
 ' To dear deluding woman 
 
 The joy of joys,' " 
 
 continues this divine, " Burns was partial in the extreme. 
 This was owing, as well to his constitutional temperament, 
 as to the admiration which he drew from the female world, 
 and the facility with which they met his advances. But his 
 aberrations must have been notorious, when a man in the 
 rank of Miss Armour's father refused his consent to his per- 
 manent union with his imfortunate daughter. Among the 
 lower classes of the community, svibscquent marriage is 
 reckoned an ample atonement for former indiscretion, and 
 ante-nuptial incontinency is looked upon as scarcely a trans- 
 gression." 
 
 8* 
 
96 LIFE OF 
 
 not satisfy the parish-officers. I suppose securi- 
 ty for some four or five pounds a year was the ut- 
 most that could have been demanded from a per- 
 son of his rank ; but the man who had in his 
 desk the immortal poems to which we have 
 been referring above, either disdained to ask, or 
 tried in vain to find, pecuniary assistance in his 
 hour of need ; and the only alternative that pre- 
 sented itself to his view was America or a jail. 
 
 Who can ever learn without grief and indigna- 
 tion, that it was the victim of such miseries who, 
 at such a moment, could pour out such a strain as 
 the Lament 1 
 
 " O thou pale orb, that silent shines, 
 
 While care untroubled mortals sleep ! 
 Thou secst a wretch that inly pines, 
 
 And wanders here to wail and weep ! 
 With wo I nightly vigils keep, 
 
 Beneath thy wan unwarming- beam ; 
 And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
 
 How life and love are all a dream. 
 
 " No idly-feigu'd poetic plaints, 
 
 My sad, love-lorn lamenting-s claim ; 
 No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 
 
 No fabled tortures, quaint and tame ; 
 The plig-hted faith ; the mutual flame ; 
 
 The oft attested Pow'rs above ; 
 The "proraised 'Father's tender name ; 
 
 These were the pledges of my love !" 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 97 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " He saw misfortune s cauld nor^-west, 
 Lang musteiing- up a bitter blast ; 
 A jillet brakhis heart at last, 
 
 111 may she be ! 
 So, took a berth afore the mast, 
 
 An owre the sea." 
 
 Jamaica was now his mark, and after some lit- 
 tle time, and not a little trouble, the situation of 
 assistant-overseer on the estate of a Dr. Douglas 
 in that colony, was procured for him by one of his 
 friends in the town of Irvine. Money to pay for 
 his passage, however, he had not ; and it at last oc- 
 curred to him that the few pounds requisite for this 
 purpose, might be raised by the publication of some 
 of the finest poems that ever dehghted mankind. 
 
 His landlord, Gavin Hamilton, Mr. Aiken, and 
 other friends, encouraged him warmly ; and after 
 some hesitation, he at length resolved to hazard an 
 experiment which might perhaps better his circum- 
 stances; and,if any tolerable number of subscribers 
 could be procured, could not make them worse 
 than they were already. His rural patrons exerted 
 themselves with success in the matter ; and so 
 many copies were soon subscribed for, that Burns 
 entered into terms with a printer in Kilmarnock, 
 and began to copy out his performances for the 
 press. He carried his MSS. piecemeal to the 
 printer ; and encouraged by the ray of light which 
 unexpected patronage had begun to throw on 
 
98 LIFE OF 
 
 his affairs, composed, while the printing was in 
 progress, some of the best poems of the collec- 
 tion. The tale of the Tioa Dogs, for instance, 
 with which the volume commenced, is known to 
 have been written in the short interval between 
 the publication being determined on and the print- 
 ing begun. His own account of the business fo 
 Dr. Moore is as follows : 
 
 " I gave up my part of the farm to my brother : 
 in truth, it was only nominally mine ; and made 
 what little preparation was in my power for Ja- 
 maica. But before leaving my native land, I re- 
 solved to publish my poems. I weighed my pro- 
 ductions as impartially as was in my power : I 
 thought they had merit ; and it was a delicious idea 
 that I should be called a clever fellow, even though 
 it should never reach my ears-a poor negro-driver 
 — or, perhaps, a victim to that inhospitable clime, 
 and gone to the world of spirits. I can truly say 
 that pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty 
 nearly as high an idea of myself and of my works 
 as I have at this moment when the public has de- 
 cided in their favor. It ever was my opinion, that 
 the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational and 
 religious point of view, of which we see thousands 
 daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of them- 
 selves. To knov/ myself, had been all along my 
 constant study. I weighed myself alone ; I ba- 
 lanced myself with others : I watched every means 
 of information, to see how much ground I occupied 
 as a man and as a poet : I studied assiduously Na- 
 ture's design in my formation — where the lights 
 and shades in character were intended. I was 
 pretty confident rny poems would meet with some 
 applause; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlan- 
 tic would deafen the voice of censure, and the no- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 99 
 
 velty of West Indian scenes make me forget ne- 
 glect. I threw off six hundred copies, for which I 
 got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty.* 
 My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I 
 met with from the public ; and besides, I pocketed, 
 all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. 
 This sum came very seasonably, as I was think- 
 ing of indenting myself, for want of money to 
 procure my passage. As soon as I was master of 
 nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the tor- 
 rid zone, I took a steerage passage in the first 
 ship that was to sail from the Clyde ; for 
 
 ' Hungry ruin had me in the wind.' 
 
 *' I had been for some days skulking from covert 
 to covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as some 
 ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless 
 pack of the law at my heels. I had taken the last 
 farewell of my few friends ; my chest was on the 
 road to Greenock ; I had composed the last song 
 I should ever measure in Caledonia. The gloomy 
 night is gathering fast, when a letter from Dr. 
 Blacklock to a friend of mine, overthrew all my 
 schemes, by opening new prospects to my poetic 
 ambition." 
 
 To the above rapid narrative of the poet, we 
 may annex a few details, gathered from his vari- 
 ous biographers and from his own letters. 
 
 While his sheets were in the press, it appears, 
 that his friends, Hamilton and Aiken, resolved va- 
 rious schemes for procuring him the means of re- 
 maining in Scotland ; and having studied some of 
 the practical branches of mathematics, as we have 
 seen, and in particular ^aM^fw^, it occurred to him- 
 
 * Gilbert Burus mentions, that a single individual, Mr. 
 William Parker, merchant in Kilmarnock, subscribed for 35 
 copies. 
 
 Ltrc. 
 
100 LIFE OF 
 
 self that a situation in the excise might be better 
 suited to him than any other he was at all likely 
 to obtain by the intervention of such patrons as 
 he possessed. 
 
 He appears to have lingered longer after the 
 publication of the poems than one might suppose 
 from his own narrative, in the hope that these 
 gentlemen might at length succeed in their efforts 
 in his behalf. The poems were received with fa- 
 vor, even with rapture, in the county of Ayr, and 
 ere long over the adjoining counties. " Old and 
 young," thus speaks Robert Heron, " high and 
 low, grave and gay,learned or ignorant, were alike 
 delighted, agitated, transported. I was at that time 
 resident in Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire, and 
 I can well remember how even ploughboys and 
 maid-servants would have gladly bestowed the 
 wages they earned the most hardly, and which they 
 wanted to purchase necessary clothing, if they 
 might but procure the Works of Burns." — The 
 poet soon found that his person also had become 
 an object of general curiosity, and that a lively in- 
 terest in his personal fortunes was excited among 
 some of the gentry of the district, when the de- 
 tails of his story reached them, as it was pretty 
 sure to do, along with his modest and manly pre- 
 face.* Among others, the celebrated Professor 
 
 * Preface to the First Edition. 
 " The following- trifles are not the production of the poet, 
 who, with all the advantag-es of learned art, and, perhaps, 
 amid the eleg-ancies and idleness of upper life, looks down 
 for a rural theme, with an eye to 'I'heocritus or Virg-il. 
 To the author of this, these and other celebrated names 
 \he\x countrymen are, at least in their orig-inal lang-uagc, a 
 fountain shut up, and a book scaled. Unacquainted with 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 101 
 
 Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh, and his accom- 
 plished lady, then resident at their beautiful seat 
 
 the necessary requisites for commencing" poet by rule, he 
 sing's the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in him- 
 self and rustic compeers around, him, in his and their native 
 lang-uage. Though a rhymer from his earliest years, at least 
 from the earliest impulse of the softer passions, it was not till 
 very lately that the applause, perhaps the partiality, of friend- 
 ship, wakened his vanity so far as to make him think any- 
 thing- of his worth showing- ; and none of the following- works 
 were composed with a view to the press. To amuse himself 
 with the little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and 
 fatig-ues of a laborious life ; to transcribe the various feel- 
 ing's, the loves, the gi-iefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own 
 breast ; to find some kind of counterpoise to the strug-gles 
 of a world, always an alien scene, a task uncouth to the po- 
 etical mind — these were hi3 motives for courting- the Muses, 
 and in these he found poetry to be its own reward. 
 
 " Now that he appears in the public character of an author, 
 he does it with fear and trembling-. So dear is fame to the 
 rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, nameless bard, 
 shrinks ag-hast at the thought of being branded as — an im- 
 pertinent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense on the world ; 
 and, because he can make a shift to jingle a few doggerel 
 Scotch rhymes together, looking upon himself as a poet of 
 no small consequence, forsooth ! 
 
 " It is an observation of that celebrated poet, Shenstone, 
 whose divine elegies do honor to our language, our nation, 
 and our species, that ^Huviility has depressed many a genius 
 to a hermit, but never raised one to fame !' If any critic 
 catches at the word genius^ the author tells him once for all, 
 that he certainly looks upon himself as possessed of some po- 
 etic abilities, otherwise his publishing in the manner he has 
 done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst character, 
 which, he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him. But 
 to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawnings of the 
 poor, unfortunate Ferguson, he, with equal unaffected sin- 
 cerity, declares, that, even in his highest pulse of vanity, he 
 has not the most distant pretensions. These two justly ad- 
 mired Scotch poets he has often had in his eye in the follow- 
 ing pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at their flame, 
 than for servile imitation. 
 
 To his subscribers, the author returns his most sincere 
 
102 LIFE OF 
 
 of Catrine, began to notice him with much polite 
 and friendly attention. Dr. Hugh Blair, who then 
 held an eminent place in the literary society of 
 Scotland, happened to be paying Mr. Stewart a 
 visit, and, on reading the Holy Fair, at once pro- 
 nounced it the "work of a very great genius ;" and 
 Mrs. Stewart, herself a poetess, flattered him per- 
 haps still more highly by her warm commenda- 
 tions. But, above all, his little volume happened 
 to attract the notice of Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop, 
 a lady of high birth and ample fortune, enthusi- 
 astically attached to her country, and interested 
 in whatever appeared to concern the honor of 
 Scotland. This excellent woman, while slowly 
 recovering from the languor of an illness, laid her 
 hands accidentally on the new production of the 
 provincial press, and opened the volume at the 
 Cottar's Saturday Night. " She read it over," 
 says Gilbert, " with the greatest pleasure and sur- 
 prise ; the poet's description of the simple cottagers 
 operated on her mind like the charm of a power- 
 ful exorcist, repelling the demon ennui, and re- 
 storing her to her wonted inward harmony and sa- 
 tisfaction." Mrs. Dunlop instantly sent an express 
 to Mosgiel, distant sixteen miles from her resi- 
 
 thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the 
 heart-throbbing- g-ratitude of the bard, conscious how much 
 he owes to benevolence and friendship for g-ratifying" him, if 
 he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bosom — 
 to be disting-uished. He beg-s his readers, particularly the 
 learned and the polite, who may honor hirn with a perusal, 
 that they will make every allowance for education and cir- 
 cumstances of life ; but if, after a fair, candid, and impartial 
 criticism, he shall stand convicted of dullness and nonsense, 
 let him be done by as he would in that case do by others — let 
 him be condemned, without mercy, to contempt and obli- 
 vion." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 103 
 
 deuce, with a very kind letter to Burns, request- 
 ing him to supply her, if he could, with half a 
 dozen copies of the hook, and to call at Dunlop 
 as soon as he could find it convenient. Burns 
 was from home, but he acknovv^ledged the favor 
 bestowed on him in an interesting letter, still ex- 
 tant ; and shortly afterwards commenced a per- 
 sonal acquaintance with one that never afterwards 
 ceased to befriend him to the utmost of her power. 
 His letters to Mrs. Dunlop form a very large pro- 
 portion of all his subsequent correspondence, and, 
 addressed as they were to a person, whose sex, 
 age, rank, and benevolence, inspired at once pro- 
 found respect and a graceful confidence, will 
 ever remain the most pleasing of all the materi- 
 als of our poet's biography. 
 
 At the residences of these new acquaintances, 
 Burns was introduced into society of a class which 
 he had not before approached ; and of the man- 
 ner in which he stood the trial, Mr. Stewart thus 
 writes to Dr. Currie : 
 
 " His manners were then, as they continued 
 ever afterwards, simple, manly, and independent ; 
 strongly expressive of conscious genius and worth; 
 but without any thing that indicated forwardness, 
 arrogance, or vanity. He took his share in con- 
 versation, but not more than belonged to him ; and 
 listened, with apparent attention and deference, on 
 subjects where his want of education deprived him 
 of the means of information. If there had been a 
 little more of gentleness and accommodation in his 
 temper, he would, I think, have been still more 
 interesting ; but he had been accustomed to give 
 law in the circle of his ordinary acquaintance ; and 
 his dread of any thing approaching to meanness or 
 servility, rendered his manner somewhat decided 
 9 
 
104 LIFE OF 
 
 and hard. Nothing, perhaps, was more rcmarka* 
 ble among his various attainments than the flu- 
 ency, and precision, and originaUty of his lan- 
 guage, when he spoke in company, more particu- 
 larly as he aimed at purity in his turn of expres- 
 sion, and avoided, more successfully than most 
 Scotchmen, the peculiarities of Scottish phraseo- 
 logy. A.t this time. Burns' prospects in life were 
 so extremely gloomy, that he had seriously formed 
 a plan of going out to Jamaica in a very humble si- 
 tuation, not, however, without lamenting that his 
 want of patronage should force him to think of a 
 project so repugnant to his feelings, when his am- 
 bition aimed at no higher an object than the station 
 of an exciseman or gaugerinhis own country." 
 
 The provincial applause of his publication, and 
 the consequent notice of his superiors, however flat- 
 tering such things must have been, were far from 
 administering any essential relief to the urgent ne- 
 cessities of Burns' situation. Very shortly after 
 his first visit to Catrinc, where he met with the 
 young and amiable Basil Lord Daer, whose con- 
 descension and kindness on the occasion he cele- 
 brates in some well-known verses, we find the poet 
 writing to his friend, Mr. Aiken of Ayr, in the fol- 
 lowing sad strain : " I have been feeling all the 
 various rotations and movements within respecting 
 the excise. There are many things plead strongly 
 against it ; the uncertainty of getting soon int© bu- 
 siness, the consequences of my follies, which may 
 perhaps make it impracticable for me to stay at 
 home ; and besides, I have for some time been 
 pining under secret wretchedness, from causes 
 which you pretty well know — the pang of disap- 
 pointment, the sling of pride, with some wandering 
 stabs of remorse, which never fail to settle on my 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 105 
 
 vitals, like vultures, when attention is not called 
 away by the calls of society, or the vagaries of the 
 muse. Even inthe hour of social mirth, my gayety 
 is the madness of an intoxicated criminal under 
 the hands of the executioner. All these reasons 
 urge me to go abroad ; and to all these reasons I 
 have only one answer — the feelings of a father. 
 This, in the present mood I am in, overbalances 
 every thing that can be laid in the scale against it." 
 He proceeds to say, that he claims no right to 
 complain. " The world has in general been kind 
 to me, fully up to my deserts. I was for some 
 time past fast getting into the pining, distrustful 
 snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself alone, 
 unfit for the struggle of life, shrinking at every 
 rising cloud in the chance-directed atmosphere of 
 fortune, while, all defenseless, I looked about in 
 vain for a cover. It never occurred to me, at 
 least never with the force it deserved, that this 
 world is a busy scene, and man a creature destined 
 for a progressive struggle ; and that, however I 
 might possess a warm heart, and inoffensive man- 
 ners, (which last, by the by, was rather more than 
 I could well boast,) still, more than these passive 
 qualities, there was something to be done. When 
 all my school-fellows and youthful compeers were 
 striking off, with eager hope and earnest intent, 
 on some one or other of the many paths of busy 
 life, I was ' standing idle in the market-place,' or 
 only left the chase of the butterfly from flower to 
 flower, to hunt fancy from whim to whim. You 
 see, sir, that if to know one's errors were a pro- 
 bability of mending them, I stand a fair chance ; 
 but, according to the reverend Westminster 
 divines, though conviction must precede conver- 
 sion, it is very far from always implying it." 
 
106 LIFE OF 
 
 In the midst of all the distresses of this period 
 of suspense, Burns found time, as he tells Mr. 
 Aiken, for some "vagaries of the muse;" and 
 one or two of these may deserve to be noticed 
 here, as throwing light on his personal demeanor 
 during this first summer of his fame. The poems 
 appeared in July, and one of the first persons of 
 superior condition, (Gilbert, indeed, says the first,) 
 who courted his acquaintance in consequence of 
 having read them, was Mrs. Stewart of Stair, a 
 beautiful and accomplished lady. Burns pre- 
 sented her on this occasion with some MSS,. 
 songs ; and among the rest, with one in which 
 her own charms were celebrated in that warm 
 strain of compliment which our poet seems to 
 have all along considered the most proper to be used 
 whenever fair lady was to be addressed in rhyme, 
 
 " Flow g-ently, sweet Afton, among- thy green braes, 
 Flow g-ently, I'll sing- thee a song- in thy praise : 
 My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
 Flow g-ently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
 How pleasant thy banks and g-reen valleys below, 
 Where wild in tiie woodlands the primroses blow; 
 There oft, as mild evening sweeps over the lea, 
 The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me." 
 
 It was in the spring of the same year, that he 
 had happened, in the course of an evening ram- 
 ble on the banks of the Ayr, to meet with a 
 young and lovely unmarried lady, of the family of 
 Alexander of Ballamyle ; and now, (Sept. 1786,) 
 emboldened, we are to suppose, by the reception 
 his volume had met with, he inclosed to her some 
 verses, which he had written in commemoration 
 of that passing glimpse of her beauty, and con- 
 ceived in a strain of luxurious fervor, which cer- 
 tainly, coming from a man of Burns' station and 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 107 
 
 character, must iiave sounded very strangely in a 
 delicate nriaiden's ear. 
 
 " Oh, had she been a country maid,. 
 
 And 1 the happy country swain, 
 Though shelter'd in the lowest shed, 
 
 That ever rose on Scotia's plain ! 
 Through weary winter's wind and rain, 
 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil. 
 And nightly to my bosom strain 
 
 The bonny lass of Ballochmyle." 
 
 Burns is said by Allan Cunningham to have re- 
 sented bitterly the silence in which Miss Alexan- 
 der received this tribute to her charms. I sup- 
 pose we may account for his over tenderness to 
 young ladies in pretty much the same way that 
 Professor Dugald Stewart does, in the letter 
 above quoted, for " a certain want of gentleness" 
 in his method of addressing persons of his own sex. 
 His rustic experience among the fair could have 
 had no tendency to whisper the lesson of reserve. 
 
 The autumn of this eventful year was now draw- 
 ing to a close, and Burns, who had already linger- 
 ed three months in the hope, which he now con- 
 sidered vain, of an excise appointment, perceived 
 that another year must be lost altogether, unless 
 he made up his mind, and secured his passage to 
 the West Indies. The Kilmarnock edition of his 
 poems was, however, nearly exhausted ; and his 
 friends encouraged him to produce another at the 
 same place, with the view of equipping himself the 
 better for the necessities of his voyage. But the 
 printer at Kilmarnock would not undertake the 
 new impression unless Burns advanced the price 
 of the paper required for it ; and with this demand 
 the poet had no means of complying. Mr. Bal- 
 lantyne. the chief magistrate of Ayr, (the same 
 9* 
 
108 LIFE OF 
 
 gentleman to whom tlie poem on the Twa Brigs 
 of Ayr was afterwards inscribed,) offered to fur- 
 nish the money ; and probably this kind offer would 
 have been accepted. But, ere this matter could 
 be arranged, the prospects of the poet were, in a 
 very unexpected manner, altered and improved. 
 Burns went to pay a parting visit to Dr. Laurie, 
 minister of Loudoun, a gentleman from whom, 
 and his accomplished family, he had previously 
 received many kind attentions. After taking 
 farewell of this benevolent circle, the poet pro- 
 ceeded, as night was setting in, " to convey his 
 chest," as he says, " so far on the road to Green- 
 ock, where he was to embark in a few days for 
 America." And it was under these circum- 
 stances that he composed the song already refer- 
 red to, which he meant as his farewell dirge to his 
 native land, and which ends thus : 
 
 " Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
 Her heatliy moors and winding' vales, 
 The scenes where wretched fancy roves, 
 Pursuing' past unhappy loves. 
 Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
 My peace with these — my love with those — 
 The bursting tears my lieart declare, 
 Farewell, the bonny banks of Ayr." 
 
 Dr. Laurie had given Burns much good counsel, 
 and what comfort he could, at parting ; but pru- 
 pently said nothing of an effort which he had pre- 
 viously made in his behalf. He had sent a copy 
 of the poems, with a sketch of the author's history, 
 to his friend, Dr. Thomas Blacklock, of Edin- 
 burgh, with a request that he would introduce both 
 to the notice of those persons whose opinions were 
 at the time most listened to in regard to literary 
 productions in Scotland, in the hope that, by their 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 109 
 
 intervention, Burns might yet be rescued from the 
 necessity of expatriating himself. Dr. Black- 
 lock's answer reached Dr. Laurie a day or two 
 after Burns had made his visit, and composed his 
 dirge ; and it was not yet too late. Laurie for- 
 warded it immediately to Mr. Gavin Hamilton, 
 who carried it to Burns. It is as follows : 
 
 '^ I ought to have acknowledged your favor long 
 ago, not only as a testimony of your kind remem- 
 brance, but as it gave me an opportunity of sharing 
 one of the finest, and perhaps one of the most ge- 
 nuine entertainments of which the human mind is 
 susceptible. A number of avocations retarded my 
 progress in reading the poems ; at last, however, I 
 have finished that pleasing perusal. Many in- 
 stances have I seen of Nature's force or benefi- 
 cence exerted under numerous and formidable 
 disadvantages ; but none equal to that with which 
 you have been kind enough to present me. There 
 is a pathos and delicacy in his serious poems, a 
 vein of wit and humor in those of a more fes- 
 tive turn, which cannot be too much admired, nor 
 too warmly approved ; and I think I shall never 
 open the book without feeling my astonishment 
 renewed and increased. It was my wish to have 
 expressed my approbation in verse ; but whether 
 from declining life, or a temporary depression of 
 spirits, it is at present out of my power to ac- 
 complish that agreeable intention. 
 
 " Mr. Stewart, Professor of Morals in this Uni- 
 versity> had formerly read me three of the poems, 
 and I had desired him to get my name inserted 
 among the subscribers ; but whether this was 
 done, or not, I never could learn. I have little 
 intercourse with Dr. Blair, but will take care to 
 have the poems communicated to him by the in- 
 
110 LIFE OF 
 
 tervention of some mutual friend. It has been 
 told me by a gentleman, to whom I showed the 
 performances, and who sought a copy with dili- 
 gence and ardor, that the whole impression is 
 already exhausted. It were, therefore, much to 
 be wished, for the sake of the young man, that a 
 second edition, more numerous than the former, 
 could immediately be printed : as it appears cer- 
 tain that its intrinsic merit, and the exertion of 
 the author's friends, might give it a more univer- 
 sal circulation than any thing of the kind which 
 has been published in my memory."* 
 
 We have already seen with what surprise and 
 delight Burns read this generous letter. Although 
 he had ere this conversed with more than one per- 
 son of established literary reputation, and received 
 from them attentions, for which he was ever after 
 grateful, — the despondency of his spirit appears 
 to have remained as dark as ever, up to the very 
 hour when his landlord produced Dr. Blacklock's 
 letter ; and one may be pardoned for fancying, 
 that in his Vision, he has himself furnished no un- 
 faithful representation of the manner in which he 
 was spending what he looked on as one of the 
 last nights, if not the very last, he was to pass at 
 Mossgiel, when the friendly Hamilton unexpect- 
 edly entered the melancholy dwelling. 
 
 " There, lanely by the ingle-cheek 
 I sat and eyed the spewing" reek, 
 That fill'd, wi' lioast-provoking' reek, 
 
 The auld clay-big-g-in', 
 And heard the restless rattans squeak 
 
 About the rig-sriix'. 
 
 Rcliqucs, p. 279. 
 
R013ERT BURNS. Ill 
 
 All ill this mot tie mistic clime, 
 
 I backward mused on wasted time, 
 
 How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 
 
 An' done nae thing", 
 Kut string-in' blethers up in rhyme 
 
 For fools to sinof. 
 
 Had T to g-ude advice but harkit, 
 I mig-ht by this hae led a market, 
 Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit 
 
 J\Iy cash-account, 
 While here, half-mad, half- fed, half-sarkit, 
 
 Is a' the amount." 
 
 "Doctor Blacklock," says Burns, "belonged 
 to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not 
 dared to hope. His opinion that I would meet 
 with encouragement in Edinburgh fired me so 
 much, that away I posted for that city, without a 
 single acquaintance, or a single letter of mtroduc- 
 tion. The baneful star that had so long shed its 
 blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a 
 revolution to the nadir."* 
 
 Two of the biographers of Burns have had the 
 advantage of speaking from personal knowledge of 
 this excellent man, whose interposition was thus 
 serviceable. " It was a fortunate circumstance," 
 says Walker, " tliat the person whom Dr. Laurie 
 applied to, merely because he was the only one 
 of his literary acquaintances with whom he chose 
 to use that freedom, happened also to be the per- 
 son bestqualified to renderthe application success- 
 ful. Dr. Blacklock was an enthusiast in his ad- 
 miration of an art which he had practiced himself 
 with applause. He felt the claims of a poet with 
 a paternal sympathy, and he had in his constitu- 
 
 Lctter to Moore. 
 
112 LIFE OF 
 
 tion a tenderness and sensibility that would have 
 engaged his beneficence for a youth in the cir- 
 cumstances of Burns, even though he had not 
 been indebted to him for the dehght which he 
 received from his works ; for if the young men 
 were enumerated whom he drew from obscurity, 
 and enabled by education to advance themselves 
 in life, the catalogue would naturally excite sur- 
 prise. . . . He was not of a disposition to act as 
 Walpole did to Chatterton ; to discourage with 
 feeble praise, and to shift off the trouble of future 
 patronage, by bidding him relinquish poetry, and 
 mind his plough."* 
 
 " There was never, perhaps," thus speaks tlie 
 unfortunate Heron, whose own unmerited sorrows 
 and sufferings would not have left so dark a stain on 
 the literary history of Scotland, had the kind spirit 
 of Blacklock been common among his lettered 
 countrymen — " There w^as never, perhaps, one 
 among all mankind whom you might more truly 
 have called an angel iifon earth than Dr. Black- 
 lock. He was guileless and innocent as a child, 
 yet endowed with manly sagacity and penetra- 
 tion. His heart was a perpetual spring of benig- 
 nity. His feelings were all trembhngly alive to 
 the sense of the sublime, the beautiful, the ten- 
 der, the pious, the virtuous. Poetry was to him 
 the dear solace of perpetual blindness." 
 
 Such was the amiable old man, whose life Mac- 
 kenzie has written, and on whom Johnson " look- 
 ed with reverence.""!" The writings of Blacklock 
 
 + Morrison, vol. i. p. 9. 
 
 t "This morning- I saw at breakfast Dr. Blacklock the 
 blind poet, who does not remember to have seen lig;ht, and 
 Is read to by a poor scholar in Latin, Greek, and French. 
 
EGBERT BURNS. 113 
 
 are forgotten, (though some of his songs in the 
 Musetim deserve another fate,) but the memory 
 of his virtues will not pass away until mankind 
 shall have ceased to sympathize with the fortunes 
 of Genius, and to appreciate the poetry of Burns. 
 
 He was originally a poor scholar himself. I looked on with 
 reverence." Letter to Mrs. Thrale. Edinburgh, August 
 17. 1773. 
 
114 LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Edina! Scotia's darling- seat ! 
 
 All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
 Where once beneath a monarch's feet 
 
 Sat leg"islation's sovercig-n powers; 
 From marking- wildly-scatter'd flowr's, 
 
 As on the banks of Ayr I strayed, 
 And sing-ing-, lone, the ling-ering- hours, 
 
 I shelter in thy honor'd shade." 
 
 There is an old Scottish ballad which begins 
 thus ; 
 
 " As I came in by Glenap, 
 
 I met an aged woman, 
 And she bade me cheer up my heart, 
 
 For the best of my days was coming-." 
 
 This stanza was one of Burns' favorite quota- 
 tions ; and he told a friend* many years after- 
 wards, that he remembered humming it to him- 
 self, over and over, on his way from Mossgiel to 
 Edinburgh. Perhaps the excellent Blacklock 
 might not have been particularly flattered with the 
 circumstance had it reached his ears. 
 
 Although he repaired to the capital with such 
 alertness, solely in consequence of Blacklock's 
 letter to Dr. Laurie, it appears that he allowed 
 some weeks to pass ere he presented himself to 
 the doctor's personal notice. f He found several 
 
 * David MaccuUoch, Esq., brother to Ardwell. 
 
 t Burns reached Edinburg-h before the end of Novem- 
 ber, and yet Dr. Laurie's letter, (General Correspondence, 
 p. 37,) admonishing- him to wait on Blacklock, is dated De- 
 cember 22. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 115 
 
 of* his old x\.yrshire acquaintances established in 
 Edinburgh, and, I suppose, felt himself constrain- 
 ed to give himself up for a brief space to their so- 
 ciety. He printed, however, without delay, a 
 prospectus of a second edition of his poems, and 
 being introduced by Mr. Dalrymple of Orange- 
 field to the Earl of Glencairn, that amiable no- 
 bleman easily persuaded Creech, then the chief 
 bookseller in Edinburgh, (who had attended his 
 son as traveling-tutor,) to undertake the publica- 
 tion. The Honorable Henry Erskine, Dean of the 
 Faculty of Advocates, the most agreeable of com- 
 panions, and the most benignant of wits, took him 
 also, as the poet expresses it, " under his wing." 
 The kind Blacklock received him with all the 
 warmth of paternal affection when he did wait on 
 him, and introduced him to Dr. Blair, and other 
 eminent literati ; his subscription lists were soon 
 filled ; Lord Glencairn made interest with the Ca- 
 ledonian Hunt, (an association of the most distin- 
 guished members of the northern aristocracy,) to 
 accept the dedication of the forthcoming edition, 
 and to subscribe individually for copies. Several 
 noblemen, especially of the west of Scotland, came 
 forward with subscription-moneys considerably be- 
 yond the usual rate. In so small a capital, where 
 every body knows every body, that which becomes 
 a favorite topic in one leading circle of society, 
 soon excites a universal interest ; and before 
 Burns had been a fortnight in Edinburgh, we find 
 him writing to his earliest patron, Gavin Hamilton, 
 in these terms : " For my own affairs, I am in 
 a fair way of becoming as eminent as Thomas 
 a Kempis or John Bunyan ; and you may expect 
 henceforth to see my birthday inscribed among 
 the wonderful events in the Poor Robin and Aber- 
 10 
 
116 LIFE OF 
 
 deen Almanacks, along with the Black Monday, 
 and the Battle of Bothwell Bridge." 
 
 It will ever be remembered, to the honor of 
 the man who at that period held the highest place 
 in the imaginative literature of Scotland, that he 
 was the first who came forward to avow in print 
 his admiration of the genius and his warm inte- 
 rest in the fortunes of the poet. Distinguished as 
 his own writings are by the refinements of clas- 
 sical art, Mr. Henry Mackenzie was, fortunately 
 for Burns, a man of liberal genius, as well as po- 
 lished taste ; and he, in whose own pages some 
 of the best models of elaborate elegance will ever 
 be recognized, was among the first to feel, and the 
 first to stake his own reputation on the public 
 avowal, that the Ayrshire Ploughman belonged to 
 the order of beings, whose privilege it is to snatch 
 graces " beyond the reach of art." It is but a 
 melancholy business to trace among the records 
 of literary history, the manner in which most 
 great original geniuses have been greeted on their 
 first appeals to the world, by the contemporary ar- 
 biters of taste ; coldly and timidly indeed have the 
 sympathies of professional criticism flowed on 
 most such occasions in past times and in the pre- 
 sent : But the reception of Burns was worthy of 
 the Man of Feeling. After alluding to the pro- 
 vincial circulation and reputation of his poems,* 
 " I hope," said The Lounger, " I shall not be 
 thought to assume too much, if I endeavor to 
 place him in a higher point of view, to call for a 
 verdict of his country on the merits of his works, 
 and to claim for him those honors which their ex- 
 cellence appears to deserve. In mentioning the 
 
 * The Lounger for Saturday, December 9, 1786. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 117 
 
 circumstance of his humble station, I mean not 
 to rest his pretensions solely on that title, or to 
 urge the merits of his poetry, when considered in 
 relation to the lowness of his birth, and the little 
 opportunity of improvement which his education 
 could afford. These particulars, indeed, must 
 excite our wonder at his productions ; but his po- 
 etry, considered abstractedly, and without the 
 apologies arising from his situation, seems to me 
 fully entitled to command our feelings, and to ob- 
 tain our applause." After quoting va- 
 rious passages, in some of which his readers 
 " must discover a high tone of feeling, and pow- 
 er, and energy of expression, particularly and 
 strongly characteristic of the mind and the voice 
 of a poet," and others as showing " the power of 
 genius, not less admirable in tracing the manners 
 than in painting the passions, or in drawing the 
 scenery of nature," and " with what uncommon 
 penetration and sagacity this heaven-taught 
 ploughman, from his humble and unlettered con- 
 dition, had looked on men and manners," the cri- 
 tic concluded with an eloquent appeal in behalf of 
 the poet personally : " To repair," said he, " the 
 wrong of suffering or neglected merit ; to call 
 forth genius from the obscurity in which it had 
 pined indignant, and place it where it may profit 
 or delight the world — these are exertions which 
 give to wealth an enviable superiority, to great- 
 ness and to patronage a laudable pride." 
 
 We all know how the serious part of this ap- 
 peal was ultimately attended to ; but, in the mean 
 time, whatever gratification such a mind as his 
 could derive from the blandishments of the fair, 
 the condescension of the noble, and the flatteries 
 
118 LIFE OF 
 
 of the learned, were plentifully administered to 
 " the Lion" of the season. 
 
 " I was, sir," thus wrote Burns to one of his 
 Ayrshire patrons,* a few days after the Lounger 
 appeared, — "I was, when first honored with 
 your notice, too obscure ; now I tremble lest I 
 should be ruined by being dragged too suddenly 
 into the glare of polite and learned observation ;*' 
 and he concludes the same letter with an omi- 
 nous prayer for " better health and more spirits." 
 
 Two or three weeks later we find him writing 
 as follows : "(January 14, 1787.) I went to a 
 Mason Lodge yesternight, where the M. W. 
 Grand Master Charteris and all the Grand Lodge 
 of Scotland visited. The meeting was numerous 
 and elegant : all the different Lodges about town 
 were present in all their pomp. The Grand Mas- 
 ter, who presided with great solemnity, among 
 other general toasts gave ' Caledonia and Caledo- 
 nia's bard. Brother B ,' which rang through 
 
 the whole assembly with multiplied honors and re- 
 peated acclamations. As I had no idea such a 
 thing would happen, I was downright thunder- 
 struck : and trembling in every nerve, made the 
 best return in my power. Just as I had finished, 
 one of the Grand Officers said, so loud that I 
 could hear, with a most comforting accent, ' very 
 well, indeed,' which set me something to rights 
 again." 
 
 And a few weeks later still, he is thus address- 
 ed by one of his old associates who was meditat- 
 ing a visit to Edinburgh : " By all accounts, it 
 will be a difficult matter to get a sight of you at 
 all, unless your company is bespoke a week before- 
 
 * Letter to Mr. Ballantyne of Ayr, December 13, 1786, Re- 
 liqucs, p. 12. 
 
ROBEKT BURNS. 119 
 
 hand. Tliere are great rumors here of your inti- 
 macy with the Duchess of Gordon, and other la- 
 dies of distinction. I am really told that 
 
 * Cards to invite, fly by thousands each nig-ht ;' 
 
 and if you had one, there would, also, I suppose, 
 be ' bribes for your old secretary,' I observe you 
 are resolved to make hay while the sun shines, 
 and avoid, if possible, the fate of poor Ferguson. 
 Qu(Brenda pecunia pi-imum est — Virtus post num- 
 mos, is a good maxim to thrive by. You seemed 
 to despise it while in this country ; but, probably, 
 some philosophers in Edinburgh have taught you 
 better sense." 
 
 In this proud career, however, the popular idol 
 needed no slave to whisper whence he had risen, 
 and whither he was to return in the ebb of the 
 spring-tide of fortune. Ilis " prophetic soul" was 
 probably furnished v/ith a sufficient memento eve- 
 ry night — when, from the soft homage of glitter, 
 ing saloons, or the tumultuous applause of con» 
 vivial assemblies, he made his retreat to the hum- 
 ble garret of a writer^ s apprentice, a native of 
 Mauchline, and as poor as himself, whose only 
 bed " Caledonia's Bard" was fain to partake 
 throughout this triumphant winter.'*' 
 
 He bore all his honors in a manner worthy of 
 himself; and of this the testimonies are so nume- 
 
 " Old Mr. Richmond, of INIauchlinc, told me that Burns 
 spent the first winter of his residence in Edinburg-h, in his 
 lodg-ing-s. They slept in the same bed, and had only one 
 room. It was in the house of a Mrs. Carfrae, Baxter's Close, 
 Lawumarket, first scale-stair on the left hand in going" down, 
 first door in the stair." I quote from a letter of Mr. R. Cham- 
 bers, the dilg-ent local antiquary of Edinburgh, to whom I 
 owe many obligations. 
 
 10* 
 
120 LIFE OF 
 
 rous, that the only difficulty is that of selection, 
 " The attentions he received," says Mr. Dugald 
 Stewart, " from all ranks and descriptions of per- 
 sons, were such as would have turned any head 
 but his own. I cannot say that I could perceive 
 any unfavorable . effect which they left on his 
 mind. He retained the same simplicity of man- 
 ners and appearance which had struck me so for- 
 cibly when I first saw him in the country ; nor did 
 he seem to feel any additional self-importance from 
 the number and rank of his new acquaintance." 
 
 Professor Walker, who met him, for the first 
 time, early in the same season, at breakfast in Dr. 
 Blacklock's house, has thus recorded his impres- 
 sions : "I was not much struck with his first 
 appearance, as I had previously heard it de- 
 scribed. His person, though strong and well knit, 
 and much superior to what might be expected in 
 a ploughman, was still rather coarse in its outline. 
 His stature, from want of setting up, appeared to 
 be only of the middle size, but was rather above 
 it. His motions were firm and decided, and 
 though without any pretensions to grace, were at 
 the same time so free from clownish constraint, as 
 to show that he had not always been confined to 
 the society of his profession. His countenance 
 was not of that elegant cast, v/hich is most fre- 
 quent among the upper ranks, but it was manly 
 and intelligent, and marked by a thoughtful gra- 
 vity which shaded at times into sternness. In his 
 large dark eye the most striking index of his genius 
 resided. It w^as full of mind ; and would have 
 been singularly expressive, under the manage- 
 ment of one who could employ it with more 
 art, for the purpose of expression. 
 " He was plainly, but properly dressed, in a style 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 121 
 
 mid-way between the holiday costume of a farmer, 
 and that of the company with which he now asso- 
 ciated. His black hair, without powder, at a 
 time when it was very generally worn, was tied 
 behind, and spread upon his forehead. Upon the 
 whole, from his person, physiognomy, and dress, 
 had I methim near a seaport, and been required to 
 guess his condition, I should have probably con- 
 jectured him to be the master of a merchant ves- 
 sel of the most respectable class. 
 
 " In no part of his manner was there the slight- 
 est degree of affectation, nor could a stranger 
 have suspected, from any thing in his behavior 
 or conversation, that he had been for some months 
 the favorite of all the fashionable circles of a me- 
 tropolis. 
 
 " In conversation he was powerful. His con- 
 ceptions and expressions were of corresponding 
 vigor, and on all subjects were as remote as possi- 
 ble from commonplaces. Though somewhat autho- 
 ritative, it was in a way which gave little offense, 
 and was readily imputed to his inexperience in 
 those modes of smoothing dissent and softening 
 assertion, which are important characteristics of 
 polished manners. After breakfast I requested 
 him to communicate some of his unpubhshed 
 pieces, and he recited his farewell song to the 
 Banks of Ayr, introducing it with a description of 
 the circumstances in which it was composed, 
 more striking than the poem itself. 
 
 " I paid particular attention to his recitation, 
 which was plain, slow, articulate, and forcible, but 
 without any eloquence or art. He did not always 
 lay the emplihasis with propriety, nor did he hu- 
 mor the sentiment by the variations of his voice. 
 He was standing, during the time, with his face 
 
122 LIFE OF 
 
 towards the windov/, to which, and not to his au- 
 ditors, he directed his eye — thus depriving him- 
 self of any additional effect which the language of 
 his composition might have borrowed from the 
 language of his countenance. In this, he resem- 
 bled the generality of singers in ordinary compa- 
 ny, who, to shun any charge of affectation, with- 
 draw all meaning from their features, and lose the 
 advantage by which vocal performers on the stage 
 augment the impression, and give energy to the 
 sentiment of the song 
 
 " The day after my first introduction to Burns, 
 I supped in company with him at Dr. Blair's. The 
 other guests were very few, and as each had been 
 invited chiefly to have an opportunity of meeting 
 with the poet, the Doctor endeavored to draw 
 him out, and to make him the central figure of the 
 group. Though he therefore furnished the greatest 
 proportion of the conversation, he did no more 
 than what he saw evidently was expected."* 
 
 To these reminiscences I shall now add those 
 of one who is not likely to be heard unwillingly 
 on any subject ; and — young as he was in 1786 — 
 on few subjects, I think, with greater interest than 
 the personal appearance and conversation of Ro- 
 bert Burns. The following is an extract from a 
 letter of Sir Walter Scott : 
 
 " As for Burns, I may truly say, Virgilium vidi 
 tantiim. I was a lad of fifteen in 1786-7, when 
 he came first to Edinburgh, but had sense and 
 feehng enough to be much interested in his 
 poetry, and would have given the world to 
 know him : but I had very little acquaintance with 
 any literary people, and still less with the gentry 
 
 Morrison's Burns, vol. i. pp. Ixxi. Ixxii. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 123 
 
 of the west country, the two sets that he most 
 frequented. Mr. Thomas Grierson was at that 
 time a clerk of my father's. He knew Burns, 
 and promised to ask him to his lodgings to din- 
 ner, but had no opportunity to keep his word ; 
 otherwise I might have seen more of this distin- 
 guished man. As it was, I saw him one day at 
 the late venerable Professor Fergusson's where 
 there were several gentlemen of literary reputa- 
 tion, among whom I remember the celebrated 
 Mr. Dugald Stewart. Of course we youngsters 
 sate silent, looked, and listened. The only thing 
 I remember which was remarkable in Burns' 
 manner, was the effect produced upon him by a 
 print of Bunbury's, representing a soldier lying 
 dead on the snow, his dog sitting in misery on 
 one side, — on the other, his widow, with a child in 
 her arms. These lines were written beneath, — 
 
 'Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, 
 Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain — 
 Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, 
 The big" drops, ming-ling with the milk he drew, 
 Gave the sad presage of his future years, 
 The child of misery baptized in tears.' 
 
 " Burns seemed much affected by the print, or 
 rather the ideas which it suggested to his mind. 
 He actually shed tears. He asked whose the lines 
 were, and it chanced that nobody but myself re- 
 membered that they occur in a half- forgotten poem 
 of Langhorne's, called by the unpromising title of 
 The Justice of Peace. I whispered my informa- 
 tion to a friend present, who mentioned it to Burns, 
 who rewarded me with a look and a word, which, 
 though of mere civility, I then received, and still 
 recollect, with very great pleasure. 
 
 " His person was strong and robust ; his man- 
 
124 LIFE OF 
 
 ners rustic, not clownish ; a sort of dignified plain- 
 ness and simplicity, which received part of its ef- 
 fect, perhaps, from one's knowledge of his extraor- 
 dinary talents. His features are represented in 
 Mr. Nasmith's picture, but to me it conveys the 
 idea, that they are diminished as if seen in perspec- 
 tive. I think his countenance was more massive 
 than it looks in any of the portraits. I would have 
 taken the poet, had I not known what he was, for 
 a very sagacious country farmer of the old Scotch 
 school, i. e. none of your modern agriculturalists, 
 who keep laborers for their drudgery, but the 
 douce gudeman who held his own plough. There 
 was a strong expression of sense and shrewdness 
 in all his lineaments ; the eye alone, I think, indi- 
 cated the poetical character and temperament. It 
 was large, and of a dark cast, which glowed (I say 
 literally glowed) when he spoke with feeling or 
 interest. I never sav/ such another eye in a hu- 
 man head, though I have seen the most distin- 
 guished men of my time. His conversation ex- 
 pressed perfect self-confidence, without the slight- 
 est presumption. Among the men who were the 
 most learned of their time and country, he express- 
 ed himself with perfect firmness, but without the 
 least intrusive forwardness ; and when he differed 
 in opinion, he did not hesitate to express it firmly, 
 yet at the same time v/ith modesty. I do not re- 
 member any part of his conversation distinctly 
 enough to be quoted, nor did I ever see him again, 
 except in the street, where he did not recognize 
 me, as I could not expect he should. He was much 
 caressed in Edinburgh, but (considering what lite- 
 rary emoluments have been since his day) the ef- 
 forts made for his relief were extremely trifling. 
 " I remember on this occasion I mentionj I 
 
KOBEIIT BU11X5. 12^ 
 
 thought Burns' acquaintance with EngHsh poetry 
 was rather hmited, and also, that having twenty 
 times the abiUties of Allan Ramsay and of Fer- 
 guson, he talked of them with too much humility 
 as his models ; there was, doubtless, national pre- 
 dilection in his estimate. 
 
 " This is all I can tell you about Burns. I have 
 only to add that his dress corresponded with his 
 manner. He was like a farmer dressed in his 
 best to dine with the Laird. I do not speak in ma- 
 lam partem, when I say, I never saw a man in 
 company with his superiors in station and informa- 
 tion, more perfectly free from either the reality 
 or the affectation of embarrassment. I was told, 
 but did not observe it, that his address to females 
 was extremely deferential, and always with a turn 
 either to the pathetic or humorous, which en- 
 gaged their attention particularly. I have heard 
 the late Duchess of Gordon remark this. I do 
 not know any thing I can add to these recollec- 
 tions of forty years since." 
 
 Darkly as the career of Burns was destined to 
 terminate, there can be no doubt that he made his 
 first appearance at a period highly favorable for 
 his reception as a British, and especially as a Scot- 
 tish poet. Nearly forty years had elapsed since the 
 death of Thomson ; — Collins, Gray, Goldsmith, 
 had successively disappeared : — Dr. Johnson had 
 belied the rich promise of iiis;early appearance, and 
 confined himself to prose ; and Cowper had hardly 
 begun to bo recognized as having any considera- 
 ble pretensions to fill the long-vacant throne in 
 England. At home — without derogation from the 
 merits either oi Douglas^ or the Minstrel, be it said 
 — men must have gone back at least three centu- 
 ries to find a ScoUish poei at all entitiou to be 
 
126 LIFE OF 
 
 considered as of that high order to which the ge- 
 nerous criticism of Mackenzie at once admitted 
 " the Ayrshire Ploughman." Of the form and 
 garb of his composition, much, unquestionably 
 and avowedly, was derived from his more imme- 
 diate predecessors, Ramsay and Ferguson : but 
 there was a bold mastery of hand in his pictu- 
 resque descriptions, to produce any thing equal to 
 which it was necessary to recall the days of 
 Christ's Kirk on the Green, and Peebles to the Play : 
 and in his more solemn pieces, a depth of inspira- 
 tion, and a massive energy of language, to which 
 the dialect of his country had been a stranger, at 
 least since " Dunbar the Mackar." The Muses 
 of Scotland had never indeed been silent ; and 
 the ancient minstrelsy of the land, of which a slen- 
 der portion had as yet been committed to the safe- 
 guard of the press, was handed from generation 
 to generation, and preserved, in many a fragment, 
 faithful images of the peculiar tenderness, and 
 peculiar humor, of the national fancy and cha- 
 racter — precious representations, which Burns 
 himself never surpassed in his happiest efforts. 
 But these were fragments : and with a scanty 
 handful of exceptions, the best of them, at least 
 of the serious kind, were very ancient. Among 
 the numberless eflusions of the Jacobite Muse, 
 valuable as we now consider them for the record 
 of manners and events, it would be difficult to 
 point out half a dozen strains, worthy, for poeti- 
 cal excellence alone, of a place among the old 
 chivalrous ballads of the Southern, or even of the 
 Highland Border. Generations had passed away 
 since any Scottish poet had appealed to the sym- 
 pathies of his countrymen in a lofty Scottish strain. 
 The dialect itself had been hardly dealt with. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 127 
 
 *' It is my opinion," said Dr. Geddes, " that those 
 who, for almost a century past, have written in 
 Scotch, xillan Ramsay not excepted, have not duly 
 discriminated the genuine idiom from its vulgar- 
 isms. They seem to have acted a similar part to 
 certain pretended imitators of Spenser and Mil- 
 ton, who fondly imagine that they are copying 
 from these great models, when they only mimic 
 their antique mode of spelling, their obsolete 
 terms, and their irregular constructions." And 
 although I cannot well guess what the doctor con- 
 sidered as the irregular constructions of Milton, 
 there can be no doubt of the general justice of 
 his observations. Ramsay and Ferguson were 
 both men of humble condition, the latter of the 
 meanest, the former of no very elegant habits ; 
 and the dialect which had once pleased the ears 
 of kings, who themselves did not disdain to dis- 
 play its powers and elegancies in verse, did not 
 come untarnished through iheir hands. Ferguson, 
 who was entirely town-bred, smells more of the 
 Cowgate than of the country ; and pleasing as 
 Ramsay's rustics are, he appears rather to have 
 observed the surface of rural manners, in casual 
 excursions to Penycuik and the Hunter's Tryste, 
 than to have expressed the results of intimate 
 knowledge and sympathy. His dialect was a 
 somewhat incongruous mixture of the Upper 
 Ward of Lanark and the Luckenbooths ; and he 
 could neither write English verses, nor engraft 
 English phraseology on his Scotch, without be- 
 traying a lamentable want of skill in the use of 
 his instruments. It was reserved for Burns to in- 
 terpret the inmost soul of the Scottish peasant in 
 all its moods, and in verse exquisitely and in- 
 tensely Scottish, without degrading either his sen- 
 11 
 
128 LIFE OF 
 
 timents or his language with one touch of vulga- 
 rity. Such is the delicacy of native taste, and 
 the power of a truly masculine genius. 
 
 This is the more remarkable, when we consi- 
 der that the dialect of Burns' native district is, 
 in all mouths but his own, a peculiarly offensive 
 one : — far removed from that of the favored dis- 
 tricts in which the ancient minstrelsy appears,^ 
 with rare exceptions, to have been produced. 
 Even in the elder days, it seems to have been 
 proverbial for its coarseness. Dunbar, among 
 other sarcasms on his antagonist Kennedy, says i 
 
 "J haif on me a pair of Lothiane hipps 
 
 Sail fairer Inglis mak, and mair perfyte, 
 
 Than thou can blabber with thy Carrick lipps ;" 
 
 and the Covenanters were not likely to mend it. 
 The few poets* whom the west of Scotland had 
 produced in the old time, were all men of high 
 condition ; and who, of course, used the language, 
 not of their own villages, but of Holyrood. Their 
 productions, moreover, in so far as they have been 
 produced, had nothing to do with the peculiar 
 chracter and feelings of the men of the west. As 
 Burns himself has said, — " It is somewhat singu- 
 lar, that in Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, &c., there is 
 scarcely an old song or tune, which, from the 
 title, &c., can be guessed to belong to, or be the 
 production of, those counties." 
 
 The history of Scottish literature, from the union 
 of the crowns to that of the kingdoms, has not 
 yet been made the subject of any separate work 
 
 * Such as Kennedy, Shaw, Montgomery, and, more lately, 
 Hamilton of Gilbertfield ; 
 
 *' Who bade the brakes of Airdrie long" resound 
 The plaintive dirge that mourn'd his favorite hound." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 129 
 
 at all worthy of its importance ; nay, however 
 much we are indebted to the learned labors of 
 Pinkerton, Irving, and others, enough of the gene- 
 ral obscurity of which Warren complained still 
 continues, to the no small discredit of so accom- 
 plished a nation. But how miserably the literature 
 of the country was affected by the loss of the 
 court under whose immediate patronage it had, in 
 almost all preceding times, found a measure of 
 protection that will ever do honor to the memory 
 of the unfortunate house of Stuart, appears to be 
 indicated with sufficient plainness in the single 
 fact, that no man can point out any Scottish author 
 of the first rank in all the long period which inter- 
 vened between Buchanan and Hume. The remo- 
 val of the chief nobility and gentry, consequent on 
 the Legislative Union, appeared to destroy our 
 last hopes as a separate nation, possessing a se- 
 parate literature of our own ; nay, for a time, to 
 have all but extinguished the flame of intellectual 
 exertion and ambition. Long torn and harassed 
 by religious and political feuds, this people had at 
 last heard, as many believed, the sentence of irre- 
 mediable degradation pronounced by the lips of 
 their own prince and parliament. The universal 
 spirit ofScotland was humbled; the unhappy insur- 
 rections of 1715 and 1745 revealed the full extent 
 of her internal disunion ; and England took, in 
 some respects, merciless advantage of the fallen. 
 Time, however, passed on ; and Scotland re- 
 covering at last from the blow which had stunned 
 her energies, began to vindicate her pretensions, 
 in the only departments which had been left open 
 to her, with a zeal and a success which will ever 
 distinguish one of the brightest pages of her his. 
 lory. Deprived of every national honor and dis. 
 
130 LIFE OF 
 
 tinction which it was possible to remove — all the 
 high branches of external ambition lopped off, — 
 sunk at last, as men thought, effectually into a 
 province, willing to take law with passive submis- 
 sion, in letters as well as polity, from her power- 
 ful sister — the old kingdom revived suddenly from 
 her stupor, and once more asserted her name in 
 reclamations with England — was compelled not 
 only to hear, but to applaud, and " wherewith all 
 Europe rung from side to side," at the moment 
 when a national poet came forward to profit by the 
 reflux of a thousand half-forgotten sympathies — 
 amidst the full joy of a national pride revived and 
 re-established beyond the dream of hope. 
 
 It will always reflect honor on the galaxy of 
 eminent men of letters, who, in their various de- 
 partments, shed lustre at that period on the name 
 of Scotland, that they suffered no pedantic preju- 
 dices to interfere with their reception of Burns. 
 Had he not appeared personally among them, it 
 may be reasonably doubted whether this would 
 have been so. They were men, generally speak- 
 ing, of very social habits ; living together in a 
 small capital ; nay, almost all of them, in or about 
 one street, maintaining friendly intercourse conti- 
 nually ; not a few of them considerably addicted to 
 the pleasures which have been called, by way of 
 excellence, I presume, convivial. Burns' poetry 
 might have procured him access to these circles ; 
 but it was the extraordinary resources he display- 
 ed in conversation, the strong, vigorous sagacity of 
 his observations on life and manners, the splendor 
 of his wit, and the glowing energy of his elo- 
 quence when his feelings were stirred, that made 
 him the object of serious admiration among these 
 practiced matters of the arts of talk. There were 
 
liOBEUT BURNS. 131 
 
 several of them who probably adopted in their 
 hearts the opinion of Newton, that " poetry is in- 
 genious nonsense." Adam Smith, for one, could 
 have had no very ready respect at the service of 
 such an unproductive laborer as a maker of Scot- 
 lish ballads ; but the stateliest of these philoso- 
 phers had enough to do to maintain the attitude 
 of equality, w^hen brought into personal contact 
 with Burns' gigantic understanding ; and every 
 one of them whose impressions on the subject 
 have been recorded, agrees in pronouncing his 
 conversation to have been the most remarkable 
 thing about him. 
 
 And yet it is amusing enough to trace the lin- 
 gering reluctance of some of these pohshed 
 scholars, about admitting, even to themselves, in 
 his ybsence, what it is certain they all felt suffi- 
 ciently wlien they were actually in his presence. 
 It is difficult, for example, to read without a smile 
 that letter of Mr. Dugald Stewart, in which he 
 describes himself and Mr. Alison as being sur- 
 prised to discover that Burns, after reading the 
 latter author's elegant Essay oji Taste, had really 
 been able to form some shrewd enough notion of 
 the general principles of the association of ideas. 
 
 Burns would probably have been more satisfied 
 with himself in these learned societies, had he 
 been less addicted to giving free utterance in con- 
 versation to the very feelings which formed the 
 noblest inspirations of his poetry. His sensibility 
 was as tremblingly exquisite, as his sense was 
 mascuhne and solid ; and he seems to have ere 
 long suspected that the professional metaphysi- 
 cians who applauded his rapturous bursts, survey- 
 ed them in reality with something of the same 
 feeling which may be supposed to attend a skillful 
 11* 
 
132 LIFE OF 
 
 surgeon's inspection of a curious specimen of 
 morbid anatomy. Why should he lay his inmost 
 heart thus open to dissectors, who took special 
 care to keep the knife from their own breasts ? 
 The secret blush that overspread his haughty 
 countenance when such suggestions occurred to 
 him in his solitary hours, may be traced in the 
 opening lines of a diary which he began to keep 
 ere he had been long in Edinburgh. 
 
 " April 9, 1787. — As I have seen a good deal 
 of human life in Edinburgh, a great many charac- 
 ters which are new to one bred up in the shades 
 of life, as I have been, I am determined to take 
 down my remarks on the spot. Gray observes, in 
 a letter to Mr. Palgrave, that, ' half a word fixed, 
 upon, or near the spot, is worth a cart-load of re- 
 coUecticn.' I don't know how it is with the world 
 in general, but with me, making my remarks is 
 by no means a solitary pleasure. I want some 
 one to laugh with me, some one to be grave with 
 me, some one to please me and help my discrimi- 
 nation, with his or her own remark, and at times, 
 no doubt, to admire my acuteness and penetra. 
 tion. The world are so busied with selfish pur- 
 suits, ambition, vanity, interest, or pleasure, that 
 very few think it worth their while to make any 
 observation on what passes around them, except 
 where the observation is a sucker, or branch, of 
 the darling plant they are rearing in their fancy. 
 Nor am I sure, notwithstanding all the sentimental 
 flights of novel-writers, and the sage philosophy of 
 moralists, whether we are capable of so intimate 
 and cordial a coalition of friendship, as that one 
 man may pour out his bosom, his every thought and 
 footing fancy, his very inmost soul, with unreserv- 
 ed confidence, to another, without hazard of losing 
 
ROBERT I'.URNS. 133 
 
 part of that respect which man deserves from 
 man; or, from the unavoidable imperfections 
 attending human nature, of one day repenting 
 his confidence. 
 
 " For these reasons I am determined to make 
 these pages my confident. I will sketch every 
 character that any way strikes me, to the best of 
 my power, with unshrinking justice. I will in- 
 sert anecdotes, and take down remarks, in the old 
 law phrase, without feud or favor. — Where I hit 
 on any thing clever, my own applause will, in 
 some measure, feast my vanity ; and, begging 
 Patroclus' and Achates' pardon, I think a lock 
 and key a security, at least equal to the bosom 
 of any friend whatever." 
 
 And the same lurking thorn of suspicion peeps 
 out elsewhere in this complaint ; " I know not how 
 it is ; I find I can win liking — but not respect." 
 
 " Burns," says a great living poet, in comment- 
 ing on the free style, in which Dr. Currie did not 
 hesitate to expose some of the weaker parts of his 
 behavior, very soon after the grave had closed on 
 him, — " Burns was a man of extraordinary ge- 
 nius, whose birth, education, and employments 
 bad placed and kept him in a situation far below 
 that in which the writers and readers of expensive 
 volumes are usually found. Critics upon works of 
 fiction have laid it down as a rule that remoteness 
 of place, in fixing the choice of a subject, and in 
 prescribing the mode of treating it, is equal in 
 effect to distance of time ; — restraints may be 
 thrown off accordingly. Judge then of the delu- 
 sions which artificial distinctions impose, when to 
 a man like Doctor Currie, writing with views so 
 honorable, the social condition of the individual 
 of whom he was treating, could seem to place him 
 
134 LIFE OF 
 
 at such a distance from the exalted reader, that 
 ceremony mi^ht be discarded with him, and his 
 memory sacrificed, as it were, almost without 
 compunction. This is indeed to be crushed be- 
 neath the furrow^s weight.''^* 
 
 It would be idle to suppose that the feelings 
 here ascribed, and justly, no question, to the ami- 
 able and benevolent Currie, did not often find their 
 way into the bosoms of those persons of superior 
 condition and attainments, with whom Burns as- 
 sociated at the period when he first emerged into 
 the blaze of reputation ; and what found its way 
 into men's bosoms was not likely to avoid betray, 
 ing itself to the perspicacious glance of the proud 
 peasant. How perpetually he was alive to the 
 dread of being looked down upon as a man, even 
 by those who most zealously applauded the works 
 of his genius, might perhaps be traced through 
 the whole sequence of his letters. When writ- 
 ing to men of high station, at least, he preserves, 
 in every instance, the attitude of self-defense. 
 But it is only in his own secret tables that we 
 have the fibres of his heart laid bare ; and the 
 cancer of this jealousy is seen distinctly at its 
 painful work ; hahemus reum et conjiterdem. 
 
 " There are few of the sore evils under the sun 
 give me more uneasiness and chagrin than the 
 comparison how a man of genius, nay, of avowed 
 worth, is received every where, with the recep- 
 tion which a mere ordinary character, decorated 
 with the trappings and futile distinctions of for- 
 tune, meets. I imagine a man of abilities, his 
 breast glowing with honest pride, conscious that 
 men are born equal, still giving honor to whom ho- 
 
 * Mr. Wordsworth's letter to a friend of Burns, p. 12. 
 
ROBERT BUKNi^. 135 
 
 nor is due ; he meets, at a great man's table, a 
 Squire something, or a Sir somebody ; he knows 
 the nolle landlord, at heart, gives the bard, or 
 whatever he is, a share of his good wishes, be- 
 yond, perhaps, any one at table ; yet how will it 
 mortify him to see a fellow, whose abilities would 
 scarcely have made an eightpenny tailor, and 
 whose heart is not worth three farthings, meet 
 with attention and notice, that are withheld from 
 the son of genius and poverty ? 
 
 " The noble Glencairn has wounded me to the 
 soul here, because I dearly esteem, respect, and 
 love him. He showed so much attention — en- 
 grossing attention, one day, to the only blockhead 
 at table, (the whole company consisted of his 
 lordship, dunderpate, and myself,) that I was 
 within half a point of throwing down my gage 
 of contemptuous defiance ; but he shook my 
 hand, and looked so benevolently good at parting 
 — God bless him ! though I should never see him 
 more, I shall love him until my dying day ! I am 
 pleased to think I am so capable of the throes of 
 gratitude, as I am miserably deficient in some 
 other virtues. 
 
 " With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I 
 never respect him with humble veneration : but 
 when he kindly interests himself in my welfare, 
 or still more, when he descends from his pinnacle, 
 and meets me on equal ground m conversation, 
 my heart overflows with what is called liking. 
 When he neglects me for the mere carcass of 
 greatness, or wh^n his eye measures the differ- 
 ence of our points of elevation, I say to myself, 
 with scarcely any emotion, what do I care for 
 him. or his pomp either ?" 
 
 " It is not easy," says Burns, attempting to be 
 
136 LIFE OF 
 
 more philosophical — " It is not easy forming an 
 exact judgment of any one ; but, in my opinion, 
 Dr. Blair is merely an astonishing proof of what 
 industry and application can do. Natural parts 
 like his are frequently to be met with ; his vanity 
 is proverbially known among his own acquaintan- 
 ces ; but he is justly at the head of what may be 
 called fine writing, and a critic of the first, the 
 very first rank in prose ; even in poetry a hard of 
 nature's making can only take the pa£ of him. He 
 lias a heart, not of the very finest water, but far 
 from being an ordinary one. In short, he is a 
 truly worthy and most respectable character." 
 
 " Once," says a nice speculator on the ' follies 
 of the wise,'* — " Once we were nearly receiving 
 from the hand of genius the most curious sketches 
 of the temper, the irascible humors, the delicacy 
 of soul, even to its shadowiness, from the warm 
 sbozzos of Burns, when he began a diary of his 
 heart — a narrative of characters and events, and 
 a chronology of his emotions. It was natural for 
 such a creature of sensation and passion to pro- 
 ject such a regular task, but quite impossible to 
 get through it." This most curious document, it 
 is to be observed, has not yet been printed entire. 
 Another generation will, no doubt, see the whole 
 of the confession ; however, what has already 
 been given, it may be surmised, indicates suffi- 
 ciently the complexion of Burns' prevailing moods 
 during his moments of retirement at this inter- 
 esting period of his history. It was in such a 
 mood (they recurred ofien enough) tliat he thus 
 xeproached " Nature, partial nature :" 
 
 * D' Israeli on the Literary Character, vol. i, p, 136, 
 
137 
 
 ROBERT BURNS» 
 
 *' I'hou giveel tlie ass his hide, the snail his shell ; 
 Tlie invenom'd wasp victorious guards his cell : 
 But, oh! thou bitter stepmother, and hard, 
 To thy poor fenceless naked child, the bard. . . 
 In naked feeling and in aching pride, 
 He bears the unbroken blast from every side." 
 
 There was probably no blast that pierced this 
 haughty soul so sharply as the contumely of con- 
 descension. 
 
 " One of the poet's remarks," as Cromek tells 
 us, " when he first came to Edinburgh, was that 
 between the men of rustic life and the polite world 
 he observed little difference — that in the former^ 
 though unpolished by fashion and unenlightened 
 by science, he had found much observation, and 
 much intelligence — but a refined and accomplish- 
 ed woman was a thing almost new to him, and of 
 which he had formed but a very inadequate idea." 
 To be pleased, is the old and the best receipt how 
 to please ; and there is abundant evidence that 
 Burns' success, among the high-born ladies of 
 Edinburgh, was much greater than among the 
 " stately patricians," as he calls them, of his own 
 sex. The vivid expression of one of them has al- 
 most become proverbial — that she never met with 
 a man, " whose conversation so completely car- 
 ried her off her feet," as Burns' ; and Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott, in his reference to the testimony of the 
 late Duchess of Gordon, has no doubt indicated 
 the twofold source of the fascination. But even 
 here, he was destined to feel ere long something 
 of the fickleness of fashion. He confessed to 
 one of his old friends, ere the season was over, 
 that some who had caressed him the most zeal- 
 ously, no longer seemed to know him, when he 
 
138 LIFE OF 
 
 bowed in passing their carriages, and many more 
 acknowledged his salute but coldly. 
 
 It is but too true, that ere this season was over, 
 Burns had formed connections in Edinburgh which 
 could not have been regarded with much approba- 
 tion by the eminent literati, in whose society his 
 debut had made so powerful an impression. But 
 how much of the blame, if serious blame, iijideed, 
 there was in the matter, ought to attach to his 
 own fastidious jealousy — how much to the mere 
 caprice of human favor, we have scanty means 
 of ascertaining : No doubt, both had their share ; 
 and it is also sufficiently apparent that there were 
 many points in Burns' conversational habits, which 
 men, accustomed to the delicate observancesof re- 
 fined society, might be more v/illing to tolerate 
 under the first excitement of personal curiosity, 
 than from any very deliberate estimate of the 
 claims of such a genius, under such circumstances 
 developed. He by no means restricted his sar- 
 castic observations on those whom he encountered 
 in the world to the confidence of his note-book ; 
 but startled polite ears with the utterance of au- 
 dacious epigrams, far too witty not to obtain ge- 
 neral circulation in so small a society as that of 
 the northern capital, far too bitter not to produce 
 deep resentment, far too numerous not to spread 
 fear almost as widely as admiration. Even when 
 nothing was farther from his thoughts than to in- 
 flict pain, his ardor often carried him headlong 
 into sad scrapes : witness, for example, the anec 
 dote given by Professor Walker, of his entering 
 into a long discussion of the merits of the popu- 
 lar preachers of the day, at the table of Dr. Blair, 
 and enthusiastically avowing his low opinion of all 
 the rest in comparison with Dr. Blair's own col- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 139 
 
 league and most formidable rival — a man, certainly- 
 endowed with extraordinary graces of voice and 
 manner, a generous and amiable strain of feeling, 
 and a copious flow of language ; but having no 
 pretensions either to the general accomplishments 
 for which Blair was honored in a most accom- 
 plished society, or to the polished elegance which 
 he first introduced into the eloquence of the Scot. 
 tish pulpit. Mr. Walker well describes the un- 
 pleasing effects of such an escapade ; the conver- 
 sation during the rest of the evening, " laboring 
 under that compulsory effort which was unavoida- 
 ble, while the thoughts of all were full of the only 
 subject on which it was improper to speak." Burns 
 showed his good sense by making no effort to 
 repair this blunder ; but years afterwards, he con- 
 fessed that he could never recall it without exqui- 
 site pain. Mr. Walker properly says, it did ho- 
 nor to Dr. Blair that his kindness remained to- 
 tally unaltered by this occurrence ; but the Pro- 
 fessor would have found nothing to admire in that 
 circumstance, had he not been well aware of the 
 rarity of such good-nature among the genus irri- 
 labile of authors, orators, and wits. 
 
 A specimen (which some v/ill think worse, some 
 better) is thus recorded by Cromek : " At a pri- 
 vate breakfast, in a literary circle of Edinburgh, 
 the conversation turned on the poetical merit and 
 pathos of Gray's Elegy, a poem of which he was 
 enthusiastically fond. A clergyman present, re- 
 markable for his love of paradox and for his ec- 
 centric notions upon every subject, distinguished 
 himself by an injudicious and ill-timed attack on 
 this exquisite poem, which Burns, with generous 
 warmth for the reputation of Gray, manfully de- 
 fended. As the gentleman's remarks were rather 
 12 
 
140 LIFE OF 
 
 general than specific, Burns urged him to bring 
 forward the passages which he thought exception- 
 able. He made several attempts to quote the 
 poem, but always in a blundering, inaccurate man- 
 ner. Burns bore all this for a good while with 
 his usual good-natured forbearance, till at length, 
 goaded by the fastidious criticisms and wretched 
 quibblings of his opponent, he roused himself, and 
 with an eye flashing contempt and indignation, 
 and with great vehemence ofgesticulation, he thus 
 addressed the cold critic : ' Sir, I now perceive a 
 man may be an excellent judge of poetry by square 
 and rule, and after all be a d — d blockhead ;' " — 
 so far, Mr. Cromek ; and all this was to a clergy- 
 man, and at breakfast. 
 
 While the second edition of his Poems was pass- 
 ing through the press. Burns was favored with 
 many critical suggestions and amendments ; to one 
 of which only he attended. Blair, reading over 
 with him, or hearing him recite (which he delight- 
 ed at all times in doing) his Holy Fair, stopped 
 him at the stanza — 
 
 Now a' the congreg-ation o'er 
 
 Is silent expectation, 
 For Rvissclspeels the holy door 
 
 Wi' tiding-s ©' Salvation. — 
 
 Nay, said the doctor, read damnation. Burns 
 improved the wit of this verse, undoubtedly, by 
 adopting the emendation ; but he gave another 
 strange specimen of want o^tact, when he insisted 
 that Dr. Blair, one of the most scrupulous obser- 
 vers of clerical propriety, should permit him to ac- 
 knowledge the obligation in a note. 
 
 But to pass from these trifles, it needs no eflbrt 
 of imagination to conceive what the sensations of 
 an isolated set of scholars (almost all either clergy- 
 men or professors) must have been in the pre- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 141 
 
 sence of this big-boned, black-browed, brawny- 
 stranger, with his great flashing eyes, who, having 
 forced his way among them from the plough-tail 
 at a single stride, manifested, in the whole strain of 
 his bearing and conversation, a most thorough con- 
 viction, that, in the society of the most eminent 
 men of his nation, he was exactly where he was 
 entitled to be ; hardly deigned to flatter them by 
 exhibiting even an occasional symptom of being 
 flattered by their notice; by turns calmly measured 
 himself against the most cultivated understandings 
 of his time in discussion ; overpowered the hon 
 mots of the most celebrated convivialists by broad 
 floods of merriment, impregnated with all the 
 burning life of genius ; astounded bosoms habitu- 
 ally enveloped in the thrice-piled folds of social 
 reserve, by compelling them to tremble — nay to 
 tremble visibly — beneath the fearless touch of na- 
 tural pathos ; and all this without indicating the 
 smallest willingness to be ranked among those pro- 
 fessional ministers of excitement, who are content 
 to be paid in money and smiles for doing what the 
 spectators and auditors would be ashamed of doing 
 in their own persons, even if they had the power of 
 doing it ; and, — last and probably worst of all, — 
 who was known to be in the habit of enlivening 
 societies which they would have scorned to ap- 
 proach, still more frequently than their own, with 
 eloquence no less magnificent; with wit in all like- 
 lihood still more daring; otlen enough, as the su- 
 periors whom he fronted without alarm might have 
 guessed from the beginning, and had, ere long, no 
 occasion to guess, with wit pointed at themselves. 
 The lawyers of Edinburgh, in whose wider cir- 
 cles Burns figured at his outset, with at least as 
 much success as among the professional literati, 
 
142 LIFE OF 
 
 were a very different race of men from these ; they 
 would neither, I take it, have pardoned rudeness, 
 nor been alarmed by wit. But being, in those days, 
 with scarcely an exception, members of the landed 
 aristocracy of the country, and forming by far the 
 most influential body (as indeed they .still do) in 
 the society of Scotland, they were, perhaps, as 
 proud a set of men as ever enjoyed the tranquil 
 pleasures of unquestioned superiority. What their 
 haughtiness, as a body, was, may be guessed, when 
 we know that inferior birth was reckoned a fair 
 and legitimate ground for excluding any man from 
 the bar. In one remarkable instance, about this 
 very time, a man of very extraordinary talents and 
 accomplishments was chiefly opposed in a long and 
 painful struggle for admission, and, in reality, for 
 no reasons but those I have been alluding to, by 
 gentlemen who in the sequel stood at the very 
 head of the whig party in Edinburgh; and thesame 
 aristocratical prejudice has, within the memory of 
 the present generation, kept more persons of emi- 
 nent qualifications in the background, for a season, 
 than any English reader would easily believe. 
 To this body belonged nineteen out of twenty of 
 those "patricians," whose statelinessBurns so long 
 remembered and so bitterly resented. It might, 
 perhaps, have been well for him had stateliness 
 been the worst fault of their manners. Wine-bib- 
 bing appears to be in most regions a favorite in- 
 dulgence with those whose brains and lungs are 
 subject to the severe exercises of legal study and 
 forensic practice. To this day, more traces of these 
 old habits linger about the inns of court than in 
 any other section of London. In Dublin and Edin- 
 burgh, the barristers are even now eminently con- 
 vivial bodies of men ; but among the Scotch law- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 143 
 
 vers of the time of Burns, the principle of jollity 
 was indeed in its "high and palmy state." He par- 
 took largely in those tavern scenes of audacious 
 hilarity, which then soothed, as a matter of course, 
 the arid labors of the northern noblesse de la robe, 
 (so they are well called in Redgauntlet,) and of 
 which we are favored with a specimen in the 
 " High Jenks" chapter of Gui/ Mannering. 
 
 The tavern-life is now-a-days nearly extinct 
 everywhere ; but it was then in full vigor in Ed- 
 inburgh, and there can be no doubt that Burns 
 rapidly familiarized himself with it during his re- 
 sidence. He had, after all, tasted but rarely of 
 such excesses while in Ayrshire. So little are we 
 to consider his Scotch Drink, and other jovial 
 strains of the early period, as conveying any thing 
 like a fair notion of his actual course of life, that 
 *' Auld Nanse Tinnock," or " Poosie Nancie," 
 the Mauchline landlady, is known to have ex- 
 pressed, amusingly enough, her surprise at the 
 style in which she found her name celebrated in 
 the Kilmarnock edition, saying, " that Robert 
 Burns might be avery clever lad, but he certainly 
 was regardless, as, to the best of her belief, he 
 had never taken three half-mutchkins in her house 
 in all his life."* And in addition to Gilbert's tes- 
 timony to the same purpose, we have on record 
 that of Mr. Archibald Bruce, (qualified by Heron, 
 " a gentleman of great worth and discernment,") 
 that he had observed Burns closely during that 
 period of his life, and seen him " steadily resist 
 such solicitations and allurements to excessive 
 convivial enjoyment, as hardly any other person 
 could have withstood." 
 
 * Mr. R. Chambers' MS. notes, taken during a tour in 
 Ayshire, 
 
 12* 
 
144 LIFF, OF 
 
 The unfortunate Herou knew Burns well ; and 
 himself mingled largely* in some of the scenes to 
 which he adverts in the following strong language: 
 " The enticements of pleasure too often unman 
 our virtuous resolution, even while we wear the 
 air of rejecting them with a stern brow. We resist, 
 and resist, and resist ; but, at last, suddenly turn, 
 and passionately embrace the enchantress. The 
 bucks of Edinburgh accomplished, in regard to 
 Burns, that in which the hoors of Ayrshire had_ 
 failed. After residing some months in Edinburgh, 
 he began to estrange himself, not altogether, but 
 in some measure, from graver friends. Too many 
 of his hours were now spent at the tables of per- 
 sons who delighted to urge conviviality to drunk- 
 enness — in the tavern — and in the brothel. "f 
 
 It would be idle now to attempt passing over 
 these things in silence ; but it could serve no 
 good purpose to dwell on them. 
 
 During this winter. Burns continued, as has 
 been mentioned, to lodge with John Richmond; 
 and we have the authority of this early friend of 
 the poet for the statement, that while he did so, 
 "he kept good hours.":}: He removed afterwards to 
 the house of Mr. William Nicoll(one of the teach- 
 ers of the High School of Edinburgh, )on the Buc- 
 cleuch road: and this change is, I suppose, to be con- 
 sidered as a symptom that the keeping of good 
 hours was beginning to be irksome. NicoU wasa 
 man of quick parts and considerable learning — 
 who had risen from a rank as humble as Burns' : 
 from the beginning an enthusiastic admirer, and, 
 ere long, a constant associate of the poet, and a 
 
 * See Burns' allusions to Heron's own habits, in a Poeti- 
 cal Epistle to Blacklock. 
 t Heron, p. 27. t Notes by Mr. R. Chambers. 
 
ROBEKT BURNS. 145 
 
 most dangerous associate ; for, with a warm heart, 
 the man united a fierce, irascible temper, a scorn 
 of many of the decencies of life, a noisy contempt 
 of rehgion, at least of the religious institutions of 
 his country, and a violent propensity for the bottle. 
 He was one of those who would tain believe them- 
 selves to be men of genius ; and that genius is a 
 sufficient apology for trampling under foot all the 
 old vulgar rules of prudence and sobriety, — being 
 on both points equally mistaken. Of Nicoll's let- 
 ters to Burns, and about him, I have seen many 
 that have never been, and probably that never 
 will be printed — cumbrous and pedantic effusions, 
 exhibiting nothing that one can imagine to have 
 been pleasing to the poet, except what was pro- 
 bably enough to redeem all imperfections — name- 
 ly, a rapturous admiration of his genius. This 
 man, nevertheless, was, I suspect, very far from 
 being an unfavorable specimen of the society to 
 which Heron thus alludes : " He (the poet) svf- 
 fered himself to be surrounded by a race of mise- 
 rable beings, who were proud to tell that they had 
 been in company with Burxs, and had seen Burns 
 as loose and as foolish as themselves. He was not 
 yet irrecoverably lost to temperance and modera- 
 tion ; but he was already almost too much capti- 
 vated with their wanton revels, to be ever more 
 won back to a faithful attachment to their more 
 sober charms." Heron adds — " He now also be- 
 gan to contract something of new arrogance in 
 conversation. Accustomed to be, among his fa- 
 vorite associates, what is vulgarly, but expres- 
 sively called, the cock of the company, he could 
 scarcely refrain from indulging in similar free- 
 dom and dictatorial decision of talk, even in the 
 presence of persons who could less patiently en- 
 
146 LIFE OF 
 
 dure his presumption ;"* an account ex facie pro- 
 bable, and which sufficiently tallies with some 
 hints in Mr. Dugald Stewart's description of the 
 poet's manners, as he first observed him at Ca- 
 trine, and with one or two anecdotes already cited 
 from Walker and Croniek. 
 
 Of these failings, and indeed of all Burns' 
 failings, it may be safely asserted, that there was 
 more in his history to account and apologize for 
 them, than can be alledged in regard to almostany 
 other great man's imperfections. We have seen, 
 bow, even in his earliest days, the strong thirst 
 of distinction glowed within him — how in his first 
 and rudest rhymes he sung, 
 
 " to be great is chai-ming ;" 
 
 and we have also seen, that the display of talent 
 in conversation was the first means of distinction 
 that occurred to him. It was by that talent that he 
 first attracted notice among his fellow-peasants, 
 and after he mingled with the first Scotsmen of 
 his time, this talent was still that which appeared 
 the most astonishing of all he possessed. What 
 wonder that he should delight in exerting it where 
 he could exert it the most freely — where there 
 was no check upon a tongue that had been accus- 
 tomed to revel in the license of village-mastery ? 
 where every sally, however bold, was sure to be 
 received with triumphant applause — where there 
 were no claims to rival his — no proud brows to 
 convey rebuke — above all, perhaps, no grave eyes 
 to convey regret? "Nonsense," says Cumberland, 
 " talked by men of wit and understanding in the 
 hours of relaxation, is of the very finest essence 
 
 * Heron, p. 28. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 147 
 
 of conviviality ; but it implies a trust in the com- 
 pany not always to be risked." It was little in 
 Burns' character to submit fo nice and scrupu- 
 lous rules, when he knew that, by crossing the 
 street, he could find society who would applaud 
 him the more, the more heroically all such rules 
 were disregarded ; arid he who had passed from 
 the company of the jolly bachelors of Tarbolton 
 and Mauchline, to that of the eminent Scotsmen 
 whose names were honored all over the civilized 
 world, without discovering any difference that ap- 
 peared worthy of much consideration, was well 
 prepared to say, with the prince of all free-speak- 
 ers and free-livers, '•! will take mine ease in mine 
 inn !" 
 
 But these, assuredly, were not the only feelings 
 that influenced Burns : In his own letters, written 
 during his stay in Edinburgh, we have the best 
 evidence to the contrary. He shrewdly suspected, 
 from the very beginnmg, that the personal notice 
 of the great and the illustrious was not to be as 
 lasting as it was eager : he foresaw, that sooner 
 or later he was destined to revert to societies less 
 elevated above the pretensions of his birth : and, 
 though his jealous pride might induce him to re- 
 cord his suspicions in language rather too strong 
 than too weak, it is quite impossible to read what 
 he wrote without believing that a sincere distrust 
 lay rankling at the roots of his heart, all the while 
 that he appeared to be surrounded with an atmo- 
 sphere of joy and hope. 
 
 On the 15th of January, 1787, wc find him thus 
 addressing his kind patroness, Mrs. Dunlop : 
 
 "You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with 
 my prosperity as a poet. Alas ! madam, I know 
 myself and the world too well. I do not mean any 
 airs of affected modesty ; I am willing to believe 
 
148 LIFE OF 
 
 that my abilities deserved some notice ; but in a 
 most enlightened, informed age and nation, when 
 poetry is and has been the study of men of the 
 first natural genius, aided with all the powers of 
 polite learning, polite books, and polite company 
 — to be dragged forth to the full glare of learned 
 and polite observation, with all my imperfections 
 of awkward rusticity, and crude, unpolished ideas, 
 on my head, — I assure you, madam, I do not dis- 
 semble, when I tell you I tremble for the conse- 
 quences. The novelty of a poet in my obscure 
 situation, without any of those advantages which 
 are reckoned necessary for that character, at least 
 at this time of day, has raised a partial tide of 
 public notice, which has borne me to a height 
 where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, my abili- 
 ties are inadequate to support me ; and too surely 
 do I see that time, when the same tide will leave 
 me, and recede perhaps as far below the mark 
 
 of truth I mention this once for all, to 
 
 disburden my mind, and I do not wish to hear or 
 say any more about it. But — ' When proud for- 
 tune's ebbing tide recedes,' you will bear me wit- 
 ness, that when my bubble of fame was at the 
 highest, I stood unintoxicated with the inebriating 
 cup in my hand, looking forward with rueful re- 
 solve. ^^ 
 
 And about the same time, to Dr. Moore : " The 
 hope to be admired for ages is, in by far the 
 greater part of those even who are authors of re- 
 pute, an unsubstantial dream. For my part, my 
 first ambition was, and still my strongest wish is, 
 to please my compeers, the rustic inmates of the 
 hamlet, while ever-changing language and man- 
 ners shall allow me to be relished and understood. 
 I am very willing to admit that I have some poe- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 149 
 
 tical abilities : and as few, if any writers, either 
 moral or poetical, are intimately acquainted with 
 the classes of mankind among whom I have chiefly 
 mingled, I may have seen men and manners in a 
 different phasis from what is common, which may 
 
 assist originality of thought I scorn 
 
 the affectation of seeming modesty to cover self- 
 conceit. That I have some merit, I do not deny ; 
 but I see, with frequent wringings of heart, that 
 the novelty of my character, and the honest na- 
 tional prejudice of my countrymen, have borne me 
 to a height altogether untenable to my abilities." 
 — And lastly, April 23d, 1787, we have the follow- 
 ing passage in a letter also to Dr. Moore : " I 
 leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a 
 fortnight. I shall return to my rural shades, in all 
 likelihood never more to quit them. I have formed 
 many intimacies and friendships here, hut I am 
 afraid they are all of too tender a construction to 
 hear carriage a hundred and ffty miles. ^^ 
 
 One word more on the subject which intro- 
 duced these quotations : Mr. Dugald Stewart, no 
 doubt, hints at what was a common enough com- 
 plaint among the elegant literati of Edinburgh, 
 when he alludes, in his letter to Currie, to the 
 *' not very select society" in which Burns indulged 
 himself. But two points still remain somewhat 
 doubtful ; namely, whether show and marvel of 
 the season as he was, the " Ayrshire ploughman" 
 really had it in his power to live always in socie- 
 ty which Mr. Stewart would have considered as 
 "very select;" and secondly, whether, in so doing 
 he could have failed to chill the affection of those 
 humble Ayrshire friends, who, having shared with 
 him all that they possessed on his first arrival in 
 the metropolis, faithfully and fondly adhered to 
 
150 LIFE OF 
 
 him, after the spring-tide of fashionable favor did, 
 as he forsaw it would do, "recede ;" and, more- 
 over, perhaps to provoke, among the higher circles 
 themselves, criticisms more distasteful to his proud 
 stomach, than any probable consequences of the 
 course of conduct which he actually pursued. 
 
 The second edition of Burns' poems was pub- 
 lished early in March, by Creech ; there were no 
 less than 1500 subscribers, many of whom paid 
 more than the shop-price of the volume. Al- 
 though, therefore, the final settlement with the 
 bookseller did not take place till nearly a year af- 
 ter, Burns now found himself in possession of a 
 considerable sum of ready money ; and the first 
 impulse of his mind was to visit some of the 
 classic scenes of Scottish history and romance.* 
 He had as yet seen but a small part of his own 
 country, and this by no means among the most 
 interesting of her districts, until, indeed, his own 
 poetry made it equal, on that score, to any other. 
 The magnificent scenery of the capital itself had 
 filled him with extraordinary delight. In the spring 
 mornings, he walked very often to the top of Ar- 
 thur's Seat, and, lying prostrate on the turf, sur- 
 veyed the rising of the sun out of the sea, in si- 
 lent admiration ; his chosen companion on such 
 
 * " The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my hig-h- 
 est pride ; to continvie to deserve it, is my most exalted am- 
 bition. Scottish scenes, and Scottish story, are the themes 
 I could wish to sing-. I have no dearer aim than to have it 
 in my power, unplag-ued with the routine of business, for 
 which, Heaven knows, I am unfit enoug-h, to make leisurely 
 pilgrimages throug-h Caledonia ; to sit on the fields of her 
 battles, to wander on the romantic banks of her rivers, and 
 to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, once the 
 honored abodes of her heroes. But these arc Utopian views." 
 —Letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Edinburgh, 22d March, 1787. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 151 
 
 occasions being that ardent lover of nature, and 
 learned artist, Mr. Alexander Nasmyth.* The 
 Braid hills, to the south of Edinburgh, were also 
 among his favorite morning walks ; and it was in 
 some of these that Mr. Dugald Stewart tells us 
 " he charmed him still more by his private con- 
 versation than he had ever done in company." 
 " He was," adds the professor, " passionately fond 
 of the beauties of nature, and I recollect once he 
 told me, when I was admiring a distant prospect 
 in one of our morning walks, that the sight of so 
 many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his 
 mind which none could understand who had not 
 witnessed, like himself, the happiness and the 
 worth which they contained." 
 
 Burns was far too busy with society and obser- 
 vation to find time for poetical composition, during 
 this first residence in Edinburgh. Creech's edi- 
 tion included some pieces of great merit which 
 had not been previously printed ; but, with the 
 exception of the Address to Edinburgh, which is 
 chiefly remarkable for the grand stanzas on the 
 Castle and Holyrood, with which it concludes, 
 
 * It was to this venerable artist that Burns sat for the 
 portrait eng-raved in Creech's edition, and since repeated so 
 often, that it must be familiar to all readers. Mr. Nasmyth 
 has kindly prepared for the present Memoirs a sketch of 
 the Poet at full-length, as he appeared in Edinburg-h in the 
 first hey-day of his reputation ; dressed in tight jockey 
 boots, and very tight buckskin breeches, according to the 
 fashion of the day, and (Jacobite as he was) in what was 
 considered as the Fox livery, viz. a blue coat and buff 
 waistcoat, with broad blue sti ipes. The surviving friends 
 of Burns, who have seen this vignette, are unanimous in 
 pronouncing it to furnish a very lively representation of the 
 bard as he first attracted public notice in the streets of 
 Edinburgh. The sceneiy of the back-ground is very nearly 
 that of Burns' native spot— the kirk of Alloway and the 
 bridge of Doon. 
 
 13 
 
132 LIFE OF 
 
 all of these appear to have been written before he 
 left Ayrshire. Several of them, indeed, were very- 
 early productions : The most important additions 
 were ,Death and Doctor Iloimbook, The Brigs of 
 Ayr, The Oi'dination, and the Address to the unco 
 Guid. In this edition also, When Guilford guid 
 our pilot stood, made its first appearance, on read- 
 ing which, Dr. Blair uttered his pithy criticism, 
 *' Burns' politics always smell of the smithy." 
 
 It ought not to be omitted, that our poet be- 
 stowed some ofthe first fruits of this edition in the 
 erection of a decent tombstone over the hitherto 
 neglected remains of his unfortunate predecessor, 
 Robert Ferguson, in the Canongate churchyard. 
 
 The evening before he quitted Edinburgh, the 
 poet addressed a letter to Dr. Blair, in which, ta- 
 king a most respectful farewell of him, and ex- 
 pressing, in lively terms, his sense of gratitude for 
 the kindness he had shown him, he thus recurs to 
 his own views of his own past and future condi- 
 tion : " I have often felt the embarrassment of my 
 singular situation. However the meteor-like no- 
 velty of my appearance in the world might attract 
 notice, I knew very well, that my utmost merit 
 was far unequal to the task of preserving that 
 character when once the novelty was over. I 
 have made up my mind, that abuse, or almost 
 even neglect, will not surprise me in my quar- 
 ters." — To this touching letter the amiable Blair 
 replied in a truly paternal strain of consolation 
 and advice. — " Your situation," says he, " was 
 indeed very singular: you have had to stand a se- 
 vere trial. I am happy that you have stood it so 
 
 well You are now, 1 presume, to retire 
 
 to a more private walk of life You 
 
 have laid the foundation for just public esteem. 
 
IlOBERT BUKXS. 153 
 
 In the midst of those employments, which your situ- 
 ation will render proper, you will not, I hope^ 
 neglect to promote that esteem, by cultivating 
 your genius, and attending to such productions of 
 it as may raise your character still higher. At 
 the same time, be not in too great a haste to come 
 forward. Take time and leisure to- improve and 
 mature your talents ; for, on any second produc- 
 tion you give the world, your fate, as a poet, will 
 very much depend. There is, no doubt, a gloss 
 of novelty which time wears off. As you very 
 properly hint yourself, you are not surprised if^ in 
 your rural retreat, you do not find yourself sur- 
 rounded with that glare of notice and applause 
 which here shone upon you. No man can be a 
 good poet without being somewhat of a philoso- 
 pher. He must la)^ his account, that any one who 
 exposes himself to public observation, will occa- 
 sionally meet with the attacks of illiberal censure 
 which it is always best to overlook and despi&e. 
 He will be inclined sometimes to court retreat^ 
 and to disappear from public view. He will not 
 affect to shine always, that he may at proper sea- 
 sons come forth with more advantage and ener- 
 gy. He will not think himself neglected if he be 
 not always praised." Such were Blair's admo- 
 nitions, 
 
 " And part was heard, and part was lost in air,'^ 
 
 Burns h id one object of worldly business in 
 his journey ; namely, to examine die estate of 
 Dalswinton, near Dumfries, the proprietor of 
 which had on learning that the poet designed to 
 return to his original calling, expressed a strong 
 wish to have him for his tenant. 
 
IM LIFE OF 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Ramsay and famous Ferg-uson, 
 Gled Forth and Tay a lift aboon ; 
 Yarrow and Tweed to monie a tune 
 
 Thro' Scotland ring's, 
 While Irvine, Liigar, Ayr, and Doon, 
 
 Naebody sing's." 
 
 On the 6th of May, Burns left Edinburgh, in 
 connpany with Mr. Robert Ainslie,* son to Mr. 
 AinsHe of Berrywell in Berwickshire, with the 
 design of perambulating the picturesque scenery 
 of the southern border, and in particular of visit- 
 ing the localities celebrated by the old minstrels, 
 of whose works he was a passionate admirer ; 
 and of whom, by the way, one of the last appears 
 to have been all but a namesake of his own.f 
 
 * Now Clerk to the Signet. Among- other chang-es "which 
 fleeting time procureth," this amiable gentleman, whose 
 yuiithlul gaiety made him a chosen associate of Burns, is 
 now chiefly known as the author of some Manuals of Devo- 
 tion. 
 
 t NicoU Burn, supposed to have lived towards the close 
 of the 16th century, and to have been among the last of the 
 itinerant minstrels. He is the author of Leader Haughs and 
 Yarrow, a pathetic ballad, in the last verse of which his own 
 name and designation are introduced. 
 
 " Sing Erlington and Cowden knowes, where Homes had ance com- 
 manding; 
 
 And Urygrange, wi' the milk white ewes, 'twixt Tweed and Leader 
 standing. 
 
 The bird that flees thro' Keedpath trees, and Gledswood banks, ilk 
 morrow. 
 
 May chant and sing sweet Leader Haughs, and bonny howms of 
 Yarrow. 
 
 But minstrel Burn cannot assuage his grief while life endureth, 
 
 To see the changes of this age, that fleeti )g time procureth. 
 
 For mony a place stands in hard case, where blythe lo!k kend nue 
 sorrow ; 
 
 With Homes that dwelt on Leader side, and Scetts that dwell on 
 Yarrow." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 155 
 
 This was long before the time when those fields 
 of Scottish romance were to be made accessible to 
 the curiosity of citizens by stage-coaches ; and 
 Burns and his friend performed their tour on 
 horseback ; the former being mounted on a favor- 
 ite mare, whom he had named Jenny Geddes, in 
 honor of the zealous virago who threw her stool 
 at the Dean of Edinburgh's head on the 23d of 
 July 1637, when the attempt was made to intro- 
 duce a Scottish Liturgij in the service of St. 
 Giles' ; — the same trusty animal, whose merits 
 have been recorded by Burns, in a letter, which 
 must have been puzzling to most modern Scots- 
 men, before the days of Dr. Jamieson.* 
 
 Burns passed from Edinburgh to Berrywell,the 
 residence of Mr. Ainslie's family, and visited suc- 
 cessively Dunse, Coldstream, Kelso, Fleurs, and 
 the ruins of Roxburgh Castle, near which a holly- 
 bush still marks the spot on which James II. of 
 Scotland was killed by the bursting of a cannon. 
 Jedburgh — where he admired the " charming ro- 
 mantic situation of the town, with gardens and 
 orchards intermingled among the houses of a once 
 magniiiccnt cathedral (abbey) ;" and was struck 
 (as in the other towns of the same district,) with 
 the appearance of " old rude grandeur," and the 
 idleness of decay ; Melrose, " that far-famed 
 
 * "My auld g-a'd gleyde o' a meere has huchyalled vip 
 hill and down brae, as teuch and birnie as a vera devil, wi' 
 me. It's true she's as pviir's a sangmaker, and as hard's a 
 kirk, and lipper-laipers when she takes tlie g-ate, like a la- 
 dy's g-cntlewon-.an in a minuwae, or a hen on a hct girdle; 
 but she's a yauld poutlierin girran for a' that. When ance 
 her ring-banes and pavies, her cruiks and cramps, are 
 fairly soupled, she beets to, beets to, and aye the hindmost 
 hour the lightest," &c. &,c.— Letter to Mr. NicolL Reliaues, 
 p. 28. 
 
 13* 
 
156 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 glorious ruin," Selkirk, Ettrick, and the braes of 
 Yarrow. Having spent three weeks in this dis- 
 trict, of which it has been justly said, "that eve- 
 ry field has its battle, and every rivulet its song," 
 Burns passed the Border, and visited Alnwick, 
 Warkworth, Morpeth, Newcastle, Hexham War- 
 drue, and Carlisle. He then turned northwards, 
 and rode by Annan and Dumfries to Dalswinton, 
 where he examined Mr. Miller's property, and 
 was so much pleased with the soil, and the terms 
 on which the landlord was willing to grant him a 
 lease, that he resolved to return again in the 
 course of the summer. 
 
 Dr. Currie has published some extracts from 
 the journal which Burns kept during this excur- 
 sion ; but they are mostly very trivial. He was 
 struck with the superiority of soil, climate, and 
 cultivation, in Berwick and Roxburghshircs, as 
 compared with his native country ; and not a lit- 
 tle surprised, when he dined at a farmers' Club at 
 Kelso, with the apparent weahh of that order of 
 men. — " All gentlemen, talking of high matters 
 — each of them keeps a hunter from SQL to 60Z. 
 value, and attends the Fox-hunting Club in the 
 county." The farms in the west of Scotland are, 
 to this day, very small for the most part, and the 
 farmers little distinguished from their laborers in 
 their modes of life : the contrast was doubtless 
 stronger, forty years ago, between them and their 
 brethren of the Lothians and the x\Ierse. 
 
 The magistrates of Jedburgh presented Burns 
 with the freedom of their town : he was unprepared 
 for the compliment, and jealous of obligations,stept 
 out of the room, and made an effort(of course an in- 
 effectual one) to pay beforehand out of his own purse 
 the landlord's bill for the " riddle of claret,'" which 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 157 
 
 IS usually presented on such occasions in a Scotch 
 burgh.* 
 
 The poet visited, in the course of his tour, Sir 
 James Hall of Dunglas, author of the well known 
 Essay on Gothic Architecture, &;c. ; Sir Alexander 
 and Lady Harriet Don, (sister to his patron, Lord 
 Glencairn,) at Newton-Don ; Mr. Brydone, the 
 author of Travels in Sicily; the amiable and 
 learned Dr. Somerville of Jedburgh, the histo- 
 rian of Queen Anne, &c.: and, as usual, re- 
 corded in his journal his impressions as to their 
 manners and characters. His reception was 
 every where most flattering. 
 
 He wrote no verses, as far as is known, during 
 this tour, except a humorous Epistle to his book- 
 seller Creech, dated Selkirk, 13th May. In this 
 he makes complimentary allusions to some of the 
 men of letters who were used to meet at break- 
 fast in Creech's apartments in those days — 
 whence the name of CreecKs levee ; and touches, 
 too briefly, on some of the scenery he had visited. 
 
 " Up wimpling- stately Tweed I've sped, 
 And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
 And Ettrick banks now roaring- red, 
 
 While tempests blaw" 
 
 Burns returned to Mauchline on the 8th of 
 July. It is pleasing to im.agine the delight with 
 which he must have been received by his family 
 after the absence of six months, in v/hich his 
 fortunes and prospects had undergone so wonder, 
 ful a change. He left them comparatively un- 
 known, his tenderest feelings torn and wounded 
 by the behavior of the Armours, and so miser- 
 ably poor, that htf had been for some weeks obli- 
 ged to skulk from the sheriff^s officers, to avoid 
 * Mr. R. Chambers' notes. 
 
158 LIFE OF 
 
 the payment of a paltry debt. He returned, his 
 poetical fame established, the whole country ring- 
 ing with his praises, from a capital in which he 
 was known to have formed the wonder and de- 
 light of the polite and the learned ; if not rich, 
 yet with more money already than any of his 
 kindred had ever hoped to see him possess, and 
 with prospects of future patronage and perma- 
 nent elevation in the scale of society which might 
 have dazzled steadier eyes than those of maternal 
 and fraternal affection. The prophet had at last 
 honor in his own country : but the haughty spi- 
 rit that had preserved its balance in Edinburgh, 
 was not likely to lose it at Mauchline ; and we 
 have him writing from the auld clay biggin on the 
 18th of June, in terms as strongly expressive as 
 any that ever came from his pen, of that jealous 
 pride which formed the groundwork of his cha- 
 racter ; that dark suspiciousness of fortune, which 
 the subsequent course of his history too well jus- 
 tified ; that nervous intolerance of condescen- 
 sion, and consummate scorn of meanness, which 
 attended him through life, and made the study of 
 his species, for which nature had given him such 
 extraordinary qualifications, the source of more 
 pain than was ever counterbalanced by the ex- 
 quisite capacity for enjoyment with which he 
 was also endowed. There are few of his letters 
 in which more of the dark places of his spirit 
 come to light : " I never, my friend, thought 
 mankind capable of any thing very generous ; 
 but the stateliness of the patricians of Edinburgh, 
 and the servility of my plebeian brethren, (who, 
 perhaps, formerly eyed me askance,) since I re- 
 turned home, have nearly put me out of conceit 
 altogether with my species. I have bought a 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 159 
 
 pocket-Milton, which I carry perpetually about 
 me, in order to study the sentiments, the daunt- 
 less magnanimity, the intrepid, unyielding inde- 
 pendence, the desperate daring, and noble defi- 
 ance of hardship, in that great personage — Sa- 
 tan. . . . The many ties of acquaintance and 
 friendship I have, or think I have, in life — I have 
 felt along the lines, and, d — n them, they are 
 almost all of them of such frail texture, that I 
 am sure they would not stand the breath of the 
 least adverse breeze of fortune." 
 
 Among those who, having formerly " eyed him 
 askance," now appeared sufficiently ready to court 
 his society, were the family of Jean Armour. 
 Burns' affection for this beautiful young woman 
 had outlived his resentment of her compliance 
 with her father's commands in the preceding sum- 
 mer ; and from the time of this reconciliation, it 
 is probable he always looked forward to a per- 
 manent union with the mother of his children. 
 
 Burns at least fancied himself to be busy with 
 serious plans for his future establishment ; and was 
 very naturally disposed to avail himself, as far as 
 he could, of the opportunities of travel and obser- 
 vation, which an interval of leisure, destined pro- 
 bably to be a short one, might present. Moreover, 
 in spite of his gloomy language, a specimen of 
 which has just been quoted, we are not to doubt 
 that he derived much pleasure from witnessing the 
 extensive popularity of his writings, and from the 
 flattering homage he was sure to receive in his own 
 person in the various districts of his native coun- 
 try ; nor can any one wonder, that after the state 
 of high excitement in which he had spent the win- 
 ter and spring, he, fond as he was of his family, 
 and eager to make them partakers in all his good 
 fortune, should have, just at this time, found him. 
 
160 LIFE OF 
 
 self incapable of fitting down contentedly for any' 
 considerable period together, in so humble and 
 quiet a circle as that of Mossgiel. 
 
 His appetite for wandering appears to have been 
 only sharpened by his Border excursion. After 
 remaining a few days at home, he returned to 
 Edinburgh, and thence proceeded on another 
 short tour, by way of Stirling, to Inverary, and 
 so back again, by Dumbarton and Glasgow, to 
 Mauchline. Of this second excursion, no journal 
 has been discovered; nor do the extracts from' 
 his correspondence, printed by Dr. Currie, ap- 
 pear to be worthy of much notice. In one, he 
 briefly describes the West Highlands as a country 
 " where savage streams tumble over savage moun- 
 tains, thinly overspread with savage flocks, which 
 starvingly support as savage inhabitants :" and 
 in another, he gives an account of Jenny Ged- 
 des running a race after dinner with a Highlan- 
 der's pony — of his dancing and drinking till sun- 
 rise at a gentleman's house on Loch Lomond ; 
 and of other similar matters. — " I have as yet," 
 says he, " fixed on nothing with respect to the 
 serious business of life. I am, just as usual, a 
 rhyming, mason-making, raking, aimless, idle 
 fellow. However, I shall somewhere have a farm 
 soon." 
 
 In the course of this tour. Burns visited the 
 mother and sisters of his friend, Gavin Hamilton, 
 then residing at Harvieston, in Clackmannan- 
 shire, in the immediate neighborhood of the mag- 
 nificant scenery of Castle Campbell,* and the 
 
 * Castle Campbell, called otherwise the Castle of Gloom, 
 is situated very grandly in a g-org-e of the Ochills, command- 
 ing' an extensive view of the plain of Stirling. This ancient 
 possession of the Argyll family was, in some sort, a town- 
 residence for those chieftains in the days when the court was 
 
nOBERT BURNS. 161 
 
 vale of Devon. He was especially delighted 
 with one of the young ladies; and, according to 
 his usual custom, celebrated her in a song, in 
 which, in opposition to his usual custom, there 
 is nothing but the respectfulness of admiration. 
 
 "How pleasant the banks of the clear winding- Devon," &C' 
 
 At Harviestonbank, also, the poet first became 
 acquainted with Miss Chalmers, afterwards Mrs. 
 Hay, to whom one of the most interesting series 
 of his letters is addressed. Indeed, with the ex- 
 ception of his letters to Mrs. Dunlop, there is, 
 perhaps, no part of his correspondence which 
 may be quoted so uniformly to his honor. 
 
 It was on this expedition, that, having been vi- 
 sited with a high flow of Jacobite indignation 
 while viewing the neglected palace at Stirling, he 
 was imprudent enough to write some verses bit- 
 terly vituperative of tlie reigning family on the 
 window of his inn. These verses were copied 
 and talked of; and although the next time Burns 
 passed through Stirling, he himself broke the 
 pane of glass containing them, they were remem- 
 bered years afterwards to his disadvantage, and 
 even danger. The last couplet, alluding, in the 
 coarsest style, to the melancholy state of the 
 good king's health at the time, was indeed an 
 outrjige of which no political prejudice could have 
 made a gentleman approve : but he, in all proba^ 
 bility, composed his verses after dinner ; and 
 surely what Burns wouM fain have undone, others 
 should have been not unwilling to forget. In 
 
 usually held at Stirling-, Linlithg-ow, or Falkland. The cas- 
 tle was burnt by Montrose, and has never been repaired. 
 The cauldron linn and rumhling hrigg of the Devon lie 
 near Castle Campbell, on the verg-c of the plain. 
 
162 LIFE OF 
 
 this case, too, the poetry " smells of the smithes 
 shop," as well as the sentiment. 
 
 Mr. Dugald Stewart has pronounced Burns* 
 epigrams to be, of all his writings, the least wor- 
 thy of his talents. Those which he composed in 
 the course of this tour, on being refused admit- 
 tance to see the iron works at Carron, and on find- 
 ing himself ill served at the inn at Inverary, in 
 consequence of his Grace, the Duke of Argyll, 
 having a large party at the Castle, form no ex- 
 ceptions to the rule. He had never, we may sup- 
 pose, met with the famous recipe of the Jelly-bag 
 Club ; and was addicted to beginning with the 
 point. 
 
 The young ladies of Harvieston were, accord- 
 ing to Dr. Currie, surprised with the calm manner 
 in which Burns contemplated their fine scenery 
 on Devon water ; and the Doctor enters into a 
 little dissertation on the subject, showing that a 
 man of Burns' lively imagination might probably 
 have formed anticipations which the realities of 
 the prospect might rather disappoint. This is 
 possible enough; but I suppose few will take it 
 for granted that Burns surveyed any scenes either 
 of beauty or of grandeur without emotion, merely 
 because he did not choose to be ecstatic for the 
 benefit of a company of young ladies. He was 
 indeed very impatient of interruption on such oc- 
 casions ; I have heard that riding one dark night 
 near Carron, his companion teased him with noisy 
 exclamations of delight and wonder, whenever an 
 opening in the wood permitted them to see the 
 magnificent glare of the furnaces; "Look, Burns! 
 Good Heaven! look! look! what a glorious sight!" 
 — "Sir," said Burns, clapping spurs to Jenny 
 Geddes, "I would not look! look fat your bid- 
 ding, if it were the mouth of hell !" 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 163 
 
 Burns spent the month of July at Mossgiel ; and 
 Mr. Dugald Stewart, in a letter to Currie, gives 
 some recollections of him as he then appeared. 
 
 " Notwithstanding the various reports I heard 
 during the preceding winter, of Burns' predilec- 
 tion for convivial, and not very select society, I 
 should have concluded in favor of his habits of 
 sobriety, from all of him that ever fell under my 
 own observation. He told me indeed himself, 
 that the weakness of his stomach was such as to 
 deprive him entirely of any merit in his temper- 
 ance. I was, however, somewhat alarmed about 
 the effect of his now comparatively sedentary and 
 luxurious life, when he confessed to me, the first 
 night he spent in my house after his winter's 
 campaign in town, that he had been much dis- 
 turbed when in bed, by a palpitation at his heart, 
 which, he said, was a complaint to which he had 
 of late become subject. 
 
 " In the course of the same season I was led 
 by curiosity to attend for an hour or two a Ma- 
 sonic Lodge in Mauchline, where Burns presided. 
 He had occasion to make some short unpremedi- 
 tated compliments to different individuals from 
 whom he had no reason to expect a visit, and 
 every thing he said was happily conceived, and 
 forcibly as well as fluently expressed. His man- 
 ner of speaking in public had evidently the marks 
 of some practice in extempore elocution." 
 
 In August, Burns revisited Stirlingshire, in com- 
 pany -with Dr. Adair, of Harrowgate, and ramain- 
 ed ten days at Harvieston. He was received with 
 particular kindness at Ochtertyre, on the Teith, 
 by Mr. Ramsay (a friend of Blacklock) whose 
 beautiful retreat he enthusiastically admired. His 
 host was among the last of that old Scottish line 
 14 
 
164 LIJ'E OF 
 
 of Latinists, which began with Buchanan, and, I 
 fear, may be said to have ended with Gregory. 
 Mr. Ramsay, among other eccentricities, had 
 sprinkled the walls of his house with Latin in- 
 scriptions, some of them highly elegant ; and 
 these particularly interested Burns, who asked 
 and obtained copies and translations of them. 
 This amiable man (whose manners and residence 
 were not, I take it, out of the novelist's recollec- 
 tion, when he painted Monkbarns,) was deeply 
 read in Scottish antiquities, and the author of 
 some learned essays on the elder poetry of his 
 country. His conversation must have delighted 
 any man of talents ; and Burns and he were 
 mutually charmed with each other. Ramsay 
 advised him strongly to turn his attention to the 
 romantic drama, and proposed the Gentle Shepherd 
 as a model : he also urged him to write Scottish 
 Georgics, observing that Thomson had by no 
 means exhausted that field. He appears to have 
 relished both hints. " But," says Mr. R. " to 
 have executed either plan, steadiness and ab- 
 straction from company were wanting." 
 
 " I have been in the company of many men of 
 genius," writes Mr. Ramsay, "some of them poets; 
 but 1 never witnessed such flashes of intellectual 
 brightness as from him, the impulse of the mo- 
 ment, sparks of celestial fire. I never was more 
 delighted, therefore, than with his company two 
 days tete-a-tete. In a mixed company I should 
 have made little of him ; for, to use a gamester's 
 phrase, he did not always know when to play off 
 and when to play on. 
 
 " When I asked him whether the Edinburgh 
 literati had mended his poems by their criticisms — 
 *Sir,' said he, Uhose gentlemen remind me of 
 some spinsters in my country, who spin their 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 165 
 
 tliread so fine that it is neither fit for weft nor 
 woof.' " 
 
 At Clackmannan Tower, the Poet's jacobitism 
 procured him a hearty welcome from the ancient 
 lady of the place, who gloried in considering her- 
 self as a lineal descendant of Robert Bruce. She 
 bestowed on Burns what knighthood the touch of 
 the hero's sword could confer ; and delighted him 
 by giving as her toast after dinner, /Zbo^z uncos* — 
 away strangers ! At Dunfermline the poet be- 
 trayed deep emotion, Dr. Adair tells us, on seeing 
 the grave of the Bruce ; but, passing to another 
 mood on entering the adjoining church, he mount- 
 ed the pulpit, and addressed his companions, who 
 had, at his desire, ascended the cuttystool, in a 
 parody of the rebuke which he had himself under- 
 gone some time before at Mauchline. 
 
 From Dunfermline the poet crossed the Frith 
 of Forth to Edinburgh ; and forthwith set out with 
 his friend NicoU on a more extensive tour than he 
 had as yet undertaken, or was ever again to under- 
 take. Some fragments of his journal have re- 
 cently been discovered, and are now in my hands ; 
 so that I may hope to add some interesting parti- 
 culars to the account of Dr. Currie. The travel- 
 ers hired a post-chaise for their expedition — the 
 High-school master being, probably, no very skill- 
 ful equestrian. 
 
 " August 25th, 1787.— This day," says Burns, 
 " I leave Edinburgh for a tour, in company with 
 my good friend, Mr. Nicoll, whose originality of 
 humor promises me much entertainment. Lin- 
 lithgow. — A fertile improved country is West Lo- 
 
 ♦ A shepherd's cry when strange sheep ming-le in the 
 flock. 
 
166 LIFE OF 
 
 thian. The more elegance and luxury among the 
 farmers, I always observe, in equal proportion, the 
 rudeness and stupidity of the peasantry. This re- 
 mark I have made all over the Lothians, Merse, 
 Roxburgh, &;c.; and forthis, among other reasons, 
 I think that a man of romantic taste, ' a man of 
 feeling,' will be better pleased with the poverty, 
 but intelligent minds, of the peasantry of Ayrshire, 
 (peasantry they are all, below the Justice of 
 Peace,) than the opulence of a club of Merse 
 farmers, when he, at the same time, considers the 
 Vandalism of their plough-folks, &c. I carry this 
 idea so far, that an uninclosed, unimproved coun- 
 try is to me actually more agreeable as a prospect, 
 than a country cultivated like a garden." ' 
 
 It was hardly to be expected that Robert Burns 
 should have estimated the wealth of nations en- 
 tirely on the principles of a political economist. 
 
 Of Linlithgow he says, " the town carries the 
 appearance of rude, decayed, idle grandeur — 
 charmingly rural retired situation— the oldroyal pa- 
 lace a tolerably fine but melancholy ruin — sweet- 
 ly situated by the brink of a loch. Shown the room 
 where the beautiful injured Mary Queen of Scots 
 was born. A pretty good old Gothic church — the 
 infamous stool of repentance, in the old Romish 
 way, on a lofty situation. What a poor pimping 
 business is a Presbyterian place of worship ; dirty, 
 narrow, and squalid, stuck in a corner of old Popish 
 grandeur, such as Linlithgow, and much more Mel- 
 rose ! Ceremony and show, if judiciously thrown 
 in, are absolutely necessary for the bulk of man- 
 kind, both in religious and civil matters " 
 
 At Bannockburn he writes as follows : " Here 
 no Scot can pass uninterested. I fancy to myself 
 that I see my gallant countrymen coming over the 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 167 
 
 hill, and down upon the plunderers of their coun- 
 try, the murderers of their fathers, noble revenge 
 and just hate glowing in every vein, striding more 
 and more eagerly as they approach the oppressive, 
 insulting, blood-thirsty foe. I see them meet in 
 glorious triumphant congratulation on the victori- 
 ous field, exulting in their heroic royal leader, and 
 rescued liberty and independence."* 
 
 Here we have the germ of Burns' famous ode 
 on the battle of Bannockburn. 
 
 At Taymouth, the Journal merely has — " de- 
 scribed in rhyme.^'' This alludes to the " verses 
 written with a pencil over the mantle-piece of the 
 parlor in the inn at Kenmore ;" some of which 
 are among his best purely EngHsh heroics — 
 
 "Poetic ardors in my bo?om swell, 
 
 Lone wandering" by the hermit's mossy cell ; 
 
 The sweeping- theatre of hanging- woods ; 
 
 The incessant roar of headlong--tumbling" floods .... 
 
 Here poesy might wake her heaven-taug-ht lyre, 
 
 And look through nature with creative fire .... 
 
 Here, to the wrong's of fate half reconciled, > 
 
 Misfortune's lighten'd steps mig-ht wander wild ; 
 
 And disappointment, in these lonely bounds. 
 
 Find balm to soothe her bitter rankling- wounds ; 
 
 Here heart-struck g-ricf might heavenward stretch her scan, 
 
 And injured worth forget and pardon man." 
 
 Of Glenlyon we have this memorandum : 
 
 * In the last words of Burns' note above quoted, he per- 
 haps g-lances at a beautiful trait of old Barbour, where he 
 describes Bruce's soldiers as crowding- round him at the 
 conclusion of one of his hard-foug-ht days, with as mvich 
 curiosity as if they had never seen his person before. 
 
 "Sic wordis spak they of their king ; 
 And for his hie undertaking- 
 Ferleyit and ycrnit him for to see, 
 That with him ay was wont to be-- — -" 
 
 14* 
 
168 LIFE OF 
 
 " Druid's temple, three circles of stones, the out- 
 ermost sunk, the second has thirteen stones re- 
 maining, the innermost eight ; two large detached 
 ones like a gate to the southeast — say 'prayers 
 in it.'' 
 
 His notes on Dunkeld and Blair of Athole are 
 as follows : " Dunkeld — breakfast with Dr. 
 Stuart — Neil Gow plays ; a short, stout-built, 
 Highland figure, with his grayish hair shed on his 
 honest social brow — an interesting face, marking 
 strong sense, kind openheartedness, mixed with 
 unmistrusting simplicity — visit his house — Mar- 
 garet Gow. — Friday — ride up Tummel river to 
 Blair. Fascally, a beautiful romantic nest — wild 
 grandeur of the pass of Gillikrankie — visit the 
 gallant Lord Dundee's stone. Blair — sup with 
 the Duchess — easy and happy from the manners 
 of that family — confirmed in my good opinion of 
 my tried Walker. — Saturday — visit the scenes 
 round Blair — fine, but spoilt with bad taste." 
 
 Mr. Walker, who, as we have seen, formed 
 Burns' acquaintance in Edinburgh through Black- 
 lock, was at this period tutor in the family of 
 Athole, and from him the following particulars of 
 Burns' reception at the seat of his noble patron 
 are derived : " I had often, like others, experienced 
 the pleasures which arise from the sublime or ele- 
 gant landscape, but I never saw those feelings so 
 intense as in Burns. When we reached a rustic 
 hut on the river Tilt, where it is overhung by a 
 woody precipice, from which there is a noble 
 waterfall, he threw himself on the heathy seat, and 
 gave himself up to a tender, abstracted, and vo- 
 luptuous enthusiasm of imagination. It was with 
 much difficulty I prevailed on him to quit this spot, 
 and to be introduced in proper time to supper. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 169 
 
 " He seemed at once to perceive and to appre- 
 ciate what was due to the company and to himself, 
 and never to forget a proper respect for the sepa- 
 rate species of dignity belonging to each. He did 
 not arrogate conversation, but, when led into it, he 
 spoke with ease, propriety, and manliness. He 
 tried to exert his abilities, because he knew it was 
 ability alone gave him a title to be there. The 
 duke's fine young family attracted much of his 
 admiration ; he drank their healths as honest men 
 and bonny lasses, an idea which was much ap- 
 plauded by the company, and with which he has 
 very felicitously closed his poem. 
 
 " Next day 1 took a ride with him through some 
 of the most remarkable parts of that neighbor- 
 hood, and was highly gratified by his conversa- 
 tion. As a specimen of bis happiness of concep- 
 tion, and strength of expression, I will mention a 
 remark which he made on his fellow-traveler, 
 who was walking at the time a few paces before 
 us. He was a man of a robust but clumsy per- 
 son ; and, while Burns was expressing to me the 
 value he entertained for him, on account of his 
 vigorous talents, although they were clouded at 
 times by coarseness of manners — ' in short,' he 
 added, ' his mind is like his body, he has a con- 
 founded strong in-knee'd sort of a soul.' 
 
 " Much attention was paid to Burns both before 
 and after the Duke's return, of which he was per- 
 fectly sensible, without being vain ; and at his de- 
 parture I recommended to him, as the most ap- 
 propriate return he could make, to wiite some de- 
 scriptive verses on any of the scenes with which 
 he had been so much delighted. After leaving 
 Blair, he, by the Duke's advice, visited the Falls 
 
170 LIFE OF 
 
 of Bruar, and in a few days I received a letter 
 from Inverness, with the verses inclosed."* 
 
 At Blair, Burns first met with Mr. Graham of 
 Fintray, a gentleman to whose kindness he was af- 
 terwards indebted on more than one important 
 occasion ; and Mr. Walker expresses great regret 
 that he did not remain a day or two more, in which 
 case he must have been introduced to Mr. Dun- 
 das, afterwards Viscount Melville, who was then 
 treasurer of the navy, and had the chief manage- 
 ment of the affairs of Scotland. This eminent 
 statesman was, though little addicted to literature, 
 a warm lover of his own country, and, in general, 
 of whatever redounded to her honor ; he was, 
 moreover, very especially qualified to appreciate 
 Burns as a companion ; and, had such an intro- 
 duction taken place, he might not improbably 
 have been induced to bestow that consideration 
 on the claims of the poet, which, in the absence 
 of any personal acquaintance, Burns' works ought 
 to have received at his hands. 
 
 From Blair, Burns passed "many miles through 
 a wild country, among cliffs gray with eternal 
 snovv's, and gloomy savage glens, till he crossed 
 Spey ; and went down the stream through Strath- 
 spey, (so famous in Scottish music,) Badenoch, 
 «kc., to Grant Castle, where he spent half a day 
 with Sir James Grant ; crossed the country to 
 Fort George, but called by the way at Cawdor, 
 
 * The banks of the Bruar, whose naked condition called 
 forth "the humble petition," to which Mr. Walker thus re- 
 fers, have since those days been well cared for, and the river 
 in its present state, could have no pretext for the prayer — 
 
 " Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, my lowly banks o'erspreafl, 
 
 And view, deep bending in the pool, their shadows' watery bed ; 
 Let fragrant, birks, in woodbines drcst, n)y craggy cliffs adorn, 
 And for the little songster's nc^t, the close embowering thorn." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 171 
 
 the ancient seat of Macbeth, where he saw the 
 identical bed in which, tradition says, King Dun- 
 can was murdered ; lastly, from Fort George to 
 Inverness."* From Inverness, he went along 
 the Murray Frith to Fochabers, taking Culloden- 
 muir and Brodie-house in his way.f — " Cross 
 Spey to Fochabers — fine palace, worthy of the 
 noble, the polite, the generous proprietor — the 
 Duke makes me happier than ever great man 
 did ; noble, princely, yet mild, condescending, 
 
 and aifable — gay and kind. The Duchess 
 
 charming, witty, kind, and sensible — God bless 
 
 them." 
 
 Burns, who had been much noticed by this no- 
 ble family when in Edinburgh, happened to present 
 himself at Gordon Castle, just at the dinner hour, 
 and being invited to take a place at the table, did so, 
 without for the moment adverting to the circum- 
 
 * Letter to Gilbert Burns, Edinburgh, 17th Dec. 1787. 
 
 t (Extract from Journal.) — Thursday, Came over Cullo- 
 den-Muir — reflections on the field of battle — breakfast at Kil- 
 raick* — old Mrs. Roser-sterling- sense, warm heart, strong- 
 passion, honest pride— all to an uncommon degree — a true 
 chieftain's, wife, daughter of Clephane — Mrs. Rose, jun., 
 a little milder than the mother, perhaps owing to her being 
 younger — two young ladies — Miss Rose sung two Gaelic 
 songs — beautiful and lovely — Miss Sodhy Brodie, not very 
 beautiful, but most agreeable and amiable — both of them 
 the gentlest, mildest, sweetest creatures on earth, and happi- 
 ness be with them ! Brodie-house to lie — Mr. B. truly polite, 
 but not quite the Highland cordiality, — Friday, Cross the 
 Findhorn to Forres — famous stone at Forres — Mr. Brodie 
 tells me the muir where Shakspeare lays Macbeth's witch- 
 meeting, is still haunted— that the country folks won't pass 
 by night— Elgin — venerable ruins of the abbey, a grander 
 effect at first glance than Melrose, but nothing near so beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 * Commonly spelt Kihavock, the seat of a very ancient family. 
 
172 LIFE OF 
 
 stance that his travehng companion had been 
 left alone at the inn. in the adjacent village. On 
 remembering this soon after dinner, he begged to 
 be allowed to rejoin his friend ; and the Duke of 
 Gordon, who now for the first time learned that he 
 was not journeying alone, immediately proposed 
 to send an invitation to Mr. NicoU, to come to the 
 castle. His Grace's messenger found the haughty 
 school-master striding up and down before the inn 
 door, in a state of high wrath and indignation, at 
 what he considered Burns' neglect, and no apolo- 
 gies could soften his mood. He had already or- 
 dered horses, and the poet finding that he must 
 choose between the ducal circle and his irritable 
 associate, at once left Gordon Castle, and re- 
 paired to the inn ; whence Nicoll and he, in silence 
 and mutual displeasure, pursued their journey 
 along the coast of the Murray Frith. This inci- 
 dent may serve to suggest some of the annoy- 
 ances to which persons moving, like our poet, on 
 the debateable land between two different ranks 
 of society, must ever be subjected. To play the 
 lion under such circumstances, must be ditficult at 
 the best ; but a delicate business, indeed, when 
 the jackals are presumptuous. This pedant 
 could not stomach the superior success of his 
 friend — and yet, alas for poor human nature ! he 
 certainly was one of the most enthusiastic of his 
 admirers, and one of the most affectionate of all 
 his intimates. The abridgment of Burns' visit at 
 Gordon Castle, " was not only," says Mr. Walker, 
 " a mortifying disappointment, but in all proba- 
 bility a serious misfortune, as a longer stay 
 among persons of such influence, might have 
 begot a permanent intimacy, and on their parts, an 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 173 
 
 active concern for his future advancement."* 
 But this touches on a subject which we cannot at 
 present pause to consider. 
 
 A few days after leaving Fochabers, Burns 
 transmitted to Gordon Castle his acknowledg- 
 merit of the hospitality he had received from the 
 noble family, in the stanzas — 
 
 " Streams that g-lide on oi-ient plains, 
 Never bound by winter's chains," &c. 
 
 The Duchess, on hearing them read, said she 
 supposed they were Dr. Beattie's, and on learning 
 whose they really were, expressed her wish that 
 Burns had celebrated Gordon Castle in his own 
 dialect. The verses are among the poorest of his 
 productions. 
 
 Pursuing his journey along the coast, the poet 
 visited successively Nairn, Forres, Aberdeen, and 
 Stonehive ; where one of his relations, James 
 Burness, writer in Montrose, met him by appoint- 
 ment, and conducted him into the circle of his 
 paternal kindred, among whom he spent two or 
 three days. When William Burness, his father, 
 abandoned his native district, never to revisit it, 
 he, as he used to tell his children, took a sorrow- 
 ful farewell of his brother on the summit of the 
 last hill from which the roof of their lowly home 
 could be descried ; and the old man appears to 
 have ever after kept up an affectionate correspond- 
 ence with his family. It fell to the poet's lot to 
 communicate his father's death to the Kincar- 
 dineshire kindred, and after that he seems to 
 have maintained the same sort of correspond, 
 ence. He now formed a personal acquaintance 
 with these good people, and in a letter to his bro- 
 ther Gilbert, we find him describing them in 
 * Morrison, vol. i. p. 80. 
 
174 LIFE OF 
 
 terms which show the lively interest he took in 
 all their concerns.* 
 
 '■' The rest of my stages," says he, " are not 
 worth rehearsing : warm as I was from Ossian's 
 country, where I had seen his very grave, what 
 cared I for fishing towns and fertile carses ?" He 
 arrived once more in Edinburgh, on the 16th of 
 September, having traveled about six hundred 
 miles in two-and-twenty days — greatly extended 
 his acquaintance with his own country, and visited 
 some of its most classical scenery — observed 
 something of Highland manners, which must have 
 been as interesting as they were novel to him — 
 and strengthened considerably among the sturdy 
 jacobits of the North those political opinions 
 which he at this period avowed. 
 
 Of the few poems composed during this High- 
 land tour, we have already mentioned two or 
 three. While standing by the Fall of Fyers, 
 near Loch Ness, he wrote with his pencil the 
 vigorous couplets — 
 
 " Among- the heathy hills and rug-g-ed woods, 
 The roaring" Fyers pours his nnossy floods," &c. 
 
 When at Sir William Murray's of Ochtertyre, 
 he celebrated Miss Murray of Lintrose, com- 
 monly called " The Flower of Sutherland," in 
 the song — 
 
 " Blythe, blythc, and merry was she, 
 Blythe was she but and ben," &c. 
 
 And the verses On Scaring some Wildfowl on 
 Loch Turitj — 
 
 " Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
 
 For me your wat'ry haunts forsake," &c., 
 
 were composed while under the same roof. These 
 
 * General Correspondence, No. 32. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 175 
 
 last, except perhaps Bruar Water, are the best 
 that he added to his collection during the wander- 
 ings of the summer. But in Burns' subsequent 
 productions, we find many traces of the delight 
 with which he had contemplated nature in these 
 alpine regions. 
 
 The poet once more visited his family at Moss- 
 giel, and Mr. Miller at Dalswinton, ere the winter 
 set in ; and on more leisurely examination of that 
 gentleman's estate, we find him writing as if he 
 had all but decided to become his tenant on the 
 farm of Elliesland. It was not, however, until he 
 had for the third lime visited Dumfries-shire, in 
 March 1788, that a bargain was actually con- 
 cluded. 
 
 More than half of the intervening months were 
 spent in Edinburgh, where Burns found or fancied 
 that his presence was necessary for the satisfactory 
 completion of his affairs with the booksellers. It 
 seems to be clear enough that one great object was 
 the society of his jovial intimates in the capital. 
 Nor was he without the amusement of a little ro- 
 mance to fill up what vacant hours they left him. 
 He lodged that winter in Bristo street, on purpose 
 to be near a beautiful widow — the same to whom 
 he addressed the song. 
 
 " CJarinda, mistress of my soul," &c. 
 and a series of prose epistles, which have been se- 
 parately published, and which present more in- 
 stances of bad taste, bombastic language, and ful- 
 some sentiment, than could be produced from all 
 his writings besides. 
 
 At this time the publication called Johnsori's 
 Museum of Scottish Song was going on in Edin- 
 burgh ; and the editor appears to have early pre- 
 vailed on Burns to give him his assistance in the 
 15 
 
176 LIFE OF 
 
 arrangement of his materials. Though Green 
 grow the rashes is the only song, entirely his, which 
 appears in the first volume, published in 1787, 
 many of the old ballads included in that volume 
 bear traces of his hand ; but in the second volume, 
 which appeared in March, 1788, we find no fewer 
 than five songs by Burns ; two that have been al- 
 ready mentioned,* and three far better than them, 
 viz. Theniel Menzies' honny Mary ; that grand 
 lyric, 
 
 " Farewell, ye dung-eons dark and strong-. 
 The wretch's destiny, 
 
 Macpherson's time will not be long- 
 On yonder g-allows tree ;" 
 
 both of which performances bespeak the recent im- 
 pressions of his Highland visit ; and, lastly, Wliis- 
 ile and Fll come to you, my lad. Burns had been 
 from his youth upwards an enthusiastic lover of the 
 old minstrelsy and music of his country ; but he 
 now studied both subjects with far better oppor- 
 tunities and appliances than he could have com- 
 manded previously ; and it is from this time that 
 we must date his ambition to transmit his own 
 poetry to posterity, in eternal association with 
 those exquisite airs which had hitherto, in far too 
 many instances, been married to verses that did 
 not deserve to be immortal. It is well known 
 that from this time Burns composed very few 
 pieces but songs ; and whether we ought or not to 
 regret that such was the case, must depend on the 
 estimate we make of his songs as compared with 
 his other poems ; a point on which critics are to 
 this hour divided, and on which their descendants 
 
 * " Clarinda," and " How pleasant the banks of the clear 
 winding- Devon." 
 
ROBERT BURJsS. 177 
 
 are not very likely to agree. Mr. Walker, who is 
 one of those that lament Burns' comparative de- 
 reliction of the species of composition which he 
 most cultivated in the early days of his inspiration, 
 suggests very sensibly, that if Burns had not taken 
 to song-writing, he would probably have written 
 little or nothing amidst the various temptations to 
 company and dissipation which now and hence- 
 forth surrounded him — to say nothing of the active 
 duties of life in which he was at length about to 
 be engaged. 
 
 Burns was present, on the 31st of December, at 
 a dinner to celebrate the birth-day of the unfortu- 
 nate Prince Charles Edward Stuart, and produced 
 on the occasion an ode, part of which Dr. Currie 
 has preserved. The specimen will not induce 
 any regret that the remainder of the piece has 
 been suppressed. It appears to be a mouthing 
 rhapsody — far, far difTerent indeed from the Che- 
 valier^s Lament, which the poet composed some 
 months afterwards, with probably the tithe of the 
 effort, while ridino;' alone " throusfh a track of 
 melancholy muirs between Galloway and Ayr- 
 shire, it being Sunday."* 
 
 For six weeks of the time that Burns spent this 
 year in Edinburgh, he was confined to his room, in 
 consequence of an overturn in a hackney coach. 
 <' Here I am," he writes, " under the care of a 
 surgeon, with a bruised limb extended on a cu- 
 shion, and the tints of my mind vying with the li- 
 vid horrors preceding a midnight thunder-storm. 
 A drunken coachman was the cause of the first, 
 and incomparably the lightest evil ; misfortune, 
 bodily constitution, hell, and myself, have formed 
 
 * General Correspondence, No. 4G. 
 
178 LIFE OF 
 
 a quadruple alliance to guaranty the other. I 
 have taken tooth and nail to the Bible, and am got 
 half way through the five books of Moses, and 
 halfway in Joshua. It is really a glorious book. 
 I sent for my bookbinder to-day, and ordered him 
 to get an 8vo Bible in vsheets, the best paper and 
 print in town, and bind it with all the elegance of 
 his craft."* 
 
 In another letter, which opens gayly enough, we 
 find him reverting to the same prevailing darkness 
 of mood. " I can't say I am altogether at my ease 
 when I see anywhere in my path that meagre, 
 squalid, famine-faced spectre, Poverty, attended as 
 he always is by iron-fisted Oppression, and leer- 
 ing Contempt. But I have sturdily withstood his 
 buffetmgs many a hard-labored day, and still my 
 motto is / DARE. My worst enemy is moi-meme. 
 There are just two creatures that I would envy — 
 a horse in his wild state traversing the forests of 
 Asia, or an oyster on some of the desert shores of 
 Europe. The one has not a wish without enjoy- 
 ment ; the other has neither wish nor fear."f 
 
 One more specimen of this magnificant hj^po- 
 chondriacism may be sufficient.:]: " These have 
 been six horrible weeks. Anguish and low spirits 
 have made me unfit to read, write, or think. I have 
 a hundred times wished that one could resign life as 
 an officer does a commission ; for I would not take 
 in any poor ignorant wretch by selling out. Late- 
 ly, I was a sixpenny private, and God knows a mi- 
 serable soldier enough : now 1 march to the cam- 
 paign a starving cadet, a little more conspicuously 
 wretched. I am ashamed of all this ; for though 
 I do not want bravery for the warfare of life, I 
 
 * Reliques, p. 43. t Ibid. p. 44. 
 
 t General Correspondence, No. 43. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 179 
 
 could wish, like some other soldiers, to have as 
 much fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or con- 
 ceal my cowardice." 
 
 It seems impossible to doubt that Burns had 
 in fact lingered in Edinburgh, in the hope that, 
 to use a vague but sufficiently expressive phrase, 
 something would be done for him. He visited and 
 revisited a farm, — talked and wrote scholarly and 
 M'isely about " having a fortune at the plough-tail," 
 and so forth ; but all the while nourished, and as- 
 suredly it would have been most strange if he had 
 not, the fond dream that the admiration of his 
 country would ere long present itself in some solid 
 and tangible shape. His illness and confinement 
 gave him leisure to concentrate his imagination 
 on the darker side of his prospects ; and the letters 
 which we have quoted may teach those who envy 
 the powers and the fame of genius, to pause for a 
 moment over the annais of literature, and think 
 what superior capabilities of misery have been, in 
 the great majority of cases, interwoven with the 
 possession of those very talents, from which all but 
 their possessors derive unmingled gratification. 
 
 Burns' distresses, however, were to be still far- 
 ther aggravated. While still under the hands of 
 his surgeon, he received inteUigencefrom Mauch- 
 line that his intimacy with Jean Armour had once 
 more exposed her to the reproaches of her family. 
 The father sternly and at once turned her out of 
 doors ; and Burns, unable to walk across his room, 
 had to write to his friends in Mauchline, to pro- 
 cure shelter for his children, and for her whom he 
 considered as — all but his wife. In a letter to Mrs. 
 Dunlop, written on hearing of this new misfortune, 
 he says, " '/ wish I were dead, but Vm no like to 
 die.^ I fear I am something like — undone ; but I 
 15* 
 
180 LIFE OF 
 
 hope for the hest. You must not desert me. Your 
 friendship I think I can count on, though I should 
 date my letters from a marching regiment. Early 
 in life, and ail my life, I reckoned on a recruiting 
 drum as my forlorn hope. Seriously, though, life 
 at present presents me with but a melancholy 
 
 path But my limb will soon be sound, and I 
 
 shall struggle on."* 
 
 It seems to have been now that Burns at last 
 screwed up his courage to solicit the active inter- 
 ference in his behalf of the Earl of Glencairn. The 
 letter is a brief one. Burns could ill endure this 
 novel attitude, and he rushed at once to his re- 
 quest. " I wish," says he, " to get into the ex- 
 cise. I am told your lordship will easily procure 
 me the grant from the commissioners ; and your 
 lordship's patronage and kindness, which have al- 
 ready rescued me from obscurity, wretchedness, 
 and exile, embolden me to ask that interest. You 
 have likewise put in my power to save the little 
 tie of home, that sheltered an aged mother, two 
 brothers, and three sisters from destruction. 
 There, my lord, you have bound me over to the 
 
 highest gratitude. My heart sinks within me 
 
 at the idea of applying to any other of The Great 
 who have honored me with their countenance. I 
 am ill qualified to dog the heels of greatness with 
 the impertinence of solicitation ; and tremble 
 nearly as much at the thought of the cold promise 
 as of the cold denial. "f 
 
 It would be hard to think that this letter was 
 coldly or negligently received ; on the contrary, 
 we know that Burns' gratitude to Lord Glen- 
 cairn lasted as long as his hfe. But the excise ap- 
 
 * Reliques, p. 48. 
 
 t General Correspondence jNo. 40. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 181 
 
 pointment which he coveted was not procured by 
 any exertion of his noble patron's influence. Mr. 
 Alexander Wood, surgeon, (still affectionately re- 
 membered in Scotland as " kind old Sandy Wood,") 
 happening to hear Burns, while his patient, men- 
 tion the object of his wishes, went immediately, 
 without dropping any hint of his intention, and 
 communicated the state of the poet's case to Mr. 
 Graham of Fintray, one of the commissioners of 
 excise, who had met Burns at the Dukeof Athole's 
 in the autumn, and who immediately had the poet's 
 name put on the roll. 
 
 I have chosen this, my dear friend, (thus wrote 
 Burns to Mrs. Dunlop,) after mature deliberation. 
 The question is not at what door of Fortune's pa- 
 lace shall we enter in ; but what doors does she 
 open to us ? I was not likely to get any thing to 
 do. I wanted un but, which is a dangerous, an un- 
 happy situation. I got this without any hanging on 
 or mortifying solicitation. It is immediate bread, 
 and, though poor in comparison of the last eighteen 
 months of my existence, 'tis luxury in comparison 
 of all my preceding life. Besides, the commission- 
 ers are some of them my acquaintances, and all of 
 them my firm friends.^''* 
 
 Our poet seems to have kept up an angry cor- 
 respondence during his confinement with his book- 
 seller, Mr. Creech, whom he also abuses very 
 heartily in his letters to his friends in Ayrshire. 
 The publisher's accounts, however, when they were 
 at last made up, must have given the impatient 
 author a very agreeable surprise ; for, in his letter 
 above quoted, to Lord Glencairn, we find him ex- 
 pressing his hopes that the gross profits of his book 
 might amount to " better than £200," whereas, 
 ♦ Reliques, p. 50. 
 
182 LIFE or 
 
 on the day of settling with Mr. Creech, he found 
 himself in possession of £500, if not of £600.* 
 
 This supply cametruly inthe hourofneed; and 
 it seems to have elevated his spirits greatly, and 
 given him for the time a new stock of confidence ; 
 for he now resumed immediately his purpose of 
 taking Mr. Miller's farm, retaining his excise com- 
 mission in his pocket as a dernier resort, to be 
 made use of only should some reverse of fortune 
 come upon him. His first act, however, was to re- 
 lieve his brother from his difficulties, by advancing 
 £180, or £200, to assist him in the management 
 of Mossgiel. " T give myself no airs on this," he 
 generously says, in a letter to Dr. Moore, " for it 
 was mere selfishness on my part. 1 was conscious 
 that the wrong scale of the balance was pretty 
 heavily charged, and I thought that the throwing 
 a little filial piety and fraternal affection into the 
 scale in my favor, might help to smooth matters 
 at the grand reckoning. ^^"f 
 
 * Mr. Nicoll, the most intimate friend Burns had at this 
 time, writes to Mr. John Lewars, excise officer, at Dumfries, 
 immedicitely on hearing" of tlie poet's death, — ' He certainly 
 told me that he received j£600, for the first Edinburg-h 
 edition, and £100 afterwards for the copyrig-ht,' (MS. in 
 my possession.) Dr. Carrie states the gross product of 
 Creech's edition at £500, and Burns himself, in one of his 
 printed letters, at £400 only, Nicoll hints, in the letter 
 already referred to, that Burns had contracted debts while 
 in Edinburgh, which he might not wish to avow on all oc- 
 casions ; and if we are to believe this, and, as is probable, 
 the expense of printing the subscription edition, should, 
 moreover, be deducted from the £700 stated by Mr. Nicoll 
 — the appai^nt contradictions in these stories may be pretty 
 nearly reconciled. — There appears to be reason for thinking 
 that Creech subsequently paid more than £100 for the copy- 
 right. If he did not, how came Burns to realize, as Currie 
 states it at the end of his Memoir, "nearly nine hundred 
 pounds in all by his poems ?" 
 
 1 General Correspondence, No. 66. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 183 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 " To make a happy fireside clime 
 For weans and wife — 
 
 That's the true pathos and sublime 
 Of human life." 
 
 Burns, as soon as his bruised limb was able 
 for a journey, went to Mossgiel, and went through 
 the ceremony of a Justice-of-Peace marriage with 
 Jean Armour, in the writing-chambers of his friend 
 Gavin HamiUon. He then crossed the country to 
 Dalswinton, and concluded his bargain with Mr, 
 Miller as to the farm on Elliesland, on terms which 
 must undoubtedly have been considered by both 
 parties, as highly favorable to the poet ; they were 
 indeed fixed by two of Burns' own friends, who 
 accompanied him for that purpose from Ayrshire. 
 The lease was for four successive terms, of nineteen 
 years each, — in all seventy-six years ; the rent for 
 the first three years and crops fifty pounds ; during 
 the remainder of the period <£7(). Mr. Miller 
 bound himself to defray the expense of any plan- 
 tations which Burns might please to make on the 
 banks of the river ; and, the farm-house and offices 
 being in a dilapidated condition, the new tenant 
 was to recieve £300, from the proprietor, for the 
 erection of suitable buildings. " The land," says 
 Allan Cunningham, " was good, the rent mode- 
 rate and the markets were rising." 
 
 Burns entered on possession of his farm at Whit, 
 suntide, 1788, but the necessary rebuilding of the 
 house prevented his removing Mrs. Burns thither 
 
184 LIFE OF 
 
 until the season was far advanced. He had, more- 
 over, to quahfy himself for holding his excise com- 
 mission by six week's attendance on the business 
 of that profession at Ayr. From these circum- 
 stances, he led all the summer a wandering andun- 
 settled life, and Dr. Currie mentions this as one of 
 his chief misfortunes. The poet, as he says, was 
 continually riding between Ayrshire and Dum- 
 fries-shire, and often spending a night on the road, 
 " sometimes fell into company, and forgot the re- 
 solutions he had formed." 
 
 What these resolutions were, the poet himself 
 shall tell us. On the 3d day of his residence at 
 Elliesland, he thus writes to Mr. Ainslie: " I have 
 all along hitherto, in the warfare of life, been bred 
 to arms, among the light-horse, the piquet guards 
 of fancy, a kind of hussars and Highlanders of the 
 brain ; but I am firmly resolved to sell out of these 
 giddy battalions. Cost what it will, I am deter- 
 mined to buy in among the grave squadrons of 
 heavy-armed thought, or the artillery corps of plod- 
 ding contrivance. — Were it not for the terrors of 
 my tickhsh situation respecting a family of chil- 
 dren, I am decidedly of opinion that the step I 
 have taken is vastly for my happiness."* 
 
 To all his friends, he expresses himself in terms 
 of similar satisfaction in regard to his marriage. 
 " Your surmise, madam," he writes to Mrs. Dun- 
 lop, " is just. I am indeed a husband. I found 
 a once much-loved, and still much-loved female, 
 literally and truly cast out to the mercy of the 
 naked elements, but as I enabled her to purchase 
 a shelter ; and there is no sporting with a fellow- 
 creature's happiness or misery. The most placid 
 
 * Reliques, p. 63. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 185 
 
 good nature and sweetness of disposition ; a warm 
 heart, gratefully devoted with all its powers to 
 love me ; vigorous health and sprightly cheerful- 
 ness, set off to the best advantage by a more than 
 commonly handsome figure ; these, I think, in a 
 woman, may make a good wife, though she should 
 never have read a page but the Scriptures of the 
 Old and New Testament, nor danced in a brighter 
 
 assembly than a penny-pay wedding To 
 
 jealousy or infidelity I am an equal stranger ; my 
 preservative from the first, is the most thorough 
 consciousness of her sentiments of honor, and her 
 attachment to me ; my antidote against the last, 
 is my long and deep-rooted afl^ection for her. In 
 housewife matters, of aptness to learn, and activi- 
 ty to execute, she is eminently mistress, and du- 
 ring my absence in Nithsdale, she is regularly and 
 constantly an apprentice to my mother and sisters 
 
 in their dairy, and other rural business 
 
 You are right, that a bachelor state would have 
 insured me more friends ; but from a cause you 
 will easily guess, conscious peace in the enjoy- 
 ment of my own mind, and unmistrusting confi- 
 dence in approaching my God, would seldom have 
 been of the number."* 
 
 Some months later he tells Miss Chalmers that 
 his marriage " was not, perhaps, in consequence 
 of the attachment of romance," — (he is address- 
 ing a young lady,)— " but," he continues, "I have 
 no cause to repent it. If I have not got polite 
 tattle, modish manners, and fashionable dress, I 
 am not sickened and disgusted with the multi- 
 form curse of boarding-school affectation ; and I 
 
 * See General Correspondence, No. 53 ; and Reliques, 
 page 60. 
 
186 LIFE OF 
 
 have got the handsomest figure, the sweetest tem- 
 per, the soundest constitution, and the kindest 
 heart in the country. Mrs. Burns believes as 
 firmly as her creed, that I am le i^lus hel espiit et 
 le plus honnete homme in the universe ; although 
 she scarcely ever, in her lite, except the Scrip- 
 tures and the Psalms of David in Metre, spent 
 five minutes together on either prose or verse — I 
 must except also a certain late publication of 
 Scots poems, which she has perused very devout- 
 ly, and all the ballads of the country, as she has 
 (O the partial lover, you will say) the finest 
 woodnote-wild I ever heard."* 
 
 It was during this honeymoon, as he calls it, 
 while chiefly residentinaniiserablehovel at Ellies- 
 land,-|- and only occasionally spending a day or 
 two in Ayrshire, that he wrote the beautiful song 4 
 
 " Of a' the airs the wind can blaw I dearly like the west, 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives, the lassie I lo'e best ; _ 
 There wildwoods grow, and riveis row, and many a hill be- 
 tween ; 
 But day and night my fancy's flight is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft amang the leafy trees, 
 Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale, bring hame the laden 
 
 bees, 
 And bring the lassie back to me, that's aye sae neat and 
 
 clean ; 
 Ae blink o' her wad banish care, sae lovely is my Jean." 
 
 "A discerning reader," says Mr. Walker, **will 
 
 ♦ One of Burns' letters, written not long after this, con- 
 tains a passage strongly marked with his haughtiness of cha- 
 racter. " I have escaped," says he, " the fantastic caprice, 
 the apish affectation, with all the other blessed boarding- 
 school acquirements which are sometimes to be found among" 
 females of the upper ranks, but almost universally pervade 
 the misses of the would-be gentry."— GcTieroZ Correspon- 
 dence. No. 55. ^^„ 
 t Reliques, p. 75. t Ibid. p. 273. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 187 
 
 perceive that the letters in which he announces 
 his marriage to some of his most respected corre- 
 spondents, are written in that state when the mind 
 is pained by reflecting on an unwelcome step, 
 and finds relief to itself in seeking arguments to 
 justify the deed, and lessen its disadvantages in 
 the opinion of others."* I confess I am not able 
 to discern any traces of this kind of feeling in any 
 of Burns' letters on this interesting and impor- 
 tant occasion. Mr. Walker seems to take it for 
 granted, that because Burns admired the superior 
 manners and accomplishments of women of the 
 higher ranks of society, he must necessarily, 
 whenever he discovered " the interest which he 
 had the power of creating" in such persons, have 
 aspired to find a wife among them. But it is, to 
 say the least of the matter, extremely doubtful, 
 that Burns, if he had had a mind, could have 
 found any high-born maiden willing to partake 
 such fortunes as his were likely to be, and yet pos- 
 sessed of such qualifications for making him a 
 happy man, as he had ready for his acceptance in 
 his " Bonny Jean." The proud heart of the poet 
 could never have stooped itself to woo for gold ; 
 and birth and high-breeding could only have been 
 introduced into a farm-house to embitter, in the 
 upshot, the whole existence of its inmates. It is 
 very easy to say, that had Burns married an ac- 
 complished woman, he might have found domestic 
 evenings sufficient to satisfy all the cravings of his 
 mind — abandoned tavern haunts and jollities for 
 ever — and settled down into a regular pattern- 
 character. But it is at least as possible, that con- 
 sequences of an exactly opposite nature might 
 
 * Morrison, vol. i. p. Ixxxvii. 
 16 
 
]88 LIFE OF 
 
 have ensued. Any marriage, such as Professor 
 Walker alludes to, would, in his case, have been 
 more unequal, than either of those that made 
 Dryden and Addison miserable for life. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, in his life of the former of 
 these great men, has well described the difficult 
 situation of her, who has " to endure the appa- 
 rently causeless fluctuation of spirits incident to 
 one doomed to labor incessantly in the feverish 
 exercise of the imagination." — " Unintentional 
 neglect," says he, " and the inevitable relaxa- 
 tion, or rather sinking of spirit, which follows 
 violent mental exertion, are easily misconstrued 
 into capricious rudeness, or intentional offense ; 
 and life is embittered by mutual accusation, not 
 the less intolerable because reciprocally unjust."* 
 Such were the difficulties under which the do- 
 mestic peace both of Addison and Dryden went 
 to wreck ; and yet, to say nothing of manners 
 and habits of the highest elegance and polish in 
 either case, they were both of them men of strict- 
 ly pure and correct conduct in their conjugal ca- 
 pacities ; and who can doubt that all these diffi- 
 culties must have been enhanced tenfold, had any 
 woman of superior condition linked her fortunes 
 with Robert Burns, a man at once of the very 
 warmest animal temperament, and the most way- 
 ward and moody of all his melancholy and irritable 
 tribe, who had little vanity that could have been 
 gratified by a species of connection, which, unless 
 he had found a human angel, must have been con- 
 tinually wounding his pride ? But, in truth, these 
 speculations are all worse than worthless. Burns, 
 with all his faults, was an honest and a high-spi- 
 rited man, and he loved the mother of his chiU 
 
 *Life of Dryden, p. 90. 
 
ROBEKT BURNS. 189 
 
 dren ; and had he hesitated to make her his wife, 
 he must have sunk into the callousness of a ruf- 
 fian, or that misery of miseries, the remorse of a 
 poet. 
 
 The Reverend Hamilton Paul takes an origi- 
 nal view of this business : " Much praise," says 
 he, "has been lavished on Burns for renewing his 
 engagement with Jean when in the blaze of his 
 fame. . . . The praise is misplaced. We do not 
 think a man entitled to credit or commendation 
 for doing what the law could compel him to per- 
 form. Burns was in reality a married man, and it 
 is truly ludicrous to hear him, aware as he must 
 have been, of the indissoluble power of the obli- 
 gation, though every document was destroyed, 
 talking of himself as a bachelor."* There is no 
 justice in these remarks. It is very true, that, by 
 a merciful fiction of the law of Scotland, the fe- 
 male, in Miss Armour's condition, who produces 
 a written promise of marriage, is considered as 
 having furnished evidence of an irregular mar- 
 riage having taken place between her and her 
 lover ; but in this case the female herself had de- 
 stroyed the document, and lived for many months 
 not only not assuming, but rejecting, the charac- 
 ter of Burns' wife ; and had she, under such cir- 
 cumstances, attempted to establish a marriage, 
 with no document in her hand, and with no parole 
 evidence to show that any such document had ever 
 existed, to say nothing of proving its exact tenor, 
 but that of her own father, it is clear that no eccle- 
 siastical court in the world could have failed to de- 
 cide against her. So far from Burns having all 
 along regarded her as his wife, it is extremely 
 
 * Paur3 Life of Burns, p. 45. 
 
190 LIFE OF 
 
 doubtful whether she had ever for one moment 
 considered him as actually her husband, until he 
 declared the marriage of 1788. Burns did no 
 more than justice as well as honor demanded ; but 
 the act was one which no human tribunal could 
 have compelled him to perform. 
 
 To return to our story. Burns complains sadly 
 of his solitary condition, when living in the only 
 hovel that he found extant on his farm. " I am," 
 says he (September 9th) " busy with my harvest, 
 but for all that most pleasurable part of life called 
 social intercourse, I am here at the very elbow of 
 existence. The only things that are to be found 
 in this country in any degree of perfection, are 
 stupidity, and canting. Prose they only know in 
 graces, &c., and the value of these they estimate 
 as they do their plaiding webs, by the ell. As for 
 the muses, they have as much idea of a rhinoce- 
 ros as of a poet."* And in another letter (Sep- 
 tember 16) he says, " This hovel that I shelter in 
 while occasionally here, is pervious to every blast 
 that blows, and every shower that falls, and I am 
 only preserved from being chilled to death by 
 being suffocated by smoke. You will be pleased 
 to hear that I have laid aside idle eclat, and bind 
 every day after my reapers. "f 
 
 His house, hovv^ever, did not take much time in 
 building; nor had he reason to complain of want 
 of society long; nor, it must be added, did Burns 
 bind every day after his reapers. 
 
 He brought his wife home to Elliesland about 
 the end of November ; and few housekeepers start 
 with a larger provision of young mouths to feed 
 than this couple. Mrs. Burns had lain in this au- 
 tumn, for the second time, of twins, and I suppose 
 
 * Reliqucs, p. 75. t lb. p. 79. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 191 
 
 " sonsy, smirking, dear-bought Bess,"* accompa- 
 nied her younger brothers and sisters from Moss- 
 giel. From that quarter also Burns brought a 
 whole establishment of servants, male and female, 
 who, of course, as was then the universal custom 
 amongst the small farmers, both of the west and 
 of the south of Scotland, partook, at the same ta- 
 ble, of the same fare with theirmaster and mistress. 
 Elliesland is beautifully situated on the banks of 
 the Nith, about six miles above Dumfries, exact- 
 ly opposite to the house of Dalswinton, of those 
 noble woods and gardens amidst which Burns' 
 landlord, the ingenious Mr. Patrick Miller, found 
 relaxation from the scientific studies and research- 
 es, in which he so greatly excelled. On the Dal- 
 swinton side, the river washes lav>^ns and groves ; 
 but over against these the bank rises into a long 
 red scaur, of considerable height, along the verge 
 of which, where the bare shingle of the precipice 
 all but overhangs the stream. Burns had his fa- 
 vorite walk, and might now be seen striding 
 alone, early and late, especially when the winds 
 were loud, and the waters below him swollen and 
 turbulent. For he was one of those that enjoy 
 nature most in the more serious and severe of her 
 aspects ; and throughout his poetry, for one allu- 
 sion to the liveliness of spring, or the splendor of 
 summer, it would be easy to point out twenty in 
 which he records the solemn delight with which 
 he contemplated the melancholy grandeur of au- 
 tumn, or the savage gloom of winter. Indeed, I 
 cannot but think that the result of an exact inqui- 
 ry into the composition of Burns' poems, would 
 be, that " his vein," like that of Milton, " flowed 
 most happily, from the autumnal equinox to the 
 
 * Poetical Inventory to Mr. Aiken, February, 1786. 
 16* 
 
192 LIFE OF 
 
 vernal." Of Lord Byron, we know that his vein 
 flowed best at midnight ; and Burns has himself 
 told us that it was his custom " to take a gloamin' 
 shot at the muses." 
 
 The poet was accustomed to say, that the most 
 happy period of his life was the first winter he 
 spent atElliesland, — for the first time under a roof 
 of his own — with his wife and children about him 
 — and in spite of occasional lapses into melan- 
 choly which had haunted his youth, looking for- 
 ward to a life of well-regulated, and not ill-re- 
 warded, industry. It is known that he welcomed 
 his wife to her rooftree at Elliesland in the song, 
 
 "I hae a wife o' mine ain, I'll partake wi' naebody ; 
 I'll tak cuckold frae nana, I'll gie cuckold to naebody ; 
 I hae a penny to spend — there — thanks to naebody ; 
 I hae naething" to lend — I'll borrow frae naebody." 
 
 In commenting on this " little lively lucky song," 
 as he well calls it, Mr. Allan Cunningham says, 
 " Burns had built his house, he had committed his 
 seed-corn to the ground, he was in the prime, nay 
 the morning of life — health, and strength, and 
 agricultural skill (?) were on his side — his genius 
 had been acknowledged by his country, and re- 
 warded by a subscription, more extensive than 
 any Scottish poet ever received before ; no won- 
 der, therefore, that he broke out into voluntary 
 song, expressive of his sense of importance and 
 independence."* — Another songwas composed in 
 honor of Mrs. Burns, during the happy weeks that 
 followed her arrival at Elliesland : 
 
 *' O, were I on Parnassus hill, 
 Or had of Helicon my fill, 
 That I mig-ht catch poetic skill, 
 To sing how dear I love thee ! 
 
 * Cunningham's Scottish Songs, vol, iv., p. 86. 
 
KODERT BURNS. iVO 
 
 But Nith maun be my muse's well, 
 
 My muse maun be thy bonny sell, 
 
 On Corsincon I'll g-lower and spell, 
 
 And write how dear I love thee." 
 
 In the second stanza, the poet rather transgresses 
 the limits of connubial decorum ; but, on the 
 whole, these tributes to domestic affection are 
 among the last of his performances that one 
 would wish to lose. 
 
 Burns, in his letters of the year 1789, makes 
 many apologies for doing but little in his poetical 
 vocation ; his farm, without doubt, occupied much 
 of his attention, but the want of social intercourse, 
 of which he complained on his first arrival in 
 Nithsdale, had by this time totally disappeared. 
 On the contrary, his company was courted ea- 
 gerly, not only by his brother farmers, but by the 
 neighboring gentry of all classes ; and now, too, 
 for the first time, he began to be visited continu- 
 ally in his own house by curious travelers of all 
 sorts, who did not consider, any more than the 
 generous poet himself, that an extensive practice 
 of hospitality must cost more time than he ought 
 to have had, and far more money than he ever 
 had, at his disposal. Meantime, he was not 
 wholly regardless of the muses ; for in addition 
 to some pieces which we have already had occa- 
 sion to notice, he contributed to this year's Mu- 
 seum, Tlie Thames flows proudly to the Sea ; The 
 lazy mist hangs, (Sfc. ; The day returns, my bosom 
 hums ; Tarn Glen, (one of the best of his hu- 
 morous songs;) the splendid lyric. Go fetch to 
 me a pint of wine, and My heart '5 in the Hielands, 
 (in both of which, however, he adopted some 
 lines of ancient songs to the same tunes ;) John 
 Anderson, in part also a rifacciamento ; the best 
 of all his Bacchanalian pieces, Willie brewed a 
 
194 LIFE OF 
 
 -peck o' 7naul, written in celebration of a festive 
 meeting at the country residence, in Dumfries- 
 shire, of his friend Mr. Nicoll of the high-school ; 
 and lastly, that noblest of all his ballads. To Mary 
 in Heaven, 
 
 This celebrated poem was, it is on all hands ad- 
 mitted, composed by Burns in September, 1789, 
 on the anniversary of the day on which he heard 
 of the death of his early love, Mary Campbell ; 
 but Mr. Cromek has thought fit to dress up the 
 story with circumstances which did not occur. 
 Mrs. Burns, the only person who could appeal to 
 personal recollection on this occasion, and whose 
 recollections of all circumstances connected with 
 the history of her husband's poems, are represented 
 as being remarkably distinct and vivid, gives what 
 may at first appear a more prosaic edition of the 
 history.* According to her. Burns spent that day, 
 though laboring under cold, in the usual work of 
 his harvest, and apparently in excellent spirits. 
 But as the twilight deepened, he appeared to 
 grow " very sad about something," and at length 
 wandered out into the barn-yard, to which his 
 wife, in her anxiety for his health, followed him, 
 entreating him in vain to observe that frost had 
 set in, and to return to the fireside. On being 
 again and again requested to do so, he always 
 promised compliance — but still remained where 
 he was, striding up and down slowly, and 
 contemplating the sky, which was singularly 
 clear and starry. At last Mrs. Burns found 
 him stretched on a mass of straw, with his eyes 
 fixed on a beautiful planet "that shone like 
 
 * I owe these particulars to Mr. M'Diarmid, the able editor 
 of the Dumfries Courier, and brother of the lamented au- 
 thor of " Lives of British Statesmen." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 195 
 
 another moon ;" and prevailed on him to come in. 
 He immediately on entering the house, called for 
 his desk, and wrote exactly as they now stand, 
 with all the ease of one copying from memory, 
 the sublime and pathetic verses — 
 
 " Thou lingering' star with lessening ray, 
 
 That lovest to greet the early morn, 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary, dear departed shade, 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest; 
 See's t thou thy lover lowly laid, 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast 1" &c. 
 
 The Mother'' s Lament for her Son, and Inscrip- 
 tion in a Hermitage in Nithsdale, were also writ- 
 ten this year. 
 
 From the time when Burns settled himself in 
 Dumfries-shire, he appears to have conducted with 
 much care the extensive correspondence in which 
 his celebrity had engaged him ; it is, however, 
 very necessary in judging of these letters, and 
 drawing inferences from their language as to the 
 real sentiments and opinions of the writer, to take 
 into consideration the rank and character of the 
 persons to whom they are severally addressed, and 
 the measure of intimacy which really subsisted 
 between them and the poet. In his letters, as in 
 his conversation. Burns, in spite of all his pride, 
 did something to accommodate himself to his 
 company ; and he who did write the series of 
 letters addressed to Mrs. Dumlop, Dr. Moore, Mr. 
 Dugald Stewart, Miss Chalmers, and others, emi- 
 nently distinguished as these are by purity and 
 nobleness of feeling and perfect propriety of Ian- 
 guage, presents himself, in other effusions of the 
 
196 LIFE OF 
 
 same class, in colors which it would be rash to 
 call his own. In a word, whatever of grossness of 
 thought, or rant, extravagance, and fustian in ex- 
 pression, may be found in his correspondence, 
 ought, I cannot doubt, to be mainly ascribed to 
 his desire of accommodating himself for the mo- 
 ment to the habits and taste of certain buckish 
 tradesmen of Edinburgh, and other suchlike per- 
 sons, whom, from circumstances already sufficient- 
 ly noticed, he numbered among his associates and 
 friends. That he should have condescended to any 
 such compliances must be regretted ; but in most 
 cases, it would probably bo quite unjust to push 
 our censure further than this. 
 
 The letters that passed between him and his 
 brother Gilbert, are among the most precious of 
 the collection ; for there there could be no disguise. 
 That the brothers had entire knowledge of and 
 confidence in each other, no one can doubt ; and 
 the plain, manly, affectionate la,^guage in which 
 they both write, is truly honorable to them, and 
 to the parents that reared them. 
 
 "Dear Brother," writes Gilbert, January 1, 
 1789, " I have just finished my new-year's day 
 breakfast in the usual form, which naturally makes 
 me call to mind the days of former years, and the 
 society in which we used to begin them ; and 
 when I look at our family vicissitudes, ' through 
 the dark postern of time long elapsed,' I cannot 
 help remarking to you, my dear brother, how 
 good the God of seasons is to us ; and that, how- 
 ever some clouds may seem to lour over the por- 
 tion of time before us, we have great reason to 
 hope that all will turn out well." 
 
 It was on the same new-year's day, that Burns 
 himself addressed to Mrs. Dunlop a letter, part of 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 197 
 
 which is here transcribed — it certainly cannot be 
 read too often. 
 
 " Elliesland, New- Year-Day Morning, 1789. 
 
 " This, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, 
 and would to God that I came under the apostle 
 James' description ! — the prayer of a righteous 
 man availeth much. In that case, madam, you 
 should welcome in a year full of blessings ; every 
 thing that obstructs or disturbs tranquillity and 
 self-enjoyment, should be removed, and every 
 pleasure that frail humanity can taste, should be 
 yours. I own myself so little a Presbyterian, that 
 I approve of set times and seasons of more than 
 ordinary acts of devotion, for breaking in on that 
 habituated routine of life and thought, which is 
 so apt to reduce our existence to a kind of instinct, 
 or even sometimes, and with some minds, to a 
 state very little superior to mere machinery. 
 
 " This day, — The first Sunday of May, — a 
 breezy blue-skyed noon sometimes about the be- 
 ginning, and a hoary morning and calm sunny 
 day about the end of autumn ; these, time out of 
 mind, have been with me a kind of holiday. 
 
 " I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in 
 the Spectator, 'The Vision of Mirza;' a piece 
 that struck my young fancy before I was capa- 
 ble of fixing an idea to a word of three syllables : 
 ' On the 5th day of the moon, which, according 
 to the custom of my forefathers, I always keep 
 holy, after having washed myself, and offered up 
 my morning devotions, I ascended the high hill 
 of Bagdad, in order to pass the rest of the day in 
 meditation and prayer.' 
 
 "We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the 
 substance or structure of our souls, so cannot ac- 
 count for those seeming caprices in themj that one 
 
198 tIFE OF 
 
 should be particularly pleased with this thing, or 
 struck with that, which, on minds of a different 
 cast, makes no extraordinary impression. I have 
 some favorite flowers in spring, among which are 
 the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox-glove, 
 the wild brier-rose, the budding-birch, and the 
 hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with 
 particular deHght. I never hear the loud, solitary 
 whistle of the curlew, in a summer noon, or the 
 wild mixing cadence of a troop of gray plover, in 
 an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation 
 of soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. 
 Tell me, my dear friend, to what can this be ow- 
 ing ? Are we a piece of machinery, which, like 
 the iEolian harp, passive, takes the''impression of 
 the passing accident ? Or do these workings argue 
 something within us above the trodden clod ? I 
 own myself partial to such proofs of those awful 
 and important realities — a God that made all 
 things — man's immaterial and immortal nature — 
 and a world of weal or wo beyond death and the 
 grave." 
 
 Few, it is to be hoped, can read such things as 
 these without delight ; none, surely, that taste the 
 elevated pleasure they are calculated to inspire, 
 can turn from them to the well-known issue of 
 Burns' history, without being afflicted. It is dif- 
 ficult to imagine any thing more beautiful, more 
 noble, than what such a person as Mrs. Dunlop 
 might at this period be supposed to contemplate 
 as the probable tenor of his future life. What 
 fame can bring of happiness he had already tasted ; 
 he had overleaped, by the force of his genius, all 
 the painful barriers of society ; and there was pro- 
 bably not a man in Scotland who would not have 
 thought himself honored by seeing Burns under 
 his roof. He had it in his own power to place 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 199 
 
 his poetical reputation on a level with the very 
 highest names, by proceeding in the same course 
 of study and exertion which had originally raised 
 him into public notice and admiration. Surrounded 
 by an affectionate family, occupied but not en- 
 grossed by the agricultural labors in which his 
 youth and early manhood had dehghted, com- 
 muning with nature in one of the loveliest districts 
 of his native land, and, from time to time, pro- 
 ducing to tho world some immortal addition to 
 his verse, — thus advancing in j^ears and in fame, 
 with what respect would not Burns have been 
 thought of; how venerable in the eyes of his con- 
 temporaries — how hallov/ed in those of after ge- 
 nerations, would have been the roof of EUiesland, 
 the field on which he " bound every day after his 
 reapers," the solemn river by which he delighted 
 to wander ! The plain of Bannockburn would 
 hardly have been holier ground. 
 
 The "golden days" of EiUesland, as Dr. Carrie 
 justly calls them, were not destined to be many. 
 Burns' farming speculations once more failed; 
 and he himself seems to have been aware that 
 such was likely to be the case ere he had given 
 the business many months' trial ; for, ere the au- 
 tumn of 1788 was over, he applied to his patron, 
 Mr. Graham of Fintray, for actual employment 
 as an exciseman, and was accordingly appointed 
 to do duty, in that capacity, in the district where 
 his lands were situated. His income, as a revenue 
 officer, was at first only £35 ; it by and by rose 
 to £50 ; and sometimes was £70. 
 
 These pounds were hardly earned, since the 
 duties of his new calling necessarily withdrew him 
 very often from the farm, which needed his ut- 
 most attention, and exposed him, which was still 
 17 
 
200 LIFE OF 
 
 worse, to innumerable temptations of the kind he 
 was least likely to resist. 
 
 I have now the satisfaction of presenting the 
 reader with some particulars of this part of Burns' 
 history, derived from a source which every lover 
 of Scotland and Scottish poetry must be prepared 
 to hear mentioned with respect. It happened that 
 at the time when our poet went to Nithsdale, the 
 father of Mr. Allan Cunningham was steward on 
 the estate of Dalswinton : he was, as all who have 
 read the writings of his sons will readily believe, 
 a man of remarkable talents and attainments : he 
 was a wise and good man ; a devout admirer of 
 Burns' genius ; and one of those sober neighbors 
 who in vain strove, by advice and warning, to ar- 
 rest the poet in the downhill path, towards which 
 a thousand seductions were perpetually drawing 
 him. Mr. Allan Cunningham was, of course, al- 
 most a child when he first saw Burns ; but he 
 was no common child ; and, besides, in what he 
 has to say on this subject, we may be sure we arc 
 hearing the substance of his benevolent and saga- 
 cious father's observations and reflections. His 
 own boyish recollections of the poet's personal 
 appearance and demeanor will, however, be read 
 with interest. 
 
 " I was very young," says Allan Cunningham, 
 " when I first saw Burns. He came to see my 
 father ; and their conversation turned partly on 
 farming, partly on poetry, in both of which my 
 father had taste and skill. Burns had just come 
 to Nithsdale ; and I think he appeared a shade 
 more swarthy than he does in Nasmyth's picture, 
 and at least ten years older than he really was at 
 the time. His face was deeply marked by thought, 
 and the habitual expression intensely melancholy. 
 His frame was very muscular and well propor- 
 
KOBiJRT BURNS. 
 
 201 
 
 lioned, though he had a short neck, and something 
 of a ploughman's sloop : he was strong, and proud 
 of his strength- I saw him one evening match 
 himself with a number of masons ; and out of five 
 and twenty practiced hands, the most vigorous 
 young men in the parish, there was only one that 
 could lift the same weight as Burns. 
 
 *'He had a very manly face, and a very melan- 
 choly look ; but on the coming of those he esteem- 
 ed, his looks brightened up, and his whole face 
 beamed with afiection and genius. His voice was 
 very musical. I once heard him read Tarn o' 
 Shanter. I think I hear him now. His fine man- 
 ly voice followed all the undulations of the sense, 
 and expressed as well as his genius had done, the 
 pathos and humor, the horrible and the awful, of 
 that wonderful pertormance. As a man feels, so 
 will he write ; and in proportion as he sympa- 
 thizes with his author, so will he read him with 
 grace and effect. 
 
 " I said that Burns and my father conversed 
 about poetry and farming. The poet had newly 
 taken possession of his farm of Elliesland, — the 
 masons were busy building his house, — the ap- 
 plause of the world was with him, and a little of 
 its money in his pocket, — in short, he had found 
 a resting-place at last. He spoke with great de- 
 light about the excellence of his farm, and parti- 
 cularly about the beauty of the situation. ' Yes,' 
 my father said, 'the walks on the river bank are 
 fine, and you will see from your windows some 
 miles of the Nith ; but you will also see several 
 farms of fine rich liolm,^ any one of which you 
 might have had. You have made a poet's choice, 
 rather than a farmer's. 
 
 * Holm is flat, rich meadow land, intervening" between a 
 stream and the g-cneral elevation of the adjoining- country. 
 
202 LIFE OF 
 
 " If Burns had much of a farmer's skill, he had 
 little of a farmer's prudence and economy. I once 
 inquired of James Corrie, a saf^acious old farmer, 
 whose ground marched with Elliesland, the cause 
 of the poet's failure. ' Faith,^ said he, ' how could 
 he miss but fail, when his servants ate the bread 
 as fast as it was baked? I don't mean figuratively, 
 I mean literally. Consider a little. At that time 
 close economy was necessary to have enabled a 
 man to clear twenty pounds a year by Elliesland. 
 Now, Burns' own handy work was out of the ques- 
 tion : he neither ploughed, nor sowed, nor reaped, 
 at least like a hard-working farmer; and then he 
 had a bevy of servants from Ayrshire. The lasses 
 did nothing but bake bread, and the lads sat by the 
 fireside, and ate it warm with ale. Waste of time 
 and consumption of food would soon reach to 
 twenty pounds a year.' " 
 
 " The truth of the case," says Mr. Cunning- 
 ham, in another letter with which he has favored 
 me, ''the truth is, that if Robert Burns liked his 
 farm, it w^as more for the beauty of the situation 
 than for the labors which it demanded. He was 
 too wayward to attend to the stated duties of a 
 husbandman, and too impatient to wait till the 
 ground returned in gain the cultivation he bestow- 
 ed upon it. 
 
 "The condition of a farmer, a Nithsdale one, I 
 mean, was then very humble. His one-story 
 house had a covering of strav/, and a clay floor; 
 the furniture was from the hands of a country car- 
 penter ; and, between the roof and floor, there 
 seldom intervened a smoother ceiling than of 
 rough rods and grassy turf — while a huge lang- 
 settle of black oak for himself, and a carved arm- 
 chair for his wife, were the only matters out of 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 203 
 
 keeping with the homely looks of his residence. 
 He took all his meals in his own kitchen, and pre- 
 sided regularly among his children and domestics. 
 He performed family worship every evening — 
 except during the hurry of harvest, when that 
 duty was perhaps limited to Saturday night. A 
 few religious books, two or three favorite poets, 
 the history of his own country, and his Bible, 
 aided him in forming the minds and manners of 
 the family. To domestic education, Scotland 
 owes as much as to the care of her clergy, and 
 the excellence of her parish schools. 
 
 "The picture out of doors was less interesting. 
 The ground from which the farmer sought support 
 was generally in a very moderate state of cultiva- 
 tion. The implements with which he tilled his 
 land were primitive and clumsy, and his own 
 knowledge of the management of crops exceed- 
 ingly limited. He plodded on in the regular sloth- 
 ful routine of his ancestors ; he rooted out no 
 bushes, he dug up no stones; he drained not, nei- 
 ther did he inclose ; and weeds obtained their 
 full share of the dung and the lime, which he be- 
 stowed more like a medicine than a meal on his 
 soil. His plough was the rude old Scotch one ; 
 his harrows had as often teeth of wood as of iron ; 
 his carts were heavy and low-wheeled, or were, 
 more properly speaking, tumbler-cars, so called to 
 distinguish them from trail-cars, both of which 
 were in common use. On these rude carriages 
 his manure was taken to the field, and his crop 
 brought home. The farmer himself corresponded 
 in all respects with his imperfect instruments. 
 His poverty secured him from risking costly ex- 
 periments ; and his hatred of innovation made him 
 entrench himself behind a breast-work of old 
 maxims and rustic saws, which he interpreted as 
 17* 
 
204 LIFE OF 
 
 oracles delivered against improvement. With 
 ground in such condition, with tools so unfit, and 
 with knowledge so imperfect, he sometimes suc- 
 ceeded in wringing a few hundred pounds Scc^s 
 from the farm he occupied. Such was generally 
 the state of agriculture when Burns came to Niths- 
 dale. I know not how far his own skill was equal 
 to the task of improvement — his trial was short 
 and unfortunate. An important change soon took 
 place, by which he was not fated to profit ; he 
 had not the foresight to see its approach, nor, pro- 
 bably, the fortitude to await its coming. 
 
 "In the year 1790 much of the ground in Niths- 
 dale was leased at seven and ten and fifteen shil- 
 lings per acre; and the farmer, in his person and 
 his house, differed little from the peasants and 
 mechanics around him. He would have thought 
 his daughter wedded in her degree, had she mar- 
 ried a joiner or a mason ; and at kirk or market, 
 all men beneath the rank of a "portioner" of the 
 soil mingled together, equals in appearance and 
 importance. But the war, which soon commenced, 
 gave a decided impulse to agriculture ; the army 
 and navy consumed largely; corn rose in demand; 
 the price augmented ; more land was called into 
 cultivation ; and, as leases expired, the proprietors 
 improved the grounds, built better houses, en- 
 larged the rents ; and the farmer was soon borne 
 on the wings of sudden wealth above his original 
 condition. His house obtained a slated roof, sash- 
 windows, carpeted floors, plastered walls, and 
 even began to exchange the hanks of yarn with 
 which it was formerly hung, for paintings and pia- 
 nofortes. He laid aside his coat of home-made 
 cloth ; he retired from his seat among his ser- 
 vants ; he — I am grieved to mention it — gave up 
 family worship as a thing unfashionable, and be- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 205 
 
 came a kind of^ rustic gentleman, who rode a blood 
 horse, and galloped home on market nights at the 
 peril of his own neck, and to the terror of every 
 modest pedestrian.* His daughters, too, no longer 
 prided themselves in well bleached linen and 
 home-made webs ; they changed their linsey- 
 wolsej' gowns for silk ; and so ungracefully did 
 their new state sit upon them, that I have seen 
 their lovers comino; in iron-shod clogs to their 
 carpeted floors, and two of the proudest young 
 women in the parish slwling dung to their father's 
 potato-field in silk stockings. 
 
 " When a change like this took place, and a 
 farmer could, w^ith a dozen years' industry, be able 
 to purchase the land he rented — which many were, 
 and many did — the same, or a still more profita- 
 ble change might have happened with respect to 
 Elliesland ; and Burns, had he stuck by his lease 
 and his plough, would, in all human possibility, 
 have found the independence v/hich he sought, 
 and sought in vain, from the coldness and parsi- 
 mony of mankind." 
 
 Mr. Cunningham sums up his reminiscences 
 of Burns at Elliesland in these terms: 
 
 *' During the prosperity of his farm, my father 
 often said that Burns conducted himself wisely, 
 and like one anxious for his name as a man, and 
 his fame as a poet. He went to Dunscore Kirk 
 on Sunday, though he expressed oftener than once 
 his dislike to the stern Calvinism of that strict old 
 divine, Mr, Kirkpatrick ; — he assisted in forming 
 a reading club ; and at weddings and house-heat- 
 
 * Mr. Cunningham's description accords with the lines of 
 
 Crabbe: 
 
 *' Who rides his hunter, who his horse adorns, 
 Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns, 
 
 , Who freely lives, and loves to show he can— 
 
 This is the farmer made the gentleman." 
 
20G LIFE OF 
 
 ings, and kirns, and other scenes of festivity, he 
 was a welcome guest, universally liked by the 
 young and the old. But the failure of his farming 
 projects, and the limited income with which he 
 was compelled to support an increasing family and 
 an expensive station in life, preyed on his spirits ; 
 and during these fits of despair, he was willing too 
 often to become the companion of the thought- 
 less and the gross. I am grieved to say, that be- 
 sides leaving the book too much for the bowl, and 
 grave and wise friends for lewd and reckless 
 companions, he was also in the occasional prac- 
 tice of composing songs, in v/hich he surpassed 
 the licentiousness, as well as the wit and humor, 
 of the old Scottish muse. These have unfortu- 
 nately found their way to the press, and I am 
 afraid they cannot be recalled. 
 
 " In conclusion, I may say, that few men have 
 had so much of the poet about them, and few 
 poets so much of the man ; — the man was pro- 
 bably less pure than he ought to have been, but 
 the poet was pure and bright to the last." 
 
 The reader must be sufficiently prepared to 
 hear, that from the time when he entered on his 
 excise duties, the poet more and more neglected 
 the concerns of his farm. Occasionally, he might 
 be seen holding the plough, an exercise in which 
 he excelled, and was proud of excelling, or stalk- 
 ing down his furrows, with the white sheet of 
 grain wrapt about him, a " tenty seedsman ;" but 
 he was more commonly occupied in far different 
 pursuits. " I am now," says he, in one of his let- 
 ters, " a poor rascally ganger, condemned to gal- 
 lop two hundred miles every week, to inspect dirty 
 ponds and yeasty barrels." 
 
 Both in verse and in prose he has recorded the 
 feelings with which he first followed his new vo? 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 207 
 
 cation. His jests on the subject are uniformly- 
 bitter. "I have the same consolation," he tells Mr. 
 Ainslie, *'vvhich lonce heard a recruiting sergeant 
 give to his audience in the streets of Kilmarnock : 
 ' Gentlemen, for your further encouragement, I 
 can assure you that ours is the most blackguard 
 corps under the crown, and, consequently, with 
 us an honest fellow has the surest chance of pre- 
 ferment.' " He winds up almost all his statements 
 of his feelings on this matter, in the same strain. 
 
 " I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
 
 They maun hae brosc and brats o' duddies. 
 
 Ye ken yoursell, my heart rig-ht proud is, 
 
 I nccdna vaunt; 
 But I'll sned besoms — thraw saugh-woodies, 
 
 Before they want." 
 
 On one occasion, however, he takes a high 
 tone. " There is a certain stigma," says he to 
 Bishop Geddes, " in the name of exciseman ; but 
 I do not intend to borrow honor from any profes- 
 sion :" — which may perhaps remind the reader 
 of Gibbon's lofty language, on finally quitting the 
 learned and polished circles of London and Pa- 
 ris, for his Swiss retirement : " I am too modest, 
 or too proud, to rate my value by that of my as- 
 sociates." 
 
 Burns, in his perpetual perambulations over the 
 moors of Dumfries-shire, had every temptation to 
 encounter, which bodily fatigue, the blandishments 
 of hosts and hostesses, and the habitual manners 
 of those who acted along with him in the duties of 
 the excise, could present. He was, moreover, 
 wherever he went, exposed to perils of his own, 
 by the reputation which he had earned as a poet, 
 and by his extraordinary powers of entertainment 
 in conversation. From the castle to the cottage, 
 every door flew open at his approach ; and the old 
 
208 LIFE OF 
 
 system of hospitality, then flourishing, rendered 
 it difficult for the most soberly inclined guest to 
 rise from any man's board in the same trim that 
 he sat down to it. The farmer, if Burns was seen 
 passing, left his reapers, and trotted by the side 
 of Jenny Geddes, until he could persuade the 
 bard that the day was hot enough to demand an 
 extra-libation. If he entered an inn at midnight, 
 after all the inmates were in bed, the news of his 
 arrival circulated from the cellar to the garret ; 
 and ere ten minutes had elapsed, the landlord and 
 all his guests were assembled round the ingle ; 
 the largest punchbowl was produced ; and 
 
 "Be ours this night — who knows what comes to-morrow?'' 
 
 was the language of every eye in the circle that 
 welcomed him.* The stateliest gentry of the 
 county, whenever they had especial merriment in 
 view, called in the wit and eloquence of Burns to 
 enliven their carousals. The famous song of The 
 WJiistle of worth commemorates a scene of this 
 kind, more picturesque in some of its circumstan- 
 ces than every day occurred, yet strictly in cha- 
 racter with the usual tenor of life among this jo- 
 vial squirearchy. Three gentlemen of ancient de- 
 scent had met to determine, by a solemn drinking 
 match, who should possess the Whistle, which a 
 common ancestor of them all had earned ages 
 before, in a Bacchanalian contest of the same sort 
 with a noble toper from Denmark ; and the poet 
 was summoned to watch over and celebrate the 
 issue of the debate. 
 
 * These particulars are from a letter of David Macculloch, 
 Esq., who, being at this period a very young- gentleman, a 
 passionate admirer of Burns, and a capital singer of many 
 of his serious songs, used often, in his enthusiasm, to accom- 
 pany the poet on Ids professional excursions. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 209 
 
 " Then up rose the bard like a prophet in drink, 
 Craig-darroch shall soar when creation shall sink ; 
 But if thou would'st flourish immortal in rhjnne, 
 Come, one bottle more, and have at the sublime." 
 
 Nor, as has already been hinted, was he safe 
 from temptations of this kind, even when he was 
 at home, and most disposed to enjoy in quiet the 
 society of liis wife and children. Lion-gazers from 
 all quarters beset him ; they eat and drank at his 
 cost, and often went away to criticise him and his 
 fare, as if they had done Burns and his black 
 howl* great honor in condescending to be enter- 
 tained for a single evening, with such company 
 and such liquor. 
 
 We have on record various glimpses of him, as 
 he appeared while he was half farmer, half-excise- 
 man ; and some of these present him in attitudes 
 and aspects, on which it would be pleasing to 
 dwell. For example, the circumstances under 
 which the verses on The Wounded Hare were 
 written, are mentioned generally by the poet him- 
 self. James Thomson, son of the occupier of a 
 farm adjoining Elliesland, told Allan Cunningham, 
 that it v/as he who wounded the animal. " Burns," 
 said this person, " was in the custom, when at 
 home, of strolling by himself in the twihght every 
 evening, along the Nith, and by the march be- 
 tween his land and ours. The hares often came 
 and nibbled our wheat braird ; and once, in the 
 gloaming, — it was in April, — I got a shot at one, 
 and wounded her: she ran bleeding by Burns, who 
 
 * Burns' famous black punchbowl, of Invej'ary marble, 
 was the nuptial g-ift of his fatlier-in-law, Mr. Armour, wlio 
 himself fashioned it. After passing- throug-h many hands, 
 it is now in excellent keeping-, that ot' Alexander Hastic, Esq,, 
 of London. 
 
210 LIFE OF 
 
 was pacing up and down by himself, not far from 
 me. He started, and with a bitter curse, ordered 
 me out of his sight, or he would throw me in- 
 stantly into the Nith. And had I stayed, I'll war- 
 rant he would have been as good as his word — 
 though I was both young and strong." 
 
 Among other curious travelers who found their 
 way about this time to Elliesland, was Captain 
 Grose, the celebrated antiquarian, whom Burns 
 briefly describes as 
 
 " A fine fat fodgel wight — 
 
 Of stature shortj but genius bright ;" 
 
 and who has painted his own ])ortrait, both with 
 pen and pencil, at full length, in his Olio. This 
 gentleman's taste and pursuits are ludicrously set 
 forth in the copy of verses — 
 
 " Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, 
 Frae Maidenkirk to John O'Groats, 
 A chield's amang ye takin' notes ;" &c. 
 
 and, inter alia, his love of port is not forgotten. 
 Grose and Burns had too much in common, not to 
 become great friends. The poet's accurate know- 
 ledge of Scottish phraseology and customs, was of 
 great use to the researches of the humorous antiqua- 
 rian ; and, above all, it is to their acquaintance that 
 we owe Tarn o' SJianier. Burns told the story as 
 he had heard it in Ayrshire, in a letter to the Cap- 
 tain, and was easily persuaded to versify it. The 
 poem was the work of one day ; and Mrs. Burns 
 well remembers the circumstances. He spent 
 most of the day on his favorite walk by the river, 
 where, in the afternoon, she joined him with some 
 of her children. " He was busily engaged croon- 
 ing to himsell, and Mrs. Burns perceiving that her 
 presencewasan inter ruption, loitered behind with 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 211 
 
 lier little ones among the broom. Her attention 
 was presently attracted by the strange and wild 
 gesticulations of the bard, who, now at some dis- 
 tance, was agonized with an ungovernable access 
 of joy. He was reciting very loud, and with the 
 tears rolling down his cheeks, those animated 
 verses which he had just conceived : 
 
 * Now Tarn ! O Tarn ! had thae been queans 
 A' plump and strappin' in their teens ; 
 Their sarks, instead of creeshie flannen, 
 Been snaw-white seventecn-hunder * linen, — 
 Thir brecks o' mine, my only pair, 
 That ance were plush o' g-ood blue hair, 
 I wad hac g-i'en them off my hurdles, 
 For ae blink o' the bony burdies !' " t 
 
 To the last Burns was of opinion that Tarn o' 
 Shanter was the best of all his productions ; and 
 although it does not always happen that poet and 
 public come to the same conclusion on such points, 
 I believe the decision in question has been all but 
 unanimously approved of. 
 
 The admirable execution of the piece, so far as 
 it goes, leaves nothing to wish for ; the only criti- 
 cism has been, that the catastrophe appears un- 
 worthy of the preparation. Burns might have 
 avoided this error, — if error it be, — had he fol- 
 lowed not the Ayrshire, but the Galloway, edition 
 of the legend. According to that tradition, the 
 Cutty-Sark who attracted the special notice of the 
 bold intruder on the Satanic ceremonial, was no 
 
 * " The manufacturer's terms for a fine linen, woven on a 
 reed of 1700 divisions." — Cromek. 
 
 tThe above is quoted from a MS. journal of Cromek. 
 Mr. M'Diarmid confirms the statement, and adds, that the 
 
 Eoet, having- committed the verses to writing- on the top of 
 is sod-dyke over the water, came into the house, and read 
 tUem immediately in hig-h triumph at the fireside. 
 IB 
 
212 LIFE OF 
 
 Other than the pretty wife of a farmer residing in 
 the same village with himself, and of whose unholy 
 propensities no swspicion had ever been whisper- 
 ed. The Galloway Tam being thoroughly sober- 
 ed by terror, crept to his bed the moment he reach- 
 ed home after his escape, and said nothing of what 
 had happened to any of his family. He was awa- 
 kened in the morning with the astounding intelli- 
 gence that his horse had been found dead in the 
 stable, and a woman's hand clotted with blood, ad- 
 hering to the tail. Presently it was reported, that 
 Cutty- Sark had burnt her hand greviously over- 
 night, and was ill in bed, but obstinately refused 
 to let her wound be examined by the village leech. 
 Hereupon Tam, disentagling the bloody hand 
 from the hair of his defunct favorite's tail, proceed- 
 ed to the residence of the fair witch, and forcibly 
 pulling her stump to view, showed his trophy, and 
 narrated the whole circumstances of the adven- 
 ture. The poor victim of the black-art was con- 
 strained to confess her guilty practices in presence 
 of the priest and the laird, and was forthwith 
 burnt alive, under their joint auspices, within wa- 
 termark on the Solway Frith. 
 
 Such, Mr. Cunningham informs me, is the ver- 
 sion of this story current in Galloway and Dum- 
 fries-shire : but it may be doubted whether, even 
 if Burns was acquainted with it, he did not choose 
 wisely in adhering to the Ayrshire legend, as he 
 had heard it in his youth. It is seldom that tales 
 of popular superstition are effective in proportion 
 to their completeness of solution and catastrophe. 
 On the contrary, they, like the creed to which they 
 belong, suffer little in a picturesque point of view, 
 by exhibiting a maimed and fragmentary cha- 
 racter, that in nowise satisfies strict taste, either 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 213 
 
 critical or moral. Dreams based in darkness, 
 may fitly terminate in a blank : the cloud opens, 
 and the cloud closes. The absence of definite 
 scope and purpose, appears to be of the essence 
 of the mythological grotesque. 
 
 Burns lays the scene of this remarkable per- 
 formance almost on the spot where he was born ; 
 and all the terrific circumstances by which he has 
 marked the progress of Tam's midnight journey, 
 are drawn from local tradition. 
 
 " By this time he was cross the ford 
 Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd, 
 And past the birks and meikle stane, 
 Whare drucken Charlie brak's neck-bane ; 
 And through the whins, and by the cairn, 
 Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
 And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
 Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersell." 
 
 None of these tragic memoranda were derived 
 from imagination. Nor was Tam O'Shanter 
 himself an imaginary character. Shanter is a 
 farm close to Kirkoswald's,that smuggling village, 
 in which Burns, when nineteen years old, studied 
 mensuration, and " first became acquainted with 
 scenes of swaggering riot." The then occupier 
 of Shanter, by name Douglas Grahame, was, by 
 all accounts, equally what the Tam of the poet 
 appears, — a jolly, careless rustic, who took much 
 more interest in the contraband traffic of the 
 coast, than the rotation of crops. Burns knew 
 the man well ; and to his dying day, he, nothing 
 loath, passed among his rural compeers by the 
 name of Tam o' Shanter.* 
 
 A few words will bring us to the close of Burns' 
 
 ♦ The above information is derived from IMr. R. Cham^ 
 l>ers. 
 
214 LIFE OF 
 
 career at Elliesland. Mr. Ramsay of Ochtertyre, 
 happening to pass through Nithsdale in 1790, 
 met Burns riding rapidly near Closeburn. The 
 poet was obhged to pursue his professional jour- 
 ney, but sent on Mr. Ramsey and his fellow-tra- 
 veler to Elhesland, where he joined them as soon 
 as his duty permitted him, saying, as he entered, 
 " I come, to use the words of Shakspeare, stewed 
 in haste." Mr. Ramsey was " much pleased with 
 his uxor Sahina qualis, and his modest mansion, 
 so unlike the habitation of ordinary rustics." He 
 told his guests he was preparing to write a drama, 
 which he was to call " Rob M'QuecJian^s Elshin, 
 from a popular story of King Robert the Bruce 
 being defeated on the Carron, when the heel of 
 his boot having loosened in the flight, he applied 
 to one Robert M'Quechan to fix it ; who, to make 
 sure, ran his avd nine inches up the king's heel." 
 The evening was spent delightfully. A gentle- 
 man of dry temperament, who looked in acciden- 
 tally, soon partook the contagion, and sat listening 
 to Burns with the tears running over his cheeks. 
 "Poor Burns!" says Mr. Ramsay, "from that 
 time I met him no more." 
 
 The summer after, some English travelers, 
 calling at Elliesland, were told that the poet was 
 walking by the river. They proceeded in search 
 of him, and presently, "on a rock that projected 
 into the stream, they saw a man employed in an- 
 gling, of a singular appearance. He had a cap 
 made of a fox's skin on his head ; a loose great- 
 coat, fastened round him by a belt, from which 
 depended an enormous Highland broadsword. 
 (Was he still dreaming of the Bruce ?) It was 
 Burns. He received them with great cordiality, 
 and asked them to share his humble dinner." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 215 
 
 These travelers also classed the evening they 
 spent at EUieslandwith the brightest of their lives. 
 
 Towards the close of 1791, the poet, llnally 
 despairing of his farm, determined to give up his 
 lease, which the kindness of his landlord rendered 
 easy of arrangement ; and procuring an appoint- 
 ment to the Dumfries division, which raised his 
 salary from the revenue to £70 per annum, re- 
 moved his family to the county town, in which he 
 terminated his dajs. His conduct as an excise 
 officer had hitherto met with uniform approbation ; 
 and he nourished warm hopes of being promoted, 
 when he had thus avowedly devoted himself alto- 
 gether to the service. 
 
 He left Elliesland, however, with a heavy heart. 
 The affection of his neighbors was rekindled in 
 all its early fervor by the thoughts of parting with 
 him ; and the roup of his farming-stock and other 
 effects, was, in spite of whiskey, a very melan- 
 choly scene. The competition for his chatties 
 (says Allan Cunningham) was eager, each being 
 anxious to secure a memorandum of Burns' resi- 
 dence among them. 
 
 It is pleasing to know that among other " titles 
 manifold " to their respect and gratitude. Burns, 
 at the suggestion of Mr. Riddel of Friars'-carse, 
 had superintended the formation of a subscription 
 library in the parish. His letters to the booksel- 
 lers on this subject do him much honor : his 
 choice of authors (which business was naturally 
 left to his discretion) being in the highest degree 
 judicious. Such institutions are now common, 
 almost universal, indeed, in the rural districts of 
 southern Scotland ; but it should never be forgot- 
 ten that Burns was among the first, if not the very 
 first, to set the example. *' He was so good," says 
 18* 
 
216 LIFE OF 
 
 Mr. Riddel, " as to take the whole management 
 of this concern ; he was treasurer, librarian, and 
 censor, to our little society, who will long have a 
 grateful sense of his public spirit, and exertions 
 for their improvement and information."* 
 
 Once, and only once, did Burns quit his resi- 
 dence at Elliesland to revisit Edinburgh. His 
 object was to close accounts with Creech ; that 
 business accomplished, he returned immediately, 
 and he never again saw the capital. He thus 
 writes to Mrs. Dunlop : — " To a man who has a 
 home, however humble and remote, if that home 
 is, like mine, the scene of domestic comfort, the 
 bustle of Edinburgh will soon be a business of 
 sickenincr disopust — 
 
 ' Vain pomp and g-lory of the world, I hate you !' 
 
 " When I must skulk into a corner, lest the rat- 
 tling equipage of some gaping blockhead should 
 mangle me in the mire, I am tempted to exclaim, 
 what merits had he had, or what demerits have I 
 had, in some state of pre-existence, that he is 
 ushered into this state of being with the sceptre 
 of rule, and the key of riches in his puny fist> 
 and I kicked into the world, the sport of folly or 
 
 the victim of pride often as I have glided 
 
 with humble stealth through the pomp of Prince's 
 street, it has suggested itself to me as an improve- 
 ment on the present human figure, that a man^ 
 in proportion to his own conceit of his conse- 
 quence in the world, could have pushed out the 
 longitude of his common size, as a snail pushes 
 out his horns, or as we draw out a perspective." 
 There is bitterness in this badinage. 
 
 * Letter to Sir John Sinclair, Bart., in the Statistical Ac- 
 count of Scotland, parish of Dunscore. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 217 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "The King-'s most humble servant, I 
 Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
 
 But I am yours at dinner-time, 
 Or else the devil 's in it."* 
 
 The four principal biographers of our poet, 
 Heron, Currie, Walker, and Irving, concur in the 
 general statement, that his moral course from the 
 time when he settled in Dumfries, was downwards. 
 Heron knew more of the matter personally than 
 any of the others, and his words are these : "In 
 Dumfries his dissipation became still more deeply 
 habitual. He was here exposed more than in the 
 country, to be solicited to share the riot of the 
 dissolute and the idle. Foolish young men, such 
 .as writers' apprentices, young surgeons, mer- 
 chants' clerks, and his brother excisemen, flocked 
 •eagerly about him, and from time to time pressed 
 him to drink with them, that they might enjoy his 
 wicked wit. The Caledonian Club, too, and the 
 Dumfries and Galloway Hunt, had occasional 
 meetings in Dumfries after Burns came to reside 
 there, and the poet was of course invited to share 
 their hospitality, and hesitated not to accept the 
 invitation. The morals of the town were, in con- 
 sequence of its becominf ' so miich the scene of 
 
 * "The above answer to an invitation was written ex- 
 tempore on a leaf torn from his Excise hook.''— Cromek's 
 
 MSS, 
 
218 LIFE OF 
 
 public amusement, not a little corrupted, and 
 though a husband and a father, Burns did not es- 
 cape suffering by the general contamination, in a 
 manner which I forbear to describe. In the in- 
 tervals between his different fits of intemperance, 
 he suffered the keenest anguish of remorse and 
 horribly afflictive foresight. His Jean behaved 
 with a degree of maternal and conjugal tender- 
 ness and prudence, which made him feel more 
 bitterly the evils of his misconduct, though they 
 could not reclaim him." 
 
 This picture, dark as it is, wants some distress- 
 ing shades that mingle in the parallel one by Dr. 
 Currie ; it wants nothing, however, of which truth 
 demands the insertion. That Burns, dissipated 
 enough long ere he went to Dumfries, became still 
 more dissipated in a town, than he had been in the 
 country, is certain. It may also be true, that his 
 wife had her own particular causes, sometimes, 
 for dissatisfaction. But that Burns ever sunk into 
 a toper — that he ever was addicted to solitary 
 drinking — that his bottle ever interfered with his 
 discharge of his duties as an exciseman — or that, 
 in spite of some transitory follies, he ever ceased to 
 be a most affectionate husband — all these charges 
 have been insinuated — and they are all false. 
 His intemperance was, as Heron says, in fits ; 
 his aberrations of all kinds were occasional not 
 systematic ; they were all to himself the sources 
 of exquisite misery in the retrospect ; they were 
 the aberrations of a man whose moral sense was 
 never deadened, of one who encountered more 
 temptations from without and from within, than 
 the immense majority of mankind, far from having 
 to contend against, are even able to imagine ; - -ofone, 
 finally, who prayed for pardon, where alone effec- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 219 
 
 tual pardon could be found ; — and who died ere 
 he had reached that term of life up to which the 
 passions of many, who, their mortal career being 
 regarded as a whole, are honored as among the 
 most virtuous of mankind, have proved too strong 
 for the control of reason. We have already seen 
 that the poet was careful of decorum in all things 
 during the brief space of his prosperity at Ellies- 
 land, and that he became less so on many points, 
 as the prospects of his farming speculation dark- 
 ened around him. It seems to be equally certain, 
 that he entertained high hopes of promotion in 
 the excise at the period of his removal to Dum- 
 fries ; and that the comparative recklessness of 
 his later conduct there, was consequent on a cer- 
 tain overclouding of these professional expecta- 
 tions. The case is broadly stated so by Walker 
 and Paul ; and there are hints to the same effect 
 in the narrative of Currie. 
 
 The statement has no doubt been exaggerated, 
 but it has its foundation in truth ; and by the 
 kindness of Mr, Train, supervisor at Castle 
 Douglas in Galloway, I shall presently be ena- 
 bled to give some details which may throw light 
 on this business. 
 
 Burns was much patronised when in Edinburgh 
 by the Honorable Henry Erskine, Dean of the 
 Faculty of Advocates, and other leading whigs of 
 the place — much more so, to their honor be it 
 said, than by any of the influential adherents of 
 the then administration. His landlord at Ellies- 
 land, Mr. Miller of Dalswinton, his neighbor, Mr. 
 Riddel of Friars-Carse, and most of the other 
 gentlemen who showed him special attention, be- 
 longed to the same political party ; and, on his 
 removal to Dumfries, it so happened, that some 
 
220 LIFE OF 
 
 of his immediate superiors in the revenue service 
 of the district, and other persons of standing and 
 authority, into whose society he was thrown, en- 
 tertained sentiments of the same description. 
 
 Burns, whenever in his letters he talks seriously 
 of political matters, uniformly describes his early 
 jacobitismasmere "matter of fancy." It may, how- 
 ever, be easily believed, that a fancy like his, long 
 indulged in dreams of that sort, was well prepared 
 to pass into certain other dreams which had, as 
 calm men now view the matter, but little in com- 
 mon with them, except that both alike involved 
 some feeling of dissatisfaction with " the existing 
 order of things." Many of the old elements of 
 poUtical disaffection in Scotland, put on a new 
 shape at the outbreaking of the French revolu- 
 tion ; and Jacobites became half-jacobins, ere they 
 were at all aware in what the doctrines of ja- 
 cobinisn were to end. The whigs naturally re- 
 garded the first dawn of freedom in France with 
 feelings of sympathy, delight, exultation ; in truth, 
 few good men of any party regarded it with more 
 of fear than of hope. The general, the all but 
 universal tone of feeling was favorable to the first 
 assailants of the Bourbon despotism ; and there 
 were few who more ardently participated in the 
 general sentiment of the day than Burns. 
 
 The revulsion of feeling that took place in this 
 country at large, when wanton atrocities began to 
 stain the course of the French revolution, and 
 Burke lifted up his powerful voice to denounce its 
 leaders, as, under pretence of love for freedom, the 
 enemies of all social order, morality, and religion, 
 was violent in proportion to the strength and ardor 
 of the hopes in which good men had been eager to 
 indulge, and cruelly disappointed. The great body 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 221 
 
 of the whigs, however, were slow to abandon the 
 cause which they had espoused ; and although their 
 chiefs were wise enough to draw back when they 
 at length perceived that serious plans for overturn- 
 ing the political institutions of our own country 
 had been hatched and fostered, under the pretext 
 of admiring and comforting the destroyers of a fo- 
 reign tyranny — many of their provincial retainers, 
 having uttered their sentiments all along with pro- 
 vincial vehemence and openness, found it no easy 
 matter to retreat gracefully along with them. 
 Scenes more painful at the time, and more so 
 even now in the retrospect, than had for genera- 
 tions afflicted Scotland, were the consequences of 
 the rancor into which party feelings on both sides 
 now rose and fermented. Old and dear ties of 
 friendship were torn in sunder ; society was for a 
 time shaken to its centre. In the most extrava- 
 gant dreams of the Jacobites, there had always 
 been much to command respect, high chivalrous 
 devotion, reverence for old affections, ancestral 
 loyalty, and the generosity of romance. In the 
 new species of hostility, every thing seemed mean 
 as well as perilous ; it was scorned even more 
 than hated. The very name stained whatever it 
 came near ; and men that had known and loved 
 each other from boyhood, stood aloof, if this in- 
 fluence interfered, as if it had been some loath- 
 some pestilence. 
 
 There was a great deal of stately toryism at 
 this time in the town of Dumfries, which was the 
 favorite winter retreat of many of the best gen- 
 tlemen's families of the south of Scotland. Feel- 
 ings that worked more violently in Edinburgh than 
 in London, acquired additional energy still, in 
 this provincial capital. All men's eyes were upon 
 
222 LIFE OF 
 
 Burns. He was the standing marvel of the place ; 
 his toasts, his jokes, his epigrams, his songs, were 
 the daily food of conversation and scandal ; and 
 he, open and careless, and thinking he did no 
 great harm in saying and singing what many of 
 his superiors had not the least objection to hear 
 and applaud, soon began to be considered among 
 the local admirers and disciples of the good old 
 King and his minister, as the most dangerous of 
 all the apostles of sedition, — and to be shunned 
 accordingly. 
 
 A gentleman of that county, whose name I have 
 already more than once had occasion to refer to, 
 has often told me, that he was seldom more grie- 
 ved, than when riding into Dumfries one fine sum- 
 mer's evening, about this time, to attend a county- 
 ball, he saw Burns walking alone, on the shady 
 side of the principal street of the town, while the 
 opposite side was gay with successive groups of 
 gentlemen and ladies, all drawn together for the 
 festivities of the night, not one of whom appeared 
 willing to recognize him. The horseman dis- 
 mounted and joined Burns, who, on his proposing 
 to him to cross the street, said, "Nay, nay, my 
 young friend, — that's all over now ;" and quoted^ 
 after a pause, some verses of Lady Grizzel Bail- 
 lie's pathetic ballad, — 
 
 " His bonnet stood ance fu' fair on his brow, 
 His auld ane look'd better than mony ane's new ; 
 But now he Icts't wear ony way it will hing-, 
 And casts himsell dowie upon the corn-bing". 
 
 " O were we young-, as we ance hae been, 
 We sud hae been g-alloping- doun on yon green, 
 And linking- it ower the lily white lea, — 
 And werena my heart Uglit 1 wad die.'' 
 
 It was little in Burns' character to let his feelings 
 
 on certain subjects, escape in this fashion. He, 
 
EGBERT BURNS. 223 
 
 immediately after citing these verses, assumed the 
 sprightHness of his most pleasing manner ; and 
 taking his young friend home with him, entertained 
 him very agreeably until the hour of the ball ar- 
 rived, with a bowl of his usual potation, and Bon- 
 nie Jean's singing of some verses which he had 
 recently composed. But this incident belongs, 
 probably, to a somewhat later period of our 
 poet's residence in Dumfries. 
 
 The records of the excise-office are silent con- 
 cerning the suspicions which the commissioners 
 of the time certainly took up in regard to Burns 
 as a political offender — according to the phraseo- 
 logy of the tempestuous period, a democrat. In 
 that department, as then conducted, I am assured 
 that nothing could have been more unlike the 
 usual course of things, than that one syllable 
 should have been set down in writing on such a 
 subject, unless the case had been one of extre- 
 mities. That an inquiry was instituted, we know 
 from Burns' own letters — and what the exact ter- 
 mination of the inquiry was, can no longer, it is 
 probable, be ascertained. 
 
 According to the tradition of the neighborhood, 
 Burns, inter alia, gave great offence by demurring 
 in a large mixed company to the proposed toast, 
 «' the health of William Pitt ;" and left the room 
 in indignation, because the society rejected what 
 he wished to substitute, namely, " the heaUh of a 
 greater and a better man, George Washington." 
 I suppose the warmest admirer of Mr. Pitt's talents 
 and politics would hardly venture now-a-days to 
 dissent substantially from Burns' estimate of the 
 comparative merits of these two great men. The 
 name of Washington, at all events, when contem- 
 porary passions shall have finally sunk into the 
 19 
 
224 LIFE OF 
 
 peace of the grave, will unquestionably have its 
 place in the first rank of heroic virtue, — a station 
 which demands the exhibition of victory pure and 
 unstained over temptations and trials extraordi- 
 nary, in kind as well as strength. But at the time 
 when Burns, being a servant of Mr. Pitt's govern- 
 ment, was guilty of this indiscretion, it is obvious 
 that a great deal " more was meant than reached 
 the ear." 
 
 In the poet's own correspondence, we have 
 traces of another occurrence of the same sort. 
 Burns thus writes to a gentleman at whose table 
 he had dined the day before : " I was, I know, 
 drunk last night, but I am sober this morning. 
 
 From the expressions Captain made use 
 
 of to me, had I had nobody's welfare to care for 
 but my own, we should certainly have come, ac- 
 cording to the manner of the world, to the neces- 
 sity of murdering one another about the business. 
 The words were such as generally, I believe, end 
 in a brace of pistols : but I am still pleased to think 
 that I did not ruin the peace and welfare of a wife 
 and children in a drunken squabble. Farther, you 
 know that the report of certain political opinions 
 being mine, has already once before brought me to 
 the brink of destruction. I dread lest last night's 
 business may be interpreted in the same way. 
 You, I beg, will take care to prevent it. I tax 
 your wish for Mrs. Burns' welfare with the task 
 of waiting on every gentleman who was present 
 to state this to him ; and, as you please, show this 
 letter. What, after all, was the obnoxious toast ? 
 May our success in the 'present war he equal to the 
 justice of our cause — a toast that the most outra- 
 geous frenzy of loyalty cannot object to." 
 
 Burns has been commended, sincerely by some. 
 
UOBERT BUUXsJ. 
 
 225 
 
 mid ironically by others, for putting up with the 
 treatment which he received on tliis occasion, 
 
 without caUing Captain to account the next 
 
 morning ; and one critic, the last [ am sure that 
 would have wished to say any thing unkindly about 
 the poet, has excited indignation in the breast of 
 Mr. Peterkin, by suggesting that Burns really had 
 not, at any period of his life, those delicate feel- 
 ings on certain matters, which, it must be admitted, 
 no person in Burns' original rank and station is 
 ever expected to act upon. The question may be 
 safely intrusted to the good sense of all who can 
 look to the case without passion or personal irri- 
 tation. No human being will ever dream that 
 Robert Burns was a coward : as for the poet's 
 toast about the success of the war, there can be 
 no doubt that only one meaning was given to it 
 by all who heard it uttered ; and as little that a 
 gentleman bearing the King's commission in the 
 army, if he was entitled to resent the sentiment 
 at all, lost no part of his right to do so, because it 
 was announced in a quibble. 
 
 Burns, no question, was guilty of unpoliteness 
 as well as indiscretion, in offering any such toasts 
 as these in a mixed company ; but that such toasts 
 should have been considered as attaching any 
 grave suspicion to his character as a loyal subject, 
 is a circumstance which can only be accounted for 
 by reference to the exaggerated state of political 
 feelings on all matters, and among all descriptions 
 of men, at that melancholy period of disaffection, 
 distrust, and disunion. Who, at any other than 
 that lamentable time, would ever have dreamed of 
 erecting the drinking, or declining to drink, the 
 health of a particular minister, or approving, or dis- 
 approving, of a particular measure of government, 
 
226 LIFE OP 
 
 into the test of a man's loyalty to his King ? The 
 poet Crabbe has, in one of his masterly sketches, 
 given us, perhaps, a more vivid delineation of the 
 jarrings and collisions which were at thisperiodthe 
 perpetual curse of society than the reader may 
 be able to find elsewhere. He has painted the 
 sturdy tory mingling accidentally in a company 
 of those who would not, like Burns, drink " the 
 health of William Pitt ;" and suffering sternly and 
 sulkily under the infliction of their, to him, hor- 
 rible doctrines 
 
 "Now, dinner past, no lonorer he supprest 
 
 His strong- dislike to be a silent guest ; 
 
 Subjects and words were now at his command — 
 
 When disappointment frown'd on all he plann'd. 
 
 For, hark ! he heard, amazed, on every side, 
 
 His church insulted, and her priests belied, 
 
 The laws reviled, the ruling- powers abused, 
 
 The land derided, and her foes excused — 
 
 He heard and pondcr'd. What to men so vile 
 
 Should be his lang-uag-e ? For his threatening- style 
 
 They were too many. If his speech were meek, 
 
 They would despise such poor attempts to speak — 
 
 — There were reformers of each different sort, 
 
 Foes to the laws, the priesthood, and the court ; 
 
 Some on their favorite plans alone intent. 
 
 Some purely ang-ry and malevolent ; 
 
 The rash were proud to blame their country's laws. 
 
 The vain to seem supporters of a cause; 
 
 One call'd for change that he would dread to see, 
 
 Another sigh'd for Gallic liberty ; 
 
 And numbers joining with the forward crew, 
 
 For no one reason — but that many do — 
 
 How, said the Justice, can this trouble rise — 
 
 This shame and pain, from creatures I despise?" — 
 
 And he has also presented the champion of 
 loyalty as surrounded with kindred spirits, and 
 amazed with the audacity of an intrusive democrat, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 227 
 
 with vvliom he has now no more cause to keep 
 
 terms than such gentlemen as " Captain " 
 
 were wont to do with Robert Burns. 
 
 "Ts it not known, agreed, confirm' d, confest, 
 
 That of all peoples we are govcrn'd best? 
 
 — And live there tliose in such all glorious state, 
 
 Traitors protected in the land they hate, 
 
 Rebels still warring with the laws that give 
 
 To them svibsistence 7 — Ves, such wretches live ! 
 
 The laws that nursed them they blaspheme ; the laws — 
 
 Their sovereign's glory — and their country's cause ; — 
 
 And who their mouth, their master fiend; and who 
 
 Rebellion's oracle 7 — You, catift' you ! 
 
 — O covUd our country from her coasts expel 
 
 Such foes, and nouiish those that wish her well ! 
 
 This her mild laws forbid, hut we may still 
 
 From us eject them by our sovereign will — 
 
 This let us do 
 
 He spoke, and, seated with his former air, 
 Look'd his full self, and fili'd his ample chair; 
 Took one full bumper to each favorite cause. 
 And dwelt all night on politics and laws, 
 With high applauding voice which gain'd him high ap- 
 plause." 
 
 Burns, eager of temper, loud of tone, and with 
 declamation and sarcasm equally at command, 
 was, we may easily believe, the most hated of 
 human beings, because the most dreaded, among 
 the provincial champions of the administration of 
 which he thought fit to disapprove. But that he 
 ever, in his most ardent moods, upheld the princi- 
 ples of those whose applause of the French revo- 
 lution was but the mask of revolutionary designs 
 at home, after these principles had been really de- 
 veloped by those that maintained them, and un- 
 derstood by him, it may be safely denied. There 
 is not, in all his correspondence, one syllable to 
 give countenance to such a charge. 
 19* 
 
228 LIFE OP 
 
 His indiscretion, however, did not always con- 
 fine itself to words ; and though an incident now 
 about to be recorded, belongs to the year 1792, 
 before the French war broke out, there is reason 
 to believe that it formed the main subject of the 
 inquiry which the excise commissioners thought 
 themselves called upon to institute touching the 
 politics of our poet. 
 
 At that period a great deal of contraband traffic, 
 chiefly from the Isle of Man, was going on along 
 the coasts of Galloway and Ayrshire, and the 
 whole of the revenue officers from Gretna to Dum- 
 fries, were placed under the orders of a superin- 
 tendent residing in Annan, who exerted himself 
 zealously in intercepting the decent of the smug- 
 gling vessels. On the 27th of February, a suspi- 
 cious-looking brig was discovered in the Solway 
 Frith, and Burns was one of the party whom the 
 superintendent conducted to watch her motions. 
 She got into shallow water the day afterwards, 
 and the oflicers were enabled to discover that her 
 crew were numerous, armed, and not likely to 
 yield without a struggle. Lewars, a brother ex- 
 ciseman, an intimate friend of our poet, was ac- 
 cordingly sent to Dumfries for a guard of dra- 
 goons ; the superintendent, Mr. Crawford, pro- 
 ceeded himself on asimilar errand to Ecclefechan, 
 and Burns was left with some men under his orders, 
 to watch the brig, and prevent landing or escape. 
 From the private journal of one of the excisemen, 
 (now in my hands,) it appears that Burns mani- 
 fested considerable impatience while thus occu- 
 pied, being left for many hours in a wet salt-marsh, 
 with a force which he knew to be inadequate for 
 the purpose it was meant to fulfill. One of his 
 comrades hearing him abuse his friend Lewars 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 229 
 
 in particular, for being slow about his journey, 
 the man answered, that he also wished the devil 
 had him for his pains, and that Burns, in the mean- 
 time, would do well to indite a song upon the 
 sluggard : Burns said nothing ; but after taking 
 a few strides by himself among the reeds and 
 shingle rejoined his party, and chanted to them 
 the well-known ditty. The DeiVs run awcU wi^ the 
 Exciseman.'^ Lewars arrived shortly afterwards 
 with his dragoons ; and Burns, putting himself at 
 their head, waded, sword in hand, to the brig, and 
 was the first to board her. The crew lost heart, 
 and submitted, though their numbers were greater 
 than those of the assailing force. The vessel 
 was condemned, and, with all her arms and 
 stores, sold by auction next day at Dumfries : up- 
 on which occasion. Burns, whose behavior had 
 been highly commended, thought fit to purchase 
 four carronades, by way of trophy. But his glee 
 went a step farther ; — he sent the guns, with a 
 letter, to the French Convention, requesting that 
 body to accept of them as a mark of his admira- 
 tion and respect. The present, and its accompa- 
 niment, were intercepted at the custom-house at 
 Dover ; and here, there appears to be little room 
 to doubt, was the principal circumstance that drew 
 on Burns the notice of his jealous superiors. 
 
 We were not, it is true, at war with France ; 
 but every one knew and felt that we were to be 
 so ere long ; and nobody can pretend that Burns 
 was not guilty, on this occasion, of a most absurd 
 and presumptuous breach of decorum. 
 
 ♦ The account in the Reliques of this song- being- corn- 
 posed for "a festive meeting- of all the excise-ofl&cers in 
 Scotland," is therefore incorrect. Mr. Train, moreover, as- 
 sures me, tliat there never was any such meeting-. 
 
230 LIFE OF 
 
 Wlien he learned the impression that had been 
 created by his conduct, and its probable conse- 
 quences, he wrote to his patron, Mr. Graham of 
 Fintray, the following letter : — 
 
 "December, 1792. 
 
 " Sir, 1 have been surprised, confounded, and 
 distracted, by Mr. Mitchell, the collector, telling 
 me that he has received an order from your board 
 to inquire into my political conduct, and blaming 
 me as a person disaffected to government. Sir, 
 you are a husband and a father. You know what 
 you would feel to see the much-loved wife of your 
 bosom, and your helpless, prattling little ones, 
 turned adrift into the world, degraded and dis- 
 graced, from a situation in which they had been 
 respectable and respected, and left almost without 
 the necessary support of a miserable existence. 
 Alas ! sir, must I think that such soon will be my 
 lot? and from the damned dark insinuations of 
 hellish, groundless envy too ? I believe, sir, I 
 may aver it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that 
 I would not tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not 
 though even worse horrors, if worse can be, than 
 those I have mentioned, hung over my head. 
 And I say that the allegation, whatever villain has 
 made it, is a lie. To the British constitution, on 
 revolution principles, next, after my God, I am 
 most devoutly attached. You, sir, have been 
 much and generously my friend. Heaven knows 
 how warmly I have felt the obligation, and how 
 gratefully I have thanked you. Fortune, sir, has 
 made you powerful and me impotent ; has given 
 you patronage, and me dependence. I would 
 not, for my single self, call on your humanity : 
 were such my insular, unconnected situation, I 
 would disperse the tear that now swells in my 
 
ROBERT BURXS. 231 
 
 eye ; I could brave misfortune ; I could face 
 ruin ; at the worst, ' death's thousand doors stand 
 open.' But, good God ! the tender concerns 
 that I have mentioned, the claims and ties that I 
 see at this moment, and feel around me, how 
 they unnerve courage and wither resolution ! To 
 your patronage, as a man of some genius, you 
 have allowed me a claim ; and your esteem, as 
 an honest man, I know is my due. To these, 
 sir, permit me to appeal. By these may I adjure 
 you to save me from that misery which threatens 
 to overwhelm me ; and which, with my latest 
 breath I will say, I have not deserved !" 
 
 On the 2d of January, (a week or two after- 
 wards) we find him writing to Mrs. Dunlop in 
 these terms : (The good lady had been offering 
 him some interest with the excise board in the 
 view of promotion.) "Mr. C. can be of little 
 service to me at present ; at least, I should be 
 shy of applying. I cannot probably be settled as 
 a supervisor for several years. I must wait the 
 rotation of lists, &;c. Besides, some envious ma- 
 licious devil has raised a little demur on my po- 
 litical principles, and I wish to let that matter set- 
 tle before I offer myself too much in the eye of 
 my superiors. I have set henceforth a seal on 
 my lips, as to these unlucky politics ; but to you 
 I must breathe my sentiments. In this, as in 
 every thing else, I shall show the undisguised 
 emotions of my soul. War I deprecate : misery 
 and ruin to thousands are in the blast that an- 
 nounces the destructive demon. But " 
 
 *' The remainder of this letter," says Cromek, 
 " has been torn away by some barbarous hand." 
 I can have no doubt that it was torn away by one 
 
232 Life of 
 
 of the kindest hands in the world — that of Mrs. 
 Dunlop herself. 
 
 The exact result of the excise board's investi- 
 gation is hidden, as has been said above, in ob- 
 scurity ; nor is it at all likely that the cloud will 
 be withdrawn hereafter. A general impression, 
 however, appears to have gone forth, that the 
 affair terminated in something which Burns him- 
 self considered as tantamount to the destruction 
 of all hope of future promotion in his profession ; 
 and it has been insinuated by almost everyone of 
 his biographers, that the crushing of these hopes 
 operated unhappily, even fatally, on the tone of his 
 mind, and, in consequence, on the habits of his 
 life. In a word, the early death of Burns has 
 been (by implication at least) ascribed mainly to 
 the circumstances in question. Even Sir Walter 
 Scott has distinctly intimated his acquiescence in 
 this prevalent notion. " The political predilec- 
 tions," says he, " for they could hardly be termed 
 principles, of Burns, were entirely determined by 
 his feelings. At his first appearance, he felt, or 
 affected, a propensity to jacobitism. Indeed, a 
 youth of his warm imagination in Scotland thirty 
 years ago,* could hardly escape this bias. The 
 side of Charles Edward was that, not surely of 
 sound sense and sober reason, but of romantic 
 gallantry and high achievement. The inade- 
 quacy of the means by which that prince at- 
 tempted to regain the crown forfeited by his 
 fathers, the strange and almost poetical adven- 
 tures which he underwent, — the Scottish martial 
 character, honored in his victories, and degraded 
 and crushed in his defeat, — the tales of the vete- 
 rans who had followed his adventurous standard, 
 * Quarterly Review for February, 1809. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 233 
 
 were all calculated to impress upon the mind of 
 a poet a warm interest in the cause of the House 
 of Stuart. Yet the impression was not of a very- 
 serious cast ; for Burns himself acknowledges in 
 one of his letters, (Reliques, p. 240.) that ' to tell 
 the matter of fact, except when my passions were 
 heated by some accidental cause, my jacobitism 
 was merely by way of vive la bagatelle.' The 
 same enthusiastic ardor of disposition swayed 
 Burns in his choice of political tenets, when the 
 country was agitated by revolutionary principles. 
 That the poet should have chosen the side on 
 which high talents were most likely to procure 
 celebrity ; that he to whom the fastidious distinc- 
 tions of society were always odious, should have 
 listened with complacence to the voice of French 
 philosophy, which denounced them as usurpa- 
 tions on the rights of man, was precisely the 
 thing to be expected. Yet we cannot but think, 
 that if his superiors in the excise department had 
 tried the experiment of soothing rather than irri- 
 tating his feelings, they might have spared them- 
 selves the disgrace of rendering desperate the 
 possessor of such uncommon talents. For it is 
 hut too certain, that from the moment his hopes of 
 promotion were utterly blasted, his tendency to 
 dissipation hurried him precipitately into those 
 excesses which shortened his life. We doubt 
 not, that in that awful period of national discord, 
 he had done and said enough to deter, in ordi- 
 nary cases, the servants of government from 
 countenancing an avowed partizan of faction. 
 But this partizan was Burns ! Surely the expe- 
 riment of lenity might have been tried, and per- 
 haps successfully. The conduct of Mr. Graham 
 of Fintray, our poet's only shield against actual 
 
^34 LIFE OF 
 
 dismission and consequent ruin, reflects the high- 
 est credit on that gentleman." 
 
 In the general strain of sentiment in this pass- 
 age, who can refuse to concur ? but I am bound 
 to say, that after a careful examination of all the 
 documents, printed and MS., to which 1 have had 
 access, I have great doubts as to some of the 
 principal facts assumed in the eloquent statement. 
 I have before me, for example, a letter of Mr. 
 Findlater, formerly Collector at Glasgow, who 
 was, at the period in question, Burns' immediate 
 superior in the Dumfries district, in which that 
 very respectable person distinctly says : " I may 
 venture to assert, that when Burns was accused 
 of a leaning to democracy, and an inquiry into 
 his conduct took place, he was subjected, incon- 
 sequence thereof, to no more than perhaps a ver- 
 bal or private caution to be more circumspect in 
 future. Neither do I believe his promotion was 
 thereby affected, as has been stated. That, had 
 he lived, would, I have every reason to think, 
 have gone on in the usual routine. His good and 
 steady friend Mr. Graham would have attended 
 to this. What cause, therefore, v/as there for de- 
 pression of spirits on this account ? or how should 
 he have been hurried thereby to a premature 
 grave ? I never saw his spirit fail till he was 
 borne down by the pressure of disease and bodily 
 weakness ; and even then it would occasionally 
 revive, and like an expiring lamp, emit bright 
 flashes to the last."* 
 
 When the war had fairly broken out, a bat- 
 talion of volunteers was formed in Dumfries, and 
 Burns was an original member of the corps. It is 
 very true that his accession was objected to by 
 * Letter to Donald Home, Esq., W. S. Edinburgh. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 235 
 
 some of his neighbors ; but these were over-ruled 
 by the gentlemen who took the lead in the busi- 
 ness, and the poet soon became, as might have 
 been expected, the greatest possible favorite with 
 his brothers in arms. His commanding officer, 
 Colonel De Peyster, attests his zealous discharge 
 of his duties as a member of the corps ; and their 
 attachment to him was on the increase to the 
 last. He was their laureate, and in that capacity 
 did more good service to the government of the 
 country, at a crisis of the darkest alarm and dan- 
 ger, than perhaps any one person of his rank and 
 station, with the exception of Dibdin, had the 
 power or the inclination to render. "Burns," 
 says Allan Cunningham, " was a zealous lover of 
 his country, and has stamped his patriotic feelings 
 in many a lasting verse. . . . His poor and honest 
 Sodger laid hold at once on the public feeling, and 
 it was every where sung with an enthusiasm which 
 only began to abate when Campbell's Exile of 
 Erin and Wounded Hussar were published. Dum- 
 fries, which sent so many of her sons to the wars, 
 rung with it from port to port ; and the poet, 
 wherever he went, heard it echoing from house 
 and hall. I wish this exquisite and useful song, 
 with Scots wlia hae wV Wallace hledy — the Song 
 of Deaths and Does haughty Gaul Invasion 
 Threat — all lyrics which enforce a love of coun- 
 try, and a martial enthusiasm into men's breasts, 
 had obtained some reward for the poet. His 
 perishable conversation was remembered by the 
 rich to his prejudice — his imperishable lyrics 
 were rewarded only by the admiration and tears 
 of his fellow-peasants." 
 
 Lastly, whatever the rebuke of the excise board 
 amounted to — (Mr. James Gray, at that time 
 20 
 
236 LIFE OF 
 
 schoolmaster in Dumfries, and seeing much of 
 Burns both as the teacher of his children, and as 
 a personal friend and associate of literary taste and 
 talent, is the only person who gives any thing like 
 an exact statement ; and according to him. Burns 
 was admonished " that it was his business to act, 
 not to think") — in whatever language the censure 
 was clothed, the excise board did nothing from 
 which Burns had any cause to suppose that his 
 hopes of ultimate promotion were extinguished. 
 Nay, if he had taken up such a notion, rightly or 
 erroneously, Mr. Findlater,who had him constantly 
 under his eye, and who enjoyed all his confidence, 
 and who enjoyed then, as he still enjoys, the ut- 
 most confidence of the board, must have known 
 the fact to be so. Such, I cannot help thinking, 
 is the fair view of the case : at all events, we 
 know that Burns, the year before he died, was 
 permitted to act as a supervisor ; a thing not 
 likely to have occurred had there been any reso- 
 lution against promoting him in his proper order 
 to a permanent situation of that superior rank. 
 
 On the whole, then, I am of opinion that the 
 excise board have been dealt with harshly, when 
 men of eminence have talked of their conduct to 
 Burns as affixing disgrace to them. It appears 
 that Burns, being guilty unquestionably of great 
 indiscretion and indecorum both of word and deed, 
 was admonished in a private manner, that at such 
 a period of national distraction, it behoved a pub- 
 lic officer, gifted with talents and necessarily with 
 influence like his, very carefully to abstain from 
 conduct which, now that passions have had time 
 to cool, no sane man will say became his situation; 
 that Burns' subsequent conduct effaced the un- 
 favorable impression created in the minds of his 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 237 
 
 superiors ; and that he had begun to taste the 
 fruits of their recovered approbation and confi- 
 dence, ere his career was closed by illness and 
 death. These commissioners of excise were 
 themselves subordinate officers of the government, 
 and strictly responsible for those under them. 
 That they did try the experiment of lenity to a cer- 
 tain extent, appears to be made out ; that they 
 could have been justified in trying it to a farther 
 extent, is at the least doubtful. But with regard 
 to the government of the country itself, I must say 
 I think it is much more difficult to defend them. 
 Mr. Pitt's ministry gave Dibdin a pension of £200 
 a-year for writing his sea songs ;* and one can- 
 not help remembering, that when Burns did begin 
 to excite the ardor and patriotism of his country- 
 men by such songs as Mr. Cunningham has been 
 alluding to, there were persons who had every 
 opportunity of representing to the premier the 
 claims of a greater than Dibdin. Lenity, indul- 
 gence, to whatever length carried in such quarters 
 as these, would have been at once safe and grace- 
 ful. What the minor politicians of the day thought 
 of Burns' poetry I know not ; but Mr. Pitt him- 
 self appreciated it as highly as any man. " I can 
 think of no verse," said the great minister, when 
 Burns was no more — " I can think of no verse 
 since Shakspeare's, that has so much the ap- 
 pearance of coming sweetly from nature. "f 
 
 * By the way, Mr. Fox's ministry g-ained no credit by 
 diminishing Dibdin's pension during- their brief sway, by 
 one-half. 
 
 1 1 am assured that Mr. Pitt used these words at the table 
 of the late Lord Liverpool, soon after Burns' death. How 
 that event miglit come to be anatural topic at that table, will 
 be seen in the sequel. 
 
238 LIFE OF 
 
 Had Burns put forth some newspaper squibs 
 upon Lepaux or Carnot, or a smart pamphlet 
 " On the State of the Country," he might have 
 been more attended to in his hfetime. It is com- 
 mon to say, " what is everybody's business is no- 
 body's business ;" but one may be pardoned for 
 thinking that in such cases as this, that which 
 the general voice of the country does admit to be 
 everybody's business, comes in fact to be the bu- 
 siness of those whom the nation intrusts with na- 
 tional concerns. 
 
 To return to Sir Walter Scott's reviewal — it 
 seems that he has somewhat overstated the poli- 
 tical indiscretions of which Burns was actually 
 guilty. Let us hear the counter-statement of Mr. 
 Gray, who, as has already been mentioned, enjoy- 
 ed Burns' intimacy and confidence during his 
 residence at Dumfries. — No one, who knows any 
 thing of that excellent man, will for a moment 
 suspect him of giving any other than what he be- 
 lieves to be true. 
 
 " Burns (says he) was enthusiastically fond of 
 liberty, and a lover of the popular part of our con- 
 stitution ; but he saw and admired the just and de- 
 licate proportions of the political fabric, and no- 
 thing could be farther from his aim than to level 
 with the dust the venerable pile reared by the la- 
 bors and the wisdom of ages. That provision of 
 the constitution, however, by which it is made to 
 contain a self-correcting principle, obtained no in- 
 considerable share of his admiration : he was, 
 therefore, a zealous advocate of constitutional re- 
 form. The necessity of this he often supported in 
 conversation with all the energy of an irresistible 
 eloquence ; but there is no evidence that he ever 
 went farther. He was a member of no political 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 239 
 
 club. At the time when, in certain societies, the 
 mad cry of revohition was raised from one end of 
 the kingdom to the other, his voice was never 
 heard in their debates, nor did he ever support 
 their opinions in writing, or correspond with them 
 in any form whatever. Though limited to an in- 
 come which any other man would have consider- 
 ed poverty, he refused £50 a-year offered to him 
 for a weekly article, by the proprietors of an op- 
 position paper ; and two reasons, equally honora- 
 ble to him, induced him to reject this proposal. 
 His independent spirit spurned the idea of be- 
 coming the hireling of a party ; and whatever 
 may have been his opinion of the men and mea- 
 sures that then prevailed, he did not think it right 
 to fetter the operations of that government by 
 which he was employed." 
 
 In strong confirmation of the first part of this 
 statement by Mr. Gray,* we have the following ex- 
 tract from the poet's nwn private diary, never, in 
 all human probability, designed to meet the public 
 eye. — " Whatever might be my sentiments of re- 
 publics, ancient or modern, I ever abjured the idea 
 of such changes here. A constitution which, in 
 its original principles, experience has proved to be 
 every way fitted for our happiness, it would be in- 
 sanity to abandon for an untried visionary theory." 
 This surely is not the language of one of those 
 who then said and sung broadly and boldly 
 
 "Of old thing-s all are over old ; 
 Of good thing-3 none are g-ood enoug-h ; 
 We'll show that we can help to frame 
 A world of other stuff." 
 
 * Mr. Gray removed from the school of Dumfries to the 
 Hig-h School of Edinburgh, in whirh eminent seminary he 
 for many years labored witli distinguished success. He 
 20* 
 
40 LIFE OF 
 
 As to the delicate and intricate question of parlia- 
 mentary reform — it is to be remembered that Mr. 
 Pitt advocated that measure at the outset of his 
 career, and never abandoned the principle, al- 
 though the events of his time were too well fitted 
 to convince him of the inexpediency of making 
 any farther attempts at carrying it into practice ; 
 and it is also to be considered that Burns, in his 
 humble and remote situation, was much more likely 
 to seize right principles, than to judge of the safety 
 or expediency of carrying them into effect. 
 
 The statement about the newspaper, refers to 
 Mr. Perry of the Morning Chronicle, who, at the 
 suggestion of Mr. Miller of Dalswinton, made the 
 proposal referred to, and received for answer a 
 letter which may be seen in the General Corres- 
 pondence of our poet, and the tenor of which is 
 in accordance with what Mr. Gray has said. Mr. 
 Perry afterwards pressed Burns to settle in Lon- 
 don as a regular wa-itor for hie paper, and the poet 
 declined to do so, alledging that, however small, 
 his excise appointment was a certainty, which, 
 in justice to his family, he could not think of 
 abandoning.* 
 
 In conclusion. Burns' abstinence from the po- 
 litical clubs, and affiliated societies of that disas- 
 trous period, is a circumstance, the importance of 
 which will be appreciated by all who know any 
 thing of the machinery by which the real revolu- 
 tionists of the era designed, and endeavored, to 
 carry their purposes into execution. 
 
 Burns, after the excise inquiry, took care, no 
 
 then became Professor of Latin in the Institution at Belfast, 
 and is now in holy orders, and a chaplain of the East India 
 •^v in the presidency of Madras. 
 
 ' — *he authority of Major Miller. 
 
ROBERT BUEI??S. 241 
 
 doubt, to avoid similar scrapes ; but he had no re- 
 luctance to meddle largely and zealously in the 
 squabbles of county politics and contested elec- 
 tions ; and thus, by merely espousing, on all oc- 
 casions, the cause of the whig candidates, kept 
 up very effectually the spleen which the tories 
 had originally conceived on tolerably legitimate 
 grounds. Of his political verses, written at Dum- 
 fries, hardly any specimens have as yet appeared 
 in print ; it would be easy to give many of them, 
 but perhaps some of the persons lashed and ridi- 
 culed are still alive — their children certainly are so. 
 One of the most celebrated of these effusions, 
 and one of the most quotable, was written on a 
 desperately contested election for the Dumfries 
 district of boroughs, between Sir James Johnstone 
 of Westerhall, and Mr. Miller, the younger, of Dal- 
 swinton ; Burns, of course, maintaining the cause 
 of his patron's family. There is much humor in 
 
 The Five Cakhnes. 
 
 1. There were five carlines in the south, they fell upon a 
 
 scheme, 
 To send a lad to Lunnun town to bring- them tidings hame, 
 Nor only bring- them tiding-s hame, but do their errands 
 
 there, 
 And aiblins gowd and honor baith might be that laddie's 
 
 share. 
 
 2. There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith,* a dame wi' 
 
 pride enough, 
 And Marjory o' the Monylochs,t a carline auld and teugh ; 
 And blinkin Bess o' Annandale,t that dwelt near Solway- 
 
 side, 
 And whisky Jean that took her gill in Galloway sae wide ; § 
 And black Joan frae Crichton Peel, II o' gipsy kith and kin, — 
 Five wighter carlines war na foun' the south countrie within. 
 
 * Dumfries. t Lochmaben. t Annan. 
 § Kirkcudbright. II Sanquhar. 
 
242 LIFE OF 
 
 3. To send a lad to Lunnun town, they met upon a day, 
 And mony a knig'ht and mony a laird their errand fain wad 
 
 g^ae, 
 But nae ane could their fancy please ; O ne'er a ane but 
 tway. 
 
 4. The first he was a belted knight,* bred o' a border clan, 
 And he wad gae to Lunnun town, mig-ht nae man him with- 
 
 stan', 
 And he wad do their errands wcel, and meikle he wad say, 
 And ilka ane at Lunnun court would bid him gude day. 
 
 5. The next came in a sodg-er youth,+ and spak wi' modest 
 
 grace, 
 
 And he wad gae to Lunnun town if sae their pleasure was ; 
 
 He wadna hecht them courtly gifts, nor meikle speech pre- 
 tend, 
 
 But he wad hecht an honest heart, wad ne'er desert a friend. 
 
 6. Now, wham to choose and wham refuse, at strife thir car- 
 
 lines fell, 
 For some had gentle folks to please, and some wad please 
 themsell. 
 
 7. Then out spak mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, and she spak up 
 
 wi' pride, 
 
 And she wad send the sodger youth, whatever might be- 
 tide; 
 
 For the auld guidman o' Lunnun t court she didna care a 
 pin; 
 
 But she wad send the sodger youth to greet his eldest 
 son. § 
 
 8. Then up sprang Bess o' Annandale, and a deadly aith 
 
 she's taen, 
 That she wad vote the border knight, though she should vote 
 
 her lane ; 
 For far-aff fowls hae leathers fair, and fools o'change are 
 
 fain ; 
 But I hae tried the border knight, and I'll try him yet 
 
 again. 
 
 9. Says black Joan frae Grichton Peel, a carline stoor and 
 
 grim, 
 The auld guidman, and the young guidman, for me may 
 
 sink or swim ; 
 For fools will freat o' right or wrang, while knaves laugh 
 
 them to scorn ; 
 But the sodger's friends hae blawn the best, so he shall bear 
 
 the horn. 
 
 * Sir J. Johnstone. t Major Miller. 
 
 t George lU. § The Prince of Wales. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 243 
 
 10. Then whisky Jean spak ov/er her drink, Ye weel ken, 
 
 kimmers a', 
 The auldg-uidman o'Lunnuncourt,his back's been at the wa'; 
 And mony a friend that kiss't his cup, is now a Iremit wig-ht, 
 But it's ne'er be said o' whisky Jean — I'll send the border 
 
 knight. 
 
 11. Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, and wrinkled was 
 
 her brow, 
 Her ancient weed was russet gray, her auld Scots bluid was 
 
 true; 
 There's some great folks set light by me, — I set as light by 
 
 them ; 
 But I will sen' to Lunnun toun wham I like best at hame. 
 
 12. Sae how this weighty plea may end. nae mortal wight 
 
 can tell, 
 God grant the king and ilka man may look weel to himsell." 
 
 The above is far the best humored of these pro- 
 ductions. The election to which it refers was 
 carried in Major Miller's favor, but after a severe 
 contest, and at a very heavy expense. 
 
 These political conflicts were not to be mingled 
 in with impunity by the chosen laureate, wit, and 
 orator of the district. He himself, in an unpub- 
 lished piece, speaks of the terror excited by 
 
 " Burns' venom, when 
 
 He dips in gall unmix'd his eager pen, 
 
 And pours his vengeance in the burning line ;" 
 
 and represents his victims, on one of these elec- 
 tioneering occasions, as leading a choral shout that 
 
 " He for his heresies in church and state, 
 
 Might richly merit Muir's and Palmer's fate." 
 
 But what rendered him more and more the object 
 of aversion to one set of people, was sure to con- 
 nect him more and more strongly with the pas- 
 sions,* and, unfortunately for himself and for us, 
 
 * " Lord Frederick heard of all his youthful zeal, 
 And felt as lords upon a canvas feel ; 
 
244 LIFE OF 
 
 with the pleasures of the other ; and we have, 
 among many confessions to the same purpose, the 
 following, which I quote as the shortest, in one of 
 the poet's letters from Dumfries to Mrs. Dunlop. 
 " I am better, but not quite free of my complaint, 
 (he refers to the palpitation of heart.) You must 
 not think, as you seem to insinuate, that in my 
 way of life, I want exercise. Of that I have 
 enough ; but occasional hard drinking is the devil 
 to me." He knew well what he was doing when- 
 ever he mingled in such debaucheries : he had, 
 long ere this, described himself as parting "with 
 a slice of his constitution" every time he was 
 guilty of such excess. 
 
 This brings us back to a subject on which it can 
 give no pleasure to expatiate. As has been al- 
 ready sufficiently intimated, the statements of He- 
 ron and Currie on this head, still more those of 
 Mr. Walker and Dr. Irving, are not to be received 
 without considerable deduction. No one of these 
 biographers appears to have had any considerable 
 intercourse with Burns during the latter years of 
 life, which they have represented in such dark 
 colors every way ; and the two survivors of their 
 number are, I doubt not, among those who must 
 have heard, with the highest satisfaction, the 
 counter-statements which their narratives were 
 the means of calling forth from men as well qua- 
 
 He read the satire, and he saw the use, 
 That such cool insult and such keen abuse 
 Might on the wavering- minds of voting" men produce. 
 I much rejoice, lie cried, such worth to find ; 
 To this the world must be no longer blind. 
 His g"lory will descend from sire to son, 
 The Burns of Eng-lish race, the happier Chatterton. 
 CeabbEj in the Patron, 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 245 
 
 lifted as themselves in point of character and at- 
 tainment, and much more so in point of circum- 
 stance and opportunity, to ascertain and estimate 
 the real facts of a case, which is, at the best, a 
 sufficiently melancholy one. 
 
 *' Dr. Currie," says Gilbert Burns,* " knowing 
 the events of the latter years of my brother's life, 
 only from the reports which had been propagated, 
 and thinking it necessary, lest the candor of his 
 work should be called in question, to state the 
 substance of these reports, has given a very exag- 
 gerated view of the failings of my brother's life at 
 that period — which is certainly to be regretted." 
 
 " I love Dr. Currie," says the Reverend James 
 Gray, already more than once referred to, " but I 
 love the memory of Burns more, and no considera- 
 tion shall deter me from a bold declaration of the 
 truth. The poet of the Cottar^ s Saturday Night, 
 who felt all the charms of the humble piety and 
 virtue which he sung, is charged, (in Dr. Currie's 
 Narrative,) with vices which would reduce him to 
 a level with the most degraded of his species. 
 As I knew him during that period of his life em- 
 phatically called his evil days, / am enabled to 
 speak from my own observation. It is not my in- 
 tention to extenuate his errors, because they were 
 combined with genius ; on that account, they were 
 only the more dangerous, because the more sedue- 
 tive, and deserve the more severe reprehension ; 
 but I shall likewise claim that nothing may be said 
 in malice even against him. ... It came under 
 my own view professionally, that he superintend- 
 ed the education of his children with a degree of 
 care that I have never seen surpassed by any pa- 
 
 * Letter to Mr. Peterkin. (Peterkin's Preface, p. 62.) 
 
246 LIFE OF 
 
 rent in any rank of life whatever. In the bosom 
 of his family, he spent many a delightful hour in 
 directing the studies of his eldest son, a boy of un- 
 common talents. I have frequently found him ex- 
 plaining to this youth, then not more than nine 
 years of age, the English poets, from Shakspeare 
 to Gray, or storing his mind with examples of he- 
 roic virtue, as they live in the pages of our most 
 celebrated English historians. I would ask any 
 person of common candor, if employments like 
 these are consistent with habitual drunkenness ? 
 
 "It is not denied that he sometimes mingled with 
 society unworthy of him. He was of a social and 
 convivial nature. He was courted by all classes 
 of men for the fascinating powers of his conversa- 
 tion, but over his social scene uncontrolled passion 
 never presided. Over the social bowl, his wit 
 flashed for hours together, penetrating whatever it 
 struck, like the fire from heaven ; but even in the 
 hour of thoughtless gayety and merriment, I never 
 knew it tainted by indecency. It was playful or 
 caustic by turns, following an allusion through all 
 its windings ; astonishing by its rapidity, or amu- 
 sing by its wild originality, and grotesque, yet na- 
 tural combinations, but never, within my observa- 
 tion, disgusting by its grossness. In his morning 
 hours, I never saw him like one suffering from the 
 effects of last night's intemperance. He appeared 
 then clear and unclouded. He was the eloquent 
 advocate of humanity, justice, and political free- 
 dom. From his paintings, virtue appeared more 
 lovely, and piety assumed a more celestial mien. 
 While his keen eye was pregnant with fancy and 
 feeling, and his voice attuned to the very passion 
 which he wished to communicate, it would hardly 
 have been possible to conceive any being more in- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 247 
 
 teresting and delightful. I may likewise add, that 
 to the very end of his life, reading was his favor- 
 ite amusement. I have never known any man so 
 intimately acquainted with the elegant English 
 authors. He seemed to have the poets by heart. 
 The prose authors he could quote either in their 
 own words, or clothe their ideas in language more 
 beautiful than their own. Nor was there ever 
 any decay in any of the powers of his mind. To 
 the last day of his life, his judgment, his memory, 
 his imagination, were fresh and vigorous, as when 
 he composed the Cottar^s Saturday Night. The 
 truth is, that Burns was seldom intoxicated. The 
 drunkard soon becomes besotted, and is shunned 
 even by the conrivial. Had he been so, he could 
 not long have continued the idol of every party. 
 It will be freely confessed, that the hour of en- 
 joyment was often prolonged beyond the limit 
 marked by prudence ; but what man will venture 
 to affirm, that in situations where he was con- 
 scious of giving so much pleasure, he could at all 
 times have listened to her voice ? 
 
 *' The men rvith whom he generally associated, 
 werenotof thelowest order. He numbered among 
 his intimate friends, many of the most respecta- 
 ble inhabitants of Dumfries and the vicinity. Se- 
 veral of those were attached to him by ties that 
 the hand of calumny, busy as it was, could never 
 snap asunder. They admired the poet for his ge- 
 nius, and loved the man for the candor, generosi- 
 ty, and kindness of his nature. His early friends 
 clung to him through good and bad report, with a 
 zeal and fidelity that prove their disbelief of the 
 malicious stories circulated to his disadvantage. 
 Among them were some of the most distinguished 
 characters in this country, and not a few females, 
 21 
 
248 LIFE ov 
 
 eminent for delicacy, taste, and genius. They 
 were proud of his friendship, and cherished him 
 to the last moment of his existence. He was en- 
 deared to them even by his misfortunes, and they 
 still retain for his memory that affectionate vene- 
 ration which virtue alone inspires."* 
 
 Part of Mr. Gray's letter is omitted, only be- 
 cause it touches on subjects, as to which Mr. Find- 
 later's statement must be considered as of not 
 merely sufficient, but the very highest authority. 
 
 " My connection with Robei-t Burns," sa3's that 
 most respectable man,"|" "commenced immediately 
 after his admission into the excise, and continued 
 to the hour of his death. :|: In all that time,the super- 
 intendence of his behavior, as an officer of the re- 
 venue, was a branch of my especicU province, and 
 it may be supposed I would not be an inattentive 
 observer of the general conduct of a man and a 
 poet, so celebrated by his countrymen. In the for- 
 mer capacity, he was exemplary in his attention ; 
 and was even jealous of the least imDUtation on his 
 vigilance : as a proof of which, it nay not be fo- 
 reign to the subject to quote a part cf a letter from 
 him to myself, in a case of only seeininginaitenhon. 
 * I know, sir, and regret deeply, that this business 
 glances with a malign aspect on mr character as 
 an officer ; but, as I am really innocent in the af- 
 fair, and as the gentleman is knownto be an illicit 
 dealer,and particularly as this is the single instance 
 of the least shadow of carelessness or impropriety 
 in my contluct as an officer, I shall be peculiarly 
 unfortunate if my character shall fall a sacrifice to 
 the dark manoeuvres of a smuggler.' — This of itself 
 
 * Letter in Mr. Peterkin's preface, pp. 93—95. 
 tibid.p. 93-96. 
 
 tMr. Findlater watched by Burns the night before he 
 died. 
 
ROBiiRT BURXS. 249 
 
 affords more than a presumption of his attention 
 to business, as it cannot be supposed he would 
 have written in such a style to me, but from the 
 impulse of a conscious rectitude in this depart- 
 ment of his duty. Indeed it was not till near the lat- 
 ter end of his days that there was any falling offin 
 this respect ; and this was amply accounted for 
 in the pressure of disease and accumulating infir- 
 mities. I will further avow, that I never saw him, 
 which was very frequently while he lived at El- 
 liesland, and still more so, almost every day, after 
 he removed to Dumfries, but in hours of business 
 he was quite himself, and capable of discharging 
 the duties of his office : nor was he ever known to 
 drink by himself, or seen to indulge in the use of 
 liquor in a forenoon. . . I have seen Burns in all 
 his various phases, in his convivial moments, in 
 his sober moods, and in the bosom of his family ; 
 indeed, I believe I saw more of him than any other 
 individual had occasion to see, after he became an 
 excise officer, and I never beheld any thing like 
 the gross enormities with which he is now charged: 
 That when set down in an evening with a few 
 friends whom he liked, he was aj»t to prolong the 
 social hour beyond the bounds which prudence 
 would dictate, is unquestionable ; but in his family, 
 I will venture to say, he was never seen otherwise 
 than attentive and affectionate to a high degree." 
 These statements are entitled to every conside- 
 ration : they come from men altogether incapa- 
 ble, for any purpose, of wilfully stating that which 
 they know to be untrue. Yet we are not, on the 
 other hand, to throw out of view altogether the 
 feelings of partial friendship, irritated by exagge- 
 rations such as called forth these testimonies. It 
 is scarcely to be doubted that Dr. Carrie and Pro. 
 
250 LIFE OF 
 
 fessor Walker took care, ere they penned their 
 painful pages, to converse and correspond with 
 other persons than the enemies of the deceased 
 poet — Here, then, as in most other cases of simi- 
 lar controversy, the fair and equitable conclusion 
 would seem to be, " truth lies between." 
 
 To whatever Burns' excesses amounted, they 
 were, it is obvious, and that frequently, the subject 
 of rebuke and remonstrance even from his own 
 dearest friends — even from men who had no sort 
 of objection to potations deep enough in all con- 
 science. That such reprimands, giving shape and 
 form to the thoughts that tortured his own bosom, 
 should have been received at times with a strange 
 mixture of remorse and indignation,none that have 
 considered the nervous susceptibility and haughti- 
 ness of Burns' character can hear with surprise. 
 But this was only when the good advice was oral.* 
 
 * A statement, of an isolated character, in the Quarterly 
 Review, (No. 1 .) has been noticed at much leng-th, and in very 
 intemperate lang-uag-e, by Mr. Peterkin, in the preface from 
 which the above letters of Messrs. Gray and Findlater are 
 extracted. I am sure that nothing could have been further 
 from the writer's wishes than to represent any thing to Burns' 
 disadvantage; but the reader shall judge for himself. The 
 passage in the critique alluded to is as follows : " Bred a 
 peasant, and preferred to the degrading situation of a com- 
 mon exciseman, neither the influence of the low-minded crew 
 around him, nor the gratification of selfish indulgence, nor 
 that contempt of futurity which has characterized so ntiany 
 of his poetical brethren, ever led him to incur or endure the 
 burden of pecuniary obligation. A very intimate friend of 
 the poet, from whom he used occasionally to borrow a small 
 sum for a week or two, once ventured to hint that the punc- 
 tuality with which the loan was always replaced at the ap- 
 pointed time was unnecessary and unkind. The conse- 
 quence of this hint was, the interruption of their friendship 
 for some weeks, the bard disdaining the very thought of 
 being indebted to a human being one farthing beyond what 
 
ROBERT KURNS. 251 
 
 No one knew better than he how to answer the 
 written homilies of such persons as were most 
 likely to take the freedom of admonishing him on 
 
 he could discharg-c with the most rigid punctuality. It was 
 a less pleasing consequence of this high spirit, that Burns 
 was inaccessible to all friendly advice. To lay before him 
 his errors, or to point out Jieir consequences, was to touch a 
 string that jarred every feeling within him. On such occa- 
 sions his, like Churchill'^ was 
 
 • The mind which starting heaves the heartfelt groan, 
 And hates the form she knows to be her own.' 
 
 "It is a dreadful truth, that when racked and tortured by 
 the well-meant and warm expostulations of an intimate 
 friend, he started up in aparoxysm of frenzy, and drawing a 
 sword-cane which he usually wore, made an attempt to 
 plunge it into the body of his adviser — the next instant he 
 was with difficulty witliheld from suicide."* 
 
 In reply to this parjg-raph, Mr. Pcterkin says,t " The 
 friend here referred to, Mr. John Syme, in a written state- 
 ment now before us, giv© an account of this murderous-look- 
 ing story, which we shuli transcribe verbatim; that the na- 
 ture of this attempt mar be precisely known. 'In my parlor 
 at Ryedale, one afterwon, Burns and I were very gracious 
 and confidential. I did advise him to be temperate in all 
 things. / might have\spoken daggers, but I did not mean 
 them. He shook to thc\inmost fibre of his frame, and drew 
 the sword-cane, when 'Jie.vclaitned, 'What! wilt thou thus, 
 and in my own house?' The poor fellow was so stung with 
 remorse, that he dashedhimself down on the floor.' — And this 
 is gravely laid before the world at second-hand, as an attempt 
 by Burns to murder a friend, and to commit suicide, from 
 which 'he was with difficulty withheld !' So much for the 
 manner of telling a stay. I'he whole amount of it, by Mr. 
 Syme's account, and r.one else can be correct, seems to be, 
 that being 'gracious' cne afternoon, (perhaps a Itttle 'glori- 
 ous' too, according to Tarn o' Shanter,) he, in his own house, 
 thought fit to give Burns a lecture on temperance in all 
 things; in the course of which he acknowledges that he 
 ' might have spoken daggers' — and that Burns, in a moment 
 
 * Quarterly Review. No. I. p. 28. 
 t Peterkin's Preface, p. 65. 
 
 21* 
 
252 LIFE OF 
 
 points of such delicacy ; nor is there any thing in 
 all his correspondence more amusing than his re- 
 ply to a certain solemn lecture of William Nicoll, 
 
 of irritation, perhaps of justly offended pride, merely drew 
 the sword (which, like every other excise-officer, he wore at 
 all times professionally in a staff,) in order, as a soldier would 
 touch his sword, to repel indignity. But by Mr. Syme's own 
 testimony, Burns only drew the sword from the cane : no- 
 thing- is said of an attempt to stab ; but on the contrary, Mr. 
 Mr. Syme declares expressly that a mock-solemn exclama- 
 tion, pretty characteristic, we suspect, of the whole affair^, 
 wound up the catastrophe of this trag-ical scene. Really it is 
 a foolish piece of business to magnify such an incident into 
 a 'dreadful truth,' illustrative of the ' untamed and plebian* 
 spirit of Burns. We cannot help regretting that Mr. Syme- 
 should unguardedly have communicated such an anecdote- 
 to any of his friends, considering that this ebullition of mo- 
 mentary irritation was followed, as he himself states, by a 
 friendship more ardent than ever betwixt him and Burns, 
 He should have been aware, that the story, when told again 
 and again by others, would be twisied and tortured into the 
 scandalous form which it at last assumed in the Q,uarterly 
 Review. The antics of a good mar in the delirium of a fe- 
 ver, might with equal propriety be larrated in blank verse, 
 as a proof that he was a bad man wten in perfect health. A 
 momentary gust of passion, excited by acknowledged pro- 
 vocation, and followed by nothing bit drawing or brandish- 
 ing a weapon accidentally in his hand, and an immediate 
 and strong conviction that even this was a great error, can- 
 not, without the most outrageous v.olence of construction, > 
 be tortured into an attempt to commit murder and suicide. 
 All the artifice of language, too, is used to give a horrible 
 impression of Burns. The sword-cane is spoken of with- 
 out explanation as a thing ' which he usually wore,' — as if 
 he had habitually carried the concealed stiletto of an assas- 
 sin : The reviewer should have been much more on his 
 guard." 
 
 The readei* may probably be of opinion, upon candidly 
 considering and comparing the statements of the reviewer 
 and the re-reviewer ;— Ist, That the facts of the case are in 
 the two stories substantially the same ; 2dly5 That when the 
 reviewer spoke of Burns' sword-cane as a weapon which he 
 " usually wore," he did mean " which he wore in ^is capa- 
 city of exciseman ;" 3dly, That Mr. Syme ou^rht ne-ver to 
 have told the story, nor the reviewer to have publi^ed it, nor 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 253 
 
 the same exemplary schoolmaster who " brewed 
 the peck o' maut which 
 
 Rot and Allan came to pree." 
 
 ..." O thou, wisest among the wise, meridian 
 blaze of prudence, full moon of discretion, and 
 chief of many counsellors ! how infinitely is 
 thy puddle-headed, rattle-headed, wrong-headed, 
 round-headed slave indebted to thy supereminent 
 goodness, that fr3m the luminous path of thy own 
 right-lined rectitude thou lookest benignly down 
 on an erring wretch, of whom the zig-zag wan- 
 derings defy all the powers of calculation, from 
 the simple copulation of units, up to the hidden 
 mysteries of fluxions ! May one feeble ray of that 
 light of wisdom which darts from thy sensorium, 
 straight as the arrow of heaven, and bright as the 
 meteor of inspiration, may it be my portion, so 
 that I maybe less unworthy of the face and fa- 
 vor of tha-; father of proverbs and master of max- 
 ims, that antipode of folly, and magnet among 
 the sages, the wise and witty Willy NicoU ! 
 Amen ! amen ! Yea, so be it ! 
 
 "For me ! I am a beast, a reptile, and know 
 nothing !" &C. &;c. &c. 
 
 To how many that have moralized over the life 
 and death of Burns, might not such a Tu quoqiie 
 be addressed ! 
 
 the re-reviewer to have given it additional importance by 
 his attempt to explain into nothing- what in reality amounted 
 to little. Burns was, according- to Mr. Peterkin's story, 
 *' glorious" at the time when the incident occurred ; and if 
 there was no harm at all in what he did in that moment of 
 unfortunate excitement and irritation, what means Mr. 
 Syme's own language about "the poor fellow being stung- 
 with remorse ?" &c. 
 
254 LIFE OF 
 
 The strongest argument in faYor of those who 
 denounce the statements of Heron, Currie, and 
 their fellow-biographers, concerning the habits of 
 the poet, during the latter years of his career, as 
 culpably and egregiously exaggerated, still remains 
 to be considered. On the whole. Burns gave sa- 
 tisfaction by his manner of executing the duties of 
 his station in the revenue service ; he, moreover, 
 as Mr. Gray tells us, (and upon this ground Mr. 
 Gray could not possibly be mistaken,) took a lively 
 interest in the education of his children, and spent 
 more hours in their private tuition than fathers who 
 have more leisure than his excisemanship left him, 
 are often in the custom of so bestowing ;* and 
 
 * " He was a kind and attentive father, and took great de- 
 light in spending liis evenings in the cultivation of the 
 minds of his children. Their education wts the grand ob- 
 ject of his life, and he did not, like most pirents, think it 
 sufficient to send them to public schools ; he was their pri- 
 vate instructor, and even at that early age, bestowed great 
 pains in training their minds to habits of thoug'at and reflec- 
 tion, and in keeping them pure from every funi of vice. 
 This he considered as a sacred duty, and never, tj the period 
 of his last illness, relaxed in his diligence. VVitu his eldest 
 son, a boy of not more than nine years of age, he had read 
 many of the favorite poets, and some of the best historians 
 in our language; and what is more remarkable, jave him 
 considerable aid in the study of Latin. I'his boy attended 
 the grammar school of Dumfries, and soon attracted my 
 notice by the strength of his talent, and the ardor of his 
 ambition. Before he had been a year at school, I thought it 
 right to advance him a form, and he began to read Caesar, 
 and gave me translations of that author of such beauty as I 
 confess surprised me. On inquiry, I found that his father 
 made him turn over his dictionary, till he was able to trans- 
 late to him the passage in such a way that he could gather 
 the author's meaning, and that it was to him he owed that 
 polished and forcible English with which I was so greatly 
 struck. I have mentioned this incident merely to show 
 what minute attention he paid to this important branch 
 of parental duty. ^'—Letter from the Reverend James Gray 
 
EGBERT BURNS. 255 
 
 lastly, although he to all men's regret executed, 
 after his removal to Dumfries-shire, no more than 
 one poetical piece of considerable length, [Tamo^ 
 Shanter,) his epistolary correspondence, and his 
 songs contributed to Johnson's Museum, and to 
 the great collection of Mr. George Thomson, fur- 
 nish undeniable proof that, in whatever fits of dis- 
 sipation he unhappily indulged, he never could 
 possibly have sunk into any thing like that habi- 
 tual grossness of manners and sottish degradation 
 of mind, which the writers in question have not 
 hesitated to hold up to the deepest commiseration, 
 if not more than this, of mankind. 
 
 Of his letters written at Elliesland and Dum- 
 fries, nearly three octavo volumes have been al- 
 ready printed by Currie and Cromek ; and it 
 would be easy to swell the collection to double 
 this extent. Enough, however, has been published 
 to enable every reader to judge for himself of the 
 character of Burns' style of epistolary composi- 
 tion. The severest criticism bestowed on it has 
 been, that it is too elaborate — that, however na- 
 tural the feelings, the expression is frequently 
 more studied and artificial than belongs to that 
 species of composition. Be this remark altoge- 
 ther just in point of taste, or otherwise, the fact 
 on which it is founded, furnishes strength to our 
 present position. The poet produced in these 
 years a great body of elaborate prose-writing. 
 
 We have already had occasion to notice some 
 of his contributions to Johnson's Museum. He 
 continued to the last month of his life, to take a 
 lively interest in that work ; and besides writing 
 for it some dozens of excellent original songs, his 
 
 to Mr, Gilbert Burns. See his edition, vol. I. Appendixj 
 No. V. 
 
256 LIFE OF 
 
 diligence in collecting ancient pieces hitherto un. 
 published, and his taste and skill in eking out 
 fragments, were largely, and most happily exert- 
 ed, all along, for its benefit. Mr. Cromek saw 
 among Johnson's papers, no fewer than 184 of 
 the pieces which enter into the collection, in 
 Burns' handwriting.* 
 
 His connection with the more important work 
 of Mr. Thomson commenced in September 1792 ; 
 and Mr. Gray justly says, that whoever considers 
 his correspondence with the editor, and the col- 
 lection itself, must be satisfied, that from that time 
 till the commencement of his last illness, not 
 many days ever passed over his head without the 
 production of some new stanzas for its pages. 
 Besides old materials, for the most part embel- 
 lished with lines, if not verses of his own, and a 
 whole body of hints, suggestions, and cnticisms, 
 Burns gave Mr. Thomson about sixty original 
 songs. It is, however, but justice to poor Heron 
 to add, that comparatively few of this number had 
 been made public at the time when he drew up 
 that rash and sweeping statement, which Dr. 
 Currie adhered to in some particulars without 
 sufficient inquiry. 
 
 The songs in this collection are by many emi- i 
 nent critics placed decidedly at the head of all our ' 
 poet's performances : it is by none disputed that . 
 very many of them are worthy of his most felici- i 
 tous inspiration. He bestowed much more care j 
 on them than on his contributions to the Museum ; | 
 and the taste and feeling of the editor secured the ! 
 work against any intrusions of that over-warm ele- 
 ment which was too apt to mingle in his amatory \ 
 effusions. Burns knew that he was now engaged 
 
 ♦ Reliques, p. 185. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 257 
 
 on a work destined for the eye and ear of refine- 
 ment ; he labored throughout, under the salutary 
 feeling, "virginibus, puerisque canto ;" and the 
 consequences have been happy indeed for his 
 own fame — for the literary taste, and the national 
 music, of Scotland ; and, what is of far higher 
 importance, the moral and national feelings of 
 his countrymen. 
 
 In almost all these productions — certainly in all 
 that deserve to be placed in the first rank of his 
 compositions — Bums made use of his native dia- 
 lect. He did so, too, in opposition to the advice of 
 almost all the lettered correspondents he had — 
 more especially of Dr. Moore, who, in his own no- 
 vels, never ventured on more than a few casual spe- 
 cimens of Scottish colloquy — following therein the 
 example of his illustrious predecessor Smollett ; 
 and not foreseeing that a triumph over English 
 prejudice, which Smollett might have achieved, 
 had he pleased to make the effort, was destined 
 to be the prize of Burns' perseverance in obeying 
 the dictates of native taste and judgment. Our 
 poet received such suggestions, for the most part, 
 in silence — not choosing to argue v/ith others on 
 a matter which concerned only his own feelings ; 
 but in writing to Mr. Thomson, he had no occa- 
 sion either to conceal or disguise his sentiments. 
 *' These English songs," says he, " gravel me to 
 death. I have not that command of the language 
 that I have of my native tongue;"* and again, "so 
 much for namby-pamby. I may, after all, try my 
 hand at it in Scots verse. There I am always most 
 at home."! — He, besides, would have considered 
 
 * Correspondence with Mr. Thomson, p. 111. 
 t Ibid. p. SO. 
 
258 LIFE OF 
 
 it as a sort of national crime to do any thing that 
 musttend to divorce the music of his native land from 
 her peculiar idiom. The "genius loci" was never 
 worshiped more fervently than by Burns. " I am 
 such an enthusiast," says he, "that in the course 
 of my several perigrinations through Scotland, I 
 made a pilgrimage to the individual spot from 
 which every song took its rise, Lochaher and the 
 Braes of Ballenden excepted. So far as the lo- 
 cality, either from the title of the air or the tenor of 
 the song, could be ascertained, I have paid my de- 
 votions at the particular shrine of every Scottish 
 Muse." With such feelings, he was not likely to 
 touch with an irreverent hand the old fabric of our 
 national song, or to meditate a lyrical revolution 
 for the pleasure ofstrangers. " There is,"sayshe,* 
 " a naivete, a pastoral simplicity in a slight inter- 
 mixture of Scots words and phraseology, which is 
 more in unison (at least to my taste, and I will add, 
 to every genuine Caledonian taste) with the sim- 
 ple pathos or rustic sprightliness of our native mu- 
 sic, than any English verses whatever. One hint 
 more let me give you. — Whatever Mr.Pleyel does, 
 let him not alter one ioUi of the original airs ; I mean 
 in the song department ; but let our Scottish nation- 
 al music preserve its native features. They are, I 
 own, frequently wild and irreducible to the more 
 modern rules ; but on that very eccentricity, per- 
 haps, depends a great part of their effect, "f 
 
 * Correspondence with Mr. Thomson, p. 38- 
 t It may amuse the reader to hear, that in spite of all 
 Burns' success in the use of his native dialect, even an emi- 
 nently spirited bookseller to whom the manuscript of Wa- 
 verley was submitted, hesitated for some time about publish- 
 ing- it, on account of the Scots dialogue interwoven in the 
 novel. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 259 
 
 Of the delight with which Burns labored for Mr. 
 Thomson's Collection, his letters contain some 
 lively descriptions. " You cannot imagine," says 
 he, 7th April, 1793, "how much this business has 
 added to my enjoyments. What with my early 
 attachment to ballads, your book and ballad-ma- 
 king are now as completely my hobbyhorse as ever 
 fortification was Uncle Toby's ; so I'll e'en can- 
 ter it away till I come to the limit of my race, 
 (God grant I may take the right side of the win- 
 ning.post,) and then, cheerfully looking back on 
 the honest folks with whom I have been happy, I 
 shall say or sing, ' Sae merry as we a' hae been,' 
 and raising my last looks to the whole human race, 
 the last words of the voice of Coila shall be ' Good 
 night, and joy be wi' you a.'* 
 
 " Until I am complete master of a tune in my 
 own singing, such as it is, I can never,"says Burns, 
 " compose for it. My way is this. I consider the 
 poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of the 
 musical expression — then choose my theme — com- 
 pose one stanza. When that is composed, which 
 is generally the most difficult part of the business, 
 I walk out, — sit down now and then, — look out for 
 objects in nature round me that are in unison or 
 harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and 
 workings of my bosom, — humming every now and 
 then the air, with the verses I have framed. When 
 I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the 
 solitary fireside of my study, there commit my 
 effusions to paper ; swinging at intervals on the 
 hind legs of my elbow-chair, by way of calling forth 
 my own critical strictures, as my pen goes. Seri- 
 ously, his, at home, is almost invariably my way. 
 — What nursed egotism !"f 
 
 ♦ Correspondence with Mr. Thomsoii, p. 57. 
 t Ibid, p. 119. 
 
 22 
 
260 LIFE OF 
 
 In this correspondence with Mr. Thomson, and 
 in Cromek's later pubhcation, the reader will find 
 a world of interesting details about the particular 
 circumstances under which these immortal songs 
 v/ere severally written. They are all, or almost 
 all, in fact, part and parcel of the poet's personal 
 history. No man ever made his muse more com- 
 pletely the companion of his own individual life. 
 A new flood of light has just been poured on the 
 same subject, in Mr. Allan Cunningham's " CoU 
 lection of Scottish Songs ;" unless, therefore, I were 
 to transcribe volumes, and all popular volumes too, 
 it is impossible to go into the details of this part of 
 the poet's history. The reader must be contented 
 with a few general memoranda ; e. g. 
 
 " Do you think that the sober gin. horse routine 
 of existence could inspire a man with lite, and 
 love, and joy — could lire him with enthusiasm, or 
 melt him with pathos equal to the genius of your 
 book? No, no. Whenever I want to be more than 
 ordinary in song — to be in some degree equal to 
 your divine airs — do you imagine I fast and pray 
 for the celestial emanation ? Tout au contraire. I 
 have a glorious recipe, the very one that for his 
 own use was invented by the divinity of healing 
 and poetry, when erst he piped to the flocks of 
 Admetus, — I put myself on a regimen of admiring 
 a fine woman."* 
 
 " I can assure you I was never more in earnest. 
 — Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel, 
 and highly venerate ; but, somehow it does not 
 make such a figure in poesy as that other species 
 of the passion, 
 
 " Where love is liberty, and nature law," 
 
 * Correspondence with Mr. Thomson, p. 174. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 261 
 
 Musically speaking, the first is an instrument, of 
 which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the 
 tones inexpressibly sweet; while the last lias pow- 
 ers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the 
 human soul. Still I am a very poet in my enthu- 
 siasm of the passion. The welfare and happiness 
 of the beloved object is the first and inviolate sen- 
 timent that pervades my soul ; and — whatever 
 pleasures I might wish for, or whatever raptures 
 they might give me — yet, if they interfere with 
 that first principle, it is having these pleasures at 
 a dishonest price ; and justice forbids, and gene- 
 rosity disdains the purchase."* — So says Burns 
 in introducing to Mr. Thomson's notice one of his 
 many songs in celebration of the Lassie wf the 
 lint-white locks. " The beauty of Chloris," says, 
 nevertheless, Allan Cunningham, " has added 
 many charms to Scottish song ; but that which 
 has increased the reputation of the poet, has les- 
 sened that of the man. Chloris was one of those 
 who believe in the dispensing power of beauty, 
 and thought that love should be under no demure 
 restraint. Burng sometimes thought in the same 
 way himself; and it is not wonderful, therefore, 
 that the poet should celebrate the charms of a li- 
 beral beauty who was willing to reward his strains 
 and who gave him many opportunities of catch- 
 ing inspiration from her presence." And in a 
 note on the ballad which terminates with the de- 
 licious stanza : 
 
 " Let others love the city, and g-audy show at summer noon, 
 Gie me the lonely valley, the dewy eve, and rising nioon. 
 Fair beaming- and streaming her silver light the boughs 
 
 amang; 
 While Iklling, recalling, the amorous thrush concludes her 
 
 sang ; 
 
 * Correspondence with Mr. Thomson, p. 191. 
 
262 LIFE OF 
 
 There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove, by wimpling" burn 
 
 and leafy shaw. 
 And hear my vows o' truth and love, and say thou lo'es me 
 
 best of a' 1" 
 
 The same commentator adds — " Such is the glow- 
 ing picture which the poet gives of youth, and 
 health, and voluptuous beauty ; but let no lady 
 envy the poetical elevation of poor Chloris ; her 
 situation in poetry is splendid — her situation in 
 life merits our pity — perhaps our charity." 
 
 Of all Burns' love songs, the best, in his own 
 opinion, was that which begins, 
 
 " Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 
 A place where body saw na'." 
 
 Mr. Cunningham cays, *' if the poet thought so, I 
 am sorry for it ;" while the Reverend Hamilton 
 Paul fully concurs in the author's own estimate of 
 the performance. "I believe, however," says 
 Cunningham, " Annaw€ the gowden locks was no 
 imaginary person. Like the dame in the old song, 
 She brewed gude ale for gentlemen ; and while she 
 served the bard with a pint of wine, allowed her 
 customer leisure to admire her, ' as hostler wives 
 should do.' " 
 
 There is in the same collection a love song, 
 which unites the suffrages, and ever will do so, 
 of all men. It has furnished Byron with a mot- 
 to, and Scott has said that that motto is " worth 
 a thousand romances." 
 
 " Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly. 
 Never met,— or never parted. 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted." 
 
 The " Nancy" of this moving strain was, ac- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 2C3 
 
 cording to Cunningham, another fair and some- 
 what frail dame of Dumfries-shire.* 
 
 I envy no one the task of inquiring minutely in 
 how far these traditions, for such unquestionably 
 they are, and faithfully conveyed by Allan Cun- 
 ningham, rest on the foundation of truth. They re- 
 fer at worst to occasional errors. " Many insinua- 
 tions," says Mr. Gray, " have been made against 
 the poet's character as a husband, but without the 
 slightest proof; and I might pass from the charge 
 with that neglect which it merits ; but I am happy 
 to say that I have in exculpation the direct evidence 
 of Mrs. Burns herself, who, among many amiable 
 and respectable qualities, ranks a veneration for 
 the memory of her departed husband, whom she 
 never names but in terms of the profoundest re- 
 spect and the deepest regret, to lament his mis- 
 fortunes, or to extol his kindnesses to herself, not 
 as the momentary overflowings of the heart in a 
 season of penitence for offences generously for- 
 given, but an habitual tenderness, which ended 
 only with his life. I place this evidence, which I 
 am proud to bring forward on her own authority, 
 against a thousand anonymous calumnies. "f 
 
 Among the effusions, not amatory, which Burns 
 contributed to Mr. Thomson's Collection, the fa- 
 mous song of Bannockburn holds the first place. 
 We have already seen in how lively a manner 
 Burns' feelings were kindled when he visited that 
 glorious field. According to tradition, the tune 
 played when Bruce led his troops to the charge, 
 was " Hey tuttie tattie ;" and it was h.imming this 
 old air as he rode by himself through Glenken in 
 
 * Cunningham's Scottish Songs, vol, iv. p. 179. 
 
 t Letter in Gilbert Burns' edition, vol. 1. app. v. p. 437. 
 
 22* 
 
264 LIFE OF 
 
 Galloway, during a terrific storm of wind and 
 rain, that the poet composed his immortal lyric in 
 its first and noblest form.* This is one more in- 
 stance of his delight in the sterner aspects of na- 
 ture. 
 
 " Come, winter, with thine angry howl. 
 And raging bend the naked tree — " 
 
 "There is hardly," says he in one of his letters, 
 "there is scarcely any earthly object gives me 
 more — I do not know if I should call it pleasure — 
 but something which exalts me, something which 
 enraptures me — than to walk in the sheltered side 
 of a wood in a cleudy winter day, and hear the 
 stormy wind howling among the trees, and raving 
 over the plain. It is my best season for devo- 
 tion ; my mind is wrapt up in a kind of enthusi- 
 asm to Him, who, in the pompous language of the 
 Hebrew Bard, ' walks on the wings of the wind.' " 
 When Burns entered a druidical circle of stones 
 on a dreary moor, he has already told us that his 
 first movement was "to say his prayers." His 
 best poetry was to the last produced amidst 
 scenes of solemn desolation. 
 
 * The last line of each stanza was subsequently lengthen- 
 ed and weakened, in order to suit the tune of Lewie Gordon, 
 which Mr. Thomson preferred to Hey tuttie tattie. I may 
 add, however, what is well known to all lovers of Burns, and 
 of Scottish music, that almost immediately after having pre- 
 vailed on the poet to make this alteration, Mr. Thomson saw 
 his error, and discarded both the change and the air which 
 it was made to suit. The original air, and the original 
 words, are now united forever. 
 
KOBEKT BURNS. 265 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
 With all a poet's, hu&band's, father's fear." 
 
 We are drawing near the close of this great 
 poet's mortal career ; and I would fain hope the 
 details of the last chapter may have prepared the 
 humane reader to contemplate it with sentiments 
 of sorrow, pure comparatively, and undebased 
 with any considerable intermixture of less genial 
 feelings. 
 
 For some years before Burns was lost to his 
 country, it is sufficiently plain that he had been, 
 on political grounds, an object of suspicion and 
 distrust to a large portion of the population that 
 had most opportunity of observing him. The mean 
 subalterns of party had, it is very easy to suppose, 
 delighted in decrying him, on pretexts, good, bad, 
 and indifferent, equally — to their superiors ; and 
 hence, who will not willingly believe it ? the tem- 
 porary and local prevalence of those extravagant- 
 ly injurious reports, the essence of which Dr. 
 Currie, no doubt, thought it his duty, as a biogra- 
 pher, to extract and circulate. 
 
 The untimely death of one who, had he lived 
 to any thing like the usual term of human exist- 
 ence, might have done so much to increase his 
 fame as a poet, and to purify and dignify his cha- 
 racter as a man, was, it is too probable, hastened 
 by his own intemperances and imprudences: but 
 it seems to be extremely improbable, that, even if 
 
26G LIFE OF 
 
 his manhood had been a course of saintlike virtue 
 in all respects, the irritable and nervous bodily 
 constitution which he inherited from his falher, 
 shaken as it was by the toils and miseries of his 
 ill-starred youth, could have sustained, to any thing 
 like the psalmist's " alloted span," the exhausting 
 excitements of an intensely poetical temperament. 
 Since the first pages of this narrative were sent to 
 the press, I have heard from an old acquaintance of 
 the bard, who often shared his bed with him at 
 Mossgiel, that even at that early period, when in- 
 temperance assuredly had had nothing to do with 
 the matter, those ominous symptoms of radical 
 disorder in the digestive system, the " palpitation 
 and suffocation" of which Gilbert speaks, were so 
 regularly his nocturnal visitants, that it was his 
 custom to have a great tub of cold water by his 
 bedside, into which he usually plunged more than 
 once in the course of the night, thereby procuring 
 instant, though but shortlived relief. On a frame 
 thus originally constructed, and thus early tried 
 with most severe afflictions, external and internal, 
 what must not have been, under any subsequent 
 course of circumstances, the effect of that exqui- 
 site sensibility of mind, but for which the world 
 would never have heard any thing either of the 
 sins, or the sorrows, or the poetry of Burns ! 
 
 "The fates and characters of the rhyming tribe," 
 thus writes the poet himself to Miss Chalmers in 
 1793, " often employ my thoughts when I am dis- 
 posed to be melancholy. There is not, among all 
 the martyrologies that ever were penned, so rueful 
 a narrative as the lives of the poets. — In the com- 
 parative view of wretches, the criterion is not what 
 they are doomed to suffer, but how they are form- 
 ed to bear. Take a being of our kind, give him a 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 267 
 
 Stronger imagination and a more delicate sensi- 
 bility, which between them will ever engender a 
 more ungovernable set of passions, than are the 
 usual lot of man ; implant in him an irresistible 
 impulse to some idle vagary, such as, arranging 
 wild flowers in fantastical nosegays, tracing the 
 grasshopper to his haunt by his chirping song, 
 watching the frisks of the little minnows in the 
 sunny pool, or hunting after the intrigues of but- 
 terflies — in short, send him adrift after some pur- 
 suit which shall eternally mislead him from the 
 paths of lucre, and yet curse him with a keener 
 relish than any man living for the pleasures that 
 lucre can purchase ; lastly, fill up the measure of 
 his woes by bestowing on him a spurning sense of 
 his own dignity, and you have created a wight 
 nearly as miserable as a poet." In these few 
 short sentences, as it appears to me. Burns has 
 traced his own character far better than any one 
 else has done it since. — But with this lot what 
 pleasures were not mingled ? — " To you, madam," 
 he proceeds, " I need not recount the fairy plea- 
 sures the muse bestows to counterbalance this 
 catalogue of evils. Bewitching poetry is like 
 bewitching woman ; she has in all ages been ac- 
 cused of misleading mankind from the counsels 
 of wisdom and the paths of prudence, involving 
 them in difficulties, baiting them with poverty, 
 branding them with infamy, and plunging them 
 in the whirling vortex of ruin ; yet, where is the 
 man but must own that all our happiness on earth 
 is not worthy the name — that even the holy her- 
 mit's solitary prospect of paradisiacal bliss is but 
 the glitter of a northern sun, rising over a frozen 
 region, compared with the many pleasures, the 
 nameless raptures, that we owe to the lovely 
 queen of the heart of man !" 
 
268 LIFE OF 
 
 "What is a poet?" asks one well qualified to 
 answer his own question. " He is a man en- 
 dowed with more Hvely sensibility, more enthu- 
 siasm and tenderness, who has a greater know- 
 ledge of human nature, and a more comprehen- 
 sive soul, than are supposed to be common 
 among mankind ; a man pleased with his own 
 passions and volitions, and who rejoices more 
 than other men in the spirit of life that is in him ; 
 delighting to contemplate similar volitions and 
 passions as manifested in the goings-on of the 
 universe, and habitually impelled to create them 
 where he does not find them. To these qualities 
 he has added a disposition to be affected, more 
 than other men, by absent things, as if they were 
 present ; an ability of conjuring up in himself 
 passions which are far indeed from being the 
 same as those produced by real events, yet (espe- 
 cially in those parts of the general sympathy which 
 are pleasing and delightful) do more nearly resem- 
 ble the passions produced by real events than any- 
 thing which, from the motions of their own minds 
 merely, other men are accustomed to feel in them- 
 selves."* So says one of the rare beings who 
 have been able to sustain and enjoy, through a 
 long term of human years, the tear and wear of 
 sensibilities thus quickened and refined beyond 
 what falls to the lot of the ordinary brothers of 
 their race — feeling more than others can dream 
 of feeling, the joys and the sorrows that come to 
 them as individuals, and filling up all those blanks 
 which iro largely interrupt the agitations of com- 
 mon bosoms — with the almost equally agitating 
 sympathies of an imagination to which repose 
 would be death. It is common to say of those 
 who over-indulge themselves in material stirau- 
 ♦ Preface to the second editicn of Wordsworth's Poems. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 269 
 
 lants, that they live fast ; what wonder that the 
 career of the poet's thick-coming fancies should, 
 in the immense majority of cases, be rapid too ? 
 
 That Burns ZiDe(Zjf<:z5^,in both senses of the phrase, 
 we have abundant evidence from himself; and that 
 the more earthly motion was somewhat accelerated 
 as it approached the close, we may believe, with- 
 out finding it at all necessary to mingle anger with 
 our sorrow. " Even in his earliest poems," as Mr. 
 Wordsworth says, in a beautiful passage of his 
 letter to Mr. Gray, " through the veil of assumed 
 habits and pretended qualities, enough of the real 
 man appears to show that he was conscious of suf- 
 ficient cause to dread his own passions, and to be- 
 wail his errors ! We have rejected as false some- 
 times in the letter, and of necessity as false in the 
 spirit, many of the testimonies that others have 
 borne against him : — but, by his own hand — in 
 words the import of which cannot be mistaken — 
 it has been recorded that the order of his life but 
 faintly corresponded with the clearness of his 
 views. It is probable that he would have proved 
 a still greater poet, if, by strength of reason, he 
 could have controlled the propensities which his 
 sensibility engendered ; but he would have been 
 a poet of a different class : and certain it is, had 
 that desirable restraint been early established, 
 many peculiar beauties which enrich his verses 
 could never have existed, and many accessary in- 
 fluences, which contribute greatly to their effect, 
 would have been wanting. For instance, the 
 momentous truth of the passage — 
 
 "One point must still be greatly dark," &c.* 
 
 * " Then g-ently scan your brother man, 
 
 Still gentlier sister woman— 
 The' they may gang- a kennin' wrang; 
 
 To step aside is human ; 
 
270 LIFE OF 
 
 could not possibly have been conveyed with such 
 pathetic force by any poet that ever lived, speak- 
 ing in his own voice ; unless it were felt that, like 
 Burns, he was a man who preached from the text 
 of his own errors ; and whose wisdom, beautiful as 
 a flower that might have risen from seed sown 
 from above, was in fact a scion from the root of 
 personal suffering. Whom did the poet intend 
 should be thought of as occupying that grave over 
 which, after modestly setting forth the moral dis- 
 cernment and warm affections of its ' poor inha- 
 bitant,' it is supposed to be inscribed that 
 
 ' ■ Tboug-htless follies laid him low, 
 
 And stain' d his name V 
 
 Who but himself, — himself anticipating the too 
 probable termination of his own course ? Here is 
 a sincere and solemn avowal — a public declara- 
 tion from his own will — a confession at once de- 
 vout, poetical, and human — a history in the shape 
 of a prophecy ! What more was required of the 
 biographer than to put his seal to the writing, 
 testifying that the forboding had been realized, 
 and that the record was authentic ?" 
 
 In how far the " thoughtless follies " of the poet 
 did actually hasten his end, it is needless to con- 
 jecture. They had their share, unquestionably, 
 along with other influences which it would be in- 
 human to characterize as mere follies — such, for 
 example, as that general depression of spirits, 
 which haunted him from his youth, and, in all 
 likelihood, sat more heavily on such a being as 
 Burns than a man of plain common sense might 
 
 One point must still be greatly dark, 
 
 The moving why they do it : 
 And just as lamely can ye markj 
 
 How far perhaps they rue it." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 271 
 
 guess, — or even a casual expression of discou- 
 raging tendency from the persons on whose good 
 will all hopes of substantial advancement in the 
 scale of worldly promotion depended, — or that 
 partial exclusion from the species of society our 
 poet had been accustomed to adorn and delight, 
 which, from however inadequate causes, certainly 
 did occur during some of the latter years of his 
 life. — All such sorrows as these must have acted 
 with twofold harmfulness upon Burns ; harassing, 
 in the first place, one of the most sensitive minds 
 that ever filled a human bosom, and, alas ! by 
 consequence, tempting to additional excesses ; — 
 impelhng one who, under other circumstances, 
 might have sought and found far other consolation, 
 to seek too often for it 
 
 " In fleeting- mirth, that o'er the bottle lives, 
 
 In the false joy its inspiration g'ives, 
 
 And in associates pleased to find a friend 
 
 With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend, 
 
 In all those scenes where transient ease is found 
 
 For minds whom sins oppress, and sorrows wound."* 
 
 The same philosophical poet tells us, that 
 
 " — Wine is like ang-er, for it makes us strong- : 
 
 Blind and impatient, and it leads us wrong- ; 
 
 The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long-." 
 
 But a short period was destined for the sorrows 
 and the errors equally of Burns. 
 
 How he struggled against the tide of his misery, 
 let the following letter speak — it was written Feb- 
 ruary 25, 1794, and addressed to Mr. Alexander 
 Cunningham, an eccentric being, but generous and 
 
 * Crabbe's Edward Shore, a talc, in which the poet has 
 obviously had Burns in hjg view. 
 23 
 
272 LIFE OF 
 
 faithful in his friendship to Burns, and, when 
 Burns was no more, to his family. 
 
 "Canst thou minister," says the poet, "to a 
 mind diseased? Canst thou speak peace and 
 rest to a soul tossed on a sea of troubles, without 
 one friendly star to guide her course, and dreading 
 that the next surge may overwhelm her ? Canst 
 thou give to a frame, tremblingly alive to the tor- 
 tures of suspense, the stability and hardihood of 
 the rock that braves the blast ? If thou canst not 
 do the least of these, why wouldst thou disturb me 
 in my miseries, with thy inquiries after me ? 
 
 " For these two months I have not been able to 
 lift a pen. My constitution and frame were, ab 
 origine, blasted with a deep incurable taint of hy- 
 pochondria, which poisons my existence. Of late 
 a number of domestic vexations, and some pecuni- 
 ary share in the ruin of these ***** times — losses 
 which, though trifling, were yet what I could ill 
 bear, have so irritated me, that my feelings at 
 times could only be envied by a reprobate spirit 
 listening to the sentence that dooms it to perdition. 
 
 " Are you deep in the language of consolation ? 
 I have exhausted in reflection every topic of com- 
 fort. A heart at ease would have Ijeen charmed 
 with my sentiments and reasonings ; but as to my- 
 self, I was like Judas Iscariot preaching the gos- 
 pel ; he might melt and mould the hearts of those 
 around him, but his own kept its native incorrigi- 
 bility. — Still there are two great pillars that bear 
 us up, amid the wreck of misfortune and misery. 
 The ONE is composed of the different modifications 
 of a certain noble, stubborn something in man, 
 known by the names of courage, fortitude, magna- 
 nimity. The OTHER is made up of those feelings 
 and sentiments, which, however the sceptic may 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 273 
 
 d^ny, 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 connect us with, 
 and link us to, those awful obscure realities — an 
 all powerful and equally beneficent God — and 
 a world to come, beyond death and the grave. 
 The first gives the nerve of combat, while a ray 
 of hope beams on the field ;— rthe last pours the 
 balm of comfort into the wounds which time can 
 never cure. 
 
 "I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that 
 you and I ever talked on the subject of religion at 
 all. I know some who laugh at it, as the trick of 
 the crafty few, to lead the undiscerning many ; 
 or at most as an uncertain obscurity, which man- 
 kind can never know any thing of, and with which 
 they are fools if they give themselves much to do. 
 Nor would I quarrel with a man for his irreligion, 
 any more than I would for his want of a musical 
 ear. I would regret that he was shut out from 
 what, to me and to others, were such superlative 
 sources of enjoyment. It is in this point of view, 
 and for this reason, that I will deeply imbue the 
 mind of every child of mine with religion. If my 
 son should happen to be a man of feeling, senti- 
 ment, and taste, I shall thus add largely to his en- 
 joyments. Let me flatter myself that this sweet 
 little fellow who is just now running about my 
 desk, will be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing 
 heart; and an imagination,delightedwith the paint- 
 er, and rapt with the poet. Let me figure him, 
 wandering out in a sweet evening, to inhale the 
 balmy gales, and enjoy the growing luxuriance of 
 the spring'; himself the while in the bloomingyouth 
 of life. He looks abroad on all nature, and through 
 
274 LIFE OF 
 
 nature up to nature's God. His soul, by swift, 
 delighted degrees, is rapt above this sublunary 
 sphere, until he can be silent no longer, and bursts 
 out into the glorious enthusiasm of Thomson, 
 
 ' These, as they^ change, Almighty Father, these 
 Are but the varied God. — The rolling- year 
 Is full of thee ;' 
 
 and so on, in all the spirit and ardor of that 
 charming hymn. — These are no ideal pleasures ; 
 they are real delights ; and I ask what of th^ de- 
 lights among the sons of men are superior, not to 
 say, equal to them ? And they have this precious, 
 vast addition, that conscious virtue stamps them for 
 her own ; and lays hold on them to bring herself 
 into the presence of a witnessing, judging, and 
 approving God." 
 
 They who have been told that Burns was ever 
 a degraded being — whohave permitted themselves 
 to believe that his only consolations w ere those of 
 " the opiate guilt applies to grief," will do well to 
 pause over this noble letter and judge for them- , 
 selves. The enemy under which he was des- 
 tined to sink, had already beaten in the outworks 
 of his constitution when these lines were penned. 
 
 The reader has already had occasion to observe, 
 that Burns had in those closing years of his life to 
 struggle almost continually with pecuniary diffi- 
 culties, than which nothing could have been more 
 likely to pour bitterness intolerable into the cup 
 of his existence. His lively imagination exagge- 
 rated to itself every real evil ; and this among, and 
 perhaps above, all the rest; at least, in many of his 
 letters we find him alluding to the probabihty of 
 his being arrested for debts, which we'now know 
 to have been of very trivial amount at the worst. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 275 
 
 which we also know he himself lived to discharge 
 to the utmost farthing, and in regard to which it is 
 impossible to doubt that his personal friends in 
 Dumfries would have at all times been ready to 
 prevent the law taking its ultimate course. This 
 last consideration, however, was one which would 
 have given slender relief to Burns. How he shrunk 
 with horror and loathing from the sense of pecu- 
 niary obligation, no matter to whom, we have had 
 abundant indications already.* 
 
 The question naturally arises : Burns was all 
 this while pouring* out his beautful songs for the 
 Museum of Johnsonandthe greater work of Thom- 
 son ; how did he happen to derive no pecuniary 
 advantages from this continual exertion of his ge- 
 nius in a form of composition so eminently calcu- 
 lated for popularity 1 Nor, indeed, is it an easy 
 matter to answer this very obvious question. The 
 poet himself, in a letter to Mr. Carfrae, dated 1789, 
 speaks thus : " The profits of the labors of a man 
 of genius are, I hope, as honorable as any profits 
 whatever ; and Mr. Mylne's relations are most 
 justly entitled to that honest harvest which fate 
 
 ♦ The following' extract from one of his letters to Mr. Mac- 
 niurdo, dated December, 1793, will speak for itself: 
 
 " Sir, it is said tliat we take the greatest liberties with 
 our greatest friends, and 1 pay myself a very liig"h compli- 
 ment in the manner in which I am g"oing- to apply the re- 
 mark. I have owed you money long-er than ever I owed it 
 to any man. — Here is Ker's account, and here are six gui- 
 neas; and now, I don't owe a shilling- to man, or woman 
 either. But for these damned dirty, dog's-eared little pages, 
 (Scotch bank-notes,) I had done myself the honor to have 
 waited on you long ago. Independent of the obligations 
 your hospitality has laid me under, the consciousness of 
 your superiority in the rank of man and gentleman of itself 
 was fully as much as I could ever make head against ; but 
 to owe you money too, was more than I could face." 
 
 *23 
 
176 LIFE Of 
 
 has denied himself to reap." And yet, so far from 
 looking to Mr. Johnson for any pecuniary remu- 
 neration for the very laborious part he took in his 
 work, it appears from a passage in Cromek's Re- 
 liques, that the poet asked a single copy of the Mu- 
 seum to give to a fair friend, by way of a great fa- 
 vor to himself — and that that copy and his own 
 were really all he ever received at the hands of the 
 publisher. Of the secret history of Johnson and 
 his book I know nothing ; but the Correspondence 
 of Burns with Mr. Thomson contains curious 
 enouo;h details concerninw his connection with that 
 gentleman's more important undertaking. At the 
 outset, September, 1792, we find Mr. Thomson 
 saying, " We will esteem your poetical assistance 
 a particular favor, besides paying any reasonable 
 price you shall please to demand for it. Profit is 
 quite a secondary consideration with us, and we 
 are resolved to save neither pains nor expense on 
 the publication." To which Burns replies immedi- 
 ately, "As to any remuneration, you may think 
 my songs either above or below price ; for they 
 shall absolutely be the one or the other. In the ho- 
 nest enthusiasm with which I embark in your un- 
 dertaking, to talk of money, wages, fee, hire, &;c., 
 would be downright prostitution of soul. A proof of 
 each of the songs that I compose or amend I shall 
 receive as a favor. In the rustic phrase of the 
 season, Gnde speed the warJc.^' The next time we 
 meet with any hint as to money matters in the Cor- 
 respondence is in a letter of Mr. Thomson, 1st 
 July, 1793, where he says, " I cannot express how 
 much I am obliged to you for the exquisite new 
 songs you are sending me ; but thanks, my friend, 
 are a poor return for what you have done : as I 
 shall be benefited by the pubUcation, you must 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 277 
 
 Bufter me to inclose a small mark of my gratitude, 
 and to repeat it afterward when I find it conve- 
 nient. Do not return it, for, by Heaven, if you 
 do, our correspondence is at an end." To which 
 letter (it inclosed j£5) Burns thus replies : — 
 " I assure you, my dear sir, that you truly hurt me 
 with your pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in 
 my own eyes. However, to return it would sa- 
 vor of affectation ; but as to any m.ore traffic of 
 that debtor and creditor kind, I swear by that ho- 
 nor which crowns the upright statue of Robert 
 Burns' integrity — on the least motion of it, I will 
 indignantly spurn the by-past transaction, and from 
 that moment commence entire stranger to you. 
 Burns' character for generosity of sentiment and 
 independence of mind will, 1 trust, long outlive 
 any of his wants which the cold unfeeling ore can 
 supply : at least, I will take care that such a cha- 
 racter he shall deserve.'' — In November, 1794, 
 we find Mr. Thomson writing to Burns, " Do not, I 
 beseech you, return any books." — In May, 1795, 
 " You really make me blush when you tell me 
 you have not merited the drawing from me ;" 
 (this was a drawing of the Coliar^s Saturday 
 Night, by Allan) ; " I do not think I can ever 
 repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you, 
 for the liberal and kind manner in which you have 
 entered into^the spirit of my undertaking, which 
 could not have been perfected without you. So I 
 beg you would not make a fool of me again by 
 speaking of obligation." On February, 1796, we 
 have Burns acknowledging a " handsome elegant 
 
 present to Mrs. B ," which was a worsted 
 
 shawl. Lastly, on the 12th July of the same year, 
 (that is, little more than a week before Burns died,) 
 he writes to Mr. Thomsou in these terms : " Af- 
 
378 LIPE OF 
 
 ter all my boasted independence, cursed necessity 
 compels me to implore you for five pounds. A 
 
 cruel of a haberdasher, to whom I owe an 
 
 account, taking it into his head that I am dying, 
 has commenced a process, and will infallibly put 
 me into jail. Do, for God's sake, send me that 
 sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me this 
 earnestness ; but the horrors of a jail have put me 
 half distracted. — I do not ask this gratuitously ; 
 for, upon returning health, I hereby promise and 
 engage to furnish you with five pounds worth of 
 the neatest song genius you have seen." To which 
 Mr. Thomson replies — " Ever since I received 
 your melancholy letter by Mrs. Hyslop, I have 
 been ruminating in what manner I could endea- 
 vor to alleviate your sufferings. Again and again 
 1 thought of a pecuniary offer ; but the recollec- 
 tion of one of your letters on this subject, and the 
 fear of offending your independent spirit, checked 
 my resolution. I thank you heartily, therefore, for 
 the frankness of your letter of the 12th, and with 
 great pleasure inclose a draft for the very sum I 
 proposed sending. Would I were Chancellor of 
 
 the Exchequer but one day for your sake ! 
 
 Pray, my good sir, is it not possible for you to 
 
 musier a volume of poetry ? Do not 
 
 shun this method of obtaining the value of your 
 labor; remember Pope pubhshed the Iliad by 
 subscription. Think of this, my dear Burns, and 
 do not think me intrusive with my advice." 
 
 Such are the details of this matter, as recorded 
 in the correspondence of the two individuals con- 
 cerned. Some time after Burns' death, Mr. Thom- 
 son was attacked on account of his behavior to 
 the poet, in an anonymous novel, which I have 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 279 
 
 never seen, called Nuhilia ; in Professor Walker's 
 Memoirs, which appeared in 1816, Mr. Thomson 
 took the opportunity of defending himself:* and 
 
 * "I -have been attacked with much bitterness, and ac- 
 cused of not endeavoring to remunerate Burns for the songs 
 which he wrote for my collection ; although there is the 
 clearest evidence of the contrary, both in the printed cor- 
 respondence between the poet and me, and in the public 
 testimony of Dr. Currie. My assailant, too, without know- 
 ing any thing of the matter, states, that I had enriched my- 
 self by the labors of Burns ; and of course, that my want 
 of generosity was inexcusable. 
 
 ""Now, the fact is, that notwithstanding the united la- 
 bors of all the men of genius who have enriched my col- 
 lection, I am not even yet compensated for the precious 
 time consumed by me iu poring over musty volumes, and 
 in corresponding with every amateur and poet by whose 
 means I expected to make any valuable additions to our 
 national music and song ;— lor ;hc exertion and money it 
 cost me to obtain accompaniments from the greatest masters 
 of Harmony in Vienna ;— and for the sums paid to engra- 
 vers, printers, and others. On this subject, the testimony 
 of Mr, Preston in London, a man of unquestionable and 
 well-known character, who has printed the music for every 
 copy of my work, may be more satisfactory than anything 
 I can say. In August 1809, he wrote me as follows : ' I am 
 concerned at the very unwarrantable attack which has 
 been made upon you by the author of Nuhilia: nothing 
 could be more unjust than to say you had enriched your- 
 self by Burns' labors ; for the whole concern, though it 
 includes the labors of Haydn, has scarcely afforded a 
 compensation for the various expenses, and for the time 
 employed on the work. When a work obtains any cele- 
 brity, publishers are generally supposed to derive a profit 
 ton times beyond the reality ; the sale is greatly magnified, 
 and the expenses are not in the least taken into considera- 
 tion. It is truly vexatious to be so grossly and scandalously 
 abused for conduct, the very reverse of which has been 
 manifest through the whole transaction.' 
 
 '= Were I the sordid man that the anonymous author 
 calls mc, I had a most inviting opportunity to profit much 
 more than I did by the lyrics of our great bard. He had 
 written above fifty songs expressly for my work ; they were 
 in my possession unpublished at his death ; I had the i iglit 
 
280 LIFE OF 
 
 Professor Walker, who enjoyed the personal friend- 
 ship of Burns, and who also appears to have had 
 the honor of Mr. Thomson's intimate acquaintance, 
 has delivered an opinion on the whole merits of the 
 case, which must necessarily be far more satisfac 
 tory to the reader than any thing which I could pre- 
 sume to offer in its room. "Burns," saysthis writer, 
 " had all the unmanageable pride of Samuel John- 
 son ; and if the latter threw away, with indigna- 
 tion, the new shoes which had been placed at his 
 chamber-door secretly and collectively by his com- 
 panions, — the former would have been still more 
 ready to resent any pecuniary donation with which 
 a single individual, after his peremptory prohibi- 
 tion, should avowedly have dared to insult him. 
 
 and the power of retaining" them till I should be ready to 
 publish them ; but when 1 was informed that an edition of 
 the poet's works was projected for the benefit of his family, 
 I put them in immediate possession of the whole of his 
 song's, as well as letters, and thus enabled Dr. Currie to com- 
 
 glete the four volumes which were sold for the family's be- 
 oof to Messrs. Cadell and Davies. And I have the satis- 
 faction of knowing-, that the most zealous friends of the fa- 
 mily, Mr. (./unningham, Mr. Syme, and Dr. Currie, and 
 the poet's own brother, considered my sacrifice of the prior 
 rig-ht of publishing- the song-s, as no ung-rateful return for 
 the disinterested and liberal conduct of the poet. Accord- 
 ing-ly, Mr. Gilbert Burns, in a letter to me, which alone 
 might suffice for an answer to all the novelist's abuse, thus 
 expresses himself: 'If ever I come to Edinburgh, I will cer- 
 tainly call on a person whose handsome conduct to my bro- 
 ther's family has secured my esteem, and confirmed me in 
 the opinion, that musical taste and talents have a close con- 
 nection with the harmony of the moral feelings.' Nothing 
 is farther from my thoughts than to claim any merit for 
 what I did. I never would have said a word on the subject, 
 but for the harsh and groundless accusation which has been 
 brought forward, either by ignorance or animosity, and 
 which I have long suffered to remain unnoticed, from my 
 great dislike to any public appearance." 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 281 
 
 He would instantly have construed such conduct 
 into a virtual assertion that his prohibition was in- 
 sincere, and his independence affected ; and the 
 more artfully the transaction had been disguised, 
 the more rage it would have excited, as implying 
 the same assertion, with the additional charge, that 
 
 if secretly made it would not be denied 
 
 The statement of Mr. Thomson supersedes the 
 necessity of any additional remarks. When the 
 public is satisfied ; when the relations of Burns are 
 grateful ; and, above all, when the delicate mind 
 of Mr. Thomson is at peace with itself in contem- 
 plating his conduct, there can be no necessity for 
 a nameless novelist to contradict them."* 
 
 So far, Mr. Walker : — why Burns, who was of 
 opinion, when he wrote his letter to Mr. Carfrae, 
 that " no profits are more honorable than those 
 of the labors of a man of genius," and whose own 
 notions of independence had sustained no shock 
 in the receipt of hundreds of pounds from Creech, 
 should have spurned the suggestion of pecuniary 
 recompense from Mr. Thomson, it is no easy mat- 
 ter to explain : nor do I profess to understand why 
 Mr.Thomson took so little pains to argue the mat- 
 ter in limine with the poet, and convince him, that 
 the time which he himself considered as fairly en- 
 titled to be paid for by a common bookseller, 
 ought of right to be valued and acknowledged on 
 similar terms by the editor and proprietor of a 
 book containing both songs and music. 
 
 They order these things differently now : a 
 living lyric poet whom none will place in a higher 
 rank than Burns, has long, it is understood, been 
 in the habit of receiving about as much money an- 
 
 ♦ Life prefixed to Morrison's Burns, pp. cviii. cxii. 
 
282 LIFE OF 
 
 nually for an annual handful of songs, as was ever 
 paid to our bard for the whole body of his writings. 
 
 Of the increasing irritability of our poet's tem- 
 perament, amidst those troubles, external and in- 
 ternal, that preceded his last illness, his letters 
 furnish proofs, to dwell on which could only in- 
 flict unnecessary pain. Let one example suffice : 
 "Sunday clos6s a period of our curst revenue bu- 
 siness, and may probably keep me employed with 
 my pen until noon. Fine employment for a poet's 
 
 pen ! Here I sit, altogether Novemberish, ad 
 
 melange of fretfulness and melancholy; not enough 
 of the one to rouse me to passion, nor of the other 
 to repose me in torpor; my soul flouncing and 
 fluttering round her tenement, like a wild finch, 
 caught amid the horrors of winter, and newly thrust 
 into a cage. Well, I am persuaded that it was of 
 me the Hebrew sage prophesied, when he foretold 
 — * And behold, on whatsoever this man doth set 
 his heart, it shall not prosper !' Pray that wisdom 
 and bliss be more frequent visitors of R. B." 
 
 Towards the close of 1795 Burns was, as has 
 been previously mentioned, employed as an acting 
 supervisor of excise. This was apparently a step 
 to a permanent situation of that higher and more 
 lucrative class ; and from thence, there was every 
 reason to believe, the kind patronage of Mr. Gra- 
 ham might elevate him yet farther. These hopes, 
 however, were mingled and darkened with sorrow. 
 For four months of that year his youngest child lin- 
 gered through an illness of which every week pro- 
 mised to be the last ; and she was finally cut off 
 when the poet, who had watched her with anxious 
 tenderness, was from home on professional busi- 
 ness. This was a severe blow, and his own nerves^ 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 283 
 
 though as yet he had not taken any serious alarm 
 about his ailments, were ill fitted to withstand it. 
 
 " There had need," he writes to Mrs. Dunlop, 
 15th December, " there had much need be many 
 pleasures annexed to the states of husband and fa- 
 ther, for God knows, they have many peculiar cares. 
 I cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless 
 hours these ties frequently give me. I see a train 
 of helpless little folks ; me and my exertions all their 
 stay ; and on what a brittle thread does the life of 
 man hang ! If I am nipt off at the command of fate, 
 even in all the vigor of manhood £is I am, such 
 things happen every day — gracious God ! what 
 would become of my little flock ! 'Tis here that I 
 envy your people of fortune. — A father on his 
 death-bed, taking an everlasting leave of his chil- 
 dren, has indeed wo enough ; but the man of 
 competent fortune leaves his sons and daughters 
 independency and friends ; while I — but I shall 
 run distracted if I thinkany longer on the subject." 
 
 To the same lady, on the 29th of the month, he, 
 after mentioning his supervisorship, and saying 
 that at last his political sins seemed to be forgiven 
 him — goes on in this ominous tone — "What a tran- 
 sient business is life ! Very lately I was a boy ; 
 but t'other day a young man ; and I already begin 
 to feel the rigid fibre and stiffening jointsof old age 
 coming fast over my frame." We may trace the 
 melancholy sequel in these extracts. 
 
 ^^ SI St January, 1796. — I have lately drunk deep 
 of the cup of affliction. The autumn robbed me 
 of my only daughter and darling child, and that 
 at a distance too, and so rapidly, as to put it 
 out of my power to pay the last duties to her. 
 I had scarcely begun to recover from that shock, 
 when I became myself the victim of a most severe 
 24 
 
284 LIFE OF 
 
 rheumatic fever, and long the die spun doubtful ; 
 until, after many weeks of a sick-bed, it seems to 
 have turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl 
 across my room, and once indeed have been be- 
 fore my own door in the street. 
 
 " When pleasure fascinates the mental sig-ht, 
 
 Affliction purifies the visual ray, 
 Reiig-ion hails the drear the untried nig"ht, 
 
 That shuts, for ever shuts ! life's doubtful day." 
 
 But a few days after this, Burns was so exceed- 
 ingly imprudent as to join a festive circle at a ta- 
 vern dinner, Where he remained till about three in 
 the morning. The weather was severe, and he, 
 being much intoxicated, took no precaution in thus 
 exposing his debilitated frame to its influence. It 
 has been said, that he fell asleep upon the snow 
 on his way home. It is certain, that next morning 
 he was sensible of an icy numbness through all 
 his joints — that his rheumatism returned with ten- 
 fold force upon him — and that from that unhappy 
 hour, his mind brooded ominously on the fatal 
 issue. The course of medicine to which he sub- 
 mitted was violent ; confinement, accustomed as 
 he had been to much bodily exercise, preyed mi- 
 serably on ail his powers ; he drooped visibly, 
 and all the hopes of his friends that health would 
 return with summer, were destined to disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 ''4^7i June, 1796.* — I am in such miserable 
 health as to be utterly incapable of showing my 
 loyalty in any way. Rakt as I am with rheuma- 
 tisms, I meet every face with a greeting like that 
 of Balak and Balaam, — ' Come curse me Jacob ; 
 and come defy me Israel.' " 
 
 * The lirth-day of Gcorg-c III. 
 
ROBERT BUR:.S. 
 
 285 
 
 " Ith July. — I fear the voice of the Bard will 
 soon be heard among you no more. — For these 
 eight or ten months I have been ailing sometimes 
 bed-fast and sometimes not ; but these last three 
 months I have been tortured with an excruciating 
 rheumatism which has reduced me to nearly the 
 last stage. You actually would not know me if 
 you saw me — pale, emaciated, and so feeble, as 
 occasionally to need help from my chair. — My 
 spirits fled! fled! ButI can no more on the subject.'' 
 
 This last letter was addressed to Mr. Cunning- 
 ham of Edinburgh, from the small village of 
 Brow on the Soiway Frith, about ten miles from 
 Dumfries, to which the poet removed about the 
 end of June ; " the medical folks," as he says, 
 " having told him that his last and only chance 
 was bathing, country quarters, and riding." In se- 
 parating himself by their advice from his family for 
 these purposes, he carried with him a heavy bur- 
 den of care. "The deuce of the matter," he writes, 
 " is this ; when an exciseman is ofl* duty, his sa- 
 lary is reduced. What way, in the name of thrift, 
 shall I maintain myself and keep a horse in coun- 
 try quarters on £35 ?" lie implored his friends 
 in Edinburgh, to make interest with the board to 
 grant him his full salary ; " if they do not, I must 
 lay my account with an exit truly en 'poete — if I 
 die not of disease, I must perish with hunger." 
 The application was, I believe, successful ; but 
 Burns lived not to profit by the indulgence, or the 
 justice, of his superiors. 
 
 Mrs. Riddellof Glcnriddel, abeautifal and very 
 accomplished woman, to whom many of Burns' 
 most interesting letters, in the latter years of his 
 life, were addressed, happened to be in the neigh- 
 borhood of Brow when Burns reached his bathing 
 
286 LIFE OF 
 
 quarters, and exerted herself to make him as com- 
 fortable as circumstances permitted. Having sent 
 her carriage for his conveyance, the poet visited 
 her on the 5th July ; and she has, in a letter pub- 
 lished by Dr. Currie, thus described his appear- 
 ance and conversation on that occasion ; 
 
 " I was struck with his appearance on entering 
 the room. The stamp of death was impressed on 
 his features. He seemed already touchingthe brink 
 of eternity. His first salutation was, ' Well, ma- 
 dam, have you any commands for the other world?' 
 I replied that it seemed a doubtful case which of 
 us should be there soonest, and that I hoped he 
 would yet live to write my epitaph. (I was then 
 in a poor state of health.) He looked in my face 
 with an air of great kindness, and expressed his 
 concern at seeing me look so ill, with his accus- 
 tomed sensibility. At table he ate little or nothing, 
 and he complained of having entirely lost the tone 
 of his stomach. We had a long and serious conver- 
 sation about his present situation, and the approach- 
 ing termination of all his earthly prospects. He 
 spoke of his death without any of the ostentation 
 of philosophy, but with firmness as well as feel- 
 ing — as an event likely to happen very soon, and 
 which gave him concern chiefly from leaving his 
 four children so young and unprotected, and his 
 wife in so interesting a situation — in hourly expec- 
 tation of lying-in of a fifth. He mentioned, with 
 seeming pride and satisfaction, the promising ge- 
 nius of his eldest son, and the flattering marks of 
 approbation he had received from his teachers, and 
 dwelt particularly on his hopes of that boy's future 
 conduct and merit. His anxiety for his family 
 seemed to hang heavy upon him, and the more 
 perhaps from the reflection that he had not done 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 287 
 
 them all the justice he was so well (lualified to do. 
 Passing from this subjectjhe showed great concern 
 about the care of his literary fame, and particularly 
 the publication of his posthumous works. He said 
 he was well aware that his death would occasion 
 some noise, and that every scrap of his writing 
 would be revived against him 1o the injury of his 
 future reputation ; that letters and verses written 
 with unguarded and improper freedom, and which 
 he earnestly wished to have buried in oblivion, 
 would be handed about by idle vanity or malevo- 
 lence, when no dread of his resentment would re- 
 strain them, or prevent the censures of shrill- 
 tongued malice, or the insidious sarcasms of envy, 
 from pouring forth all their venom to blast his fame. 
 He lamented that he had written many epigrams 
 on persons against whom he entertained no enmity, 
 and whose characters he should be sorry to wound; 
 and many indilTerent poetical pieces, which he 
 feared would now, with all their imperfections on 
 their head, be thrust upon the world. On this ac- 
 count he deeply regretted having deferred to put 
 his papers into a state of arrangement, as he was 
 now quite incapable of the exertion. — The conver- 
 sation was kept up with great evenness and anima- 
 tion on his side. I have seldom seen his mind 
 greater or more collected. There was frequently 
 a considerable degree of vivacity in his sallies, 
 and they would probably have had a greater 
 share, had not the concern and dejection I could 
 not disguise, damped the spirit of pleasantry he 
 seemed not unwilling to indulge. — We parted 
 about sun-set on the evening of that day (the 5th 
 of July, 1796) ; the next day I saw him again, 
 and we parted to meet no more !" 
 21* 
 
288 LIFE OF 
 
 I do not know the exact date of the following : 
 
 To Mrs. Burns. — "Brow, Thursday. — My dear- 
 est Love, I delayed writing until I could tell you 
 what effect sea-bathing was likely to produce. It 
 would be injustice to deny that it has eased my 
 pains, and I think has strengthened me ; but my 
 appetite is still extremely bad. No flesh nor fish 
 can I swallow : porridge and milk are the only 
 things I can taste. I am very happy to hear, by 
 Miss Jess Lewars, that you are all well. My very 
 best and kindest compliments to her and to all the 
 children. I will see you on Sunday. Your affec- 
 tionate husband, R. B." 
 
 There is a very affecting letter to Gilbert, dated 
 the 7th, in which the poet says, "I am dangerously 
 ill, and not likely to get better. — God keep my 
 wife and children." On the 12th, he wrote the 
 letter to Mr. George Thomson, above quoted, re- 
 questing £5 ; and, on the same day, he penned 
 also the following — the last letter that he ever 
 wrote — to his friend Mrs. Dunlop : 
 
 " Madam, I have written you so often, without 
 receiving any answer, that I would not trouble yoa 
 again, but for the circumstances in which I am. 
 An illness which has long hung about me, in all 
 probability will speedily send me beyond that 
 bourne whence no traveler returns. Your friend- 
 ship, with which for many years you honored me, 
 was a friendship dearest to my soul. Your conver- 
 sation, and especially your correspondence, were 
 at once highly entertaining and instructive. With 
 what pleasure did I use to break up the seal ! The 
 remembrance yet adds one pulse more to my poor 
 palpitating heart. Farewell ! ! ! " 
 
 I give the following anecdote in the words of Mr. 
 
ROBERT BURXS. 289 
 
 M'Diarmid :* " Rousseau, we all know, when 
 dying, wished to be carried into the open air, that 
 he might obtain a parting look of the glorious orb 
 of day. A night or two before Burns left Brow, 
 he drank tea with Mrs. Craig, widow of the mi- 
 nister of Ruthvvell. His altered appearance ex- 
 cited much silent sympathy ; and the evening 
 being beautiful, and the sun shining brightly 
 through the casement. Miss Craig (now Mrs. Hen- 
 ry Duncan), was afraid the light might be too 
 much for him, and rose with the view of letting 
 down the window blinds. Burns immediately 
 guessed what she meant; and, regarding the young 
 lady with a look of great benignity, said, 'Thank 
 you, my dear, for your kind attention ; but oh, let 
 him shine ; he will not shine long for me.' " 
 
 On the 18th, despairing of any benefit from the 
 sea, our poet came back to Dumfries. Mr. Allan 
 Cunningham, who saw him arrive " visibly 
 changed in his looks, being with difficulty able to 
 stand upright, and reach his own door," has given 
 a striking picture in one of his essays, of the state 
 of popular feeling in the town during the short 
 space which intervened between his return and 
 his death. — " Dumfries was like a besieged place. 
 It was known he was dying, and the anxiety, not 
 of the rich and the learned only, but of the me- 
 chanics and peasants, exceeded all belief. Where- 
 ver two or three people stood together, their talk 
 was of Burns, and of him alone. They spoke of 
 his history — of his person — of his works — of his 
 family — of his fame — and of his untimely and ap- 
 
 * I take the opportunity of once more acknowledg-ing my 
 great obligations to this gentlenjan, who is, I understzind, 
 connected by his marriage with^ the family of the poet. 
 
290 LIFE OF 
 
 proaching fate, with a warmth and an enthusiasm 
 which will ever endear Dumfries to my remem- 
 brance. All that he said or was saying — the opi- 
 nions of the physicians, (and Maxwell was a kind 
 and a skillful one,) were eagerly caught up and re- 
 ported from street to street, and from house to 
 house." 
 
 " His good humor," Cunningham adds, " was 
 unruffled, and his wit never forsook him. He 
 looked at one of his fellow- volunteers with a smile, 
 as he stood by the bed-side with his eyes wet, and 
 said, 'John, don't let the awkward squad fire over 
 me.' He repressed with a smile the hopes of his 
 friends, and told them he had lived long enough. 
 As his life drew near a close, the eager yet deco- 
 rous solicitude of his fellow-townsmen increased. 
 It is the practice of the young men of Dumfries to 
 meet in the streets during the hours of remission 
 from labor, and by these means I had an opportu- 
 nity of witnessing the general solicitude of all 
 ranks and of all ages. His differences with them 
 on some important points were forgotten and for- 
 given; they thought only of his genius — of the de- 
 light his compositions had diffused — and they talk- 
 ed of him with the same awe as of some departing 
 spirit, whose voice was togladdenthem no more."* 
 
 " A tremor now pervaded his frame," says Dr. 
 Currie, on the authority of the physician who at- 
 tended him ; " his tongue was parched ; and his 
 mind sunk into delirium, when not roused by con- 
 versation. On the second and third day the fever 
 increased, and his strength diminished." On the 
 fourth, July 21st, 1796, Robert Bi<l"ns died. 
 
 " I went to see him laid out for the grave," 
 says Mr. Allan Cunningham ; "several elder pec- 
 
 ♦ In the London Mag-azine, 1824. Article, "Robert Burns 
 and Lord Byron." 
 
EGBERT BURNS. 291 
 
 pie were with me. He lay in a plain unadorned 
 coffin, with a linen sheet drawn over his face ; 
 and on the bed, and around the body, herbs and 
 flowers were thickly strewn, according to the 
 usage of the country. He was wasted somewhat 
 by long illness ; but death had not increased the 
 swarthy hue of his face, which was uncommonly 
 dark and deeply marked — his broad and open 
 brow was pale and serene, and around it his sable 
 hair lay in masses, slightly touched with gray. 
 The room where he lay was plain and neat, and 
 the simplicity of the poet's humble dwelling press- 
 ed the presence of death more closely on the heart 
 than if his bier had been embellished by vanity, 
 and covered with the blazonry of high ancestry 
 and rank. We stood and gazed on him in silence 
 for the space of several minutes — we went, and 
 others succeeded us — not a whisper was heard. 
 This was several days after his death." 
 
 On the 25th of July, the remains of the poet 
 were removed to the Trades-hall, where they lay 
 in state until next morning. The volunteers of 
 Dumfries were determined to inter their illustri- 
 ous comrade (as indeed he had anticipated) with 
 military honors. The chief persons of the town 
 and neighborhood resolved to make part of the 
 procession; and not a few traveled from great dis- 
 tances to witness the solemnity. The streets were 
 lined by the Fencible Infantry of Angus-shire, and 
 the cavalry of the Cinque Ports, then quartered at 
 Dumfries, whose commander. Lord Hawkesbury, 
 (now Earl of Liverpool,) although he had always 
 declined a personal introduction to the poet,* offi- 
 ciated as one of the chief mourners. " The multi- 
 tude who accompanied Burns to the grave, went 
 
 ♦ So Mr. Syrae has informed Mr. M'Diarmkl. 
 
292 
 
 LIFE OF 
 
 Step by step," says Cunningham, " with the chief 
 mourners. They might amount to ten or twelve 
 thousand. Not a word was heard ... It was an im- 
 pressive and mournful sight to see men of all 
 ranks and persuasions and opinions mingling as 
 brothers, and stepping side by side down the 
 streets of Dumfries, with the remains of him who 
 had sung of their loves and joys and domestic en- 
 dearments, with a truth and a tenderness which 
 none perhaps have since equaled. I could, in- 
 deed, have wished the military part of the proces- 
 sion away. The scarlet and gold — the banners 
 displayed — the measured step, and the military 
 array — with the sounds of martial instruments of 
 music, had no share in increasing the solemnity 
 of the burial scene ; and had no connection with 
 the poet. I looked on it then, and I consider it 
 now, as an idle ostentation, a piece of superfluous 
 state which might have been spared, more espe- 
 cially as his neglected and traduced and insulted 
 spirit had experienced no kindness in the body 
 from those lofty people who are now proud of 
 being numbered as his coevals and countrymen. 
 
 I found myself at the brink of the poet's 
 
 grave, into which he was about to descend for- 
 ever. There was a pause among the mourners, 
 as if loath to part with his remains ; and when he 
 was at last lowered, and the first shovelful of earth 
 sounded on his coffin lid, I looked up and saw 
 tears on many cheeks where tears were not usual. 
 The volunteers justified the fears of their com- 
 rade, by three ragged and straggling volleys. The 
 earth was heaped up, the green sod laid over him, 
 and the multitude stood gazing on the grave for 
 some minutes' space, and then melted silently 
 away. The day was a fine one, the sun vv^as al- 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 293 
 
 most without a cloud, and not a drop of rain fell 
 from dawn to twilight. I notice this, not from 
 any concurrence in the common superstition, that 
 * happy is the corpse which the rain rains on,' 
 but to confute the pious fraud of a rehgious ma- 
 gazine, which made heaven express its wrath, at 
 the interment of a profane poet, in thunder, in 
 lightning, and in rain." 
 
 During the funeral solemnity, Mrs. Burns was 
 seized with the pains of labor, and gave birth to 
 a posthumous son, who quickly followed his father 
 to the grave. Mr. Cunningham describes the 
 appearance of the family, when they at last 
 emerged from their home of sorrow : — "A weep- 
 ing widow and four helpless sons ; they came in- 
 to the streets in their mournings, and public sym- 
 pathy was awakened afresh. I shall never for- 
 get the looks of his boys, and the compassion 
 which they excited. The poet's life had not been 
 without errors, and such errors, too, as a wife is 
 slow in forgiving ; but he was honored then, and 
 is honored now, by the unalienable affection of 
 his wife, and the world repays her prudence and 
 her love by its regard and esteem." 
 
 There was much talk at the time of a subscrip- 
 tion for a monument ; but Mrs. Burns beginning, 
 ere long, to suspect that the business was to end 
 in talk, covered the grave at her own expense 
 with a plain tombstone, inscribed simply with the 
 name and age of the poet. In 1813, however, a 
 public meeting was held at Dumfries, General 
 Dunlop, son to Burns' friend and patroness, being 
 in the chair ; a subscription was opened, and con- 
 tributions flowing in rapidly from all quarters, a 
 costly mausoleum was at length erected on the 
 most elevated site which the churchyard present- 
 
294 ' LIFE OF 
 
 ed. Thither the remains of the poet were so- 
 lemnly transferred* on the 5th June, 1815 ; and 
 the spot continues to be visited every year by 
 many hundreds of travelers. The structure, 
 which is perhaps more gaudy than might have 
 been wished, bears this inscription : 
 
 IN AETERNUM HONOREM 
 
 ROBERTI BURNS 
 
 rOETARUM CALEDONIAE SUI AEVI LONGE PRINCIPIS 
 
 CUJUS CARMINA EXIMIA PATRIO SERMONE SCRIPTA 
 
 ANIMI MAGIS ARDENTIS VIQUE INGENII 
 
 QUAM ARTE VEL CULTU CONSPICUA 
 
 FACETIIS JUCUNDITATE LEPORE AFFLUENTIA 
 
 OMNIBUS LITERARUM CULTORIBUS SATIS NOTA 
 
 CIVES SUI NECNON PLERIQUE OMNES 
 
 MUSARUM AMANTISSIMI MEMORIAMQUE VIRI 
 
 ARTE POETICA TAM PRAECLARI FOVENTES 
 
 HOC MAUSOLEUM 
 
 SUPER RELIQUIAS POETATE MORTALES 
 
 EXTRUENDUM CURAVERE ^ 
 
 PRIMUM HUJUS AEDIFICII LAPIDEM 
 
 GULIELMUS MILLER ARMIGER 
 
 REIPUBLICAE ARCHITECTONICAE APUD SCOTOS 
 
 IN REGIONE AUSTRALI CURIO MAXIMUS PROVINCIALIS 
 
 GEORGIO TERTIO REGNANTE 
 
 GEORGIO WALLIARUM PRINCIPE 
 
 SUMMAM IMPERII PRO PATRE TENENTE 
 
 JOSEPHO GASS ARMIGERO DU3IFRISIAE PRAEFECTO 
 
 THOMA F. HUNT LONDINENSI ARCHITECTO 
 
 POSUIT 
 
 NONIS JUNIIS ANNO LUCIS VMDCCCXV 
 
 SALUTIS HUMANAE MDCCCXV.* 
 
 Immediately after the poet's death, a subscrip- 
 tion was opened for the benefit of his family ; Mr. 
 
 * The original tombstone of Burns was sunk under the 
 pavement of the mausoleum ; and the grave vi^hich first re- 
 ceived his remains is now occupied, according- to her owu 
 dying request, by a daughter of Mrs. Dunlop. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 295 
 
 MillerofDalswinton,Dr. Maxwell, Mr. Syme, Mr. 
 Cunningham, and Mr. M'Murdo, becoming trus- 
 tees for the application of the money. Many 
 names from other parts of Scotland appeared in 
 the lists, and not a few from England, especially 
 London and Liverpool. Seven hundred pounds 
 were in this way collected ; an additional sum was 
 forwarded from India ; and the profits of Dr. Cur- 
 rie's Life and Edition of Burns were also consi- 
 derable. The result has been, that the sons of the 
 poet received an excellent education, and that Mrs. 
 Burns has continued to reside, enjoying a decent 
 independence in the house where the poet died, 
 situated in what is now, by the authority of the 
 Dumfries Magistracy, called Burns' street. 
 
 " Of the (four surviving) sons of the poet," says 
 their uncle Gilbert in 1820, "Robert, the eldest, 
 is placed as a clerk in the Stamp Office, London," 
 (Mr. Burns still remains in that establishment,) 
 Francis Wallace, the second, died in 1803 ; Wil- 
 liam Nicol, the third, went to Madras, in 1811; 
 and James Glencairn, the youngest, to Bengal in 
 1812, both as cadets in the Honorable Company's 
 service." These young gentlemen have all, it is 
 believed, conducted themselves through life in a 
 manner highly honorable to themselves, and to 
 the name which they bear. One of them, (James) 
 as soon as his circumstances permitted, settled a 
 liberal annuity on his estimable mother, which 
 she still survives to enjoy. 
 
 Gilbert Burns, the admirable brother of the 
 poet, survived till the 27th of April, 1827. He re- 
 moved from Mossgiel, shortly after the death of 
 the poet, to a farm in Dumfries-shire, carrying 
 with him his aged mother, who died under his 
 25 
 
296 LIFE OF 
 
 roof. At a later period he became factor to the 
 noble family of Blantyre, on thsir estates in East 
 Lothian. The pecuniary succors which the poet 
 afforded Gilbert Burns, and still more the interest 
 excited in his behalf by the account of his per- 
 sonal character contained in Currie's Memoir, 
 proved of high advantage to him. He trained up 
 a large family, six sons and five daughters, and 
 bestowed on all his boys what is called a classical 
 education. The untimely death of one of these, a 
 young man of very promising talents, when on the 
 eve of being admitted to holy orders, is supposed 
 to have hastened the departure of the venerable 
 parent. It should not be omitted, that, on the 
 publication of his edition of his brother's works, in 
 1819, Gilbert repaid, with interest, the sum which 
 the poet advanced to him in 1788. Through life, 
 and in death, he maintained and justified the pro- 
 mise of his virtuous youth, and seems in all re- 
 spects to have resembled his father, of whom 
 Murdoch, long after he was no more, wrote in 
 language honorable to his own heart : " O for a 
 world of men of such dispositions ! I have often 
 wished, for the good of mankind, that it were as 
 customary to honor and perpetuate the memory 
 of those who excel in moral rectitude as it is to 
 extol what are called heroic actions : then would 
 the mausoleum of the friend of my youth overtop 
 and surpass most of those we see in Westminster 
 Abbey!"* 
 
 It is pleasing to trace, in all these details, the 
 happy influence which our poet's genius has ex- 
 
 * These particulars arc taken from an article which ap- 
 peared, soon alter Mr. Burns' death, in the Dumfries 
 
 Courier. 
 
ROBERT BORNS. 297 
 
 erted over the destinies of his connections. " In 
 the fortunes of his family," says Mr. M'Diarmid,* 
 *' there are few who do not feel the liveliest inte- 
 rest ; and were a register kept of the names, and 
 mimbers, and characters, of those who from time 
 to time visit the humble but decent abode in which 
 Burns breathed his last, amid the deepest despond- 
 ency for the fate of those who were dearer to him 
 than life, and in which his widow is spending tran- 
 quilly the evening of her days in the enjoyment 
 of a competency, not derived from the bounty of 
 the public, but from the honorable exertions of her 
 own offspring — the detail, though dry, would be 
 pleasing to many, and would weaken, though it 
 could not altogether efface, one of the greatest 
 stains on the character of our country. Even as 
 it is, his name has proved a source of patronage 
 to those he left behind him, such as the high and 
 the noble cannot always command. Wherever his 
 sons wander, at home or abroad, they are regarded 
 as the scions of a noble stock, and receive the 
 cordial greetings of hundreds who never saw their 
 faces before, but who account it a happiness to 
 grasp in friendly pressure the proffered hand in 
 which circulates the blood of Burns. "f 
 
 * Article in the Dumfries Majrazine, Aug-ust, 1825. 
 
 t Mr. M'Diarmid, in the article above quoted, gives a 
 touching account of the illness and death of one of the daugh- 
 ters of Mr. James Glencairn Burns, on her voyage homewards 
 from India. At the funeral of this poor child there was 
 witnessed, says he, a most affecting scene. "Officers, pas- 
 sengers, and men, were drawn up in regular order on deck ; 
 some wore crape round the right arm, others were dressed 
 in the deepest mourning ; every head was uncovered ; and 
 as the lashing of the waves on the sides of the coffin pro- 
 claimed that the melancholy ceremony had closed, every 
 
298 LIFE OF 
 
 Sic V08 noil vohis. — The great poet himself, 
 whose name is enough to ennoble his children's 
 children, was, to the eternal disgrace of his coun- 
 try, suffered to live and die in penur}^, and, as far 
 as such a creature could be degraded by any ex- 
 ternal circumstances, in degradation. Who can 
 open the page of Burns, and remember, without a 
 blush, that the author of such verses, the human 
 being whose breast glowed with such feelings, was 
 doomed to earn mere bread for his children by 
 casting up the stock of publicans' cellars, and 
 riding over moors and mosses in quest of smug- 
 gling stills? The subscription for his Poems was, for 
 the time, large and liberal, and perhaps absolves 
 the gentry of Scotland as individuals; but that some 
 strong movement of indignation did not spread over 
 the whole kingdom, when it was known that Ro- 
 bert Burns, after being caressed and flattered by 
 the noblest and most learned of his countrymen, 
 was about to be established as a common gauger 
 among the wilds of Nithsdale — and that, after he 
 was so established, no interference from a higher 
 quarter arrested that unworthy career: — these are 
 circumstances which must continue to bear heavily 
 on the memory of that generation of Scotsmen, and 
 especially of those who then administered the 
 public patronage of Scotland. 
 
 In defense, or at least in palliation, of this na- 
 tional crime, two false arguments, the one resting 
 on facts grossly exaggerated, the other having no 
 foundation whatever, either on knowledge or on 
 
 countenance seemed saddened with grief— every eye moist- 
 ened with tears. Not a few of the sailors wept outrig-ht, na- 
 tives of Scotland, who, even when far away, had revived 
 their recollections of honie and youth, by listening' to or re- 
 peating- the poetry of Burns," 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 299 
 
 M'isdom, have been rashly set up, and arrogantly as 
 well as ignorantly maintained. To the one, namely, 
 that public patronage would have been wrongfully 
 bestowed on the poet, because the exciseman was 
 a political partisan, it is hoped the details embo- 
 died in this narrative have supplied a sufficient an- 
 swer : had the matter been as bad as the boldest 
 critics have ever ventured to insinuate. Sir Walter 
 Scott's answer would still have remained — " this 
 partisan was Burns." The other argument is a 
 still more heartless as well as absurd one ; to wit, 
 that from the moral character and habits of the 
 man, no patronage, however liberal, could have in- 
 fluenced and controlled his conduct, so as to work 
 lasting and effective improvement, and lengthen 
 his life by raising it more nearly to the elevation 
 of his genius. This is indeed a candid and a gene- 
 rous method of judging ! Are imprudence and in- 
 temperance, then, found to increase usually in 
 proportion as the worldly circumstances of men 
 are easy ? Is not the very opposite of this doctrine 
 acknowledged by almost all that have ever tried the 
 reverses of Fortune's wheel themselves — by all 
 that have contemplated, from an elevation not too 
 high for sympathy, the usual course of manners, 
 when their fellow-creatures either encounter or 
 live in constant apprehension of 
 
 " The thousand ills that rise where money fails, 
 Debts, threats, and duns, bills, bailiffs, writs, and jails?" 
 
 To such mean miseries the latter years of Burns' 
 life were exposed, not less than his early youth, 
 and after what natural buoyancy of animal spirits 
 he ever possessed, had sunk under the influence 
 of time, which, surely bringing experience, fails 
 seldom to bring care also and sorrow, to spi- 
 25* 
 
300 LIFE OP 
 
 rits more mercurial than his ; and in what bitter- 
 ness of heart he submitted to his fate, let his own 
 burning words once more tell us. " Take," says 
 he, writing to one who never ceased to be his 
 friend — " take these two guineas, and place them 
 over against that ****** account of yours, which 
 has gagged my mouth these five or six months ! 
 I can as little write good things as apologies to the 
 man I owe money to. O, the supreme curse of 
 making three guineas do the business of five ! Po- 
 verty ! thou half sister of death, thou cousin-ger- 
 man of hell ! Oppressed by thee, the man of sen- 
 timent, whose heart glows with independence, and 
 melts with sensibility, inly pines under the neglect, 
 or writhes in bitterness of soul, under the contume- 
 ly of arrogant, unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by 
 thee, the son of genius, whose ill-starred ambition 
 plants him at the tables of the fashionable and po- 
 lite, must see, in suffering silence, his remark ne- 
 glected, and his person despised, while shallow 
 greatness, in his idiot attempts at wit, shall meet 
 with countenance and applause. Nor is it only 
 the family of worth tliat have reason to complain 
 of thee ; the children of folly and vice, though, in 
 common with thee, the ofispring of evil, smart 
 equally under thy rod. The man of unfortunate 
 disposition and neglected education, is condemned 
 as a fool for his dissipation, despised and shunned 
 as a needy wretch, when his follies, as usual, bring 
 him to want ; and when his necessities drive him 
 to dishonest practices, he is abhorred as a miscre- 
 ant, and perishes by the justice of his country. 
 But far otherwise is the lot of the man of family 
 and fortune. His early follies and extravagance, 
 are spirit and fire ; his consequent wants, are the 
 embarrassments of an honest fellow; and when, to 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 301 
 
 remedy the matter, he has gained a legal commis- 
 sion to pkmder distant provinces, or massacre 
 peaceful nations, he returns, perhaps, laden with 
 the spoils of rapine and murder ; lives wicked 
 and respected, and dies a ******* and a lord. — 
 Nay, worst of all, alas for helpless woman ! the 
 needy prostitute, who has shivered at the corner 
 of the street, waiting to earn the wages of casual 
 prostitution, is left neglected and insulted, ridden 
 down by the chariot wheels of the coroneted rip, 
 hurrying on to the guilty assignation ; she, who, 
 without the same necessities to plead, riots nightly 
 in the same guilty trade. Well ! divines may 
 say of it what they please, but execration is to 
 the mind, what phlebotomy is to the body ; the 
 vital sluices of both are wonderfully relieved by 
 their respective evacuations."* 
 
 In such evacuations of indignant spleen the 
 proud heart of many an unfortunate genius, be- 
 sides this, has found or sought relief: and to 
 other more dangerous indulgences, the affliction 
 of such sensitive spirits had often, ere his time, 
 condescended. The list is a long and a painful 
 one ; and it includes some names that can claim 
 but a scanty share in the apology of Burns. Ad- 
 dison, himself, the elegant, the philosophical, the 
 religious Addison, must be numbered with these 
 offenders : Jonson, Cotton, Prior, Parnell, Otway, 
 Savage, all sinned in the same sort, and the trans- 
 gressions of them all have been leniently dealt 
 with, in comparison with those of one whose 
 genius was probably greater than any of theirs ; 
 his appetites more fervid, his temptations more 
 abundant, his repentance more severe. The 
 
 * Letter to Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh. Gene- 
 ral Correspondence, p. 32S. 
 
302 LIFE OF 
 
 beautiful genius of Collins sunk under similar 
 contaminations ; and those who have from dull- 
 ness of head, or sourness of heart, joined in the 
 too general clamor against Burns, may learn a 
 lesson of candor, of mercy, and of justice, from 
 the language in which one of the best of men, 
 and loftiest of moralists, has commented on frail- 
 ties that hurried a kindred spirit to a like untime- 
 ly grave. 
 
 " In a long continuance of poverty, and long ha- 
 bits of dissipation," says Johnson, "it cannot be 
 expected that any character should be exactly 
 uniform. — That this man, wise and virtuous as he 
 was, passed always unentangled through the 
 snares of life, it would be prejudice and temerity 
 to affirm : but it may be said that he at least pre- 
 served the source of action unpolluted, that his 
 principles were never shaken, that his distinctions 
 of right and wrong were never confounded, and 
 that his faults had nothing of malignity or design, 
 but proceeded from some unexpected pressure or 
 casual temptation. Such was the fate of Collins, 
 with whom I once delighted to converse, and 
 whom I yet remember with tenderness." 
 
 Burns was an honest man : after all his strug- 
 gles, he owed no man a shilling when he died. 
 His heart was always warm and his hand open, 
 " His charities," says Mr. Gray, "were great be- 
 yond his means ;" and I have to thank Mr. Allan 
 Cunningham for the following anecdote, for which 
 I am sure every reader will thank him too. Mr. 
 Maxwell of Teraughty, an old, austere, sarcastic 
 gentleman, who cared nothing about poetry, used 
 to say when the excise-books of the district were 
 produced at the meetings of the justices, — " Bring 
 jne Burns' journal : it always does me good to 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 303 
 
 see it, for it shows that an honest officer may 
 carry a kind heart about with him." 
 
 Of his rehgious principles, we are bound to 
 judge by what he has told us himself in his more 
 serious moments. He sometimes doubted with 
 the sorrow, what in the main, and above all, ia 
 the end, he believed with the fervor, of a poet. 
 " It occasionally haunts me," says he in one of 
 his letters, — " the dark suspicion, that immortality 
 may be only too good news to be true ;" and 
 here, as on many points besides, how much did 
 his method of thinking, (I fear I must add of act- 
 ing,) resemble that of a noble poet more recent- 
 ly lost to us. "I am no bigot to infidelity," said 
 Lord Byron, " and did not expect that because I 
 doubted the immortality of man, I should be 
 charged with denying the existence of a God. It 
 was the comparative insignificance of ourselves 
 and our world, when placed in comparison with 
 the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that 
 first led me to imagine that our pretensions to 
 immortality might be overrated." I dare not 
 pretend to quote the sequel from memory, but the 
 effect was, that Byron, like Burns, complained of 
 " the early discipline of Scotch Calvinism," and 
 the natural gloom of a melancholy heart, as hav- 
 ing between them engendered " a hypochondri- 
 acal disease,''^ which occasionally visited and de- 
 pressed him through life. In the opposite scale, 
 we are, in justice to Burns, to place many pages 
 which breathe the ardor, nay the exultation of 
 faith, and the humble sincerity of Christian hope ; 
 and as the poet himself has warned us, it well be- 
 fits us " at the balance to be mute." Let us 
 avoid, in the name of religion herself, the fatal 
 error of those who would rashly swell the cata- 
 
304 LIFE OF 
 
 logue of the enemies of religion. " A sally of 
 levity," says, once more, Dr. Johnson, " an inde- 
 cent jest, an unreasonable objection, are sufficient, 
 in the opinion of some men, to efface a name from 
 the lists of Christianity, to exclude a soul from 
 everlasting life. Such men are so watchful to 
 censure, that they have seldom much care to look 
 for favorable interpretations of ambiguities, or to 
 know how soon any step of inadvertency has been 
 expiated by sorrow and retractation, but let fly 
 their fulminations without mercy or prudence 
 against slight offenses or casual temerities, against 
 crimes never committed, or immediately repented. 
 The zealot should recollect, that he is laboring, 
 by this frequency of excommunication, against 
 his own cause, and voluntarily adding strength 
 to the enemies of truth. It must always be the 
 condition of a great part of mankind, to reject 
 and embrace tenets upon the authority of those 
 whom they think wiser than themselves, and 
 therefore the addition of every name to infidelity, 
 in some degree invalidates that argument upon 
 which the religion of multitudes is necessarily 
 founded."* In conclusion, let me adopt the sen- 
 timent of that illustrious moral poet of our own 
 time, whose generous defence of Burns will be 
 remembered while the language lasts ; — 
 
 " Let no mean hope your soiils enslave — 
 Be independent, g-enerous, brave ; 
 Your" Poet "sucii example gave, 
 
 And such revere, 
 But be admonish'd by his grave, 
 
 And think and fear."t 
 
 * Life of Sir Thomas Browne. 
 
 t Wordsworth's address to the sons of Burnss, on visiting- 
 his^grave in 1803. 
 
EOBEET BUEXS. 305 
 
 It is possible, perhaps for some it may be easy, 
 to imagine a character of a much higher cast than 
 that of Burns, developed, too, under circumstances 
 in many respects not unlike those of his history — 
 the character of a man of lowly birth and power- 
 ful genius, elevated by that philosophy which is 
 alone pure and divine, far above all those annoy- 
 ances of terrestrial spleen and passion, which 
 mixed from the beginning with the workings of his 
 inspiration, and in the end were able to eat deep 
 into the great heart which they had long tormented. 
 Such a being would have received, no question, a 
 species of devout reverence, I mean when the 
 grave had closed on him, to which the warmest 
 admirers of our poet can advance no pretensions 
 for their unfortunate favorite ; but could such a 
 being have delighted his species — could he even 
 have instructed them like Burns ? Ought we not 
 to be thankful for every new variety of form and 
 circumstance, in and under which the ennobhng 
 energies of true and lofty genius are found ad- 
 dressing themselves to the common brethren of 
 the race ? Would we have none but Miltons and 
 Cowpers in poetry — but Brownes and Southeys in 
 prose ? Alas ! if it were so, to how large a portion 
 of the species would all the gifts of all the muses 
 remain for ever a fountain shut up and a book 
 sealed ! Were the doctrine of intellectual excom- 
 munication to be thus expounded and enforced, 
 how small the library that would remain to kin- 
 dle the fancy, to draw out and refine the feelings, 
 to enlighten the head by expanding the heart of 
 man ! From Aristophanes to Byron, how broad 
 the sweep, how woful the desolation ! 
 
 In the absence of that vehement sympathy with 
 humanity as it is, its sorrows and its joys as they 
 
306 LIFE OF 
 
 are, we might have had a great man, perhaps a 
 great poet, but we could have had no Bums. It 
 is very noble to despise the accidents of fortune ; 
 but what moral homily concerning these, could 
 have equaled that which Burns' poetry, consi- 
 dered alongside of Burns' history, and the his- 
 tory of his fame, presents ! It is very noble to be 
 above the allurements of pleasure ; but who 
 preaches so effectually against them, as he who 
 sets forth in immortal verse his own intense sym- 
 pathy with those that yield, and in verse and in 
 prose, in action and in passion, in life and in death, 
 the dangers and the miseries of yielding ? 
 
 It requires a graver audacity of hypocrisy than 
 falls to the share of most men, to declaim against 
 Burns' sensibility to the tangible cares and toils 
 of his earthly condition ; there are more who 
 venture on broad denunciations of his sympathy 
 with the joys of sense and passion. To these, 
 the great moral poet already quoted speaks in the 
 following noble passage — and must he speak in 
 vain? "Permit me," says he, " to remind you, 
 that it is the privilege of poetic genius to catch, 
 under certain restrictions of which perhaps at the 
 time of its being exerted it is but dimly conscious, 
 a spirit of pleasure wherever it can be found, — in 
 the walks of nature, and in the business of men. 
 The poet, trusting to primary instincts, luxuriates 
 among the felicities of love and wine, and is en- 
 raptured while he describes the fairer aspects of 
 war ; nor does he shrink from the company of the 
 passion of love though immoderate — from convi- 
 vial pleasure though intemperate — nor from the 
 presence of war though savage, and recognized as 
 the handmaid of desolation. Frequently and ad- 
 mirably has Burns given way to these impulses of 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 807 
 
 nature ; both with reference to himself, and in 
 describing the condition of others. Who, but 
 some impenetrable dunce or narrow-minded pu- 
 ritan in works of art, ever read without delight 
 the picture which he has drawn of the convivial 
 exaltation of the rustic adventurer, Tarn o'Shan- 
 ter ? Tlie poet fears not to tell the reader in the 
 outset, that his hero was a desperate and sottish 
 drunkard, whose excesses were frequent as his 
 opportunities. This reprobate sits down to his 
 cups, while the storm is roaring, and heaven and 
 earth are in confusion ; — the night is driven on by- 
 song and tumultuous noise — laughter and jest 
 thicken as the beverage improves upon the palate 
 — conjugal fidelity archly bends to the service of 
 general benevolence — selfishness is not absent, 
 but wearing the mask of social cordiality — and, 
 while these various elements of humanity are 
 blended into one proud and happy composition of 
 elated spirits, the anger of the tempest without 
 doors only heightens and sets off the enjoyment 
 within. I pity him who cannot perceive that, in 
 all this, though there was no moral purpose, there 
 is a moral effect. 
 
 <' King-s may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
 O'er a' the ills of life victorious." 
 
 " What a lesson do these words convey of chari. 
 table indulgence for the vicious habits of the prin- 
 cipal actor in this scene, and of those who resem- 
 ble him ! — Men who to the rigidly virtuous are 
 objects almost of loathing, and whom therefore 
 they cannot serve ! The poet, penetrating the 
 unsightly and disgusting surfaces of things, has 
 unveiled with exquisite skill the finer ties of ima- 
 gination and feeling, that oflen bind these beings 
 26 
 
308 LIFE OF 
 
 to practices productive of much unhappiness io 
 themselves, and to those whom it is their duty io 
 cherish ; and, as far as he puts the reader into 
 possession of this intelhgent sympathy, he quali- 
 fies him for exercising a salutary influence over 
 the minds of those who are thus deplorably de- 
 ceived."* 
 
 That some men in every age will comfort them- 
 selves in the practice of certain vices, by refer- 
 ence to particular passages both in the history 
 and in the poetry of Burns, there is all reason to 
 fear ; but surely the general influence of both is 
 calculated, and has been found, to produce far 
 different effects. The universal popularity which 
 his writings have all along enjoyed among one of 
 the most virtuous of nations, is of itself, as it would 
 seem, a decisive circumstance. Search Scotland 
 over, from the Pentland to the Solway, and there 
 is not a cottage -hut so poor and wretched as to be 
 without its Bible ; and hardly one that, on the same 
 shelf, and next to it, does not possess a Burns. 
 Have the people degenerated since their adoption 
 of this new manual ? Has their attachment to the 
 Book of Books declined ? Are their hearts less 
 firmly bound, than were their fathers', to the old 
 faith and the old virtues ? I believe, he that knows 
 the most of the country will be the readiest to 
 answer all these questions, as every lover of genius 
 and virtue would desire to hear them answered. 
 
 On one point there can be no controversy ; the 
 poetry of Burns has had most powerful influence 
 in reviving and strengthening the national feelings 
 of his countrymen. Amidst penury and labor, 
 his youth fed on the old minstrelsy and traditional 
 
 * Wordsworth's Letter to Gray, page 24. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 809 
 
 glories of his nation, and his genius divined, that 
 what he felt so deeply must belong to a spirit that 
 might lie smothered around him, but could not 
 be extinguished. The political circumstances of 
 Scotland were, and had been, such as to starve 
 the flame of patriotism ; the popular literature had 
 striven, and not in vain, to make itself English ; 
 and, above all, a new and a cold system of specu- 
 lative philosophy had begun to spread widely 
 among us. A peasant appeared, and set himself to 
 check the creeping pestilence of this indifference. 
 Whatever genius has since then been devoted to 
 the illustration of the national manners, and sus- 
 taining thereby of the national feehngs of the peo- 
 ple, there can be no doubt that Burns will ever be 
 remembered as the founder, and, alas ! in his own 
 person as the martyr, of this reformation. 
 
 That what is now-a-days called, by solitary emi- 
 nence, the wealth of the nation, had been on the 
 increase eversince our incorporationwith a greater 
 and wealthier state — nay, that the laws had been 
 improving, and, above all, the administration of 
 the laws, it would be mere bigotry to dispute. It 
 may also be conceded easily, that the national 
 mind had been rapidly clearing itself of many in- 
 jurious prejudices — that the people, as a people, 
 had been gradually and surely advancing in know- 
 ledge and wisdom, as well as in wealth and secu- 
 rity. But all this good had not been accomplished 
 without rude work. If the improvement were 
 valuable, it had been purchased dearly. " The 
 spring fire," Allan Cunningham says beautifully 
 somewhere, " which destroys the furze, makes an 
 end also of the nests of a thousand song-birds ; 
 and he who goes a-trouting with lime leaves little 
 of life in the stream." We were getting fast 
 
310 LIFE OF 
 
 ashamed of many precious and beautiful thing-s, 
 only for that they were old and our own. 
 
 It has already been remarked, how even Smol- 
 lett, who began with a national tragedy, and one 
 of the noblest of national lyrics, never dared to 
 make use of the dialect of his own country ; and 
 how Moore, another most enthusiastic Scotsman, 
 followed in this respect, as in others, the example 
 of Smollett, and over and over again counselled 
 Burns to do the like. But a still more striking sign 
 of the times is to be found in the style adopted by 
 both of these novelists, especially the great master 
 of the art, in their representations of the manners 
 and characters of their own countrymen. In Hum- 
 phry Clinker, the last and best of Smollett's tales, 
 there are some traits of a better kind — but, taking 
 his works as a whole, the impression it conveys is 
 certainly a painful, a disgusting one. The Scots- 
 men of these authors, are the Jockeys and Archies 
 of farce — 
 
 Time out of mind the Southrons' mirthmakers— 
 
 the best of them grotesque combinations of sim- 
 plicity and hypocrisy, pride and meanness. When 
 such men, high-spirited Scottish gentlemen, pos- 
 sessed of learning and talents, and one of them 
 at least, of splendid genius, felt, or fancied, the 
 necessity of making such submissions to the pre- 
 judices of the dominant nation, and did so without 
 exciting a murmur among their own countrymen, 
 v/e may form some notion of the boldness of 
 Burns' experiment ; and on contrasting the state 
 of things then with what is before us now, it will 
 cost no effort to appreciate the nature and conse- 
 quences of the victory in which our poet led the 
 way, by achievements never in their kind to be 
 
EOBEKT BURNS. 311 
 
 surpassed.* " Burns," says Mr. Campbell, " has 
 given the elixir vitse to his dialect :"f — he gave it 
 to more than his dialect. 
 
 The moral influence of his genius has not been 
 confined to his own countrymen. " The range 
 of the 'pastoral,''^ said Johnson, " is narrow. Poet- 
 ry cannot dwell upon the minuter distinctions by 
 which one species differs from another, without 
 departing from that simplicity of grandeur which 
 fills the imagination ; nor dissect the latent quali- 
 ties of things, without losing its general power of 
 gratifying every mind by recalling its own concep- 
 tions. Not only the images of rural life, but the 
 occasions on which they can be properly applied, 
 are few and general. The state of a man con- 
 fined to the employments and pleasures of the 
 country is so little diversified, and exposed to so 
 iew of those accidents which produce perplexi- 
 ties, terrors, and surprises, in more complicated 
 transactions, that he can be shown but seldom in 
 
 * " He was," says a writer, in whose lang-uag-e a brother 
 poet will be recognized — "he was in many respects born at 
 a happy time; happy for a man of g-enius like him, but fatal 
 and hopeless to the more common mind. A whole world of 
 life lay before Burns, whose inmost recesses, and darkest 
 nooks, and sunniest eminences, he had familiarly trodden 
 from his childhood. All that world he felt could be made his 
 own. No conqueror had overrun its fertile provinces, and it 
 was for hiin to be crowned supreme over all the 
 
 •Lyric singers of that high-soul'd land,' 
 
 The crown that he has won can never be removed fi-om 
 his head. Much is yet left for other poets, even among- that 
 life where his spirit delighted to work ; but he has built mo- 
 numents on all the high places, and they who follow can only 
 hope to leave beliind them some far humber memorials." — 
 Blcakuoods Magazine, Feb. 1817. 
 •f Specimens of the British Poets, vol. vii. p. 240. 
 26* 
 
314 LIFE OF 
 
 Dr. Currie says, that " \? fiction be the soul of 
 poetry, as some assert. Burns can have small pre- 
 tensions to the name of poet. The success of 
 Burns, the influence of his verse, would alone be 
 enough to overturn all the systems of a thousand 
 definers ; but the Doctor has obviously taken^c- 
 tion in far too limited a sense. There are indeed 
 but few of Burns' pieces in which he is found 
 creating beings and circumstances, both alike alien 
 from his own person and experience, and then by 
 the power of imagination, divining and expressing 
 what forms life and passion would assume with, 
 and under these — But there are some ; there is 
 qite enough to satisfy every reader of Hallowe^en, 
 the Jolly Beggars, and Ta7n o' Shanter, (to say 
 nothing of various particular songs, such as 
 Bruce' s Address, Macpliersoii' s Lament, &c.) that 
 Burns, if he pleased, might have been as largely 
 and as successfully an inventor in this way, as he 
 is in another walk, perhaps not so inferior to this 
 as many people may have accustomed themselves 
 to believe ; in the art, namely, of recombining and 
 new-combining, varying, embellishing, and fixing 
 and transmitting the elements of a most pictu- 
 resque experience, and most vivid feelings. 
 
 Lord Byron, in his letter on Pope, treats with 
 high and just contempt the laborious trifling which 
 has been expended on distinguishing by air-drawn 
 lines and technical slang-words, the elements and 
 materials of poetical exertion ; and, among other 
 things, expresses his scorn of the attempts that 
 have been made to class Burns among minor poets, 
 merely because he has put forth few large pieces, 
 and still fewer of what is called the purely imagi- 
 native character. Fight who will about words and 
 forms, " Burns' rank," says he, "is in the first 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 815 
 
 class of his art ;" and I believe the world at large 
 are now-a.da5^s well prepared to prefer aline from 
 such a pen as Byron's on any such subject as this, 
 to the most luculent dissertation that ever per- 
 plexed the brains of writer and of reader. Seniio 
 ergo sum, says the metaphysician ; the critic may 
 safely parody the saying, and assert that that is 
 poetry of the highest order, which exerts influence 
 of the most powerful order on the hearts and minds 
 of mankind. 
 
 Burns has been appreciated duly, and he has 
 had the fortune to be praised eloquently, by almost 
 every poet who has come after him. To accumu- 
 late all that has been said of him, even by men 
 like himself, of the first order, would fill a volume — 
 and a noble monument, no question, that volume 
 would be — the noblest, except what he has left us 
 in his own immortal verses, which — were some 
 dross removed, and the rest arranged in a chrono- 
 logical order — would I believe form, to the intel- 
 ligent, a more perfect and vivid history of his life 
 than will ever be composed out of all the materials 
 in the world besides. 
 
 " The impression of his genius," says Campbell, 
 " is deep and universal ; and viewing him merely 
 as a poet, there is scarcely another regret con- 
 nected with his name, than that his productions, 
 with all their merit, fall short of the talents which 
 he possessed. That he never attempted any great 
 work of fiction, may be partly traced to the cast 
 of his genius, and partly to his circumstances, and 
 defective education. His poetical temperament 
 was that of fitful transports, rather than steady in- 
 spiration. Whatever he might have written, was 
 likely to have been fraught with passion. There 
 is always enough of interest in life to cherish the 
 
316 LIFE OF 
 
 feelings of genius ; but it requires knowledge to 
 enlarge and enrich the imagination. Of that know- 
 ledge, which unrolls the diversities of human man- 
 ners, adventures, and characters, to a poet's study, 
 he could have no great share; although he stamped 
 the little treasure which he possessed in the mint- 
 age of sovereign genius."* 
 
 "Notwithstanding," says Sir Walter Scott, " the 
 spirit of many of his lyrics, and the exquisite sweet- 
 ness and simplicity of others, we cannot but deeply 
 regret that so much of his time and talents was 
 frittered away in compiling and composing for 
 musical collections. There is sufficient evidence, 
 that even the genius of Burns could not support 
 him in the monotonous task of writing love verses, 
 on heaving bosoms and sparkling eyes, and twist- 
 ing them into such rhymatical forms as might suit 
 the capricious evolutions of Scotch reels and 
 strathspeys. Besides, this constant waste of his 
 power and fancy in small and insignificant compo- 
 sitions, must necessarily have had no little effect 
 in deterring him from undertaking any grave or 
 important task. Let no one suppose that we un- 
 dervalue the songs of Burns. When his soul 
 was intent on suiting a favorite air to words 
 humorous or tender, as the subject demanded, 
 no poet of our tongue ever displayed higher skill 
 in marrying melody to immortal verse. But the 
 writing of a series of songs for large musical col- 
 lections, degenerated into a slavish labor which 
 no talents could support, led to negligence, and, 
 above all, diverted the poet from his grand plan 
 of dramatic composition. To produce a work 
 of this kind, neither, perhaps, a regular tragedy 
 
 * Specimens, vol. vii. p. 241. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 317 
 
 nor comedy, but something partaking of the nature 
 of both, seems to have been long the cherished 
 wish of Burns. He had even fixed on the sub- 
 ject, which was an adventure in low life, said to 
 have happened to Robert Bruce, while wandering 
 in danger and disguise, after being defeated by 
 the English. The Scottish dialect would have 
 rendered such a piece totally unfit for the stage; 
 but those who recollect the masculine and lofty 
 tone of martial spirit which glows in the poem of 
 Bannockburn, will sigh to think what the character 
 of the gallant Bruce might have proved under the 
 hand of Burns. It would undoubtedly have want- 
 ed that tinge of chivalrous feeling which the man- 
 ners of the age, no less than the disposition of the 
 monarch, demanded ; but this deficiency would 
 have been more than supplied by a bard who 
 could have drawn from his own perceptions the 
 unbending energy of a hero sustaining the deser- 
 tion of friends, the persecution of enemies, and the 
 utmost malice of disastrous fortune. The scene, 
 too, being partly laid in humble life, admitted that 
 display of broad humor and exquisite pathos, with 
 which he could, interchangeably and at pleasure, 
 adorn his cottage views. Nor was the assemblage 
 of familiar sentiments incompatible in Burns, with 
 those of the most exalted dignity. In the inimi- 
 table tale of Tam o' Shanter, he has left us suffi- 
 cient evidence of his abilities to combine the ludi- 
 crous with the awful, and even the horrible. No 
 poet, with the exception of Shakspeare, ever pos- 
 sessed the power of exciting the most varied and 
 discordant emotions with such rapid transitions. 
 His humorous description of death in the poem 
 on Dr. Hornbook borders on the terrific, and the 
 witches' dance in the kirk of Alloway is at once 
 
318 LIFE OF 
 
 ludicrous and horrible. Deeply must we then re- 
 gret those avocations which diverted a fancy so 
 varied and so vigorous, joined with language and 
 expression suited to all its changes, from leaving 
 a more substantial monument to his own fame, 
 and to the honor of his country."* 
 
 The cantata of the Jolly Beggars, which was 
 not printed at all until some time after the poet's 
 death, and has not been included in the editions of 
 his works until within these few years, cannot bo 
 considered as it deserves, without strongly height- 
 ening our regret that Burns never lived to exe- 
 cute his meditated drama. That extraordinary 
 sketch, coupled with his later lyrics in a higher 
 vein, is enough to show that in him we had a mas- 
 ter capable of placing the musical drama on a 
 level with the loftiest of our classical forms. 
 Beggar''s Bush and Beggar^s Opera, sink into 
 lameness in the comparison ; and indeed, without 
 profanity to the name of Shakspeare, it may be 
 said, that out of such materials, even his genius 
 could hardly have constructed a piece in which 
 imagination could have more splendidly predomi- 
 nated over the outward shows of things — in which 
 the sympathy-awakening power of poetry could 
 have been displayed more triumphantly under 
 circumstances of the greatest difficulty. That 
 remarkable performance, by the way, was an 
 early production of the Mauchline period ;■)■ I 
 know nothing but the Tarn o' Shanter that is cal- 
 culated to convey so high an impression of what 
 Burns might have done. 
 
 * Quarterly Review, No. 1. p. 33. 
 
 + So John Richmond of Mauchline informed Chambers 
 —see the "Picture of Scotland," article Mauchline, for 
 some entertaining- particulars of the scene that suggested 
 the poem. 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 319 
 
 As to Burns' want of education and knowledge, 
 Mr. Campbell may not have considered, but he 
 must admit, that whatever Burns' opportunities 
 had been at the time when he produced his first 
 poems, such a man as he was not likely to be a 
 hard reader, (which he certainly was,) and a con- 
 stant observer of men and manners, in a much 
 wider circle of society than almost any other 
 great poet has ever moved in, from three-and- 
 twenty to eight-and-thirty, without having tho- 
 roughly removed any pretext for auguring unfa- 
 vorably on that score, of what he might have 
 been expected to produce in the more elaborate 
 departments of his art, had his hfe been spared 
 to the usual limits of humanity. In another way, 
 however, I cannot help suspecting that Burns' 
 enlarged knowledge, both of men and books, pro- 
 duced an unfavorable effect, rather than other- 
 wise, on the exertions, such as they were, of his 
 later years. His generous spirit was open to the 
 impression of every kind of excellence ; his lively 
 imagination, bending its own vigor to whatever it 
 touched, made him admire even what other peo- 
 ple try to read in vain ; and after traveling, as he 
 did, over the general surface of our literature, he 
 appears to have been somewhat startled at the 
 consideration of what he himself had, in com- 
 parative ignorance, adventured, and to have been 
 more intimidated than encouraged by the retro- 
 spect. In most of the new departments in which 
 he made some trial of his strength, (such, for ex- 
 ample, as the moral epistle in Pope's vein, the 
 heroic satire, &c.,) he appears to have soon lost 
 heart, and paused. There is indeed one magni- 
 ficent exception in Tam o' Shanter — a piece which 
 no one can understand without believing, that had 
 27 
 
320 LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Burns pursued that walk, and poured out his 
 stores of traditionary lore, embellished with his 
 extraordinary powers of description of all kinds, 
 we might have had from his hand a series of na- j 
 tional tales, uniting the quaint simplicity, slyhu-j 
 mor, and irresistible pathos of another Chaucer,,>, 
 with the strong and graceful versification, and 
 masculine wit and sense of another Dryden. i 
 
 This was a sort of feeling that must have in 
 time subsided. But let us not waste words in re- ■ 
 gretting what might have been, where so muchji 
 is. Burns, short and painful as were his years, | 
 has left behind him a volume in which there is| 
 inspiration for every fancy, and music for every^ 
 mood ; which lives, and will live in strength and';; 
 vigor — " to soothe," as a generous lover of geniu!=;ii 
 has said — " the sorrows of how many a lover, tcii; 
 inflame the patriotism of how many a soldier, to| 
 fan the fires of how many a genius, to disperse;:- 
 the gloom of solitude, appease the agonies oij| 
 pain, encourage virtue, and show vice its ugli^-ji 
 ness;"* — a volume, in which, centuries hence, 
 as now, wherever a Scotsman may wander, hc: 
 will find the dearest consolation of his exile. Al 
 ready has 
 
 Glory without end 
 
 Scattered the clouds away ; and on that name attend 
 The tears and praises of all time."t 
 
 * See the Censura Liter aria of Sir Egerton Brycigca 
 vol. ii. p. 55. ! ^ *J '/'^ 
 
 t Childe Harold, Canto iv. 36. ' •• ^<-' / >• , , 
 
 ' I 
 
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