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LIFE 
 
 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
L 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM 
 
 By the 
 REV. DAVID HOGG. 
 
 SAN D B ED FARM HOUSE. 
 
 LON DON : 
 UODDER AND S T O U G H T O N. 
 
LIFE 
 
 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM 
 
 1 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM HIS WORKS AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 BY THE ^^ 
 
 REV. DAVID HOGG, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LIFE AND TIMES OF THE KEY. JOHN WIGHTMAN, D.D. 
 
 DUMFRIES: JOHN ANDERSON & SON. 
 
 EDINBURGH: JOHN GRANT, 34 GEORGE IV. BRIDGE. 
 LONDON: HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 27 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 18 75. 
 
TU 
 
 GLASGOW: 
 
 PRINTED BY ROBERT ANDERSON, 
 
 22 ANN STREET. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The object aimed at in this volume has been to ]et 
 Allan Cunningham, as much as possible, tell his own 
 Life, by giving selections from his works and corre- 
 spondence, with a link where necessary for connecting 
 the narrative. This is generally considered the best 
 kind of biography, and a distinguished critic, Dr. 
 Johnson, says, — " Those relations are commonly of 
 most value in which the writer tells his own story." 
 Whether the selections have been well chosen it is 
 not for me to say, but they have been made with 
 the intention of showing not only the literary, poetic, 
 and social character of the man, but also of pre- 
 serving the remembrance of some Scottish customs 
 and ceremonies which have now passed away. The 
 work has been written con amore, from admiration 
 of " Honest Allan," and his intimate connection with 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 the district of Nithsdale. I have been greatly 
 assisted in its production by the kindness of many 
 friends, in allowing me the use of letters, and in 
 communicating important information with respect 
 to the subject of the Memoir, which I did not 
 possess. To them I tender my sincerest thanks for 
 their generous interest in the work. I would 
 specially mention Mr. Anthony C. M'Bryde, artist, 
 Edinburgh, grand-nephew of Allan Cunningham, who 
 voluntarily supplied the portrait and the two sketches, 
 engraved by himself, and who also contributed the 
 poem inserted at the end of the first chapter. To 
 Mr. Allan Cunningham, nephew of the Poet, my 
 warmest acknowledgments are also due, for the use 
 of the bust from which the photograph was taken, 
 and for other favours. I now entrust my book to 
 the public, hoping that, for the sake of the subject, 
 
 it will receive their regard. 
 
 D. H. 
 
 Kirkmahoe Manse. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Page 
 
 Poetic Fertility of Nithsdale — Power of Song over Legislation 
 — No Biography of Allan Cunningham — Literary Appre- 
 ciation of him — Parentage — Family Talent — Thomas 
 Mounsey Cunningham — Education at a Dame's School — 
 ' ' The Hills o' G-allowa' " — His Sensitiveness as to Criti- 
 cism — Contributions to the "Edinburgh Magazine" — Tiff 
 between him and the Ettrick Shepherd — Peter Miller 
 Cunningham — His Literary Productions, . . . 1-16 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Allan Cunningham's Birth — Education— Apprenticed to the 
 Mason Trade — George Douglas M'Ghie — Humorous 
 Memorial to Mr. Leny of Dalswinton — Burning of Cun- 
 ningham's Letters — Fear of French Invasion — Mysterious 
 Marking of the Houses— Discovered to be a Hoax, and 
 Reward Offered — First efforts in Song — Meeting with 
 the Ettrick Shepherd on Queensberry Hill — Incident at 
 Altrive — Travels on foot to Edinburgh to see Sir Walter 
 Scott — Attends the Funeral of Burns, . . . . 17-32 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Page 
 Letter to the Rev. John Wightman — Mr. Wightman's Answer 
 — Second Letter to the Rev. Mr. Wightman, containing a 
 Poetic Effusion — Contributes to a London Literary Maga- 
 zine — Commendation of his Pieces — "The Lovely Lass of 
 Preston Mill" — Letter, with New Poem, to his Brother 
 James. 33-48 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 First Meeting with Cromek — Letter from Mollance to his 
 Brother James — First Instalment of the "Remains of 
 Nithsdale and Galloway Song" — " She's gane to dwall in 
 Heaven" — "Bonnie Lady Anne" — Cromek's Letters — 
 Leaves for London, 49-70 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Arrival in London — Preparation of the Volume — Cromek's 
 Letter to A. Constable on the Subject — Testimony to 
 Cunningham — Cromek's Death — Cunningham's Opinion of 
 London Life — Engages with Bubb, a Sculptor — Becomes 
 a Reporter in Parliament — Letter to his Brother James, 
 enclosing New Song — Letter to M'Ghie — Letter to his 
 Brother James, 71-89 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Some account of the Volume — Extracts — "Thou hast sworn 
 by thy God, my Jeanie" — Variation on "Tibbie Fowler" 
 — The " Salt Lairds" of Dunscore, and the " Gustin Bane" 
 of Kirkmahoe — Private Criticisms — Professor Wilson — ■ 
 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 Page 
 The Ettrick Shepherd— Sir Walter Scott— The " Scots 
 
 Magazine" — "A weary bodie's blythe whan the sun 
 
 gangs down," ........ 90-110 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 The "Mermaid of Galloway" — Prefatory Note and accom- 
 panying Letter, 111-123 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Cunningham discloses the Secret of the " Remains" to M'Ghie 
 — Extracts from the Appendix — Family Worship — The 
 Witches— The Fairies, 124-140 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 His Marriage — Letter to M'Ghie— Introduction to Mr. Jerdan 
 of the "Literary Gazette" — Publishes a Volume of Songs 
 — Notices of these — Extracts — Letter to his Mother, 141-157 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Enters the Studio of Chantrey — Notice of Chantrey — Cun- 
 ningham's Responsibilities in the Studio — Reciprocal 
 Advantages — Description of Cunningham — Contributes to 
 various Magazines — Letter to Mr. James M 'Ghie — Letter 
 to his Brother James, ...... 158-175 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Contributes to "Blackwood" — Winning the Harvest Kirn — 
 Notice of the Cameronians — Cameronian Ballads — "The 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 Doom of Nithsdale" — "On Mark Wilson, slain in Iron- 
 gray" — "The voice lifted up against Chapels and 
 Churches" — "The Cameronian Banner," . . . 176-190 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Introduction to Sir Walter Scott — Scott sitting for his Bust 
 to Chantrey — Equipment to receive his Baronetcy at the 
 King's Levee — On his return home receives the Manu- 
 script of "Sir Marmaduke Maxwell," a Tragedy — Letters 
 from Sir Walter Scott— Memoranda, .... 191-206 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Publishes "Sir Marmaduke Maxwell" — His own Opinion of the 
 Work — Sir Walter Scott's Notice of it on its Publication 
 — Extract Specimens of the Tragedy — Letter from Sir 
 Walter Scott— Song, "MyNanie, 0," . . . 207-228 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Publishes Two Volumes of Tales — Song, "The Fairy Oak of 
 Corrie- water"— Anecdote of Cunningham on Eairy Mytho- 
 logy — Song, "LadySelby" — Essay on Burns and Byron, 
 a Contrast, . 229-248 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Preparation of his Collection of Songs — Its Publication — "A 
 Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea" — Account of the Work — 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 Page 
 Tribute to the Memory of his Father — "Lament for 
 Lord Maxwell" — Anecdote regarding an English Dragoon 
 and a Nithsdale Widow — Criticisms — "The Poet's Bridal- 
 day Song"— Letter to the Ettrick Shepherd, . . 249-266 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The "Farmer's Ingle" in the Olden Time — Publication of 
 "Paul Jones" — Criticisms — Reflections on Dibdin — 
 Romance of "Sir Michael Scott" — Correspondence with 
 Mr. Ritchie of the "Scotsman" — Cadetships for his two 
 Sons obtained — Letter to his Mother, .... 267-280 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Publication of the "Anniversary" — Extracts from the Volume 
 — Correspondence on the Subject with Professor Wilson 
 and Mr. Ritchie of the "ScotsmaD," .... 281-296 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Publishes Two Romances, " Lord Roldan" and " The Maid of 
 Elvar" — "Lives of the Painters, Sculptors, and Archi- 
 tects" — Letters to Mr. Ritchie — Criticisms — Revisits 
 Nithsdale, and Entertained at a Banquet in Dumfries — 
 Farewell to Dalswinton, 297-314 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Proposes a New Edition of the Works of Burns, with a Life — 
 Letters from his Sons in India — Letter to the late Dr. 
 Robert Chambers of Edinburgh — "The Poet's Invitation" 
 — Letters to his Mother — Publishes the Works of Burns 
 —Bids Farewell to the Bard, . ... 315-335 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 Page 
 Burns— ''Winsome Willie"— Tom Walker— " Cutty Sark," 336-357 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 Reflections on obtaining Place-situations — Letters to Mrs. and 
 Mr. S. C. Hall— Family Letters — Mrs. Copland — Last 
 Illness — Death and Burial — Concluding Remarks, . 358-373 
 
LIFE 
 
 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 POETIC FERTILITY OF NITHSDALE — POWER OF SONG OVER LEGISLA- 
 TION — NO BIOGRAPHY OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM — LITERARY 
 APPRECIATION OF HIM — PARENTAGE — FAMILY TALENT — THOMAS 
 MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM — EDUCATION AT A DAME'S SCHOOL — 
 "THE HILLS O' GALLOWA' " — HIS SENSITIVENESS AS TO 
 CRITICISM — CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE "EDINBURGH MAGAZINE" — 
 TIFF BETWEEN HIM AND THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD — PETER 
 MILLER CUNNINGHAM — HIS LITERARY PRODUCTIONS. 
 
 Theee is no district of equal compass within our ken 
 which has been so prolific in poetry and song as that of 
 Nithsdale, and it continues as fertile as ever. Apart 
 from Burns and Cunningham, the Dii majores of song 
 in the vale, the number of minor minstrels whom it has 
 produced is almost incredible. Some of these are, of 
 course, very inferior, though, all things considered, 
 deserving of commendation for their efforts. Some, 
 again, are highly respectable in their effusions, but 
 circumstances, not always under their own control, have 
 
 A 
 
2 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 prevented them from soaring into fame. Some are 
 forgotten. Some were never known to be forgotten, 
 except by a limited circle, and some were known only 
 anonymously, if the bull may be excused, through the 
 medium of the local newspapers, and the magazines of 
 the day. One generation has gone, and another come, 
 hastening to go again, transmitting, as if by hereditary 
 descent, the poetic faculty, and the old woodlands are 
 still vocal with song. 
 
 We have sometimes puzzled ourselves with the 
 endeavour to discover the why and the wherefore of 
 this, without, however, coming to any satisfactory con- 
 clusion on the matter; and we have asked ourselves if 
 there can be anything in the atmosphere, or in the local 
 scenery, to account for it? or if it is altogether a mere 
 matter of chance, a caprice of nature under heaven-born 
 inspiration? We know parishes which, for half a century, 
 have been prolific in producing preachers, while those 
 adjacent never sent a single youth to college. Nor can 
 it be said of either that the profession has run in the 
 blood, as very few instances of this are found. From 
 whatever cause, or whether there be a cause at all, the 
 fact is certain, that the spirit of poesy is still hovering, 
 as of yore, over the length and breadth of Nithsdale. 
 
 When Fletcher of Saltoun wished to have the making 
 of his country's songs, and he would let any one else 
 have the making of its laws, he meant veritable songs, 
 expressing in appropriate terms his countrymen's senti- 
 ments and feelings, amorous, patriotic, pathetic, cour- 
 ageous. He knew that only such would take hold of the 
 public mind, and produce the effect he desired. These 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 3 
 
 must have free and unbiassed sway to maintain a per- 
 manent footing throughout the land, and not, as it is 
 said in the present day, by paying a high royalty to 
 some distinguished professional to sing a doggerel into 
 temporary popularity. That will never transmit any 
 song from one generation to another. Our songs, to 
 become part of the country's existence, must be sung, 
 not on the opera stage, with instrumental accompani- 
 ments, but lilted in the gloaming, and at the milking 
 hour, warbled with the song of the lark behind the 
 plough, or on the hill-side with the sheep, and they 
 shall live, though it may be a matter of no concern to 
 many whether their authors' existence is secured or not. 
 Now, whose songs are they that we hear chanted at our 
 rural merry-makings, at our wedding-feasts, on the 
 harvest-field, or at the farmer's ingle in the long 
 evenings of winter ? With some exceptions, they are 
 those of Ramsay, Burns, Scott, Hogg, and Cunningham, 
 though probably the fair songstress knows nothing of 
 their author. They are all one to her, the sentiments 
 they breathe are those of her own heart, and she pours 
 them forth with a melody and a cordiality which stir 
 the very souls of all around her. She sings them to her 
 children in the cradle, and, in process of time, they to 
 theirs, so that they are handed down to posterity with 
 a reality of feeling which forms part of our national 
 character. 
 
 It has long been a subject of wonderment and remark 
 that no biography of Allan Cunningham has yet been 
 given to the world, notwithstanding the abundance of 
 materials for that purpose within the reach of almost 
 
4 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 any one qualified to collect and arrange them. His 
 varied abilities, natural and acquired — his endowments, 
 physical and mental — his rise from obscurity to an 
 eminence which gained for him the intercourse and 
 friendship of the noble — his connection with the metro- 
 politan press — his association with a distinguished 
 sculptor — his diversified literary productions — as well as 
 the reminiscences of his early life, floating through 
 Nithsdale and elsewhere, might have tempted some 
 ready pen to produce an interesting record of the stone- 
 mason, poet, novelist, biographer, and sculptor, all in 
 one. But no! A slight sketch written by himself, and 
 of limited extent, is all that exists for the information of 
 posterity, and which has been eagerly drawn upon by 
 those permitted access to the treasure. 
 
 Yet Allan Cunningham was not without high 
 appreciation in his day, as well as now, by some 
 whose favour was worth the winning, and his society 
 was courted in the circles of the literary and the 
 great. Miss Landon said that " a few words from 
 Allan Cunningham strengthened her like a dose 
 of Peruvian bark." Mrs. S. C. Hall "remembered 
 how her cheek flushed, and how pleased and proud 
 she was at the few words of praise he gave to one 
 of the first efforts of her pen." Sir Walter Scott 
 characterized him as "Honest Allan, a credit to 
 Caledonia." The Ettrick Shepherd described him as 
 "the very model of Burns, and exactly such a man." 
 Tom Hood said, he " used to look up to Allan Cunning- 
 ham, who was formed by nature tall enough to snatch 
 a grace beyond the reach of art." Talfourd said of him, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 5 
 
 that he was " stalwart of form, and stout of heart and 
 
 verse — a ruder Burns." And Southey apostrophized 
 
 him thus — 
 
 ' ' Allan, true child of Scotland ; thou who art 
 So oft in spirit on thy native hills 
 And yonder Solway shores, a poet thou ! " 
 
 Still, notwithstanding all this appreciation, no biography 
 has been written. We fully feel our inadequacy for 
 such a task, and agree with the poet that "fools rush 
 in where angels fear to tread;" but from our admiration 
 of the man we are willing to make the attempt rather 
 than that the work should remain undone. What we 
 shall throw together may at a future time be useful to 
 some one capable of doing our countryman justice. 
 
 Allan Cunningham was descended from an ancient 
 family, who held possessions in Ayrshire bearing their 
 name. After the battle of Philiphaugh his more 
 immediate ancestors thought it advisable to dispose of 
 their inheritance rather than run the risk of losing it 
 by forfeiture, as one of them had served as an officer 
 under the great Montrose. Having done so, they 
 became tenants of the farm of Gogar Mains, in the 
 neighbourhood of Edinburgh, where they remained for 
 several generations. It was here that Allan's father, 
 John Cunningham, was born on the 26th of March, 
 1743. When he had reached his twenty-third year 
 his father died, and being unwilling at so young 
 an age to undertake the responsibilities of the farm 
 management, he surrendered the lease, sold off the 
 effects, and went into the county of Durham to improve 
 himself in the knowledge of farming, as England at that 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 time was considered ahead of Scotland in agricultural 
 progress, and that he might qualify himself for the 
 office of land-steward or overseer wherever Providence 
 should cast his lot. After some time he returned to 
 Scotland, and became overseer to Mr. Mounsey of 
 Rammerscales, near Lochmaben, in Dumfriesshire. 
 
 He then married Miss Elizabeth Harley, the daughter 
 of a Dumfries merchant, who had formerly been a 
 farmer in Berwickshire. She was a lady of great 
 personal attractions and accomplishments, shrewd in 
 judgment, poetic in fancy, and altogether possessing a 
 very superior intellect, which she transmitted to her 
 family, both sons and daughters. John Cunningham, 
 having now acquired considerable experience in agri- 
 cultural pursuits, resolved to improve his condition 
 along with his young wife, and with this view took 
 a lease of the farm of Culfaud, in the parish of 
 Kirkpatrick-Durham, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright. 
 This enterprise, however, not proving so successful as 
 he had anticipated, he was forced to relinquish farming 
 on his own account, and became factor to Mr. Syme 
 of Barncailzie in the same parish, upon whose death 
 he removed to Blackwood, to fill the same situation 
 there under Mr. Copeland, the proprietor, and finally 
 he went to Dalswinton in the same capacity, where he 
 greatly assisted Mr. Miller in his agricultural improve- 
 ments on the estate, and with whom he remained till 
 his death in 1800, in the fifty-seventh year of his age. He 
 had nine children — five sons and four daughters — who 
 all gave evidence of superior talent and high intellectual 
 ability. He himself "was a man fond of collecting all 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 7 
 
 that was characteristic of his country," and, doubtless, 
 the continual witnessing of this by his sons, tended, in 
 no small degree, to inspire them with a similarity of 
 taste. 
 
 All the sons were more or less distinguished for their 
 love of literature, and their contributions to the period- 
 ical press, a circumstance rarely to be met with in the 
 family of a cottager, where few opportunities for writing 
 were afforded, and little leisure was at command. They 
 are deserving of something more than a passing notice. 
 
 James, the eldest son, was brought up to the mason 
 trade, and afterwards, by his integrity, skill, and perse- 
 verance, he became a master-builder with very gratifying 
 success. He was a great student of antiquarian lore, 
 and as leisure allowed he wrote articles for the news- 
 papers and magazines within his reach. He also 
 maintained a considerable correspondence on literary 
 matters with the Ettrick Shepherd, and others with 
 whom he was acquainted, but none of his writings are 
 forthcoming, as duplicates were not kept, and his maga- 
 zine articles were without signature. He was a great 
 favourite with his brother Allan, as we shall afterwards 
 see, and with whom he kept up a most affectionate 
 correspondence. He died at Dalswinton village on the 
 27th of July, 1832, in the fifty-seventh year of his age, 
 being exactly that of his father at the time of his death. 
 
 Thomas Mounsey, the second son, was only a year 
 younger than his brother James, and was born at Culfaud, 
 on the 25th of June, 1766. He received the first ele- 
 ments of his education at a Dame's school, kept by one 
 Nancy Kingan, whose whole stock of instruction con- 
 
8 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 sisted in the alphabet, the Shorter Catechism, the Psalms 
 of David, and the Proverbs of Solomon. Spelling was 
 considered useless, and a mere waste of time. Writing 
 and arithmetic she did not pretend to, and as for 
 grammar, she had never heard of it. Her great boast 
 to any occasional visitor to her seminary was, " the 
 bairns when they lea' my schule hae unco little to learn 
 o' the Bible." Having finished with Dame Kingan, 
 Thomas was next placed under the tutorship of Dominie 
 Gordon, at Kellieston, who had the strongest belief that 
 knowledge could be imparted to a pupil through any 
 part of the body by means of physical appliance, as well 
 as by oral instruction. 
 
 One way and another the education was completed, 
 or, as the common phrase went, " the maister could gang 
 nae farther," and young Thomas, at his own request, was 
 apprenticed to a millwright in the neighbourhood. He 
 now began cultivating the acquaintance of the Muses, 
 and submitted his poetical productions, from time to 
 time, to the inspection of his father, who was proud of 
 his son, and gave what counsel and encouragement he 
 thought judicious. By-and-by he found opportunity of 
 getting some of his effusions brought before the public 
 notice, through the medium of the local journals, which 
 greatly stimulated his efforts to further success. After 
 his apprenticeship was finished he resolved to push his 
 own way in the world, and directed his steps to England, 
 with the sage counsel of Mr. Miller of Dalswinton to 
 abandon all poetical aspirations. Here for a consider- 
 able time he followed desultory employment in his trade, 
 as we find him at Rotherham, King's Lynn, Wiltshire, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 9 
 
 Cambridge, and Dover, but at last be had the good 
 fortune to become managing clerk in the establishment 
 of Sir John Rennie, the celebrated engineer in London. 
 After nine years' poetic dormancy, he woke up in the 
 pages of the Scots Magazine, to which he made frequent 
 contributions, and which, at the request of the Ettrick 
 Shepherd, he allowed to be inserted in "The Forest 
 Minstrel." He composed several songs which attained 
 great popularity, but by far the most popular was "The 
 Hills o' Gallowa'." In short, it was the great song of 
 the day, and as it is still chanted in the South we shall 
 insert it here: — 
 
 "THE HILLS 0' GALLOWA'. 
 
 " Amang the birks sae blythe and gay, 
 
 I met my Julia hameward gaun ; 
 The Unties chauntit on the spray, 
 
 The lammies loupit on the lawn; 
 On ilka howm the sward was niawn, 
 
 The braes wi' gowans buskit bra', 
 An' gloamin's plaid o' gray was thrawn 
 
 Out owre the hills o' Gallowa'. 
 
 " Wi' music wild the woodlands rang, 
 
 An' fragrance wing'd alang the lea, 
 As down we sat the flowers amang, 
 
 Upon the banks o 1 stately Dee. 
 My Julia's arms encircled me, 
 
 An' saftly slade the hours awa', 
 Till dawin coost a glimmerin' ee 
 
 Upon the hills o' Gallowa'. 
 
 " It isna owsen, sheep, an' kye, 
 It isna goud, it isna gear, 
 This lifted ee wad hae, quoth I, 
 
 The world's drumlie gloom to cheer. 
 
10 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 But gie to me my Julia dear, 
 
 Ye powers wha rowe this yerthen ba', 
 An' ! sae blythe thro' life I'll steer, 
 
 Amang the hills o' Gallowa'. 
 
 ' ' When gloamin' dauners up the hill, 
 
 An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes, 
 Wi' her I'll trace the mossy rill 
 
 That owre the muir meand'ring rowes; 
 Or tint amang the scroggy knowes, 
 
 My birken pipe I'll sweetly blaw, 
 An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes, 
 
 The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'. 
 
 " An' when auld Scotland's heathy hills, 
 
 Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains, 
 Her flow'ry wilds an' wimpling rills, 
 
 Awake nae mair my canty strains ; 
 Whare friendship dwells an' freedom reigns, 
 
 Whare heather blooms an' muircocks craw, 
 ! dig my grave, and hide my banes 
 
 Amang the hills o' Gallowa'." 
 
 This song was so thoroughly popular and appreciated 
 that several authors got the credit of its composition. 
 It was especially attributed to Burns, and appeared in 
 an edition of his poetical works which was published by 
 Orphoot at Edinburgh in 1820. The same honour was 
 also accorded to the Ettrick Shepherd in the " Harp of 
 Caledonia," edited by Mr. Struthers; but the real author 
 was unknown. The Julia of the song was a Galloway 
 maiden with whom Cunningham was in love, and upon 
 her death he wrote another, entitled "Julia's Grave," 
 very beautiful and pathetic, which appeared in the 
 Scots Magazine for 1807. That his affection for this 
 young lady was deep-rooted and sincere is evident from 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 11 
 
 the fact that he made her the subject of several of his 
 songs besides those noted above. Though he afterwards 
 became the happy husband of a loving wife, yet the 
 name of poor Julia Curtis was ever deeply impressed on 
 his heart. 
 
 He was extremely touchy on the merits of his com- 
 positions, so that editors and he were frequently at 
 variance. A writer in the Scottish American Journal 
 of 7th September, 1871, says of him, " Mr. Cunningham 
 was somewhat whimsical in his tastes, and rash in his 
 judgments. He could not bear to hear any of his pro- 
 ductions criticised, even by his most intimate friends, 
 and considered professional criticism the most con- 
 temptible and worthless of occupations. He made the 
 acquaintance and corresponded with the Ettrick Shep- 
 herd, but somehow a dryness arose between the two,, 
 and when Hogg visited London about forty years ago, 
 there was a mutual desire to meet, but nothing could 
 bring them together. Hogg sat in solitary dignity in 
 London, and Cunningham, equally obstinate, in South- 
 wark, and who was to cross the Thames was the all- 
 important question. The man of Nith. invited him of 
 Yarrow, and the man of Yarrow invited him of Nith, 
 but neither of them would stir; and when a mutual 
 friend interposed, he was repulsed in a style that made 
 him almost wish that both worthies were tumbled into 
 the Thames. They never met." 
 
 His literary taste extended to prose as well as poetry, 
 and when the Edinburgh Magazine was started in 
 1817, he contributed several interesting articles on 
 ancient and modern times, under the title of the 
 
12 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 ** Literary Legacy," but falling out with the editor, he 
 withdrew. It was, however, in lyrical poetry he was 
 fitted to excel, had his extremely sensitive temperament 
 allowed him to persevere. But it is often found that 
 superior genius is clogged with some insuperable failing 
 which impedes the flight to fame. This idiosyncrasy 
 of his character was greatly lamented by his brother 
 Allan. In a letter to the Ettrick Shepherd on this 
 point he says, " My brother's want of success has 
 surprised me too. He had a fair share of talent ; and, 
 had he cultivated his powers with care, and given him- 
 self fair-play, his fate would have been different. But 
 he sees nature rather through a curious medium than 
 with the tasteful eye of poetry, and must please himself 
 with the praise of those who love singular and curious 
 things." In private life he was highly esteemed by a 
 wide circle of friends, and his business habits were 
 regular, punctual, and faithful. He died of cholera on 
 the 28th October, 1834 
 
 John, the third son, was also trained a mechanic, 
 and evinced considerable talent for poetry, and literature 
 in general, but he was prematurely cut off, while still 
 in his teens. 
 
 Allan was the fourth son, but we shall merely mention 
 his name at present, as he is to engage our special and 
 whole attention afterwards. 
 
 Peter Miller, the fifth and youngest son, was born at 
 Dalswinton, in November, 1789, and was first educated 
 at a school similar to those at which his elder brothers 
 had been taught. After passing through the curriculum 
 •of medical study at the University of Edinburgh, he 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 13 
 
 was appointed Assistant-Surgeon in the Royal Navy. 
 " In this capacity," says an obituary notice of him in 
 the Gentleman's Magazine, June, 1864, " he saw service 
 on the shores of Spain, where the great war was raging, 
 and on the lakes of America, where he became the close 
 friend of the celebrated Clapperton. He also served 
 for some years in the Eastern Archipelago, and had 
 ample opportunities of observing the effect of tropical 
 climates on the European constitution. Of this he 
 profited when, peace having arrived, he was thrown out 
 of the regular line of duty, and would have been left to 
 vegetate on half-pay if he had not sought other employ- 
 ment from the Admiralty; in the course of which, to 
 use the words of the Quarterly Review, he ' made no 
 less than four voyages to New South Wales, as Surgeon- 
 Superintendent of convict ships, in which was trans- 
 ported upwards of six hundred convicts of both sexes, 
 whom he saw landed at Sydney without the loss of a 
 single individual — a fact of itself quite sufficient to 
 attest his judgment and ability in the treatment and 
 management of a set of beings not easily kept in order.' 
 — Quarterly Review, January, 1828. 
 
 " The result of his observations during this period was 
 embodied in his ' Two Years in New South Wales/ 
 which was published in 1827, in 2 vols., post 8vo, and 
 rapidly ran through three large editions. This work is 
 both amusing and instructive, and although necessarily 
 superseded by more recent works on the same ever- 
 extending subject, is still frequently quoted, and some 
 centuries hence will afford a mine of information and 
 speculation to the correspondents of the Sylvamis Urban 
 
14 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 of the Antipodes. Mr. Cunningham added the profits 
 arising from this work to his early savings in the navy, 
 and expended them in an attempt to open up a large 
 tract of land, in what he then fondly regarded as his 
 adopted country. But the locality was perhaps badly 
 chosen ; the seasons were certainly unpropitious, and he 
 soon abandoned the struggle, as far as his own personal 
 superintendence was concerned. His well-earned repu- 
 tation at the Admiralty, however, speedily procured him 
 employment, and he served successively in the ' Tyne,' 
 18, on the South American Station, and in the ' Asia,' 
 84, in the Mediterranean. In the course of these years 
 he published a volume of essays on ' Electricity and 
 Magnetism,' and another on ' Irrigation as practised on 
 the Eastern Shores of the Mediterranean.' He also 
 contributed an account of a ' Visit to the Falkland 
 Islands' to the Athenceum, and was a frequent writer 
 in other periodicals. He was a man of remarkable 
 powers of observation, and of the most amiable and 
 conciliatory disposition, and, it is believed, passed 
 through life without making a single enemy. His 
 attachment to his brother Allan was particularly strong, 
 and although death had separated them for more than 
 twenty years, the name of that brother was among the 
 last articulate sounds which passed his lips." He died 
 at Greenwich on the 6th of March, 1864, in the seventy- 
 fourth year of his age. 
 
 Of the four daughters, one now survives (April, 1874), 
 the sole representative of the family, with her dark eyes 
 as lustrous, intelligent, and penetrating, as if she were 
 only twenty instead of fourscore. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 15 
 
 On the death of John Cunningham, his widow 
 removed with her family to Dalswinton village, where, 
 through the generous liberality of Mr. Miller, she was 
 allowed a free house and a small field for a cow's 
 grazure during her lifetime. This she did not long 
 enjoy, however, for her daughter Mary, Mrs. Pagan at 
 Curriestanes, kindly prevailed on her to remove from 
 Dalswinton and reside with herself, which she was 
 probably the more easily induced to do from the cir- 
 cumstance that she had not been well provided for at 
 her husband's death. It will be seen afterwards how 
 affectionate and mindful of his mother, in this respect, 
 was her son Allan, till the day of his death. She was 
 a little woman, with sharp black eyes, and retained her 
 faculties till the age of ninety, when she died. During 
 her lifetime she was greatly respected, both on account 
 of her own sterling qualities, and as being the mother 
 of Allan Cunningham. 
 
 The following verses on the ancestral family are 
 contributed by a grand-nephew of Allan Cunningham, 
 Mr. Anthony C. M'Bryde, artist, Edinburgh, who seems 
 to inherit a portion of the genius of his great kinsman : — 
 
 "THE CUNNINGHAMS OF CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " The Cunninghams of Cunningham, in good old days of yore, 
 "Were doughty barons stout and bold as ever drew claymore; 
 Who for their King and Country's right in battle foremost stood, 
 And gave to dye full many a field the Sassenach's best blood. 
 
 " Within their halls at festive board, in many days langsyne, 
 When freely passed the jest and song, the usquebae and wine, 
 Amid their leal retainers, so merry, free, and gay, 
 They were the blythest of the blythe, none merrier were than they. 
 
16 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " That night on Carrick's rock-bonnd shore the warning beacon burned, 
 To drive the invader from his throne the royal Bruce, returned — 
 And Cunningham of Cunningham, like lion bold let loose, 
 Dashed gallantly across the hills to fight or die with Bruce ! 
 
 " In Killiecrankie's mountain pass they fought right gallantlie, 
 In favour of King James's cause, by the side of brave Dundee — 
 And many a well-contested field their valour did engage, 
 No nobler name than Cunningham exists on history's page ! 
 
 " And well, I wot, the lion heart survives those ' good old days ' — 
 The patriotic spirit breathes in kinsman Allan's lays ; 
 His 'Hame and it's hame,' and his 'Wee, wee German laird,' 
 Shall live with Scotland's lyric fame while the Scottish tongue is 
 spared. 
 
 " ! let us cherish proudly now their virtues manifold, 
 And strive to emulate the deeds they did in days of old ; 
 For never shall we know again men of superior worth, 
 Than the Cunninghams of Cunningham — none nobler lived on earth." 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 allan Cunningham's birth — education — apprenticed to the 
 mason trade— george douglas m'ghie — humorocts memorial 
 to mr. leny of dalswtnton — burning of cunningham's 
 letters — fear of french invasion — mysterious marking 
 of the houses — discovered to be a hoax, and reward 
 offered — first efforts in song — meeting with the ettrick 
 
 \ 
 SHEPHERD ON QUEENSBERRY HILL — INCIDENT AT ALTRIVE — 
 
 TRAVELS ON FOOT TO EDINBURGH TO SEE SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 — ATTENDS THE FUNERAL OF BURNS. 
 
 Allan Cunningham was born in a cottage near Black- 
 wood House, on the banks of the Nith, in the parish of 
 Keir, Dumfriesshire, on the 7th of December, 1784. 
 The cottage has long since disappeared, and its site is 
 now covered with a gigantic yew, but he who there first 
 became a citizen of the world cannot be forgotten. He 
 was but a child, scarcely two years old, when the family 
 removed from Blackwood to Dalswinton; and, conse- 
 quently, he always looked upon Kirkmahoe very much 
 as his native parish — where his oldest memories took 
 their rise, his boyish days were spent, his youthful 
 associations formed — where his education was acquired, 
 and his apprenticeship served — where his poetic fancy 
 first burst into song, and the flame of love first kindled 
 in his breast. These, and such as these, constitute 
 home, and make the place where they were experienced 
 the scene of our nativity, though it may not be strictly 
 and literally the true place of our birth. So felt Allan 
 
 B 
 
18 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Cunningham when, in after years, and far away, he 
 sang — 
 
 " Dalswinton hill, Dais winton holm, 
 And Nith, thou gentle river, 
 Rise in my heart, flow in my soul, 
 And dwell with me for ever ! " 
 
 Allan, like the elder members of the family, was 
 trained at a Dame's school, which was of the usual 
 order, and conducted in the village of Quarrelwood by 
 a Mrs. Gray. These schools were not only useful but 
 absolutely necessary in their day, as parochial schools 
 were "few and far between," but they were not by any 
 means of a high educational character. This, indeed, 
 was not required. Ability to spell one's way through 
 the Bible was considered all that was necessary, and 
 when this was attained, the pupil was sent out to 
 country service, to herd the cows, or nurse the children, 
 till age and strength fitted for higher and weightier 
 duties. Writing was not considered essential, as few 
 parents could "read write," and letter postage was 
 entirely beyond reach. The Bible was the grand climax, 
 and when a scholar was " once through the Bible," his 
 education was finished, and he was removed. 
 
 At the age of eleven, or rather before he had attained 
 that period, Allan was taken from school, and put under 
 the care of his brother James, resident in Dalswinton 
 village, to learn the trade of a stone-mason, while his 
 physical frame, as may well be imagined, was yet 
 scarcely strong enough for handling the mallet and the 
 chisel with anything like effect. However, in his case 
 the maxim was true, " Learn young, learn fair," as his 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 19 
 
 handiwork afterwards proved; and though his education 
 was sadly curtailed as regarded both quantity and 
 quality, yet his insatiable thirst for knowledge induced 
 him in great measure to become his own instructor. At 
 this time he knew nothing of English grammar, which 
 was afterwards to be so necessary in his connection with 
 literature and the press; but he supplied the defect by 
 private study, while experience in reading and writing 
 brought him into the art of what was required for 
 correct composition. 
 
 In the evenings, after the labours of the day were 
 over, as well as at the mid-day hour, he read with 
 avidity every book within his reach, listened eagerly to 
 every snatch of old ballad he heard sung, treasured up 
 every story told — his own imagination amply supplying 
 any omission in the narrative, or any failure in the 
 memory of the narrator. As he got into the middle of 
 his teens he began to manifest somewhat of a roving 
 disposition when the stars came out and the moon arose. 
 At kirus, trystes, rockings, foys, bridaleens, weddings, 
 and such like merry-makings, he was always an invited 
 guest, and was sure to be present, for the fun and frolic 
 they afforded, as well as for the opportunity of hearing 
 lilted some old Scottish ditty, or narrated some tradition 
 of the feudal times. But besides this, he was suspected, 
 along with some of his companions, of occasionally play- 
 ing pranks at the farm-houses in the neighbourhood, to 
 the annoyance of the inmates, though it was never 
 known to their injury either in property or person. 
 Yet, however bold or venturesome in his frolic, he 
 -always managed to escape detection. 
 
20 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 His chief companion in these days was George 
 Douglas M'Ghie, a youth about his own age, the son 
 of a weaver in Quarrelwood, and engaged in the same 
 occupation as his father. It is necessary to notice him 
 here, from the future reference we shall have occasion to 
 make to him in his correspondence with Allan Cunning- 
 ham during the greater portion of his life. M'Ghie 
 had very considerable talent, but his education was 
 limited and imperfect, though it was afterwards im- 
 proved, and it was thought by many in the place, that 
 had circumstances permitted, he would have been more 
 than an equal to his friend Allan, but he early involved 
 himself in the cares of matrimony, and so there was an 
 end to all literary aspirations. He was full of humour, 
 and was always in request when public, social, or 
 charitable petitions were to be drawn up. Besides being 
 considered qualified for the composition of the document, 
 he wrote a beautiful hand, which was an additional 
 inducement to apply for his service. As a specimen of 
 his ability m this way we append the following, premising 
 that the inhabitants of Quarrelwood had long playfully 
 constituted it a burgh, and appointed Magistrates and a 
 Town Council: — 
 
 " To James M' Alpine Leny, Esquire of Dalswinton. 
 
 " The Petition of the Magistrates, Town Council,, 
 and Freeholders of the Burgh of Quarrelwood, 
 
 " Humbly Showeth, 
 
 " That your Memorialists cannot contemplate without feel- 
 ings of just indignation, the reckless manner in which Mr. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 21 
 
 Rodan, like the Destroying Angel, has torn down and erased 
 the ancient fabrics of Gothic and Grecian architecture which 
 for time immemorial have been the boast and pride of the 
 Burgh; even the College, which has sent forth men whose 
 names will flourish to immortality on the page of their 
 country's history, has been swept away by this ruthless 
 invader of a Burgh's rights; hence your Memorialists may, 
 with great propriety, be compared to the ancient Jews 
 lamenting over the ruins of Jerusalem. Much, however, 
 as these doings are to be regretted, we beg leave to call 
 your Honour's attention to that which more immediately 
 concerns the preservation of human life. 
 
 " Your Memorialists • have long viewed with pride a 
 magnificent Ash tree everhanging one [of the principal 
 streets and thoroughfares of this ancient and venerable Burgh, 
 which, for stately grandeur and symmetry, might rival the 
 boasted Cedars of Lebanon. Your Memorialists have lately 
 observed, with unfeigned regret, the ravages which time and 
 the many angry storms it has encountered have made on its 
 large and elevated trunk, being literary split into halves, and 
 every blast threatens its total annihilation. Had the funds 
 of the Burgh permitted, your Memorialists would have em- 
 ployed Daniel Hunter, or some modern Archimedes, to have 
 secured it by hoop or screw; but since thejFree Church 
 mania has seized a great proportion of the ratepayers the 
 revenues of the Burgh have rapidly declined. 
 
 "Your Memorialists, having carefully examined their 
 Charter, find that it gives them no right or control over the 
 growing timber, although standing within the boundaries of 
 the Burgh. Your Memorialists, therefore, humbly solicit 
 that your Honour will either cause the tree in question to be 
 taken down, or otherwise secured, as to your Honour shall 
 seem fit, so that the lives and property of Her Majesty's liege 
 
22 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 rour 
 
 subjects may in future not be thereby endangered, and your 
 Memorialists, as in duty bound, 
 
 " Shall ever pray. 
 
 " Geo. Doug. M'Ghie, 
 
 "Burgh Chamberlain. 
 
 "Council Chambers, April, 1844." 
 
 The application of the terms Gothic and Grecian 
 architecture to the hovels of Quarrelwood is humorous 
 in the extreme. So also his appellation of College to the 
 Dame's School. But M'Ghie was something more than 
 humorous. For withering satire he had scarcely an equal ; 
 and in his capacity of Inspector for the Poor, an office 
 which he had long held until incapacitated by the in- 
 firmities of old age, his official correspondence must have 
 excited the risibility of the Board of Supervision, as well 
 as troubled the serenity of his brother Inspectors. On 
 his retirement from the Inspectorship he was enter- 
 tained at a public dinner in the parish, as a mark of 
 esteem, and in recognition of the valuable services he 
 had performed in his official capacity, as well as a land- 
 measurer in the district. In returning thanks for the 
 toast of his health, he very modestly said, in his own 
 humorous and graphic way, — 
 
 " Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, — I presume that the 
 most of you are aware that nature never designed me for 
 a rhetorician, but still this deprivation has peculiar advan- 
 tages, for where little is given, little can be expected. I 
 feel myself much in the predicament of Sir John Falstaff, 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 23 
 
 when, on the morning preceding the battle of Shrewsbury, 
 he wished it was bedtime and all well. I am under the 
 same tribulation of mind, but from a very different cause. 
 Sir John, whom Shakespeare represents as no hero, was 
 apprehensive of personal danger, while mine is from a moral 
 conviction of my unfitness to express the deep sense of 
 gratitude I feel for the unlooked-for, and, I may add, 
 unmerited testimony of your kindness. From the very 
 flattering and eulogistic manner in which our lie v. Chairman 
 has been pleased to introduce my health, I am beginning to 
 feel grave doubts of my own identity, as he has given me 
 credit for much to which I never considered myself to have 
 the remotest claim. In the discharge of my duties as 
 Inspector I am conscious of many shortcomings, but I have 
 had the good fortune to be favoured with an intelligent 
 Board, and what is of primary importance, an intelligent 
 Committee, always ready to aid me with their counsel and 
 direction in cases of difficulty. It is certainly very flattering 
 to the feelings of an old man, verging on the confines of 
 another stage of existence, to be considered deserving of such 
 a mark of your esteem, the remembrance of which may well 
 cheer the remaining period of life." 
 
 He died at Quarrelwood in 1868, at the age of eighty-four, 
 and a few weeks before his demise he burned upwards 
 of a hundred of Allan Cunningham's letters, extending 
 over a period of many years, because a promise that he 
 would do so had been exacted by the writer. No per- 
 suasion of ours could prevent the holocaust. " I 
 promised Allan that I would do so!" he said, and he 
 did it. 
 
 During the first few years of the present century the 
 
24 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 South of Scotland was in a continual state of ferment 
 and alarm, from the Teports every now and again arriv- 
 ing of a threatened invasion by Napoleon Bonaparte. 
 The inhabitants of Kirkmahoe, like others within easy 
 reach of the Solway, were always in dread, night and day, 
 of being in the hands of the French without a moment's 
 notice. When the alarm was at its height, it was found 
 one morning that every dwelling was marked with a 
 mysterious number, indicating too certainly that the 
 foe had secretly, landed, and had sent forth their 
 emissaries to make preparations for a sudden attack. 
 Neighbour ran to neighbour in the greatest consternation, 
 but only to fiud that the one was as bad as the other. 
 Every door was marked, and that mast mean something, 
 and therefore a watch must be set to prevent being 
 taken by surprise. So all set to watching, every man 
 his own house, with the arrangement, that, in the event 
 of anything happening to one, the alarm should at once 
 be given, that all might run to the rescue. The sun 
 slowly ascended the sky, slowly crossed the meridian, 
 slowly descended to the west, and darkness gathered 
 around, while the sentinels faithfully stood at their 
 posts. They were relieved by another guard during the 
 night, and when the morning came, all being safety and 
 peace, it was at once surmised that a cruel hoax had 
 been played upon the parish. This was speedily con- 
 firmed, and great was the indignation shown, but who 
 had perpetrated the deed no one could tell, no one was 
 suspected at the time, but afterwards. 
 
 One farmer — Thomas Haining of Townhead — a very 
 worthy and God-fearing man, felt his spirit greatly 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 25 
 
 roused within him at what he considered a most cruel, 
 heartless, and unholy deed; and loudly declared that if 
 he could discover the perpetrators, as it must have 
 required more than one, he would assuredly bring them 
 to justice. In the course of the week a placard was 
 secretly posted up in various parts of the parish to the 
 following effect: — 
 
 k" Whereas some person or persons unknown, with no 
 ar of God before their eyes, have been guilty of wantonly, 
 aliciously, and profanely imitating David's numbering of 
 e people, and the marking of the dwellings of the Israelites 
 on the eve of their departure from Egypt, to the great 
 annoyance and trepidation of the inhabitants of this parish, 
 a reward of £50 is hereby offered for such information as 
 may lead to the conviction of the offender or offenders, as 
 aforesaid. — Apply to Thomas Haining, Townhead, marked 
 No. 14." 
 
 The offenders were never discovered, but soon uni- 
 versal suspicion pointed only in one direction. What 
 added to the mystery at first was, that during the same 
 night all the houses in the Kirklands of Tinwald were 
 marked in a similar way. Without any expectation of 
 receiving the reward, we now give the information 
 solicited, though it may be rather late. The "perpe- 
 trators," both of the house numbering and the placard, 
 were Allan Cunningham and George Douglas M'Ghie. 
 The secret was told us by M'Ghie a short time before 
 his death, when he said he had never told it before. 
 We deeply sympathize with these fear-stricken inhabit- 
 ants of Kirkmahoe, who fancied themselves doomed to 
 
26 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 destruction on that woful morning, but we are not quite 
 prepared to say what sentence should have been passed, 
 in the event of discovery, upon the delinquents — 
 Cunningham and M'Ghie. 
 
 The term of Allan's apprenticeship has expired, and 
 he is now a journeyman mason, and to a certain extent, 
 therefore, his own master, that is, he is free to choose 
 his own master; but the literary aspiration is growing 
 with his growth, and strengthening with his strength, 
 while the poetic afflatus has already kindled into song. 
 His effusions found the best of all circulating mediums, 
 in being chanted by the peasantry at their wedding- 
 parties and other merry-makings, and strangers present 
 wished to hear them repeated, so that they might carry 
 them into their own district. Many amusing attempts 
 were made by the buxom damsels to transfer them to 
 writing for the benefit of their friends, but the general 
 method adopted was to have two or three encores by 
 which they could be impressed upon the memory. It is 
 not to be wondered at that in these ballad singings 
 under difficulties varieties should occur, according to the 
 ability of the fair songstress to tax her memory aright. 
 These liltings, however, had become pretty widely 
 diffused, though they had not yet received the dignity 
 or the assistance of print. 
 
 Allan had an ardent desire to meet with the Ettrick 
 Shepherd, of whose poetic abilities he had heard so 
 much; and as they both belonged to nearly the same 
 class of peasantry, and had also been imperfectly 
 educated, he was the more anxious to have a meeting. 
 The Shepherd had now come within ordinary reach of 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 27 
 
 him, being engaged with Mr. Harkness of Mitchelslacks, 
 in the parish of Closeburn, and he resolved to embrace 
 the opportunity lest he should never have another so 
 convenient. The distance, however, from Dalswinton to 
 Mitchelslacks was by no means inconsiderable. The 
 Shepherd himself describes the first meeting with enjoy- 
 able gusto. It took place one summer day on the side 
 of Queensberry Hill, where he was tending his master's 
 sheep, and cultivating his muse in the leisure time. 
 Here he had erected a hut of the smallest dimensions 
 to shelter hirn from the weather, and take his meals in 
 on stormy days. To get inside he had to crawl on 
 hands and knees, and this effected, the roof was so low 
 that it would only allow him to sit upright, not at all to 
 stand. Within was a bench of rushes which served the 
 double purpose of seat and bed, and just the length of 
 himself, on which he could recline at ease when the 
 sheep were all right. So one day, to his great surprise, 
 he saw two men ascending the hill towards him, who, 
 from their gait, he at once knew were not shepherds, 
 and he was at a loss to conceive who could stumble into 
 such an out-of-the-way place. His dog Hector saluted 
 them in his usual hostile manner, and he himself would 
 much rather have avoided them, as he was not in dress 
 to receive strangers, being bare-legged and bare-footed, 
 and his coat in tatters. 
 
 "I saw by their way of walking," he says, "they were 
 not shepherds, and could not conceive what the men 
 were seeking there, where there was no path nor aim 
 towards any human habitation. However, I stood 
 staring about me till they came up, always ordering my 
 
28 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 old dog Hector to silence in an authoritative style, he 
 being the only servant I had to attend to my orders. 
 The men approached me rather in a breathless state, 
 from climbing the hill. The one was a tall thin man 
 of fairish complexion and pleasant intelligent features, 
 seemingly approaching to forty; and the other a dark 
 ungainly youth of about eighteen, with a buirdly frame 
 for his age, and strongly marked features — the very 
 model of Burns, and exactly such a man. Had they 
 been of the same age, it would not have been easy to 
 distinguish the one from the other. 
 
 "The eldest came up and addressed me frankly, 
 asking me if I was Mr. Harkness' shepherd, and if my 
 name was James Hogg? To both of which queries I 
 answered cautiously in the affirmative. . . . The 
 younger stood at a respectful distance, as if I had been 
 the Duke of Queensberry, instead of a ragged servant 
 lad herding sheep. The other seized my hand and 
 said, 'Well, then, Sir, I am glad to see you. There 
 is not a man in Scotland whose hand I am prouder 
 to hold.' 
 
 "I could not say a single word in answer to this 
 address; but when he called me Sir, I looked down at 
 my bare feet and ragged coat, to remind the man whom 
 he was addressing. But he continued: 'My name is 
 James Cunningham, a name unknown to you, though 
 yours is not entirely so to me; and this is my younger 
 brother Allan, the greatest admirer that you have on 
 earth, and himself a young aspiring poet of some promise. 
 You will be so kind as to excuse this intrusion of ours 
 on your solitude, for, in truth, I could get no peace 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 29 
 
 either night or day with Allan till I consented to come 
 and see you.' 
 
 "I then stepped down the hill to where Allan 
 Cunningham then stood, with his weather-beaten cheek 
 toward me, and, seizing his hard, brawny hand, I gave it 
 a hearty shake, saying something as kind as I was able, 
 and, at the same time, I am sure as stupid as it possibly 
 could be. From that moment we were friends, for Allan 
 had none of the proverbial Scottish caution about him; 
 he is all heart together, without reserve either of expres- 
 sion or manner: you at once see the unaffected benevo- 
 lence, warmth of feeling, and firm independence of a 
 man conscious of his own rectitude and mental energies. 
 Young as he was, I had heard of his name, although 
 slightly, and, I think, seen one or two of his juvenile 
 pieces." 
 
 The afternoon was spent cheerfully within the hut, 
 the two visitors freely partaking of the Shepherd's 
 bread and sweet milk, while they in turn treated him 
 to something they had brought with them, which was 
 not milk. Allan repeated many of his songs and ballads, 
 and heard many in return. " Thus began," says Hogg, 
 "at that bothy in the wilderness, a friendship and a 
 mutual attachment between two aspiring Scottish 
 peasants, over which the shadow of a cloud has never 
 yet passed. From that day forward I failed not to 
 improve my acquaintance with the Cunninghams. I 
 visited them several times at Dalswinton, and never 
 missed an opportunity of meeting with Allan when it 
 was in my power to do so. I was astonished at the 
 luxuriousness of his fancy. It was boundless; but it 
 
30 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 was the luxury of a rich garden overrun with rampant 
 weeds." The remembrance of this meeting was referred 
 to by Cunningham twenty years afterwards, in London, 
 on a renewal of correspondence with the Shepherd, as 
 we shall afterwards see, since it was a day never to be 
 forgotten on either side. 
 
 An intense and lasting friendship henceforth subsisted 
 between James Hogg and James Cunningham, which 
 was greatly strengthened by the various visits of the 
 former to Dalswinton, to which reference has been 
 made. So much so, indeed, that the Shepherd and his 
 wife, Maggie Philip, were desirous of adopting as their 
 own child, one of Cunningham's daughters, Jane (Mrs. 
 M'Bryde), a sprightly girl some nine years of age. She 
 lived with them for three years at Altrive, and had 
 many opportunities of observing the character of the 
 Bard of Kilmeny. There she had the proud satisfaction 
 of being introduced to Sir Walter Scott, as the "niece 
 of Allan Kinnikem." He would take her hand tenderly 
 into his, pat her on the head, and look with his soft 
 loving gray eyes into hers^asking some kind question. 
 She said "he was just a douce, plain, hamely-spoken 
 country gentleman." An incident in connection with 
 one of Sir Walter's visits to Altrive, while she was there, 
 is not known, but is worth relating. The Shepherd had 
 a greyhound which he sarcastically named " Cla verse," 
 after* the hero of Scott and Aytoun's love. Hogg's 
 servant lassie, a little maid of all work, and, perhaps, for 
 a girl, not over well-fed, had been making black pud- 
 dings in the kitchen. While Sir Walter and Hogg 
 were seated at the parlour window, their attention was 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 31 
 
 suddenly arrested by the appearance of Mary the servant, 
 running like the chief witch in " Tarn o' Shanter," to 
 recover a pudding which she alleged the dog had stolen. 
 Sir Walter laughed heartily, and slyly insinuated that 
 he feared poor " Claverse," like his great namesake, got 
 the credit for crimes which he perhaps did not deserve. 
 
 Young Allan's admiration of poetic genius was en- 
 thusiastic, and could scarcely be restrained within 
 reasonable bounds. He had the strongest desire to see 
 face to face those who in this respect had acquired 
 fame. As an instance of this, in addition to the above, 
 may be mentioned the following incident : — When Sir 
 Walter Scott's "Lay of the Last Minstrel" was published, 
 Allan purchased a copy at 24s., out of his scanty earnings, 
 which he committed to memory, and when " Marmion " 
 appeared, in the height of his ecstasy, he started off on 
 foot from Dalswinton to Edinburgh, that he might 
 catch a stealthy glimpse of the author. He kept pacing 
 up and down opposite Scott's house in North Castle 
 Street, when an adjoining lady tenant from Dumfries 
 recognized him and invited him in. There he stood for 
 a time, when at last his curiosity was gratified by a 
 sight of the great author on returning home from the 
 Parliament House. Allan immediately thereafter de- 
 parted again on foot for Dalswinton. 
 
 Another instance of his poetic enthusiasm for genius 
 was in reference to the burial of Burns. He was then 
 an apprentice under his brother James, and both were 
 working in Dumfries at the time Burns returned from 
 the Brow- Well worse than when he left for it. All saw 
 he was dying, and the poet knew that himself. On the 
 
32 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 third day after his return his spirit passed away to the 
 "land of the leal." Allan took a position in the' funeral 
 procession, and walked with head uncovered all the way 
 to the church-yard. He remarked afterwards to one of 
 his sisters, that while he saw some shedding tears as the 
 mournful cortege moved along, there were not so many 
 as should have been. This was his estimation of the 
 great departed. It could not arise from personal friend- 
 ship or much intercourse, for although the two residences 
 were almost opposite each other, Sandbed and Ellisland, 
 yet the river Nith flowed between, and there was no 
 convenient way of access between the two. Besides, 
 Burns was only three years in Ellisland, and when he 
 left, Allan Cunningham was only seven years old. At 
 the time of the funeral he was consequently only twelve. 
 So that, as we have said, Allan's enthusiasm arose not 
 from personal friendship, but from admiration of the 
 poet's genius. 
 
 At the same time, there was personal knowledge of 
 the poet, if not personal intimacy, at such an early 
 age, for Burns and John Cunningham, Allan's father, 
 were on the most friendly terms as neighbours. It was 
 at John Cunningham's table, in the farm-house of 
 Sandbed, that Burns first recited his glorious epic, " Tarn 
 o' Shanter," while one of his best future biographers 
 stood in the ingle-neuk, listening with eager and 
 sympathetic interest to the eloquence with which it 
 rolled forth from the lips of its great author. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LETTER TO THE REV, JOHN WIGHTMAN — MR. WIGHTMAN'S ANSWER — 
 SECOND LETTER TO THE REV. MR. WIGHTMAN, CONTAINING A 
 POETIC EFFUSION — CONTRIBUTES TO A LONDON LITERARY MAGA- 
 ZINE — COMMENDATION OF HIS PIECES — "THE LOVELY LASS OF 
 PRESTON MILL" — LETTER, WITH NEW POEM, TO HIS BROTHER 
 JAMES. 
 
 In a letter to his parish minister, the Rev. Mr. Wight- 
 man, Allan gives an account of the way in which 
 he spends his leisure time, and requests advice as to the 
 best manner of improving his intellect, and raising his 
 position in the world. He is now in his twenty-second 
 year, a journeyman mason, but with a strong desire for 
 literary distinction in the annals of his country, although 
 the path before him seems rugged, and the atmosphere 
 around him hazy in the extreme : — 
 
 " Dalswinton Village, 11th April, 1806. 
 
 " Reverend Sir, — According to promise, I have sent you 
 Sharp's edition of ' Collins, Gray, and Cunningham's Poems,' 
 and I am well assured they will give you in reading them 
 the same degree of satisfaction and pleasure which they gave 
 to me. I would have been happy to have seen you at the 
 manse on purpose to converse about some important and 
 laudable matters — particularly to get your advice concerning 
 my future course of life — to direct my reading, &c, for I am 
 in a manner entirely left to my own inclinations in pursuit 
 of what we term happiness, and I may go wrong. I shall 
 
 C 
 
34 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 be directed entirely by you in everything that tends to my 
 welfare and improvement, for I am not above nor below 
 advice. I shall give you some idea of what I make of time 
 when among my hands that you may form in your mind 
 what kind of being I am. My daily labour, I may say, 
 consumes it all, except what is allotted for sleep, and the 
 short intervals for meals, and considerable portions of these 
 are dedicated to reading any entertaining book, provided it 
 says nothing against our religion. Such I carefully avoid. 
 Poetry especially gives me most delight — Young, Milton, 
 Thomson, and Pope, please me best. 
 
 " Social converse with my fellow-creatures I never avoid on 
 any rational subject that improves the mind, and sweetens the 
 bitters of life, of which, though young, I have had my share. 
 Sometimes I write a few lines on any pleasing subject that 
 strikes my fancy. I have even attempted poetry, but mostly 
 failed. After public worship is over on the Sabbath, you 
 may find me reading in some sequestered spot, far from the 
 usual haunts of bustling mankind, where I retire by myself 
 to be more at liberty in my reflections and contemplations 
 upon the works and goodness of Him who made me. I am 
 for the most part cheerful, except when musing upon, or 
 reading some affecting book. After returning thanks to 
 God for my preservation, I retire to the embraces of sleep, 
 and rise with a cheerful mind, judging it part of my tribute 
 to my Maker. An honest and cheerful heart is almost all 
 my stock. I fervently adhere to truth, and, to close all, I 
 have an independent mind. 
 
 " These, sir, are the outlines of my way of life as near as 
 I can draw them. Now, to be candid with you, I wish to 
 have your advice concerning books which are most proper 
 to peruse; how to use my time, and in short, whatever you 
 deem useful to me in life. If you would be so good as to 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 35 
 
 direct my small share of abilities to flow in their proper 
 channel, I would esteem it the greatest favour your goodness 
 could bestow, I am certainly much in want of education. 
 I was taken from school and put to learn my trade at eleven 
 years of age, and I really begin to feel the want of it much. 
 English grammar I never learned — indeed it was not in use 
 in the school I was at. I have spoken of the Library to 
 several of my acquaintances here, and they will become 
 members of it as soon as it is instituted. I spoke with all 
 the eloquence I was master of in its favour. — I ever am, 
 reverend and worthy sir, your devoted servant, while 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 "Rev. John Wightman, 
 
 "Manse of Kirkmahoe." 
 
 Now, passing over the immature style of this letter, 
 which, all things considered, is rather to be admired 
 than faulted, it is valuable as giving a glimpse of the 
 writer's inner life at this time, as well as an outline of 
 the manner in which his leisure hours were spent. It 
 was just such a production as gratified the heart of the 
 minister, and he was not long in replying to his young 
 parishioner. He might have said, "Go on as you are 
 doing, and you will prosper, your conduct is commend- 
 able ;" but a request had been made, and therefore he 
 wrote as follows : — 
 
 " Kirkmahoe Manse, 20th April, 1806. 
 
 "My dear Allan, — I return you your two volumes, 
 with many thanks. These poems have long been great 
 favourites of mine. The picture you have drawn of yourself 
 iii your letter to me is exceedingly interesting. I wish you 
 
 
36 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 to have a happy journey through life — a smooth road and a 
 serene sky. We must, however, lay our account with a 
 chequered scene. The wisest and best of Beings has seen 
 this to be most conducive to our true interests. I approve 
 of your reading poetry. Goldsmith, in his 'Deserted Tillage,' 
 says something very fine on the subject of poetry — 
 
 ' And thou, sweet poetry, thou loveliest maid, 
 The first to fly when sensual joys invade.' 
 
 The reading of poetry should be mingled with other pursuits. 
 It is a liberal recreation, but should not be a business. It is 
 said to be apt to foster, in elegant and ingenuous minds, a 
 romantic delicacy, and a morbid sensibility inconsistent with 
 the sober and industrious pursuit of the useful arts and 
 professions. This can be the effect only of an excessive 
 fondness for the creations of fancy; but I think there 
 is not much reason to fear this excess in one who is 
 so much confined, and so properly, to the duties of his 
 employment as you are. You would do well to read 
 books of practical science, and history, and travel, which 
 will guard you effectually against any danger of loving 
 poetry too much. 
 
 " Such books as the following may be worth your perusal, 
 as they may fall in your way, or as you may find it con- 
 venient to purchase them: Dr. Robertson's 'History of 
 Scotland;' Hume's 'History of England,' with one of the 
 continuations; Dr. Henry's 'History of Great Britain;' 
 some of the best tours in Great Britain, or different parts of 
 it; the travels or tours of Moore, Cox, Swinbourne, Brydone 
 in Sicily and Malta, Niebhur in Asia, Vaillant and Sparrman 
 in Africa; Captain Cook's and Anson's voyages, &c, &c. ; 
 and I shall mention a book or two in divinity : ' Evidences- 
 of Christianity,' by Dr. Porteous, Bishop of London, by Dr. 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 37 
 
 Beattie of Aberdeen, and by Mr. Addison; Dr. S. Clarke's 
 •' Commentary and Paraphrase on the Four Gospels,' with 
 Dr. Pyle's continuation through the New Testament; or, the 
 'Family Expositor' of the pious and amiable Dr. Doddridge; 
 Dr. Gisborne's ' Survey of Christianity,' and his other works; 
 the sermons of Blair, Walker, Seed, and Sherlock. These, 
 my dear sir, are a few of the books which you may read at 
 your leisure, and still be steady and unremitting in attention 
 to your profession. It is a well-balanced rather than a well- 
 stored mind which bids fairest to be happy. Never lose 
 sight of your religion. This is the grand recipe for 
 happiness : — 
 
 ' Let f ouk bode weel, and strive to do their best ; 
 Nae mair's required: let Heaven make out the rest.' 
 
 "While you preserve your independent mind, consider 
 always that stubbornness has no right to the title of inde- 
 pendence. I am convinced your mind is not of that 
 character. That rude and savage independence which does 
 not attend to the mutual subserviency of the branches of 
 human society, is apt to meet, in an evil hour, with a rude 
 blast to break it, and ruin follows. Mingle with your 
 virtuous contemporaries and friends, and convince them that 
 one may be cheerful, and yet 'unspotted from the world.' I 
 will be glad to give you my best advice at any time, and am, 
 dear Allan, yours truly, 
 
 "John Wightman. 
 
 " Mr. Allan Cunningham, 
 "Dalswinton Village." 
 
 The following week Allan sent the minister another 
 letter, enclosing a poem which he had just composed : — 
 
38 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 "Dalswinton Village, 27th April, 1806. 
 
 "Reverend Sir, — You will no doubt think me impertinent 
 in writing to you again, but you must forgive me. Your 
 fine ideas on the pleasures of solitude, on the Sabbath of 
 20th April, so charmed me, that whenever an opportunity 
 offered itself, I determined to write thanking you for so 
 many useful hints on life and the sweets of retirement, &c. 
 But your letter arriving, for which I sincerely thank you, 
 overthrew my resolutions entirely. I instantly resolved to 
 show my love of solitude, of nature, and of virtue, in a kind 
 of rhyming, prosaical poetry. It but poorly expresses my 
 ideas, but it is sincere enough : — 
 
 "THE NITH. 
 
 " Nith, sacred Mth, beside your hermit stream, 
 Your rocks and foliage bright with summer's beam, 
 How do I love to walk and raving muse 
 Upon the balmy fragrance Heaven bestows ! 
 How dear unto my mind your foaming pride, 
 Where spreading hazels drink your blushing tide ! 
 How sweet the morning mist that wraps your woods — 
 How pure the orient sun that gilds your floods ! 
 Wild in his beams your sportive tenants stray, 
 And show their gold-tinged sides in wanton play. 
 Sweet to the smell your honey- suckled trees, 
 That fling their dew-dipt odours on the breeze ; 
 Mild blooms your primrose on the shelving rocks, 
 And sweet the hawthorn shakes her dewy locks. 
 Like beauty is the dew on yonder thorn, 
 That as a meteor vanishes in morn. 
 Your beeches high their lofty heads uprear 
 Unto the heaven, and threat the middle sphere ; 
 The scented birks bend too their tressy locks, 
 And form cool arbours o'er the moss -girt rocks. 
 The woodbine anxious clasps the cavern's brows, 
 Where rustic heaven-taught genius loves to muse. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 39 
 
 how the mind is fired in nature's fields ! 
 What virtuous peace this to the bosom yields ! 
 
 ever welcome to my soul ye groves, 
 
 Ye rushy fountains, and ye green alcoves ! 
 Ye hermit glens, ye haunts of peaceful rest, 
 That soothe the soul, and calm the tortured breast ; 
 Ye teach the melting passions how to move, 
 And charm the heart of man to heavenly love. 
 
 " Blest solitude, by kindred nature given, 
 Amidst thy peaceful walks I've talked with heaven ! 
 But oh ! too few, alas ! its sweetness feel — 
 Man's giddy brains in maddening tumult reel; 
 His soul rough-cased in ignorance and whim, 
 Floats wildly on, and reason swells the stream; 
 His life he prizes as if life were given, 
 To swell his pride, and shake him off from heaven. 
 His heaven-erected face is given in vain — 
 He drags his reason 'neath the bestial train; 
 In life's deep mire, in search of gold he plies, 
 He grasps the shadowy phantom fast and dies : 
 This is the foolish man's unthinking end, 
 With too much vanity to think and mend; 
 With too much wisdom to do aught amiss — 
 Too happy for to taste of happiness ; 
 Too well informed for to inform his mind, 
 And too quick-sighted for to see he's blind. 
 
 " 0, what's the source of prideful thoughts^and vain? 
 'Tis self -struck reveries of a vacant brain. 
 What can we boast of, for vain thoughts to swell? 
 We grasp at heaven and plunge ourselves in hell ! 
 Go, ask yon graves where our great forbears lie — 
 
 1 Come to your kindred dust,' they all reply. 
 Look to yon blasted oak, low in the vale, 
 
 Its moss-grown trunk, gray, whistling to the gale; 
 Its many arms reached wide, its top touched heaven ; 
 Its forked roots into earth's centre driven ; 
 Its foliage green embalmed the dawning mild, 
 

 40 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Wild flowers and shrubs beneath its fragrance smiled ; 
 But lightning came, and scattered it around, 
 And strewed its blushing honours on the ground. 
 
 " And so is man, tall as an oak he shows — 
 Pure vernal odours from his foliage flows ; 
 Vain in his strength, he mocks the lowly thorn, 
 And opens wide his giant arms in scorn. 
 He shakes the neighbouring woodlands at his nod, 
 And grasps the echoing winds, aerial load ; 
 But death in form of thunder cleaves his pride, 
 And widening ruin hurls on every side : 
 The brambles, wild-insulting, o'er him grow, 
 And nameless streams deep-eddying o'er him flow. 
 
 "This is ambition's end, this folly's fall, 
 Thus certain vengeance overwhelms them all; 
 Thus they stand trembling on the brink of death, 
 And shudder at eternity beneath. 
 dreadful chance ! but no dread chance to those, 
 Whose mind with virtue and religion glows. 
 Let tyrants threaten, boreas tempests howl, 
 And nature tremble, 'twill not shake their soul : 
 Death, gloomy death, to them no terror seems, 
 Their nature sinks in paradisian dreams. 
 
 "Thus, my soul, pursue fair virtue's road, 
 Keep peace with honour, and revere your God; 
 And though in life's rough ocean luckless starr'd, 
 We read that 'virtue is its own reward.' " 
 
 " You are in the right with respect to poetry. Reading 
 it too much and nothing else certainly softens the mind; but 
 I have a very good collection of other books which I read at 
 times. At another time I will give you a list of them. 
 I shall avail myself of your courteous offer of advice 
 without reserve, and you may often expect to hear from 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN" CUNNINGHAM. 41 
 
 me on that head. — I ever am your obedient and obliged 
 servant, while 
 
 Allan Cunningham. 
 
 "Rev. John Wightman, 
 "Kirkmahoe Manse." 
 
 The discourse alluded to above, containing the "fine 
 ideas on the pleasures of solitude/' was an exposition of 
 the Twenty-third Psalm, in which the minister, himself 
 a poet, gave a graphic description of the scenery that 
 the King of Israel saw around him, while tending his 
 father's flocks on the hills and in the solitudes of 
 Judah. 
 
 Encouraged, as we have seen, by the genial counten- 
 ance and sage advice of his parish minister, who was 
 himself endowed with the spirit of poetry, and published 
 many admirable pieces anonymously, Cunningham now 
 began to give rapid flight to his muse, and to look for a 
 channel through which he might try his poetic strength, 
 and "tempt his new-fledged offspring to the skies." 
 Lilting lassies, at kirns, and weddings, and other merry- 
 meetings, might be good enough in their way, but as an 
 advertising medium they were not in his mind suffi- 
 ciently extensive for what he thought himself capable of 
 producing. So he looked elsewhere and succeeded. 
 
 There was at this time (1807) a London periodical 
 entitled Literary Recreations, conducted by an Irish 
 gentleman, Eugenius Roche, which seemed to him a 
 likely vehicle for the gratification of his desire; and, 
 accordingly, he despatched a few pieces to the editor 
 for insertion, under the signature " Hidallan," the name 
 
42 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 of one of Ossian's heroes, describing their origin, and 
 intimating that it was the writer's first attempt to have 
 his verses put into print, so as to obtain the high title 
 of an author. These were readily accepted, and received 
 insertion in due time. Not only so, but in one of the 
 monthly notices to correspondents, special reference 
 was made to him in the following terms: — "We really 
 feel proud in having the pleasure of ushering to public 
 notice, through the medium of our publication, the 
 effusions of such a self-taught genius as Hidallan." 
 Mr. S. C. Hall, in reference to this matter, says: — "I 
 knew Eugenius Roche somewhat intimately in 1825. 
 He was an Irish gentleman, of a very kindly and genial 
 nature. At that time he was editor of the Morning 
 Post, and had all his life been a labourer for the press. 
 He was proud of the small share he had in advancing 
 the fortunes of Cunningham; and long before I became 
 acquainted with Allan, described to me the surprise he 
 had felt on the discovery that so young and so 
 apparently rough a specimen of the 'north countrie' 
 was the writer of the poems he had read with so much 
 delight." 
 
 This notice of Mr. Roche was highly encouraging, and 
 stimulated the youthful poet to further efforts of a 
 similar kind. But it had not the effect of inducing 
 him to relinquish the hope of eminence in his special 
 profession. As a tradesman he was distinguished 
 among his fellows, and in Dumfries he always received 
 higher wages than they, as he was put to the execution 
 of work which required peculiar skill and delicacy in 
 the manipulating, such as carving, moulding, and like 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 43 
 
 ornamentation, for which he had a decided taste, and 
 an artistic hand. 
 
 A new era is now about to dawn upon him, as well of 
 love as of literature, and rural quietude is soon to be 
 exchanged for a city's fermenting din. Still he knows it 
 not. He is chiselling away during the daytime, and in 
 the evening pluming his muse's wing. He has left the 
 superintendence of his brother James, with whom he 
 had served his apprenticeship, perhaps because of the 
 scarcity of work which often occurs in the experience of 
 a country mason, or probably because he had a great 
 ambition to rise in the pursuit of his trade. As we 
 have seen, he had a decided taste for the execution of 
 ornamental work in buildings, to which he was always 
 assigned; and as country employment was generally 
 precarious, and as plain as possible, there was no encour- 
 agement for him to follow it. So he went here and 
 there and everywhere, as his taste directed. He is now 
 twenty-five, and has sobered down from the moonlight 
 escapades carried on by his friend M'Ghie and himself, 
 when both were in their teens. 
 
 His master in Dumfries is anxious to assume him as 
 a partner in business, but this offer he declines. He 
 has other projects simmering in his mind which he 
 keeps to himself. A new mansion was to be erected at 
 Arbigland, in the parish of Kirkbean, and as carved 
 ornamentation was essentially necessary for such a 
 building, we find Cunningham there. While engaged 
 in this work he lodged in the neighbouring farm-house 
 of Preston Mill, where he met for the first time with his 
 future wife, Jean Walker, in the capacity of a domestic 
 
•44 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 there. The intimacy by degrees ripened into affection, 
 and then into love, but they did not unite their fates 
 together for a considerable time afterwards. She is the 
 subject of one of his finest songs: — 
 
 "THE LOVELY LASS OF PRESTON MILL. 
 
 " The lark had left the evening cloud, 
 
 The dew fell saft, the wind was lowne, 
 Its gentle breath amang the flowers 
 
 Scarce stirred the thistle's tap o' down; 
 The dappled swallow left the pool, 
 
 The stars were "blinking owre the hill, 
 As I met, amang the hawthorns green, 
 
 The lovely lass of Preston Mill. 
 
 " Her naked feet amang the grass, 
 
 Shone like twa dew-gemmed lilies fair ; 
 Her brow shone comely 'mang her locks, 
 
 Dark curling owre her shoulders bare ; 
 Her cheeks were rich wi' bloomy youth ; 
 
 Her lips had words and wit at will, 
 And heaven seemed looking through her een — 
 
 The lovely lass of Preston Mill. 
 
 " Quo' I, ' Sweet lass, will ye gaug wi' me, 
 
 Where blackcocks craw, and plovers cry? 
 Six hills are woolly wi' my sheep, 
 
 Six vales are lowing wi' my kye : 
 I hae looked lang for a weel-faured lass, 
 
 By Nithsdale's holmes an' monie a hill;' 
 She hung her head like a dew-bent rose, 
 
 The lovely lass of Preston Mill. 
 
 ' ' Quo' I, ' Sweet maiden, look nae down, 
 But gie's a kiss, and gang wi' me :' 
 A lovelier face, ! never looked up, 
 
 And the tears were drapping frae her ee : 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 4& 
 
 ' I hae a lad, wha's far awa', 
 
 That weel could win a woman's will ; 
 My heart's already fu' o' love,' 
 
 Quo' the lovely lass of Preston Mill. 
 
 ' ' ' Now wha is he wha could leave sic a lass, 
 To seek for love in a far countrie?' 
 Her tears drapped down like simmer dew : 
 
 I fain wad kissed them frae her ee. 
 I took but ane o' her comely cheek; 
 ' For pity's sake, kind sir, be still ! 
 My heart is fu' o' other love,' 
 
 Quo' the lovely lass of Preston Mill. 
 
 " She stretched to heaven her twa white hands, 
 
 And lifted up her watery ee ; — 
 ' Sae lang's my heart kens aught o' God, 
 
 Or light is gladsome to my ee ; — 
 While woods grow green, and burns rin clear, 
 
 Till my last drap o' blood be still, 
 My heart shall haud nae other love,' 
 
 Quo' the lovely lass of Preston Mill. 
 
 " There's comely maids on Dee's wild banks, 
 
 And Nith's romantic vale is fu' ; 
 By lanely Cluden's hermit stream 
 
 Dwells monie a gentle dame, I trow ! 
 0, they are lights of a gladsome kind, 
 
 As ever shone on vale or hill ; 
 But there's a light puts them a' out, 
 
 The lovely lass of Preston Mill." 
 
 We are informed, in a note by the author, that 
 r Preston Mill is a little rustic village in the parish of 
 Kirkbean on the Galloway side of the Solway; it consists 
 of some dozen or so of thatched cottages, grouped 
 together without regularity, yet beautiful from their 
 situation on the banks of a wild burn which runs or 
 
46 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 rather tumbles through it, scarcely staying to turn a 
 mill from which the place takes its name." 
 
 While his thoughts seem to be intent on love, the 
 Muse is not forgotten, as, in addition to the above, the 
 following letter to his brother James shows : — 
 
 "Arbigland, 1st July, 1809. 
 
 " My dear James,— I would have seen you upon the 
 ' Siller Gun ' day, but I was so fatigued that I really could 
 not attempt the journey. As I will not possibly be up from 
 here before a month or six weeks, I will send you a few of 
 the rhymes I have been composing in my leisure moments. 
 The following opens with the arrival of intelligence to Lord 
 Maxwell of our own Nithsdale of his Queen's escape from 
 Lochleven, and the summons is sent by him at midnight to 
 warn his military tenantry and vassals : — 
 
 " 'Twas midnight when, at portgate barred, 
 The clanging tread of hoofs was heard 
 
 In Maxwell's hilly tower — 
 And soon, ' To arms,' the chieftain cries, 
 And soon, the nimble courier hies, 
 Dashing through Mth's dark stream he flies, 
 
 To raise the Nithsdale power. 
 Fast by Dalswinton's woody hall 
 
 The bugle blast was blown — 
 Its gallant baron heard the call, 
 And bounded forth his vassals all, 
 A spearmen forest gleaming tall 
 
 Into the star -beams shone. 
 While o'er the Nith's lone stream they bound, 
 By Tinwald towers was heard the sound, 
 
 The warrior's rousing cry. 
 The woodman on his rushy bed, 
 Lone-bosomed in his woodland shed 
 
 Uplifts his toil-slept eye, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 47 
 
 And rushing from his jangling brakes, 
 His six-ell Scottish lance he shakes. 
 Sad sight it was to see dismayed, 
 In midnight hurry, loose arrayed, 
 Each young and lovely Nithsdale maid, 
 
 Waked with the hour's alarms. 
 All by their cottage doors they shook, 
 Whilst in their arms their lovers took, 
 And on them fixed each tearful look, 
 
 And sank within their arms. 
 Adown their ready spears they threw — 
 But short the promised love — the vow — 
 And short the farewell interview, 
 
 For louder waxed the note. 
 And soon to morning's breaking beam, 
 The battle banners dimly gleam, 
 As o'er the Nith's fair-valleyed stream 
 
 The gairy pennons float. 
 Soon by their various barons led, 
 Lord Maxwell's pavement sound their tread, — 
 Above the rest the veteran stands. 
 With aged smile he eyed his bands, 
 
 And shook his hoary hair. 
 Tall, like an ancient oak he stood, 
 Whose stubborn trunk the storms have bowed, 
 
 With branches shorn and bare ; 
 Rejoicing 'neath Spring's milder skies, 
 Views round his vassal woodlands rise, 
 
 Outstretching green and fair. 
 Oh, ne'er again on tower or height, 
 Shall stream that reverend banner white, 
 Or rustic bard, with heartfelt strain, 
 Welcome his gallant lord again ! 
 Long, long, each lovely Nithsdale maid 
 May stretch her white arms from her plaid, 
 
 And bare her breast of snow. 
 The aged matrons long may mourn, 
 Yearly upon that fatal morn, 
 
 Which saw their banners low. 
 
48 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 They'll march at midnight's solemn hour, 
 Their corpse-light quivering round the tower, 
 And weep for all the gallant flower 
 
 Of lonely Mthsdale low. 
 And long in rustic tale or song, 
 At coming 'mongst the peasant throng, 
 Will all their loss their tears prolong, 
 
 Thy spring, Nithsdale low ! 
 
 "I would have sent you the Edinburgh Review, but I 
 suppose you will get the loan of George M'Ghie's. I had a 
 letter from one of the editors of the Recreations, wishing me 
 to send him all my poetry, and he would get it published for 
 me in London. This offer I have declined. — With my 
 respects and good wishes for you and your family's welfare, 
 I am, dear Brother, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " Remember me to my mother, and my sister-in-law, and 
 any of the 'lave.' — A. C. 
 
 "Mr. James Cunningham, 
 " Dalswinton. " 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 49 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FIRST MEETING WITH CROMER — LETTER FROM MOLLANCE TO HIS 
 BROTHER JAMES — FIRST INSTALMENT OF THE "REMAINS OF 
 NITHSDALE AND GALLOWAY SONG" — " SHE'S GANE TO DWALL 
 IN HEAVEN" — "BONNIE LADY ANNE" — CROMER'S LETTERS — 
 LEAVES FOR LONDON. 
 
 In the summer of 1809, Mr. Cromek, a London engraver, 
 and a great enthusiast in antiquarian lore, paid a visit 
 to Dumfriesshire in the company of Mr Stothard, the 
 celebrated landscape artist. "The object of their joint- 
 visit," says Mr. Peter Cunningham in his introduction 
 to an edition of his father's Poems and Songs, " was the 
 collection of materials and drawings for an enlarged 
 and illustrated edition of the Works of Burns." Mr. 
 Cromek had published, a few years before, a supple- 
 mental volume to Currie's edition of the Works, and, 
 pleased with the success of the "Reliques" (so the 
 volume was entitled), was preparing for publication, at 
 the same time, a select Collection of Scottish Songs, 
 with the notes and memoranda of Burns, and such 
 additional materials as his own industry could bring 
 together. 
 
 "Mr. Cromek brought a letter of introduction to my 
 father from Mrs. Fletcher, of Edinburgh, herself a poetess, 
 and the friend of Sir Walter Scott and Campbell. A 
 similarity of pursuits strengthened their acquaintance; their 
 
 D 
 
50 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 talk was all about Burns, the old Border Ballads, and the 
 Jacobite Songs of '15 and '45. Cromek found his young 
 friend, then a stonemason earning eighteen shillings a* week, 
 well versed in the poetry of his country, with a taste 
 naturally good, and an extent of reading, for one in his 
 condition, really surprising. Stothard, who had a fine 
 feeling for poetry, was equally astonished. 
 
 " In one of their conversations on modern Scottish Song, 
 Cromek made the discovery that the Dumfries mason on 
 eighteen shillings a-week was himself a poet. Mrs. Fletcher 
 may have told him as much, but I never heard that she did; 
 this, however, is immaterial. Cromek, in consequence of 
 this discovery, asked to see some of his 'effusions'; they 
 were shown to him; and at their next meeting he observed, 
 as I have heard my father tell with great good humour, 
 imitating Cromek's manner all the while, ' Why, sir, your 
 verses are well, very well; but no one should try to write 
 songs after Robert Burns, unless he could either write like 
 him or some of the old minstrels.' The disappointed poet 
 nodded assent, changed the subject of conversation, and 
 talked about the old songs and fragments of songs still to be 
 picked up among the peasantry of Nithsdale. ' Gad, sir ! ' 
 said Cromek, ' if we could but make a volume — gad, sir ! — 
 see what Percy has done, and Ritson, and Mr. Scott, more 
 recently, with his Border Ministrelsy.' The idea of a volume 
 of imitations passed upon Cromek as genuine remains flashed 
 across the poet's mind in a moment, and he undertook at 
 once to put down what he knew, and set about collecting 
 all that could be picked up in Mthsdale and Galloway. 
 Cromek foresaw a volume of genuine verse, and entered 
 keenly into the idea of the Nithsdale and Galloway publica- 
 tion. A few fragments were soon submitted. ' Gad, sir ! 
 these are the things;' and, like Polyphemus, he cried for 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 51 
 
 more. 'More, give me more; this is divine!' He never 
 suspected a cheat, or, if at all, not at this time." 
 
 ! Allan, shall we call you honest Allan any more ? 
 thus to play upon the credulity of one who was so 
 enthusiastic in his admiration of your own national 
 poet, and who desired to save from oblivion the remains 
 of the minstrelsy of your own native dale. Still, Burns 
 confesses that he did something of the same kind with 
 some of the same songs which he contributed to John- 
 son's Museum. He gave them to the world as old 
 verses, to their respective tunes, while, in fact, little 
 more than the chorus was ancient, though, he said ? 
 there was no reason to give any one that piece of 
 intelligence. Motherwell also did the same thing, when i 
 he published in the "Harp of Renfrewshire" his' 
 " Cavalier's Song," commencing with the lines — 
 
 "A steed, a steed of matchlesse speede ! 
 A sword of metal keene !" 
 
 and prefaced it by saying — "The following lines are 
 written, in an old hand, in a copy of Lovelace's Lucaste, 
 London, 1679," while all the time it was an original 
 composition of his own, after the antique manner in 
 phraseology and spelling. Now, though two blacks, or 
 rather three, don't make a white, we mention this 
 merely to show that Cunningham was not alone in this 
 kind of literary imposition, or mystification, or by 
 whatever euphemism it may be characterized. We 
 have no doubt that this meeting with Cromek gave a 
 stimulus to his muse ? to carry out the project he had 
 
 
52 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 so suddenly and secretly devised, and we can easily 
 account for the "eleven split new songs" referred to in 
 the following letter to his brother James, from Mollance, 
 near Castle-Douglas: — 
 
 " Mollance, 3rd August, 1809. 
 
 " My dear James, — I have been ' holding high converse ' 
 in the path of song since I saw you. I have composed 
 eleven ' split new ones,' one of which I have enclosed. 
 Want of time prevents me from sending more, which I 
 deem of superior worth. I have no place to compose my 
 mind in, but in the Babelonian slang of tongues which 
 compose a workman's kitchen. I am, however, much at my 
 ease, and comparatively serious ! I hope my sister-in-law is 
 quite well, and my young namesake. I do not know when 
 I will see you, probably not these six weeks. 
 
 " I am begun to my old trade of building whinstone. We 
 have had an untoward time of it, working away late and 
 hard. I care not much for hard work, but I meet it with 
 unconcern. I see my lot is predestinated, and I cannot 
 deviate from the path laid out for me. So, welcome labour, 
 welcome toil, divine heaven sends them ! I had better have 
 a contented and easy mind although my carcase be wrapped 
 in ' Muirland raploch, heplock plaiden,' than have an 
 unquiet heart pranked out in superfine linetorum. Is not 
 my idea good? Were a better plan to cast up I should 
 accept of it; if not, let me be humbly wise. — With my kind 
 respects to my sister-in-law, to my mother, to Peter, and all 
 the rest, I remain, dear James, your affectionate brother, 
 while 
 
 " Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " Mr. James Cunningham, Dalswiuton." 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 53 
 
 Mr. Cromek had not long returned home when he 
 wrote to Cunningham on the subject which was so 
 entirely engrossing his head and heart. His first 
 communication was, " How are you getting oh with 
 your collection? Don't be in a hurry. I think between 
 us we shall make a most interesting book." In reply 
 to this Cunningham sent the first instalment of the 
 so-called Remains, entirety an imitation only, but a 
 wery fine one, of the old ballad style : — 
 
 "SHE'S GANE TO DWALL IN HEAVEN. 
 
 " She's gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie, 
 She's gane to dwall in heaven ; 
 Ye're owre pure, quo' the voice o' God, 
 For dwalling out o' heaven ! 
 
 ' ' what'll she do in heaven, my lassie ? 
 what'll she do in heaven? 
 She'll mix her ain thoughts wi' angels' sangs, 
 An' make them mair meet for heaven. 
 
 " She was beloved by a', my lassie, 
 She was beloved by a' ; 
 But an angel fell in love wi' her, 
 An' took her frae us a'. 
 
 " Lowly there thou lies, my lassie, 
 Lowly there thou lies; 
 A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird, 
 Nor frae it will arise ! 
 
 " Fu' soon I'll follow thee, my lassie, 
 Fu' soon I'll follow thee ; 
 Thou left me nought to covet ahin', 
 But tuke gudeness sel' wi' thee. 
 
 
54 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " I looked on thy death-cold face, my lassie, 
 I looked on thy death-cold face ; 
 Thou seemed a lily new cut in the bud, 
 An' fading in its place. 
 
 " I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie, 
 I looked on thy death-shut eye ; 
 An' a lovelier light in the brow of heaven, 
 Fell Time shall ne'er destroy. 
 
 ' ' Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie, 
 Thy lips were ruddy and calm; 
 But gane was the holy breath o' heaven 
 That sang the Evening Psalm. 
 
 " There's nought but dust now mine, lassie, 
 There's nought but dust now mine ; 
 My soul's wi' thee i' the cauld grave, 
 An' why should I stay behin' !" 
 
 This very beautiful imitation of the ancient ballad 
 was despatched to London, we have no doubt, with a 
 feeling of pride, but, at the, same time, we are certain, 
 with a consciousness of trembling and fear on the part 
 of the author as to the future success of the work, and 
 the risk he ran of having his imposition discovered. 
 Had it been for a song or two, or even half a dozen, 
 but a whole volume of contraband lyrics was not a 
 " consummation devoutly to be wished," and we cannot 
 therefore do otherwise than believe that it was with 
 some misgiving that the first song was transmitted to- 
 London. Whether this was so or not, it was speedily 
 succeeded by the following ballad: — 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 55 
 
 " BONNIE LADY ANNE. 
 
 There's kames o' hinney 'tween my love's lips, 
 
 An' gowd amang her hair, 
 Her breasts are lapt in a holie veil : 
 
 Nae mortal een keek there. 
 What lips dare kiss, or what hand dare touch, 
 
 Or what arm o' love can span, 
 The hinDey lips, the creamy loof, 
 
 Or the waist o' Lady Anne? 
 
 " She kisses the lips o' her bonnie red rose, 
 
 Wat wi' the blobs o' dew ; 
 But gentle lip, nor semple lip, 
 
 Maun touch her lady mou' ; 
 But a broider'd belt wi' a buckle o' gowd, 
 
 Her jimpy waist maun span — 
 Oh, she's an armfu' fit for heaven, 
 
 My bonnie Lady Anne ! 
 
 ' ' Her bower casement is latticed wi' flowers, 
 
 Tied up with silver thread, 
 An' comely sits she in the midst, 
 
 Men's longing een to feed. 
 She waves the ringlets frae her cheek, 
 
 Wi' her milky, milky han', 
 An' her cheeks seem touch'd wi' the finger o' God, 
 
 My bonnie Lady Anne ! 
 
 " The morning cloud is tassl'd wi' gowd, 
 
 Like my love's broider'd cap ; 
 An' on the mantle which my love wears, 
 
 Is mony a gowden drap. 
 Her bonnie eebree's a holie arch, 
 
 Cast by nae earthly han', 
 An' the breath o' heaven's atween the lips 
 
 O' my bonnie Lady Anne ! 
 
56 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 "lam her father's gard'ner lad, 
 
 An' poor, poor is my fa' ; 
 My auld mither gets my sair-won fee, 
 
 Wi' fatherless bairnies twa ; 
 But my Lady comes, my Lady goes, 
 
 Wi' a f ou' an' a kindly han' ; 
 Oh, the blessing o' God maun mix wi' my love, 
 
 An' fa' on Lady Anne ! " 
 
 In a note to this ballad it is said that there is a varia- 
 tion in the last verse well worth preserving. Indeed, a 
 deal of unseemly chaff had intermixed with the heavy 
 grain, which has cost a little winnowing and sieving. 
 
 " I am her daddie's gardener lad, 
 
 An' poor, poor is my fa' ; 
 My auld mither gets my sair-won fee, 
 
 Wi' fatherless bairns twa. 
 My een are bauld, they dwall on a place 
 
 Where I darena' mint my han', 
 But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers 
 
 0' my bonnie Lady Anne. " 
 
 The enterprize on which Cunningham had ventured 
 was not only in a moral point of view daring, but it was 
 also one attended with considerable difficulty and hazard. 
 He had undertaken to furnish a number of ancient 
 ballads, sufficient to make a volume, collected in the 
 districts of Nithsdale and Galloway, but he knew they 
 were to be the productions of his own brain, from such 
 traditional snatches as were floating about, and some of 
 them not even that; and as his only time for composi- 
 tion was limited, even were the Muse willing, which it 
 was possible might not always be the case, his engage- 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 57 
 
 ment might, therefore, fail. Besides, he might infer, 
 from the enthusiasm which his friend Cromek had 
 shown in the matter, that it would not be long ere a 
 demand would be made upon his poetic resources. This 
 consideration might have upset the nerves of many a 
 more highly gifted and experienced poet than he was 
 at the time, still he never flinched, but set himself with 
 all ardour to the work, building by day, and writing far 
 into the night, or rather the morning, till he got so far 
 ahead that final success appeared to him certain. 
 
 If he sent off the foregoing pseudo-antique specimens 
 to his London friend, with a feeling of doubt and hesi- 
 tancy, not only as to their reception, but also as to the 
 propriety of the act, we may be certain that he awaited 
 with great anxiety the nature of the verdict which 
 would be pronounced upon them. He had not, however, 
 long to wait in suspense. On their receipt, Mr. Cromek 
 wrote back in the most grateful and glowing terms, 
 acknowledging the arrival of the valuable treasures he 
 had secured, at the same time making some critical 
 comments on certain words and phrases which they 
 contained, showing that he was by no means an incom- 
 petent judge, and that he was well versed in ancient 
 ballad lore. In the course of correspondence he 
 occasionally put to his Nithsdale friend certain inter- 
 rogatories which could not be very agreeable in the 
 position assumed as a hunter of poetic relics, such as 
 the one inquiring what the fragment of " A Tocher " 
 was extracted from, and again earnestly requesting the 
 names of the poets which Nithsdale and Galloway had 
 produced. These were trying questions, and as a 
 
58 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 "Don't remember" might have aroused suspicion, it 
 is probable that the answering of them was considered 
 " more honoured in the breach than in the observance." 
 Here is Mr. Cromek's acknowledgment of the first instal 
 merit : — 
 
 64 Newman Street, 27th October, 1809. 
 
 
 " Thank you, very, very kindly, my good Allan, for your 
 interesting letter, and the very fine poem it contained. Your 
 short but sweet criticism on this wonderful performance super- 
 sedes the necessity of my saying a word more in its praise. I 
 must, however, just remark that I do not know anything 
 more touching, more simply pathetic, in the whole range of 
 Scottish song. Pray, what d'ye think of its age? I am of 
 opinion, from the dialect, that it is the production of a Border 
 minstrel, though not of one who has ' full ninety winters 
 seen.' 
 
 " In old ballads abstract ideas are rarely meddled with — 
 an old minstrel would not have personified ' Gudeness,' nor 
 do I think he would have used compound epithets, ' death- 
 cold,' ' death-shut ee,' &c. ; much less would he have intro- 
 duced the epithet ' calm' as it is applied in this song. A 
 bard of the olden time would have said a calm sea, a calm 
 night, and such like. 
 
 "The epithet 'Fell' ('Fell Time' in the last line of the 
 7th verse) is a word almost exclusively used by mere cold- 
 blooded classic poets, not by the poets of nature, and it 
 certainly has crept into the present song through the igno- 
 rance of reciters. We must remove it, and its removal must 
 not be mentioned. We'll bury it ' in the family vault of 
 all the Capulets.' 
 
 " ' Ye're ower pure ' — I do not recollect the word pure in 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 59 
 
 old, or, indeed, in modern Scotch ballads; but it may pass 
 muster. I have read these verses to my old mother, my 
 wife, sister, and family, till all our hearts ache. 
 
 " The last verse of ' Bonnie Lady Anne' contains a fine 
 sentiment. 
 
 " The Jacobite Songs will be a great acquisition. I am 
 pretty sure that among us we shall produce a book of conse- 
 quence and interest. I have now arranged the plan of 
 publication. I shall place Burns and his remarks, with the 
 songs remarked on, at the front of the battle. These Songs 
 will afford hints for many notes, &c. You and I will then 
 come forward with our budget in an appendix, introduced 
 with some remarks on Scottish Song, which / much wish 
 you would try your hand at. I think you will succeed in 
 this much better than myself. I would then conclude the 
 book with a selection of principally old songs and ballads, from 
 Johnson's 'Musical Museum.' This selection will consist 
 of about five-and-twenty or thirty of the best songs, which 
 lay buried alive amid the rubbish of that heterogeneous mass. 
 
 " Speaking of the ' Museum,' I hope you will receive safe 
 a copy of this work, six volumes, which I have got bound 
 for you. The ' Museum ' has become scarce since I published 
 the l Reliques.' Do me the favour to accept of these books, 
 which I send under the full persuasion that to you they 
 will be a mine of wealth. 
 
 " Your brother (Thomas) dined with us on the Sunday 
 before last. He is a very good fellow. He desired me to 
 remind you of an old woman, living (I hope) at Kirkbean, 
 * ycleped Margaret Corson.' She has, or had, a budget filled 
 with songs. If you see her, ask her for what she may 
 appen to recollect of an old fragment beginning — 
 
 ' D'ye mind, d'ye mind, Lady Margery, 
 When we handed round the wine,' &c. 
 
60 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " From this woman you may also learn many particulars 
 respecting ' Mary's Dream/ and its author. If she lives at 
 any distance, hire a horse and ride at my expense as boldly 
 as ' Muirland Willie,' when he went a-courting. Pray get 
 what you can from her respecting the history of this song 
 and its author. 
 
 " My family beg their kindest wishes. Whether my wife 
 will be able to welcome you to London in broad Scots I 
 cannot tell; this I will venture to say for her, that she, as 
 well as all of us, will welcome you in the simple old style 
 language of the heart. 
 
 " On the subject of your crossing the Sark I will write 
 fully in my next. At all events the spring must introduce 
 you with other wild flowers to the notice of my London 
 friends. 
 
 " I was glad to find you were pleased with the present of 
 the song (' The Blue-Eyed Lass '), in Burns' handwriting. 
 You may safely consider yourself a favourite to receive such 
 a thing from me, I can assure you. Remember me very 
 kindly at home. God bless you. 
 
 "R H. Cromek. 
 
 " I begin to feel anxious to see what you have done. I 
 beg of you to take a week from your employer, and sit down 
 leisurely to the papers; for which week I will send you, by 
 Johnson's next parcel, a £2 note, with this old proverb 
 as an apology for so doing, ' He may well swim that has his 
 head hadden up.' 
 
 " Adieu again, 
 
 " R H. C. 
 
 " Mr. Allan Cunningham." 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 61 
 
 Mr. Cromek is now more urgent than ever for 
 Cunningham's departure to London, and even fixes the 
 very time when he must appear in the great metropolis. 
 His letter on that point is very jubilant, and must have 
 greatly influenced the young stonemason in taking such 
 an important step. Still we cannot help thinking that 
 in the mind of Cunningham^ from his careful moral 
 training 1 at home, and his regular observance of Dublic 
 religious ordinances after leaving his father's roof, there 
 must have been a little misgiving as to what might be 
 the result of this daring speculation. What if his 
 so-called ancient ballads should be discovered by London 
 critics to be spurious, mere imitations, and an imposi- 
 tion be charged upon him! Where could he hide his 
 head, and would not his endeavours after literary fame 
 be quenched, in so far as moral principle was concerned ! 
 Something of this* sort must doubtless have passed 
 through his mind ere the great undertaking was finally 
 resolved on. But Mr. Cromek is urgent for him to go, 
 and, besides, he has promised to use all his influence to 
 obtain for him some permanent situation of emolu- 
 ment; a promise, however, which was not fulfilled, from 
 some cause or another: — 
 
 "Friday, 27th January, 1810. 
 
 " My dear Allan, — While I recollect, I will tell you 
 that I shall not put the Nithsdale Ballads to press till I am 
 able to announce to Great Britain the arrival of your worship 
 in the Metropolis, which I hope will be soon. You must be 
 here by the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd of April or so. We will then sit 
 
62 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 down and make a good book. I have arranged the materials 
 already come to hand, and have written several spruce notes. 
 I am absolutely dying to see ' Billy Blin',' and his many 
 companions. ' The Lass of Inverness ' is quite lovely. When 
 you are here I will point out to you the beauty of these 
 things as I feel them. 
 
 " The fragment of 'A Tocher' is curious and interesting. 
 "What is it extracted from 1 The History of the Pipers will 
 tell well. As you say, * Notices Concerning By-past Man- 
 ners ' are valuable. ' The Border Minstrelsy' hath scarcely 
 any other merit. ' Muirland Willie ' is braw. The picture 
 of the Country Ale-House is so faithful that it might be 
 painted from. Thank you for it very kindly. ' Maggie 
 Lauder' will do fine. 'Blythsome Bridal' — sensible observ- 
 ant remarks. I envy you the sight of Lady Nithsdale's 
 letter — pray steal it. At all events mark its date, and com- 
 pare it with the printed copy, but don't talk about it, and 
 inform me who possesses it. Let me have the History of 
 the Fairies of Nithsdale and Galloway, and the Brownie. 
 Adieu, my good friend, in great haste, your sincere 
 
 "R. H. C. 
 
 "Mr. Allan Cunningham." 
 
 [No date.] 
 
 " Pray what are the names of the poets Nithsdale and 
 Galloway have produced ? 
 
 " I shall introduce 'Bothwell Bank' as the production of a 
 friend, and you may claim it ; but say nothing about it till 
 it appears and you will hear it remarked on. It is too good 
 to be thrown away ; you must have it. 
 
 " Since I wrote the above, I have read your 'Bothwell Bank ' 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 63 
 
 to Mr. Stothard. He is delighted with it. His taste is 
 perfect. He wishes me to allow it to be shown to Mr. 
 Rogers, the author of the 'Pleasures of Memory*/ which I 
 shall do. Adieu. 
 
 "E. H. Cromek. 
 "Mr. Allan Cunningham." 
 
 " 64 Newman Street, 8th Feb., 1810. 
 
 " I congratulate you very sincerely, my dear Allan, on the 
 good things your two last contained. Your 'Brownie' is very 
 fine. Something near the outline of your story Scott had 
 picked up, but yours is so rich and full that I do not think 
 it worth while, when I print it, to give the reader notice of 
 any resemblance. I have now a clear ken of a curious book, 
 on which we can pride ourselves, notwithstanding much 
 criticism, which I plainly see it will get. I have got a 
 famous motto for the book — Remains of Nithsdale and 
 Galloway Song : with Historical and Traditional Notices 
 relative to the Manners and Customs of the Peasantry, now 
 first published by R. H. Cromek. 
 
 1 We marked each memorable scene, 
 And held poetic talk between; 
 Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
 But had its Legend or its Song: 
 All silent now. ' 
 
 " The variations of ' Tibbie Fowler' are very good, and the 
 Notices also. From the specimen you have given in your 
 ■ Brownie,' I have every hope, from your other characteristic 
 Tales, they will do wonders for our Ballads. I think you 
 show the richness and pleasantry of your genius in these 
 stories as much as in any sort of composition. 
 
 
64 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " Do let us see you as early in April as you can. I think 
 it would be best to go to Leith, and thence by sea to London; 
 but more of this in due time. You may return by Liverpool 
 when you do return. 
 
 ", I have engaged a scribe to make a fair copy of the 
 materials for our volume, with the various notes, &c, in 
 their proper places. Let me remind you not to forget the 
 games of ' England and Scotland ,' <fec, &c. — there is no 
 haste for them. As to the Cutty Stool, I don't know if it 
 would be politically good to write about it; if I should, I 
 shall do it with a ' noble daring.' I fear I am not suffi- 
 ciently fa miliar with it to do it justice. Try your hand, i.e., 
 if you think it worth shot. What a grand thing in the 
 hands of Burns ! 
 
 " I beg you will not be afraid your communications will 
 swell my volume too much : even a small volume has a great 
 swallow. Did I ever ask you to write six lines (when I say 
 six I only mean that number) of introduction to the old 
 ballad, 'The Wife of Auchtermuchty !' It is a fine thing, and I 
 wish to use it. 
 
 " I beg of you not to approach me without some Eelique 
 of Burns. The plough that he turned up the mouse's nest 
 •with will do, or if you can trace any of the descendants of 
 his ' Mountain Daisy,' bring one in the button-hole of your 
 coat, or his ox, or his ass, or asty thing that was his.'— 
 Adieu, very sincerelv, your affectionate friend 
 
 l 5 
 
 It, H. Ceomek. 
 
 
 " As to Burns' Apostrophe to old and forgotten Bards, it 
 is exquisitely beautiful and tender. I do not think it would 
 do as a motto, because, if you reason on the effect produced 
 on your feelings, you will find that much of its beauty arises 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 65 
 
 from the circumstance of so great a poet as Burns himself 
 sympathising with those sons of genius. Coming from a 
 mere editor, the effect would be considerably diminished 
 " Mr. Allan Cunningham. " 
 
 P"64 Newman Street, 22nd Feb., 1810. 
 " My dear Allan, — I have got safe your last, containing 
 the account of the Cutty Stool. Though ' rude and rough,' 
 yet it is ' ready-witted,' and exceedingly to my wishes and 
 purpose. I have been rewriting, and I hope you will think 
 well of what I have done. I think I have given still more 
 vigour to the strong parts. I have heightened the pathos, and 
 I have aimed at a burst of eloquent indignation. But you 
 shall see it and judge for yourself. I say you shall see it, 
 because I have the work fairly transcribed, and I mean to 
 indulge your longing een with a sight of this precious 
 volume by Johnson's next parcel. . But, except your own, 
 take care no mortal eyes Jceek in. However, in this act as you 
 think fit, only be cautious not to divulge the secrets of the 
 prison house. I shall send you the book, because you 
 will then see my plan, and you may suggest hints of im- 
 provement, such as we further want in illustration. 
 
 " You will see that I have enriched the text wherever I 
 could by notes, and T have connected my remarks with the 
 text, and this incorporation will preserve whatever conse- 
 quence and value they may have. I regret that the notice 
 of ' Brownie ' must appear in a note, but it cannot be helped, 
 it is too curious and novel to be overlooked, even by the 
 most indolent reader. You will see we want the sports and 
 pastimes alluded to in some of the poetry, and the Life of 
 Lowe (author of 'Mary's Dream'), but if you have the 
 materials, bring them with you, and write the descriptions 
 here. 
 
 E 
 
66 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " The Cutty Stool you have done with great ability. I 
 want a short notice of your lassie, which I will introduce by 
 way of note to the bottom of the ballad of 'Derwentwater.' 
 As to Lady Nithsdale's letter, I hope you have not been at 
 the trouble of copying it, as I have got from Edinburgh the 
 number of the Scots Magazine in which it originally appeared. 
 I only wish you to compare a printed copy with the manu- 
 script, and mark the difference, if any. I want the date of it 
 and the direction. 
 
 "You have not yet informed me of the authority on 
 which you found the interesting anecdote of Murray's 
 treachery. It is absolutely necessary. When you have 
 read this book I shall be miserable if it is not to your taste. 
 It must excite much curiosity. I have a notion it will 
 prove a precious crust for the critics. 
 
 " God bless you, my dear friend. 
 
 "R H. Ckomek. 
 
 "Mr. Allan Cunningham." 
 
 "22nd March, 1S10. 
 
 " My dear Allan, — As the booksellers are determined 
 to put our Nithsdale book immediately to the press, I write 
 to beg that, if it suit you, you will set off as soon as possible. 
 You must ' buckle an' come away.' Pray send me the book 
 by the very first mail, and ' taking the beuk' with it. 
 
 " Mr. Grahame, the author of ' The Sabbath,' is in town. 
 His opinion is high indeed of the volume; it will do us all 
 good, I hope. Write to me by return of post if you can, if 
 but a line, and say when you think you will leave Scotland; 
 at all events forward the book. The verses on Cowehill will 
 be a great acquisition, from what you say of them. 
 
 " I am not angry with the booksellers for their resolute 
 conduct; on the contrary, I think the sooner the volume is 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 67 
 
 out the better. Indeed, if it is not ready in two months, the 
 season, as it is called, will be lost, — God bless you with all 
 my heart. 
 
 " R. H. C. 
 "Mr. Allan Cunningham." 
 
 " 28th March, 1810. 
 
 " My dear Allan, — I have received by this day's mail 
 the welcome news of your intended departure from Dumfries. 
 My family rejoice most heartily with me. The firing of the 
 Park and Tower guns, announcing a grand victory, would 
 not have interested any of us half as much. I am very glad 
 you showed the volume to Mrs. Copeland and her niece, and, 
 from what you say, I am also happy that the printing has only 
 just begun, and shall stop the press till I see you. I hope 
 to receive the volume by to-morrow's mail, and, be assured, 
 I shall hold your pencil-marks most sacred. 
 
 " One of the luckiest things that could have happened 
 was the late visit from Mr. Grahame. The work will derive 
 infinite advantage from his remarks. He augurs it a most 
 warm reception from the public. But when you come, and 
 when we lay our heads together, I am certain several things 
 will be added, and others materially improved. 
 
 " Now for your amphibious journey. I advise you not to 
 stop at Edinburgh at all, and, as I know you will take this 
 counsel, I have not enclosed a letter — except, on second 
 thoughts, you must call for a moment on Mrs. Fletcher; and 
 in case she should not be in town, and to guard against the 
 carelessness of servants, write your name on a slip of paper, 
 and leave it, with the message — that you were passing 
 through Edinburgh to London. If you see her, say you are 
 coming to me on a visit, and make my kindest respects to her. 
 Then proceed to Leith, and stay all night in an inn — don't 
 
68 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 attempt to come in any part of the ship but the principal 
 cabin on any account. I mention this, because, from some- 
 mistaken idea of saving a guinea, you may suffer much 
 personal inconvenience. Keep as much on the deck as 
 possible. 
 
 " R. H. C. 
 
 " Mr. Allan Cunningham." 
 
 There is something warmly affectionate in the instruc- 
 tions and advice here given with reference to the 
 voyage, and one's heart gratefully reciprocates the senti- 
 ments of kindness expressed towards the aspiring poetic 
 Scotchman. Having always had a hankering after 
 literature, and for some time back having cherished a 
 desire to substitute mental for manual labour, he was 
 the more easily persuaded to accept the invitation by 
 the pleasing prospect which Mr. Cromek held out, and 
 to try the great metropolis as a field for fortune and 
 fame. He accordingly began to make preparations for 
 leaving, amid the remonstrances of friends, and their 
 admonitions on the folly of surrendering a present good 
 for an uncertain future. They urged the dangerous 
 tendency of a great city's temptations to lead the inex- 
 perienced astray; the difficulty of a stranger finding 
 employment where thousands of native citizens could 
 scarcely sustain life; and, lastly, the cutting off, as it 
 were, by distance, all connection with kindred and home. 
 But their efforts to restrain him were of no avail. Go 
 he would. 
 
 When his arrangements were completed he took a 
 temporary farewell of the lass o' Preston Mill, turned 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 69 
 
 his back upon Nithsdale, upon kith and kin, and bade 
 his native land adieu ! He was to sail from the port of 
 Leith, the usual and most convenient mode of transit in 
 those days, especially when anything in the shape of 
 luggage had to be taken along. Having arrived there, 
 and, being on the point of starting, an affectionate 
 '" Good-bye" was accorded him by comrades and friends. 
 He himself thus describes the scene : — 
 
 " The hour of fame and distinction seemed, in my sight, 
 at hand. I turned my eyes on London, and closed them on 
 all places else. In vain my friends urged me to study archi- 
 tecture, and apply the talent, &c, &c. . . . On my way to 
 the pier of Leith I met one of my old Edinburgh comrades, 
 Charlie Stevenson by name, who was rejoiced to see me, and 
 tried, over ' a pint of the best o't,' to persuade me to become 
 his partner in the erection of two houses in the New Town, 
 by which he showed me we should clear, by the end of the 
 season, a hundred pounds each. I declined his kind offer. 
 * If,' I said, ' undertakings of that nature could have in- 
 fluenced me, I need not have left Dumfries, where, with 
 certainty of success. I might either have begun business for 
 myself, or been admitted into partnership with my masters, 
 who would have been glad both of my skill and my connec- 
 tion. So I parted with worthy Charlie Stevenson, and 
 committed myself to the waves in one of the Leith smacks, 
 bound for London. Several of my comrades from the Vale 
 of Nith, then at the University, waved me from the pier, 
 and away I went, with groves of laurels rustling green before 
 me, and fame and independence, I nothing doubted, ready to 
 welcome me to that great city which annually swallows up 
 so many high hopes and enthusiastic spirits." 
 
70 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Good-bye, for the present, Allan Cunningham, we 
 shall soon meet again in the new field of your opera- 
 tions. Remember and act up to what you said some 
 four years ago, in a letter to your parish minister, the 
 good Mr. Wightman of Kirkmahoe, when you were 
 giving an account of how you spent your time, and 
 asking his advice for the future — " After returning 
 thanks to God for my preservation, I retire to the em- 
 braces of sleep, and rise with a cheerful mind, judging 
 it part of my tribute to my Maker. An honest and 
 cheerful heart is almost all my stock. I fervently 
 adhere to truth, and, to close all, I have an independent 
 mind." Adieu ! we shall soon meet again in the great 
 metropolis. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 71 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ARRIVAL IN LONDON — PREPARATION OP THE VOLUME — CROMEK'S 
 LETTER TO A. CONSTABLE ON THE SUBJECT — TESTIMONY TO 
 CUNNINGHAM — CROMEK'S DEATH — CUNNINGHAM'S OPINION OF 
 LONDON LIFE — ENGAGES WITH BUBB A SCULPTOR — BECOMES A 
 REPORTER IN PARLIAMENT— LETTER TO HIS BROTHER JAMES, 
 
 ENCLOSING NEW SONG LETTER TO M'GHIE — LETTER TO HIS 
 
 BROTHER JAMES, 
 
 Cunningham arrived in London on the 9th of April, 
 1810, a day never to be forgotten in the annals of 
 England, as being that on which Sir Francis Burdett 
 was sent to the Tower. His first experience in the 
 great metropolis was not at all what he had anticipated. 
 The laurel groves of which he had so fondly dreamt 
 were nowhere to be seen. Every one seemed intent 
 upon his own affairs, and had neither time nor inclina- 
 tion to regard the interests of a stranger — even Mr. 
 Cromek was scarcely an exception, save for his own 
 ends. His promised influence came to nothing — he 
 had either none to exercise, or he had no opportunity 
 to use it. However, he entertained Cunningham at his 
 house, while he prepared for the press the forthcoming 
 
 I volume of the "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway 
 Song." When it was all but ready for publication, Mr. 
 Cromek wrote regarding it to his friend Mr. Archibald 
 Constable, publisher, Edinburgh, in the following 
 terms: — 
 
72 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " You will rejoice with me that my volume of Nithsdale 
 Ballads is on the verge of publication. I wish you had had 
 it, because it should have issued from a Scotch house, and 
 because it is a most curious and original book, and will most 
 certainly have a very wide circulation. I have so high an 
 opinion of it myself, that I think Mr. Jeffrey will and must 
 say it is the most valuable collection that ever yet appeared. 
 I have now given — what I think was never given — the real 
 history of the Scottish Peasantry; and as far as relates to 
 the twin districts of Nithsdale and Galloway, I have ven- 
 tured to describe at some length their manners, attachments, 
 games ; superstitions, their traditional history of fairies, 
 witchcraft, &c., &c, taken down from the lips of old cottars. 
 One of the most interesting and valuable of these was a 
 Margaret Corson, an old woman, aged ninety-seven. The 
 title I send you. The whole 1000 will be printed on India 
 paper. Pray give one, with my kind respects, to Mr. 
 Hunter, to add to his collection, as it is a wonderful group, 
 drawn by Stothard from the peasantry." 
 
 Now, in the above letter there appears an amount of 
 selfishness which detracts considerably from the charac- 
 ter of the writer. He arrogates the doing of the whole 
 work himself, without even hinting at a coadjutor, 
 while the truth is he had almost no hand in the matter, 
 with the slight exception of a passage or two. Cun- 
 ningham composed the Ballads, wrote the Introduction, 
 as well as the descriptive Notes, and corrected the 
 proofs, toiling at the work from morning to night, and 
 was rewarded for all his labour with — how much does 
 the reader imagine? — a single bound copy of the 
 volume, with the assurance that the work had been 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 73 
 
 very costly in the production, but he would get some- 
 thing more when another edition appeared ! 
 
 We fear we have been too rash in asserting that Mr. 
 Cromek made no reference to a coadjutor, and that only 
 a passage or two in the volume was his own, though we 
 have Cunningham's authority for the last statement. But 
 surely Cunningham could not have written the following 
 two sentences in the Introduction: — "To Mr. Allan 
 Cunningham, who, in the humble and laborious profes- 
 sion of a mason, has devoted his leisure hours to the 
 cultivation of a genius naturally of the first order, I 
 cannot sufficiently express my obligations. He entered 
 into my design with the enthusiasm of a poet; and was 
 my guide through the rural haunts of Nithsdale and 
 Galloway, where his various interesting and animated 
 conversation beguiled the tediousness of the toil; while 
 his local knowledge, his refined tastes, and his indefati- 
 gable industry, drew from obscurity many pieces which 
 adorn this collection, and which, without his aid, would 
 have eluded my research." It is possible that this was 
 inserted at Mr. Cromek's dictation, nay, almost certain, 
 from the character of the parties engaged in the work. 
 
 This, however, may be said in Mr. Cromek's behalf, 
 with regard to the small remuneration which Cunning- 
 ham received, that he had been all his life in pecuniary 
 embarrassments, and scarcely a week before his death, 
 which occurred within fifteen months after the publica- 
 tion of the " Remains," he wrote to Mr. Constable a very 
 grateful letter acknowledging receipt of his benevolent 
 assistance: — "Your letter and enclosure of Saturday 
 relieved me from a pressure of anxiety almost insup- 
 
74 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 portable. . . . My family are tremblingly alive to 
 your goodness. God reward you !" He died six days 
 afterwards, on the 14th of March, 1812. No one can 
 surely read this letter of Mr. Cromek's, so full of glad- 
 ness, gratitude, and affection, and say that all came 
 from a selfish heart. Straitened circumstances alone, 
 we believe, prevented him from remunerating Cun- 
 ningham as he deserved. It is understood that he died 
 without being aware of the mystification wrought upon 
 him with regard to the volume of which he was so 
 proud. The pecuniary condition of Mr. Cromek on 
 his death-bed, and his gratitude to a friend for relief, 
 strongly remind us of the case of our own national poet, 
 Burns, in similar circumstances. 
 
 While the volume is still in the hands of the printer, 
 and will not be issued till December, we may turn our 
 attention for a moment to his opinion of London life. 
 No doubt he was greatly disappointed in his prospects, 
 and a little exaggeration of the character of what passed 
 before him may be palliated, if not entirely excused. 
 When his literary engagement with Mr. Cromek ter- 
 minated he did not, however, sit down in despondency, 
 or, in moody melancholy, make the dark future darker 
 than it was in reality. He visited the public places 
 of amusement, examined the great sights of the city, 
 watched attentively the various grades of society, and 
 formed an estimate, which he thus briefly expressed in 
 a letter to his brother James five months after his 
 arrival: — "Amid all the bustle of existence, and the 
 noise, the gaieties, and frivolities of cities — the hue and 
 cry which Patriotism has after her, and the hideous 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 75 
 
 rumour which Hypochondriacism awakens when she 
 mounts the "louping-on-stane" to the other world — 
 from all these soul-afflicting things I cast back my 
 thoughts on my native Nithsdale, and sigh for her fair 
 fountains and poetic vales. I enter into delightful con- 
 verse with my dear friends whose kindred blood I 
 inherit, and in whose hearts I hold a place. I feel 
 something like that unsettled agitation of mind which 
 might be nursed into despondency, and now and then a 
 severe touch of that romantic and characteristic feeling 
 which is mixed by the hand of God in every Scotchman's 
 heart. The English have not that vehement warmth, 
 that vigorous originality, which the Scottish peasants 
 have. Scotland is an age .or two behind in corruption, 
 and she has hitherto preserved her ancient character 
 from villanous foreign intermixture." So wrote Allan 
 Cunningham, when evidently suffering from home-sick- 
 ness disease. 
 
 " It's hame, an' it's hanie, hame fain wad I be, 
 An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie !" 
 
 In a similar strain he also wrote to his friend George, 
 a short time afterwards, with regard to his dissatisfaction 
 with the great city : — " I have been at all the great 
 theatres, and I have heard the 'Messiah' of Handel, but I 
 would prefer to hear your father singing 'Bonnie Barbara 
 Allan.' It is only the beauteous alliance of words with 
 music which delights or affects me. I cannot feel my 
 heart's-blood coming warm, and my soul leaping to my 
 lips, in any other music than that of my native country j 
 which induces me to think, nay, believe, that our hearts 
 
76 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 were formed entirely for the delights of our parent king- 
 dom — for the music thereof, for the ideas thereof, and, 
 last and dearest, for the maidens thereof. Indeed, I 
 -cannot find that dear communion of kindred sentiment, 
 in either man or woman, which I found in Scotland. 
 Their manners are not those of nature, but of artifice. 
 The men are all punsters, and have no mercy on words 
 which they can in any way hang a pun upon. They are 
 hurried and impetuous in conversation, and unmercifully 
 addicted to listen to themselves." We believe the repre- 
 hension here made is not necessary now, if even then, 
 and that Cunningham afterwards saw he had been too 
 severe. 
 
 We are informed on the best authority that it is not 
 true, as has been hinted by one writer, that in his desti- 
 tution and desperation for employment, he became a 
 common pavier in Newgate Street. Allan Cunningham 
 a common pavier on the streets of London ! Impossible ! 
 After hanging about in comparative idleness for 
 some weeks, with no prospect of the horizon clearing, 
 and Mr. Cromek now listless or uninfluential, he 
 engaged with an inferior sculptor of the name of Bubb, 
 in Caermarthen Street, at twenty-five shillings a week, 
 afterwards increased to thirty-two, on account of his 
 superior skill as a workman. Nevertheless, he was 
 greatly chagrined at having been led away on such a 
 wild-goose chase, especially so much in opposition to 
 the entreaties of his friends at home, and he was, 
 therefore, desirous of concealing his position from 
 their knowledge till better fortune arrived, if it ever 
 should. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 77 
 
 In the midst of his dissatisfaction he began casting 
 in his mind what other employment, more congenial to 
 his taste, he should look out for instead. While thus 
 ruminating, he says — " I now thought of Eugenius 
 Roche and the Literary Recreations, a work which I 
 never could persuade myself died from want of the breath 
 of genius. I found him in Carey Street, a husband and 
 a father, and as warm-hearted and kind as his corres- 
 pondence had led me to imagine. He was well 
 acquainted with foreign, as well as with English 
 literature; wrote prose with fluency, and verse with 
 ease and elegance; and was in looks and manners, and 
 in all things, a gentleman — tall, too, spoke with a 
 slight lisp, and was of a fair complexion. He had in 
 other days expressed a desire to serve me, and pointed 
 out the newspapers as a source of emolument to an able 
 and ready writer. As he was now the conductor of a 
 paper called the Day, he told me he would give me a 
 permanent situation upon it as a reporter as soon as 
 the Parliamentary sessions began, and in the meantime 
 he would allow me a guinea per week for any little 
 poetic contributions which I liked to make. What the 
 duties required of me were, I could form no opinion, 
 but as I concluded that Roche must know I was fit to 
 fulfil them, I was easy on that point. I was now well 
 off as to money matters, and in a position to indulge in 
 a wish dear to my heart, namely, to bring my lass of 
 Preston Mill to London, and let her try her skill as a 
 wife and a housekeeper." 
 
 That Cunningham, who knew nothing of shorthand, 
 and had never learned grammar in his life, should 
 
78 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 undertake the heavy and responsible duties of a reporter 
 in the Houses of Parliament, is almost beyond our 
 belief; but yet he did so, until he was obliged to 
 surrender the occupation on finding it prejudicial to his 
 health. 
 
 We have just seen that, despite his desultory and 
 uncertain employment, he had serious thoughts of taking 
 a wife, as he deemed it impossible to live economically 
 otherwise, and, notwithstanding his mind had been long 
 made up on the subject with the lass of Preston Mill, 
 he now, cunningly, writes to his brother James, desiring 
 him to look out for a proper helpmate among his 
 acquaintance : — 
 
 " London, September 8th, 1810. 
 
 " My beloved James, — . ... I am glad to find you 
 all so well, and I am l unco weel mysel,' God be blessed for 
 it, and praised too. I have got four shillings a week added 
 to my wages. We had designed a general strike, and many 
 are yet out of employment. One of our men was turned off, 
 and I am now considered the soul and nerve of the shop, 
 and the master has taken a great regard for me, so I live 
 very well and happily. I have left my old lodgings, and a 
 young man called Thomas Lowrie, a Cabinetmaker from 
 Dumfries, has joined me in taking a neat room, where I will 
 be cheaper and more heartsome. Indeed, London is in no 
 way suitable to any but a married person. I breakfast in 
 one house, dine hi another, sup in a third, and go to bed in 
 a fourth. In every one of these places extortion must have 
 in her accursed hand. The thing is, everybody must live, 
 and we buy one another like other vermin. So, it would be 
 no wonder were I found married in some letter or another 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 79 
 
 soon. The truth out is, I want you to ' look owre ' the 
 register book, and choose me a wife from among the mid-leg 
 kilted daughters of Caledonia. I cannot admire the City 
 English, nor do I care for spoiling the proverb of a certain 
 prophet, ' and, behold, thou shalt take unto thee a daughter 
 of whoredoms.' O fie! It is the Scripture says so, and 
 not I. 
 
 " Well we have at last printed that volume of ' Remains 
 of Nithsdale and Galloway Song.' It is beautifully printed 
 and hot-pressed in octavo, and contains 400 pages. I am 
 convinced it will edify you greatly, but it may not be made 
 public until December. I will try to send you a copy, so 
 don't buy one. The thing which pleases me in it, every 
 article but two little scraps was contributed by me, both 
 poetry and prose. You will see what the Edinburgh Review 
 says about it, for it must be noticed and highly too. You 
 must send me, with Peter, a little twopenny book of old 
 songs in the handwriting of my beloved Mrs. Copeland. I 
 forgot it, I dare say, among my papers in my chest. 
 
 " Peter will find Thomas just at the entrance into the 
 new London docks, half a mile below the Tower, and only 
 a quarter a mile from Miller's wharf, where the Edinburgh 
 smacks anchor at. I am sorry to find that Mrs. Copeland 
 is poorly. I had a letter from her a week ago, and she 
 complains of indisposition. Burns certainly thought of her 
 when he wrote — 
 
 ' Nature made her what she is, 
 And never made anither.' 
 
 " You inquire about Cromek. Why, my dear James, he 
 speaks as generous words as you would wish to hear from 
 the pulpit. O ! the bravery of the lips, and the generosity 
 
80 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 of words, are the current coin with which naked bards are 
 ever paid; and as a specimen of his critical discernment, I 
 wrote a queer song, ycleped, ' A Song of Fashionable Sin/ 
 beginning — 
 
 ' My ladie has a golden watch — 
 On my ladie's breast's a diamond broach — 
 Her hair prempt in a rubie knot, 
 And siller-tasselled petticoat. 
 But my lord can quat thae siller bobs, 
 Thae costly jukes wi' trinkets laden, 
 For petticoats of hodden gray 
 
 An' laced jimps of hamely plaideu,' &c., &c. 
 
 " Now, I inserted this in a newspaper, and it was printed 
 among a great number of offices. I was at Mr. Cromek's, 
 and a lady was praising it highly. He did not know it was 
 mine, and condemned it as a base thing, and of bad Scottish ! 
 I never heeded him, but marked it down as a precept, that 
 a man may talk about the thing he does not understand, 
 and be reckoned a wise fellow too. 
 
 " I expect to publish a volume of old ballads if I once 
 had them collected. For this purpose I have composed a 
 ballad called ' The Battle of Cheviot Wood/ on the popular 
 story of Chevy Chase. It is 129 verses long, and the finest 
 poetry I ever composed. I could cheat a whole General 
 Assembly of Antiquarians with my original manner of 
 writing and forging ballads. Indeed, the poetry of our 
 ancestors is become all the cry. Romance and chivalry will 
 again begin their adventures — distressed damsels relieved — 
 uuaccomplishable exploits of knighthood — and a whole Lap- 
 land winter of heathen darkness will overspread the land I 
 from which may the Lord deliver us ! and let Scotland ' hae 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 81 
 
 ae blink' of true poetic sunshine. Here's the song you 
 wanted — 
 
 "THE THISTLE'S GROWN ABOON THE ROSE. 
 
 " Full white the Bourbon lily blows, 
 Still fairer haughty England's rose; 
 Nor shall unsung the symbol smile, 
 Green Ireland, of thy lovely isle. 
 In Scotland grows a warlike flower, 
 Too rough to bloom in lady's bower ; 
 But when his crest the warrior rears, 
 And spurs his courser on the spears, 
 O there it blossoms — there it blows — 
 The Thistle's grown aboon the Rose. 
 
 " Bright like a steadfast star it smiles 
 Aboon the battle's burning files ; 
 The mirkest cloud, the darkest night, 
 Shall ne'er make dim that beauteous sight ; 
 And the best blood that warms my vein, 
 Shall flow ere it shall catch a stain. 
 Far has it shone on fields of fame, 
 From matchless Bruce to dauntless Graeme, 
 From swarthy Spain to Siber's snows ; — 
 The Thistle's grown aboon the Rose. 
 
 " What conquered aye, and nobler spared, 
 And firm endured, and greatly dared? 
 What reddened Egypt's burning sand? 
 What vanquished on Corunna's strand? 
 What pipe on green Maida blew shrill? 
 What dyed in blood Barossa hill? 
 Bade France's dearest life-blood rue 
 Dark Soignies and dread Waterloo? 
 That spirit which no tremor knows ; — 
 The Thistle's grown aboon the Rose. 
 F 
 
82 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " I vow — and let men mete the grass 
 For his red grave who dares say less — 
 Men blither at the festive board, 
 Men braver with the spear and sword. 
 Men higher famed for truth — more strong 
 In virtue, sovereign sense, and song, 
 Or maids more fair, or wives more true, 
 Than Scotland's ne'er trode down the dew; 
 Unflinching friends — unconquered foes, 
 The Thistle's grown aboon the Hose. 
 
 "I now and then get a guinea for writing a song, which 
 helps me to live and array myself. I have laid out a great 
 deal of money on tools, &c, &c. I enclose you Peter's 
 notes, which he will, I dare say, need much. You once 
 mentioned to me that Captain Miller was wishing to write 
 to Porry concerning my songs, &c. Now, I do not know a 
 better hand I could make of my songs than get a guinea a 
 piece for them. I will likely apply to Porry. I know he 
 is a lover of Scottish song, and I hope he is a judge. 
 
 " Present my love to my dear mother, to my sister-in- 
 law, and to Jenny, &c. ; also to Dr. Patie. I had a letter 
 to-day from Miss Harley. She says that she has written to 
 James Dalzell, and she hopes he will soon get a situation. 
 Direct to Cromek's, for I am not yet stable enough for direc- 
 tion. — I remain, dear James, yours through good and evil 
 
 times, while 
 
 Allan Cunningham. 
 
 "I have delayed writing, or rather, as you will see, of 
 sending my letter, hoping that by this Peter will have some 
 permanent hope of a place, as it is a risk to come to London 
 in uncertainty. 
 
 A. C. 
 1 ' Monday Morning. 
 "Mr. James Cunninaham, Dalswinton." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 83 
 
 The song contained in the above letter, " The Thistle's 
 grown aboon the Rose/' appeared in the Scots Magazine 
 of February, 1811, with the signature " Hidallan," which 
 he had used in his poetical contributions to the Literary 
 Recreations. 
 
 It seems the "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway 
 Song" has been published, but marriage is in the as- 
 cendant, though both subjects are in his head and his 
 heart, and in the exuberance of his joy he writes to his 
 quondam companion, George, respecting both. It would 
 appear that he had to purchase presentation copies of 
 the volume: — 
 
 "London, 10th December, 1810. 
 
 " Dear George, — I write in a most unfriendly-like hurry, 
 because I am writing post-haste, against both wind and tide, 
 and coach-time to boot. man, you pleased me in your 
 last letter. I want folk to write me as much as you do — sly, 
 humorous, and enthusiastic. Why, it gives a lift to my 
 mind, and makes me more merry and conceited. I am going 
 to be married soon. My weel-faured lass will hang like a 
 tassel of gold on a shepherd's plaid, only for the dogs to 
 bark at. 
 
 " You will find some songs on her weel-faured face in that 
 volume of Nithsdale and Galloway Songs, where the poets of 
 the last century have, by the divine gift of inspiration, 
 anticipated and commemorated the beauties of this. It will 
 make me proud, thinking that my songs in her praise will 
 drop from the lips of a dear friend, and from one too who 
 can appreciate their worth, and modulate his voice to suit 
 the rapture and enthusiastic admiration of beauty which 
 pervaded the poet when he wrote them. 
 
84 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " I could have wished to have sent you a volume, but I had 
 so many to give that even gratitude itself gave way at last 
 to the necessities of want, and my means ran short, but not 
 my inclination. I will sometime soon, perhaps, find means 
 to get you one ; and if you correspond with our James, you 
 will find him proud in lending you what he most dearly 
 values. 
 
 " Read, then, my volume through, with a most acute and 
 critical eye, and combine your own ideas of it along with those 
 of James M'Ghie, my dear old friend, and the friend of my 
 father. He will tell his mind, and tell yours. Let me know 
 what things please you, and tell your reasons for being- 
 pleased, because I want to learn. 
 
 "I will write you more at leisure, sometime after you 
 have answered this. I am very well. I have left my old 
 trade, and engaged for two guineas and a-half per week to 
 write along with my friend Mr. Roche. Do not say ought 
 about this to anybody but to my brother (James), for I do 
 not want it to be known. 
 
 " Give my respects to your sister, Rachel. Tell her to sit down 
 seriously and learn some of these songs. I know she will lilt 
 them like a starling. Your brother James, too, claims my 
 regard in being in love with my Jean; but tell him to bide 
 in Kirkmahoe and admire her, as I would be jealous were 
 he to go to Kirkbean. . . . Give my respects to your 
 father and mother. I think often on the pleasures I enjoyed 
 at their fireside. Let them remember in their prayers one 
 who is happy in saying how much he esteems them, and 
 values their children. In break-neck haste. Write me 
 soon. 
 
 " Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " Mr. George Douglas M'Ghie." 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 85 
 
 Time wore on. He contributed poetry at a guinea a 
 week, and did other things besides, which were absolutely 
 necessary for a man with marriage in view, and the 
 exchequer at a low ebb. He was determined to be 
 married, and, as we shall by-and-by see, he carried his 
 purpose into execution. But, in the meantime, what 
 we are most concerned about is, his ability and success 
 as a Parliamentary reporter, without the qualifications 
 now considered indispensable for informing the public 
 of what nightly takes place in the great House of the 
 nation. In these times, however, reporting had not 
 attained its present high state of efficiency. The sub- 
 stance only was given, and not the ipsissimct verba, 
 except by a very few. Others besides Cunningham had 
 to depend entirely upon a good memory, and as many 
 long-hand notes as they were able to take. From these 
 two sources they had to frame speeches as they best 
 could, so as to give the gist of what had been said. We 
 understand that some of the best summaries of what 
 takes place in both Houses of Parliament at the present 
 day, are written by parties who trust to a retentive 
 memory and a few notes, without calling in the aid of 
 stenography. In the following letter, addressed to his 
 brother James, Cunningham tells us his experience and 
 appreciation of the Reporters' Gallery: — 
 
 " London, December 29th, 1810. 
 
 " My beloved James, — I have placed myself down to 
 write at what Shakspere calls 'the witching time of night.' 
 The seasons unto me are now changed. I owe my allegiance 
 to the moon and to the stars. The blessed sun of heaven 
 
86 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 himself I count now no more on than on an oilman's greasy- 
 lamp. I gain nothing by his light. My new business has 
 completely overturned that ancient system of prudential 
 ecouomy recommended by the precepts and examples of our 
 ancestors, to observe the great order of nature, by sleeping 
 in the evening, when nature slept, and wakening when the 
 sun, comiug gloriously forth, quickened the world into life, 
 and resumed all the functions of awakening nature. How- 
 ever, as I do not believe in predestination, I do not deem it 
 probable that our Creator thought of reporting speeches of 
 certain men for newspapers, else He would have made some 
 little provision in the economy of nature for their benefit, 
 to show they were not utterly neglected. Thus, had He 
 contrived a blink of sunshine to have dropped down in this 
 wicked metropolis, peradventure about three in the morning, 
 I should have adored Him, and prayed ere I went to bed. 
 Now this is, in plain words, that I go to bed mostly at three 
 in the morning, but I took this pompous way of telling you 
 about it to show you how I can perplex a plain tale into 
 bombast and extravagance, and °;o to the utmost limits of 
 comprehension. To this I am humbly indebted to my new 
 system of education, wherein I have to varnish with mighty 
 words the fierce and uncourtly language of political iniquity. 
 Now, you will perhaps lift up your voice against this wicked 
 way of life. I pray you have mercy, and consider me as a 
 person who has already half-forded a deep and dangerous 
 river, where there is equal danger in turning back as in 
 proceeding, so let me wade through. 
 
 " I have written a number of speeches for both Lords and 
 Commons. I find it quite easy, for I collect notes for one 
 hour from what is said, just, I mean, as the speaker delivers 
 it. This outline I have to return to the newspaper office 
 with, and write out into three columns of debate. These 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 87 
 
 columns will take me four or five hours, and then I return 
 to my home. Now, this is pretty severe work, but I have so 
 many days of leisure to sweeten all this that I enjoy my 
 situation with much satisfaction. 
 
 "lam proud to find you are in such brisk employ, and 
 that you have the prospect of more in future. There is one 
 thing which pleased me, though, perhaps, it may not be so 
 edifying to yourself, which is, that you have got into the 
 Captain's business, who, I doubt not, will employ you for 
 his farming transactions for the future. Now, this will 
 rub off that indolence, that diffidence, that rust of the 
 mind, which belonged to you, nay, to us all, so much. Im- 
 pudence, I mean genteel impudence ; is so very necessary for 
 pushing us through life that I wonder it is not laid down as a 
 precept of education in our public schools. 
 
 " I was so extremely bashful when I came to London that 
 I really could not utter a known falsehood above three or 
 four times a day. Now, I could assert in the face of a con- 
 gregation that the sun derives his light from the moon, and 
 make the dullness and paleness of her evening Majesty a 
 leading proof of it. Nay, I could, if required, almost make 
 oath on't. 
 
 " I am pleased with your remarks on the 'Nithsdale and 
 Galloway Songs.' They were very short, but I mean not to 
 let you escape this way, for you must write me a long letter 
 on purpose, showing wherein I have erred or done according 
 to my duty. Choose out all your favourites, and write fully 
 about the songs of the two rebellions. Now, you must mind 
 one thing, and I beseech you mind it, that these songs and 
 ballads being written for imposing on the country as the 
 reliques of other years, I was obliged to have recourse to 
 occasional coarseness, and severity, and negligence, which 
 would make them appear as fair specimens of the ancient 
 
88 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 song and ballad. This being considered; I beg you -will not 
 visit me as I would deserve had they been my avowed 
 productions. 
 
 " I am glad Peter has got himself thrust into a place. I 
 am much afraid he will never make a great figure in the 
 polite business of surgery. He can do nothing for himself 
 unless he has the " drawn dagger" of necessity at his back, 
 pushing him to adventure. I do not argue this from his con- 
 versation, but from his writing. A man may have so much 
 diffidence or natural modesty in his composition as will pre- 
 vent him from being eloquent in conversation ; but if there be 
 anything like genius in his composition, it will break out in a 
 letter, where he has the free and unhampered exercise of all his 
 powers, and time for studying propriety of expression, and 
 the proper use of his own feelings. Now, Peter, however 
 stupid and vulgar in conversation, is ten times duller and 
 more perplexed in his letters. His thoughts seem like a 
 printer and types before they are adjusted — a heap of confu- 
 sion and misplaced beauties; for this, that if counsel could 
 have amended or corrected it, he would have been a master 
 of conversational eloquence, and a proverb unto all the sons 
 of Nithsdale. Counsel can correct but cannot bestow genius, 
 it is a gift of God; and many a person has reason to be 
 thankful for the little he has got, for that little might have 
 been less. 
 
 " With regard to the books I want — Blair's Lectures on 
 Elocution — Dryden's Virgil's iEneid — Burns' Poems — 
 Sir "William Wallace — Ossian's Poems — and the two 
 volumes of ' Elegant Extracts.' Now, pack them up, and 
 direct them to lie at the office until called for, else the 
 expense of bringing them by a porter is equal to the 
 charge of a waggon. Now, you will write to me when you 
 send them off, and I will know when to call for them. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 89 
 
 " I must not forget to tell you that I have planned and 
 begun a work of Poetry and Criticism. I mean to restore 
 all our Scottish songs to their uncorrupted purity, to alter 
 and amend others, where correction is necessary, and to pro- 
 duce upwards of a hundred original ones of my own to be 
 sown among them. Along with all this, notices will be 
 given to elucidate manners, customs, and opinions which 
 belonged unto our ancestors, or which at present may exist. 
 The name of every author will be printed at the title of the 
 song, and, where accounts of them can be got, such things 
 will be given. Now, what think you of this 1 ? 
 * u Three volumes in the style of that I sent you, and closer 
 printed, will hardly contain them. Mention this to none ! 
 else it will ruin the work. Give my love to my dear 
 mother, and to my dear sister-in-law. I am glad the bairns 
 are 'gush, and ramp, and ranting.' When you see Jenny 
 present my respects to her. Do the same to William Miles, 
 and to Adam Ferguson; and, my dear brother, accept of the 
 united wishes of my heart, head, and soul, for your welfare. 
 God bless you. Direct to Cromek's; I am going to shift. 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 "Mr. James Cunningham." 
 
90 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 !** 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF THE VOLUME — EXTRACTS — "THOU HAST SWORN 
 BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE " — VARIATION ON "TIBBIE FOWLER 
 — THE "SALT LAIRDS" OF DUNSCORE, AND THE " GUSTIN 
 BANE " OF KIRKMAHOE — PRIVATE CRITICISMS— PROFESSOR WIL- 
 SON—THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD — SIR WALTER SCOTT — THE " SCOTS 
 MAGAZINE" — "A WEARY BODIE's BLYTHE WHAN THE SUN 
 GANGS DOWN." 
 
 The volume of "Nithsdale and Galloway Song" made its 
 appearance in December, and was not only favourably, 
 but enthusiastically, received by the general public and 
 the press. Before, however, we state the opinions of the 
 great critics as to its merits, we shall give a brief 
 account of the character of its contents, with a few 
 extracts as specimens of the work. It was not only 
 important with regard to what it professedly treated of, 
 ancient ballad lore, but it was also important as being 
 the starting-point in Cunningham's literary career, a 
 career which he himself, with all his sanguine aspira- 
 tions, could not anticipate or foresee. It consisted of an 
 Introduction, thirty- two pages in extent, four classes of 
 Ballads, arranged under the headings of Sentimental, 
 Humorous, Jacobite, Old and Fragments, with an 
 Appendix. The songs were professedly gathered among 
 the peasantry, taken down from their recital of them, 
 or were related by others who had obtained them from 
 the same source. We believe that with regard to a 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 91 
 
 considerable number of them this was the case, in so 
 far as the old proverb has it, that the poet " having 
 got a hair made a tether of it," a single scrap swelling 
 into a goodly song. 
 
 The Introduction is a very accurate and graphic 
 description of what the peasantry in the south of Scot- 
 land then were as to their customs, habits, supersti- 
 tions, and beliefs. Matters of this kind are now much 
 changed, but it may, therefore, be the more interesting 
 to readers of the present day to have a glimpse of 
 these : — 
 
 " The condition of the inland peasantry was easy, and 
 comparatively affluent. Almost every one had a cow, and a 
 few acres of land. Oatmeal, pease, delicate mutton, fish in 
 every stream, and milk and butter, furnished the necessaries 
 and some of the dainties of existence. Their clothes were all 
 of home manufacture. The men's dress was mostly a fine 
 mixed gray, from wool of a natural dye, a large chequered 
 plaid and bonnet ; their shoes were formed of leather tanned 
 by the shoemaker. The women's gowns were of lint and 
 woollen, fancifully mixed, and frequently of exquisite fine- 
 ness, which is still a popular and becoming dress. . . 
 From their fathers and from their ministers they learned to 
 contemplate the sacred mysteries of the Bible with submissive 
 veneration. Unskilled in the figurative language of poetic 
 instruction, or lost in the raptured soarings of historic 
 inspiration, they took poetic license for truth, and the wild, 
 unbridled flights of Eastern personification were the revela- 
 tion of Heaven, written with the finger of the Deity. The 
 Bible was put into every youthful hand, with ' This is the 
 handwriting of God.'' Every sentence was taken as it is. 
 
 , 
 
92 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 written, in the close fidelity of translation. Hence arose 
 that superstitious belief in wizards, witches, and familiar 
 spirits, the popular creed of heathenism. 
 
 " The Cottars devoutly opened the Book of God every 
 evening, and on every Sabbath morning, to offer thanks- 
 givings and praises, and to instruct and admonish their 
 children. The holy Songs of David were committed to 
 memory, to be allied to the church melodies. The mind 
 received from these a cast and an impressure of thoughtful 
 melancholy which often exalts it to the noblest conceptions. 
 A rigid moral austerity, and severity of religious conversation, 
 were the consequences of their long struggles with English 
 supremacy, and formed no part of their natural constitution; 
 on the contrary, they were ever ready to mingle in the 
 pleasant mirth of society. Their ancient music still lingered 
 among them, a proscribed fugitive of religious zeal; wedded 
 to those old songs and ballads, the favourites of every age, it 
 was beyond the power of banishment. This love of music 
 and poetry was privately fostered by the old men and women. 
 It had been their own delight and amusement, and they 
 loved to cherish the fond remembrance of other years. They 
 appointed meetings at each other's houses for dancing and 
 singing, to which, at the close of day-toil, the lads and lasses 
 would hasten for several miles round. Here they sang, 
 accompanied by the violin or lowland pipe. The old men 
 recounted the exploits and religious struggles of their 
 ancestors, and mingled in the song, or joined in the dance. 
 
 " Enraptured with their music, and emulous of praise, the 
 youths cultivated those seeds of poesy which are more or less 
 to be found in every lover's heart. In the presence of those 
 whom they loved they strove to excel in the strains of tender 
 complaint or pathetic appeal, which were sung and so much 
 admired by their mistresses. Inspired with such sensations, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 93 
 
 they caught up the prominent features of their adventures, 
 and sang of their jealousies and wooing felicities in numbers 
 worthy of remembrance. To the heart of a Scottish peasant 
 it is a sensation of divine rapture to listen and behold his 
 beloved lass warble, and sweetly modulate those strains to 
 which her tender heart and beautiful face had imparted 
 sympathetic loveliness. The interview at some favourite 
 secluded thorn, in the dew of gloaming ; the stolen looks of 
 love; the midnight meeting of chaste affection; the secret 
 kiss and unheard whisper in the dancings and trystes, are 
 the favourite themes of poetic record. These songs were 
 sung before the aged; and their praise, with the kind looks 
 of approval from their mistresses, was a reward sufficient to 
 stimulate to nobler exertion. Old songs were altered to suit 
 some more recent occurrence; their language was frequently 
 minted anew, and the song would take a novel appearance 
 from a small incident of love, or a gallant exploit. 
 
 " To these public dancing trystes the daughters of the 
 chieftains would sometimes go in peasant's disguise ; possibly 
 to partake in the rural felicities of unrestrained gaiety and 
 frolic ; or, perhaps, smitten with the charms of some young 
 peasant, they wished to listen to the natural eloquence of love, 
 and the fervent pathos of rustic wooing. There are yet 
 some remnants of songs which evidently allude to rencounters 
 of this kind, and many more might, perhaps, have been col- 
 lected on a more diligent search. 
 
 " The language of the peasantry has none of that vulgar 
 broadness so disgusting in those sea-coast towns which com- 
 merce has corrupted. Imagery drawn from the select sources 
 of nature will clothe itself in chaste and becoming language 
 — the summer wind, the gloaming dew-fall among the loose 
 locks of a lovely maiden, the flower-tops bent with dew, the 
 balmy smell of the woods, the honeycombs of the wild bee, 
 
J-LL 
 
 ,- 
 
 ; 
 
 94 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 afford fine poetic figures, which nought but profligacy can 
 pollute or misapply. The crimson brook-rose, the yellow- 
 freckled lily, the red-lipped gowan, the pale primrose, the 
 mealy cowslip, the imbedding thyme, are flourishing 
 rustic pastoral; and the rich-scented hawthorn, the honey- 
 leafed oak, the tasseling honeysuckle, and the bloomy pro- 
 mise of the orchards and bean-fields, embalm themselves 
 song as pure as the dew which the hand of evening drops on 
 them. But the tender eloquence of the new-paired birds, 
 and the infant song of the new-flown nestlings, were happily 
 caught by peasant discernment : — 
 
 ' The new-paired laverocks among the bloomy howes 
 Sing kindly to my Mary while she ca's name the ewes.' 
 
 " The lark is a chief favourite, and being the herald of 
 morning, sings overhead to the swain returning from the 
 errands of love, who naturally puts his own felicities into her 
 mouth. The wild and mellow mavis, the loud-lilting black- 
 bird, the familiar rose-linnet, the lively gold-spink, are all 
 classical songsters, whose warblings are pleasing to a lover's 
 ear. From the sacred pages of the Bible the peasantry drew 
 many of their finest ideas and imagery. It imparted a tone 
 of solemn sincerity to the promises of love, and gave them 
 a more popular currency among the aged and decorous. 
 Another source of instruction was the select code of pro- 
 verbs which wisdom had stored up in the progress of society; 
 these, being short and happily figurative, were the current 
 coin of primitive converse. Owing to the great distance 
 between the chieftain and the cottar, these productions never 
 passed into the notice of the great. Composed and sung in 
 unaspiring obscurity, their authors never attempted to hold 
 them up to public notice. The applause at a country wed- 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 95 
 
 ding, at a kirn dancing, at a kirk -supper, after a bridal, 
 satisfied the bard's vanity; and perhaps the secret assurance 
 that his sweetheart would live in his verses among her great 
 grandchildren was the utmost bound of his ambition." 
 
 & 
 
 This extract is quite sufficient of itself to show that 
 Mr. Cromek could not possibly be the author or com- 
 piler of the volume. The deep, penetrating insight into 
 Scottish sentiment which it contains, and the thorough 
 acquaintance with Scottish manners and customs which 
 pervades it, are entirely beyond the reach of anyone but 
 a native of the soil; and no Englishman, however great 
 his enthusiasm, or his love for ancient lore, could have 
 so identified himself with the subject, as is apparent from 
 beginning to end. What could Mr. Cromek possibly know 
 in detail of the ongoings at trystes, kirns, and weddings, 
 as are here described? Literally nothing. A hasty and 
 brief visit to the locality could never have inspired him 
 with such a minute knowledge of Scottish sentiments, 
 customs, habits, and feelings as are here recorded. 
 Therefore we think an injustice was done to Allan 
 Cunningham in not putting him prominently in the 
 foreground, instead of keeping him out of sight almost 
 altogether. We do not think that a mere recognition of 
 his aid in the preface was sufficient, when the whole 
 work devolved upon himself. 
 
 " Hos ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores, 
 Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves. 
 Sic vos non vobis vellera fertis oves. 
 Sic vos non vobis mellificatis apes. 
 Sic vos non vobis fertis aratra boves." 
 
96 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 One of the finest ballads of the first class — the Senti- 
 mental — is, " Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie," 
 to which the following note is prefixed : — 
 
 " These verses are copied from the recitation of a worthy 
 old man, now l raked i' the mools,' as the Scotch phrase is. 
 With him have perished many beautiful songs, remnants 
 of the tunes which were. He was a Dissenter from 
 the Church of Scotland, and had all that stern severity 
 of demeanour and rigidness of mind which belong to those 
 trained in the old school of chvinity, under the iron 
 discipline of Scottish Presbyterianism. Yet when kept 
 aloof from religious dispute, when his native goodness 
 was not touched with the sour leaven of bigotry, he was 
 a man, as we may truly say with Scripture, ' after God's 
 own heart.' There is a characteristic trait of him which will 
 lighten the darkness of superstition which gave it birth. In 
 that violent persecution in the reigns of James the Seventh, 
 and the Second Charles, one of the persecuted preachers 
 took refuge among the wild hills behind Kirkmahoe, in the 
 county of Dumfries. On a beautiful green-topped hill, called 
 the Wardlaw, was raised a pulpit of sods, where he preached 
 to his congregation. General Dakell hastened on with his 
 dragoons and dispersed the assembly — this consecrated the 
 spot. Our worthy old patriarch, in the fine Sabbath even- 
 ings, would go with his wife and children to the Wardlaw, 
 though some miles of rough road distant, seat himself in 
 the preacher's place, and ' take the BeukJ with his family 
 around him. He kneeled down, and with all the flow of 
 religious eloquence, held converse with his God. This song 
 was his favourite, and he usually sang it at hallo weens, at 
 kirk-suppers, and other trystes" — 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 97 
 
 THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE. 
 
 " Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, 
 
 By that pretty white hand o' thine, 
 And by a' the lowing stars in heaven, 
 
 That thou wad aye be mine ! 
 And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie, 
 
 And by that kind heart o' thine, 
 By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven 
 
 That thou shalt aye be mine ! 
 
 " Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands, 
 
 An' the heart that wad part sic love ; 
 But there's nae hand can loose the band, 
 
 Save the finger o' God above. 
 Tho' the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, 
 
 An' my claithing e'er sae mean, 
 I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' love, 
 
 Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean ! 
 
 " Her white arm wad be a pillow to me, 
 
 Fu' safter than the down, 
 An' Love wad winnow owre us his kind, kiud, wings, 
 
 An' sweetly I'd sleep an' soun'. 
 Come here to me, thou lass o' my love, 
 
 Come here and kneel wi' me ; 
 The morning is fu' o' the presence o' God, 
 
 An' I canna pray but thee. 
 
 "The morn- wind is sweet 'rnang the beds o' new flowers, 
 The wee birds sing kindly an' hie, 
 Our gude-man leans owre his kail-yard dyke, 
 
 An' a blythe auld body is he. 
 The Book maun be taen when the carle comes hame, 
 
 Wi' the holie psalmodie, 
 An' thou maun speak o' me to thy God, 
 An' I will speak o' thee!" 
 G 
 
98 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 In the second part of the volume much humour is 
 displayed in the several pieces, though mixed with not 
 a little of what would be called coarseness of expression 
 in the present day, not to use a stronger term, but the 
 difference of times and manners must be taken into 
 account. From one of the ballads in this class an 
 extract is taken, for the purpose of introducing a tradi- 
 tional feud which long existed between the two neigh- 
 bouring parishes of Dunscore and Kirkmahoe, and to 
 which Cunningham here refers. It seems that various 
 versions of the well-known song, " Tibbie Fowler," were 
 afloat in Nithsdale, one of which is here produced, along 
 with what is known as the complete original, printed in 
 Johnson's " Musical Museum." We quote the first three 
 verses of this variation as a specimen : — 
 
 " The brankit lairds o' Gallowa, 
 
 The hodden breeks o' Annan Water, 
 
 The bonnets blue of fair Mthsdale, 
 i Are 'yont the hallan wooing at her. 
 
 " Tweedshaw's tarry neives are here, 
 Braksha' gabs frae Moffat Water, 
 An' half the thieves o' Annandale 
 Are come to steal her gear and daute her. 
 
 " I mind her weel, in plaiden gown, 
 Afore she got her uncle's coffer; 
 The gleds might pyked her at the dyke, 
 Before the lads wad shoved them off her. " 
 
 These variations used to be sung at the public trystes 
 or merry-makings held in the surrounding parishes, and 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 99 
 
 sometimes out of mischief or frolic sarcastic allusions 
 were interpolated by the performer, which led to bruilzie 
 and bloodshed in the end : — 
 
 " The Dimscore Salt Lairds stilt the Nith, 
 And muddie a' our supper water ; 
 The gray-beard solemn-leaguing lowns 
 Thraw by the beuk o' God to daute her. 
 The birds hae a' forhoo'd their nests, 
 The trouts hae ta'en the Cairn and Annan, 
 For hoddin breeks and stilting shanks, 
 Between the sunset and the dawnin'." 
 
 These lines were instantly retorted by this blithesome 
 effort of local parish pleasantry : — 
 
 " Kirkmahoe louped on her sonks, 
 Wi' new creeshed shoon and weel darned hosen ; 
 And cry'd to maw an acre kail, 
 And hing the pan wi' water brose on ; 
 And wha will lend us brydal gear, 
 Sheep amang the kale to simmer, 
 Gullies for to sheer their cloots, 
 Swats to foam aboon the timmer ? 
 
 " Dunscore sent her spauls o' sheep, 
 Sent her owre our big brose ladle ; 
 Pewter plates and hansel gear, 
 To mense her wi' at Tibbie's brydal. 
 Ye've pyked the banes o' yere leap-year's cow, 
 Yere aught day's kale's a' finished fairly ; 
 Yere big brose pot has nae played brown 
 Sin' the Heaver raid o' gude Prince Charlie." 
 
 The tradition referred to above is, that at a time 
 /hen salt, as a household commodity, could with 
 
100 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 difficulty be procured, on account of its high price 
 before the duty was removed, the Lairds of Dunscore, 
 out of poverty, clubbed together and purchased a peck 
 or a stone of salt, which they divided among themselves 
 with a horn-spoon to ensure an equal distribution. 
 Whether the story was true or not it was generally 
 held to be so by those outside the parish, who took 
 certain opportunities for using the taunt of poverty, 
 such as at a losing bonspiel of curling on the ice, or 
 when other disagreements arose. With regard to 
 Kirkmahoe, the same taunt of poverty was employed 
 by neighbouring enemies when they thought them- 
 selves in any way aggrieved. Pride and poverty would 
 appear to have been in those days the besetting sin of 
 both parishes. It was asserted that the parishioners of 
 Kirkmahoe were so ill-bestead as to the necessaries of 
 life that they could not afford to provide flesh-meat to 
 enrich the broth-pot even once a week, and had recourse 
 to the economical device of borrowing from one another 
 when the great cooking day came round. A bone, 
 denuded of its fleshly integuments, was procured at a 
 small price by one of them from a butcher's shop in 
 Dumfries, and served, pro tempore, the whole coterie of 
 Duncow. " Lend me your bane the day, and I'll lend 
 you mine the next time." The bone, be it observed, 
 was not boiled in the broth, but merely dipped in the 
 cold water previous to its being placed upon the fire, so 
 that some of the meat particles adhering might give a 
 flavour to the soup. This was called the " Gustin' 
 bane!' An enterprizing shoemaker, thinking to add a 
 little to his means of livelihood, purchased several 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 101 
 
 bones of this description, which he gave out to hire at a 
 halfpenny each for a single use. The hirer was allowed 
 to dip it three times and make one whisk round in the 
 cold water. Some wag turned the circumstance into 
 the following doggerel distich, which was spread far and 
 wide, and which continued to be repeated for nearly a 
 century, whenever passion or prejudice rose high: — 
 
 " Wha'll buy me, wha'll buy me, 
 Three plumps and a wallop for a bawbee?" 
 
 At fair or market, dance or wedding, the words 
 " Gustin' bane," uttered in the hearing of those for 
 whom the}?" were intended, were sufficient to raise a 
 riot. At the close of a marriage dinner in the neigh- 
 bouring parish of Kirkmichael, where a number of the 
 bridegroom's party from Kirkmahoe were present, and 
 enjoying themselves most heartily, the bride's father, 
 who had been carving and supplying his guests most 
 hospitably, without a thought of the consequences, lifted 
 a large shank-bone before him, which had done substantial 
 service on the occasion, and said, " This wad still mak' 
 a gude Gustin' bane." The words were most innocently 
 uttered, and nothing was farther from the glad father s 
 heart than the intention to wound the feelings of any 
 of his friends. Indeed, he said it in the jubilance of 
 enjoyment, meaning that there had been enough and 
 to spare. Notwithstanding all his good intentions, 
 however, in a moment the house was in an uproar, all 
 were on their feet, and angry words were neither " few 
 nor far between." The tables were overturned with all 
 upon them. Dishes, glasses, tumblers, and bottles were 
 
102 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 demolished, and formed a dismal scene of confusion 
 — "rudis indigestaque moles," — while the bridecake 
 required no special cutting up, but lay scattered in 
 fragments among the debris — " apparent rari nantes 
 in gurgito vasto." The two parties were smashing 
 each other with whatever they could lay hold of, the 
 blood streamed, the women fainted, and the men swore 
 and fought. Old James Smith, ycleped the " Baillie o' 
 Carzield," firmly set his back against a wall, as he was 
 lame, and, in the spirit of Fitz- James in his encounter 
 with Roderick Dhu, said, in sentiment at least — 
 
 ' ' Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
 From its firm base as soon as I ! " 
 
 His opponents immediately came forward with a rush, 
 and, in less time than we tell it, he had knocked five of 
 them down, who, on regaining their senses and their 
 legs, showed no desire to renew the combat; So runs 
 the tradition of the "Saut lairds" of Dunscore, and 
 the " Gustin' bane" of Kirkmahoe. 
 
 Having given a short outline of the contents and 
 nature of the volume now fairly launched on the wide 
 sea of public opinion, it will be interesting to notice 
 what the great critics think of the work. One may 
 easily imagine the state of excitement Cunningham 
 especially would be in as to the verdict about to be 
 pronounced upon the performance. Mr. Cromek, too, 
 would doubtless be anxious as to the reception of 
 what he considered his masterpiece, with regard to 
 Scottish ballad lore of the olden time. He had pri- 
 vately boasted of its great merits to his literary friends 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 103 
 
 while it was in the process of production, and now that 
 it was before them, the verification of his own eulogiuni 
 would cause some concern. The opinion of private 
 literary friends, of course, came first, as the great lever 
 of the public press generally takes time for its operations 
 in forming a judgment. Two things were certain to be 
 taken into consideration by both parties — the genuine- 
 ness of the ballads as ancient, and their poetical merit. 
 Poor Allan! trembling in the balance of suspense as 
 to the verdict about to be given upon your poetical 
 genius, stand forward and hear the judgment pronounced. 
 Throw aside your long, dark locks, and let your intel- 
 lectual brow be seen in all its massiveness. Your black, 
 piercing eye and your manly form have no cause to be 
 concealed. The world is with you, though as yet you 
 know it not, and your name will go down with approba- 
 tion to the latest ages ! 
 
 The general impression on the appearance of the 
 volume was that it was " too good to be old," and sus- 
 picions were hinted in confirmation of what Mr. Cromek 
 had said in his own criticism of the first two pieces he 
 had received from Cunningham, " Bonnie Lady Anne," 
 and " She's gane to dwall in Heaven." The rhymes 
 were too generally correct, some of the epithets were at 
 variance with ancient phraseology, and even several of 
 the sentiments had a tinge of modern times. Such 
 things as these weighed greatly in the minds of the 
 literary critics of the metropolis, and made them suspect 
 the pseudo character of several of .the songs, as well as 
 the true personage who had produced them. Bishop 
 Percy, Professor Wilson, Sir Walter Scott, Lord Wood- 
 
104 LIFE 07 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 houselee, Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Graham, Mr. Montgomery, 
 and the Ettrick Shepherd, were all of this opinion, 
 though, at the same time, they declared that the songs 
 " would hold up their heads to unnumbered generations." 
 Professor Wilson said of the volume : — " In Dumfries- 
 shire he (Cromek) became acquainted with Mr. Allan 
 Cunningham, at that time a common stonemason, and 
 certainly one of the most original poets Scotland has 
 produced, who communicated to him a vast quantity of 
 most amusing and interesting information concerning 
 the manners and customs of the people of Nithsdale 
 and Galloway. Much of this is to be found in the 
 appendix to this volume. That appendix is ostensibly 
 written by Mr. Cromek, and perhaps a few sentences 
 here and there are from his pen; but no person of 
 ordinary penetration can for a moment doubt that, as a 
 whole, it was fairly composed and written out by the 
 hand of Allan Cunningham. Everything is treated of 
 in the familiar and earnest style of a man speaking of 
 what he has known from his youth upwards, and of 
 what has influenced and even formed the happiness of 
 his life. . . . But the best of the poetry too belongs 
 to Allan Cunningham. Can the most credulous person 
 believe that Mr. Cromek, an Englishman, an utter 
 stranger in Scotland, should have been able in a few 
 days' walk through Nithsdale and Galloway to collect, 
 not a few broken fragments of poetry only, but a 
 number of finished and perfect poems, of whose exist- 
 ence none of the inquisitive literary men or women of 
 Scotland had ever before heard, and that too in the 
 very country which Robert Burns had beaten to its 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 105 
 
 every bush? But, independently of all this, the poems 
 speak for themselves, and for Allan Cunningham. The 
 following beautiful song, ' Thou hast sworn by thy God, 
 my Jeanie,' though boldly said to have been written 
 during the days of the Covenant, cannot, as we feel, be 
 thought of in any other light but an exquisite imitation." 
 
 This was high commendation from the source whence 
 it came, when it is borne in mind that the writer of it 
 was himself a poet of the highest standing among the 
 sons of Scotland, and one whose prose was poetry in 
 depicting the sentiments, the loves, and the various 
 vicissitudes of Scottish life. 
 
 Another writer, the Ettrick Shepherd, equally, if not 
 better, acquainted with the same subject, said: — " "When 
 Cromek's Nithsdale and Galloway Kelics came to my 
 hand, I at once discerned the strains of my friend, and 
 I cannot describe with what sensations of delight I first 
 heard Mr. Morrison read ' The Mermaid of Galloway,' 
 while at every verse I kept naming the author. Gray, 
 of the High School, who had an attachment to Cromek, 
 denied it positively on his friend's authority. Grieve 
 joined him. Morrison, I saw, had strong lurking 
 suspicions; but then he stickled for the ancient genius 
 of Galloway. When I went to Sir Walter Scott (then 
 Mr. Scott), I found him decidedly of the same opinion 
 as myself; and he said he wished to God that we had 
 that valuable and original young man fairly out of 
 Cromek's hands again. I next wrote a review of the 
 work, in which I laid the saddle on the right horse, and 
 sent it to Mr. Jeffrey; but, after retaining it for some 
 time, he returned it with a note, saying that he had 
 
106 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 read over the article, and was convinced of the fraud 
 which had been attempted to be played off on the 
 public, but he did not think it worthy of exposure." 
 
 As was to be expected, certain of the songs were 
 adopted as favourites, according to the taste of the 
 reader, and were specially noted for their excellence in 
 antique sentiment and expression. Besides those which 
 we have already quoted, as forming part of the volume, 
 and which were forwarded to Mr. Cromek when the first 
 proposal of such a work was mooted, Sir Walter Scott 
 was greatly delighted with the following ballad, which 
 he said his daughter, Mrs. Lockhart, sang with " such 
 uncommon effect." It is said to be printed from a copy 
 found in Burns' Commonplace Book, in the editor's 
 possession, that it had long been popular in Galloway and 
 Nithsdale, and that it had many variations, of which 
 this one is the best. We have failed to find it in any 
 of the editions of Burns' works, and are at a loss to 
 understand how he should have omitted to introduce it : — 
 
 "IT'S HAME AND IT'S HAME. 
 " It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, 
 0, hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie ! 
 There's an eye that ever weeps, and a fair face will be fain, 
 As I pass through Annan Water with my bonnie bands again ; 
 When the flower is in the bud, and the leaf upon the tree, 
 The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie. 
 
 ' ' It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, 
 0, hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie ! 
 The green leaf of loyalty's beginning for to fa', 
 The bonnie white rose it is withering and a', 
 But I'll water't with the blood of usurping tyrannie, 
 And green it will grow in my ain countrie. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 107 
 
 " It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, 
 0, hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie ! 
 There's nought now from ruin my country can save, 
 But the keys of kind heaven to open the grave, 
 That all the noble martyrs who died for loyaltie 
 May rise again and fight for their ain countrie. 
 
 ' ' It's hame and it's hame, hame fain would I be, 
 0, hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie ! 
 The great now are gane, a' who ventured to save ; 
 The new grass is growing aboon their bloody grave; 
 But the sun through the mirk blinks blithe in my ee, 
 I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie." 
 
 The Scots Magazine gave the volume a favourable 
 review, with copious extracts as specimens of its com- 
 position, but at the same time gently hinting that 
 certain expressions might have been improved by a 
 little refinement. Speaking of the character of the 
 pieces, it said : — 
 
 " None of them relate to the ancient scenes of ' feud and 
 fight/ nor are any earlier than the middle of the sixteenth 
 century, from which period they extend down to the present 
 day. Some are the productions of living poets; for Dumfries 
 has produced among her peasantry several truly inspired 
 with the genius of song. The earliest poems are chiefly 
 amorous, with some of a humorous cast; chiefly levelled 
 against the wives of these days, many of whom appear to 
 have kept their 'lords' under a very severe thraldom. . 
 The most modern songs return to the standard subject of 
 love, and indulge also in a certain rude humour, which does 
 not, in our opinion, form their brightest ornament, 
 
 " The love songs may be traced back to the time of the 
 Covenanters, and are of a character very peculiar, different 
 
108 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 from what we have seen belonging to Scotland, or perhaps 
 to any other country. This singularity consists in the 
 intimate manner in which that spirit of devotion, which then 
 prevailed to even an enthusiastic degree, is blended with 
 this human passion. The two sentiments are sometimes so 
 intermingled, as, combined with that familiarity with which 
 the devotionists of those days were accustomed to address 
 the Deity, makes the extreme of piety sometimes border on 
 its opposite." 
 
 This last reflection has reference to the song, already 
 quoted, " Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie," 
 which we think is one of the finest in the volume, and 
 was mentioned as such at the time it appeared. Nothing 
 in our opinion can be finer than the two lovers agreeing 
 to pray to God on behalf of each other : — 
 
 " The Beiik maun be taen when the carle comes hame, 
 Wi' the holie psalmodie, 
 And thou maun speak o' me to thy God, 
 And I will speak o' thee !" 
 
 The following song seems to us so exquisitely tender 
 and heart-touching that we cannot refrain from quoting 
 it, and many of our readers will thank us for doing so: — 
 
 A WEARY BODIE'S BLYTHE WHAN THE SUN GANGS 
 DOWN. 
 
 ' ' A weary bodie's blythe whan the sun gangs down, 
 A weary bodie's blythe whan the sun gangs down : 
 To smile wi' his wife, and to daute wi' his weans, 
 Wha wadna be blythe whan the sun gangs down ! 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 109 
 
 The simmer sun's lang, and we're a' toiled sair, 
 Frae sunrise to sunset's a dreigh tack o' care ; 
 But at hame for to daute 'mang our wee bits o' weans, 
 We think on our toils an' our cares nae mair. 
 
 " The Saturday sun gangs aye sweetest down, 
 My bonnie boys leave their wark i' the town; 
 My heart loups light at my ain ingle side, 
 Whan my kin' blythe bairn-time is a' sitting roun'. 
 
 " The Sabbath morning comes, an' warm lowes the sun, 
 Ilk heart's fu' o' joy a' the parishen roun'; 
 Round the hip o' the hill comes the sweet psalm tune, 
 An' the auld fowk a' to the preaching are bowne. 
 
 : ' The hearts o' the younkers loup lightsome, to see 
 The gladness that dwalls in their auld grannie's ee ; 
 An' they gather i' the suu, 'side the green haw-tree, 
 Nae new-flown birds are sae mirthsome an' hie. 
 
 i Tho' my sonsie dame's cheeks nae to auld age are prief, 
 Tho' the roses that blumed there are smit i' the leaf ; 
 Tho' the young blinks o' luve hae a' died in her ee, 
 She is bonnier an' dearer than ever to me ! 
 
 ' Ance poortith came in 'yont our hallan to keek, 
 But my Jeanie was nursing an' singing sae sweet, 
 That she laid down her powks at anither door cheek, 
 An' steppit blythely ben her auld shanks for to beek. 
 
 ' My hame is the mailen weel stockit an' fu, 
 My bairns are the flocks au' the herds that I loo ; — 
 My Jeanie is the gowd an' delight o' my ee, 
 She's worth a hale lairdship o' mailens to me ! 
 
 ' wha wad fade awa like a flower i' the dew, 
 An' nae leave a sprout for kind heaven to pu' ? 
 Wha wad rot 'mang the mools, like the trunk o' the tree,. 
 Wi' nae shoots the pride o' the forest to be!" 
 
110 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 We ask if there is any one who, after reading the 
 above song, does not experience a peculiar sensation 
 about the heart, arid a well-known moisture in the 
 eyes ? We ourselves confess to both. 
 
 • 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE "MERMAID OF GALLOWAY " — PREFATORY NOTE AND 
 ACCOMPANYING LETTER. 
 
 What was generally considered the gem of the volume 
 was the " Mermaid of Galloway," with its prefatory note, 
 and its accompanying letter: — 
 
 " Tradition is yet rich with the fame of this bewitching 
 Mermaid; and many of the good old folks have held most 
 edifying and instructing communion with her by her favourite 
 moonlight banks, and eddyed nooks of Streams. She was wont 
 to treasure their minds with her celestial knowledge of house- 
 hold economy, and would give receipts to make heavenly salve 
 to heal the untimely touch of disease. A charming young 
 girl, whom consumption had brought to the brink of the 
 grave, was lamented by her lover. In a vein of renovating 
 sweetness the good Mermaid sung to him — 
 
 ' "Wad ye let the bormie May die i' yere hand, 
 An' the mugwort flowering i' the land ? ' 
 
 " He cropped and pressed the flower-tops, and adminis- 
 tered the juice to his fair mistress, who arose and blessed her 
 bestower for the return of health. 
 
 " The Mermaid's favourite haunts and couches were along 
 the shores of the Nith and Urr, and on the edge of the 
 ♦Solway sea, which adjoins the mouths of these waters. Her 
 
112 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 beauty was such that man could not behold her face but his 
 heart was fired with unquenchable love. l Her long hair of 
 burning gold/ through the wiling links of which appeared 
 her white bosom aud shoulders, were her favourite care; and 
 she is always represented by tradition with one hand shed- 
 ding her locks, and with the other combing them. 
 
 " Tradition tells that this world is an outer husk or shell 
 which encloses a kernel of most rare abode, where dwell the 
 Mermaids of popular belief. According to Lowland mytho- 
 logy, they are a race of goddesses corrupted with earthly 
 passions. Their visits to the world, 'though few and far 
 between,' are spoken of and remembered with awe. Their 
 affections were bestowed on men of exalted virtue and rare 
 endowments of person and parts. They wooed in such a 
 strain of syren eloquence that all hearts were fettered by the 
 witcheries of love. When their celestial voice dropt on the 
 ear every other faculty was enthralled. They caught the 
 beloved object in their embrace, and laid him on a couch, 
 where mortal eyes might search in vain into the rites of such 
 romantic and mysterious wedlock. 
 
 " Though possessed of the most soft and gracious qualities, 
 yet, when a serious premeditated indignity was offered them, 
 they were immediately awakened to revenge. A devout 
 farm dame, in the time of the last persecution, was troubled 
 in spirit at the wonted return of this heathenish visitant. 
 A deep and beautiful pool, formed in the mouth of Dalbeattie 
 Burn by the eddy of Urr Water, was a beloved residence of 
 the Mermaid of Galloway. ' I' the first come o' the moon' 
 she would seat herself on a smooth block of granite on the 
 brink of the pool, comb her golden links of hair, and deliver 
 her healing oracles. The good woman, in a frenzy of religious 
 zeal, with her Bible in her hand, had the temerity to tumble 
 this ancient chair into the bottom of the pool. The next 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 113 
 
 morning her only child was found, dead in its cradle, and a 
 voice from the pool was often heard at day-close by the 
 distracted mother : — 
 
 ' Ye may look i' yere toom cradle, 
 
 And I'll look to my stane ; 
 And meikle we'll think, and meikle we'll look, 
 But words we'll ne'er ha'e nane ! ' 
 
 " All the noxious weeds and filth that could be collected 
 were thrown into the pool, until the stream was polluted; 
 and the Mermaid departed, leaving a curse of barrenness on 
 the house, which all the neighbours for several miles around 
 are ready to certify has been faithfully fulfilled. 
 
 " William Maxwell, Esq. of Cowehill, is the bridegroom 
 ' Willie' of this romance. According to popular history, he 
 was nephew to the ' Lily of Nithsdale,' heroine of the sublime 
 song, ' She's gane to dwall in Heaven.' " 
 
 "THE MERMAID OF GALLOWAY. 
 
 There's a maid has sat on the green merse side, 
 
 These ten lang years and mair ; 
 An' every first night o' the new moon 
 
 She kames her yellow hair. 
 
 An' aye while she sheds the yellow burning gowd, 
 
 Fu' sweet she sings an' hie, 
 Till the fairest bird that wooes the green-wood, 
 
 Is charm'd wi' her melodie. 
 
 But wha e'er listens to that sweet sang, 
 
 Or gangs the dame to see, 
 Ne'er hears the sang o' the laverock again, 
 
 Nor wakens an earthlie ee. 
 H 
 
114 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " It fell in about the sweet simmer month, 
 I' the first come o' the moon, 
 That she sat o' the tap of a sea-weed rock, 
 A-kaming her silk locks down. 
 
 ' ' Her kame was o' the whitely pearl, 
 Her hand like new- won milk, 
 Her breasts were a' o' the snawy curd, 
 In a net o' sea-green silk. . 
 
 ' ' She kamed her locks owre her white shoulders, 
 A fleece baith bonny and lang; 
 An' ilka ringlet she shed frae her brows, 
 She raised a lightsome sang. 
 
 " I' the very first lilt o' that sweet sang, 
 The birds forsook their young, 
 An' they flew i' the gate o' the grey howlet, 
 To listen the maiden's song. 
 
 *' I' the second lilt o' that sweet sang, 
 Of sweetness it was sae fu', 
 The tod leap'd out frae the bughted lambs, 
 And dighted his red-wat mou'. 
 
 *' I' the very third lilt o' that sweet sang, 
 Red lowed the new-woke moon ; 
 The stars drapp'd blude on the yellow gowan tap, 
 Sax miles that maiden roun'. 
 
 " I hae dwalt on the Nith, quo' the young Cowehill, 
 These twenty years an' three, 
 But the sweetest sang e'er brake frae a lip 
 Comes thro' the green- wood to. me. 
 
 ii is it a voice frae twa earthlie lips 
 Whilk make sic melodie ! 
 It wad wyle the lark frae the morning lift, 
 And weel may it wyle me ! 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 115 
 
 ' I dreamed a dreary thing, master, 
 Whilk I am rad ye rede; 
 I dreamed ye kissed a pair o' sweet lips, 
 That drapp'd o' red heart's-blede. 
 
 ' ' Come hand my steed, ye little foot-page, 
 Shod wi' the red gold roun' ; 
 Till I kiss the lips whilk sing sae sweet : 
 An' lightlie lap he down. 
 
 : ' Kiss nae the singer's lips, master, 
 Kiss nae the singer's chin; 
 Touch nae her hand, quo' the little foot-page, 
 If skaithless hame ye'd win. 
 
 ; ' wha will sit on yere toom saddle, 
 O wha will bruik yere gluve? 
 An' wha will fauld yere erled bride 
 I' the kindlie clasps o' luve? 
 
 "He took aff his hat, a' gold i' the rim, 
 Knot wi' a siller ban' ; 
 He seemed a' in lowe wi' his gold raiment, 
 As thro' the green-wood he ran. 
 
 : ' The summer-dew fa's saft, fair maid, 
 Aneath the siller moon; 
 But eerie is thy seat i' the rock, 
 Washed wi' the white sea faem. 
 
 ' Come wash me wi' thy lilie white hand, 
 Below and aboon the knee ; 
 An' I'll kame these links o' yellow burning gold, 
 Aboon thy bonnie blue ee. 
 
 ; ' How rosie are thy parting lips, 
 How lilie-white thy skin, 
 An' weel I wat these kissing een 
 Wad tempt a saint to sin. 
 
116 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 ' ' Take aff these bars an' bobs o' gold, 
 Wi' thy gared doublet fine ; 
 An' thraw me aff thy green mantle, 
 Leafed wi' the siller twine. 
 
 " An' a' in courtesie, fair knight, 
 A maiden's love to win ; 
 The gold lacing o' thy green weeds 
 Wad harm her like skin. 
 
 ' ' Syne coost he aff his green mantle 
 Hemm'd wi' the red gold roun'; 
 His costly doublet coost he aff, 
 Wi' red gold flow'red down. 
 
 " Now ye maun kanie my yellow hair, 
 Down wi' my pearlie kame ; 
 Then rowe me in thy green mantle, 
 An' take me maiden hame. 
 
 " But first come take me 'neath the chin, 
 An' syne come kiss my cheek ; 
 An' spread my hanks o' wat'ry hair 
 I' the new-moon beam to dreep. 
 
 " Sae first he kissed her dimpled chin, 
 Syne kissed her rosie cheek ; 
 An' lang he wooed her willin' lips, ' 
 Like heather-hinnie sweet ! 
 
 "0, if ye'll come to the bonnie Cowehill, 
 'Mang primrose banks to woo ; 
 I'll wash ye ilk day i' the new milked milk, 
 And bind wi' gold yere brow. 
 
 ' ' An' a' for a drink o' the clear water, 
 Ye'se hae the rosie wine ; 
 An' a' for the water white lilie, 
 Ye'se hae these arms o' mine. 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 117 
 
 " Bat whafc'll she say, yere bonnie young bride, 
 Busked wi' the siller fine; 
 Whan the rich kisses ye kept for her lips, 
 Are left wi' vows on mine ? 
 
 " He took his lips frae her red-rose mou', 
 His arm frae her waist sae sma'; 
 Sweet maiden, I'm in bridal speed, 
 It's time I were awa. 
 
 " gie me a token o' luve, sweet May, 
 A leal luve token true; 
 She crapped a lock o' yellow gowden hair, 
 An' knotted it roun' his brow. 
 
 " tie nae it sae strait, sweet May, 
 But wi' love's rose-knot kind ; 
 My head is fu' o' burning pain, 
 saft ye maun it bind. 
 
 " His skin turned a' o' the red-rose hue, 
 Wi' draps o' bludie sweat ; 
 An' he laid his head 'mang the water lilies — 
 Sweet maiden, I maun sleep. 
 
 : ' She tied ae link o' her wet yellow hair, 
 Aboon his burning bree ; 
 Amang his curling haffet locks 
 She knotted knurles three. 
 
 " She weaved owre his brow the white lilie, 
 Wi' witch -knots more than nine ; 
 Gif ye were seven times bridegroom owre, 
 This night ye shall be mine. 
 
 " twice he turned his sinking head 
 An' twice he lifted his ee ; 
 An' twice he sought to loose the links 
 Were knotted owre his bree. 
 
118 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " Arise, sweet knight, yere young bride waits, 
 An' doubts her ale will sour; 
 An' wistly looks at the lily-white sheets, 
 Down spread in ladie-bower. 
 
 ' ' An' she has preened the broidered silk 
 About her white hause-bane ; 
 Her princely petticoat is on, 
 Wi' gold can stan' its lane. 
 
 ' ' He faintlie, slowlie, turn'd his cheek, 
 An' faintlie lift his ee, 
 An' he strave to loose the witching bands 
 Aboon his burning bree. 
 
 " Then took she up his green mantle, 
 
 Of lowing gold the hem; 
 Then took she up his silken cap, 
 
 Rich wi' a siller stem; 
 An' she threw them wi' her lilie hand 
 
 Amang the white sea-faem. 
 
 " She took the bride ring frae his finger, 
 An' threw it in the sea ; 
 That hand shall mense nae ither ring- 
 But wi' the will o' me. 
 
 ' ' She f aulded him i' her lilie arms, 
 An' left her pearlie kame ; 
 His fleecy locks trailed owre the sand, 
 As she took the white sea-faem. 
 
 " First rose the star out owre the hill, 
 An' neist the lovelier morn ; 
 While the beauteous bride o' Galloway 
 Look'd for her blithe bridegroom. 
 
 ' ' Lightly she sang while the new moon rose. 
 Blithe as a young bride may, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 119 
 
 Wlian the new moon lights her lamp o' luve, 
 An' blinks the bride away. 
 
 Nithsdale, thou art a gay garden, 
 
 Wi' monie a winsome flower ; 
 But the princehest rose o' that garden 
 
 Maun blossom in my bower. 
 
 Oh, gentle be the wind on thy leaf, 
 
 An' gentle the gloaming dew ; 
 An' bonnie an' balmy be thy bud, 
 
 0' a pure an' steadfast hue ; 
 An' she who sings this sang in thy praise 
 
 Shall love thee leal an' true. 
 
 An' aye she sewed her silken snood, 
 
 An' sung a bridal sang ; 
 But aft the tears drap't frae her ee 
 
 Afore the grey morn cam'. 
 
 The sun learn' d ruddie 'mang the dew, 
 
 Sae thick on bank an' tree ; 
 The plow-boy whistled at his darke, 
 
 The milk-maid answered hie ; 
 But the lovely bride o' Galloway 
 
 Sat wi' a tear- wet ee. 
 
 Ilk breath o' wind 'mang the forest leaves — 
 
 She heard the bridegroom's tongue, 
 An' she heard the bridal-coming lilt 
 
 In every bird which sung. 
 
 She sat high on the tap-tower stane, 
 
 Nae waiting May was there; 
 She loosed the gold busk frae her breast, 
 
 The kame frae 'mang her hair ; 
 She wiped the tear-blobs frae her ee, 
 
 An' looked lang and sair. 
 
120 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " First sang to her the blythe wee bird, 
 Frae aff the hawthorn green ; 
 Loose out the love curls frae yere hair, 
 Ye plaited sae weel yestreen. 
 
 " An' the spreckled lark frae 'mang the clouds 
 Of heaven came singing down — 
 Take out the bride-knots frae yere hair, 
 An' let these lang locks down. 
 
 " Come, bide wi' me, ye pair o' sweet birds, 
 Come down an' bide wi' me ; 
 Ye shall peckle o' the bread, an' drink o' the wine, 
 An' gold yere cage shall be. 
 
 " She laid the bride-cake 'neath her head, 
 An' syne below her feet ; 
 An' laid her down 'tween the lily-white sheets, 
 An' soundly did she sleep. 
 
 ' ' It seem'd i' the mid-hoiir o' the night, 
 Her siller bell did ring ; 
 An' soun't as if nae earthlie hand 
 Had pou'd the silken string. 
 
 " There was a cheek touch'd that ladye's, 
 Cauld as the marble stane, 
 An' a hand cauld as the drifting snaw 
 Was laid on her breast-bane. 
 
 ' ' cauld is thy hand, my dear Willie, 
 cauld, cauld is thy cheek ; 
 An' wring these locks o' yellow hair, 
 Frae which the cauld draps dreep. 
 
 ' ' seek another bridegroom, Marie, 
 On these bosom faulds to sleep ; 
 My bride is the yellow water lilie, 
 Its leaves my bridal sheet !" 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 121 
 
 Among many others, Mr. Roscoe was captivated with 
 this ballad, and made repeated inquiries about Jean 
 Walker (Cunningham's future wife), to whom was attri- 
 buted the letter at the end accompanying it, which he 
 said was the finest thing ever written, and had more 
 than the spirit of Burns. She was also accredited with 
 the songs- — " She's gane to dwall in Heaven," " Thou 
 hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie," " The Pawkie Loon 
 the Miller," and "Young Derwentwater." The letter 
 accompanying the "Mermaid of Galloway" was addressed 
 to Mr. Cromek: — 
 
 " . . . A weed turns a flower when it is set in a 
 garden. Will these songs -be better or bonnier in print? 
 I enclose you a flower new pou'd frae the banks of blythe 
 Cowehill. It has long grown almost unkend of. Gentility 
 disna pou' a flower that blooms i' the fields : it is trampled on 
 as a weed when it is no' in a flower-pot. I see you smiling 
 at the wretched lilts of the sweet-singing Mermaid. Well, 
 come again to Galloway — sit down i' the gloaming dewfall 
 on the green merse side amang the flowers; and if a pan of 
 lilie arms, and twa kissing lips and witching een, forbye the 
 sweet music of a honey-dropping tongue, winna gaur ye 
 believe in the lilting glamour of the Mermaid ye may gang 
 back to England singing — ' Praise be blest!' How will your 
 old-fashioned taste and the new-fangledness of the public's 
 agree about these old songs'? But tell me, can a song 
 become old when the ideas and imagery it contains are 
 drawn from nature ! While go wans grow on our braes, and 
 lilies on our burn-banks, so long will natural imagery and 
 natural sentiment flourish green in song. 
 
 " I am, perhaps, too partial to these old songs : it is 
 
122 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 because they recall the memory of parental endearments. 
 The posies of our fathers and our mothers I hold it not 
 seemly for a daughter to let wither." 
 
 Well done, Jean Walker ! if you wrote this. You are 
 entitled to be the mate of Allan Cunningham. Your 
 spirit seems to be entirely akin to his, and you write 
 poetically even in prose. At the close of this letter 
 the editor appends the following note: — 
 
 " That the peasantry of Scotland possess a greater portion 
 of natural taste and information than the vulgar class of any 
 other nation is considered paradoxical by their unbelieving 
 brethren on this side of the Tweed. Were evidence required 
 to establish this fact, a Scottish peasant would exclaim — 
 ' Where are your ballads and songs, the beauteous fugitives 
 of neglected or unknown rustic bards? Where are your 
 sacred reliques of poetic devotion, with which every Scotch- 
 man's heart is filled? — the plaint of despair, the uplifting 
 raptures of love, or the heart-warming lament of domestic 
 misfortune? With us they live; with you they have never 
 existed, or have perished!"' 
 
 We have not yet done with the volume, but only 
 with the poetical part of it, and in another chapter we 
 shall refer to what is given in prose, to which we attach 
 special importance. While we now know, that the 
 ballads were in a great measure only imitations, we 
 have confidence, from personal knowledge and other- 
 wise, in the truth of what is described in the latter 
 portion of the work. We must say, however, that, with 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 12S 
 
 regard to some of the songs, our opinion is that certain 
 expressions, lines, and even verses, had better been 
 omitted; but, as we have already said, our countrymen 
 sixty years ago were not so fastidious as now. Besides, 
 it should be remembered that the ballads profess to be 
 of far older date than this; and as we know from the 
 musings of some of the ancient ballad-mongers, they 
 were anything but refined, it behoved that these imita- 
 tions, as relics of bygone ages, should be in conformity 
 with the style when these prevailed, otherwise their 
 pretended genuineness would have been at once detected. 
 Compared with some of the songs in Herd's Collection of 
 1769 they are almost purity, and Herd was not alone. 
 So that there was almost an absolute necessity to have 
 some unreflnement to preserve the mystification in- 
 tended. When Cunningham avowedly wrote, in his 
 own name, songs of his own day, no coarseness of 
 expression was introduced, or anything but what might 
 be chanted in the presence of parents by the maiden 
 without a blush. 
 
124 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CUNNINGHAM: DISCLOSES THE SECRET OF THE "REMAINS" TO M'GHIE 
 — EXTRACTS EROM THE APPENDIX: FAMILY WORSHIP — THE 
 
 WITCHES — THE FAIRIES. 
 
 Though Cunningham did not care to disclose the 
 secret that the ballads were imitations, such as the 
 literary critics surmised, yet he acknowledged the 
 fact to a certain extent in replying to his friend 
 George, who had hinted his own opinion in the same 
 direction : — 
 
 " You edify me by your opinion on the { Remains of Mths- 
 dale and Galloway Song.' The critics are much of the same 
 mind as yourself. Your conjecture is not very far wrong as 
 to my share of the book. Was it the duty of a son to show 
 the nakedness of his own landl ~No, my dear friend. I went 
 before and made the path straight. I planted here and 
 there a flower — dropped here and there a honeycomb — 
 plucked away the bitter gourd — cast some jewels in the 
 by-paths and in the fields, so that the traveller might find 
 them, and wonder at the richness of the land that produced 
 them ! Nor did I drop them in vain. Pardon the confession, 
 and keep it a secret." 
 
 A third part of the volume contains an appendix in 
 prose, in which are given very graphic and interesting 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 125 
 
 descriptions of Scottish customs, amusements, supersti- 
 tions, and beliefs, some of which have entirely died 
 away, their departure not to be regretted; but one 
 custom especially, which should ever remain, we are 
 sorry to fear is not so religiously observed now through- 
 out the country as in olden times, that of Family 
 Worship. From this last we shall quote an extract, 
 as being truly descriptive of what was a common prac- 
 tice in the peasant's dwelling, and as entirely in accord 
 with Burns' immortal poem, "The Cottar's Saturday 
 Night." It is named " Taking the Beuk' ; : — 
 
 " On entering a neat thatched cottage, when past the par- 
 tition or hallan, a wide, projecting chimney -piece, garnished 
 with smoked meat, met your eye. The fire, a good space 
 removed from the end wall, was placed against a large 
 whinstone, called the cat-hud. Behind this was a bench 
 stretching along the gable, which, on trysting nights, was 
 occupied by the children — the best seat being courteously 
 proffered to strangers. The Cottar sire was placed on the 
 left of the fire, removed from the bustle of housewifery. A 
 settee of oak, antiquely carved, and strewn with favourite 
 texts of Scripture, was the good man's seat, where he rested 
 after the day's fatigue, nursing and instructing his children. 
 His library shelf above him displayed his folio Bible, covered 
 with rough calf skin, wherein were registered his children's 
 names and hour of birth ; some histories of the old reform- 
 ing worthies (divines who waded through the blood and 
 peril of persecution), the sacred books of his fathers, lay, 
 carefully adjusted, and pretty much used; and the acts and 
 deeds of Scotland's saviour, Wallace, and the immortal Bruce, 
 were deemed worthy of holding a place among the heroic 
 
126 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 divines who had won the heavenly crown of martyrdom, 
 Above these were hung a broadsword and targe, the remains 
 of ancient warfare, which, happily, the hand of peace had 
 long forgot to wield. From the same pin depended the 
 kirn-cut of corn (the name sometimes given to the last 
 handful of grain cut down on the harvest field) braided and 
 adorned with ribbons. Beside him was his fowling-piece, 
 which, before the enaction of Game Laws, supplied his 
 family with venison and fowls in their season. At the 
 end of the lang settle was the window, which displayed 
 a few panes of glass, and two oaken boards that opened like 
 shutters for the admission of air. On the guid wife's side 
 appeared her articles of economy and thrift. A dresser replen- 
 ished with pewter plates, with a large meal chest of carved 
 oak, extended along the side-wall. Bunches of yarn hung from 
 a loft or flooring made of small wood or rye spread ^across 
 the joisting, and covered with moor turf. The walls, white 
 with lime, were garnished with dairy utensils (every cottar 
 almost having one or two kye). At each side of the middle 
 entry was a bed, sometimes of very curious and ingenious 
 workmanship, being posted with oak, and lined with barley 
 straw, finely cleaned, and inwoven with thread; these were 
 remarkably warm, and much valued. 
 
 " Family worship was performed every evening, but on 
 the Sabbath morning it was attended with peculiar solem- 
 nity. At that season all the family, and frequently some of 
 the neighbours, presented themselves before the aged village 
 apostle. He seated himself on a lang-settle, laying aside his 
 bonnet and plaid. His eldest child came submissively for- 
 ward, and, unclasping the Bible, placed it across his father's 
 knees. After a few minutes of religious silence, he meekly 
 lifts his eyes over his family to mark if they are all around 
 him, and decorous. Opening the Bible, he says — in a tone of 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 127 
 
 simple and holy meekness — ' Let us reverently worship our 
 God by singing the (eighth) Psalm.' He reads it aloud, 
 then gives or recites line after line, leading the tune himself. 
 The ' Martyrs ' is a chosen air, so called in honour of those 
 men who displayed a zeal worthy of the name, and perished 
 in the persecution. All the family join in this exquisitely 
 mournful tune till the sacred song is finished. A selected 
 portion of Scripture is then read, from the sublime soarings 
 of Isaiah, or the solemn morality of Job. As the divine 
 precepts of his Saviour are the sacred rules by which the 
 good man shapes the conduct of his children, Isaiah's fifty- 
 third chapter, where the coming of the Redeemer is foretold, 
 is the soul-lifting favourite of rustic devotion. It is read 
 with an exalted inspiration of voice accordant with the 
 subject. The family rise as he clasps the book, fall down 
 on their knees, bowing their heads to the ground. The 
 good man, kneeling over his Bible, pours his prayer to 
 Heaven in a strain of feeling and fervent eloquence. His 
 severity of church discipline relaxes in the warmth of his 
 heart. — ' May our swords become plough-shares, and our 
 spears reaping-hooks : may all find grace before Thee ! ' 
 There is not, perhaps, a more impressive scene than a 
 Scottish Sabbath morn presents, when the wind is low, 
 the summer sun newly risen, and all the flocks at browse 
 by the waters and by the woods. How glorious then to 
 listen to the holy murmur of retired prayer, and the distant 
 chaunt of the cottarman's psalm spreading from hamlet and 
 village!" 
 
 The belief in witchcraft was as strong in Nithsdale 
 as it was in Ayrshire, or, indeed, anywhere else; and 
 although there are no scenes to record equal to that 
 
128 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 which Tam o' Shanter saw in Alloway Kirk, yet there 
 are traditions of the ongoings of witches and warlocks 
 ludicrous in the extreme. There were trystes or meet- 
 ings held of these parties in several quarters of the dis- 
 trict, when they performed their cantrips in the usual 
 fashion : — 
 
 a The noted tiyate of the Nithsdale and Galloway warlocks 
 and witches was held on a rising knowe four miles distant 
 from Dumfries, called Locharlrigg Hill. There are yet some 
 fragments of the witches' "Gathering Hymn" too character- 
 istically curious to be omitted: — 
 
 ' When the gray howlet has three times hoo'd, 
 When the grimy cat has three times mewed, 
 When the tod has yowled three times i' the wode, 
 At the red moon cowering ahin the chid ; 
 When the stars hae cruppen deep i' the drift, 
 Lest cantrips had pyked them out o' the lift, 
 Up horsies a', but mair adowe, 
 Ryde, ryde, for Locharbrigg Knowe ! ' 
 
 " Roused by this infernal summons, the earth and the air 
 groaned with the unusual load. It was a grand though a 
 daring attempt for man, or aught of mortal frame, to view 
 this diabolical hurry. The wisest part barred their doors, 
 and left the world to its own misrule. Those aged matrons, 
 deep read in incantation, says tradition, ' could sit i' the coat 
 tails o' the moon,' or harness the wind to their ragweed 
 chariot — could say to the west star, ' byde thou me ! ' or to 
 the moon, ' hynte me in thy arm, for I am weary!' Those 
 carlins of garrulous old age, who had suffered martyrdom on 
 the brow for the cause, rode on chosen broom-sticks, shod 
 with murdered men's bones. These moved spontaneously to 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 129 
 
 the will of the possessor. But the more gay and genteel 
 kimmers loved a softer seat than the bark of a broomstick. 
 A bridle shredded from the skin of an unbaptized infant, 
 with bits forged in Satan's armoury, possessed irresistible 
 power when shaken above any living thing. 
 
 " Two young lads of Nithsdale once served a widow dame, 
 who possessed a bridle with these dangerous qualifications. 
 One of them, a plump, merry young fellow, suddenly lost 
 all his gaiety, and became lean, as if ' ridden %)Ost by a witch.' 
 On his neighbour lad's inquiry about the cause, he only said, 
 1 Lie at the bed stock an' ye'll be as lean as me.' It was on a 
 Hallowmas e'en, and though he felt unusual drowsiness he 
 kept himself awake. At midnight his mistress, cautiously 
 approaching his bedside, shook the charmed bridle over his 
 face, saying, ' Up Horsie,' when, to his utter astonishment, 
 he arose in the form of a gray horse ! The cantrip bit was 
 put in his teeth, and, mounted by the carlin, he went off 
 like the wind. Feeling the prick of infernal spur, he took 
 such leaps and bounds that he reached Locherbrigg Knowe in 
 a few moments. He was fastened by the bridle to a tree, 
 with many more of his acquaintance, whom he recognized 
 through their brutal disguise. He looked petrified with 
 affright when the father of cantrips drew a circle around the 
 knowe, within which no baptized brow could enter. 
 
 " All being assembled, hands were joined, and a ring of 
 warlocks and witches danced in the enchanted bound with 
 many lewd and uncouth gestures. In the centre he beheld 
 a thick smoke, and presently arose the piercing yells and 
 screams of hellish baptism which the new converts were 
 enduring. Startled and terrified to furious exertion, he 
 plunged, pulled, and reared; and, praying ardently to 
 Heaven, he shook off the bridle of power ; and, starting up 
 in his own shape, he seized the instrument of his transfor- 
 
 I 
 
130 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 mation. It was now gray daylight when the conclave dis- 
 persed, for their ogres could not endure the rebuke of the sun. 
 He watched his mistress, who, all haste and confusion, was 
 hurrying to her steed. Shaking the bridle over her brow, 
 she started up a ' gude gray mare,' and was hastened home 
 with such push of spur that all competitors were left far 
 behind ! The sun was nigh risen as he hurried into the 
 stable. Pulling off the bridle, his cantrip-casting mistress 
 appeared with hands and feet lacerated with travel, and her 
 sides pricked to the bone. On her rider's promising never 
 to divulge his night's adventure, she allowed him to keep the 
 bridle as a pledge of safety 
 
 " Caerlaverock and New Abbey are still celebrated as the 
 native parishes of two midnight caterers in the festivals of 
 glamour. They were rivals in fame, in power, and dread. 
 On the night of every full moon they met to devise employ- 
 ment for the coming month. Their confederacy and their 
 trysting haunts had been discovered, and were revealed by 
 chosen and holy men who ministered to their Creator and 
 fulfilled His dictates. 
 
 " Debarred from holding secret conference on the solid 
 sward, they fixed their trystes on the unstable waters which 
 separate their parishes. This tale, so full of character, was 
 taken down by the Editor from the word-of-mouth evidence 
 of the man who saw all that passed ; and it must be told in 
 his own simple, expressive language. 
 
 " ' I gaed out ae fine simmer night to haud my halve at the 
 Pow fit. It was twal' o'clock, an' a' was lowne; the moon 
 had just gotten up — ye mought a gathered preens ! I heard 
 something firsle like silk, I glowered roun', an', 'lake ! what 
 saw I bub a bonnie boat wi' a nob o' gowd, an' sails like 
 new-coined siller. It was only but a wee bittie frae me — I 
 mought amaist touch't it. c Gude speed ye gif ye gang for 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 131 
 
 gude,' quo' I, for I dreed our auld carlin was casting some o' 
 her pranks. Another cunning boat cam' aff frae Caerla'rick 
 to meet it. Thae twa bade a stricken hour thegither, sidie 
 for sidie. 'Haith,' quo' I, 'the deil's grit wi' some!' sae I 
 crap down amang some lang cowes till Luckie cam' back. 
 The boat played bowte again the bank, an' out loups kim- 
 mer, wi' a pyked naig's head i' her han'. ' Lord be about 
 us ! ' quo' I, ' for she cam' straught for me. She howked up a 
 green turf, covered her bane, an' gaed her wa's. "Whan I 
 thought her hame, up I gat, and pou'd up the bane and 
 haed it. I was fley'd to gae back for twa or three nights 
 lest the deil's minnie should wyte me for her uncannie boat, 
 an' lair me 'mang the sludge, or may be do waur. I gaed 
 "back, howsoever, an' on that night o' the moon wha comes to 
 me but kimmer! ' Rabin/ quo' she, ' fand ye an auld bane 
 amang the cowes?' 'Deed, no, it may be gowd for me!' 
 quo' I. * Weel, weel,' quo' she, ' I'll byde and help ye 
 hame wi' your fish.' God's be my help, nought grippit I 
 "but tades an' paddocks ! ' Satan, thy neive's here,' quo' I. 
 * Ken ye,' quo' I, ' o' yon new cheese our wyfe took but 
 frae the chessel yestreen? I'm gaun to send't t'ye i' the 
 morning; ye're a gude neebor to me. An', hear'st thou me! 
 there's a bit auld bane whomeled aneath thae cowes; I kent- 
 nae it was thine.' Kimmer drew't out. ' Aye, aye, it's 
 my auld bane; weel speed ye.' I' the very first pou I gat 
 sic a louthe o' fish that I carried till my back cracked 
 again.' . . . 
 
 " The way of restoring milk to the udder of a cow 
 bewitched is curious, and may benefit posterity. A young 
 virgin milked whatever milk the cow had left, which was of 
 bloody mixture and poisonous quality. This was poured 
 warm from the cow into a brass pan, and (every inlet to the 
 house being closed) was placed over a gentle fire until it 
 
132 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 began to heat, Pins were dropped in, and closely stirred 
 with a wand of rowan tree. When boiling, rusty nails were 
 thrown in, and more fuel added. The witch instantly felt, 
 by sympathetic power, the boiling medicine rankling through 
 her bosom, and an awful knocking announced her arrival at 
 the window. The sly ' Gudewife' instantly compounded with 
 the mother of cantrips for ' her hale loan of Aye,' the pan was 
 cooled, and the cows' udders swelled with genuine milk." 
 
 We give an extract from a long and interesting- 
 account of Fairy superstition as it existed in Nithsdale; 
 and, indeed, the description holds tine with regard to 
 every district in the South of Scotland. We can speak 
 from personal knowledge as to the famous Ayrshire 
 haunt of that weird people on the banks of the Doon, 
 the CassillsDownans, immortalized by Burns; but though 
 in our young enthusiasm we searched the place at all 
 hours of the night, in the hope of seeing some of the 
 elfin band, for long all was silence and desertion, till 
 at last we did, in our perseverance, meet with the 
 Fairy Queen who afterwards became our wife. No 
 wonder, then, we have such an attachment to the fairy 
 superstition : — 
 
 " There are few old people who have not a powerful 
 belief in the influence and dominion of fairies; few who 
 do not believe they have heard them on their midnight 
 excursions, or talked with them amongst their woods and 
 their knowes, in the familiarity of friendship. So general 
 was this superstition that priestly caution deemed it neces- 
 sary to interpose its religious authority to forbid man's 
 intercourse with these ' light infantry of Satan/' 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 133 
 
 " They were small of stature, exquisitely shaped and 
 proportioned, of a fair complexion, with long fleeces of 
 yellow hair flowing over their shoulders, and tucked above 
 their brows with combs of gold. A mantle of green cloth, 
 inlaid with wild flowers, reached to their middle; green 
 pantaloons, buttoned with bobs of silk, and sandals of silver, 
 formed their under dress. On their shoulders hung quivers 
 of adder slough, stored with pernicious arrows; and bows 
 fashioned from the rib of a man buried where ' three Lairds' 
 lands meet,' tipped with gold, ready bent for warfare, were 
 slung by their sides. Thus accoutred, they mounted on steeds, 
 whose hoofs would not print the new ploughed land, nor dash 
 the dew from the cup of a harebell. They visited the flocks, 
 the folds, the fields of coming grain, and the habitations of 
 man; and woe to the mortal whose frailty threw him in their 
 power! A flight of arrows, tipped with deadly plagues, was 
 poured into his folds, and nauseous weeds grew up in his 
 pastures; his coming harvest was blighted with pernicious 
 breath, and whatever he had no longer prospered. These 
 fatal shafts were formed of the bog reed, pointed with white 
 field flint j and dipped in the dew of hemlock. They were 
 shot into cattle with such magical dexterity that the smallest 
 aperture could not be discovered but by those deeply skilled 
 in fairy warfare, and in the cure of elf-shooting. Cordials 
 and potent charms are applied, the burning arrow is extracted, 
 and instant recovery ensues. 
 
 " The fairies seem to have been much attached to particu- 
 lar places. A green hill, an opening in a wood, a burn 
 just freeing itself from the uplands, were kept sacred for 
 revelry and festival. The Wardlaw, an ever green hill in 
 Dalswinton barony, was, in olden days, a noted fairy tryste. 
 But the fairy ring being converted into a pulpit, in the times 
 of persecution, proscribed the revelry of uuchristened feet. 
 
134 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Lamentations of no earthly voices were heard for years 
 around this beloved hill. In their festivals they had the- 
 choicest earthly cheer ; nor do they seem to have repelled 
 the intrusion of man, but invited him to partake of their 
 enjoyments. 
 
 " A young man of Nithsdale, being on a love intrigue, 
 was enchanted with wild and delightful music, and the sound 
 of mingled voices, more charming than aught that mortal 
 breath could utter. With a romantic daring peculiar to a 
 Scottish lover, he followed the sound and discovered the fairy 
 banquet. A green table, with feet of gold, was placed across 
 a small rivulet, and richly furnished with pure bread and 
 wines of sweetest flavour. Their minstrelsy was raised from 
 small reeds and stalks of corn. He was invited to partake 
 in the dance, and presented with a cup of wine. He was 
 allowed to depart, and was ever after endowed with the 
 second sight. He boasted of having seen and conversed with 
 several of his earthly acquaintances whom the fairies had 
 taken and admitted as brothers ! 
 
 " Mankind, measuring the minds of others by their own 
 enjoyments, have marked out set times of festivity to the 
 fairies. At the first approach of summer is held the * Fairy 
 Raid m * and their merry minstrelsy, with the tinkling of 
 their horses' housings, and the hubbub of voices, have kept 
 the peasantry in the Scottish villages awake on the first 
 night of summer. They placed branches of rowan tree over 
 their doors, and gazed on the fairy procession safely from 
 below the charm-proof twig. This march was described to 
 the Editor with the artless simplicity of sure belief by an 
 old woman of Mthsdale : — ' I' the night afore Roodsmas, I 
 had try s ted wi' a neighbour lass, a Scots mile frae hame, to 
 talk anent buying braws i' the fair. We hadna sutten lang 
 aneath the haw-buss till we heard the loud laugh o' fowk 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 135 
 
 riding, wi' the jingling o' bridles, and the clanking o' hoofs. 
 We banged up, thinking they would ryde owre us ; we kent 
 nae but it was drunken fowk riding to the fair i' the fore 
 nicht. We glowred roun' and roun', an' sune saw it was the 
 Fairie Fowks* Raid. We cowered down till they passed by. 
 A leam o' light was dancing owre them, mair bonnie than 
 moonshine : they were a' wee, wee fowk, wi' green scarfs on, 
 but ane that rade foremost, an' that ane was a gude deal 
 langer than the lave, wi' bonnie lang hair bun' about wi' a 
 strap, whilk glented lyke stars. They rade on braw wee 
 whyte naigs, wi' unco lang swooping tails, an' manes hung 
 wi' whustles that the win' played on. This, an' their tongues 
 whan they sang, was like the soun' of a far awa Psalm. 
 Marion an' me was in a brade lea fiel' whare they cam' by 
 us. A high hedge o' haw trees keepit them frae gaun 
 through Johnnie Corrie's corn, but they lap a' owre't like 
 sparrows, an' gallop't into a green knowe beyont it. We 
 gade i' the morning to look at the tredded corn, but the fient 
 a hoof mark was there nor a blade broken.' 
 
 " In the solitary instances of their intercourse with man- 
 kind there is a benevolence of character, or a cruelty of dis- 
 position, which brings them down to be measured by a 
 mortal standard. In all these presiding spirits there is a 
 vein of earthly grossness which marks them beings created 
 by human invention. 
 
 "It is reckoned by the Scottish peasantry ' Unco sonsie ' 
 to live in familiar and social terms with them. They will 
 borrow or lend, and it is counted uncanny to refuse a fairy 
 request. A woman of Auchencreath, in Mthsdale, was 
 one day sifting meal warm from the mill : a little cleanly- 
 arrayed beautiful woman came to her, holding out a basin of 
 antique workmanship, requesting her courteously to fill it 
 with her new meal. Her demand was cheerfully complied 
 
136 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 with, In a week the comely little dame returned with the 
 boiTowed meal. She breathed over it, setting it down basin 
 and all, saying aloud, ' Be never toom.' The gudewife lived 
 to a goodly age, without ever seeing the bottom of her 
 blessed basin. When an injury was im wittingly done them 
 they forgave it, and asked for amends like other creatures. 
 
 " A woman who lived in the ancient burgh of Lochmaben 
 was returning late one evening to her home from a gossip- 
 ping. A little, lovely boy, dressed in green, came to her, 
 saying — ' Coupe yere dish-vrnter farther frae yere doorstep, it 
 pits out our fire!' This request was complied with, and 
 plenty abode in the good woman's house all her days. 
 
 " There are chosen fields of fairy revelry, which it is 
 reckoned nnsonsie to plough or to reap. Old thorn trees 
 in the middle of a field are deemed the rallying trystes of 
 fairies, and are preserved with scrupulous care. Two lads 
 were opening with the plough one of these fields, and one of 
 them had described a circle around the fairy thorn, winch 
 was not to be ploughed. They were surprised when, on 
 ending the furrow, a green table was placed there, heaped 
 with the choicest cheese, bread, and wine. He who marked 
 out the thorn sat down without hesitation, eating and drink- 
 ing heartily, saying 'fair fot the hands whilk gie.' His 
 fellow -servant lashed his steeds, refusing to partake. The 
 courteous ploughman ' thrave,' said my informer, ' like a 
 breckan, and was a proverb for wisdom, and an oracle of 
 local rural knowledge ever after ! ' 
 
 " Their love of mortal commerce prompted them to have 
 their children suckled at earthly breasts. The favoured nurse 
 was chosen from healthful, ruddy complexioned beauty, one 
 every way approved of by mortal eyes. A fine young woman 
 of Nithsdale, when first made a mother, was sitting singing 
 and rocking her child, when a pretty lady came into her 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 137 
 
 cottage, covered with a fairy mantle. She carried a beauti- 
 ful child in her arms, swaddled in green silk. ' Gie my 
 bonnie thing a suck, 7 said the fairy. The young woman, 
 conscious to whom the child belonged, took it kindly in her 
 arms, and laid it to her breast. The lady instantly dis- 
 appeared, saying, ' Nurse kin' an' ne'er want/' The young 
 mother nurtured, the two babes, and was astonished when- 
 ever she awoke at finding the richest suits of apparel for 
 both children, with meat of most delicious flavour. This 
 food tasted, says tradition, like loaf mixed with wine and 
 honey. It possessed more miraculous properties than the 
 wilderness manna, preserving its relish even over the seventh 
 day. 
 
 " On the approach of summer the fairy lady came to see 
 her child. It bounded with joy when it beheld her. She 
 was much delighted with its freshness and activity. Taking 
 it in her arms, she bade the nurse follow. Passing through 
 some scraggy woods, skirting the side of a beautiful green 
 hill, they walked mid- way up. On its sunward slope a door 
 opened, disclosing a beauteous porch, which they entered, and 
 the turf closed behind them. The fairy dropped three drops 
 of a precious dew on the nurse's left eyelid, and they entered 
 a land of most pleasant and abundant promise. It was 
 watered with fine looping rivulets, and yellow with corn; 
 the fairest trees enclosed its fields, laden with fruit which 
 dropped honey. The nurse was rewarded with finest webs 
 of cloth, and food of ever-enduring substance. Boxes of 
 salves for restoring mortal health, and curing mortal wounds 
 and infirmities, were bestowed on her, with a promise of 
 never needing. The fairy dropt a green dew over her right 
 eye, and bade her look. She beheld many of her lost friends 
 and acquaintances doing menial drudgery — reaping the corn 
 and gathering the fruits. ' This,' said she, ' is the punish- 
 
1.38 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 ment of evil deeds!' The fairy passed her hand over her 
 eye, and restored its mortal faculties. She was conducted to 
 the porch, but had the address to secure the heavenly salve. 
 She lived and enjoyed the gift of discerning the earth-visiting 
 spirits till she was the mother of many children; but hap- 
 pening to meet the fairy lady who gave her the child, she 
 attempted to shake hands with her. ' What ee d'ye see me 
 wi'?' whispered she. £ ¥i' them baith,' said the dame. 
 She breathed on her eyes, and even the power of the box 
 failed to restore their gifts ao-ain ! . . . 
 
 " For the stealing of handsome and lovely children they 
 are far famed, and held in great awe. But their pernicious 
 breath has such power of transformation that it is equally 
 dreaded. The way to cure a breath-blasted child is worthy 
 of notice. When the mother's vigilance hinders the fairies 
 from carrying her child away, or changing it, the touch of 
 fairy hands, and their unearthly breath, make it wither 
 away in every limb and lineament, like a blighted ear of 
 corn, saving the countenance, which unchangeably retains 
 the sacred stamp of divinity. The child is undressed, and 
 laid out in unbleached linen, new from the loom. Water is 
 brought from a blessed vjell in the utmost silence, before 
 sunrise, in a pitcher never before wet, in which the child is 
 washed, and its cloths dipped by the fingers of a virgin. Its 
 limbs, on the third morning's experiment, plump up, and all 
 its former vigour returns. 
 
 " But matron knowledge has frequently triumphed over 
 these subtle thieves, by daring experiments and desperate 
 charms. A beautiful child of Caerlaverock, in Nithsdale, on 
 the second day of its birth, and before its baptism, was 
 changed, none knew how, for an antiquated elf of hideous 
 aspect. It kept the family awake with its nightly yells; 
 biting the mother's breasts, and would neither be cradled 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. lo9 
 
 nor nursed. The mother, obliged to be from home, left it 
 in charge of the servant girl. The poor lass was sitting- 
 bemoaning herself — ' Wer't nae for thy girning face I would 
 knock the big, winnow the corn, and grun' the meal ! ' 
 * Lowse the cradle-band,' quoth the elf, ' and tent the neigh- 
 bours, an' I'll work yere wark.' Up started the elf, the 
 wind arose, the corn was chaffed, the outlyers were foddered, 
 the hand-mill moved around as by instinct, and the knocking 
 mell did its work with amazing rapidity. The lass and her 
 elfin servant rested and diverted themselves till, on the 
 mistress' approach, it was restored to the cradle, and began 
 to yell anew. The girl took the first opportunity of slyly 
 telling her mistress the adventure. ' What' 11 we do ivi 1 the 
 wee dielV said she. ' I'll work it a pirn,' replied the lass. 
 At the middle of the night the chimney top was covered up, 
 and every inlet barred and closed. The embers were blown 
 up until glowing hot, and the maid, undressing the elf, 
 tossed it on the fire. It uttered the wildest and most pierc- 
 ing yells, and, in a moment, the fairies were heard moaning 
 at every wonted avenue, and rattling at the window boards, 
 at the chimney head, and at the door. ' In the name o' God 
 bring back the bairn,' cried the lass. The window flew up, 
 the earthly child was laid unharmed on the mother's lap, 
 while its grizzly substitute flew up the chimney with a loud 
 laugh." 
 
 A long account of the Brownies and their peculiar 
 characteristics is also given, especially of one attached 
 to the Maxwell family of Dalswinton; but, though 
 highly interesting, we must omit it, after what has 
 been already extracted at such length. There is also 
 inserted Lady Nithsdale's wonderful narrative of her 
 
140 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 husband's escape from the Tower of London, on the 
 23rd of February, 1715, disguised in female apparel, 
 a story which now all the world knows. We do not 
 wonder that the volume created a sensation when it 
 appeared; but it needed little sagacity or penetration on 
 the part of the Ettrick Shepherd to " lay the saddle on 
 the right horse," after his knowledge of Cunningham's 
 lyric powers and legendary lore, and the special 
 references to incidents, real or imaginary, in Kirk- 
 mahoe. One thing is clear, Mr. Cromek could not 
 have written the " Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway 
 Sono\" 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 141 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HIS MARRIAGE — LETTER TO M'GHIE— INTRODUCTION TO MR. JERDAN 
 OF TEE "LITERARY GAZETTE" — PUBLISHES A VOLUME OF SONGS 
 — NOTICES OF THESE— EXTRACTS — LETTER TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 About the middle of the following summer, Jean 
 Walker, the "Lovely Lass of Preston Mill," left her 
 native vale for good and all, to link her fate with Allan 
 Cunningham in London. Her journey thither, like his 
 own, had an incident on the way, of the most friendly 
 character, which he himself thus describes: — "In the 
 house of Gray, Master of the High School of Edinburgh, 
 she met the attention due to a daughter, was introduced 
 to Dr. Anderson, and had the pleasure of hearing a 
 letter read from Bishop Percy, in which he spoke well 
 of the talents of her future husband. In James Hogg, 
 also, and his comrade, Grieve, she met with attentive 
 friends, who showed her the beauties of Edinburgh, 
 conveyed her to the pier of Leith, and saw her safely 
 embarked on the waves. Of her and my sister Jean, 
 who accompanied her, Hogg thus wrote to my eldest 
 brother James : — ' I had the pleasure of waiting on your 
 two sisters for a few days, and I am sure there never 
 was a brother took the charge of sisters more pleasantly 
 than I did. But one of them, at least, needs nobody to 
 take care of her — I mean the beauteous mermaid of 
 
142 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Galloway, who is certainly a most extraordinary young 
 woman. I introduced her to some gentlemen and 
 ladies of my acquaintance, who were not only delighted, 
 but astonished at her.' Jean Walker was then twenty 
 years of age; her complexion was fine, and her eyes 
 bright; and her prudence equalled her looks." No 
 doubt the merit with which she had been credited in 
 supplying some of the ancient ballads contributed in 
 some measure to the admiration. 
 
 The marriage was celebrated on the 1st of July, 
 1811, in the Church of St. Saviour, South wark; and, 
 notwithstanding the joyous excitement of the occasion, 
 Cunningham naively says, that he "did not fail to 
 remark that James I., the poet-king of Scotland, had 
 been married there also, and that we joined hands nigh 
 the monument of Gower, and not far from the grave of 
 Massinger." The marriage was a happy one in every 
 sense of the term. Mrs. Allan Cunningham seems to 
 have been a most sensible, intelligent, and prudent 
 woman, highly esteemed in societj^ and well worthy of 
 all her husband sang in her praise. Mr. S. C. Hall, 
 who was an intimate friend, says, in a memento after 
 her death in 1864: — "She was a charming woman in 
 her prime, and must have been very lovely as a girl. I 
 have never known a better example of what natural 
 grace and purity can do to produce refinement. 
 Though peasant-born, she was in society a lady — 
 thoroughly so. There was not only no shadow of 
 vulgarity in her manners, there was not even rusticity, 
 while there was a total absence of assumption and 
 pretence; and she was entirely at ease in the 'grand' 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 143 
 
 society — men and women of rank, as well as those 
 eminent in Art, in Science, and in Letters — I have met 
 as guests at her home." 
 
 Cunningham has now fairly entered upon a new 
 career, not only in a matrimonial sense, but also in a 
 literary view, for upwards of thirty volumes of prose 
 and poetry are to flow from his pen before that career 
 shall close, in addition to physical labour, though a 
 concealing Providence did not vouchsafe to him the 
 secret. Desultory employment, in which he was en- 
 gaged, occasionally roused fears for the future in regard 
 to the permanent comfort of his family home, as he well 
 knew that something more than literature was necessary 
 for the support of domestic life. 
 
 Exactly a month after his marriage, while " basking 
 in the beams of the honeymoon," he thus playfully and 
 also instructively wrote to his friend M'Ghie : — 
 
 "London, 1st August, 1811. 
 
 " My Trusty Fier, — I look back, like the seed of Jacob in 
 their wilderness wanderings, to the divinity of their fathers, 
 after they had made them a molten god to worship from the 
 golden ornaments they filched from the Egyptians. Ah! 
 cried I, work of mine own hands, I have worshipped thee 
 long enough. I will turn me back to the friend I have not 
 written to these many moons. So I awoke, and thought on 
 thee, vain recreant to looms, free grace, and substantial 
 prayer ' a la Cameronian.' And how fares my friend 1 ? 
 Basking hi the beams of the honeymoon of wedlock, I have 
 still so much time as awakes the pleasant remembrance of 
 other years. I know you deserved an earlier letter than 
 
144 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 this from me, but I excused myself from day to day, like 
 the wicked in repentance, and now I am obliged to write 
 under the pleasant prospect of being every moment called 
 from it 
 
 " On the whole, George, with a pleasant and good-hearted 
 woman, you would prefer it to the lonesome life which late I 
 led. You wrote me a pithy but very short epistle last time, 
 and, really, I expect one of alarming size this forthcoming 
 month. You were, however, so vague in your mode of ex- 
 pression that one part of your letter I could not understand 
 after the most adroit scrutiny. Whether you expected some 
 uncommon tidings soon from me, or that you might have 
 some extraordinary occurrence to relate concerning yourself, 
 you left it for those gifted in the unraveling of prophecy to 
 decide. I fondly believe my friend may have an elegant recan- 
 tation of the heresies of Bachelorism to make unto his friend, 
 and nothing, I do assure you, would more sensibly touch me 
 with pleasure than to find you, in your next letter, sending 
 me the respects of a sweet and beloved fine woman whom 
 you have wedded. This is not counsel, it is only wishing; 
 for, matrimony without affection, I pray heaven to keep you 
 from the hell of it. 
 
 " Permit me now to give you counsel of another kind. 
 Instruct yourself in grammar, and learn French until you 
 have ability to translate it. Read, and faithfully treasure 
 up in your mind, the history and most prominent events of 
 your native country ; acquaint yourself with its revolutions, 
 civil commotions and their causes. These you will find in 
 Hume and Robertson, and I counsel you to prefer these 
 authors, for while they are instructing you in history, they 
 familiarize you to the most beautiful and vigorous modes of 
 expression, the most lucid and perspicuous arrangement of 
 language. Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 145 
 
 is a work written with an eye to the taste of my friend. 
 Plutarch's Lives of Eminent Grecians and Romans you 
 should take into bed with you, as long as you are unmarried, 
 and dream on it. A history of the world in abridgment 
 will, after these, be almost sufficient to acquaint you with 
 History. Elegant literature is the soul which agitates, in 
 conjunction with that of genius, the whole range of your 
 learning, and sets it in motion. Blair's Lectures on Rhetoric 
 — the Elements of Criticism — some of the articles in the 
 Edinburgh Review — many articles in the Spectator — and the 
 whole of Samuel Johnson's prose works. 
 
 " These will assist you to judge. Then Milton, Shakspeare,. 
 Dryden, with his translation of Virgil — Pope, with his 
 translation of Homer — Butler, Akenside, Thomson, Cowper, 
 Campbell, Burns, and Scott, must be treasured in your heart, 
 and practised in your life. All this range of knowledge might 
 be acquired in your leisure hours, and on rainy Sundays. 
 When you have such knowledge as this, you can be an over- 
 match for any ordinary reader, and then you are ready to 
 accept of any place which may cast up to you in the lottery 
 of life. 
 
 " Present my love to your father and your mother, your 
 sister Rachel, and your brother James. I have no very 
 remarkable occurrence to edify you with. You will find 
 some Hudibrastic verses enclosed, which I struck off at a 
 heat; accept them rough-hewn. . . . Write me soon. 
 I hope you are highly improved by your attendance at 
 Maxweltown's School. Write me any little short notices of 
 local news which you can find. Yours, sleeping or waking, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 "Mr. Geo. D. M'Ghie, 
 
 " Quarrelwood, Kirkrnahoe." 
 K 
 
146 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 With regard to the latter part of this letter, in which 
 the course of instruction is laid down, we humbly think 
 that such a formidable array of literature was enough 
 to upset any mechanic, however numerous his " leisure 
 hours," and frequent the "rainy Sundays" might be; 
 but the advice was kindly intended, and possibly a desire 
 was felt that M'Ghie should, like himself, come out in 
 the literary line. 
 
 Soon after his arrival in London he introduced him- 
 self to several editors of the magazines, with the view of 
 obtaining employment as a contributor, literary work 
 being the great object of his ambition. Some received 
 him favourably, while others treated him as an unknown 
 stranger. Of the former class was Mr. Jerdan, editor of 
 the Literary Gazette, who was himself a Scotchman, 
 being a native of Kelso, and who afterwards became one 
 of Cunningham's most intimate and valued friends, as 
 we shall afterwards see from their correspondence. The 
 first meeting, however, was productive of an anecdote 
 worthy of rehearsal, as showing the poet's dogged ad- 
 herence to his own ideas of composition. Cunningham 
 appeared one day in the office of the Literary Gazette, 
 and presented some verses to the editor for insertion in 
 that periodical. Mr. Jerdan read them carefully over, 
 expressed satisfaction with them, but pointed out a 
 grammatical error, which he requested him to correct. 
 "Na, na," was the abrupt reply, "I will make no 
 alteration. Grammar, or no grammar, it must go in as I 
 wrote it, or not at all. What do I care for the gender 
 of pronouns? We care naething for such things in 
 Nithsdale, and I won't in London." So the ivhich was 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 147 
 
 printed instead of the who, the editor, no doubt, sym- 
 pathizing with his fellow-countryman's sturdy exhibition 
 of the national motto, Nemo me immune lacessit 
 
 The honeymoon is all very well while it lasts, but it 
 is soon discovered that something more than love is 
 necessary for the sustenance of life and the maintenance 
 of domestic comfort. This feeling naturally becomes 
 the keener when the olive plants begin to appear, soon 
 to take their places around the table; therefore, we do 
 not wonder to find him expressing anxiety and concern 
 for the future, especially with the aim of literary distinc- 
 tion never relaxed. He possessed, however, one sterling 
 quality which is often awanting in persons holding his 
 position, and cherishing his aspirations ; he wisely and 
 prudently resolved to earn his bread by the sweat 
 of his brow, and not to rely upon the produce of his 
 pen, except as an auxiliary, in supplying the wants of 
 the household. He hoped that both connected would 
 carry him and his along, so he made the resolution, and 
 carried it out to the last. 
 
 We should like to have had a peep unseen into the 
 young folk's dwelling, in the winter evening, when the 
 windows were closed and the curtains drawn. Beside 
 a " cozy fire and clean hearthstane" is Jean Walker 
 sitting on one side, and Allan Cunningham on the other, 
 with a table between them on which a lamp is brightly 
 burning. She is busy with the needle — darning stock- 
 ings for her young husband's comfort, making up some 
 frills for her own adornment, altering a dress from the 
 fashion of Kirkbean to that of London, and, in anticipa- 
 tion of some forthcoming event, shaping and sewing 
 
148 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 certain pieces of very little apparel, which she would 
 willingly conceal, or wish not to be noticed. On his 
 part, the mallet and the chisel has been thrown aside 
 for the day, and he, too, is busy with pencil and paper, 
 cogitating a new song, which, verse by verse, as they 
 start into creation, he sings or recites aloud for the 
 criticism and gratification of his " bonnie Jean." Happy 
 pair! with the world before them smiling in hope, blest 
 in each other's love, and, conscious of manly talent, 
 artistic and mental, if health is vouchsafed he fears 
 not the future. 
 
 In the summer of 1812 the first of a distinguished 
 family of sons was born, who was named Joseph Davy r 
 after one of his old associates when engaged on the Day 
 newspaper. His cares now increased with his joys, and 
 he strove the more ardently to maintain a position of 
 credit as well as comfort, with literary distinction still 
 in view. Writing to Professor Wilson, many years 
 afterwards, he said: — 
 
 " My life has been one continued struggle to maintain my 
 independence, and support wife and children; and I have, 
 when the labour of the day is closed, endeavoured to use the 
 little talent which my country allows me to possess as easily 
 and as profitably as I can. The pen thus adds a little to the 
 profits of the chisel, and I keep my head above water, and 
 on occasion take the middle of the causeway with an 
 independent step." 
 
 Well said! all the more independent that you have 
 the good sense to use the pen only as a subsidiary 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 149 
 
 means of support. The pen, however, has not been 
 idle, and we are now to see what it has produced. 
 
 In 1813 he collected his musings, and published them 
 in a volume, with the title " Songs, chiefly in the Rural 
 Language of Scotland." It consisted of forty-nine songs, 
 and was dedicated to Henry Phillips, Esq., New Bond 
 Street, London. Like many of his predecessors, a con- 
 siderable number of the songs have "Bonnie Jean" as 
 their subject. There are two, which, though different, 
 have the same title, " The Lovely Lass of Preston Mill." 
 The volume was well received by the public, and was 
 soon out of print, which stimulated the author to further 
 efforts in the same line. As it is not now to be had, 
 and is even unknown to many, we shall the more 
 readily give some account of it. In the Dedication, 
 which is somewhat lengthy, the author says: — 
 
 " After seriously meditating, therefore, upon the charac- 
 teristic excellences of those songs, which the approval of the 
 public has made popular, I have consented to censure, as 
 wholly unworthy of future imitation, half-a-dozen deviations 
 from the natural tone of British lyrical composition." 
 
 Well, we are anxious to know who these offenders 
 are, who have so deviated, and are in consequence to be 
 •ostracized. The first class are those " courtly poets of 
 ancient date," who have been succeeded to the present 
 day, by endeavouring to please their mistresses with 
 u metaphysical subtleties and sprightly sallies of wit, 
 which appertain not to the customary feelings of the 
 human race." The second are those who introduce the 
 
150 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 names of the heathen goddesses in describing the objects 
 of their adoration, such as Yenus, Diana, Apollo, Cupid, 
 and the Graces. The next class is very much akin 
 to the preceding — they lament the degeneracy of the 
 present race, and, in imagination, seek to restore a 
 resemblance of the beautiful world which has been lost 
 by peopling it with a race of beings perfectly pure, and 
 who inhabit regions of beatific splendour and fertility. 
 We are introduced to Pan, and Sylvan der, and Chloris, 
 and the Arcadian lute, an arbour of woodbine, nuptial 
 engagements, ruddy-count enanced shepherds, and the 
 flocks of Admetus. He next attacks the lyrical senti- 
 mentalists with " a professed veneration and high-toned 
 affection for everything which excites no emotions in 
 any breasts but their own." The next batch under 
 denunciation are similar to a previous one, who intro- 
 duce into Christian song the names of the heroines of 
 heathen lyrics. The last brought under ban are those 
 who sing of shepherds and shepherdesses in luxuriant 
 pastures, and beside murmuring streams, swains and 
 nymphs finding themselves unconsciously in close 
 proximity to one another. 
 
 He acknowledges that he is perfectly aware of the 
 sweeping character of his censure, as it comprehends 
 some whose songs are the masterpieces of lyrical ex- 
 cellence, but he says in extenuation — " I have been 
 wholly desirous of fixing an accurate idea of what I 
 hold to be the natural elements of British song, by 
 disencumbering it of those gorgeous trappings and 
 unnatural decorations with which injudicious innovators 
 have obscured its beauties." Then, with regard to the 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 151 
 
 sougs in the volume, he says: — "I have attempted to 
 preserve inviolable what I conceived to be the primitive 
 rales of lyrical composition, and associate with the emo- 
 tions of love the rural imagery of my native land." 
 The volume gives indication that the author was fol- 
 lowing in the footsteps of some who had gone before 
 him, by adopting similar titles, phrases, and measures. 
 For instance, one is addressed "To Jean in Heaven;" 
 doubtless suggested by Burns' " Mary in Heaven." It 
 runs thus: — 
 
 "TO JEAN IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Dalswinton holms are soon in bloom, 
 And early are her woods in green ; 
 
 Her clover walks are honey-breathed, 
 And pleasant riv'lets reek between: 
 
 For lonesome lovers they are meet, 
 
 Who saunter forth with tentless feet, 
 
 The go wan bending 'mang the weet, 
 When evening draws her shady screen: 
 
 Retired from the noting eye, 
 
 Unloosing all the seals of joy. 
 
 * 
 
 " Far in a deep untrodden nook, 
 
 A fragrant hawthorn there is seen ; 
 Beside it trills a babbling brook, 
 
 That loops the banks of primrose green. 
 When spring woos forth its blossom fair, 
 In solemn gait I hie me there, 
 And kneeling unto God in prayer, 
 I call upon thy shade, my Jean ; 
 And soon I feel as thou wert near, 
 And heavenly whispers meet mine ear. 
 
152 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " I treasure all thy tokens, love; 
 
 Thy ring, thy raven fillet fair, 
 Which curled o'er thy blooming cheek, 
 
 And swan -white neck beyond compare; 
 Bright as it glisters with my tears, 
 The beauteous cheek again appears, 
 O'er which I passed the silver shears, 
 
 And cut the sacred pledge I wear : 
 Drenched from my troubled eyes with weet, 
 I dry it with my bosom's heat. | 
 
 " Oft thou descendest in my dreams, 
 
 And seem'st by my bedside to stand ; 
 Around thy waist, and on thy cheek, 
 
 Are marks of a celestial hand : 
 Divinely wakening I see, 
 The glances of thy dove-like ee, 
 Which, smiling, thou dost bend on me, 
 
 To go with thee to angel's land : 
 My arms outstretching thee to take, 
 I sleep of heaven, on earth I wake." 
 
 Then there is another song, at once suggesting the 
 source: — 
 
 "iMY HEART IS IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 My heart is in Scotland, my heart is not here, 
 I left it at home with a lass I love dear ; 
 When the ev'ning star comes o'er the hill-tops of green, 
 I bless its fair light, and I think on my Jean, 
 What distance can fasten, what country can bind, 
 The flight of my soul, or the march of my mind? 
 Though hills tower atween us, and wide waters flow, 
 My heart is in Scotland wherever I go. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 153 
 
 When I bade her farewell on the flow'r-blossomed knowe, 
 
 The bright lamps of heaven more lovely did lowe ; 
 
 The ocean return'd back the moon's silver beam, 
 
 The wood tops and fountains were all in a learn ; 
 
 Our wet eyes to heaven in transports we threw, 
 
 Our souls talk'd of love, for our hearts were owre fou ; 
 
 Her warm parting kiss on my lips aye will glow, 
 
 For my heart is in Scotland wherever I go. 
 
 How silent we met, and how lonesome the grove, 
 
 The rising moon welcom'd and kend of our love; 
 
 The wind 'mongst the branches hung listening and lown, 
 
 The sweet flowers blushed love, with their bloomy heads down, 
 
 The hours seemed but minutes, so lightsome they flew, 
 
 Her arms clasped kinder, more sweet her lips grew; 
 
 Till Aurora, gold-lock' d, set the land in a lowe, 
 
 O my heart is in Scotland wherever I go. 
 
 Now where are love's gloaming walks 'mang the new dew, 
 The white clasping arms, and the red rosie mou' ? 
 The eloquent tongue dropping honey of love, 
 And the talk of two eyes which a statue might move: 
 I left them by Criffel's green mountain at hame, 
 And far from the heaven that holds them I came; 
 Come wealth, or come want, or come weal, or come woe, 
 My heart will be with them wherever I go." 
 
 This is evidently an imitation of "My heart's in the 
 Highlands/' and other songs in the volume may also be 
 traced to their original source. "We cannot well account 
 for this, except on the ground of his adoration of Burns, 
 and his admiration of previous poets. Perhaps, too, 
 there was a feeling of want of self-reliance, and of mis- 
 trust in his own originality ; but however this may be, 
 
154 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 he is pluming his wing for further and higher flight, 
 and the pinion is growing apace. He becomes more 
 confident as he moves along, and at last he launches 
 out on his own resources, and after his own manner, the 
 most satisfactory of all. 
 
 An especial characteristic of the Cunningham family 
 was their filial affection towards their mother, the only 
 remaining parent, whose widowhood was cheered by 
 their kind attention to her, even when far away, and 
 by the endeavours they made to afford her the comforts 
 which declining years required. No one of all the 
 family was more affectionate and helpful than Allan. 
 The letters he wrote to her are full of the warmest love 
 and the deepest gratitude, and must have greatly glad- 
 dened her heart, and cheered her loneliness, while she 
 ruminated on the days of other years. True, one at least 
 of her daughters was always with her, and made the 
 descent of life as smooth as possible; but what mother 
 could avoid following her sons into distant lands, and 
 throbbing with delight when the post brought her, from 
 time to time, tokens of their remembrance and affection, 
 as well as tidings of their well-doing in the world. Did 
 far distant sons know only half the pleasure which their 
 letters impart to a mother's breast, they would not be 
 so remiss as they often are in putting pen to paper, and 
 telling all the news. With her, above all others, out of 
 sight is not out of mind, but rather the reverse, and the 
 thought of her boys — for they are always boys in her 
 mind — causes many a wakerife night, and constitutes 
 many a dream. The following letter is creditable to the 
 hearts and heads of the two sons who sent it: — 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 15& 
 
 "8 Ranelagh Place, Pimlico, London, 
 " 20th October, 1814. . 
 
 " Dear and Honoured Mother, — Distance has not dimin- 
 ished our affection, nor long absence altered our regard for 
 a parent whom we reverence for her tenderness and love, 
 and venerate for her motherly care and affection for all her 
 children. Though we have not punctually corresponded with 
 you, and though by living in a remote land we have been 
 prevented from conversing with you face to face, and from 
 being cheered by your conversation, and guided by your 
 counsel like others of your children, yet our hearts entertain 
 your image as dearly, and our minds are filled with as much 
 respect, as if we wrote to you daily, or lived beside you. 
 
 " Our situations and prospects in life are now much 
 altered, and perhaps sobered, since we parted from you. 
 Both husbands, and both parents, we have become settled 
 and sedate. Our chief felicities consist in the pleasures which 
 our own homes afford, the love of our wives, and the artless 
 affection of our children; and if one moment more tender 
 than another occurs, it is, when on Sabbath evening we turn 
 our minds from business and the ordinary anxieties of life 
 to think on our former home, on a mother whose whole 
 heart is composed of kindness and tenderness and care, and 
 on a father unequalled for excellence of heart and soundness 
 of understanding. To console our minds for absence from 
 our native land, and separation from those whom it is our 
 duty to love and esteem, we frequently picture out the felici- 
 ties of our earlier years ; our old house at the Roads, with our 
 beloved mother, and brothers, and sisters, always composing 
 a prominent part in the Drawing — we fancy ourselves seated 
 happily beside you, and thus we comfort ourselves through 
 
156 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 many an hour, which all the pleasures of London could not 
 render supportable. 
 
 " "We lament the distance at which we are placed from our 
 beloved mother, now in the decline of life, because we might 
 help to make her situation more comfortable by the tender 
 assiduities of affectionate children, and by many little atten- 
 tions which cheer old age and render life more pleasant; but 
 it is in vain to bewail what is not to be remedied. Desirous, 
 however, of rendering every assistance in our power, we 
 authorized our brother James, with the goodness of whose 
 heart no one who knows him is a stranger, to assist you in 
 any manner which might be most conducive to your comfort 
 and your health, and it will bring a bitter pang to our hearts 
 to think that our mother accuses us of neglect, or want of 
 affection. 
 
 " It would delight us much would our dear mother send 
 us a letter, no matter how short or how long; the sight of 
 words, written by that venerable hand which nursed and 
 watched over us, would be a gratification which we cannot 
 describe. Our wives desire to be remembered to their 
 mother, and have the warmest wishes for her welfare. We 
 are anxious to be remembered to our brothers and sisters. 
 We sincerely hope that your health is better, and that your 
 mind is cheered by the presence of your children who have 
 the happiness to be nearer you than ourselves. With most 
 earnest prayers for your welfare, we remain your affectionate 
 and dutiful sons, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 "Thos. M. Cunningham. 
 
 " P.S. — Present my compliments to my brother James, 
 and say that nothing but some of those rough occurrences 
 which bewilder and perplex the human mind, making resolves 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 157 
 
 vain, and giving fortitude itself the look of desperation, could 
 have prevented me from writing him long ago. I will cer- 
 tainly write to him before you read this. 
 
 "A. Cunningham. 
 "Mrs. Cunningham, Dalswinton." 
 
 Such a letter as this must have come like balm to 
 the mother's heart, and it was succeeded by many others 
 of a similar import on the part of Allan, some of which 
 we shall give anon. Of the part which the other sons 
 took in correspondence with home we have not had 
 opportunity to show, but though even none but Allan 
 had existed, the mother's heart must have been delighted 
 above measure. How kind and grateful and affection- 
 ate are all his letters to her, when with many others 
 family claims would have diverted the attention from 
 the parent tree ! But we are now to enter upon a new 
 era in the biography, which closed only with his death. 
 
158 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 enters the studio of chantrey — notice of chantrey — 
 Cunningham's responsibilities in the studio — reciprocal 
 advantages — description of cunningham — contributes to 
 various magazines — letter to mr. james m'ghie — letter 
 to his brother james. 
 
 After Cunningham had been a short time in London, 
 and had finished the " Remains of Nithsdale and Gal- 
 loway Song," Mr. Cromek introduced him to a rising 
 young sculptor, Francis Chantrey, as a young man of 
 very considerable literary genius and artistic ability. 
 The sculptor, however, did not require an assistant at 
 that time; he was as yet unknown to fame, and had 
 barely work sufficient for himself alone, but he promised 
 to keep the young stranger in view should times 
 improve. In the course of three or four years times 
 did improve, and Cunningham was not forgotten. 
 When from indifferent health, caused by late and long 
 hours, he quitted the reporters' gallery, Bubb, his 
 former master, was in ecstacy at the prospect of again 
 receiving him into his studio, and ran to Chantrey 
 intimating the likelihood of good fortune by his return ; 
 but Chantrey, having improved in business, engaged 
 Cunningham as his assistant, greatly to the chagrin and 
 disappointment of Bubb. Of course ill-feeling was 
 
1 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 159 
 
 engendered on the part of the disappointed sculptor 
 towards the other two parties, but they judiciously took 
 no notice of it, and in course of time it died away. 
 Cunningham was now permanently established, and his 
 fears for the future were considerably done away. 
 Though his wages at first were comparatively small for 
 the duties he undertook, yet they were afterwards in- 
 creased, and he had ample leisure for gratifying his 
 literary taste, and adding to his resources by the fruits 
 of his pen. 
 
 Some little account of Francis Chantrey may be 
 interesting to the reader, as he and the subject of our 
 memoir were so long and intimately associated together, 
 death alone causing the separation. He rose from 
 almost the humblest origin to the pinnacle of artistic 
 fame. He was born at Norton in 1782, and was, 
 therefore, only some sixteen months older than his 
 future coadjutor, Allan Cunningham. Though his 
 father rented a small piece of land, yet it could scarcely 
 be called a farm, and the boy Francis carried sand from 
 it on a donkey's back, and sold it in the town of Shef- 
 field, riding home in one of the empty creels. His 
 father having died while he was young, his education, 
 though attended to by the widowed mother, was very 
 desultory, and, as might be expected, not very satisfac- 
 tory, seeing that he was oftener engaged in field opera- 
 tions than in school, and what he learned the one day 
 was forgotten when he returned again. Like some 
 others who rose to eminence in science or art, he gave 
 early indication of his future greatness by showing a 
 decided taste for modelling in common clay whatever 
 
160 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 objects came before him ; and it is said that on great 
 occasions he assisted his aunt, an aristocratic house- 
 keeper, by forming figures out of the dough with which 
 to ornament the pastry for the table. 
 
 When he had attained the age of seventeen, he took 
 it into his head that he would enter the legal profession, 
 and was desirous to become an apprentice under a cer- 
 tain Sheffield solicitor. On the day fixed for his intro- 
 duction to this gentleman, in his eagerness he was in 
 town an hour too soon, and while he awaited the arrival 
 of his friends who were to accompany him to the office, 
 he sauntered through the streets, gazing at all and 
 sundry, as a country lad would do. He was arrested 
 by some figures he saw in the window of a carver and 
 gilder named Ramsay, a Scotchman by birth. His 
 early taste at once sprang up anew, his former resolu- 
 tion was entirely given up, and when his friends arrived, 
 to their great astonishment, he intimated that a 
 " change had come o'er the spirit of his dream," and 
 that he desired to be apprenticed with Ramsay instead. 
 In order to gratify his wishes this was accordingly done, 
 and he immediately entered upon the trade of an inci- 
 pient carver and gilder. Ramsay's business was not 
 flourishing, as work was not plentiful, and, consequently, 
 the hours of labour were limited. This was all the 
 better for the new apprentice, who employed his leisure 
 time in gratifying his favourite taste for modelling and 
 drawing. Unaccountable as it may seem, when his 
 master discovered what his private labours were, instead 
 of encouraging him in the exercise of his taste, seeing 
 that it did not interfere with his legitimate duties, he 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 161 
 
 ordered all his figures to be destroyed, and the making 
 of them discontinued ! The modelling, however, was 
 still carried on, the place of operation being transferred 
 from the workshop to his own lodgings, and there, 
 night after night, beyond the latest hour, he wrought 
 away with none to disturb him in his artistic amuse- 
 ment. He felt anything but comfortable in this situa- 
 tion, with such a prohibition hanging over his head, 
 and after enduring it for three years, he bought up the 
 remaining portion of his indenture, and the two 
 separated with mutual satisfaction. 
 
 He now went up to London and began operations 
 there as a sculptor; but not succeeding up to his expec- 
 tations, he set out on a course of travel through Ireland 
 and Scotland, but was stricken down with a dangerous 
 fever in Dublin, from which he did not entirely recover 
 for several months. When his health was completely 
 restored he returned to London in the autumn of the fol- 
 lowing year, where he began his studies anew, and carried 
 them on with an ardour, a perseverance, and success 
 which commanded public acknowledgment, though not 
 without envy and jealousy on the part of some in the 
 same profession ; and after a considerable time, notwith- 
 standing this party feeling, he was raised to the high 
 honour of a Royal Academician, after first having been 
 made a member of the Royal Society, and also a member 
 of the Society of Antiquaries. The crowning honour of 
 all, however, was receiving the honour of knighthood 
 from his Sovereign. 
 
 The first bust which he contributed to the Exhibition 
 of the Royal Academy was one of Raphael Smith, an 
 
 L 
 
162 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 engraver, and a man of no ordinary talent, who had 
 proved a kind friend, and given him good advice before 
 he came to London, greatly encouraging him in the 
 pursuit of excellence in the art. It was considered so 
 good that the great JSTollekens, who was far beyond rival 
 competition, and died leaving £200,000 derived from bust 
 making, caused one of his own works to be removed 
 that Chantrey's might take its place, saying, "It's all 
 there ; he'll do it ; it's in him." Chantrey had also a 
 talent for painting, and many of his performances in 
 this line, which are said to be of very great merit, still 
 remain. This acquisition, however, nearly proved fatal 
 to his success on a very important occasion. When the 
 City of London resolved to erect a statue of George 
 III., designs were called for, and several candidates sent 
 in drawings, of whom Chantrey was one. His design 
 was considered preferable to the others, but one of the 
 Common Council objected, on the ground that the suc- 
 cessful artist was a painter, and consequently could not 
 be considered qualified for the execution of a work in 
 sculpture. Sir William Curtis, who presided, said, " You 
 hear this, young man, what say you — are you a painter 
 or a sculptor ?" "I live by sculpture," Chantrey replied, 
 and, thereupon, the work was entrusted to his execution. 
 His forte was in bust sculpture, though in full length 
 figures he was also highly successful. He cared not for 
 the higher flights of the art, the allegorical and ideal, 
 but contented himself with taking from nature or the 
 life. This reminds us of an expression of a late artist 
 in Dumfries, John Maxwell, whom Thomas Aird charac- 
 terized as "the best likeness-taker on earth," on our 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 163 
 
 asking him why he did not attempt a .fancy picture, 
 " My faith/' he said, " I have enough ado to paint what 
 I see." As illustrative of this distaste of the ideal, 
 Cunningham once requested Chantrey to look at a paint- 
 ing done by a young artist, when he inquired, " What is 
 the subject ?" " Adam," was the reply. " Have you seen 
 it?" "Yes" "And do you think it like him ?" with 
 which sarcastic hit the matter dropped without any 
 opinion being given. 
 
 Cunningham engaged with Chantrey as superintendent 
 of the works, but in his new position he was more than 
 this. He acted also as secretary and amanuensis, while, 
 from his connection with the Press, he had the most 
 favourable opportunities, and he embraced them, of bring- 
 ing his master's productions into public notice. He con- 
 ducted all the correspondence, for Chantrey himself had 
 neither the inclination nor the ability to do so, as may 
 be inferred from the character of his education while a 
 youth. An anecdote of this has been told us by Cunning- 
 ham's sister, with regard to the Washington Statue, 
 which went from Chantrey's studio. A number of 
 American students in London one evening over their 
 wine, while discussing the merits of the work, adverted 
 to the beauty of the penmanship in the correspondence, 
 and the elegant style of the composition. Some doubted 
 that the sculptor had had anything to do with it, and 
 others took the opposite side. A keen controversy ensued, 
 and a heavy bet was laid on the subject. To settle 
 the affair, a deputation of their number immediately 
 started for the studio to ascertain the truth, and finding 
 Cunningham present, they told him the object of their 
 
164 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 errand, who at once admitted that he himself was the 
 author of the correspondence, verifying the fact by show- 
 ing them a specimen of his handwriting in the letter 
 books of the office. 
 
 He was also helpful to Chantrey in another way, by 
 making suggestions which only a poet could, with regard 
 to certain details of the figures. One of Chantrey's 
 masterpieces of sculpture is that of the two Sleeping 
 Children in Lichfield Cathedral. The two sisters are 
 represented asleep in each others arms, the younger with 
 a bunch of new plucked snow-drops in her hand, a sight 
 which has brought the tears over many a cheek while 
 contemplating this emblem of infant innocence. The 
 design of the group was made by Stothard, the eminent 
 London artist, but the bunch of snow-drops which im- 
 parts such a charm, was inserted at the suggestion of 
 Cunningham. Chantrey made the model in clay, and a 
 Frenchman named Legee, in his employment, carved it 
 in marble. This was Chantrey's mode of operation, only 
 to take the model in clay, and leave the rest to his work- 
 men, under the superintendence of Cunningham, of 
 course subject to his own inspection as the finishing 
 touches approached. After the clay model was finished, 
 which was generally done at one performance, a cast was 
 taken in plaster of Paris, from which the marble or 
 bronze bust was copied, and with which it was always 
 minutely compared. Cunningham's position, therefore, 
 was one of very great responsibility, requiring both taste 
 and discernment, in addition to the care necessary for a 
 faithful and safe completion of the work. How effi- 
 ciently he discharged the duty may be inferred from the 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 165 
 
 fact that he held the situation for twenty-eight years, 
 when death called him away. Chantrey had the greatest 
 affection for him, and always regarded him as a bosom 
 friend. When he was about to build his mausoleum, 
 some time before his death, that it might be ready when 
 the occasion required, he offered to enclose additional 
 ground for the remains of his friend also, that they might 
 lie together. " No, no," said Cunningham, " I wont be 
 built over, but be buried where the daisies will grow 
 upon my grave, and the lark sing above my head." But 
 he was " built over" after all. 
 
 But Cunningham's responsibilities were even of a 
 weightier character than we have described, although 
 they were weighty enough. Under the eye of the master 
 the burden of care and anxiety is considerably lightened, 
 for attention can be immediately called should difficulty 
 arise, and counsel be received ; but when he is far away, 
 self-reliance must then be depended upon, whatever may 
 be the result. Chantrey was in the habit of going away 
 for several months every year, visiting Paris, Rome, 
 Venice, and Florence, as his taste inclined him, during 
 which absence Cunningham was left entirely in charge, 
 to receive orders, answer inquiries, receive visitors, and 
 see properly and faithfully executed the works in opera- 
 tion. In short, he was Chan trey's second self, and what 
 he undertook, or performed in the absence, was cordially 
 approved of on the return. Never were master and 
 servant more united or confident in one another. 
 
 If Chantrey received advantage from his connection 
 with Cunningham, as his secretary and superintendent, 
 Cunningham also received advantage from Chantrey, so 
 
166 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 that the benefit was reciprocal. Apart from pecuniary 
 remuneration, he was thereby introduced into a class of 
 society which was otherwise beyond his reach, for here 
 he met with the titled and the great who visited the 
 studio, to whom he descanted in the most fascinating 
 manner on the merits of several works of art which 
 they examined and admired. In short, he became a 
 favourite, and almost a familiar, with all, although his 
 good sense and innate modesty preserved him from 
 using too much freedom on that account. We know 
 that by this means he was invited and welcomed into 
 the families of many distinguished personages, whose 
 kindness and hospitality he was ever ready to acknow- 
 ledge, and which he reciprocated with those who either 
 offered him a visit, or whom he could judiciously invite 
 under his roof, and partake at his board. We are naturally 
 desirous to know what was his appearance and bearing 
 on his introduction to the literary and other magnates 
 of the great city. Mrs. S. C. Hall, in one of her 
 admirable and graphic sketches, thus describes him : — 
 
 " I can clearly recall the first interview I had with him. 
 It was before I had been much in literary society, and when 
 I was but little acquainted with those whose works had 
 found places in my heart. I remember how my cheek 
 flushed, and how pleased and proud I was of the few words 
 of praise he gave to one of the first efforts of my pen. He 
 was then a stout man, somewhat high-shouldered, broad- 
 chested, and altogether strongly proportioned; his head was 
 firm and erect, his mouth close, yet full, the lips large, his 
 nose thick and broad, his eyes of intense darkness (I could 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 167 
 
 never define their colour), beneath shaggy and flexible eye- 
 brows, and were, I think, as powerful, yet as soft and 
 winning, as any eyes I ever saw. His brow was expansive, 
 indicating, by its breadth, not only imagination and observa- 
 tion, but, by its height, the veneration and benevolence so 
 conspicuous in his character. His accent was strongly 
 Scotch, and when he warmed into a subject, he expressed 
 himself with eloquence and feeling; but generally his manner 
 was quiet and reserved — quiet more from a habit of observing 
 than from a dislike to conversation. ... In after years, 
 when it was my privilege to meet him frequently, it was a 
 pleasure to note the respect he commanded from all who 
 were distinguished in Art and in Letters. He had a 
 sovereign contempt for anything that approached affectation 
 — literary affectation especially ; and certainly lashed it, even 
 in society, by words and looks of contempt that could not be 
 easily forgotten. ' Wherever/ I have heard him say, ' there 
 is nature, wherever a person is not ashamed to show a heart, 
 there is the germ of excellence. I love nature ! ' His dark eyes 
 would often glisten over a child or a flower; and a ballad, 
 one of the songs of his native land, would move him to tears 
 (I have seen it do so more than once), that is to say, if it 
 were sung ' acording to nature/ with no extra ' flourish/ no 
 encumbering drapery of form to disturb the 'natural' melody." 
 
 This description is endorsed by Mr. S. C. Hall himself 
 in the following tribute to his memory, after the remains 
 of his friend had been laid in the dust : — 
 
 "Allan, as I have said, was a man of stalwart form; it 
 was well knit, and, apparently, the health that had been 
 garnered in childhood and in youth was his blessing when in 
 
168 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 manhood. Certainly, to all outward seeming, lie had ample 
 security for a long life. His brow was large and lofty; his 
 face of the Scottish type — high cheek-bones and well rounded ; 
 his mouth flexible and expressive, yet indicative of strong 
 resolution ; his eyes were likened, by those who knew both 
 persons, to those of Burns, and no doubt they were so; they 
 were deeply seated, and almost black, surrounded by a dark 
 rim, and shadowed by somewhat heavy dark eyebrows. His 
 manners conveyed conviction of sincerity; they were not 
 refined, neither were they rugged, and the very opposite of 
 coarse. It was plain that for all his advantages he was 
 indebted to nature, for although he mixed much in what is 
 called ' polite society,' and was a gentleman whose companion- 
 ship was courted by the highest — statesmen and peers — up 
 to the last he had ' a smack of the heather.' 
 
 " Nothing seemed to irritate him so much as affectation, 
 either with pen or pencil, or in word, or look, or manner. I 
 have seen him exasperated by a lisp in a woman, and by a 
 mincing gait in a man. Any pretence to be what was not, 
 made him, so to say, furious. I would close this memoir so 
 as, I think, may best convey an idea of his peculiar character 
 and worth, by quoting a favourite phrase of his own — 
 
 ' Love him, for he loved Nature.'" 
 
 From these descriptions of candid and intimate friends, 
 in which prominence is given to his love of artless sim- 
 plicity, and his great dislike to all kinds of affectation, 
 one sees the strong link of connection which bound 
 Chantrey and him so closely together. They were both 
 lovers of what was true, natural, and unaffected, and 
 despised what was artificial, constrained, or assumed. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 169 
 
 Their minds in this, as in many other respects, were 
 congenial, so that mutual esteem and affection could 
 not fail to be the result. 
 
 Being now in a measure secured against anxiety for 
 family comfort, should health and strength be con- 
 tinued, he set himself resolutely down in the evenings 
 by his " ain fireside," and wielded the pen with a will 
 which was not to be resisted. He contributed prose 
 articles of various kinds to several magazines, and wrote 
 a series of tales, chiefly illustrative of Scottish character, 
 mostly connected with his own native Nithsdale, which 
 had to appear month by month when begun, thus entail- 
 ing an incessant drudgery upon the pen as well as the 
 brain. The Muse, however, was not altogether willing 
 to be set aside by this description of work, but he was 
 enabled to gratify her longings in this respect by insert- 
 ing in his prose compositions occasional flights she made, 
 thus to prevent her wing from becoming stiffened, and 
 her fancy dulled. So his prose tales are interspersed 
 with ballads, and songs, and snatches of poems, which 
 give a lightsomeness to the reader, and impart variety 
 to the theme. But, besides this, he is preparing works 
 of a higher style and aim, which are not permitted to 
 see the light in monthly piecemeals, but are reserved in 
 secret till they are ready to issue forth to the public as 
 a compact whole, then to stand or fall by their own 
 merits or demerits, to receive praise or censure, without 
 having the benefit of monthly criticism and suggestion. 
 
 Though always thus engaged, either in the studio by 
 day or the study by night, he never forgot his native 
 district, and the many friends he had there left behind. 
 
170 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Every now and again, however, he learned directly or 
 indirectly that they were becoming fewer, which made 
 him cling the more closely to those who remained. 
 One of his special friends, for whom he had the deepest 
 regard, was Mr. James M'Ghie of Quarrelwood, the father 
 of his " trusty fier" George, in whose household he had 
 spent many a joyous evening. The following letter sent 
 to this worthy is interesting and amusing: — 
 
 " Eccleston Street, Pimlico, 28th Jan., 1817. 
 
 "Dear James, — The warlike offspring of aulcl minstrel 
 Hugh has undertaken to carry this to your fireside, and along 
 with it my warmest hopes that it continues to be gladdened 
 with the same kindness of heart, social mirth, and hospitality, 
 for which it claims a kind place in my early remembrance. 
 I recognized the kenspeckle aspect of a Paisley whenever 
 Hugh presented his front at my door, and immediately the 
 hours when our feet made the Kirkmahoe barn-roofs wag to 
 the remotest rafter, to the compound melody of auld Hugh's 
 fiddle, came upon my nrnid, and I could scarcely restrain my 
 feet from making a movement similar to the first step in 
 Shan Trews. 
 
 " Thoughts which gave me pleasure might well recall your 
 family and fireside to my mind, which I must always 
 associate with all that gave delight to my youthful days, 
 and I hope the hour is not remote when I may open the 
 door latch and step ben among you all with a patriarchal 
 ' Peace be here,' and take my seat with the same conscious- 
 ness of a soul- warm welcome as if I had not been absent an" 
 hour. How are George, and James, and Rachel, and how is 
 Katy ? She would never, you know, tolerate me to call her 
 Mrs. M'Ghie. I wish I were beside her to have one of her 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 171 
 
 laughs and shakes by the hand; and, man, how are you 
 yourself, niy dear and worthy friend? May the cloven foot of 
 Envy never touch one of your treddles, nor Trouble draw her 
 black hand across the white warp and weft of your existence. 
 
 " I understand that many of the old faces that gladdened 
 the social circles in my native place have passed into the 
 consecrated earth; that Hugh Paisley is now listening to 
 melody superior even to his own, and that James Macrabin 
 has ceased to pickle in saltpetre the decaying bodies of his 
 neighbours, or admonish the easy morality of honest Thomas 
 M'Ghie with the terrors of his gird rung. 
 
 " Do Mirth and the Muses continue to haunt the groves 
 and streams of Quarrelwood, and do you, now and then, 
 hang the chastening rod of poetic sarcasm over the vices and 
 follies of the proud and the titled around you 1 I wish I 
 could tell you good tidings of myself, but I have nothing- 
 better to tell you than that I am toiling eidently for ' saps 
 o' cream ' to three boy bairns, and coats of callimanco to my 
 wife. I preserve a decent silence in verse and prose, and 
 I believe some of my best friends think I have ' steeked my 
 gab for ever.' Believe not one word of it. I will come out 
 among them all some morning like a trumpet sounding in a 
 lonely glen. 
 
 " I wished to introduce my wife to you and Katy in a 
 long description, but Jean declares she is perfectly well 
 acquainted with you all, and that the manner in which I 
 have so often talked to her of you both has done as much 
 as half a century's friendship of visits given and received. 
 Give my kind respects to George and James and Rachel, and 
 especially to Katy, and my wife desires the same from her 
 to you all. 
 
 " I hope you will all be as much delighted with our towns- 
 man Hugh as I have been ; he possesses all the manners of a 
 
172 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 gentleman, with a mind keen and inquiring, and stocked 
 with useful knowledge, and he relates his adventures in the 
 perils of war with the spirit, the conciseness, and elegance of 
 a historian. Now, I entreat you not to wait till you find a 
 messenger to convey the answer which I know your kindness 
 will dictate to this ; write by the post-office whenever your 
 inclination stirs you. "With the kindest wishes for your 
 welfare, I remain, dear James, 
 
 " Your most faithful friend, 
 
 " Allan Cunningham. 
 
 "Mr. James M'Ghie, 
 " Quarrelwood, Kirkmahoe. " 
 
 A few months afterwards lie sent the following letter 
 to his brother James : — 
 
 "London, 24th August, 1817. 
 
 " My dear James, — I have received both your kind and 
 brotherly letters, and I assure you when my indolence in- 
 terrupts our correspondence, I deprive myself of one of the 
 chief comforts of existence. It gives me unmingled satisfac- 
 tion to find that you have plenty of work, and that your 
 future affairs promise to be so prosperous. It will increase 
 that delight much if circumstances enable us to unite our 
 hearts and hands in one pursuit, and at present I cannot 
 contemplate any situation so gratifying to my feelings, so 
 consoling to my best affections, as that of returning to my 
 native land, with the prospect of work before me, to awaken 
 the echoes of gray cairns of Nithsdale and Amnandale once 
 more with the clank of our whin stone hammers. In the 
 meantime I enjoy good health, plenty of work and its produce, 
 and I might be happy, if a man may be happy who stoops 
 himself in the command of others, whose genius he finds to 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 173 
 
 be that of the Roman rebuked by his own (slave ?), and who 
 feels more pleasure in being the chief of a village than the 
 first courtier of a palace. 
 
 " I have commenced a search for the book you mentioned, 
 and I despair not of finding it soon. Books of songs are 
 what you must want much, and I think I will fall in with 
 some esteemed works of that kind during the course of the 
 year, which I will treasure past me, and profit by their know- 
 ledge, and bring them with me if fortune favours us. I 
 think you act prudently in maintaining the good graces of 
 the Factor, and, indeed, one ought to do all he can to have 
 the good word of every one, for the meanest of mankind may 
 sow abundance of mischief. During the next week I depart 
 for Lichfield to put up two marble monuments. I will be a 
 week away ; at my return I will expect another letter from 
 you. 
 
 " I am much amused with the manner you extracted pay- 
 ment from , and I certainly felt disappointed in the 
 
 conduct of , whom I reckoned an upright, honourable 
 
 man ; but bad times and ruin in trades bring the villainous 
 part of man's character into action, and show how much of 
 the fiend remains unsubdued by religion and virtue. The 
 death and removal of so many masons from Dumfries cer- 
 tainly opens a fair path for adventure, for I scarcely know a 
 single person whose talents one would have to dread among 
 all those who remain. A step so decisive of one's future fate 
 must be taken prudently, and pursued with industry. 
 
 " We are on the point of going into our new house, and it 
 really seems a place calculated to give many happy days, and 
 comforts to human life, but I hope my destiny is yet of a 
 brighter hue. 
 
 " This is a period of great poetical dulness with me ; the 
 distractions of my place overwhelm all poetical broodings,. 
 
174 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 and the agitated current of business bears down my resolves 
 like a flood. But winter is coming, and I have tasked 
 myself to collect, collate, and correct my songs, which are 
 neither numerous nor excellent, and dress up my little poems, 
 among which the ' Bard's Winter Night,' must not be for- 
 gotten. Besides all this, I have covenanted with myself to 
 rough-hew my tragedy, balance all its parts, portion out its 
 actions, and make it ready for the finishing touches. These 
 are tasks which will require as much resolution and leisure 
 as I will be able to muster. Of Geraldine I have not heard 
 one word for a twelvemonth, except by verbal report, and I 
 was much surprised at your mentioning its being in the 
 hands of a publisher, which I hope is incorrect, for I would 
 look at a work where I was conscious of its incorrectness 
 with horror. I should like much to have it returned, for I 
 meditate great improvements. I am perfectly conscious of 
 the progressive state of my judgment, and though I do not 
 think my poetical powers have received any reinforcement of 
 late, yet I can wield them with much more certainty of 
 effect than formerly, and I don't think I alter a single line 
 without improving it. 
 
 " I am concerned at Mr. Hogg's losses. His genius may 
 easily repair such disasters as those you mention; besides, the 
 farm he holds on so torch-like a tenure might keep him above 
 the absolute pressure of want. Considering these circum- 
 stances, I was concerned to see an advertisement of his poem 
 in the Dumfries newspaper, which seemed penned in rather 
 a supplicating tone. I hope it was the well-meant work of 
 the good-hearted editor. 
 
 " I have enclosed you a sheetful of extracts from a ballad 
 called Lord Percy's Mantle, founded on the ballad of Chevy 
 Chase. Lord Douglas hastens to encounter Lord Percy, his 
 rival in fame, and his lady, disguising herself like a page, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 175 
 
 accompanied by the family bard, follows and awaits the 
 closing of the armies from the summit of a hill on the 
 opposite side of the stream of Teviot. I can only extract 
 what will give yon some idea of the manner in which it is 
 written, without unravelling the plan, or explaining the 
 catastrophe. 
 
 "My wife joins me in love to you and our sister, and a' 
 the lave. We hope to see her next year. — I remain, dear 
 James, yours faithfully and affectionately, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 "Mr. Cunningham, 
 
 "Hoddam Cross, Ecclef echan. " 
 
 We are now about to enter upon another period of 
 his literary career, which has been foreshadowed in the 
 foregoing letter to his brother, in which work after work 
 will be published with amazing rapidity, filling one with 
 astonishment, how time could have sufficed, and energy 
 sustained, the mental strain and manual labour necessary 
 for their production. But if evidence were required to 
 illustrate the truth of the adage, " Where there is a will 
 there is a way," it is to be found in the doings of Allan 
 Cunningham. 
 
176 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 CONTRIBUTES TO " BLACKWOOD " — WINNING THE HARVEST KIRN — 
 NOTICE OF THE CAMERONIANS — CAMERONIAN BALLADS: "THE 
 DOOM OF NITHSDALE," "ON MARK WILSON, SLAIN IN IRON- 
 GRAY," "THE VOICE LIFTED LP AGAINST CHAPELS AND 
 CHURCHES," "THE CAMERONIAN BANNER." 
 
 Besides the London Magazine, and other periodicals 
 to which he was a regular contributor, we find him 
 engaged also on the literary pabulum of Blackivood, 
 after it had become fairly afloat. To this Magazine he 
 supplied monthly, in 1819-21, a series of tales under the 
 title of " Recollections of Mark Macrabin, the Cameron- 
 ian," which for humour, and glowing description of 
 Scottish manners, sectarian feeling, and superstitions, 
 are inimitable. The scenes of the tales are laid in 
 Nithsdale, but the declared narrator of them was too 
 " Kenspeckle," which somewhat roused the ire of himself 
 and his friends of the Cameronian connection, for the 
 freedom taken with his name and his doings. He kept 
 a grocery store, with a sign above his door entrance, on 
 which was painted in flaming colours an open Bible, 
 and underneath, in prominent letters, " Mark Macrabin, 
 Cameronian, Dealer in Scottish Hose, and Cheap Tracts, 
 Religious and Political." This was a sufficiently catching 
 signboard for the "guid and the godly" of Kirkmahoe r 
 and Mark drew largely by the clap-trap he adopted. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 177 
 
 Although Cunningham disavowed any desire on his 
 part to hold the Cameronians up to ridicule, yet their 
 religious propensities and doings were enlarged upon in a 
 way which made them suspicious of being exposed as a 
 laughing-stock to the community at large. Old James 
 M'Ghie, George's father, belonged to the covenanting 
 body, not by original descent, however, but by a " tender 
 conscience." He had been precentor in the Parish 
 Church of Kirkmahoe before the induction of the Rev. 
 Dr. Wi^htman to the charge, but on the Rev. Doctor 
 one day appearing in the pulpit arrayed in a black 
 gown, which had been presented to him by a distinguished 
 lady in the parish, James took fright at the " rag of 
 Popery," and went over to the Cameronians, who were 
 then a pretty strong body at Quarrelwood. Mark Mac- 
 rabin, Cameronian, general dealer in groceries, hose, 
 and cheap religious and political tracts, is made to 
 narrate a series of tales, the principal incidents of which 
 had come under his own experience. Among them are 
 an account of the Buchanites, who, fleeing from Irvine, 
 took up their residence at Cample, in the parish of 
 Closeburn ; Adventure with the Gipsies ; the Witch of 
 Ae ; the Last of the Morisons ; Janet Morison's Lyke- 
 Wake ; and the Harvest Kirn of Lillycross. These are 
 all descriptive of Scottish life in its most natural and 
 characteristic forms. 
 
 What, in our opinion, greatly enhances the value of 
 Cunningham's tales is their descriptiveness, true to the 
 life, of scenes and customs which have now gone by, 
 but which are deserving of remembrance. In the series 
 of tales contributed to Blackwood there are many such ; 
 
 M 
 
178 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 but there is one especially to which we would refer, 
 which was great in its time, but has now of necessity 
 passed entirely away. This was the closing day of the 
 cutting of the harvest, called the Har'st Kirn, when the 
 grain was wholly cut by the hook, before the invasion 
 of scythes and reaping machines. On the harvest-field, 
 as on the battle-field, there were often scenes of deftness 
 displayed, though not with the same sanguinary issue, 
 save in a cut finger or so; but the blood occasionally got 
 up from a jealousy of superior prowess, and then a 
 " Kemp" was the result : this was who should cut their 
 rig of corn soonest by dexterity and force of arm. When 
 this took place, the greatest effort was made to " cut 
 the gumpin' " on the rival ; to advance so far ahead of 
 him as to be able to cut across his rig, which was con- 
 sidered the greatest insult to the lagging fellow, 
 intimating his inferior skill and want of ability in the 
 contention. When the cutting of the harvest was about 
 to be finished, the greatest struggle arose, so as not to 
 be the last at the landing, which was called " couping the 
 kirn" on the luckless reaper, which was regarded a 
 disgrace, and dreadful were the efforts put forth by all 
 parties, half-divested of their clothing, and the perspira- 
 tion streaming, to be the first out, or at all events not 
 the last. As a man and a woman were employed on 
 each rig, it was often painful to witness the fair one in 
 distress, with her neck and bosom bare, thrusting in the 
 sickle with a will greater than her strength, and then 
 to hear the cry of her brawny partner, " Mak' straps, 
 mak' straps, and I'll do the cutting," and away he went 
 like a whirlwind, a sheaf in every " louchter." Cunning- 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 17^ 
 
 ham gives the following graphic description of such a 
 scene in the vale of Ae, the correctness of which we 
 guarantee from personal experience on like occasions 
 forty years ago : — 
 
 " My fair Cameronian looked over the field while she 
 whet her sickle, and whispered to me, in a tone approaching 
 to intercession, ' Dinna forget that I have bribed thee to do 
 thy best wi' the promise o' a gliff at gloaming under the 
 Tryste bower birks. I would rather add a whole night to 
 the hour than Ronald Rodan and yon govan widow should 
 waur us. Sae nae a single word — that look was a full vow 
 to do thy utmost — sae here's for the kirn.' And the 
 harvest-horn winding as she spoke, the sickles were laid to 
 the root of the ripe grain, and the contest commenced. Those 
 on the haft and those on the point of the hook exerted them- 
 selves with so much success, that Hamish Machamish was 
 compelled to cheer up his lagging mountaineers by the charms 
 of his pipe. But the music which breathed life and mettle 
 into the men of the mountains seemed not without its 
 influence on those of the plains. 
 
 " The Highland sickles, though kept in incessant and rapid 
 motion, could not prevent the haft and the point from 
 advancing before them, forming a front like the horns of a 
 crescent. The old bandsmen enjoyed the contest, and, from 
 their conversation alone, I learned how the field was likely 
 to go. Tse tell thee what, Lucas Laurie,' said Saunders 
 Creeshmaloof, ' as sure as the seven stars are no [aught — and 
 the starry elwand will never measure the length o' the lang 
 Bear — that sang-singin' haspin' o' a callant, Ronald Rodan, 
 and that light-ended, light-headed — I mean, widow woman, 
 Keturah, will win the kirn o' Crumacomfort — they are fore- 
 
180 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 most by a lang cat loup at least/ ' Heard ever ony body the 
 like o' that, Saunders Creeshmaloof,' said his fellow expounder 
 of shooting stars : ' ye have an ee that couldnae tell that a 
 pike-staff was langer than ane o' Tam Macgee's spoolpins ! 
 I sail eat a' the corn, chaff and a', without butter, that the 
 ballad-making lad has cut afore our ain sonsie lass o' Lilly- 
 cross, and this mettled stripling that's her marrow. I wish, 
 however, that the lad bairn wad take counsel, and no lose 
 time by keeking aye in the maiden's face ilka louchter he 
 lays down ; and may I be suppered wi' shooten stars on the 
 summit o' Queensberry gin they dinna win the kirn.' I 
 adopted this self-denying counsel, and rejoiced to find the 
 sacrifice was rewarded with success. 
 
 "'It's a bonnie sight, gudeman o' Crumacomfort,' said 
 another bandsman, as he hooded a stook behind me ; ' I 
 say it's a bonnie sight to see sae mony stark youths and 
 strapping kimmers streaking themselves sae eidently to the 
 harvest darke. Heck ! but that sonsie widow, Keturah, be 
 a, prood ane — she's marrowed wi' the prooclest piece o' man's 
 flesh in the vale o' Ae. He's a clever lad, though he be a 
 prood ane ; he casts his sickle sae giegly round the corn, and 
 rolls a louchter like a little sheaf, and yet looks sae heedless 
 a' the while, as gin he were framing some fule ballad. I 
 wad counsel him to cast aside that black-and-blue bird bomiet 
 wi' its hassock o' feathers. See, see, how he makes them 
 fan the hot brow o' the widow, and oh ! but she blinks 
 blithely for't. Conscience, gudeman ! wer't no for thy well- 
 faured Mary and her marrow, they wad win the kirn — 
 they're within a stane-cast o' the landing.' 
 
 " The Highland piper, whose music had augmented as we 
 proceeded, now blew a perfect hurricane, and the sickles 
 moved faster and faster ; but though they kept time with 
 the music like the accuracy of a marching regiment, they 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 181 
 
 failed to obtain the smallest visible advantage, and the 
 unintelligible clattering and murmuring they raised resembled 
 the outcry of a disturbed flock of geese. ' Deel blaw ye 
 south for a pose o' gowd, and take ye to the Highlands wi 
 the same wind again, gin I can make ye gain the half length 
 o* my chanter on thae brainwude bairns on the haft and 
 point. God, gin I had them in Glentourachglen, where deel 
 hate grows but brakens, wi' a straught blade, instead o' a 
 bowed ane in my neeve, I wad turn the best o' them ! ' So 
 saying, Hamish Machamish relinquished the contest in 
 despair, and the wind, as it forsook his instrument, grunted 
 a long and melancholy whine, like the wind in a cloven oak. 
 As we approached the landing, the old bandsmen ran on either 
 side, and looked on the concluding contest with accuracy of 
 eye which counted every handful that remained unshorn. 
 ' Conscience ! but that sonsie woman, Keturah, merits to be 
 married,' said an old man, whose chin as he walked almost 
 touched the stubble ; ' and she sha'na want a man though I 
 should take her mysel' — she maks the corn fa' afore her 
 like the devouring fire.' 'And she wad be a useful woman 
 t'ye, Roger,' said another old man, whose prolonged cough as 
 he spoke seemed like a kirkyard echo ; ' she wad make ye a 
 drib buttered gruel, and have aye something cozie and warm 
 for ye whan ye daundered hame at gloaming.' 'And I can 
 tell ye,' said one of their companions, ' gin that callant, Ronald 
 Rodan, wad give up the gowk-craft o' ballad making, and bide 
 by the craft o' cutting corn, and passing the sharp coulter 
 through the green-sward, he waclnae hae his fellow atween 
 Corsincon and Caerlaverock ; and I should nae grudge him 
 my daughter Penny Holiday, wi' a tocher o' twal hundred 
 as bonnie merks as e'er were minted.' 
 
 "While this conversation passed, the exertions of all 
 seemed redoubled. It was a beautiful sight to see the rows 
 
182 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 of tall stooks ranked behind — the standing corn before, 
 diminished to a mere remnant, with half a hundred bright 
 sickles glimmering in perpetual motion at its root, and the 
 busy movement of so many fair and anxious faces shining 
 with the dews of toil — the motion of curling haffet locks and 
 white hands, and so many grey-haired men awaiting to 
 commend the victor. ' I may gae seek out the kirn-cut o' 
 corn,' said old Hugh Halbertson, ' and dress and deck it out 
 wi' lily white ribbons as gaily as I please, and a' for my ain 
 bonny Mary o' Lilly cross.' Even as the old man spoke, the 
 four sickles on the haft and point reached the end at once, 
 and so close were their companions, that ere John Macmukle 
 concluded his nourish on the harvest horn, the com was all 
 lying on the bands. Ronald Rodan taking at the same time 
 his horn from the hands of one of the bandsmen, winded it 
 so loud, and even melodious, that Ae water returned the 
 echo from every double of her stream, the shepherd shouted 
 on the hill, and the numerous reapers of neighbour boons, 
 staying their sickles, waved them around their heads at every 
 repeated nourish of the horn. An old bandsman conversant 
 with the traditional ceremonies of winning harvest kirns, 
 took the last and reserved cut of corn, and, braiding it into 
 two locks, crowned my fair Cameronian partner with one, 
 and the buxom Keturah with the other, who stood shedding 
 the moisture with her white hands from her long hair, and 
 giving the cooling breeze free admission to a white and 
 shapely neck, glancing her blue eyes all the while on Ronald 
 Rodan." 
 
 Talk not of the excitement of the Turf — winning the 
 Derby was nothing in comparison to winning the 
 Harvest Kirn ! 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 183 
 
 Though neither Cunningham nor any of his father s 
 family belonged to the Cameronian body, yet many of 
 them, besides the M'Ghies, were his intimate associates 
 while he attended the Dame's school at Quarrelwood, 
 and during his apprenticeship as a mason. And though 
 he talks sometimes rather lightly of them in the way of 
 raillery, yet he cherished for them a great regard, for 
 the noble manner in which they had stood out for their 
 religious principles, some of them even to the death. In 
 his " Recollections of Mark Macrabin " he refers to them 
 at considerable length, and also in an article in Black- 
 tvood, 1820, he gives a series of Cameronian ballads, 
 prefaced with a brief account of the sect. 
 
 "THE DOOM OF NITHSDALE. 
 
 " I stood and gazed — from Dalswinton wood 
 To Criffel's green mountain, and Solway flood 
 Was quiet and joyous. The merry loud horn 
 Called the mirthsome reapers in bands to the corn; 
 The plaided swain, with his dogs, was seen 
 Looking down on the vale from the mountain green; 
 The lark with his note, now lowne, now loud, 
 The blue heaven breathed through the white cloud, 
 Hound a smiling maid, white as winter snowing, 
 The Nith clasped its arms, and went singing and flowing — 
 Yet all the green valley, so lovely and broad, 
 Lay in black nature, nor breathed of a God. 
 
 ' ' And yet it was sweet, as the rising sun shone, 
 To stand and look this fair land upon, 
 The stream kissed my feet, and away to the sea 
 Flew where the wild sea-fowl went swimming free. 
 In the town the lordly trumpet was blowing, 
 From the hill the meek pipe sent its sweet notes flowing, 
 
184 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 And a fair damsel set her brown tresses a-wreathing, 
 
 And looking of heaven, and perfume breathing, 
 
 And, stretched at her feet, despairing and sighing, 
 
 Lay a youth on the grass, like a creature dying. 
 
 But mocked was the Preacher, and scorned was the Word, 
 
 Green Nithsdale, I yield thee to gunshot and sword. 
 
 " And yet, green valley, though thou art sunk dark, 
 And deep as the waters that flowed round the ark; 
 Though none of thy flocks, from the Nith to the Scarr, 
 Wear Calvin's choice keel or the Covenant's tar — 
 Come, shear thy bright love-locks, and bow thy head low, 
 And fold thy white arms o'er thy bosom of snow, 
 And kneel, till the summer pass with its sweet flowers, — 
 And kneel, till the autumn go with her gold bowers, 
 And kneel, till rough winter grows weary with flinging 
 Her snows upon thee, and the lily is springing, 
 And fill the green land with thy woe and complaining; 
 And let thine eyes drop like two summer clouds raining — 
 And ye may have hope, in the dread dooms-day morning, 
 To be snatched as a brand from the sacrifice burning. 
 
 But if ye kneel not, nor in blood-tears make moan, 
 
 And harden your heart like the steel and the stone, 
 
 Oh ! then, lovely Nithsdale — even as I now cast 
 
 My shrunk hand to heaven, thy doom shall be passed; 
 
 Through tly best blood the war-horse shall snort and career, 
 
 Thy breast shall be gored with the brand and the spear — 
 
 Thy bonnie love-locks shall be ragged and reft — 
 
 The babe at thy bosom be cloven and cleft; 
 
 From Queensberry's mountain to Criffel below, 
 
 Nought shall live but the blood-footed hawk and the crow ! 
 
 Farewell, thou doomed Nithsdale — in sin and asleep — 
 
 Lie stilh— and awaken to wail and to weep. 
 
 I tried much to bless thee, fair Nithsdale, there came 
 Nought but curses to lay on thy fate and thy fame ! 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 185 
 
 Yet still do I rnind — for the follies of youth 
 
 Mix their meteor gleams with the sunshine of truth — 
 
 A fair one, and some blessed moments, aboon, 
 
 Gleaming down the green mountain gazed on as the moon, 
 
 The kisses and vows were unnumbered and sweet, 
 
 And the flower at our side, and the stream at our feet, 
 
 Seemed to swell and to flow so divinely. — Oh ! never, 
 
 Thou lovely green land, and thou fair flowing river, 
 
 Can man gaze upon you and curse you. In vain 
 
 Doth he make his heart hard. — So I bless you again." 
 
 Another is entitled: — 
 
 "ON MARK WILSON, SLAIN IN IRONGRAY. 
 
 ' I wandered forth when all men lay sleeping, 
 And I heard a sweet voice wailing and weeping, 
 The voice of a babe, and the wail of women, 
 And ever there came a faint low screaming ; 
 And after the screaming a low, low moaning, 
 All adown by the burnbank iu the green loaning. 
 I weut, and by the moonlight I found 
 A beauteous dame weeping low on the ground. 
 
 ;< The beauteous dame was sobbing and weeping, 
 And at her breast lay a sweet babe sleeping, 
 And by her side was a fair-haired child, 
 With dark eyes flushed with weeping, aud wild 
 And troubled, he held by his mother, and spake, 
 
 ' Oh mither ! when will my faither awake?' 
 And there lay a man smitteu low to the ground, 
 The blood gushing forth from a bosom wound. 
 
 " And by his side lay a broken sword, 
 And by his side lay the opened ' Word,' 
 His palms were spread, and his head was bare, 
 His knees were bent, he had knelt in prayer ; 
 
]86 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 But brief was his prayer, for the flowers where he knelt 
 Had risen all wet with his life's -blood spilt, 
 And the smoke of powder smelled fresh around, 
 And a steed's hoof -prints were in the ground. 
 
 " She saw me, but she heeded me not, 
 As a flower she sat, that had grown on the spot; 
 But ever she knelt o'er the murdered man, 
 And sobbed afresh, and the loosed tears ran; 
 Even low as she knelt, there came a rush 
 Like a fiery wind, over river and bush, 
 And amid the wind, and in lightning speed, 
 A bright Eider came, on a brighter steed. 
 
 " 'Woe! woe! woe!' he called, and there came 
 To his hand as he spake, a sword of flame ; 
 He smote the air, and he smote the ground, 
 Warm blood, as a rivulet, leapt up from the wound, 
 Shriek followed on shriek, loud, fearful, and fast, 
 And filled all the track where this dread one passed; 
 And tumult and terrible outcry there came, 
 As a sacked city yields when it stoops to the flame; 
 And a shrill low voice came running abroad, 
 ' Come, mortal man, come, and be judged by God !' 
 And the dead man turned unto heaven his face, 
 Stretched his hands and smiled in the light of grace." 
 
 The following one is truly descriptive of what was the 
 stern determination of the Cameronians not to enter a 
 building for the purpose of religious worship; a striking 
 example of which was given when a meeting-house was 
 erected at Quarrelwood, in Kirkmahoe, by a goodly 
 number of the congregation, assisted by friends; a por- 
 tion of them stood firmly out against entering it when 
 it was ready for sacred service, saying, " We were driven 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 187 
 
 to the hills, and on the hills we shall remain !" By-and- 
 by, however, they came round and worshipped along" 
 with the other brethren. We think it likely that Cun- 
 ningham had that occasion in view when this ballad was 
 written : — 
 
 THE VOICE LIFTED UP AGAINST CHURCHES AND 
 CHAPELS. 
 
 " And will ye forsake the balmy, free air, 
 The fresh face of heaven, so golden and fair, 
 The mountain glen, and the silver brook, 
 And Nature's free bountith and open book, 
 To sit and worship our God with a groan, 
 Hemmed in with dead timber and shapen stone ? 
 Away — away — for it never can be, 
 The green earth and heaven's blue vault for me. 
 
 " Woe ! woe ! to the time when to the heath-bell 
 The seed of the Covenant sing their farewell, 
 And leave the mount written with martyr story, 
 The sun beaming bright in his bridegroom glory; 
 And leave the green birks, and the lang flowering broom, 
 The breath of the woodland steeped rich in perfume; 
 And barter our life's sweetest flower for the bran, 
 The glory of God for the folly of man." 
 
 " THE CAMERONIAN BANNER. 
 
 Banner ! fair Banner ! a century of woe 
 
 Has flowed on thy people since thou wert laid low; 
 
 Hewn down by the godless, and sullied and shorn, 
 
 Defiled with base blood, and all trodden and torn ! 
 
 Thou wert lost, and John Balfour's bright steel-blade in vain 
 
 Shed their best blood as fast as moist April sheds rain — 
 
188 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Young, fierce, gallant Hackstoun, the river in flood 
 Sent rejoicing to sea with a tribute of blood; 
 And Gideon Macrabin, with bible and brand, 
 Quoted Scripture, as Am'lek fell 'neath his right hand- 
 All ia vain, thou fair Banner, for thou wert laid low, 
 And a sport and a prey to the Covenant's foe. 
 
 *' Fair Banner ! 'gainst thee bloody Claver'se came hewing 
 His road through our helms, and our glory subduing; 
 And Nithsdale Dalzell — his fierce deeds to requite, 
 On his house darkest ruin descended like night — 
 Came spurring and full on the lap of our war, 
 Disastrous shot down like an ominous star. 
 And Allan Dalzell — may his name to all time 
 Stand accurs'd, and be named with nought nobler than rhyme- 
 Smote thee down, thou fair Banner, all rudely, and left 
 Thee defiled, and the skull of the bannerman cleft. 
 Fair Banner ! fair Banner ! a century of woe 
 Has flowed on thy people since thou wert laid low. 
 
 ** And now, lovely Banner! led captive and placed 
 
 'Mid the spoils of the scoffer, and scorned and disgraced, 
 
 And hung with the helm and the glaive on the wall, 
 
 'Mongst idolatrous figures to wave in the hall, 
 
 Where lips, wet with wine, jested with thee profane, 
 
 And the miostrel, more graceless, mixed thee with his strain, 
 
 Till the might and the pride of thy conqueror fell, 
 
 And the owl sat and whoop'd in the halls of Dalzell. 
 
 thou holy Banner ! in weeping and wail, 
 
 Let me mourn thy soiled glory, and finish my tale. 
 
 Xi And yet, lovely Banner! thus torn from the brave, 
 And disgraced by the graceless, and sold by the slave, 
 And hung o'er a hostel, where rich ruddy wine, 
 And the soul-cheering beverage of barley divine, 
 Floated glorious, and sent such a smoke — in his flight 
 The lark stayed in the air, and sang, drunk with delight. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 189 
 
 Does this lessen thy lustre ? or tarnish thy glory ? 
 Diminish thy fame, and traduce thee in story ? 
 Oh, no, beauteous Banner! loosed free on the beam, 
 By the haud of the chosen, long, long shalt thou stream ! 
 And the damsel dark-eyed, and the Covenant swain, 
 Shall bless thee, and talk of dread Both well again." 
 
 This interesting relic is carefully preserved by a very 
 worthy family in the parish of Kirkmahoe. It is in a 
 very sad-looking condition, from the brunt of battle and 
 the decay of time, but its bullet-holes render it almost 
 sacred in the eyes of those who possess it, and the 
 stranger, while gazing upon them, has a feeling of rever- 
 ence for the memory of the brave men who fought and 
 fell under this inspiring Banner. 
 
 When and where Cunningham picked up these 
 ballads we cannot tell, but perhaps he got them from 
 the same fair hand who gave him the " Mermaid of 
 Galloway;" or, what is likelier still, from his own fertile 
 imagination — the same source. 
 
 His tales of Mark Macrabin were certainly not of 
 a nature to give entire satisfaction to the sect of 
 religionists to which that worthy belonged. " Indeed," 
 as the author said, " he had no idea when he invested 
 his hero with the name of Macrabin, of doing honour to 
 that singular and selfish old being. It was a good name, 
 and as the London apprentice says in Launcelot Greaves, 
 ' a good travelling name,' and he made use of it." But 
 notwithstanding this, he speaks kindly of the sect, for 
 he says — "A frequent visitor of their preachings, I 
 have hearkened with delight and edification to the 
 poetical and prophetic eloquence of their discourses. A 
 
190 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 guest at their hearths and their tables, I have proved 
 the cheerful and open hospitality of their nature, and have 
 held converse and fellowship with almost all the burning 
 and the shining lights that have distinguished the 
 present house of Cameron. I have made their character 
 my study, and their pursuits my chief business, and 
 collected many curious sayings, and songs, and adven- 
 tures, which belong to this simple and unassuming race. 
 Certainly the most wondrous part of the 
 Cameronian character is the poetical warmth and spirit 
 which everywhere abounds in their sermons and their 
 sayings ; and, though profane minstrelsy was wisely 
 accounted as an abomination, yet poetry, conceived and 
 composed in the overflowing and passionate style of 
 their compositions, has been long privately cherished 
 among the most enlightened of the flock. But I by no 
 means claim rank for the Cameronian bards with those 
 who lent their unstinted strength to the strings. Their 
 glimpses of poetical inspiration cannot equal the fuller 
 day of those who gloried in the immortal intercourse with 
 the muse." Who, after reading the foregoing extract, 
 could find fault with the author of the Cameronian 
 Ballads, though in some places flippant expressions may 
 be detected; but yet, after all, there was nothing but a 
 kindly feeling towards them at bottom? No one can 
 possibly doubt this, after reading the affectionate M'Ghie 
 letters, a family who belonged to the denomination- 
 And we all the more respect Cunningham on account of 
 this affection, that while adhering to his own creed he 
 was neither bigoted nor sectarian. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO SIR WALTER SCOTT — SCOTT SITTING FOR HIS BUST 
 TO CHANTREY — EQUIPMENT TO RECEIVE HIS BARONETCY AT THE 
 KING'S LEVEE — ON HIS RETURN HOME RECEIVES THE MANUSCRIPT 
 OE "SIR MARMADUKE MAXWELL," A TRAGEDY — LETTERS EROM 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT — MEMORANDA. 
 
 It will be recollected that on the appearance of " Mar- 
 mion," by Sir Walter Scott, Cunningham travelled on 
 foot from Dalswinton to Edinburgh, upwards of seventy 
 miles, to get a glimpse of the author, which he fortuit- 
 ously did, though he was not successful in obtaining an 
 introduction, which, perhaps, he did not then desire. A 
 time, however, has now come when he is to be gratified 
 to his heart's fullest wish, and under circumstances 
 which he could scarcely, even in his most sanguine 
 moments, anticipate. When Scott went up to London 
 to receive his baronetcy, in 1820, Chantrey was exceed- 
 ingly desirous to execute a marble bust of the great 
 novelist, and present it to him as a mark of admiration 
 and esteem. For this purpose he commissioned Cun- 
 ningham to call and make the request. This was the 
 more gladly complied with, as Cunningham himself was 
 anxious to call and express his acknowledgments for 
 " some kind message he had received, through a com- 
 mon friend, on the subject of those ' Remains of Niths- 
 dale and Galloway Song,' which first made his poetical 
 talents known to the public." 
 
192 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Cunningham thus describes the introduction : — " It 
 was about nine in the morning that I sent in my card 
 to him at Miss Dumergue's, in Piccadilly. It had not 
 been gone a minute when I heard a quick heavy step 
 coming, and in he came, holding out both hands, as was 
 his custom, and saying, as he pressed mine — 'Allan 
 Cunningham, I am glad to see you.' I said something 
 about the pleasure I felt in touching the hand that had 
 charmed me so much. He moved his hand, and with 
 one of his comic smiles said, ' Ay, and a big brown hand 
 it is.' I was a little abashed at first ; Scott saw it, and 
 soon put me at my ease ; he had the power — I had 
 almost called it the art, but art it was not — of winning 
 one's heart, and restoring one's confidence, beyond any 
 man I ever met." He then complimented him upon his 
 lyric powers, and urged upon him to try some higher 
 flight than the " Remains;" and as he was engaged to 
 breakfast in a distant part of the city the interview 
 abruptly ended. He agreed most cheerfully to Chan- 
 trey's request with regard to the bust, and promised to 
 call early at the studio on the following morning, which 
 he did. The sitting was so interesting that we quote 
 the description of it given by Lockhart. in his " Life of 
 Sir Walter Scott," from memoranda furnished by 
 Cunningham : — 
 
 " Chantrey's purpose had been the same as Lawrence's — to 
 seize a poetical phasis of Scott's countenance ; and he pro- 
 ceeded to model the head as looking upwards, gravely and 
 solemnlv. The talk that passed, meantime, had equally 
 amused and gratified both, and, fortunately at parting, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 193 
 
 Chantrey requested that Scott would come and breakfast 
 with him next morning before he recommenced operations 
 in the studio. Scott accepted the invitation, and, when 
 he arrived again in Eccleston Street, found two or three 
 acquaintances assembled to meet him — among others, his old 
 friend, Richard Heber. The breakfast was, as any party in 
 Sir Francis Chantrey's house is sure to be, a gay and joyous 
 one ; and not having seen Heber in particular for several 
 years, Scott's spirits were unusually excited by the presence 
 of an intimate associate of his youthful days." 
 
 Then follow Cunningham's Memoranda: — 
 
 " Heber made many inquiries about old friends in Edin- 
 burgh, and old books, and old houses, and reminded the 
 other of their early socialities. ' Ay,' said Mr. Scott, ' I 
 remember we once dined out together, and sat so late that 
 when we came away the night and day were so neatly 
 balanced that we resolved to walk about till sunrise. The 
 moon was not down, however, and we took advantage of her 
 ladyship's lantern, and climbed to the top of Arthur's Seat ; 
 when we came down we had a rare appetite for break- 
 fast.' 'I remember it well,' said Heber, 'Edinburgh was 
 a wild place in those days, — it abounded in clubs — convivial 
 clubs.' ' Yes,' replied Mr. Scott, 'and abounds still; but the 
 conversation is calmer, and there are no such sallies now 
 as might be heard in other times. One club, I remember, 
 was infested with two Kemps, father and son. When the 
 old man had done speaking the young one began, and 
 before he grew weary the father was refreshed, and took 
 up the song. John Clerk, during a pause, was called on 
 for a stave. He immediately struck up, in a psalm-singing 
 
 N 
 
194 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 
 
 tone, and electrified the club with a verse which sticks 
 like a burr to my memory — 
 
 ' Now, God Almighty judge James Kemp, 
 
 And likewise his son John, 
 And hang them over Hell in hemp, 
 And burn them in brimstone. ' 
 
 " In the midst of the mirth which this specimen of psal- 
 mody raised, John (commonly called Jack) Fuller, the member 
 for Surrey, and standing jester of the House of Commons, 
 came in. Heber, who was well acquainted with the free and 
 joyous character of that worthy, began to lead him out by 
 relating some festive anecdotes. Fuller growled approbation, 
 and indulged us with some of his odd sallies ; things which 
 he assured us ' were damned good, and true too, which was 
 better.' Mr. Scott, who was standing when Fuller came in, 
 eyed him at first with a look, grave and considerate ; but as 
 the stream of conversation flowed, his keen eye twinkled 
 brighter and brighter, his stature increased, for he drew him- 
 self up, and seemed to take the measure of the hoary joker, 
 body and soul. An hour or two of social chat had mean- 
 while induced Mr. Chantrey to alter his views as to the bust, 
 and when Mr. Scott left us, he said to me privately, ' This 
 will never do — I shall never be able to please myself with a 
 perfectly serene expression. I must try his conversational 
 look, take him when about to break out into some sly funny 
 old story.' As Chantrey said this, he took a string, cut off 
 the head of the bust, put it into its present position, touched 
 the eyes and the mouth slightly, and wrought such a trans- 
 formation upon it, that when Scott came to his third sitting, 
 he smiled and said — 'Ay, ye're mair like yoursel now ! Why, 
 Mr. Chantrey, no witch of old ever performed such cantrips 
 with clay as this.' 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 195 
 
 " These sittings were seven in number ; but when Scott 
 revisited London a year afterwards, he gave Chantrey several 
 more, the bust being by that time in marble. Allan Cun- 
 ningham, when he called to bid him farewell, as he was about 
 to leave town on the present occasion, found him in Court 
 dress, preparing to kiss hands at the Levee, on being gazetted 
 as Baronet. ' He seemed anything but at his ease,' says 
 Cunningham, ' in that strange attire ; he was like one in 
 armour — the stiff cut of the coat — the large shining buttons 
 and buckles — the lace ruffles — the queue — the sword — and 
 the cocked hat, formed a picture at which I could not forbear 
 smiling. He surveyed himself in the glass for a moment, 
 and burst into a hearty laugh. ' Allan,' he said, ' Allan, 
 what creatures we must make of ourselves in obedience to 
 Madam Etiquette ! See'st thou not, I say, what a deformed 
 thief this fashion is ? — how giddily she turns about all the 
 hotbloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty 1 ' ('Much 
 Ado About Nothing,' Act iii, Scene 3.)" 
 
 Sir Walter returned home to Edinburgh highly elated 
 with his newly received dignity, which was the more 
 valuable as being the King's personal desire, and from 
 the kind words with which he conferred the honour — 
 " I shall always reflect with pleasure on Sir Walter 
 Scott's having been the first creation of my reign." 
 Shortly after his return, Cunningham transmitted to 
 him the manuscript of a long historical drama or tragedy, 
 requesting his opinion of it, and whether he thought it 
 suitable for the stage. He did this the more confidently 
 from the intimacy he had contracted with Sir Walter 
 while sitting for his bust in Chantrey's studio. That 
 opinion was frankly given in a long and friendly letter, 
 
196 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 of which the following sentences are the kernel:— "I 
 have perused twice your curious and interesting manu- 
 script. Many parts of the poetry are eminently beautiful, 
 though I fear the great length of the piece, and some 
 obscurity of the plot, would render it unfit for dramatic 
 representation. There is a fine tone of supernatural 
 impulse spread over the whole action, which I think a 
 common audience would not be likely to adopt or com- 
 prehend — though I own that to me it has a very 
 powerful effect." This was criticism kind, and at the 
 same time explicit, although it was not the opinion 
 which the author expected. But the letter is deserving 
 of being given at length, and therefore we insert it : — 
 
 "Edinburgh, 14th November, 1820. 
 
 " My dear Allan, — I have been meditating a long letter 
 to you for many weeks past ; but company, and rural business, 
 and rural sports, are very unfavourable to writing letters. I 
 have now a double reason for writing, for I have to thank 
 you for sending me in safety a beautiful specimen of our 
 English Michael's talents in the cast of my venerable friend 
 Mr. Watt. It is a most striking resemblance, with all that 
 living character which we are apt to think life itself alone 
 can exhibit. I hope Mr. Chantrey does not permit his dis- 
 tinguished skill either to remain unexercised, or to be lavished 
 exclusively on subjects of little interest. I would like to see 
 him engaged on some subject of importance, completely 
 adapted to the purpose of his chisel, and demanding its highest 
 powers. Pray remember me to him most kindly. 
 
 " I have perused twice your curious and interesting manu- 
 script. Many parts of the poetry are eminently beautiful, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 197 
 
 though I fear the great length of the piece, and some obscurity 
 of the plot, would render it unfit for dramatic representation. 
 There is also a fine tone of supernatural impulse spread over 
 the whole action, which I think a common audience would 
 not be likely to adopt or comprehend — though I own that to 
 me it has a very powerful effect. Speaking of dramatic 
 composition in general, I think it is almost essential (though 
 the rule may be most difficult in practice) that the plot, or 
 business of the piece, should advance with every line that is 
 spoken. The fact is, the drama is addressed chiefly to the 
 eyes, and as much as can be, by any possibility, represented 
 on the stage, should neither be told nor described. Of the 
 miscellaneous part of a large audience, many do not under- 
 stand, nay, many cannot hear, either narrative or description, 
 but are solely intent upon the action exhibited. It is, I 
 conceive, for this reason that very bad plays, written by per- 
 formers themselves, often contrive to get through, and not 
 without applause ; while others, immeasurably superior in 
 point of poetical merit, fail, merely because the author is 
 not sufficiently possessed of the trick of the scene, or enough 
 aware of the importance of a maxim pronounced by no less a 
 performer than Punch himself (at least he was the last 
 authority from whom I heard it) — Push on, keep moving/ 
 Now, in your ingenious dramatic effort, the interest not only 
 stands still, but sometimes retrogrades. It contains, not- 
 withstanding, many passages of eminent beauty — many 
 specimens of most interesting dialogue ; and, on the whole, 
 if it is not fitted for the modern stage, I am not sure that its 
 very imperfections do not render it more fit for the closet, 
 for we certainly do not always read with the greatest pleasure 
 those plays which act best. 
 
 '• If, however, you should at any time wish to become a 
 candidate for dramatic laurels, I would advise you, in the 
 
198 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 first place, to consult some professional person of judgment 
 and taste. I should regard friend Terry as an excellent 
 mentor, and I believe he would concur with me in recom- 
 mending that at least one-third of the drama be retrenched, 
 that the plot should be rendered simpler, and the motives 
 more obvious ; and I think the powerful language and many 
 of the situations might then have their full effect upon the 
 audience. I am uncertain if I have made myself sufficiently 
 understood; but I would say, for example, that it is ill 
 explained by what means Comyn and his gang, who land as 
 shipwrecked men, become at once possessed of the old lord's 
 domains merely by killing and taking possession. I am 
 aware of what you mean — namely, that being attached to 
 the then rulers, he is supported in his ill-acquired power by 
 their authority. But this is imperfectly brought out. and 
 escaped me at the first reading. The superstitious motives, 
 also, which induced the shepherds to delay their vengeance, 
 are not likely to be intelligible to the generality of the 
 hearers. It would seem more probable that the young Baron 
 should have led his faithful vassals to avenge the death of 
 his parents ; and it has escaped me what prevents him from 
 taking this direct and natural course. Besides, it is, I believe, 
 a rule (and it seems a good one) that one single interest, to 
 which every other is subordinate, should occupy the whole 
 play, — each separate object having just the effect of a mill- 
 dam, sluicing off a certain portion of the sympathy, which 
 should move on with increasing force and rapidity to the 
 catastrophe. Now, in your work there are several divided 
 points of interest. There is the murder of the old Baron — the 
 escape of his wife — that of his son — the loss of his bride — • 
 the villanous artifices of Comyn to possess himself of her 
 person — and, finally, the fall of Comyn, and acceleration of 
 the vengeance due to his crimes. I am sure your own 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 199 
 
 excellent sense, which I admire as much as I do your genius, 
 will give me credit for my frankness in these matters. I only 
 know, that I do not know many persons on whose perfor- 
 mances I would venture to offer so much criticism. 
 
 " I will return the manuscript under Mr. Freeland's Post- 
 office cover, and I hope it will reach you safe. — Adieu, my 
 leal and esteemed friend — Yours truly, 
 
 "Walter Scott. 
 "To Mr. Allan Cunningham 
 "(Care of F. Chantrey, Esq., R.A., London)." 
 
 When Cunningham wrote for his manuscript, which 
 had been retained by Sir Walter for a considerable time, 
 and which he was afraid had been mislaid or forgotten, 
 he intimated that he was about to undertake a " Collec- 
 tion of the Songs of Scotland, with Notes," — a proposal 
 which Sir Walter approved of in the most complimentary 
 terms, promising to give him all the assistance in his 
 power : — 
 
 " My dear Allan, — It was as you supposed — I detained 
 your manuscript to read it over with Terry. The plot 
 appears to Terry, as to me, ill-combined, which is a great 
 defect in a drama, though less perceptible in the closet than 
 on the stage. Still, if the mind can be kept upon one un- 
 broken course of interest, the effect even in perusal is more 
 gratifying. I have always considered this as the great 
 secret in dramatic poetry, and conceive it one of the most 
 difficult exercises of the invention possible, to conduct a story 
 through five acts, developing it gradually in every scene, so 
 as to keep up the attention, yet never till the very conclu- 
 sion permitting the nature of the catastrophe to become 
 
200 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 visible, — and all the while to accompany this by the neces- 
 sary delineation of character and beauty of language. I am 
 glad, however, that you mean to preserve in some permanent 
 form your very curious drama, which, if not altogether fitted 
 for the stage, cannot be read without very much and very 
 deep interest. 
 
 " I am glad you are about Scottish Song. No man — not 
 Robert Burns himself — has contributed more beautiful 
 effusions to enrich it. Here and there I would pluck a 
 flower from your Posey to give what remains an effect of 
 greater simplicity; but luxuriance can only be the fault of 
 genius, and many of your songs are, I think, unmatched. I 
 would instance, ' It's Hame and it's Hame,' which my 
 daughter, Mrs. Lockhart, sings with such uncommon effect. 
 You cannot do anything either in the way of original com- 
 position, or collection, or criticism, that will not be highly 
 acceptable to all who are worth pleasing in the Scottish 
 public — and I pray you to proceed with it. 
 
 " Remember me kindly to Chantrey. I am happy my effigy 
 is to go with that of Wordsworth, for (differing from him in 
 very many points of taste) I do not know a man more to be 
 venerated for uprightness of heart and loftiness of genius. 
 Why he will sometimes choose to crawl upon all-fours, when 
 God has given him so noble a countenance to lift to heaven, I 
 am as little able to account for as for his quarrelling (as you 
 tell me) with the wrinkles which time and meditation have 
 stamped his brow withal. 
 
 " I am obliged to conclude hastily, having long letters to 
 write, God wot, upon very different subjects. I pray my 
 kind respects to Mrs. Chantrey. — Believe me, dear Allan, 
 very truly yours, &c, 
 
 " Walter Scott. 
 
 " To Mr. Allan Cunningham." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 201 
 
 The reference here made to Wordsworth arose from 
 an intimation to Sir Walter by Cunningham that his 
 bust was to be sent to the Royal Academy's Exhibition, 
 along with that of Wordsworth. 
 
 Cunningham gives the following interesting memor- 
 anda of his meeting with Sir Walter in the following 
 year, when he went up to London to attend the Corona- 
 tion : — 
 
 " I saw Sir Walter again, when he attended the Coronation 
 in 1821. In the meantime his bust had been wrought in 
 marble, and the sculptor desired to take the advantage of 
 his visit to communicate such touches of expression or linea- 
 ment as the new material rendered necessary. This was 
 done with a happiness of eye and hand almost magical; for 
 five hours did the poet sit, or stand, or walk, while Chantrey's 
 chisel was passed again and again over the marble, adding 
 something at every touch. 
 
 " 'Well, Allan,' he said, when he saw me at this last 
 sitting, ' were you at the Coronation? it was a splendid sight.' 
 'No, Sir Walter,' I answered; 'places were dear and ill to 
 get. I am told it was a magnificent scene ; but having seen 
 the procession of King Crispin at Dumfries, I was satisfied.' 
 I said this with a smile. Scott took it as I meant it, and 
 laughed heartily. 'That's not a bit better than Hogg,' he said. 
 ' He stood balancing the matter whether to go to the Corona- 
 tion or the Pair of Saint Boswell — and the Fair carried it.' 
 
 " During this conversation, Mr. Bolton, the engineer, came 
 in. Something like a cold acknowledgment passed between 
 the poet and him. On his passing into an inner room, Scott 
 said, ' I am afraid Mr. Bolton has not forgot a little passage 
 that once took place between us. We met in a public 
 
202 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 
 company, and in reply to the remark of some one lie said,. 
 ' That's like the old saying, — in every quarter of the world 
 you will find a Scot, a rat, and a Newcastle grindstone/ 
 This touched my Scotch spirit, and I said, ' Mr. Bolton, you 
 should have added — and a Brummagem button.' There was 
 a laugh at this, and Mr. Bolton replied, ' We make something 
 better in Birmingham than buttons — we make steam-engines, 
 Sir.' 
 
 "'I like Bolton,' thus continued Sir "Walter; 'he is a 
 brave man — and who can dislike the brave? He showed 
 this on a remarkable occasion. He had engaged to coin for 
 some foreign prince a large quantity of gold. This was found 
 out by some desperadoes, who resolved to rob the premises, 
 and as a preliminary step tried to bribe the porter. The 
 porter was an honest fellow, — he told Bolton that he was 
 offered a hundred pounds to be blind and deaf next night. 
 ' Take the money,' was the answer, ' and I shall protect the 
 place.' Midnight came — the gates opened as if by magic — the 
 interior doors, secured with patent locks, opened as of their own 
 accord — and three men with dark lanterns entered and went 
 straight to the gold. Bolton had prepared some flax steeped 
 in turpentine — he dropt fire upon it, a sudden light filled all 
 the place, and with his assistance he rushed forward on the 
 robbers. The leader saw in a moment he was betrayed, 
 turned on the porter, and shooting him dead, burst through 
 all obstruction, and with an ingot of gold in his hand, scaled 
 the wall and escaped.' 
 
 " ( That is quite a romance in robbing,' I said; and I had 
 nearly said more, for the cavern scene and death of Meg 
 Merrilees rose in my mind. Perhaps the mind of Sir "Walter 
 was taking the direction of the Solway too, for he said, 
 'How long have you been from Nithsdale?' — 'A dozen years.' 
 1 Then you will remember it well. I was a visitor there in 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 20S 
 
 my youth. My brother was at Closeburn school, and there I 
 found Creehope Linn, a scene ever present to my fancy. It 
 is at once fearful and beautiful. The stream jumps down 
 from the moorlands, saws its way into the freestone rock of a 
 hundred feet deep, and, in escaping to the plain, performs a 
 thousand vagaries. In one part it has actually shaped out 
 a little chapel, — the peasants call it the Sutor's Chair. There 
 are sculptures on the sides of the Linn too, not such as Mr. 
 Chantrey casts, but etchings scraped in with a knife perhaps, 
 or a harrow-tooth. — Did you ever hear,' said Sir Walter, ' of 
 Patrick Maxwell, who, taken prisoner by the King's troops, 
 escaped from them on his way to Edinburgh, by flinging 
 himself into that dreadful Linn on Moffat water, called the 
 Douglases Beef-tub 1 ? ' — ' Frequently,' I answered ; 'the country 
 abounds with anecdotes of those days: the popular feeling 
 sympathizes with the poor Jacobites, and has recorded its 
 sentiments in many a tale and many a verse.' — ' The Ettrick 
 Shepherd has collected not a few of those things,' said Scott, 
 and I suppose many snatches of song may yet be found.' — 
 C. — ' I have gathered many such things myself, Sir Walter, 
 and as I still propose to make a collection of all Scottish 
 songs of poetic merit, I shall work up many of my stray 
 verses and curious anecdotes in the notes.' S. — I am glad 
 that you are about such a thing. Any help which I can give 
 you, you may command. Ask me any questions, no matter 
 how many, I shall answer them if I can. Don't be timid in 
 your selection. Our ancestors fought boldly, spoke boldly, 
 and sang boldly too. I can help you to an old characteristic 
 ditty not yet in print : — 
 
 ' There dwalt a man into the wast, 
 
 And gin he was cruel, 
 For on his bridal night at e'en 
 He gat up and grat for gruel. 
 
204 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 They brought to him a gude sheep's head, 
 
 A bason, and a towel ; 
 Gar take thae whim- whams far frae me, 
 
 I winna want my gruel. ' 
 
 " C. — ' I never heard that verse before. The hero seems 
 related to the bridegroom of Nithsdale : — 
 
 ' The bridegroom grat as the sun gade down ; 
 The bridegroom grat as the sun gade down ; 
 To ony man I'll gie a hunder marks sae free, 
 This night that will bed wi' a bride for me.' 
 
 " S. — 'A cowardly loon enough. I know of many crumbs 
 and fragments of verse which will be useful to your work. 
 The Border was once peopled with poets, for every one that 
 could fight could make ballads, some of them of great power 
 and pathos. Some such people as the minstrels were living 
 less than a century ago.' G. — ' I knew a man, the last of a 
 race of district tale-tellers, who used to boast of the golden 
 days of his youth, and say, that the world, with all its know- 
 ledge, was grown sixpence a-day worse for him.' S. — ' How 
 was that? How did he make his living 1 ? By telling tales, or 
 singing ballads'? ' C. — ' By both. He had a devout tale for 
 the old, and a merry song for the young. He was a sort of 
 beggar.' S. — 'Out upon thee, Allan. Dost thou call that 
 begging 1 ? Why, man, we make our bread by story-telling, 
 and honest bread it is.' " 
 
 It would be impertinent to say that Sir Walter's 
 friendship and esteem for Cunningham was sincere. 
 The very fact of his writing him at such length on the 
 merits and defects of his tragedy, giving him the best 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 205 
 
 of counsel, and at the same time encouragement, is an 
 evidence of this, as he himself expressly states; and when 
 in 1826 he again went up to London, he breakfasted 
 one morning with "Honest Allan," of which he makes 
 the following jotting in his diary: — "We breakfasted at 
 honest Allan Cunningham's — honest Allan — a leal and 
 true Scotchman of the old cast. A man of genius, 
 besides, who only requires the tact of knowing when and 
 where to stop to attain the universal praise which ought 
 to follow it. I look upon the alteration of ' It's Hame 
 and it's Hame,' and f A wet sheet and a flowing sea,' as 
 among the best songs going. His prose has often 
 admirable passages; but he is obscure, and overlays his 
 meaning, which will not do now-a-days, when he who 
 runs mast read." Future instances of friendship from 
 the same source will meet us as we proceed. 
 
 He had now ceased contributing to Blackwood, for 
 reasons not necessary to be here stated in full. He 
 acknowledged that he had received considerable kind- 
 ness from the publisher, but at last he " became weary," 
 especially as he was required to limit his pen to that 
 work alone. As he received more liberal terms from 
 the London Magazine, he resolved to devote himself 
 entirely to its columns, the more especially as he was a 
 favourite with the publishers, and had obtained much 
 kindness at their hands. Writing to his brother James 
 at this time, he says — " I am proceeding rapidly with 
 my Collection of Songs, and shall spare no pains to 
 render it creditable to me. I have had several liberal 
 offers for the work, and as it will extend to four volumes 
 with a preface — with characters of our best lyric poets, 
 
206 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 and notes, together with many hitherto unpublished 
 songs, I have no doubt I will make something hand- 
 some by it. I have many good offers for other works — 
 a Novel particularly, for which my friends seem to think 
 me very fit, and for which I have this morning been 
 offered Two Hundred Pounds; but my songs devour up 
 all lesser things at present, except the communications 
 with the Magazine" In the same letter he says — " I 
 still work as hard as I ever did — rise at six and work to 
 six. I shall amend this presently, for it prevents me 
 profiting by literary pursuits; and I think I could live 
 handsomely by my pen alone, and perhaps obtain a 
 little fame too. But I have no wish to leave Mr. 
 Chantrey, who is a man of genius and a gentleman, and 
 treats me with abundance of kindness and distinction." 
 " Eise at six and work to six! " He wrought till far on 
 in the morning, when the wearied body often refused to 
 countenance and support the busy brain. 
 
 He here speaks of living by his pen alone; but though 
 he had this ambition, he very prudently did not carry 
 out the suggestion, aud in this respect he shines admir- 
 ably above many of his predecessors, by making literature 
 a staff and not a crutch, by engaging in it rather as a 
 relaxation and a pleasure than as a profession, and so 
 avoiding the chasm into which many have fallen, poverty 
 and misfortune. One of his great characteristics was 
 the exemplification of one of his nation's proverbs, 
 " Look before ye leap," and hence he attained a distin- 
 guished reputation and position in the world. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PUBLISHES "SIR MARMADUKE MAXWELL " — HIS OWN OPINION OF THE 
 WORK — SIR WALTER SCOTT'S NOTICE OE IT ON ITS PUBLICATION 
 — EXTRACT SPECIMENS OE THE TRAGEDY — LETTER EROM SIR 
 WALTER SCOTT — SONG, "MY NANIE, O." 
 
 Notwithstanding the genial tone and friendly manner 
 in which. Sir Walter criticized the manuscript of " Sir 
 Marmaduke Maxwell," and the kind advice he gave with 
 regard to that kind of composition, it cannot be doubted 
 that Cunningham was greatly disappointed in the opinion 
 expressed by such a distinguished author. He had ex- 
 pected a very different judgment, because to his own 
 mind it was a highly creditable production, and certain 
 to create a sensation among the literary public. He had 
 set his whole heart upon the matter, and he was exceed- 
 ingly desirous to see it have a place on the stage. That 
 might be the making of his fortune, and other pieces of 
 a similar kind would be sure to follow. Then, to his 
 imagination, there was the applause of the audience, 
 the thunder of the gods, and the calls for the author 
 before the curtain, and the bowing of his acknowledg- 
 ments. All this, however, was knocked on the head by 
 the magic wand of the great Wizard. The advice as to 
 remodelling the piece, effecting excisions and curtail- 
 ments, and making another dramatic attempt, was not 
 adopted, and he seems to have become soured at it 
 
208 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 ties 
 for 
 
 himself, from the long list of defects and superfluities 
 and inconsistencies which had been pointed out 
 revision and correction. 
 
 Adverse as the private criticism was, he resolved to 
 test public opinion on the subject, for he was unwilling 
 that his first and great attempt at dramatic composition 
 should be thrown aside, without giving it an opportunity 
 of ventilation. So, in March, 1822, it was issued from 
 the press, accompanied with " The Mermaid of Galloway," 
 " Richard Faulder," and twenty Scottish Songs, most of 
 which had previously seen the light. The scene of the 
 tragedy is Caerlaverock Castle, and its adjoining pre- 
 cincts on the Solway shore. The time is under the 
 second Cromwell, at the close of the Commonwealth. 
 Of course the story is almost wholly imaginary, and "the 
 manners, feelings, and superstitions are those common 
 to the Scottish peasantry." He intimates that though 
 the piece " is not, perhaps, unfitted for representation," 
 yet it was not written altogether with that view, but 
 rather "to excite interest in the reader by a natural 
 and national presentation of action and character." 
 One of the earliest copies was sent to Sir Walter Scott, 
 who prominently referred to it in his introduction to- 
 "The Fortunes of Nigel" in the following terms: — 
 
 " Author. — You are quite right — habit's a strange things 
 my son. I had forgot whom I was speaking to. Yes, plays 
 for the closet, not for the stage — 
 
 u Captain. — Right, and so you are sure to be acted ; for 
 the managers, while thousands of volunteers are desirous of 
 saving them, are wonderfully partial to pressed men. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 209 
 
 "Author. — I am a living witness, having been, like a 
 second Laberius, made a dramatist whether I would or not. 
 I believe my muse would be Terryfied into treading the stage, 
 even if I should write a sermon. 
 
 " Captain. — Truly, if you did, I am afraid folks might 
 make a farce of it ; and, therefore, should you change your 
 style, I still advise a volume of dramas like Lord Byron's. 
 
 "Author. — ~No, his lordship is a cut above me — I won't 
 run my horse against his, if I can help myself. But there is 
 my friend Allan has written just such a play as I might write 
 myself, in a very sunny day, and with one of Bramah's extra 
 patent pens. I cannot make neat work without such 
 appurtenances. 
 
 " Captain. — Do you mean Allan B-amsay 1 
 
 " Author. — No, nor Barbara Allan either. I mean Allan 
 Cunningham, who has just published his tragedy of 'Sir 
 Marmaduke Maxwell,' full of merry-making and murdering, 
 kissing, and cutting of throats, and passages which lead to 
 nothing, and which are very pretty passages for all that. 
 Not a glimpse of probability is there about the plot, but so 
 much animation in particular passages, and such a vein of 
 poetry through the whole, as I dearly wish I could infuse 
 into my Culinary Remains, should I ever be tempted to 
 publish them. With a popular impress, people would read 
 and admire the beauties of Allan — as it is, they may perhaps 
 only note his defects — or, what is worse, not note him at all. 
 But never mind them, honest Allan, you are a credit to 
 Caledonia for all that. There are some lyrical effusions of 
 his, too, which you would do well to read, Captain. ' It's 
 Hame and it's Hame' is equal to Burns." 
 
 Though " Sir Marmaduke Maxwell " may be called a 
 closet drama, fitter for private reading than representa- 
 
210 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 tion on the stage, yet there are some scenes in it quite 
 of a sensational character, and which could not have 
 failed to receive popular applause. We quote the 
 following : — 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — Cumlongan Castle. 
 Mary Douglas and May Morison. 
 
 May Morison. This griefs a most seducing thing. All 
 ladies 
 Who wish to be most gallantly woo'd must sit 
 And sigh to the starlight on the turret top, 
 Saunter by waterfalls, and court the moon 
 For a goodly gift of paleness. Faith ! I'll cast 
 My trick of laughing to the priest, and woo 
 Man, tender man, by sighing. 
 
 Mary Douglas. The ash bough 
 
 Shall drop with honey, and the leaf of the linn 
 Shall cease its shaking, when that merry eye 
 Knows what a tear-drop means. Be mute ! be mute ! 
 
 May Morison. When gallant knights shall scale a dizzy 
 wall 
 For the love of a laughing lady, I shall know 
 What sighs will bring i' the market. . • (Sings.) 
 
 If love for love it may na be, 
 
 At least be pity to me shown; 
 A thought ungentle canna be, 
 
 The thought o' Mary Morison. 
 
 Mary Douglas. No tidings of thee yet — my love, my love ; 
 Didst thou but live as thou earnest yesternight 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 211 
 
 In visioned beauty to my side, 'twere worth 
 The world from east to west. 
 
 May Morison. O lady ! lady ! 
 
 This grief becomes you rarely; 'tis a dress 
 That costs at most a tear o' the eye — the sweetest 
 Handmaid that beauty has. How thou wouldst weep 
 To see some fair knight, on whose helmet bright 
 A score of dames stuck favours — see him leave 
 His barb'd steed standing in the wood to preach 
 Thee out of thy virgin purgatory, to taste 
 The joys of wedded heaven. 
 
 [A knock is heard at the gate. 
 
 Mary Douglas. See who this is 
 
 That knocks so loud and late. [Exit May Morison. 
 
 Ye crowded stars, 
 Shine you on one so wretched as I am 1 
 You have your times of darkness, but the cloud 
 Doth pass away ; and you shine forth again 
 With an increase of loveliness — from me 
 This cloud can never pass. So now, farewell, 
 Ye twilight watchings on the castle top, 
 For him who made my glad heart leap and bound 
 From my bosom to my lip. 
 
 Enter Halbert Comyne. 
 
 Comyne. Now, beauteous lady, 
 
 Joy to your meditations : your thoughts hallow 
 Whate'er they touch; and aught you think on's blest. 
 
 Mary Douglas. I think on thee, but thou'rt not therefore 
 bless'd. 
 What must I thank for this unwished-for honour 1 
 
 Comyne. Thyself thank, gentle one : thou art the cause 
 
212 LIFE OF ALLA2s T CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Why I have broken slumbers and sad dreams, 
 Why I forget high purposes, and talk 
 Of nought but cherry lips. 
 
 Mary Douglas. Now, were you, sir, 
 
 Some unsunn'd stripling, you might quote to me 
 These cast-off saws of shepherds. 
 
 Comyne. The war trump 
 
 Less charms my spirit than the sheep boy's whistle. 
 My barbed steed stamps in his stall, and neighs 
 For lack of his arm'd rider. Once I dream'd 
 Of spurring battle steeds, of carving down 
 Sj^ain's proudest crests to curious relics; and 
 I cleft in midnight vision the gold helm 
 Of the proud Prince of Parma. 
 
 Mary Douglas. Thanks, my lord; 
 
 You are blest in dreams, and a most pretty teller 
 Of tricks in sleep — and so your dream is told : 
 Then, my fair sir, good-night. 
 
 Comyne. You are too proud, 
 
 Too proud, fair lady; yet your pride becomes you: 
 Your eyes lend you divinity. Unversed 
 Am I in love's soft silken words — unversed 
 In the cunning way to win a gentle heart. 
 "When my heart heaves as if 'twould crack my corselet, 
 I'm tongue-tied with emotion, and I lose 
 Her that I love for lack of honey'd words. 
 
 Mary Douglas. Go school that rank simplicity of thine 
 Learn to speak falsely in love's gilded terms; 
 Go, learn to sugar o'er a hollow heart; 
 And learn to shower tears, as the winter cloud, 
 Bright, but all frozen; make thy rotten vows 
 Smell like the rose of July. Go, my lord; 
 Thou art too good for this world. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 213 
 
 Comyne. My fair lady, 
 
 Cease with this bitter but most pleasant scoffing; 
 For I am come upon a gentle suit, 
 Which I can ill find terms for. 
 
 Mary Douglas. Name it not. 
 
 Think it is granted; go now. Now, farewell: 
 I'm sad, am sick — a fearful faintness comes 
 With a rush upon my heart; so now, farewell. 
 
 Comyne. Lo ! how the lilies chase the ruddy rose — 
 What a small waist is this ! 
 
 Mary Douglas. That hand ! that hand ! 
 
 There's red blood on that right hand, and that brow; 
 There's motion in my father's statue ; see, 
 Doth it not draw the sword 1 Unhand me, sir. 
 
 Comyne. Thou dost act to the life; but scare not me 
 With vision'd blood-drops, and with marble swords; 
 I'm too firm stuff, thou'lt find, to start at shadows. 
 
 Mary Douglas. Now, were thy lips with eloquence to drop, 
 As July's wind with balm; wert thou to vow 
 Till all the saints grew pale; kneel i' the ground 
 Till the green grass grew about thee; had thy brow 
 The crowned honom" of the world upon it; 
 I'd scorn thee — spurn thee. 
 
 Comyne. Lady, scorn not me. 
 
 O ! what a proud thing is a woman, when 
 She has red in her cheek. Lady, when I kneel down 
 And court the bridal gift of that white hand 
 Thou wavest so disdainfully, why then 
 I give thee leave to scorn me. I have hope 
 To climb a nobler, and as fair a tree, 
 And pull far richer fruit. So scorn not me : 
 I dream of no such honour as thou dread'st. 
 
 Mary Douglas. And what darest thou to dream of ? 
 
214 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Comyne. Of thee, lady. 
 
 Of winning thy love on some blooni'd violet bank, 
 When nought shines save the moon, and where no proud 
 Priest dares be present : lady, that's my dream. 
 
 Mary Douglas. Let it be still a dream, then; lest I beg 
 From heaven five minutes' manhood, to make thee 
 Dream it when thou art dust. 
 
 Comyne. "Why, thou heroine, 
 
 Thou piece o' the rarest metal e'er nature stamp'd 
 Her chosen spirits from, now I do love thee, 
 Do love thee much for this ; I love thee more 
 Than loves a soldier the grini looks of war, 
 As he wipes his bloody brow. 
 
 Enter Sir Makmaduke Maxwell, unseen. 
 
 Sir Marmaduhe. (Aside.) What ! what is this 1 
 She whom I love best — he whom I hate worst ? — 
 Is this an airy pageant of the fiends 1 
 
 Mary Douglas. (Aside.) Down ! down ! ye proud drops 
 of my bosom, be 
 To my dull brain obedient. (To Comyne.) My good lord. 
 Much gladness may this merry mood of yours 
 With a poor maiden bring you. I thank you much 
 For lending one dull hour of evening wings 
 To fly away so joyous. 
 
 Sir Marmaduhe. (Aside.) Mine ears have 
 Turn'd traitors to my love; else they receive 
 A sound more dread than doomsday. Oh ! thou false — 
 Thou didst seem purer than the undropt dew, 
 Chaste as the unsunn'd snow-drops' buds disclosed 
 Unto the frosty stars; and truer far 
 Than blossom to the summer, or than lio-ht 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 215 
 
 Unto the morning. And dost thou smile too, 
 And smile on him so lovingly % bow too 
 That brow of alabaster ? Woman — woman. 
 
 Gomyne. ! for a month of such sweet gentle chiding 
 From such ripe tempting lips ! Now, fair young lady, 
 As those two bright eyes love the light, and love 
 To see proud man adore them, cast not off 
 For his rough manner, and his unpruned speech, 
 A man who loves you. Gentle one, we'll live 
 As pair'd doves do among the balmy boughs. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. [Aside.) Painted perdition, dost thou 
 smile at this 1 
 
 Mary Douglas. This is a theme I love so well, I wish 
 For God's good daylight to it ; so, farewell. 
 
 Gomyne. An hour aneath the new risen moon to woo 
 Is worth a summer of sunshine : a fair maid 
 Once told me this ; and lest I should forget it, 
 Kiss'd me, and told it twice. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. [Aside.) Dare but to touch 
 Her little finger, faithless as she is; 
 Yea, or her garment's hem — My father's sword, 
 Thou hadst thy temper for a nobler purpose; 
 So keep thy sheath : for did I smite him now, 
 Why men would say, that for a father's blood 
 Mine slept like water 'neath the winter ice; 
 But when a weak sweet woman chafed my mood, 
 And made sport of her vows, then my blood rose, 
 And with my spirit burning on my brow 
 I sprang wi' my blade to his bosom. So, then, sleep 
 Fast in thy sheath. Before that lovely face, 
 Those lips I've kiss'd so fondly, and that neck 
 Round which mine arms have hung, I could not strike 
 As the son of my father should. 
 
216 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Mary Douglas. Now, fair good-night 
 
 To thee, most courteous sir. I seek the chase 
 From dark Cumlongan to green Burnswark top, 
 With hawk and hound, before to-morrow's sun 
 Has kiss'd the silver dew. So be not found 
 By me alone beneath the greenwood bough, 
 Lest I should woo thee as the bold dame did 
 The sire of good King Robert. [Exit. 
 
 Comyne. Gentle dreams 
 
 To thee, thou sweet one : gladly would I quote 
 The say of an old shepherd : mayst thou dream 
 Of linking me within thy lily arms; 
 And leave my wit, sweet lady, to unravel't. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. And now there's nought for me in this 
 wide world 
 That's worth the wishing for. For thee, false one, 
 The burning hell of an inconstant mind 
 Is curse enough; and so we part in peace. 
 And now for Thee — I name thee not; thy name, 
 Save for thy doom, shall never pass my lips — 
 Depart untouch'd. There's something in this place 
 Which the stern temper that doth spill men's blood 
 Is soften'd by. We're doom'd once more to meet, 
 And never part in life. [Exit. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke is under a false impression as to 
 Mary Douglas's affection for Halbert Comyne. She 
 loves himself alone, and only in consciousness of fixed 
 love there, she had in her playfulness dallied with the 
 tempter. She is as firm to her vows as ever, and Sir 
 Marmaduke discovers this in a future scene, where all 
 again is well : — 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 217 
 
 Scene Y. — Cumlongan Wood. 
 Sir Marmaduke Maxwell and Mary Douglas. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. Thou art free, stripling — use thy feet- 
 fly fast, 
 The chasers' swords may yet o'ertake us both. 
 When thou dost fold thy flocks and pray, oh ! pray 
 For one whom woe and ruin hold in chase; 
 Who wears the griefs of eighty at eighteen; 
 Upon whose bud the canker-dew has dropt ; 
 Whose friends, love, kindred are cold, faithless, dead. 
 O! weeping youth, pray not for me; for God 
 Has left me, and to pray for me might bring 
 My fate upon thee too. Away, I pray thee. 
 
 Mary Douglas. The wretched love the wretched. I love 
 thee 
 Too well to sunder thus. I will go with thee; 
 Friends, kindred, all, are all estranged or dead; 
 An evil star has risen upon my name, 
 On which no morn will rise. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. Thou art too soft 
 
 I' the eye — too meek of speech — and thou dost start 
 For the falling of the forest leaf, and quakest 
 As the thrush does for the hawk. Who lives with me 
 Must have eyes firmer than remorseless steel, 
 And shake grim danger's gory hand, nor start 
 For the feather of his bonnet. 
 
 Mary Douglas. ! I shall learn. 
 
 I'll sit and watch thee in thy sleep, and bring 
 Thee clustering nuts; take thee where purest springs 
 Spout crystal forth; rob the brown honey bees 
 
218 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Of half their summer's gathering, and dig too 
 The roots of cornick. I will snare for thee 
 The leaping hares — the nimble fawns shall stay 
 The coming of mine arrow. We will live 
 Like two wild pigeons in the wood, where men 
 May see us, but not harm us. Take me, take me. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. Come, then, my soft petitioner, thou 
 plead'st 
 Too tenderly for me. And thy voice, too, 
 Has caught the echo of the sweetest tongue 
 That ever blest man's ear. Where is thy home % 
 That little sunburnt hand has never prest 
 Aught harder than white curd. 
 
 Mary Douglas. I served a lady. 
 
 And all my time flew past in penning her 
 Soft letters to her love; in making verses 
 Riddling, and keen and quaint ; in bleaching white 
 Her lily fingers 'rnong the morning dew; 
 In touching for her ear some tender string; 
 And I was gifted with a voice that made 
 Her lover's ballads melting. She would lay 
 Her tresses back from her dark eyes, and say, 
 Sing it again. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. Thou wert a happy servant. 
 And did thy gentle mistress love this youth 
 As royally as thou paint'st % 
 
 Mary Douglas. O ! yes, she loved him, 
 
 For I have heard her laughing in her sleep, 
 And saying, 0! my love, come back, come back; 
 Indeed thou'rt worth one kiss. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. And did her love 
 
 Know that she dearly loved him % Did he keep 
 Acquaintance with the mighty stars, and watch 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 21 & 
 
 Beneath her window for one glance of her, 
 To glad him a whole winter ? 
 
 Mary Douglas. Aye ! he talk'd much 
 
 To her about the horn'd moon, and clear stars ; 
 How colds were bad for coughs, and pangs at heart: 
 And she made him sack posset, and he sung 
 Songs he said he made himself, and I believe him, 
 For they were rife of braes, and birks, and burns, 
 And lips made of twin cherries, tresses loop'd 
 Like the curling hyacinth. Now in my bosom 
 Have I the last song which this sighing youth 
 Framed for my mistress. It doth tenderly 
 Touch present love : there future sadness is 
 Shadow'd with melting sweetness. — 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. This small hand — 
 
 This little trembling lily hand is soft, 
 And like my Mary's. O ! my love — my love, 
 Look up! 'tis thou thyself! now blessed be 
 The spot thou stand' st on, and let men this hour 
 For ever reverence — heaven is busy in it. 
 
 Mary Douglas. O ! let us fly ! the hand of heaven, my love, 
 And thine, have wrought most wondrously for me. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. And wilt thou trust thy gentle self 
 with me ? 
 
 Mary Douglas. Who can withhold me from thee — I had 
 sworn 
 To seek thee through the world — to ask each hind 
 That held the plough, if he had seen my love; 
 Then seek thee through the sea — to ask each ship 
 That pass'd me by, if it had met my love; — 
 My journey had a perilous outset, but 
 A passing pleasant end. Thine enemy came : 
 I pass'd a fearful and a trembling hour. 
 
220 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke. I know — I heard it all — O! I have 
 wrong'd thee much; 
 So come with me, my beautiful, my best; 
 True friends are near : the hour of vengeance, too, 
 Is not far distant. Come, my fair one, come. {Exeunt.) 
 
 The following is a specimen of the author's power of 
 sustaining soliloquy : — 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — Caerlaverock Castle. 
 
 Halbert Comyne alone. 
 
 Gomyne. 'Tis said there is an hour i' the darkness when 
 Man's brain is wondrous fertile, if nought holy 
 Mix with his musings. Now, whilst seeking this, 
 I've worn some hours away, yet my brain's dull, 
 As if a thing called grace stuck to my heart, 
 And sickened resolution. Is my soul tamed 
 And baby-rid wi' the thought that flood or field 
 Can render back, to scare men and the moon, 
 The airy shapes of the corses they enwomb 1 
 And what if 't 'tis so ? Shall I lose the crown 
 Of my most golden hope because its circle 
 Is haunted by a shadow 1 Shall I go wear 
 Five summers of fair looks, — sigh shreds of psalms, — 
 Pray i' the desert till I fright the fox, — 
 Gaze on the cold moon and the clustered stars, 
 And quote some old man's saws 'bout crowns above, — 
 Watch with wet eyes at death-beds, dandle the child, 
 And cut the elder whistles of him who knocks 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 221 
 
 Hed earth from clouted shoon. Thus may I buy 
 Scant praise from tardy lips; and when I die, 
 Some ancient hind will scratch, to scare the owl, 
 A death's head on my grave-stone. If I live so, 
 May the spectres dog my heels of those I slew 
 I' the gulph of battle; wise men cease their faith 
 In the sun's rising; soldiers no more trust 
 The truth of tempered steel. I never loved him. — 
 He topt me as a tree that kept the dew 
 And balmy south wind from me : fair maids smiled; 
 Glad minstrels sung; and he went lauded forth, 
 Like a thing dropt from the stars. At every step 
 Stooped hoary heads unbonneted; white caps 
 Hung i' the air ; there was clapping of hard palms, 
 And shouting of the dames. All this to him 
 Was as the dropping honey; but to me 
 'Twas as the bitter gourd. Thus did I hang, 
 As his robe's tassel, kissing the dust, and flung 
 Behind him for boys' shouts, — for cotman's dogs 
 To bay and bark at. Now from a far land, 
 From fields of blood and extreme peril I come, 
 Like an eagle to his rock, who finds his nest 
 Filled with an owlet's young. For he had seen 
 One summer's eve a milkmaid with her pail, 
 And 'cause her foot was white, and her green gown 
 Was spun by her white hand, he fell in love. 
 Then did he sit and pen an amorous ballad; 
 Then did he carve her name in plum-tree bark; 
 And, with a heart as soft as new pressed curd, 
 Away he walked to woo. He swore he loved her. 
 She said cream curds were sweeter than lord's love. 
 He vowed 'twas pretty wit, and he would wed her. 
 She laid her white arm round the fond lord's neck, 
 
222 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 And said his pet sheep ate her cottage kale, 
 
 And they were naughty beasts. And so they talked; 
 
 And then they made their bridal bed i' the grass, 
 
 No witness but the moon. So this must pluck 
 
 Things from my heart I've hugged since I could count 
 
 What hours the moon had. There has been with me 
 
 A time of tenderer heart, when soft love hung 
 
 Around this beadsman's neck such a fair string 
 
 Of what the world calls virtues that I stood 
 
 Even as the wildered man who dropped his staff, 
 
 And walked the way it fell to. I am now 
 
 More fiery of resolve. This night I've wiped 
 
 The milk of kindred mercy from my lips. 
 
 I shall be kin to nought but my good blade, 
 
 And that when the blood gilds it that flows between 
 
 Me and my cousin's land. — Who's there 1 
 
 It is probable that while the author sent an early 
 copy of his tragedy to Sir Walter Scott, out of gratitude 
 and esteem, he did so also under the belief that a 
 perusal of it in print would lead to a more favourable 
 impression with regard to its representation on the 
 stage than the manuscript had done. The following 
 letter was received in acknowledgment of the gift, with 
 a few more counsels on dramatic composition: — 
 
 " Abbotsford, 27th April [1822]. 
 
 " Dear Allan, — Accept my kind thanks for your little 
 modest volume, received two days since. I was acquainted 
 with most of the pieces, and yet I perused them all with 
 renewed pleasure, and especially my old friend, Sir Marma- 
 duke ? with his new face, and by the assistance of an April 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 223 
 
 sun, which is at length, after many a rough blast, beginning 
 to smile on us. The drama has, in my conception, more 
 poetical conception and poetical expression in it than most 
 of our modern compositions. Perhaps, indeed, it occasionally 
 sins in the richness of poetical expression; for the language 
 of passion, though bold and figurative, is brief and concise at 
 the same time. But what would, in acting, be a more 
 serious objection, is the complicated nature of the plot, which 
 is very obscure. I hope you will make another dramatic 
 attempt; and, in that case, I would strongly recommend 
 that you should previously make a model or skeleton of 
 your incidents, dividing them regularly into scenes and acts, 
 so as to insure the dependence of one circumstance upon 
 another, and the simplicity and union of your whole story. 
 The common class of readers, and more especially of spec- 
 tators, are thick-skulled enough, and can hardly comprehend 
 what they see and hear, unless they are hemmed in, and 
 guided to the sense at every turn. 
 
 " The unities of time and place have always appeared to 
 me fopperies, so far as they require close observance of the 
 French rules. Still, the nearer you can come to them it is 
 always, no doubt, the better, because your action will be 
 more probable. But the unity of action — I mean that con- 
 tinuity which unites every scene with the other, and makes 
 the catastrophe the natural and probable result of all that 
 has gone before — seems to me a critical rule, which cannot 
 safely be dispensed with. Without such a regular deduction 
 of incidents, men's attention becomes distracted, and the 
 most beautiful language, if at all listened to, creates no 
 interest, and is out of place. I would give, as an example, 
 the suddenly entertained, and as suddenly abandoned, 
 jealousy of Sir Marmaduke, p. 85, as a useless excrescence 
 in the action of the drama. 
 
224 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " I am very much unaccustomed to offer criticism, and 
 when I do so, it is because I believe in my soul that I am 
 endeavouring to pluck away the weeds which hide flowers 
 well worthy of cultivation. In your case, the richness of 
 your language, and fertility of your imagination, are the 
 snares against which I would warn you. If the one had 
 been poor, and the other costive, I never would have made 
 remarks which could never do good, while they only give 
 pain. Did you ever read Savage's beautiful poem of the 
 Wanderer? If not, do so, and you will see the fault which, 
 I think, attaches to Lord Maxwell — a want of distinct pre- 
 cision and intelligibility about the story, which counteracts, 
 especially with ordinary readers, the effect of beautiful and 
 forcible diction, poetical imagery, and animated description. 
 
 "All this freedom you will excuse, I know, on the part of 
 one who has the truest respect for the manly independence 
 of character which rests for its support on honest industry, 
 instead of indulging the foolish fastidiousness formerly sup- 
 posed to be essential to the poetical temperament, and which 
 has induced some men of real talents to become coxcombs — 
 some to become sots — some 'to plunge themselves into want 
 — others, into the equal miseries of dependence, merely be- 
 cause, forsooth, they were men of genius, and wise above the 
 ordinary, and, I say, the manly duties of human life. 
 
 ' I'd rather be a kitten and cry, Mew ! ' 
 
 than write the best poetry in the world, on condition of 
 laying aside common-sense in the ordinary transactions and 
 business of the world; and, therefore, dear Allan, I wish 
 much the better to the muse whom you meet by the fireside 
 in your hours of leisure, when you have played your part 
 manfully through a day of labour. I should like to see her 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 225 
 
 making those hours also a little profitable. Perhaps some- 
 thing of the dramatic romance, if you could hit on a good 
 subject, and combine the scenes well, might answer. A 
 beautiful thing, with appropriate music, scenes, &c, might 
 be woven out of the Mermaid of Galloway. 
 
 " When there is any chance of Mr. Chantrey coming this 
 way, I hope you will let me know ; and if you come with 
 him, so much the better. I like him as much for his 
 manners as for his genius — 
 
 ' He is a man without a clagg; 
 His heart is frank without a flaw. ' 
 
 " This is a horrible long letter for so vile a correspondent 
 as I am. Once more, my best thanks for the little volume? 
 and believe me yours truly, 
 
 "Walter Scott. 
 
 " To Mr. Allan Cunningham, 
 
 Eccleston Street, Pimlico." 
 
 With all due deference to so eminent and able a critic 
 as Sir Walter Scott, we think the foregoing extracts 
 show that Cunningham was in no small degree qualified 
 to write for the stage, and the scenes laid before the 
 reader would have certainly met with approbation 
 there. However, the critic, no doubt with the best in- 
 tention for the literary success of his protege, perhaps 
 went a little too far in his fault-finding, and thus un- 
 consciously threw a wet blanket over the whole concern, 
 as Cunningham never again attempted dramatic com- 
 position. Sensitiveness to criticism, as we saw in his 
 brother Thomas, seems to have been a family feeling, 
 and, while grateful for useful hints, when carried out to 
 
 p 
 
226 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 some extent, the hereditary independence at once took 
 its own stand. He had still, notwithstanding this 
 scattering of fondly cherished hopes, a hankering after 
 the stage, and in a letter to his brother James he 
 speaks of preparing a second edition of Sir Marmaduke, 
 on which he had made some amendments, and expresses 
 his gratification at finding that its reception had been 
 so very favourable, and that his songs had obtained 
 more notice than he had any reason to hope. The 
 " Mermaid of Galloway," which appeared in the volume, 
 we have already quoted, and no further allusion to it is 
 necessary. " Richard Faulder" is a poem occupying six- 
 teen pages; it is a tale of the Solway sea, written in 
 three a " Fyttes," and entitled " The Spectre Shallop." 
 It is deeply interesting, and the various incidents it 
 narrates show very considerable imagination and versi- 
 fying power. Some of the songs had previously 
 appeared, but others were new, and of no small merit. 
 One of these is a fair rival to that of Burns bearing the 
 same name, and has been equally popular among those 
 whose condition it represents, and for whom it was 
 specially intended: — 
 
 " MY NANIE 0. 
 
 "Red rowes the Nith 'tween bank and brae, 
 
 Mirk is the night and rainie 0, 
 Though heaven and earth should mix in storm, 
 
 I'll gang and see my Nanie 0. 
 My Nanie 0, my Name 0; 
 
 My kind and winsome Nanie 0, 
 She holds my heart in love's dear bands, 
 
 And nane can do't but Nanie 0. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 227 
 
 "In preaching time sae meek she stands, 
 
 Sae saintlie and sae bonnie 0, 
 I cannot get ae glimpse of grace, 
 
 For thieving looks at Nanie 0; 
 My Nanie 0, my Nanie 0; 
 
 The world's in love with Nanie 0; 
 That heart is hardly worth the wear 
 
 That wadna love my Nanie 0. 
 
 "My breast can scarce contain my heart, 
 
 When dancing she moves finely 0; 
 I guess what heaven is by her eyes, 
 
 They sparkle sae divinely 0; 
 My Nanie 0, my Nanie 0; 
 
 The flower of Nithsdale's Nanie 0; 
 Love looks frae 'neath her long brown hair, 
 
 And says, I dwell with Nanie 0. 
 
 "Tell not, thou star at gray daylight, 
 
 O'er Tinwald-top sae bonnie O, 
 My footsteps 'mang the morning dew 
 
 When coming frae my Nanie 0; 
 My Nanie 0, my Nanie 0; 
 
 Nane ken o' me and Nanie 0; 
 The stars and moon may tell't aboon, 
 
 They winna wrang my Nanie !" 
 
 In a future note to the first half of the third stanza 
 of this song the author says, " In the Nanie of Allan 
 Kamsay, these four beautiful lines will be found; and 
 there they might have remained, had their beauty not 
 been impaired by the presence of Lais and Leda, Jove 
 and Danae." The reader will remember how Cunning- 
 ham formerly vented bis objurgations against the 
 introduction of the names of heathen gods and god- 
 desses into Scottish song. With regard to the last 
 
228 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 stanza he makes this note — " Tinwald-top belongs to a 
 range of fine green hills, commencing with the uplands 
 of Dalswinton, and ending with those of Mouswald, and 
 lies between Dumfries and Lochmaben. Tradition says 
 that on Tinwald-hill Robert Bruce met James Douglas 
 as he hastened to assert his right to the crown of 
 Scotland." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PUBLISHES TWO VOLUMES OE TALES — SONG, "THE EAIRY OAK OF CORRIE- 
 WATEJEt" — ANECDOTE OE CUNNINGHAM ON EAIRY MYTHOLOGY — 
 SONG, "LADY SELBY" — ESSAY ON BURNS AND BYRON, A CONTRAST. 
 
 Dueing the same year which brought his tragedy to 
 the light he published, in two volumes, "Traditional 
 Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry," which 
 had all, with one exception, previously appeared in the 
 London Magazine. He had been urgently persuaded 
 to collect them, make such alterations as he thought 
 might improve them, and send them forth to the public 
 in a permanent form. In making the announcement 
 of their forthcoming publication to his brother James, 
 he says : — " I cannot anticipate what their success may 
 be, but I shall be satisfied with little, as the fire-edge 
 has been taken off them already, and they cannot have 
 the charm of novelty. In the drama I have made some 
 amendments, and I am pleased to find that its reception 
 has been so very favourable — indeed, the songs have 
 obtained more notice than I had any reason to hope. 
 . . . I am exceedingly busy in the way of my 
 business, and can hardly call an hour of the day my 
 own. I have some hopes of lessening this regular 
 pressure of labour, for my health has never been very 
 flourishing here, and the study which my little inter- 
 course with the Press requires increases the trouble. I 
 
230 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 know not how my present endeavours may end, but I 
 am labouring to insure some relaxation of bodily exer- 
 tion, and my future comfort." He was no doubt the 
 more anxious about the success of his publications as 
 his family was increasing, London living was expensive, 
 and for school fees alone for his three boys he was 
 paying thirty guineas a-year. 
 
 These tales are very interestingly narrated, brimful 
 of description, and are freely interspersed with songs of 
 varied measure and tone. They are sixteen in all, one 
 of them extending over three parts. Of the Scottish 
 tales, "Ezra Peden," a Presbyterian minister, and the 
 "Placing of a Scottish Minister," perhaps verge a little 
 too close on exaggeration, if not caricature, but a 
 general idea may be obtained from them of what took 
 place in olden times in connection with the kirk. 
 Many customs now fallen into desuetude, and some 
 altogether forgotten are there described with the vivid- 
 ness of one who had been an eye-witness of all that 
 occurred. The minister's man in those days seems to 
 have been an important personage, and performed a 
 work in a small way something akin to that of the 
 pioneers of Christianity into Scotland. " He contented 
 himself with swelling the psalm into something like 
 melody on Sunday, visiting the sick as a forerunner of 
 his master's approach, and pouring forth prayers and 
 graces at burials and banquetings as long and dreary as 
 a hill sermon. He looked on the minister as something 
 superior to man; a being possessed by a divine spirit, 
 and he shook his head with all its silver hairs, and 
 uttered a gentle groan or two, during some of the more 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 231 
 
 rapt and glowing passages of Ezra's sermons." Such 
 was the minister's man in the days of old. 
 
 "The Placing of a Scottish Minister" refers undoubt- 
 edly to an ordination in Newabbey, in the Presbytery 
 of Dumfries, when the assistance of the military required 
 to be called in to effect the settlement. The minister 
 was hooted, hissed, and pelted with mud, by a refractory 
 people, who were indignant and furious because by the 
 law of Patronage they had no voice in the choosing of 
 their pastor. We have reason to believe that the 
 narrative is a true description of what occurred on the 
 occasion, and is therefore historical. Of course fictitious 
 names are given, but the whole story is too strongly 
 marked to be mistaken. Perhaps the most amusing 
 and popular tale of the whole is *' Elphin Irving, the 
 Fairies' Cup-bearer." The scene is laid in a romantic 
 vale in Annandale, and Elphin was taken away by the 
 Fairy Queen, to be retained in her service for a term of 
 seven years, his remuneration to be a kiss of her own 
 sweet lips at the end of that period. His sister Phemie 
 Irving was desirous to win him back, and one night, at 
 a great gathering of the Fairies on Corriewater, she 
 attempted the rescue, but failed at a certain stage of 
 the procedure. The story bears a strong resemblance 
 to young Tamlane, only it had a different result. It 
 contains the following song: — 
 
 "THE FAIRY OAK OF COEEIEWATER. 
 
 " The small bird's head is under its wing, 
 The deer sleeps on the grass; 
 The moon comes out, and the stars shine down, 
 The dew gleams like the glass: 
 
232 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 There is no sound in the world so wide, 
 Save the sound of the smitten brass, 
 
 "With the merry cittern and the pipe 
 Of the fairies as they pass. 
 
 But, oh ! the fire maun burn and burn, 
 
 And the hour is gone, and will never return. 
 
 " The green hill cleaves, and forth, with a bound, 
 
 Come elf and elfin steed; 
 The moon dives down in a golden cloud, 
 
 The stars grow dim with dread; 
 But a light is running along the earth, 
 
 So of heaven's they have no need: 
 O'er moor and moss with a shout they pass, 
 
 And the word is spur and speed : 
 But the fire maun burn, and I maun quake, 
 And the hour is gone that will never come back. 
 
 " And when they came to Craigyburn-wood, 
 
 The Queen of the fairies spoke: 
 ' Come bind your steeds to the rushes so green, 
 
 And dance by the haunted oak: 
 I found the acorn on Heshbon Hill, 
 
 In the nook of a palmer's poke, 
 A thousand years since; here it grows ! ' 
 
 And they danced till the greenwood shook: 
 But, oh ! the fire, the burning fire, 
 The longer it burns it but blazes the higher. 
 
 " ' I have won me a youth,' the elf Queen said, 
 ' The fairest that earth may see; 
 This night I have won young Elph Irving 
 
 My cup-bearer to be. 
 His service lasts but for seven sweet years, 
 
 And his wage is a kiss of me. ' 
 And merrily, merrily, laughed the wild elves 
 
 Bound Corrie's greenwood tree : 
 But, oh ! the lire it glows in my brain, 
 And the hour is gone, and comes not again. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 233 
 
 ' ' The Queen she has whispered a secret word, 
 ' Come hither, my Elphin sweet, 
 And bring that cup of the charmed wine, 
 
 Thy lips and mine to weet.' 
 But a brown elf shouted a loud, loud shout, 
 
 ' Come, leap on your coursers fleet, 
 For here comes the smell of some baptized flesh, 
 
 And the sounding of baptized feet:' 
 But, oh ! the fire that burns, and maun burn, 
 For the time that is gone will never return. 
 
 "Ona steed as white as the new-milked milk, 
 
 The elf Queen leaped with a bound, 
 And young Elphin a stud like December snow 
 
 'Neath him at the word he found. 
 But a maiden came, and her christened arms 
 
 She linked her brother around, 
 And called on God, and the steed with a snort 
 
 Sank into the gaping ground : 
 But the fire maun burn, and I maun quake, 
 And the time that is gone will no more come back. 
 
 " And she held her brother, and lo ! he grew 
 
 A wild bull waked in ire ; 
 And she held her brother, and lo ! he changed 
 
 To a river roaring higher; 
 And she held her brother, and he became 
 
 A flood of raging fire; 
 She shrieked and sank, and the wild elves laughed 
 
 Till mountain rang and mire : 
 But, oh ! the fire yet burns in my brain, 
 And the hour is gone, and comes not again. 
 
 " ' maiden, why waxed thy faith so faint, 
 
 Thy spirit so slack and slaw? 
 Thy courage kept good till the flame waxed wud, 
 
 Then thy might began to thaw ; 
 Had ye kissed him with thy christened lip, 
 
 Ye had won him frae ' mans us a.' 
 
234 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Now bless the fire, the elfin fire, 
 That made thee faint and fa' ; 
 Now bless the fire, the elfin fire, 
 The longer it burns it blazes the higher. ' " 
 
 Cunningham had a strong regard for the belief in 
 the " Fairy Folk," as it enabled him to exercise his 
 luxuriant fancy at will. The following anecdote is 
 told of him on the subject. a Do you believe in fairies, 
 Mac?" he said to a Celtic acquaintance one day in the 
 course of conversation. " Deet, I'm no ferry shure," 
 was the characteristically cautious reply of the moun- 
 taineer; "but do you pelieve in them your nainsel, 
 Mister Kinnikum?" "I once did," said the burly 
 poet, "and would to God I could do so still! for the 
 woodland and the moor have lost for me a great 
 portion of their romance, since my faith in their 
 existence has departed." He then quoted the following 
 lines from Campbell's address to the Rainbow: — 
 
 " When Science from Creation's face 
 Enchantment's veil withdraws, 
 What lovely visions yield their place 
 To cold material laws ! " 
 
 Another poetic piece is worth extracting from these 
 interesting volumes. The " Selbys of Cumberland" is 
 the most imposing of the tales, and is written at greater 
 length and in higher language than most of the others. 
 As the song is complete in itself, it is unnecessary to 
 give any summary or explanation of the story, which 
 could scarcely be done in moderate space with anything 
 like satisfaction: — 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 235 
 
 " LADY SELBY. 
 
 " On the holly tree sat a raven black, 
 
 And at its foot a lady fair 
 Sat singing of sorrow, and shedding down 
 
 The tresses of her nut-brown hair : 
 And aye as that fair dame's voice awoke, 
 The raven broke in with a chorusing croak. 
 
 ' ' The steeds they are saddled on Derwent banks ; 
 
 The banners are streaming so broad and free; 
 The sharp sword sits at each Selby's side, 
 
 And all to be dyed for the love of me: 
 And I maun give this lily-white hand 
 To him who wields the wightest brand.' 
 
 " She coost her mantle of satin so fine, 
 
 She kilted her gown of the deep-sea green, 
 She wound her locks round her brow and flew 
 
 Where the swords were glimmering sharp and sheen : 
 As she flew, the trumpet awoke with a clang, 
 And the sharp blades smote, and the bow-strings sang. 
 
 " The streamlet that ran down the lonely vale, 
 Aneath its banks, half seen, half hid, 
 Seemed melted silver — at once it came down 
 
 From the shocking of horsemen — reeking and red; 
 And that lady flew — and she uttered a cry, 
 As the riderless steeds came rushing by. 
 
 " And many have fallen — and more have fled: — 
 
 All in a nook of the bloody ground 
 That lady sat by a bleeding knight, 
 
 And strove with her fingers to staunch the wound: 
 Her locks, like sunbeams when summer's in pride, 
 She plucked and placed on his wounded side. 
 
 And aye the sorer that lady sighed, 
 The more her golden locks she drew- 
 
236 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 The more she prayed — the ruddy life's-blood 
 
 The faster and faster came trickling through: — 
 On a sadder sight ne'er looked the moon, 
 That o'er the green mountain came gleaming down. 
 
 " He lay with his sword in the pale moonlight; 
 
 All mute and pale she lay at his side — 
 He, sheathed in mail from brow to heel — 
 
 She, in her maiden bloom and pride: 
 And their beds were made, and the lovers were laid, 
 All under the gentle holly's shade. 
 
 " May that Selby's right hand wither and rot, 
 That fails with flowers their bed to strew! 
 May a foreign grave be his who doth rend 
 
 Away the shade of the holly bough! — 
 But let them sleep by the gentle river, 
 And waken in love that shall last for ever. " 
 
 From the varied and humorous character of the 
 volumes, and their being so descriptive of ancient 
 usages and stirring events in both countries, especially 
 in Scotland, many of the former having entirely passed 
 away, they speedily obtained an extensive circulation, 
 and produced a suitable remuneration to the author in 
 pocket and in fame. This stimulated him the more for 
 new endeavours in " fresh fields and pastures new." 
 While thus engaged in the preparation and publication 
 of his works he still wrote steadily for the monthly 
 periodicals, sometimes attempting higher flights than 
 he had previously ventured on, assuming the position of 
 a critic, as if feeling his way for another description of 
 literary effort which was looming in the distance. 
 
 As the following clever essay on Burns and Byron 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 237 
 
 is almost unknown, we give it in extenso from the 
 London Magazine of August, 1824: — 
 
 "BOBEBT BURNS AND LOBD BYBON. 
 
 " I liave seen Bobert Burns laid in his grave, and I have 
 seen George Gordon Byron borne to his. Of both I wish to 
 speak, and my words shall be spoken with honesty and 
 freedom. They were great, though not equal, heirs of fame. 
 The fortunes of their birth were widely dissimilar; yet in 
 their passions and in their genius they approached to a closer 
 resemblance. Their careers were short and glorious, and they 
 both perished in the summer of life, and in all the splendour 
 of a reputation more likely to increase than dimmish. One 
 was a peasant, and the other was a peer; but Nature is a 
 great leveller, and makes amends for the injuries of fortune 
 by the richness of her benefactions. The genius of Burns 
 raised him to a level with the nobles of the land ; by nature, 
 if not by birth, he was the peer of Byron. I knew one, and 
 I have seen both. I have hearkened to words from their 
 lips, and admired the labours of their pens, and I am now, 
 and likely to remain, under the influence of their magic 
 songs. They rose by the force of their genius, and they fell 
 by the strength of their passions. One wrote from a love, 
 and the other from a scorn of mankind; and they both sang 
 of the emotions of their own hearts with a vehemence and 
 an originality which few have equalled, and none surely 
 have surpassed. But it is less my wish to draw the charac- 
 ters of those « extraordinary men than to write what I 
 remember of them; and I will say nothing that I know not 
 to be true, and little but what I saw myself. 
 
 " The first time I ever saw Burns was in Nithsdale. I 
 was then a child, but his looks and his voice cannot well be 
 
238 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 forgotten; and while I write this I behold him as distinctly 
 as I did when I stood at my father's knee, and heard the 
 bard repeat his 'Tarn o' Shanter.' He was tall and of a 
 manly make, his brow broad and high, and his voice varied 
 with the character of his illimitable tale; yet through all its 
 variations it was melody itself. He was of great personal 
 strength, and proud too of displaying it; and I have seen 
 him lift a load with ease which few ordinary men would 
 have willingly undertaken. 
 
 " The first time I ever saw Byron was in the House of 
 Lords, soon after the publication of ' Childe Harold.' He 
 stood up in his place on the Opposition side, and made a 
 speech on the subject of Catholic freedom. His voice was 
 low, and I heard him but by fits; and when I say he was 
 witty and sarcastic, I judge as much from the involuntary 
 mirth of the benches as from what I heard with my own 
 ears. His voice had not the full and manly melody of the 
 voice of Burns; nor had he equal vigour of frame, nor the 
 same open expanse of forehead. But his face was finely 
 formed, and was impressed with a more delicate vigour than 
 that of the peasant poet. He had a singular conformation 
 of ear; the lower lobe, instead of being pendulous, grew down 
 and united itself to the check, and resembled no other ear I 
 ever saw save that of the Duke of Wellington. His bust 
 by Thorvaldsen is feeble and mean; the painting of Phillips 
 is more noble and much more like. Of Burns I have never 
 seen aught but a very un in spired resemblance ; and I regret 
 it the more because he had a look worthy of the happiest 
 effort of art — a look beaming with poetry and eloquence. 
 
 " The last time I saw Burns in life was on his return 
 from the Brow-well of Solway. He had been ailing all spring, 
 and summer had come without bringing health with it; 
 he had gone away very ill and he returned worse. He was 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 239 
 
 brought back, I think, in a covered spring cart, and when he 
 alighted at the foot of the street in which he lived, he could 
 scarce stand upright. He reached his own door with diffi- 
 culty. He stooped much, and there was a visible change in 
 his looks. Some may think it not unimportant to know, 
 that he was at that time dressed in a blue coat, with the 
 undress nankeen pantaloons of the volunteers, and that his 
 neck, which was inclining to be short, caused his hat to turn 
 up behind, in the manner of the shovel hats of the Episcopal 
 clergy. Truth obliges me to add, that he was not fastidious 
 about his dress j and that an officer, curious in the personal 
 appearance and equipments of his company, might have 
 questioned the military nicety of the poet's clothes and arms. 
 But his colonel was a maker of rhyme, and the poet had to 
 display more charity for his commander's verse than the 
 other had to exercise when he inspected the clothing and 
 arms of the careless bard. 
 
 "From the day of his return home till the hour of his 
 untimely death, Dumfries was like a besieged palace. It 
 was known he was dying, and the anxiety, not of the rich 
 and the learned only, but of the mechanics and peasants, 
 exceeded all belief. Wherever 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 approaching 
 fate, with a warmth and an enthusiasm which will ever 
 endear Dumfries to my remembrance. All that he said or 
 was saying — the opinions of the physicians (and Maxwell 
 was a kind and a skilful one), were eagerly caught up and 
 reported from street to street, and from house to house. 
 
 " His good humour was unruffled, and his wit never for- 
 sook him. He looked to one of his fellow-volunteers with a 
 smile, as he stood by the bedside with his eyes wet, and 
 
240 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 said, ' John, don't let the awkward squad fire over me.' ±ie 
 was aware that death was dealing with him. He asked a 
 lady who visited him, more in sincerity than in mirth, what 
 commands she had for the other world. 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 
 decorous solicitude of his fellow-townsmen increased. He 
 was an exciseman, it is true — a name odious, from many 
 associations, to his countrymen — but he did his duty meekly 
 and kindly, and repressed rather than encouraged the desire 
 of some of his companions to push the law with severity. He 
 was therefore much beloved, and the passion of the Scotch 
 for poetry made them regard him as little lower than a spirit 
 inspired. It is the practice of the young men of Dumfries 
 to meet in the street during the hours of remission from 
 labour, and by these means I had an opportunity of witness- 
 ing the general solicitude of all ranks and of all ages. His 
 differences with them in some important points of human 
 speculation and religious hope were forgotten and forgiven; 
 they thought only of his genius — of the delight his composi- 
 tions had diffused — and they talked of him with the same 
 awe as of some departing spirit, whose voice was to gladden 
 them no more. His last moments have never been des- 
 cribed. He had laid his head quietly on the pillow, awaiting 
 dissolution, when his attendant reminded him of his medicine, 
 and held the cup to his lip. He started suddenly up, drained 
 the cup at a gulp, threw his hands before him like a man 
 about to swim, and sprang from head to foot of the bed — 
 fell with his face down, and expired with a groan. 
 
 " Of the dying moments of Byron we have no minute nor 
 very distinct account. He perished in a foreign land among 
 barbarians or aliens, and he seems to have been without the 
 aid of a determined physician, whose firmness or persuasion 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 241 
 
 might have vanquished his obstinacy. His aversion to 
 bleeding was an infirmity which he shared with many better 
 regulated minds ; for it is no uncommon belief that the first 
 touch of the lancet will charm away the approach of death, 
 and those who believe this are willing to reserve so decisive 
 a spell for a more momentous occasion. He had parted with 
 his native land in no ordinary bitterness of spirit; and his 
 domestic infelicity had rendered his future peace of mind 
 hopeless. This was aggravated from time to time by the tales 
 or the intrusion of travellers, by reports injurious to his 
 character, and by the eager and vulgar avidity with which 
 idle stories were circulated, which exhibited him in weakness 
 or in folly. But there is every reason to believe that long- 
 before his untimely death his native land was as bright as 
 ever in his fancy, and that his anger conceived against 
 the many for the sins of the few had subsided, or was 
 subsiding. 
 
 " Of Scotland, and of his Scottish origin, he has boasted 
 in more than one place of his poetry; he is proud to 
 remember the land of his mother, and to sing that he is half 
 a Scot by birth, and a whole one in his heart. Of his great 
 rival in popularity, Sir "Walter Scott, he speaks with kind- 
 ness ; and the compliment he has paid him has been earned 
 by the unchangeable admiration of the other. Scott has ever 
 spoken of Byron as he has lately written, and all those who 
 know him will feel that this consistency is characteristic. I 
 must, however, confess his forgiveness of Mr. Jeffrey was an 
 unlooked-for and unexpected piece of humility and loving- 
 kindness, and, as a Scotchman, I am rather willing to regard 
 it as a presage of early death, and to conclude that the poet 
 was ' fey,' and forgave his arch enemy in the spirit of the 
 dying Highlander — 'Weel, weel, I forgive him; but God 
 confound you, my twa sons, Duncan and Gilbert, if you 
 
242 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 forgive him.' The criticism with which the Edinburgh 
 Review welcomed the first flight which Byron's Muse took 
 would have crushed and broken any spirit less dauntless 
 than his own; and for a long while he entertained the 
 horror of a reviewer which a bird of song feels for the 
 presence of the raven. But they smoothed his spirit down, 
 first by submission and then by idolatry, and his pride 
 must have been equal to that which made the angels 
 fall, if it had refused to be soothed by the obeisance of a 
 reviewer. 
 
 " One never forgets, if he should happen to forgive, an 
 insult or an injury offered in youth — it grows with the growth, 
 and strengthens with the strength, and I may reasonably 
 doubt the truth of the poet's song when he sings of his dear 
 Jeffrey. The news of his death came upon London like an 
 earthquake; and the common multitude are ignorant of 
 literature, and destitute of feeling for the higher flights of 
 poetry, yet they consented to feel by faith, and believed that 
 one of the brightest lights in the firmament of poesy was 
 extinguished for ever. With literary men a sense of the 
 public misfortune was mingled, perhaps, with a sense that a 
 giant was removed from their way; and that they had room 
 now to break a lance with an equal, without the fear of being 
 overthrown by fiery impetuosity and colossal strength. The 
 world of literature is now resigned to lower, but, perhaps, 
 not less presumptuous poetic spirits. But among those who 
 feared him, or envied him, or loved him, there are none 
 who sorrow not for the national loss, and grieve not that 
 Byron fell so soon, and on a foreign shore. 
 
 "When Burns died I was then young, but I was not 
 insensible that a mind of no common strength had passed 
 from among us. He had caught my fancy and touched my 
 heart with his songs and his poems. I went to see him laid 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 243 
 
 out for the grave; several elderly people 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 — the dying pang 
 was visible in the lower part, but his broad and open brow 
 was pale and serene, and around it his sable hair lay in 
 masses, slightly touched with gray, and inclining more to a 
 wave than a curl. The room where he lay was plain and 
 neat, and the simplicity of the poet's humble dwelling pressed 
 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 — there was no jostling and crushing, 
 though the crowd was great — man followed man as patiently 
 and orderly as if all had been a matter of mutual under- 
 standing — not a question was asked — not a whisper was 
 heard. This was several days after his death. It is the 
 custom of Scotland to ' wake ' the body — not with wild 
 howlings and wilder songs, and much waste of strong drink, 
 like our mercurial neighbours, but in silence or in prayer — 
 superstition says it is unsonsie to leave a corpse alone; 
 and it is never left. I know not who watched by the 
 body of Burns — much it was my wish to share in the 
 honour — but my extreme youth would have made such 
 a request seem foolish, and its rejection would have been 
 sure. 
 
 " I am to speak the feelings of another people, and of the 
 customs of a higher rank, when I speak of laying out the 
 body of Byron for the grave. It was announced from time 
 
244 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 to time that lie was to be exhibited in state, and the progress 
 of the embellis hm ents of the poet's bier was recorded in the 
 pages of a hundred publications. They were at length com- 
 pleted, and to separate the curiosity of the poor from the 
 admiration of the rich, the latter were indulged with tickets 
 of admission, and a day was set apart for them to go and 
 wonder over the decked room and the emblazoned bier. 
 Peers and peeresses, priests, poets, and politicians, came in 
 gilded chariots and in hired hacks to gaze upon the splendour 
 of the funeral preparations, and to see in how rich and how 
 vain a shroud the body of the immortal had been hid. Those 
 idle trappings in which rank seeks to mark its altitude above 
 the vulgar belonged to the state of the peer rather than to 
 the state of the poet; genius required no such attractions; 
 and all this magnificence served only to divide our regard 
 with the man whose inspired tongue was now silenced for 
 ever. Who cared for Lord Byron the peer, and the Privy 
 Councillor, with his coronet, and his long descent from 
 princes on one side, and from heroes on both — and who 
 did not care for George Gordon Byron the poet, who has 
 charmed us, and will charm our descendants, with his 
 deep and impassioned verse! The homage was rendered 
 to genius, not surely to rank — for lord can be stamped 
 on any clay, but inspiration can only be impressed on the 
 finest metal. 
 
 " Of the day on which the multitude were admitted I 
 know not in what terms to speak — I never surely saw so 
 strange a mixture of silent sorrow and of fierce and intract- 
 able curiosity. If one looked on the poet's splendid cofiin 
 with deep awe, and thought of the gifted spirit which had 
 lately animated the cold remains, others regarded the whole 
 as a pageant or a show, got up for the amusement of the idle 
 and the careless, and criticized the arrangements in the spirit 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 245 
 
 of those who wish to be rewarded for their time, and who 
 consider that all they condescend to visit should be according 
 to their own taste. There was a crushing, a trampling, and 
 an impatience, as rude and as fierce as ever I witnessed at a 
 theatre; and words of incivility were bandied about, and 
 questions asked with such determination to be answered, 
 that the very mutes, whose business was silence and repose, 
 were obliged to interfere with tongue and hand between the 
 visitors and the dust of the poet. In contemplation of such 
 a scene, some of the trappings which were there on the first 
 day were removed on the second, and this suspicion of the 
 good sense and decorum of the multitude called forth many 
 expressions of displeasure, as remarkable for their warmth 
 as their propriety of language. By five o'clock the people 
 were all ejected — man and woman — and the rich cofiin bore 
 tokens of the touch of hundreds. of eager fingers, many of 
 which had not been overclean. 
 
 " The multitude who accompanied Burns to the grave 
 went step by step with the chief mourners ; they might 
 amount to ten or twelve thousand. Not a word was heard; 
 and, though all could not be near, and many could not see, 
 when the earth closed on their darling poet for ever, there 
 was no rude impatience shown, no fierce disappointment 
 expressed. It was an impressive 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 sang of their 
 loves, and joys, and domestic endearments, with a truth and 
 a tenderness which none perhaps have seen equalled. I 
 could, indeed, have wished the military part of the procession 
 away — for he was buried with military honours — because I 
 am one of those who love simplicity in all that regards 
 genius. The scarlet and gold — the banners displayed — the 
 
246 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 measured step, and the military array, with the sound of 
 martial instruments of music, had no share in increasing the 
 solemnity of the burial scene ; and i^had no connexion 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 especially, as his neglected, and tra- 
 duced, 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. 
 
 His fate has been a reproach to Scotland. But the re- 
 proach comes with an ill grace from England. When we 
 can forget Butler's fate — Otway's loaf — Dryden's old age, 
 and Chatterton's poison-cup, we may think that we stand 
 alone in the iniquity of neglecting pre-eminent genius. 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 comrade 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 sky was almost without a cloud, and not a drop of 
 rain fell from dawn to twilight. I notice this — not from my 
 concurrence in the common superstition — that ' happy is the 
 corpse which the rain rains on,' but to confute a pious fraud 
 of a religious magazine, which made heaven express its 
 wrath at the interment of a profane poet in thunder, in 
 lightning, and in rain. I know not who wrote the story, 
 and I wish not to know; but its utter falsehood thousands 
 an attest. It is one proof out of many, how divine wrath 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 247 
 
 is found by dishonest zeal in a common commotion of the 
 elements, and that men, whose profession is godliness and 
 truth, will look in the face of heaven and tell a deliberate lie. 
 " A few select friends and admirers followed Lord Byron 
 to his grave — his coronet was borne before him, and 
 there were many indications of his rank; but, save the 
 assembled multitude, no indications of his genius. In confor- 
 mity to a singular practice of the great, a long train of their 
 empty carriages followed the mourning coaches — mocking 
 the dead with idle state, and impeding the honester sympathy 
 of the crowd with barren pageantry. Where were the 
 owners of those machines of sloth and luxury — where were 
 the men of rank among whose dark pedigrees Lord Byron 
 threw the light of his genius, and lent the brows of nobility 
 a halo to which they were strangers'? Where were the great 
 Whigs'? Where were the illustrious Tories'? Could a mere 
 difference in matters of human belief keep those fastidious 
 persons away 1 ? But, above all, where were the friends with 
 whom wedlock had united him 1 ? On his desolate corpse no 
 wife looked, and no child shed a tear. I have no wish to 
 set myself up as a judge in domestic infelicities, and I am 
 willing to believe they were separated in such a way as 
 rendered reconciliation hopeless; but who could stand and 
 look on his pale manly face, and his dark locks which early 
 sorrows were making thin and grey, without feeling that, 
 gifted as he was, with a soul above the mark of other men, 
 his domestic misfortunes called for our pity as surely as his 
 genius called for our admiration. When the career of Burns 
 was closed, I saw another sight — a weeping widow and four 
 helpless sons ; they came into the streets in their mournings, 
 and public sympathy was awakened afresh. I shall never 
 forget the looks of his boys, and the compassion which they 
 excited. The poet's life had not been without errors, and 
 
248 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 such errors, too, as a wife is slow in forgiving; but he was 
 honoured then, and is honoured now, by the unalienable 
 affection of his wife, and the world repays her prudence and 
 her love by its regard and esteem. 
 
 " Burns, with all his errors in faith and in practice, was 
 laid in hallowed earth, in the churchyard of the town where 
 he resided. ]STo one thought of closing the church gates against 
 his body because of the freedom of his poetry and the care- 
 lessness of his life. And why was not Byron laid among 
 the illustrious men of England in Westminster Abbey? Is 
 there a poet in all the Poet's Corner who has better right to 
 that distinction? Why was the door closed against him, 
 and opened to the carcases of thousands without merit and 
 without name? Look round the walls, and on the floor over 
 which you tread, and behold them encumbered and inscribed 
 with memorials of the mean, and the sordid, and the impure, 
 as well as of the virtuous and the great. Why did the Dean 
 of Westminster refuse admission to such an heir of fame as 
 Byron? If he had no claim to lie within the consecrated 
 precincts of the Abbey, he has no right to lie in consecrated 
 ground at all. There is no doubt that the pious fee for 
 sepulture would have been paid — and it is not a small one. 
 Hail ! to the Church of England, if her piety is stronger than 
 her avarice." 
 
 Well written, Allan Cunningham! thoHgh probably a 
 little too democratic in your estimate of the two poets; 
 but your admiration of the peasant bard was certainly 
 natural, as belonging to your own dear land, and it 
 might, perhaps, be said in this case, as said in others, 
 that " the light which led astray was light from heaven." 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 249 
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PREPARATION" OP HIS COLLECTION OF SONGS — ITS PUBLICATION — "A 
 WET SHEET AND A PLOWING SEA" — ACCOUNT OF THE WORK — 
 TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF HIS FATHER — "LAMENT FOR LORD 
 MAXWELL" — ANECDOTE REGARDING AN ENGLISH DRAGOON AND A 
 NITHSDALE WIDOW — CRITICISMS— " THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG" 
 — LETTER TO THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. 
 
 The intensity with which Cunningham prosecuted his 
 efforts in gathering materials for his newly projected 
 work, "The Songs of Scotland," ancient and modern, was 
 greater than he had ever devoted to any of his previous 
 publications. Sir Walter Scott had greatly encouraged 
 him in the undertaking, promising to give him what 
 assistance he could, and other distinguished persons had 
 done the same. He applied everywhere for old songs, 
 or scraps of such, as he thought he might make up 
 defects himself where the original was awanting. In 
 addition to his own knowledge of Scottish songstry, he 
 knew several sources to which he could successfully 
 apply with regard both to the songs and their elucida- 
 tions. One of these sources was the M'Ghies of Quar- 
 relwood, Kirkmahoe, at whose fireside he had heard so 
 many ballads lilted, and stories told. Writing in the 
 fullest exuberance of spirits to his friend George on the 
 subject; he says: — " I have been writing and printing 
 books since I saw you, and am become a great man in 
 
250 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 rhyme and prose. Even lords and knights — mighty- 
 men whom the King delighteth to honour — have praised 
 me and my offspring. I mean the offspring of my 
 pen, for I have other progeny, of which more anon. 
 I am at present busied in a Collection of Scottish 
 Songs, which I expect will be a very curious work, and 
 my friend Sir Walter Scotfc has already given me 
 some valuable assistance, and has promised me more. 
 I have no doubt but your father and you could give 
 me some aid in this; half verses, or whole songs — any- 
 thing will be welcome, and the older the better." 
 We have reason to know that he was largely assisted 
 from this source, as the whole family were musical, 
 and had store of songs almost without end. 
 
 It is interesting to note in the same letter of applica- 
 tion for ballad lore, his humorous reference to the times 
 of old, indicating the friendly and familiar terms on 
 which he stood with the M'Ghies: — "I often think of 
 the auld clachan, and the glorious evenings I had among 
 the M'Ghies — even now, I behold all the family faces 
 laughing around the fire, and honest Thomas M'Ghie is 
 entering at the partition door, with the same face with 
 which he sought to associate the eighth psalm with its 
 kindred tune of 'Martyrs.' My w T ife is now sitting beside 
 me, and seems pleased that I am writing to her old 
 acquaintance. She looks little the worse — sometimes I 
 think, and oftentimes say, better, than when you saw 
 her in Dumfries, and four boys and a little girl, with my 
 sister Mina, and a 'servan' hizzie,' a southron quean, make 
 up the amount of my household. Three of the boys 
 are great in the mystery of Latin and English grammar, 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 251 
 
 and are promising chiels; but when can either your sons 
 or mine hope to rival the genius of their fathers ?" Such 
 snatches as these, which were never intended to be seen 
 by any other than the person to whom they were 
 addressed, afford glimpses of the real nature of the 
 writer, which a more formal document could not have 
 done, intended to see the light. 
 
 While making this preparation he had also formed an 
 intention of regenerating, as he called it, " Mark Mac- 
 rabin the Cameronian," which had appeared by instal- 
 ments in Blackwood, and of sending it into the world 
 in two volumes, as, at first, it had been exceedingly 
 popular. He cherished a great respect for the name 
 and the followers of Cameron, and he was desirous to 
 honour them a little, so far as he could, as he thought 
 they deserved it. But in the meantime, while inten- 
 tions like this are cropping up, the main thing in hand 
 is his Collection of Songs, for which he is to receive 
 from the publisher £200, and as to his other works, 
 author and publisher are to share the profits between 
 them. This had hitherto been his greatest undertaking, 
 and he braced himself manfully for its performance. 
 The pecuniary remuneration was encouraging, where 
 thirty guineas a-year had to be paid for the school fees 
 of three boys alone, besides their food and clothing, and 
 the parents kept in hodden-grey and calimanco for 
 week-days, and broadcloth and silk for the Sunday. 
 
 After much research, and correspondence, and study,. 
 and many late hours, no other time being afforded, the 
 work was completed, and appeared in four volumes, 
 under the title of " The Son^s of Scotland, Ancient and 
 
252 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Modern; with an Introduction and Notes, Historical and 
 Critical, and Characters of the Lyric Poets." The songs 
 were numerous, the best known having been taken from 
 reliable authorities, and the rest from where they could 
 be found. A number of them came from the author's 
 own pen. One of the best, a nautical one, is the follow- 
 ing, which has obtained a wide-spread popularity to the 
 present day: — 
 
 "A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. 
 
 " A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 
 
 A wind that follows fast, 
 And fills the white and rustling sail, 
 
 And bends the gallant mast; 
 And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 
 
 While, like the eagle free, 
 Away the good ship flies, and leaves 
 
 Old England on the lee. 
 
 " for a soft and gentle wind ! 
 
 I heard a fair one cry; 
 But give to me the snoring breeze, 
 
 And white waves heaving high; 
 And white waves heaving high, my boys, 
 
 The good ship tight and free — 
 The world of waters is our home, 
 
 And merry men are we. 
 
 There's tempest in yon horned moon, 
 
 And lightning in yon cloud: 
 And hark the music, mariners ! 
 
 The wind is piping loud; 
 The wind is piping loud, my boys, 
 
 The lightning flashing free — 
 While the hollow oak our palace is, 
 
 Our heritage the sea." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 253 
 
 The greater part of the first volume contains a long, 
 elaborate, and eloquent disquisition on Scottish Song, 
 which is gratefully dedicated to Sir Walter Scott, for the 
 friendship he had shown and the assistance given in the 
 preparation of the work. It bears evidence of extensive 
 research and intimate acquaintance with the subject, as 
 well as a keen discrimination of what constitutes the 
 merits and beauties of our national lyrics. Unlike Burns, 
 Cunningham was musical, and could not resist chanting 
 what he read in poetry. From his boyhood he was 
 accustomed to put an air to every song he met with, 
 and, curiously enough, he afterwards found that the air 
 which the words suggested to himself generally corres- 
 ponded with the proper tune. Burns lamented his 
 deficiency in this respect, and was indebted to others to 
 test the musical cadence of his songs, but with Hogg 
 and Cunningham there was the greatest advantage, as 
 they could throw their whole soul into the melody, and 
 so make words and music harmonize. 
 
 With regard to the coarseness of the songs which were 
 popular before the Reformation, they were, he acknow- 
 ledges, such as would now "cover us with blushes," and 
 greatly required amendment, but still, he says: — "It 
 would be unjust to pretend that this age has more virtue, 
 and unwise to suppose that it has a better taste, than the 
 age which produced some of our brightest spirits. The 
 songs which our great-grandmothers sang, we may sup- 
 pose, gave them delight; and we are not to imagine that 
 their delight came from a source less pure than our own. 
 They were a simple people, who had not learned the art 
 of attiring sensuality in a dainty dress, nor had they 
 
254 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 found it necessary to live like us in 'decencies for ever. 
 Yet I am no admirer of that primitive mode of expres- 
 sion which speaks bluntly out the hopes and wishes of 
 the heart, nor am I sure that this direct and undisguised 
 style is half so mischievous to innocence and youth as 
 those strains which, like the angler's hook, hide their 
 sting among painted plumes." The Keformation pro- 
 duced a change upon the character of our lyrics by the 
 ecclesiastical discipline exercised, but that change could 
 scarcely be said for the better, as the lewdness or pro- 
 fanity became mixed up with seeming holiness, under a 
 very thin disguise. 
 
 It seems strange what a reverse has taken place in 
 public opinion with regard to poetizing and song-making. 
 Those gifted with the "faculty divine" are now held in the 
 highest estimation, laurels are placed upon their brow 
 while they live, and monuments are erected to their 
 memory when they die. In olden times it was far 
 otherwise, as those who practised the art of versifying 
 were considered godless and profane. So late as the 
 commencement of the present century this was generally 
 the opinion of the lower and uneducated classes, and we 
 believe that there are still some at the present day who 
 hold that ballad-making has some connection with the 
 " Black Art." The reader will, perhaps, remember how 
 in the extract we gave, " Winning the Harvest Kirn," 
 Konald Kodan was stigmatized by some of the elder 
 harvesters as a " sang-singin' haspin' o' a callant," and 
 was advised to "give up the gowk-craft o' ballad-making' 
 as being a godless trade. To be sure, this advice was 
 given by those who belonged to a religious denomination 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 255 
 
 who were generally considered very strict in their morals, 
 who would not listen to any music save that of psalms, 
 hymns, and spiritual songs, and who would not tolerate 
 dancing on any account, as John the Baptist had lost his 
 head through the bewitching performance of a dancing 
 damsel; but, besides these, a great body of worthies 
 entertained a similar conviction. Cunningham was 
 right when he said that "Poesy languished beneath the 
 austere or morose enthusiasm of some of our fondest 
 reformers; and as many of our voluntary minstrels were 
 silenced from a sense of the unholiness of rhyme, or from 
 the admonitions of the Kirk, minstrelsy became less 
 popular than formerly." 
 
 The disquisition, which, as we have said, is very ela- 
 borate, and often highly eloquent, is followed up with 
 short biographical notices of thirty-three song-makers, 
 from King James the Fifth downwards, which are full 
 of interest, and oftentimes throw light upon events and 
 ballads which had heretofore been obscure. In one of 
 these, that of the Rev. James Muirhead, D.D., minister 
 of Urr, and author of "Bess the Gawkie," the only 
 song he wrote, Cunningham pays the following tribute 
 to the memory of his father, who was intimate 
 with the reverend divine : — " That he was the author, I 
 had the assurance of my father — a man fond of collect- 
 ing all that was characteristic of his country, and 
 possessing a warm heart, lively fancy, benevolent 
 humour, and pleasant happy wit. To him I owe much 
 of the information concerning song which I have 
 scattered over these pages; and in all things connected 
 with our national poetry, so much did our tastes corres- 
 
256 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 pond, that in recording my own opinions I am only 
 expressing his. A poet himself, and a correct judge of 
 poetry, his curiosity was unbounded and his reading 
 extensive. He had by heart many a historical and 
 romantic tradition, many a moving story, and many an 
 ancient verse; and so well did he feel, and so happily 
 could he utter what others wrote, that I have heard 
 many say they would rather hear him read songs than 
 others sing them." This is very creditable to filial 
 affection for a parent who had now been five-and-twenty 
 years in the grave. 
 
 The work contained upwards of five hundred songs, 
 many of them accompanied with variations obtained 
 from several sources named, and criticisms as to their 
 genuine or spurious character. The following pathetic 
 one is by Cunningham himself: — 
 
 "LAMENT FOR LORD MAXWELL. 
 
 " Green Nithsdale, make moan, for the leafs in the fa', 
 The lealest of thy warriors are drapping awa'; 
 The rose in thy bonnet, that flourished sae and shone, 
 Has lost its white hue, and is faded and gone! 
 Our matrons may sigh, our hoary men may wail, — 
 He's gone, and gone for ever, the Lord of Nithsdale ! 
 But those that smile sweetest may have sadness ere lang, 
 And some may mix sorrow with their merry, merry sang. 
 
 " Full loud was the merriment among us ladies a', 
 They sang in the parlour and danced in the ha' — 
 Jamie's coming hame again to chase the Whigs awa': 
 But they cannot wipe the tears now so fast as they fa'. 
 Our lady does do nought now but wipe aye her een — 
 Her heart's like to burst the gold lace of her gown; 
 Men silent gaze upon her, and minstrels make a wail — 
 dool for our brave warrior, the Lord of Nithsdale ! 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 257 
 
 " Wae to thee, proud Preston ! — to hissing and to hate 
 I give thee : may wailings be frequent at thy gate! 
 Now eighty summer shoots of the forest I have seen, 
 To the saddle laps in blude i' the battle I hae been, 
 But I never keun'd o' dool till I kenn'd it yestreen. 
 
 that I were laid where the sods are growing green! — 
 
 1 tint half mysel' when my gude lord I did tine — 
 He's a drop of dearest blood in this auld heart of mine. 
 
 "By the bud of the leaf, by the rising of the flower, — 
 By the song of the birds, where some stream tottles o'er, 
 I'll wander awa' there, and big a wee bit bower, 
 To hap my gray head frae the drap and the shower; 
 And there I'll sit and moan till I sink into the grave, 
 For Nithsdale's bonnie Lord — aye the bravest of the brave! — 
 * O that I lay but with him, in sorrow and in pine, 
 
 And the steel that harms his gentle neck wad do as much for mine!" 
 
 To this song is added the following note: — " The hero 
 of this song, the Earl of Nithsdale, was taken prisoner, 
 along with Viscount Ken mure and many other noble- 
 men, at Preston in Lancashire, and sentenced to be 
 beheaded. His Countess, a lady of great presence of 
 mind, contrived and accomplished his escape from the 
 Tower. Her fortitude, her patience, and her intre- 
 pidity are yet unrivalled in the history of female 
 heroism. A letter from the Countess, containing; a 
 lively and circumstantial account of the Earl's escape, is 
 in Terregles House in Nithsdale, dated from Rome in 
 the year 1718. From the woman's cloak and hood, in 
 which the Earl was disguised, the Jacobites of the 
 north formed a new token of cognizance — all the ladies 
 who favoured the Stuarts wore ' Nithsdales,' till fashion 
 got the better of political love." 
 
 R 
 
258 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 An original interesting anecdote inserted in the notes 
 is the following: — "At the close of the last rebellion a 
 party of the Duke of Cumberland's dragoons passed 
 through Nithsdale; they called at a lone house, where a 
 widow lived, and demanded refreshments. She brought 
 them milk; and her son, a youth of sixteen, prepared 
 kale and butter — this, she said, was all her store. One 
 of the party inquired how she lived on such slender 
 means. 'I live,' she said, 'on my cow, my kale-yard, 
 and on the blessing of God.' He went and killed the 
 cow, destroyed her kale, and continued his march. The 
 poor woman died of a broken heart, and her son 
 wandered away from the inquiry of friends and the 
 reach of compassion. It happened, afterwards, in the 
 continental war, when the British army had gained a 
 great victory, that the soldiers were seated on the 
 ground, making merry with wine, and relating their 
 exploits. 'All this is nothing,' cried a dragoon, 'to what 
 I once did in Scotland. I starved a witch in Nithsdale; 
 I drank her milk, I killed her cow, destroyed her kale- 
 yard, and left her to live upon God — and I daresay He 
 had enough ado with her.' 'And don't you rue it?' 
 exclaimed a soldier, starting up — ' don't you rue it ? ' 
 ' Rue what ? ' said the ruffian ; ' what would you have me 
 rue? she's dead and damned, and there's an end of her.' 
 ' Then, by my God!' said the other, 'that woman was 
 my mother — draw your sword — draw.' They fought on 
 the spot, and while the Scottish soldier passed his sword 
 through his body, and turned him over in the pangs of 
 death, he said, 'Had you but said you rued it, God 
 should have punished you, not I.' " 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 259 
 
 The work on its appearance received quite an ovation 
 by the general public, and the leading magazines and 
 reviews spoke highly in its praise. Professor Wilson 
 noticed it favourably in his ''Nodes Ambrosiance" in 
 Blackiuood, in the following terms : — " A very good 
 collection indeed. Allan is occasionally very happy in 
 his ardent eulogy of his country's lyrical genius, and 
 one loves to hear a man speaking about a species of 
 poetry in which he has himself excelled." He then 
 sings, to the delight of the Ettrick Shepherd, Allan's 
 song, "M- y ain Countrie." In a subsequent Nodes he 
 reverts to the subject, and says, — " Some of Allan's songs 
 too, James, will not die." To which the Shepherd is 
 represented as replying, "Mony a bonny thing dies — 
 some o' them, as it would seem, o' theirsels, without 
 ony thing hurtin' them, and as if even gracious Nature, 
 though loth, consented to allow them to fade awa into 
 forgetfulness ; and that will happen, I fear, to no a few 
 o' baith his breathin's and mine. But that ithers will 
 surveeve, even though Time should try to ding them 
 down wi' his heel into the yird, as sure am I as that 
 the night sky shall never lose a single star till the 
 morning o' the Day o' Doom." The Edinburgh 
 Revieiv characterized it as " an exceedingly agreeable, 
 and to Scotchmen, in many respects, a very delightful 
 publication," while it gave the author credit for the 
 "warm and unaffected interest he took in the subject — 
 his deep feeling of the beauties of his favourite pieces, 
 and the natural eloquence of the commendations by 
 which he sought to raise kindred emotions in the minds 
 of his readers." 
 
260 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 The only hostile critic we have met with is Motherwell, 
 who, instead of cherishing a fellow-feeling for a brother 
 poet, seems to have borne Cunningham a grudge, as he 
 speaks of his works in very disparaging terms. With 
 regard to the " Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway 
 Song" he says — " There never was, and never can be, a 
 more barefaced attempt made to gull ignorance than 
 this work exhibits." And again, "More pretension, 
 downright impudence, and literary falsehood, seldom or 
 ever came into conjunction." Why, he forgets that he 
 himself palmed off as an ancient ballad one of his own 
 invention ! Then of " The Songs of Scotland " he thus 
 writes : — " Nor did it ever occur that the celebrity these 
 compositions had obtained would be sapped, and the 
 spot they occupied in the affections and memories of 
 the people be supplanted by their editor substituting 
 his own compositions in their place, decorated with their 
 names, and built upon their sentiments and incident. 
 To his pious care had been willingly consigned the 
 sacred duty of gathering, as it were, the sacred and 
 unurned ashes of departed and of anonymous genius, 
 and of placing these in a shrine at which posterity 
 might bend the knee, without any of those misgivings 
 regarding the genuineness of the reliques it contained 
 which paralyze the devotion of the heart. Never, how- 
 ever, was it contemplated that these reliques should be 
 made part and parcel of what the collector should find 
 himself in the vein of fabricating in a similar style; nor 
 was it asked of him to repair the devastations time and 
 accident had wrought on these, with any interpolation, 
 amendment, or addition, however appropriate, well- 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 261 
 
 imagined, or cleverly executed. It is an unholy and 
 abhorrent lust which thus ransacks the tomb, and rifles 
 the calm beauty of the mute and unresisting dead." 
 No doubt Cunningham saw this criticism, as it appeared 
 the year following his publication, but he outlived the 
 depreciation of his brother poet, lauded, and supported, 
 and encouraged, as he was, by those whose opinion was 
 accepted in the world of letters. 
 
 A clever critic in Blackwood, reviewing " The Literary 
 Souvenir" for 1824, edited by Alaric A. Watts, and to 
 which Cunningham had contributed, says : — " Perhaps 
 the best poem in the volume is by Allan Cunningham. 
 It is full of real warm human feeling of the best kind, 
 finely tinged, too, with the spirit of poetry, and written 
 in language almost Wordsworthian. Cunningham is 
 far superior to Clare, and we say so without meaning 
 any disrespect to that most amiable and interesting 
 person. He has all, or nearly all, that is good in Hogg — 
 not a twentieth part of the Shepherd's atrocities — and 
 much merit peculiarly his own, which, according to our 
 notion of poetry, is beyond the reach of the Ettrick bard." 
 The piece here referred to is the following, which Mrs. 
 Hemans, in a letter to the author, characterized as 
 " beautiful," as introducing her to his wife, and making 
 her feel greatly interested in the subject of the song: — 
 
 "THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG. 
 
 " ! my love's like the steadfast sun, 
 Or streams that deepen as they run; 
 Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years, 
 Nor moments between sighs and tears, 
 
262 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain, 
 Nor dreams of glory dream' d in vain; 
 Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows 
 To sober joys and soften woes, 
 Can make my heart or fancy flee, 
 One moment, my sweet wife, from thee. 
 
 " Even when I muse I see thee sit 
 In maiden bloom and matron wit; 
 Fair, gentle as when first I sued, 
 Ye seem, but of sedater mood; 
 Yet my heart leaps as fond for thee, 
 As, when beneath Arbigland tree, 
 We stay'd and woo'd, and thought the moon 
 Set on the sea an hour too soon, 
 Or linger'd 'mid the falling dew, 
 When looks were fond and words were few. 
 
 " Though I see smiling at thy feet,' 
 Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet, 
 And time and care and birthtime woes 
 Have dimm'd thine eye aud touch'd thy rose, 
 To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong 
 Whate'er charms me in tale or song. 
 When words descend like dews unsought, 
 With gleams of deep enthusiast thought, 
 And fancy in her heaven flies free, 
 They come, my love, they come from thee. 
 
 " 0, when more thought we gave, of old, 
 To silver, than some give to gold, 
 'Twas sweet to sit and ponder o'er, 
 How we should deck our humble bower : 
 'Twas sweet to pull, in hope, with thee, 
 The golden fruit of Fortune's tree ; 
 And sweeter still to choose and twine 
 A garland for that brow of thine : 
 A song-wreath which may grace my Jean, 
 While rivers flow, and woods grow green. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 263 
 
 ' ' At times there come, as come there ought, 
 Grave moments of sedater thought, 
 When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night 
 One gleam of her inconstant light; 
 And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower, 
 Shines like a rainbow through the shower; 
 
 then I see, while seated nigh, 
 
 A mother's heart shine in thine eye, 
 And proud resolve and purpose meek, 
 Speak of thee more than words can speak. 
 
 1 think this wedded wife of mine, 
 The best of all things not divine." 
 
 After a long silence, his friendship with the Ettrick 
 Shepherd was renewed, on the occasion of a nephew of the 
 latter going up to London to engage in business, and who 
 was confided to his good offices and attention. To this 
 application he returned the following interesting letter, 
 in which he recalls the scene long ago enacted on 
 Queensberry hill, when but a lad not out of his teens: — 
 
 "27 Lower Belgrave Place, 16th Feb., 1826. 
 
 " My dear James, : — It required neither present of book, nor 
 friend, nor the recalling of old scenes, to render your letter a 
 most welcome one. You are often present to my heart and 
 fancy, for your genius and your friendliness have secured 
 you a place in both. Your nephew is a fine, modest, and 
 intelligent young man, and is welcome to my house for his 
 own sake, as well as yours. Your ' Queen Hynde,' for 
 which I thank you, carries all the vivid marks of your own 
 peculiar cast of genius about her. One of your happiest 
 little things is in the 'Souvenir' of this season — it is pure and 
 graceful, warm, yet delicate ; and we have nought in the 
 
264 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 language to compare to it, save everybody's 'Kilmeny.' In 
 other portions of verse you have been equalled, and some- 
 times surpassed ; but in scenes which are neither on earth, 
 nor wholly removed from it — where fairies speak, and 
 spiritual creatures act, you are unrivalled. 
 
 " Often do I tread back to the foot of old Queensberry, 
 and meet you coming down amid the sunny rain, as I did 
 some twenty years ago. The little sodded shealing where 
 we sought shelter rises now on my sight — your two dogs 
 (old Hector was one) lie at my feet — the ' Lay of the Last 
 Minstrel ' is in my hand, for the first time, to be twice read 
 over after sermon, as it really was — poetry, nothing but 
 poetry, is our talk, and we are supremely happy. Or, I 
 shift the scene to Thornhill, and there whilst the glass goes 
 round, and lads sing and lasses laugh, Ave turn our discourse 
 on verse, and still our speech is song. Poetry had then a 
 charm for us which has since been sobered down. I can 
 now meditate without the fever of enthusiasm upon me; yet 
 age to youth owes all or most of its happiest aspirations, and 
 contents itself -with purifying and completing the conceptions 
 of early years. 
 
 " We are both a little older and a little graver than we were 
 some twenty years ago, when we walked in glory and joy on 
 the side of old Queensberry. My wife is much the same in 
 look as when you saw her in Edinburgh — at least so she 
 seems to me, though five boys and a girl might admonish 
 me of change — of loss of bloom, and abatement of activity. 
 My eldest boy resolves to be a soldier; he is a clever scholar, 
 and his head has been turned by Caesar. My second and 
 third boys are in Christ's School, and are distinguished in 
 their classes ; they climb to the head, and keep their places. 
 The other three are at their mother's knee at home, and have 
 a strong capacity for mirth and mischief. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 265 
 
 " I have not destroyed my Scottish poem. I mean to 
 remodel it, and infuse into it something more of the spark of 
 living life. But my pen has of late strayed into the regions 
 of prose. Poetry is too much its own reward; and one 
 cannot always write for a barren smile, and a thriftless clap 
 on the back. We must live, and the white bread and the 
 brown can only be obtained by gross payment. There is no 
 poet and a wife and six children fed now like the prophet 
 Elijah — they are more likely to be devoured by critics than 
 fed by ravens. I cannot hope that Heaven will feed me 
 and mine while I sing. So farewell to song for a season. 
 
 " My brother's (Thomas) want of success has surprised me 
 too. He had a fair share of talent ; and had he cultivated 
 his powers with care, and given himself fair play, his fate 
 would have been different. But he sees nature rather 
 through a curious medium than with the tasteful eye of 
 poetry, and must please himself with the praise of those who 
 love singular and curious things. I have said nothing all 
 this while of Mrs. Hogg, though I might have said much, for 
 we hear her household prudence and her good taste often 
 commended. She comes, too, from our own dear country — a 
 good assurance of a capital wife and an affectionate mother. 
 My wife and I send her and you most friendly greetings. 
 We hope to see you both in London during the summer. 
 
 " You have written much, but you must write more yet. 
 What say you to a series of poems in your own original 
 way, steeped from end to end in Scottish superstition, but 
 purified from its grossness by your own genius and taste? 
 Do write me soon. I have a good mind to come and com- 
 mence Shepherd beside you, and aid you in making a yearly 
 pastoral Gazette in prose and verse for our ain native Low- 
 lands. The thing would take. 
 
 " The evil news of Sir Walter's losses came on me like an 
 
266 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 invasion. I wish the world would do for him now what it 
 will do in fifty years, when it puts up his statue in every 
 town — let it lay out its money in purchasing an estate, as 
 the nation did to the Duke of Wellington, and money could 
 never be laid out more worthily. — I remain, dear James, 
 your very faithful friend, 
 
 " Allan Cunningham." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE "FARMER'S INGLE" IN" THE OLDEN TIME — PUBLICATION OF 
 "PAUL JONES " — CRITICISMS — REFLECTIONS ON DIBDIN — ROMANCE 
 OF "SIR MICHAEL SCOTT " — CORRESPONDENCE WITH ME. RITCHIE 
 OF THE "SCOTSMAN" — CADETSHIPS FOR HIS TWO SONS OBTAINED — 
 LETTER TO HIS MOTHER. 
 
 The following graphic description of a "Farmer's 
 Ingle," from his Essay on Scottish Songs, is deserving 
 of quotation, not only for its faithfulness of detail, but 
 also because it is among the things connected with the 
 rural population which have passed away, succeeded, 
 shall we say, by a more heartsome and genial fireside ? 
 We fear not. 
 
 " But I have no need to seek in trysts, or meetings of 
 love, or labour, or merriment, for the sources of song : a 
 farmer or a cottager's winter fireside has often been the 
 theme and always the theatre of lyric verse ; and the 
 grey hairs of the old, and the glad looks of the young, may 
 aptly prefigure out the two great divisions of Scottish song — 
 the songs of true love, and those of domestic and humble joy. 
 The character of the people is written in their habitations. 
 Their kitchens, or rather halls, warm, roomy, and well 
 replenished with furniture, fashioned less for show than 
 service, are filled on all sides with the visible materials and 
 tokens of pastoral and agricultural wealth and abundance. 
 The fire is on the floor; and around it, during the winter 
 evenings, the family and dependents are disposed, each in' 
 
268 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 their own department, one side of the house being occupied 
 by the men, the other resigned to the mistress and her 
 maidens ; while beyond the fire, in the space between the 
 hearth-stone and the wall, are placed those travelling mendi- 
 cants who wander from house to house, and find subsistence 
 as they can, and lodgings where they may. The carved oaken 
 settle, or couch, on which the farmer rests, has descended to 
 him through a number of generations ; it is embossed with 
 rude thistles, and rough with family names ; and the year in 
 which it was made has been considered an era worthy of the 
 accompaniment of a motto from Scripture. On a shelf above 
 him, and within the reach of his hand, are some of the works 
 of the literary worthies of his country : the history, the 
 romance, the sermon, the poem, and the song, all well used, 
 and bearing token of many hands." 
 
 Well, this is very faithful in its descriptiveness, but it 
 is not complete. There is another party in the house- 
 hold that must not be overlooked : — 
 
 " Around the farmer's dame the evening has gathered all 
 her maidens whom daylight has scattered about in various 
 employments, and the needle and the wheel are busied alike 
 in the labours required for the barn and the hall. Above 
 and beside them, all that the hand and the wheel have twined 
 from fleece and flax is hung in good order : the wardrobe is 
 filled with barn-bleached linen, the dairy shelves with cheese 
 for daily use, and with some made of a richer curd to grace 
 the table at the harvest-feast. Over all, and among them, 
 the prudent and experienced mistress, while she manages 
 some small personal matter of her own, casts from time to 
 time her eye, and explains or advises, or hearkens to the 
 song, which is not silent amid the lapses of conversation. In 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 269 
 
 households such as these, which present an image of our more 
 primitive days, all the delights, and joys, and pursuits of our 
 forefathers find refuge ; to them Hallow-eve is welcome with 
 its mysteries, the new-year with its mirth, the summer with 
 its sheep-shearing feast, and the close of harvest with its 
 dancing and its revelry. The increasing refinement and 
 opulence of the community has made this rather a picture of 
 times past than times present; and the labour of a score of 
 wheels, each with its presiding maiden, is far outdone by a 
 single turn or two of a machine. The once slow and simple 
 process of bleaching, by laving water on the linen as it lay 
 extended on the rivulet bank, is accomplished now by a 
 chemical process ; and the curious art of dyeing wool, and 
 the admixture of various colours to form those parti-coloured 
 garments so much in fashion among us of old, have been 
 entrusted to more scientific hands. Out of these, and many 
 other employments, now disused and formed into separate 
 callings, song extracted its images and illustrations, and 
 caught the hue and the pressure of passing manners, and 
 customs, and pursuits." 
 
 Cabinet pictures, like these of the olden times, are 
 like those paintings of the "old masters" which every 
 one admires, and this the more as they recede into the 
 past. Cunningham had an observant eye and a graphic 
 pen; and one special value of his writings is, that he has 
 preserved from oblivion Scottish habits and manners 
 in which he was a participator, but which have now in 
 great measure passed away. 
 
 Encouraged by the success which attended the " Songs 
 of Scotland " he applied the pen with unremitting ardour, 
 and in the following year he brought out three volumes 
 
270 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 of a romance, under the title of " Paul Jones/' the subject 
 "being a sea-tale of the Solway. It had been eagerly- 
 waited for after its announcement by the publishers, and 
 when it appeared it was rapidly read. The story is told 
 very much in the Scottish vernacular, the various actors 
 being mostly of the Doric tj^pe, and, consequently, using 
 that language. The work, considered from a certain 
 point of view, is exceedingly interesting, and many of 
 its parts are brilliantly captivating; but regarded in 
 another light, it is disappointing as a tale of the sea. 
 The hero is captain of a ship and a pirate, and yet there 
 is an absence of nautical phraseology, even when he is 
 brought prominently forward in his professional capacity. 
 Now, every one knows that of all men sailors in their 
 conversation are the most addicted to the use of terms 
 and phrases connected with their every-day life. Cun- 
 ningham knew nothing of the sea and the phraseology 
 common among those who live upon it, and yet he 
 produces a story with the natural characteristics awant- 
 ing, which could not pass without observation. 
 
 On the above ground the critics were not satisfied, 
 and some of them did not hesitate to express an adverse 
 opinion, though still attributing the fire of genius to the 
 author. Professor Wilson, one of Cunningham's best 
 friends and warmest admirers, declared it "a failure." 
 In one of his Nodes he thus freely gives his criticism in 
 an imaginary conversation with the Ettrick Shepherd: — 
 " ' Paul Jones ', James, is an amusing, an interesting 
 tale, and will, on the whole, raise Allan's reputation. 
 It is full of talent. . . There are many bold and 
 striking incidents and situations; many picturesque and 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 271 
 
 poetical descriptions; many reflections that prove Allan 
 to be a man of an original, vigorous, and sagacious 
 mind. . . The character of Paul Jones is, I think, 
 well conceived. . . Much may be forgiven in im- 
 perfect execution to good conception. In bringing out 
 his idea of Paul Jones, Allan has not always been 
 successful. The delineation wants light and shade; 
 there is frequent daubing — great — or rather gross 
 exaggeration, and continual effort after effort, that 
 sometimes totally defeats its purpose. On the whole, the 
 interest we take in the pirate is but languid. But the 
 worst part of the book is that it smells not of the ocean. 
 There are waves — waves — waves — but never a sea, — 
 battle on battle, but as of ships in a painted panorama, 
 where we feel all is the mockery of imitation — and almost 
 grudge our half-crown at each new ineffectual broadside 
 and crash of music from a band borrowed from a caravan 
 >of wild beasts. . . It is evident that Allan never 
 made a cruise in a frigate or line-of-battle ship. He 
 dares not venture on nautical terms — and the land- 
 lubber is in every line. Paul Jones's face is perpetually 
 painted with blood and gunpowder, and his person 
 spattered with brains. . . A most decided failure. 
 Still a bright genius like Allan's will show itself through 
 darkest ignorance — and there are occasional flashes of 
 war poetry in ' Paul Jones.' But he manoeuvres a ship 
 as if she were on wheels, and on dry land. All the glory 
 of the power of sail and helm is gone. . . But I shall 
 probably review Allan's book. You will see my opinion 
 of its beauties and its deformities at great length in an 
 -early number. The article shall be a good one, depend 
 
272 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 on't — perhaps a leading one; for it is delightful to have 
 to do with a man of genius." This is a wonderful 
 criticism, being a pull with the one hand and a push 
 with the other, but yet it was entirely friendly and 
 candid, and as the Ettrick Shepherd interjected, its 
 chief merits and its chief defects were " geyan equally 
 balanced." 
 
 However strongly severe some of the above criticism 
 might be, Cunningham took no umbrage at the writer 
 of it, as we shall afterwards see, but addressed him in 
 the most respectful and grateful terms for kind counsel 
 and assistance. He knew the fault-finding was sincere, 
 and was as much addressed to the author for his benefit, 
 as to the general readers of a distinguished magazine, 
 who looked to him for a candid review of the literature 
 of the day. We might have now passed on sufficiently 
 satisfied with the foregoing from such a master of 
 criticism, but we wish to be honest in our remarks with 
 regard to " Honest Allan." All the critics were not of 
 the Professor Wilson type, though with less ability for 
 making a judicious use of the pen. Cunningham, when 
 writing his discursive and eloquent essay on Scottish 
 Song, had, in a moment of forge tfulness, come into 
 collision with Dibdin and his Sea-Songs. Dibdin was 
 not a sailor, any more than was Cunningham, and knew 
 little, if anything, of the sea — yet he produced sea-songs 
 which were universally hailed with applause, and which 
 continue to be appreciated at the present day. 
 
 A reviewer in Blackwood, a year before Wilson's 
 criticism appeared, falls terribly foul of "Paul Jones," 
 and the famous song by the same author which 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 273 
 
 every one admired, "A wet sheet and a flowing 
 sea/' and gave vent to a little venom in his 
 remarks, but followed it up by saying: — "Allan 
 Cunningham knows our admiration of his genius, 
 and our affection for himself; but the above dia- 
 tribe dribbled from our pen, as we thought of 
 the most absurd contempt with which in his 
 'Scottish Songs,' he chooses to treat Dibdin. Dib- 
 din knew nothing, forsooth, of ships, or sailors' souls, 
 or sailors' slang! Thank you for that, Allan — we 
 owe you one. Why the devil, then, are his thousand 
 and one songs the delight of the whole British navy, 
 and constantly heard below decks in every man-of-war 
 afloat. The shepherds of the sea must be allowed 
 to understand their own pastoral doric, and Charles 
 Dibdin is their Allan Ramsay." It was unfortunate 
 that Cunningham laid himself open to such reprehension. 
 But whatever the critics might say in their high ideal 
 of what was right and proper to have been written on 
 the subject, the general public, of course those who 
 were not sea-faring, hailed the work with gratulation 
 from the variety of topics introduced, the graphic, 
 descriptions of its interesting scenes, the pathetic 
 passages with which it abounded, the humour with 
 which it sparkled, the legendary lore which assumed 
 form and substance, and the weird narrations intro- 
 duced from time to time. Author and publisher had good 
 reason to be satisfied with the general reception which 
 " Paul Jones " received, notwithstanding the severity 
 of some of the criticisms, as it enhanced the fame of 
 the one, and the pecuniary profits of both. As a 
 
 s 
 
274 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 specimen of the style of the work, we may extract the 
 following, a duel scene: — 
 
 " While Cargill spoke, Lord Thomas retired a little way, 
 and Paul, freeing himself from the impediment which the 
 Cameronian had placed between them, confronted him at 
 some six paces distance. They looked at each other — they 
 raised their right hands at once, and the double flash and 
 knell made the horses rear and the riders start. Down 
 sprang Cargill, with all the alacrity of youth, and threw 
 himself in between them. They both stood — their pistols 
 reeking at touch-hole and muzzle. When the smoke flew 
 up, Dalveen dashed his pistol on the ground, and exclaimed, 
 'Eternal God! have I missed him 1 ?' He pulled another 
 pistol from his pocket, another was ready cocked in the hand 
 of Paul ; but Cargill exclaimed, ' Ye shall find each other's 
 hearts through me; and seizing the right hand of the young 
 nobleman, held him with as sure a grip as an iron manacle. 
 
 "All the castle windows flew open, and down the stair 
 came Lady Phemie; while, with her antique silks rustling 
 like frozen sails in a stiff gale, Lady Emeline tottered after 
 her, crying, ' Oh ! run between them ! — hold them ! — bind 
 them! — are they hurt? ' Oh that I have lived to see this ! ' 
 And, with eyes glistening with tears, she threw herself on 
 the neck of her grandson, and said, ' This pride, this unhappy 
 pride of thine will be the ruin of thy house.' She grew 
 deadly pale as she spoke, and added faintly, ' He's wounded, 
 mortally wounded! — there's blood flowing down his neck. 
 All gathered round, while Lord Thomas smiled, and said, 
 'A drop, a mere drop — a touch, only a touch;' and putting 
 his hand to the place, he drew it back covered with blood. 
 His colour changed when he looked on it. ' Stand back, 
 madam,' he said, 'and keep back your devout asses; this 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 275 
 
 blood must be atoned for; — back, I say, else by the fiends 
 I'll fire my pistol upon you.' He cocked a pistol as he spoke, 
 and, stepping up to Paul, said, ' Back to back — step two 
 paces away — wheel round and fire — that's the Dalveen 
 distance.' And each of them had taken a step, when Lady 
 Phemie caught her cousin in her arms, and sought to master 
 his right hand; — he snatched the pistol with his left, and 
 held it out. His better nature overcame him — he flung the 
 weapon from his hand with such velocity that it sung through 
 the air, and went off as it struck the bough of a large 
 chestnut tree." 
 
 So industrious was he with the pen during the hours 
 of evening, or rather we should say of night, after the 
 labours of the studio were over, that, in addition to 
 several magazine articles, towards the end of the follow- 
 year he produced, in three volumes, the mythical romance 
 of " Sir Michael Scott." This work was not so successful 
 as the preceding ones, the public mind not being dis- 
 posed to follow him into the region of the supernatural. 
 Still it had a satisfactory run. A writer in the Edin- 
 burgh Review noticing it, along with some of the other 
 works by the author, says: — " In 'Paul Jones' alone there 
 is ten times as much glittering description, ingenious 
 metaphor, and emphatic dialogue, as would enliven and 
 embellish a work of twice the size; while, from the 
 extravagance of the fictions, and the utter want of 
 coherence in the events, or human interest in the 
 characters, it becomes tedious by the very redundance 
 of its stimulating qualities. ' Sir Michael Scott,' again — 
 being all magic, witchcraft, and mystery — is absolutely 
 illegible; and much excellent invention and powerful 
 
276 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 fancy is thrown away on delineations which revolt by 
 their monstrous exaggerations, and tire out by their 
 long-continued soaring above the region of human 
 sympathy. Mr. Cunningham is, beyond all question, a 
 man of genius, taste, and feeling." Now, we do not 
 object to the character of this criticism, for, though 
 somewhat adverse, it appears to be candid, and we 
 insert it with the same candid intent. 
 
 The publication of the romance of " Sir Michael 
 Scott" brought the author into contact and friendship 
 with a very excellent and distinguished man, Mr. Kitchie 
 of the Scotsman newspaper, Edinburgh. Mr. Ritchie 
 had very kindly noticed "Paul Jones" in one of his 
 reviews, and Cunningham addressed to him the follow- 
 ing letter, with a copy of his new work : — 
 
 27 Lower Belgrave Place, November, 1827. 
 
 " Dear Sir, — In laying on your table my romance of ' Sir 
 Michael Scott/ I beg you will feel that I do so with no 
 levity of nature like an author of full-grown reputation, who 
 can cry to a critic, 'There, do your worst!' On the con- 
 trary, I feel that my works must be read with much 
 indulgence, and even sympathy. In the present instance, I 
 may fairly claim the protection of all true Scotsmen, because 
 my romance is the offspring of the poetic beliefs and popular 
 superstitions of our native land; and though I may not have 
 made out my conception of the work to my full satisfaction, 
 I may, nevertheless, expect some approbation, from the 
 attempt to gather into one narrative, some of the marvellous 
 legends and romantic beliefs of our Border. 
 
 "My chief object was to write a kind of Gothic Romance — 
 a sort of British Arabian Nights, in which I could let loose 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 277 
 
 my imagination among the mythological beings of fireside 
 tales and old superstitions. As a work of imagination, 
 therefore, it onght to be examined ; and as the narrative, 
 marvellous though it be, is guided by the visible landmarks 
 of legendary belief, I hope it will be found to be in its 
 nature as true to national lore as shadow is to substance. 
 
 "Your kind and liberal notice of my ' Paxil Jones' I 
 ascribed in some measure to your sympathy for my lot in 
 life, and to your feeling that one who contested the matter 
 so long and so hardly with fortune, deserved some little 
 indulgence. My whole life has hitherto been spent in 
 working for my daily bread, and my pen ekes out what the 
 day fails to provide. My education, too, is such as I have 
 gathered from books and from mankind, and I am conse- 
 quently without the advantages of learning which embel- 
 lishes genius by refining the taste and informing the 
 judgment. I mention these things from no desire to soften 
 the justice of criticism, but I own with some hope of 
 awakening its mercy. I am sensible that, in general, my 
 works, hasty and imperfect as they are, have met with some 
 attention and much indulgence, and through them I have 
 obtained some of the best friendships of my life. The editor 
 of the Scotsman I consider as one of the number, and have 
 much pleasure in saying I am his faithful friend and 
 admirer, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 " To the Editor of the Scotsman." 
 
 His two eldest sons were now growing up towards 
 manhood's estate, and he was naturally anxious to place 
 them in positions where they might creditably dis- 
 charge their portion of duty in the administration of 
 affairs in the great and busy world. They were already 
 
278 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 good scholars, being, as we were told, great in the 
 mysteries of Latin, Grammar, and Geography, and even 
 Mathematics, if we remember aright; and, like every 
 aspiring father, he wished them to aspire also, and gain 
 for themselves a name among their fellow-men. For 
 this purpose they had received a superior education — 
 for this purpose he had toiled early and late, by chisel 
 and pen, but, like Job of old, his way sometimes seemed 
 "hedged in." However, he trusted to Providence, and 
 worked and wrote with all his might, in the confidence 
 that something suitable would arise, and that a rift in 
 the sky would show the blue beyond. He believed 
 firmly in the maxim, and strenuously acted upon it, 
 that "Heaven helps those who help themselves," and he 
 was not disappointed, as the following extract from 
 Lockhart's "Life of Sir Walter Scott" will show:— 
 
 "Breakfasting one morning with Allan Cunningham, and 
 commending one of his publications, Scott looked round the 
 table, and said, 'What are you going to make of all these 
 boys, Allan?' 'I ask that question often at my own heart,' 
 said Allan, 'and I cannot answer it.' 'What does the 
 eldest point tol ' ' The callant would fain be a soldier, Sir 
 Walter, and I have a half promise of a commission in the 
 king's army for him, but I wish rather he could go to India, 
 for there the pay is a maintenance, and one does not need 
 interest at every step to get on.' Scott dropped the sub- 
 ject, but went an hour afterwards to Lord Melville (who 
 was then President of the Board of Control), and begged a 
 cadetship for young Cunningham. Lord Melville promised 
 to inquire if he had one at his disposal, in which case he would 
 gladly serve the son of honest Allan; but the point being 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 279 
 
 thus left doubtful, Scott, meeting Mr. John Loch, one of the 
 East India Directors, at dinner the same evening at Lord 
 Stafford's, applied to him, and received an immediate assent. 
 On reaching home at night, he found a note from Lord 
 Melville intimating that he had inquired, and was happy in 
 complying with his request. Next morning Sir Walter 
 appeared at Sir Francis Chantrey's breakfast table, and 
 greeted the sculptor (who is a brother of the angle) with, ' I 
 suppose it has sometimes happened to you to catch one trout 
 (which was all you thought of) with the fly and another with 
 the bobber. I have done so, and I think I shall land them 
 both. Don't you think Cunningham would like very well to 
 have cadetships for two of those fine lads'?' 'To be sure he 
 would,' said Chantrey, ' and if you'll secure the commissions, 
 I'll make the outfit easy.' Great was the joy in Allan's 
 household on this double good news ; but I should add that, 
 before the thing was done, he had to thank another bene- 
 factor. Lord Melville, after all, went out of the Board of 
 Control before he had been able to fulfil his promise. But 
 his successor, Lord Ellenborough, on hearing the circum- 
 stances of the case, desired Cunningham to set his mind at 
 rest; and both his young men are now prospering in the 
 Indian service." 
 
 One may well conceive the flood of sunshine which 
 irradiated 27 Belgrave Place, sending a thrill of joy 
 through the heart of father and mother, when the glad- 
 some appointment of the cadetships was intimated, and 
 the outfits promised to be "made easy" by the great 
 sculptor. Of course, such an affectionate son as Cun- 
 ningham was not long in informing his mother of the 
 happy tidings, desiring her blessing on his boys: — 
 
280 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 "27 Belgrave Place, 16th August, 1828. 
 
 "My beloved Mother, — We were all much, affected by 
 your very kind and touching letter. We are now all well in 
 health, and sad at heart at times, but the duties of the 
 world must be done, and I have my share. You know that 
 we have got cadetships for your two grandsons, and that 
 they are preparing themselves for their situations. They 
 will both go and receive your blessing before they sail. I 
 hope you are well in health, and comfortable in all respects. 
 Mina, I know and feel, will love and reverence you, and 
 Jean, I am sure, will leave nothing deficient. 
 
 " I am very busy with my pen just now, making a little 
 book, the most beautiful thing outwardly you ever saw. I 
 hope it will also be good inwardly, for I have ministers of 
 the gospel, and ministers of state, and poets, and lords, and 
 ladies of high degree, among my contributors. I am a 
 person of some importance, you observe, my dear mother. 
 My wife joins me in love. I remain your ever affectionate 
 son, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 "Mrs. Cunningham." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PUBLICATION OF THE "ANNIVERSARY" — EXTRACTS EROM THE 
 VOLUME — CORRESPONDENCE ON THE SUBJECT WITH PROFESSOR 
 WILSON AND MR. RITCHIE OF THE " SCOTSMAN." 
 
 The work alluded to in the foregoing letter to his 
 mother was the "Anniversary" for 1829, an Annual he 
 had undertaken to edit, at the desire of the publishers, 
 and also to procure the necessary matter from among 
 his literary acquaintances and friends. He wrought hard 
 to make it a success, as it was a new field for operation, 
 and he admirably succeeded. Some of the ablest pens 
 willingly supported him. There was then consider- 
 able rivalry in that class of " entertainment for the 
 million," and he exerted himself the more that he might 
 not fail in the undertaking. He was aspiring to fame, 
 and here was an opportunity for " making a spoon or 
 spoiling a horn." He had literary friends on whom he 
 thought he could count for assistance, and his applica- 
 tions were responded to in the most kindly manner. 
 
 The volume appeared in due time, with green cloth 
 boards and gilt edges. It consisted of 336 pages, con- 
 tained 60 pieces of poetry and prose, and was illustrated 
 with 20 steel engravings by some of the most eminent 
 artists. Among the most notable of the contributors 
 were, Southey the Poet-Laureate, Professor Wilson, 
 Lockhart, Montgomery, Hogg, Pringle, Croker, " Barry 
 
282 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Cornwall/' Edward Irving, and Miss Strickland. 
 Cunningham himself furnished seven pieces. For want 
 of space various articles of merit were omitted, and the 
 names of the authors of several valuable contributions 
 were withheld for reasons satisfactory to the editor. 
 
 Of the poetry in the volume the best was that contri- 
 buted by Southey and Wilson. The former seat a long 
 poetic epistle in eulogy of Cunningham, and three 
 inscriptions for the Caledonian Canal. From the 
 " Epistle " we quote the following passage as illustrative 
 of its nature. The Laureate has been in London, and, 
 sick of city life, leaves it and returns home, glad once 
 more to breathe the pure air of heaven, and revel 
 amidst the beauties of rural scenery. Like a bird 
 escaped from its cage after long confinement, he seems 
 as if he could not spread his wings widely enough, soar 
 highly enough, and carol joyously enough: — 
 
 "EPISTLE TO ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Oh! not for all that Loudon might bestow, 
 
 Would I renounce the geuial influences 
 
 And thoughts, and feelings to be found where'er 
 
 We breathe beneath the open sky, and see 
 
 Earth's liberal bosom. Judge, then, from thyself, 
 
 Allan, true child of Scotland; thou who art 
 
 So oft in spirit on thy native hills, 
 
 And yonder Solway shores; a poet thou, 
 
 Judge from thyself how strong the ties which bind 
 
 A poet to his home, when, making thus 
 
 Large recompense for all that, haply, else 
 
 Might seem perversely or unkindly done, 
 
 Fortune hath set his happy habitacle 
 
 Among the ancient hills, near mountain streams 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 283 
 
 And lakes pellucid; in a land sublime 
 And lovely as those regions of romance, 
 Where his young fancy in its day-dreams roamed, 
 Expatiating in forests wild and wide, 
 Loegrian, or of dearest Fairy-land." 
 
 But the contribution above all, which Cunningham 
 regarded as the gem of his book, was "Edderline's Dream,' ' 
 by Professor Wilson. The poem is too long to be ex- 
 tracted in extenso, though it was intended as only the 
 first canto of a larger work ; but no more of it was ever 
 produced by the author. The following opening lines 
 will convey some idea of the writer's style : — 
 
 "EDDERLINE'S DREAM. 
 "First Canto. 
 
 " Castle-Oban is lost in the darkness of night, 
 For the moon is swept from the starless heaven, 
 And the latest line of lowering light 
 That lingered on the stormy even, 
 A dim-seen line, half cloud, half wave, 
 Hath sunk into the weltering grave. 
 Castle-Oban is dark without and within, 
 And downwards to the fearful din, 
 Where Ocean, with his thunder-shocks, 
 Stuns the green foundation rocks, 
 Through the grim abyss that mocks his eye 
 Oft hath the eerie watchman sent 
 A shuddering look, a shivering sigh, 
 From the edge of the howling battlement! 
 
 " Therein is a lonesome room, 
 Undisturbed as some old tomb 
 That, built within a forest glen, 
 Far from feet of living men, 
 And sheltered by its black pine-trees, 
 
284 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 From sound of rivers, lochs, and seas, 
 Flings back its arched gateway tall, 
 At times to some great funeral. 
 Noiseless as a central cell 
 In the bosom of a mountain, 
 Where the fairy people dwell, 
 By the cold and sunless fountain! 
 
 :< Breathless as the holy shrine 
 When the voice of psalms is shed! 
 And there upon her stately bed, 
 While her raven locks recline 
 O'er an arm more pure than snow, 
 Motionless beneath her head, — 
 And through her large, fair eyelids shine 
 Shadowy dreams that come and go, 
 By too deep bliss disquieted, — 
 There sleeps in love and beauty's glow, 
 The high-born Lady Edderline. 
 
 Lo! the lamp's wan fitful light, 
 Glide, gliding round the golden rim! 
 Restored to life, now glancing bright, 
 Now just expiring, faint and dim, 
 Like a spirit loth to die, 
 Contending with its destiny. 
 All dark! a momentary veil 
 Is o'er the sleeper! now a pale 
 LTncertain beauty glimmers faint, 
 And now the calm face of the saint 
 With every feature reappears, 
 Celestial in unconscious tears! 
 Another gleam! bow sweet the while, 
 Those pictured faces on the wall 
 Through the midnight silence smile; 
 Shades of fair ones in the aisle, 
 Vaulted the castle cliffs below, 
 To nothing mouldered, one and all, 
 Ages long ago! 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 285 
 
 "From her pillow, as if driven 
 By an unseen demon's hand. 
 Disturbing the repose of heaven, 
 Hath fallen her head! The long black hair, 
 From the fillet's silken band, 
 In dishevelled masses riven, 
 Is streaming downwards to the floor. 
 
 " Eager to speak — but in terror mute, 
 With chained breath and snow-soft foot, 
 The gentle maid whom that lady loves, 
 Like a gleam of light through the darkness moves, 
 And leaning o'er her rosy breath, 
 Listens in tears — for sleep — or death! 
 Then touches with a kiss her breast— 
 ' 0, Lady, this is ghastly rest ! 
 Awake, awake! for Jesus' sake!' 
 Far in her soul a thousand sighs 
 Are madly struggling to get free. 
 
 "So gently as a shepherd lifts, 
 From a wreath of drifted snow, 
 A lamb, that vainly on a rock, 
 Up among the mountain clefts, 
 Bleats unto the heedless flocks 
 Sunwards feeding far below, 
 Even so gently Edith takes 
 The sighing dreamer to her breast, 
 Loving kisses soft and meek 
 Breathing o'er bosom, brow, and cheek, 
 For their own fair, delightful sakes, 
 And lays her lovely limbs at rest; 
 When, stirring like the wondrous flower 
 That blossoms at the midnight hour, 
 And only then — the Lady wakes!" 
 
286 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 The "Anniversary" succeeded beyond the expectations 
 of its most sanguine friends, and surpassed in literary 
 and artistic ability its formidable rival the "Keepsake," 
 of which it had been so much in dread. Indeed, it had 
 the reputation of excelling all its competitors in poetry ? 
 a compliment of which the editor was very proud. Six 
 thousand copies were sold before the day of publication! 
 Any man, even of the largest experience in this line of 
 literature, might well be proud of such a public appre- 
 ciation of his labours, and especially after such diffi- 
 culties as he had to contend with. Accordingly, this 
 success acted as a strong stimulus for the future, and 
 we find him flirting with a new love ere he is off with 
 the old. Next 3^ear's "Anniversary" is already before 
 him, and he is determined to excel himself if possible. 
 He has enlisted several writers of distinction, such as 
 Lockhart, and Southey, and Edward Irving. He is not 
 quite sure of Wordsworth, but he means to try him; 
 and thus taking time by the forelock, he resolves to 
 gain a march upon his rival the " Keepsake." There 
 is one above all others he lays siege to, who has 
 done him such eminent service in the present, with 
 his delightful " Edderline's Dream," and so the follow- 
 ing letter is despatched to Edinburgh to Professor 
 Wilson : — 
 
 "27 Lower Belgrave Place, 11th September, 1828. 
 
 "My dear Friend, — I have cut and cleared away right 
 and left, and opened a space for your very beautiful poem, 
 and now it will appear at full length, as it rightly deserves. 
 W^ill you have the goodness to say your will to the proof as 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 287 
 
 quickly as possible, and let me have it again, for the printer 
 pushes me sorely. 
 
 " You have indeed done me a great and lasting kindness. 
 You have aided me, I trust effectually, in establishing my 
 Annual book, and enabled me to create a little income for 
 my family. My life has been one continued struggle to 
 maintain my independence and support wife and children, 
 and I have, when the labour of the day closed, endeavoured 
 to use the little talent which my country allows me to possess 
 as easily and as profitably as I can. The pen thus adds a 
 little to the profit of the chisel, and I keep head above water, 
 and on occasion take the middle of the causeway with an 
 independent step. 
 
 " There is another matter about which I know not how to 
 speak; and now I think on't, I had better speak out bluntly 
 at once. My means are but moderate; and having engaged 
 to produce the literature of the volume for a certain sum, 
 the variety of the articles has caused no small expenditure. 
 I cannot, therefore, say that I can pay you for 'Edderline's 
 Dream;' but I beg you will allow me to lay twenty pounds 
 aside by way of token or remembrance, to be paid in any 
 way you may desire, into some friend's hand here, or re- 
 mitted by post to Edinburgh. I am ashamed to offer so 
 small a sum for a work which I admire so much; but what 
 Burns said to the Muse, I may with equal propriety say to 
 you— 
 
 ' Ye ken — ye ken 
 That strong necessity supreme is 
 'Mang sons of men.' 
 
 "Now, may I venture to look to you for eight or ten 
 pages for my next volume on the same kind of terms? I 
 shall, with half-a-dozen assurances of the aid of the leading 
 men of genius, be able to negotiate more effectually with the 
 
288 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 proprietor; for, when he sees that Sir Walter Scott, Pro- 
 fessor Wilson, Mr. South ey, Mr. Lockhart, and one or two 
 more, are resolved to support me, he will comprehend that 
 the speculation will be profitable, and close with me accord- 
 ingly. Do, I beg and entreat of you, agree to this, and say 
 so when you write. 
 
 " Forgive all this forwardness and earnestness, and believe 
 me to be your faithful servant and admirer, 
 
 " Allan Cunningham." 
 
 The following letter was also sent to Mr. Ritchie of 
 the Scotsman: — 
 
 " 27 Belgrave Place, 20th Oct., 1828. 
 
 " My dear Friend, — I send for your acceptance my little 
 embellished book, the ' Anniversary.' It is externally gaudy 
 enough; internally there are graver and better things, with 
 some of which I hope you will be much pleased. On the 
 whole, I believe the book will be a successful one, and 
 opposed as I have been by superior talents and superior 
 wealth, I may be thankful that I can hold my head up as 
 high as I do. The 'Keepsake' purchased authors and bribed 
 lords at a prodigious expense, and when I commenced my work 
 I found many of the mighty of the realms of genius arrayed 
 against me, and a large proportion of the peerage. I have 
 lived forty-three years in the world, and wish to live longer, 
 without the clap-of-hand of the great, and I shall be glad if 
 my book proves that there are men who write well without 
 the advantage of coronets. I must make one exception. 
 Lord F. Leveson Gower was exceedingly kind. Should this 
 thing succeed, I shall add by it £250 a-year to my little 
 income. Help me with your approbation, my clear friend. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 289 
 
 " Our friend Miss Mitford has been here, and much have 
 we talked of you, and many kind compliments did she 
 charge me to send you. My wife and she became as intimate 
 as two breast bones, and both being frank and jolly, weel- 
 faured roundabout dames, they were well matched. Much 
 they spoke and whispered about you and me. I wish we 
 had had you with us, we should have 
 
 1 Gien ae nicht's discharge to care.' 
 
 " I am also charged with an apology to you from James 
 Montgomery for some abrupt interview he had with you. 
 He seems very anxious to stand well with you, and I 
 hope if aught happened unpleasant then it is forgotten 
 now. 
 
 " I am busy with plans of new books, for my mind is never 
 idle, and I have information upon many things which I wish 
 to tell to the world. Can you inform me where I can find 
 any satisfactory account of Jameson the painter, called the 
 Scottish Vandyke, and any information respecting his works 
 which can be depended on? What do you think of his 
 portraits compared with his times'? He is one of our earliest 
 painters, island-born, and I wish to do him as much honour 
 as he deserves, and no more. I remember a little about 
 him in Stark's ' Picture of Edinburgh.' I have some notion 
 of writing the Lives of the British Painters, on the plan of 
 Johnson's ' Lives of the Poets.' I am full of information on 
 the subject, have notions of my own in keeping with the 
 nature of the art, and I think a couple of volumes would 
 not be unwelcome from one who has no theory to support, 
 and who will write with full freedom and spirit. I speak 
 thus openly to you, my dear friend, because I know you 
 wish me well, and rejoice in my success. Indeed, you have 
 helped me not a little. 
 
 T 
 
290 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 "I could say much more, but I have said enough to 
 interest you, and more than enough, if my little book is not 
 worthy of your friendly notice. Indeed, I have had hard 
 measures dealt me by critics generally, the Scotsman and 
 one or two others forming exceptions. They make no allow- 
 ances for my want of time and skill, and seem to expect as 
 clear and polished narratives from my pen as they receive 
 from men of talent and education too. If they would try 
 me as they have tried other rustic writers by their peers, I 
 should not object. My wife joins me in esteem. — I am, my 
 dear friend, yours most truly, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 "William Ritchie, Esq., 
 " 59 George Square, Edinburgh." 
 
 Here is another letter to the Professor: — 
 
 " 27 Lower Belgrave Place, 7th November, 1828. 
 
 " My dear Friend, — My little Annual — thanks to your 
 exquisite 'Edderline,' and your kind and seasonable words — 
 has been very successful. It is not yet published, and 
 cannot appear these eight clays, yet we have sold 6000 
 copies. The booksellers all look kindly upon it; the pro- 
 prietor is very much pleased with its success, and it is 
 generally looked upon here as a work fairly rooted in public 
 favour. The first large paper proof-copy ready shall be on 
 its way to Gloucester Place before it is an hour finished. It 
 is indeed outwardly a most splendid book. 
 
 " I must now speak of the future. The 'Keej:)sake' people 
 last season bought up some of my friends, and imagined, because 
 they had succeeded with one or two eminent ones, that my 
 book was crushed, and would not be anything like a rival. 
 They were too wily for me; and though I shall never be 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 2.91 
 
 able to meet them in their own way, still I must endeavour 
 to gather all the friends round me that I can. I have been 
 with our mutual friend Lockhart this morning, and we have 
 made the following arrangement, which he permits me to 
 mention to you, in the hope you will aid me on the same 
 conditions. He has promised me a poem, and a piece of 
 prose to the extent of from twenty to thirty pages, for .£50, 
 .and engaged to write for no other Annual. Now, if you 
 would help me on the same terms, and to the same extent, 
 I shall consider myself fortunate. It is true you kindly 
 promised to aid me with whatever I liked for next year, and 
 desired me not to talk of money. My dear friend, we make 
 money of you, and why not make some return? I beg you 
 will, therefore, letting bygones be bygones in money mat- 
 ters, join with Mr. Lockhart in this. I could give you 
 many reasons for doing it, all of which would influence you. 
 It is enough to say, that my rivals will come next year into 
 the field in all the strength of talent, and rank, and fashion, 
 and strive to bear me down. The author of ' Edderline,' 
 and many other things equally delightful, can prevent this, 
 and to him I look for help. 
 
 " I shall try Wordsworth in the same way. I am sure of 
 Southey, and of Edward Irving. I shall limit my list of 
 contributors, and make a better book generally than I have 
 done. I am to have a painting from Wilkie, and one from 
 Newton, and they will be more carefully engraved too. 
 
 " I am glad that your poem has met with such applause 
 here. I have now seen all the other Annuals, and I assure 
 you that in the best of them there is nothing that approaches 
 in beauty to 'Edderline.' This seems to be the general 
 opinion, and proud I am of it. — I remain, my dear friend, 
 yours ever faithfully, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham." 
 
292 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Again, there is another letter to Professor Wilson : — 
 
 " 27 Lower Belgrave Place, Nov. 19th, 182S. 
 
 "My dear Friend, — I send for your acceptance a large 
 paper copy of my Annual, with proofs of the plates, and I 
 send it by the mail that you may have it on your table a 
 few days before publication. You will be glad to hear that 
 the book has been favoruably received, and the general 
 impression seems to be, that while the 'Keepsake' is a little 
 below expectation, the 'Anniversary' is a little above it. I 
 am told by one in whose judgment I can wholly confide, that 
 our poetry is superior, and 'Edderline's Dream' the noblest 
 poem in any of the Annuals. This makes me happy; it puts 
 us at the head of these publications. 
 
 "I took the liberty of writing a letter to you lately, and 
 ventured to make you an offer, which I wish, in justice to 
 my admiration of your talents, had been worthier of your 
 merits. I hope and entreat you will think favourably of my 
 request, and give me your aid, as powerfully as you can. If 
 you but knew the opposition which I have to encounter, and 
 could hear the high words of those who, with their exclusive 
 poets, and their bands of bards, seek to bear me down, your 
 own proud spirit and chivalrous feelings would send you 
 quickly to my aid, and secure me from being put to shame 
 by the highest of the island. One great poet, not a Scotch 
 one, kindly advised me last season to think no more of 
 literary competition with the 'Keepsake,' inasmuch as he dipt 
 his pen exclusively for that publication. I know his poetic 
 contributions, and fear them not when I think on ' Edderline.' 
 " I hope you will not think me vain, or a dreamer of un- 
 attainable things, when I express my hope of being able, 
 through the aid of my friends, to maintain the reputation of 
 my book against the fame of others, though they be aided 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 293 
 
 Tby some who might have aided me. Should you decline — 
 which I hope in God you will not — the offer which I lately 
 made, I shall still depend upon your assistance, which you 
 had the goodness to promise. Another such poem as 
 ' Edderline' would make my fortune, and if I could obtain it 
 by May or June it would be in excellent time. 
 
 " If you would wish a copy or two of the book to give 
 away, I shall be happy to place them at your disposal. — I 
 remain, my dear friend, your faithful servant, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham." 
 
 The following is despatched to Mr. Ritchie on the 
 same subject: — 
 
 "27 Lower Belgrave Place, 22nd Nov., 1828. 
 
 " My dear Friend, — I thank you most sincerely for your 
 friendly criticism and your friendly letter. I am sensible of 
 the value of both, and I hope I shall ever retain your good 
 opinion both as a man and an author. You will find our 
 dear friend Miss Mitford at ' Three-Mile-Cross, Reading.' I 
 have in some sort prepared her to expect a commencement 
 of your chivalrous correspondence. She is indeed a most 
 delightful lady, and I hope some time to have the pleasure 
 of seeing you both under my roof. 
 
 " I am, you may be assured, much pleased with your 
 niece's good opinion. I always set down such things to the 
 discernment of the fair party, and in this feeling I request 
 the favour of her name, that I may think of it when I have 
 my poetic pen in my hand, and a pleasant old Scotch air in 
 my head. That we shall all meet in your gude town there 
 can be no manner of doubt, for if I be to the fore Scotland 
 shall see me before the harvest shoots over. This I have 
 sworn as well as said. 
 
294 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " You will be glad to hear that my little Annual promises 
 to be very successful, and that it has now the reputation of 
 excelling all its competitors in poetry. This seems to be 
 the universal opinion here, and I am very proud of it. In 
 truth, the 'Keepsake' is below expectation, and mine is above 
 it. Great names do not always produce great works, and 
 so it has happened in this case. If the 'Keepsake' sells 
 25,000 copies, then it will have expended <£1 1,000; if it sells 
 16,000 copies only, and that is the number printed, the 
 expense cannot be near that sum. But round numbers 
 sound well, and the public ear is gratified by swaggering 
 accounts of lords hired, and large sums expended. For 
 myself I go quietly on, minding no one's boast, making the 
 best book I am able to do. 
 
 " I am much pleased that you approve of my new under- 
 taking, and equally pleased with your sound and sensible 
 advice. There will be ten engravings, eight on wood, and 
 two on steel, in each volume, examples of the genius of the 
 various artists, and in the letterpress will be interwoven all 
 the authentic anecdotes, and all the snatches of clever 
 criticism which are the property of these gentlemen. I shall 
 not neglect to mention of the authorities. I have made some 
 progress in the first volume, and I hope to make a popular 
 book. It is much wanted. Artists themselves are far too 
 busied to write it. Besides, they would overwhelm the 
 narrative with the jargon of the studio, and with the 
 jaundiced notions of their own school of art. I shall do 
 the best I can. 
 
 " Of our friend of Oxford I have not heard for some time. 
 There is so much indolence coupled with so much talent in 
 Mm that I sometimes fear for his success in life. To sit 
 and indulge in delightful speculations is very well if you 
 start up and carry them into instant practice ; but our friend 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 295 
 
 is a splendid theorist; his practice is yet to come. He is 
 certainly a right good fellow as ever trod the earth. 
 
 " My wife unites in good wishes for you and for Mrs. 
 Ritchie, and all in whom you have an interest. I shall be 
 most happy to hear from you when your inclination and 
 leisure serve. I am, my dear friend, yours most truly, 
 
 Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " William Kitchie, Esq., 
 " 59 George Square, Edinburgh." 
 
 The same subject draws forth another letter to the 
 Professor: — 
 
 " 27 Lower Belgrave Place, 12th Dec., 1828. 
 
 "My dear Friend, — I enclose you some lines for your 
 friend's paper, and am truly glad of any opportunity of oblig- 
 ing you. I like Mr. Bell's Journal much. He understands, 
 I see, what poetry is ; a tiling not common among critics. 
 If there is anything else you wish me to do, say so. I have 
 not the heart to refuse you anything. 
 
 " I was much pleased with your kind assurances respecting 
 my next year's volume. Mr. Lockhart said he would write 
 to you, and I hope you will unite with him and Mr. Irving 
 in contributing for me alone. As I have been disappointed 
 in Wordsworth, I hope you will allow me to add £25 of his 
 .£50 to the £50 I already promised. The other I intend for 
 Mr. Lockhart. This, after all, looks like picking your pocket, 
 for such is the rage for Annuals at present that a poet so 
 eminent as you are may command terms. I ought, perhaps, 
 to be satisfied with the kind assurances you have given and 
 not be over greedy. 
 
296 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " One word about Wordsworth. In his last letter to me 
 lie said that Alaric Watts had a prior claim. * Only/ quoth 
 he, ' Watts says I go about depreciating other Annuals out 
 of regard for the "Keepsake." This is untrue. I only said, 'as 
 the "Keepsake" paid poets best, it would be the best work.' 
 This is not depreciating ! He advised me, before he knew 
 who were to be my contributors, not to think of rivalry in 
 literature with the ' Keepsake.' Enough of a little man and a 
 great poet. His poetic sympathies are warm, but his heart, 
 for any manly purpose, as cold as a December snail. I had 
 to-day a very pleasant, witty contrilhfntion from Theodore 
 Hook. — I remain, my dear friend, yours faithfully, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " P.S. — I have got Mr. Bell's letter and Journals, and 
 shall thank him for his good opinion by sending him sl trifle 
 some time soon for the paper. If you think my name will 
 do the least good to the good cause, pray insert it at either 
 end of the poem you like. 
 
 "A. C." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 297 
 
 CHAPTER XVII I. 
 
 PUBLISHES TWO ROMANCES, "LORD ROLDAN," AND "THE MAID OF 
 ELVAR" — " LIVES OF THE PAINTERS, SCULPTORS, AND ARCHITECTS" 
 — LETTERS TO MR. RITCHIE — CRITICISMS — REVISITS NITHSDALE, 
 AND ENTERTAINED AT A BANQUET IN DUMFRIES— FAREWELL 
 TO DALSWINTON. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great mental excitement and 
 manual labour which attended the preparation of the 
 " Anniversary Annual," he had other matters in hand, 
 which speedily came forth in a three-volume romance, 
 entitled " Lord Roldan," which does not appear, however, 
 to have made much impression upon the public mind ; 
 and also another romance, "The Maid of Elvar," which 
 seems to have shared the same fate. We fear that he 
 now wrote too hurriedly, and too extensively, with the 
 little time he had at disposal; but doubtless he had his 
 own reasons for doing what he did. Still, like the eagle 
 soaring to the sun, he undertook a work which required 
 great reading, great research, and great judgment, 
 namely, writing "The Lives of the most Eminent 
 British Painters, Sculptors, and Architects," and which 
 appeared in Murray's " Family Library." The work was 
 published in six volumes, and of course embraced a 
 great number of artists, with criticisms of their works. 
 These were treated with very considerable taste and 
 judgment, although some of them fell short of public 
 expectation. The work was originally intended and 
 
298 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 advertised to be completed in three volumes, but the mat- 
 ter so increased that it extended to double that number. 
 Well, what said the critics about it? What said 
 Professor Wilson, for whose opinion we have always had 
 a. high regard ? When only two volumes had been 
 published, he said in one of his Koctes : — "Allan 
 Cunningham's Lives of the Painters — I know not which 
 of the two volumes is best — are full of a fine and an 
 instructed enthusiasm. He speaks boldly, but reveren- 
 tially, of genius, and of men of genius; strews his 
 narrative with many flowers of poetry; disposes and 
 arranges his materials skilfully ; and is, in few words, 
 an admirable critic on art — an admirable biographer of 
 artists." Nothing, surely, could be more complimentary 
 — and coming from such a quarter. A writer in Black- 
 wood said on the appearance of the first volume: — "The 
 biographies included in this first volume are very inter- 
 esting reading — the result apparently of much diligence 
 — abounding certainly in masculine views and opinions, 
 shrewd, terse common sense, and last, not least to our 
 taste, in quiet graphic humour. The poet peeps out, as 
 is fair and proper, here and there ; but, on the whole; 
 the style presents, in its subdued and compact simplicity, 
 a striking and laudable contrast to the so often prolix 
 and over-adorned prose of Mr. Cunningham's romances. 
 He may depend upon it he has hit the right key here." 
 What more encouraging and eulogistic could be said? 
 The first volume, which contained the Lives of Hogarth, 
 Wilson, Reynolds, and Gainsborough, was immediately 
 transmitted to Edinburgh, with the following letter to 
 Mr. Ritchie of the Scotsman : — 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 299 
 
 " 27 Belgrave Place, 2nd July, 1829. 
 
 " My dear Friend, — I am your debtor for many kind 
 words, kind deeds, and kind letters, and it is one of the 
 chief miseries of my life that my hand has to keep up such a 
 continual contest with the world for bread that it allows a 
 debt of friendship to grow so enormously that it can only 
 lessen and must never hope to pay it off. There is no man 
 breathing, my dear Ritchie, with whom I would more gladly 
 make a periodical interchange of social civilities than with 
 yourself; and I hope and trust that fortune is not so much 
 my enemy as may prevent me from yet having such an 
 indulgence. Bairns, Bronze, Marble, Biography, and a 
 periodical have united against me; and I can only say that 
 if there be any passages in a little volume which, with my 
 name on it, will along with this be put into your hands [the. 
 letter is here mutilated] 
 
 "To you I may plainly and openly state what I feel. 
 This volume, then, containing the Lives of Hogarth, Wilson, 
 Reynolds, and Gainsborough, ought to be the most popular 
 of anything I have yet written, because I think it has more 
 of human nature, more of shrewduess and sagacity, and more 
 life and variety of narrative and anecdote than any of my 
 works. I have read much, inquired much, and thought 
 much, and formed my narratives from the best materials, 
 and endeavoured to impress them with a popular stamp. I 
 hope, my dear friend, that they will meet with your appro- 
 bation. If I am successful now I shall have no further 
 fear. 
 
 " My two eldest sons are preparing themselves for India, 
 and are now in the Seminary of Addiscombe, where the 
 eldest has |listinguished himself much. My wife and the 
 weans are also well. Why do I tell you of these matters'?. 
 
soo 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Because, my dear friend, it is not my verse or my prose 
 alone which interests yon in me. Your feelings are tender 
 \tlte rest wanting^. 
 
 ''William Bitchie, Esq., W.S., 
 ''59 George Square, Edinburgh." 
 
 When the second volume came out we have no doubt 
 that it was also sent to the same quarter, but we cannot 
 find any letter to that effect. However, the third volume 
 was accompanied with the following interesting, genial, 
 and affectionate account of how matters were going on : — 
 
 "27 Belgrave Place, 29th May, 1830. 
 
 " My dear Friend, — I send yon another of my little books, 
 and if yon only think as favourably of it as of its elder 
 brethren I shall be happy. I believe 12,000 copies are 
 printed, for the sale of the others has risen to about 14,000, 
 and the second edition of the second volume is already out 
 of print. That I owe some of my popularity to the kind 
 notices of my friends I am well aware, and who amongst 
 them all has been so kind as yourself? This volume has 
 been written in pain and suffering, for an evil spirit called 
 Lumbago got on my back and punished me severely. 
 
 "When shall we see you again? When you arrive give 
 us a day or two of your company; and to render it even 
 more bewitching than it was, bring Mrs. Eitchie with you, 
 and put her into the hands of my wife. 
 
 " Gray is now a married man. His wife is wealthy and 
 weel-faured, and smiles like one of the syrens. She is a fine 
 young creature. My wife is as plump and well-to-live as 
 ever, and when she meets two or three North country friends 
 sums up her estimate of happiness by saying, ' Oh, if we had 
 but Mr. Eitchie here ! ' Our two eldest boys are at Addis- 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 301 
 
 combe, and are distinguished mathematicians, standing at 
 the head of their individual classes, and ranking first in 
 Merit also. There can be little doubt of their success in the 
 Engineers if they continue to study. 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Ritchie is well. As for yourself, I suppose 
 you are never otherwise. I must include your niece also in 
 my inquiries. I have forgot her name, but that is of no 
 moment, as I imagine it is changed by this time. Do drop 
 me a note now and then. In this wide world you have no 
 one who likes you better, with the exception of the ' parties 
 aforesaid.' I am a poor hard-working creature, toiling in 
 marble and bronze all day, and at night dipping my pen in 
 biographical ink to earn an honest penny for the bairns' 
 bread. 'A blink of rest's a sweet enjoyment!' Do, there- 
 fore, thou worthiest, and pleasantest of all Scotchmen, write 
 me a note and gladden me once more by the sight of thy 
 well-known hand. — I am, my dear friend, yours most truly, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 " William Ritchie, Esq. 
 
 " With Vol. 3rd of the Painters." 
 
 This is a most interesting letter in various ways — the 
 grateful recognition of his friends in the great sale of 
 his work — the strong desire to see Mr. and Mrs. Ritchie 
 in London — the account of his boys studying at Addis- 
 combe, and maintaining such distinguished places — and 
 the statement of his own hard-wrought condition to 
 keep the "bairns in bread." His boys in Addiscombe 
 were a source of the greatest satisfaction, and his hope 
 of their success in the Engineers every father must feel. 
 As we shall afterwards see, they did not disappoint their 
 parents' expectations when they had entered upon the 
 
S02 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 field of their operations in India, but did the greatest 
 credit to themselves, their country, and all connected 
 with them. 
 
 " There is no place like home." Such is the opinion 
 of all men, whatever their clime, condition, or genera- 
 tion. However bleak, barren, and poverty-stricken, 
 there is no land like the land of our birth; and however 
 humble, decayed, and dilapidated, there is no dwelling 
 like home. The heart swells with emotion, and the 
 eyes fill with tears, when, after long years of absence, 
 we revisit the scenes of our childhood, and find our- 
 selves again at home. Amid trackless prairies, and 
 perpetual snows, the wild Indian thinks there is no wig- 
 wam like his own; and the hardy Highlander, inured 
 to the fury of the mountain tempest, or secluded from 
 the world in the lonely glen, sees no shieling like his 
 own, and no flowers like the heather blooms. Home 
 has a charm for the inferior creation as well as for man. 
 The hare, however wide her circuit, returns to her old 
 form at last ; the swallow, having swept through distant 
 climes, returns to her old nest in the window corner; 
 the fish, having explored the depths of ocean, returns to 
 its old fresh- water stream. And in like manner the 
 emigrant, after traversing foreign lands in quest of 
 fortune, returns, or desires to return, at last to lay his 
 bones in the churchyard where his fathers sleep. The 
 love of country and home is manifested in various ways. 
 We show it in the fondness with which we speak of it 
 when far away, in the eagerness with which we defend 
 it in danger, and hazard life itself to maintain its honour 
 and independence. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 303 
 
 Allan Cunningham was very far from being an excep- 
 tion to this feeling. The great preponderance of his 
 writings, prose and poetry, had reference to Nithsdale, 
 and reflected his love for his native vale. Above the 
 hum and the buzz and the roar of London he still 
 heard the "craw" of the rooks in the Dalswinton woods 
 — the soft murmur of the Nith, of which he had so 
 melodiously sung. He saw the fertile holms of Kirk- 
 mahoe — the green hills of Tinwald — above all, the 
 straggling village of Quarrelwood, where he had spent 
 so many glorious evenings with the M'Ghies, and he 
 had a longing desire to revisit the scenes of his youth. 
 True, many of his former acquaintances had been 
 removed by the hand of death, but a few still remained, 
 especially George Douglas M'Ghie, with whom he had 
 played so many pranks in youth, and brought on the 
 terror of French invasion in the parish. So, in the 
 summer of 1831, he carried out his desire, and visited 
 Nithsdale with delight, though not unmixed with sad- 
 ness. He saw Sandbed Farmhouse, to which he had 
 been brought when little more than two years old, 
 and where he had spent his early days; but where was 
 the then family now? All gone ! His worthy father, 
 of whom he wrote so affectionately, had long since 
 passed away, and the members of the family were also 
 all absent. He saw Dalswinton village, where he had 
 passed his apprenticeship under the tuition of his 
 brother James; but there, also, all was changed. 
 Strange faces looked out of the windows and the doors, 
 but they had no sympathy with what was passing at 
 the time in his own breast. Some rough voice would 
 
304 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 say, as he passed down the one street which the village 
 contains — " Ay, is that Allan Cunningham ? Wasn't 
 he broucht up hereabouts ? Didn't he mak' poems and 
 sangs ? He's a gey stout chield. Ken ye oucht aboot him 
 particular ?" It is this unkenclness in our own locality 
 which comes home to the heart. Our old friends and 
 associates are not there to welcome us, and we acutely 
 feel that there have arisen others who know not Joseph. 
 Taking advantage of his visit after a long absence, it 
 was at once proposed, and speedily arranged, to offer 
 him some ostensible testimony of the esteem in which 
 he was held by his friends of Nithsdale, on account of 
 his private character and literary merits. Accordingly, 
 he was entertained at a public banquet in the Com- 
 mercial Hotel, Dumfries, at which were present the 
 leading gentlemen and others of the town and district, 
 under the genial presidency of John M'Diarmid, Esq., of 
 the Dumfries Courier, himself a distinguished poet, 
 who shed a halo of enjoyment over the festive scene. 
 One may easily conceive that Cunningham, greatly 
 appreciating the honour which was being conferred 
 upon him, was not quite at ease in his present position. 
 The former days when he wrought in that town as a 
 common stone-mason, and assisted in erecting the dwell- 
 ings of several of those present, doubtless rose before 
 his view, and he inwardly asked — " What am I or my 
 father's house that Thou has brought me hitherto ?" 
 But still he had a consciousness that he had done some- 
 thing for his country, and his spirit of independence 
 would not allow him to hang his head. So he sat in 
 the " seat of honour" like a man who has honours thrust 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 305 
 
 upon him, while all the time he wished, we believe, he 
 had been somewhere else. In proposing the toast of 
 the evening, Mr. M'Diarmid concluded a long and 
 eloquent eulogium in the following terms : — 
 
 " We have met here this day to pay a merited tribute of 
 respect to a man who, as Sir Walter Scott said long ago, is 
 truly a 'credit to Caledonia,' and more particularly to his native 
 district — a district which, in conjunction with Robert Burns, 
 he has done much to illustrate and immortalize, and to 
 which, if I may be allowed to judge from his writings, he 
 still clings, both in fact and fancy, with all the fondness of 
 a first love. More than twelve years have elapsed since he 
 last feasted his eyes on the favourite scenery of Dalswinton, 
 and nearly a quarter of a century since he first went forth 
 to the wide world, with few advantages of birth or education, 
 and fortified chiefly by a warm heart, a glowing fancy, and 
 a good name, to exemplify, as he has doue, nobly and well, 
 the might that may slumber in a peasant's mind. There 
 are two aspects in which we may view the character of 
 Mr. Cunningham — as a man and as an author — and in both 
 he has won the world's regard in a manner which, I must 
 say, under all the circumstances, has been seldom equalled 
 and rarely surpassed. In his presence it would be bad taste 
 to say all, or even the half, that many of us may think of 
 him ; but this I may say without offence, that, considering 
 the obstacles he has encountered and overcome, I am inclined 
 to set him down not merely as a remarkable, but an extra- 
 ordinary character. As a poet he leans to the ballad style 
 of composition, and many of his lyrics are eminently sweet, 
 graceful, and touching. As a novelist he is chiefly distin- 
 guished for fancy and a power of sketching natural scenery; 
 while his legends, illustrative of Scottish manners and 
 
 U 
 
306 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 character, are nearly as perfect as any compositions of the 
 kind with which I am acquainted. As a biographer, Mr. 
 Cunningham excels greatly, from the graceful ease and spirit 
 of his style, the extent of his information, and the peculiar 
 opportunities he has enjoyed of conversing with a whole 
 host of public men — authors, painters, sculptors, engravers, 
 dramatists, actors, orators, and statesmen. Already the 
 work I speak of has become prodigiously popular, and, if 
 I am not mistaken, will go down to posterity a striking 
 memorial of what genius and diligence can accomplish. In 
 this happy country there are thousands of men who, not 
 contented with the advantages of rank, fortune, and educa- 
 tion, aspire to literary honours and distinctions ; yet, if we 
 except the master-spirits of the age, how few of the whole 
 can be put in competition with our respected guest ! To 
 take only one example, what is even Lord Leveson Gower 1 ? — 
 a nobleman of high rank and fortune, polished manners, and 
 finished education — what, I say, are his translations from 
 the German, and occasional contributions to periodical works, 
 compared with the writings of plain Allan Cunningham ? 
 
 " Here, therefore, I take my stand, and proceed to say 
 that if all our poets and authors had been cast in the same 
 happy mould, the world would have heard much less of their 
 poverty and misfortunes. Industrious, temperate, and self- 
 denying, it has been his pride to practise that genuine 
 independence which too many only rave about. "While his 
 evenings were cheerfully devoted to the Muses, his days 
 were more profitably employed, and he has never hitherto 
 fallen into the egregious error of making that the staple of 
 his mental industry for which there is rarely a regular 
 demand. Voltaire tells, that while the Portuguese sailors, 
 on entering battle, are prostrate on the deck imploring their 
 saints to perform miracles in their favour, the British tars 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 307 
 
 stand to their guns, and literally work miracles for them- 
 selves. This sagacious hint, which contains much wisdom 
 under the guise of satire, has not been lost on our valued 
 friend, who, in place of joining the crowd of adventurers, 
 who frequently work to a thankless master, and persist in 
 piping when there is none to dance, has studied human 
 nature to better purpose, and shown his admirable good sense 
 by making literature a staff rather than a crutch — a pleasure 
 or pastime rather than a profession. It is somewhere finely 
 said by Paley, that it is not the Lord Mayor seated in his 
 coach of state that benefits society, but the feelings of the 
 apprentice, whose emulation is roused by such a pageant. 
 And, on the same principle, I would remark that, so far from 
 assembling here this day for the vulgar purpose of eating 
 and drinking, we have met for the noble one of marking the 
 high sense we entertain of genius, industry, and good con- 
 duct, and of exciting others to persevere in the same paths 
 of private worth and public usefulness, that in due time they 
 may also meet a similar reward. And, finally, gentlemen, 
 when all I now see around me shall have been removed from 
 the stage of active life, other Allan Cunninghams may haply 
 arise ; and all I can add is an ardent wish that, when they 
 chance to revisit the scenes of their youth, they may be 
 welcomed with the same enthusiasm and cordiality, and 
 that from Dumfriesshire, at least, may disappear now and 
 hereafter, the old reproach, that a prophet has no honour in 
 his own country." 
 
 It is unnecessary to add that the toast was received 
 with the utmost enthusiasm. 
 
 Cunningham made a very modest reply. He said he 
 was quite unaccustomed to public speaking, and could 
 
308 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 make but a poor return indeed for the great kindness 
 and attention which had been shown him, and the 
 manner in which his health had been proposed and 
 received. In his case the saying had certainly been 
 reversed, that a " Prophet had no honour in. his own 
 country." He was proud that he belonged to this 
 district, for it was the first to own him — he was proud 
 that his father and grandfather were freemen of this 
 town — he was proud that all his earliest and most last- 
 ing feelings and associations were connected with a 
 place such as this — and he was proud that any little 
 knowledge he possessed had been gained amongst them. 
 He could never forget the reception he had met with, 
 and the kindness he had experienced since his arrival 
 in Dumfries ; and for the honour done to him on the 
 present occasion, all he could do was to return his 
 warmest and most fervent thanks. 
 
 Thomas Carlyle, now so celebrated as an author, and 
 of world-wide fame, was also present, and made his first 
 public speech, which it is interesting to note was in 
 proposing the memory of Burns. In some preliminary 
 observations he thus gracefully alluded to their guest, 
 Mr. Cunningham : — " One circumstance had been stated, 
 and he felt gratified that the Chairman had done so. 
 He had certainly come down from his retreat in the hills 
 to meet Allan Cunningham at a time when scarcely any 
 other circumstance could have induced him to move 
 half-a-mile from home. He conceived that a tribute 
 could not be paid to a more deserving individual, nor 
 did he ever know of a dinner being given which pro- 
 ceeded from a purer principle. When Allan left his 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 309 
 
 native place he was poor, unknown, and unfriended — 
 nobody knew what was in him, and he himself had only 
 a slight consciousness of his own powers. He now 
 comes back — his worth is known and appreciated, and 
 all Britain is proud to number him among her poets ; 
 we can only say, be ye honoured, we thank you ; you 
 have gratified us much by this meeting. It had been 
 said that a poet must do all for himself; but then he 
 must have a something in his heart, and this Mr. Cunn- 
 ingham possessed. He possessed genius, and the feel- 
 ing to direct it aright. He covets not our silver and 
 gold — is sufficiently provided for within, and needs little 
 from without. It then remains for us (continued Mr. 
 Carlyle) to cheer him on in his honourable course, and 
 when he is told that his thoughts have dwelt in our 
 hearts, and elevated us, and made us happy, it must 
 inspire him with renewed feelings of ardour." This 
 was greeted with immense applause, and the speaker 
 went on to what he had risen to propose, the memory 
 of Burns. 
 
 Cunningham's old minister, the Rev. Mr. Wightman, 
 of Kirkmahoe, was present in the highest spirits, and 
 enlivened the evening by reciting a short poem he had 
 composed for the occasion, and which began thus: — 
 
 " The Nith in lambent beauty glides, 
 To blend with Solway's briny tides ; 
 The landscape all is fresh and fair, 
 And bland and balmy is the air ; 
 Glad nature seems to swell the strain, 
 That welcomes Allan back again ! " 
 
 During the evening Mr. Cunningham was, without 
 
310 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 previous intimation, presented with the freedom of the 
 incorporations of the town by Convener Thomson, who 
 said he did so by the authority of the trades, " in testi- 
 mony of the regard they bore him as a man of genius, 
 an honest man, and one who was a credit to his 
 country." 
 
 Mr. Cunningham, who was greatly affected at the 
 unexpected honour conferred upon him, said, that while 
 he had spoken of his father and grandfather being free- 
 men of Dumfries, he did not anticipate that he was soon 
 to be made one himself. He was pleased to think that 
 he had been an apprentice in the town, and had worked 
 as a mason in her streets and public places. He could 
 still recognize the marks of his chisel on many an edifice, 
 and even now observed the gentleman by whom he was 
 treated as a friend, though still a servant. He had the 
 other day made a pilgrimage to the mausoleum of 
 Burns, and set down, among the signatures of many 
 who performed the same errand, his name as a mason, 
 for he was perfectly sure that he was a mason, although 
 not so sure that he was anything else. Of course the 
 room resounded with plaudits when he resumed his 
 seat. 
 
 A compliment similar to Mr. Carlyle's was paid him 
 eleven years afterwards, when he had passed from the 
 scene of earthly eulogium, by another distinguished 
 writer, who is also gone. Professor Aytoun, at the 
 Burns' Festival in 1844, on the banks of the Doon, in 
 proposing "The Memory of the Ettrick Shepherd, and 
 Allan Cunningham," spoke of the latter in the following 
 eulogistic terms : — " Of the other sweet singer, too — of 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 311 
 
 Allan Cunningham, the leal-hearted and kindly Allan — 
 I might say much; but why should I detain you further? 
 Does not his name alone recall to your recollections 
 many a sweet song that has thrilled the bosom of the 
 village maiden with an emotion that a princess need not 
 blush to own ? Honour, then, to the poets ! whether 
 they speak out loud and trumpet-tongued, to find 
 audience in the hearts of the great, and the mighty, and 
 the brave — or whether, in lowlier and more simple 
 accents, but not less sacred in their mission, they bring 
 comfort and consolation to the poor. As the sweep of 
 the rainbow 7 , which has its arch in heaven and its shafts 
 resting upon the surface of the earth — as the sunshine 
 which falls with equal bounty upon the palace and the 
 hut — is the all-pervading and universal spirit of poetry; 
 and what less can we do to those men who have collected 
 and scattered it around us, than to hail them as the 
 benefactors of their race ? " 
 
 On the day following this banquet, Cunningham and 
 a party of gentlemen, by invitation of Mr. Leny, dined 
 at Dalswinton House. They went out to Kirkmahoe a 
 considerable time before the dinner hour, in order to 
 have a ramble through the scenes and places where the 
 poet had spent the days of his youth. After strolling 
 about for some hours over the holms and the hills of 
 Dalswinton, so well known in days of yore, and even 
 still w r ell known, with the tears oftentimes running- 
 down his cheeks, in remembrance of youthful days, he 
 expressed to Mrs. Leny his desire to spend the evening 
 of his days on the banks of the Nith, with a cot, a kail- 
 yard, and a cow. Mrs. Leny, with her well-known 
 
312 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 generosity and kindness of heart instantly replied to the 
 poet's wish : — " Only come once more amongst us, and 
 these, at least, I assure you, you shall have." The 
 generous offer, highly appreciated, was never enjoyed. 
 At the comparatively early age of forty-seven he thought 
 he had not yet done with the great City, and, therefore, 
 though the offer was not declined, but gratefully 
 acknowledged, the fulfilment of its acceptance was 
 delayed. The place was pointed out where the " cot " 
 was to be built, and the "kail-yard" to be planted, a 
 romantic spot on the edge of a deep glen, and command- 
 ing an extensive view of the vale of the Nith, from the 
 hills of Blackwood to the Solway, and even, in a clear 
 day, to the hills of Cumberland. But the intent was 
 not carried into execution. On returning to London 
 from his home-tour, he made a sketch of the intended 
 cottage, but underneath he wrote the following stanzas, 
 which he sent to Mrs. Leny: — 
 
 "A FAREWELL TO DALSWLNTOK 
 
 " ' A cot, a kale-yard, and a cow,' 
 
 Said fair Dalswinton's lady, 
 'Are thine,' and so the Muse began 
 
 To make her dwelling ready. 
 She reared her walls, she laid her floors, 
 
 And finished roof and rafter; 
 But looking on her handiwork 
 
 She scarce refrained from laughter. 
 A cot sketched from some fairy's dream, 
 
 In fancy's strangest tintin', 
 Would mock the beauteous banks and streams 
 
 Of thee, my loved Dalswinton! 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 313 
 
 When I look, lady, on thy land, 
 
 It fills my soul with gladness, 
 Till I think on my youthful days, 
 
 And then I sink in sadness. 
 With mind unfurnished with an aim 
 
 Among your groves I wandered, 
 And dreaming much, and doing nought, 
 
 My golden hours I squandered; 
 Or followed Folly's meteor light, 
 
 Oft till the sun came glintin', 
 And seemed to say, 'tis for thy sake 
 
 I shine, my sweet Dalswinton ! 
 
 There stands the hill where first I roamed, 
 
 Before the Muse had owned me — 
 There is the glen where first she wove 
 
 Her web of witchcraft round me : 
 The wizard tree, the haunted stream, 
 
 Where in my waking slumbers, 
 Fair fruitful fancy on my soul 
 
 Poured fast her flowing numbers. 
 Dalswinton hill, Dalswinton holm, 
 
 And Nith, thou gentle river, 
 Rise in my heart, flow in my soul, 
 
 And dwell with me for ever. 
 
 My father's feet seem on thy braes, 
 
 And on each haugh and hollow; 
 I grow a child again, and seem 
 
 His manly steps to follow, 
 Now on the spot where glad he sat, 
 
 As bright our hearth was blazing, 
 The gowans grow, and harebells blow, 
 
 And fleecy flocks are grazing. 
 Farewell Dalswinton' s hill and grove, 
 
 Farewell, too, its fair lady — 
 I'll think on all, when far I rove, 
 
 By vale and woodland shady. 
 
314 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " Farewell thy flowers, in whose rich bloom 
 
 The honey-bees are swarming — 
 Farewell thy woods, with every smell 
 
 And every sound that's charming — 
 Farewell thy banks of golden broom, 
 
 The hills with fox-gloves glowing, 
 The riag-dove haunts, where fairy streams 
 
 Are in their music flowing. 
 Farewell thy hill, farewell thy halls — 
 
 Dark fate to me is hintin', 
 I've seen the last I e'er shall see 
 
 Of thee, my sweet Dalswinton ! " 
 
 The prediction given in the last stanza was unfortun- 
 ately only too true. The poet never saw Dalswinton 
 again, but the tone and spirit which the effusion 
 breathes show how closely and dearly it was enshrined 
 in his heart. He never returned to the vale of Niths- 
 dale any more. Cunningham, after all, did not see the 
 M'Ghies on his visit, for which he was greatly sorry, 
 and, writing afterwards to his friend George, he said: — 
 "I was sorry I saw so little of you when I was in 
 Dumfries, and the day I had laid out to see you in 
 Kirkmahoe was one of much misery. I had nearly died 
 in Crichope Linn, which would have been picturesque 
 enough, but somehow one covets a bed in such times. 
 When I make a descent on Scotland again, I will set 
 up my standard in lodgings of my own, and rally the 
 M'Ghies and others of the clans around me." He had 
 done a great favour to George with respect to a friend, 
 and this is a part of the letter stating what he succeeded 
 in doing. 
 

 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 315 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PROPOSES A NEW EDITION" OE THE WORKS OF BURNS, WITH A LIEE — 
 LETTERS FROM HIS SONS IN INDIA — LETTER TO THE LATE DR. 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS OE EDINBURGH — "THE POET'S INVITATION " — 
 LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER — PUBLISHES THE WORKS OF BURNS — 
 BIDS FAREWELL TO THE BARD. 
 
 His visit to Nithsdale was delightful in the extreme, as 
 he anticipated it would be, and produced a salutary 
 effect upon both his bodily and mental constitution, 
 which had been greatly exhausted by the labours he had 
 undergone. He felt himself invigorated and almost an 
 entirely new man. He had been highly gratified in 
 looking upon the scenes of his youthful days — the 
 famous loch from which he had removed Thomas 
 M'Ghie's keen curling stone, and painted it all over the 
 evening previous to a single-handed spiel, so that the 
 owner did not know it again, and lost the game — Sand- 
 bed, to which he was taken when a child, and where he 
 first saw Burns — the Roads, where his father died — 
 Foregarth, where was held many a tryst — the village of 
 Dalswinton, where he lived when an apprentice — and 
 Townhead, marked No. 14, in the great hoax of French 
 invasion. He had been feted by the elite of the district — . 
 his literary abilities had been eulogized — he had received 
 the freedom of the Burgh of Dumfries, in which he had 
 wrought as a common stone-mason, and he would have 
 been unworthy of the honour conferred upon him had' 
 
316 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 he not rejoiced. He highly appreciated the favours 
 bestowed upon him, and resolved to make himself more 
 worthy of them. 
 
 Accordingly, he now set himself to the performance of 
 a task which he intended to be his great literary master- 
 piece, to bring out an edition of the Works of Burns, 
 with his Life. This was a great undertaking, but it 
 was successfully accomplished. Id a letter to his dear 
 friend, Mr. Jerdan of the Literary Gazette, he gives, as 
 his reasons for doing so, the following: — "His works have 
 been heretofore ill-arranged; the natural order of com- 
 position has been neglected; poems have been printed 
 as his which he never wrote, and his letters have had 
 the accompaniment of epistles which were not necessary, 
 and were the work of other hands. Poems, letters, and 
 anecdotes, hitherto unpublished, are in my possession, 
 and will appear in the course of the work. My desire is 
 to arrange the poems, letters, songs, remarks, and memo- 
 randa of the bard in natural and intelligible order; to 
 illustrate and explain them with introductions and 
 notes, and to write a full and ample memoir, such as 
 shall show his character as a man and his merits as a 
 poet, and give freely and faithfully the history of his 
 short and bright career." The work was to come out in 
 six monthly volumes, and to be embellished with land- 
 scape vignettes of memorable scenes in the shires of Ayr 
 and Dumfries. 
 
 In the meantime his sons Joseph and Alexander have 
 sailed for India, under Government appointments, a 
 circumstance which, however gratifying in the main, 
 must have sent a pang through the hearts of the 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 317 
 
 parents, at the thought that they might never see them 
 again. However, they were noble fellows, and went on 
 swimmingly, as the following interesting letters to their 
 grandmother show. The first is from Joseph at 
 Dinapore, on the Ganges : — 
 
 " I sailed, as you know, in the beginning of February, and 
 though many people consider a ship as a mere prison, and a 
 very dull one besides, yet I did not find it so, for to the 
 novelty of the scene were added many entertaining pas- 
 sengers, and Captain Blair is a gentleman of parts and 
 attainments, and very interesting in conversation. He had, 
 besides, a good library, so that our time was spent cheerfully 
 and usefully, while the capture of a shark, or of some 
 enormous bird, would relieve the routine ; and the sight of a 
 green island would make us wish, in spite of everything, that 
 we were on shore. 
 
 "The Bay of Biscay is a severe and proverbial trial for 
 young sailors, and it proved so to me, though the time of our 
 greatest pain and amusement was when we crossed the Line 
 for the first time, when we were well dirtied with dung and 
 tar, well shaved with an iron hoop, and well bruised with 
 knocks, thumps, and tumbles. "We landed upon a small 
 island called Johanna, on the East Coast of Africa, and 
 were much surprised at the sight of savages nearly naked, 
 and delighted with the taste of fresh fruits and well water. 
 Want of wind detained us in the neighbourhood of the Line 
 — the weather was exceedingly hot and close, and exposure 
 to the sun during a shooting excursion brought on a slight 
 attack of fever, which will make me very cautious for the 
 future. 
 
 " We sailed round Ceylon, and stopped at Madras for two 
 days, which presents a most splendid appearance on approach- 
 
318 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 ing it from the sea. On the 12th of June I landed in 
 Calcutta, the capital of our empire in India, and a city of 
 palaces, as it is generally, though not deservedly, called. 
 The heat was excessive, for the thermometer was nearly 100° 
 for many days, and sometimes above it; but comfort and the 
 wealth of individuals have invented many artificial means of 
 cooling both their rooms and the water they drink. I was 
 in Calcutta for six weeks, during which I was living with 
 Captain Blah', and visiting Government House and the best 
 society. I am now proceeding up the great and holy river 
 Ganges in a large boat to join my corps at Delhi, the ancient 
 capital of India, and the seat of the Great Mogul. We 
 proceed very slowly, and I shall be as long sailing 1000 
 miles of a river as I was in sailing from England to India. 
 We are passing through a rich and populous country, with 
 plenty of birds and game, but no tigers or wild boars near 
 the banks." 
 
 
 The next extract is from a letter written by Alexander, 
 at Moorshedabad, and is of a later date, but we intro- 
 duce it here as there may not be an opportunity 
 again: — 
 
 " I daresay you have often wondered what has become of 
 that boy Sandie, and then my aunt Mina has said — 'Ay, 
 he's a terrible boy that, — he'll no write to his auld grand- 
 mither, or his auld aunt, that kenn'd him for siccan a long 
 time. He has a great aversion to women, and he so seldom 
 speaks to them that he canna be exjDected to write.' But, 
 niy dear grandmother, the reason that I did not write before 
 was, that I had not been settled, and could write nothing 
 but guesses about what would be my future destination. 
 Now I am appointed to Delhi, where Mr. Harley has been, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 319 
 
 I believe, and where Joseph was for a short time. It is the 
 residence of the Great Mogul of the present age. 
 
 " I could not have arrived in India at a better time, for 
 James Pagan was then in Calcutta, as an evidence on a 
 court-martial, and my brother Joseph had just come in from 
 his Survey, and came to Calcutta a week after, so that we 
 were all three in Calcutta together. 
 
 * When shall we three meet again, 
 In thunder, lightning, or in rain?' 
 
 " I was ordered up to Moorshedabad, within six miles of 
 Berhampore, where James Pagan was stationed, and we lived 
 together for about a month, when he was sent to a rather 
 out-of-the-way, but healthy place, called Rungpore, in Bengal. 
 Joseph stopped nearly a week here before recommencing his 
 Survey, and I expect to see him again in about a fortnight. 
 
 "I like India very well; at least as a person fresh from 
 London can be expected to do. Like every one who has 
 come, I must say that I am disappointed. India is, according 
 to what those who do not know it say, a place abounding 
 with gold, silver, and precious stones ; and every native that 
 you may meet will have at least three Cashmere shawls 
 about him. The fact is, nothing but the sun is golden; and 
 as for shawls, I have not seen any. Lolling on beautiful 
 couches, and being fanned by ladies, is very romantic and 
 pleasing to read about, and would, no doubt, be much 
 relished in England; but here you may be fanned by dozens 
 of fans without any relief when the thermometer is 100°. 
 
 "The weather is beautiful just now — it is cold enough for 
 a fire in the mornings and evenings, and not cold enough to 
 make your fingers useless all day. I shall have a very 
 pleasant and solitary voyage up the river to Cawnpore for 
 upwards of two months, when I shall commence marching 
 
320 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 
 
 along with the hot winds. The march will be about a month, 
 through Agra to Delhi. 
 
 "I have been very happy all the time I have been here. 
 Besides, it put me very much in mind of Scotland, where 
 everybody is better acquainted with other people's families 
 and affairs than with their own. In the last letter I had 
 from James Pagan, he says : — ' I used to think Berhampore a 
 dull place, but I believe you will find few pleasanter stations 
 in India; so don't look out for changes to a gayer station. 
 You ought to be sent here for a week.' He was quite well, 
 and ' sitting by the side of a good large fire.' 
 
 " Joseph will remain on his Survey till the middle of the 
 year. He likes the stirring manner of life that he is leading 
 very much, and I think it is more healthy than any other. 
 I have just received a letter from him. He is quite well, 
 and wants some more shooting materials. I was intending 
 to say that my aunt Mina, being of a military disposition, 
 would perhaps like a tiger or leopard better than a cat; but 
 I am afraid that the leopard which Joseph has got would be 
 rather too strong and rough an animal for a lady, as he has 
 just sent to me for a strong iron chain to fasten him up. 
 
 "I daresay my aunt Mina, who still calls my brother 
 Francis her boy, often says, — ' Bless me ! I wonder what that 
 puir wee fallow Sandie does amang a' thae great folk.' But 
 Sandie is now a 'puir wee fallow' of six feet high, with 
 breadth in proportion — has a constitution which bids defiance 
 to all diseases, and spirits which would overcome anything." 
 
 How many grandmothers would rejoice to have such 
 noble and affectionate grandsons ! The following 
 opening of a correspondence with the late Dr. Robert 
 Chambers, of Chambers's Journal, will be read with 
 interest on various accounts: — 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 321 
 
 "27 Lower Belgrave Place, 27th October, 1832. 
 
 "My dear Sir, — Your letter was a welcome one. It is 
 written with that frank openness of heart which I like, and 
 contains' a wish, which was no stranger to my own bosom, 
 that we should be known to each other. You must not 
 suppose that I have been influenced in my wish by the 
 approbation with which I know your, works have been 
 received by your country. It is long since I took to judging 
 in all matters for myself, and the 'Picture of Scotland' and 
 the 'Traditions of Edinburgh,' both of which I bought, 
 induced me to wish Robert Chambers among my friends. 
 There was, perhaps, a touch or so of vanity in this — your 
 poetic, ballad-scrap, auld-world, new-world, Scottish tastes and 
 feelings seemed to go side for side with my own. Be so 
 good, therefore, as send me your promised ' Book of Ballads,' 
 and accept in return, or rather in token of future regard, 
 active and not passive, my rustic ' Maid of Elvar,' who has 
 made her way through reform pamphlets and other rubbish, 
 like a lily rising through the clods of the spring. There's a 
 complimentary simile in favour of myself and my book ! 
 You must not, however, think ill of it because I praise it; 
 but try and read it, and tell me what you feel about it. 
 
 " I have been much pleased with your account of Sir 
 Walter Scott; it wears such an air of truth, that no one can 
 refuse credence to it, and is full of interesting facts and just 
 observations. I have no intention of expanding, or even of 
 correcting, my own hasty and inaccurate sketch. Mr. 
 Lockhart will soon give a full and correct life of that 
 wonderful man to the world. The weed which I have 
 thrown on his grave — for I cannot call it a flower — may 
 wither as better things must do. Some nine thousand copies 
 were sold. This we consider high, though nothing comparable, 
 
 X 
 
322 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 I know, to the immense sale of Chambers's Journal. I am 
 truly glad of your great circulation. Your work is by a 
 thousand degrees the best of all the latter progeny of the 
 Press. It is an original work, and while it continues so, 
 must keep the lead of the paste and scissors productions. 
 My wife, who has just returned from Scotland, says that 
 your Journal is very popular among her native hills of 
 Galloway. The shepherds, who are scattered there at the 
 rate of one to every four miles square, read it constantly, 
 and they circulate it in this way : the first shepherd who gets 
 it reads it, and at an understood hour places it under a stone 
 on a certain hill-top; then shepherd the second in his own 
 time finds it, reads it, and carries it to another hill, where it 
 is found, like Ossian's chief, under its own gray stone by 
 shepherd the third, and so it passes on its way, scattering 
 information over the land. 
 
 " My songs, my dear sir, have all the faults you find with 
 them, and some more. The truth is, I am unacquainted 
 with any other nature save that of the Nith and the Solway, 
 and I must make it do my turn. I am like a bird that 
 gathers materials for its nest round its customary bush, and 
 who sings in his own grove, and never thinks of moving 
 elsewhere. The affectations of London are as nothing to me. 
 In my ' Lives of the Painters,' I have, however, escaped from 
 my valley, and in other contemplated works I hope to show 
 that, though I sing in the charmed circle of Nithsdale, I can 
 make excursions in prose out of it, and write and think like 
 a man of the world and its ways. — I remain, my dear Sir, 
 with much regard, yours always, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " To Robert Chambers, Esq." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 323 
 
 If there is one social feature of Cunningham's character 
 which we admire more than another, it is his affection 
 for his family, and especially for his mother. How often 
 does it happen that when sons grow up, leave their 
 native place, and have families of their own, those near 
 to them, if not forgotten, are neglected, and news of 
 them are obtained at second-hand, or by chance ! But 
 it was not so with Allan Cunningham. He was a most 
 dutiful and affectionate son, and amidst the greatest 
 bustle of business he contrived time to write to his 
 mother, and to add to her comfort in every way he 
 could. Then, iD his own home how genial he was ! 
 although in one of his letters he refers to his hasty 
 temper, as contrasted with that of one of his sons, in his 
 wife's estimation. This, however, we consider as a joke 
 on his part. He had one daughter to whom he was 
 devotedly attached, but who was early removed by death. 
 We cannot avoid quoting the following poem addressed 
 to her, on expressing a desire to leave Nithsdale and 
 return to her home in London: — 
 
 "THE POET'S INVITATION. 
 
 " So thou wilt quit thy comrades, sweet, 
 
 Nith's fountains, sweeping grove, and holme, 
 
 For distant London's dusty street ? 
 
 Then come my youngest, fairest, come; 
 
 For not the sunshine following showers, 
 
 Nor fruit-buds to the wintry bowers, 
 
 Nor ladye-bracken to the hiud, 
 
 Nor warm bark to the tender rind, 
 
 Nor song-bird to the sprouting tree, 
 
 Nor heath-bell to the gathering bee, 
 
 Nor golden daylight to sad eyes, 
 
324 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Nor moon-star showing larks to rise, 
 Nor son long lost in some far part, 
 Who leaps back to his mother's heart. 
 Nor lily to Dais-win ton lea, 
 
 Nor moonlight to the fairy, 
 Can be so dear as thou to me, 
 My youngest one, my Mary. 
 
 " Look well on Nithsdale's lonely hills, 
 
 Where they who loved thee lived of yore; 
 And dip thy small feet in the rills 
 
 Which sing beside thy mother's door. 
 There's not a bush on Blackwood lea, 
 On broad Dalswinton not a tree; 
 By Carse there's not a lily blows, 
 On Cowhill bank there's not a rose; 
 By green Portrack no fruit-tree fair, 
 Hangs its ripe clusters in mid-air, 
 But what in hours not long agone, 
 In idling mood were to me known; 
 And now, though distant far, they seem 
 Of heaven, and mix in many a dream. 
 
 Of Nith's fair land limn all the charms 
 
 Upon thy heart, and carry 
 
 The picture to thy father's arms, 
 
 My youngest one, my Mary. 
 
 " Nor on the lovely land alone, 
 
 Be all thy thoughts'and fancy squander'd ; 
 Look at thy right hand, there is one 
 
 Who long with thee hath mused and wander'd, 
 Now with the wild bee 'mongst the flowers, 
 Now with the song-bird in the bowers; 
 Or plucking balmy blooms and throwing 
 Them on the winds or waters flowing; 
 Or marking with a mirthsome scream, 
 Your shadows chauging in the stream; 
 Or gay o'er summer's painted ground, 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 325 
 
 Danced till the trees seemed reeling round; 
 Or listening to some far-heard tune, 
 Or gazing on the calm clear moon. 
 
 0! think on her whose nature sweet 
 
 Would neither shift nor vary 
 From gentle deeds and words discreet- — 
 Such Margaret was to Mary. 
 
 *" Thejpasture hills fade from thy sight, 
 Nith sinks with all her silver waters, 
 With all that's gentle, mild, and sweet, 
 Of Nithsdale's dames and daughters. 
 Proud London, with her golden spires, 
 Her painted halls and festal fires, 
 Calls on thee with a mother's voice, 
 And bids thee in her arms rejoice. 
 But still when Spring, with primrose mouth, 
 Breathes o'er the violets of the south, 
 Thou'lt hear the far wind-wafted sounds 
 Of waves in Siddick's cavern'd bounds, 
 The music of unnumbered rills, 
 Which sport on Nithsdale's haunted hills ; 
 And see old Molach's hoary back, 
 That seems the cloud to carry, 
 And dream thyself in green Portrack, 
 My darling child, my Mary." 
 
 We shall now give some of his letters to his mother 
 before noticing his work, at which he is busy, the " Works 
 and Life of Burns": — 
 
 "Belgrave Place, 19th August, 1833. 
 "My dear Mother, — I am glad to learn that your health 
 and spirits are much the same as when I had the great satis- 
 faction, I may say with a son's feeling, the honour of seeing 
 you in Scotland. We are also very well. Mary is taller and 
 stronger, and all are growing except myself. My growth 
 
326 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 must, I fear, be downwards ; but such is the lot of life. My 
 wife, with Poll and Frank, are living for the present at 
 Blackheath, and the fresh, free air is, I can observe, bene- 
 ficial. Peter is in London, and has written and published a 
 book, a Life of Drumruond the Poet, with selections from his 
 poems. It has been well received, and, considering that it was 
 written when he was but sixteen years old, is really wonder- 
 ful for good taste and accuracy of thinking, Of Alexander, 
 poor fellow, we have not yet heard, nor do we expect to hear 
 before the end of next month. I hope he will meet his 
 brother in Calcutta, and get on as well as he has done. 
 
 "We have had a letter from Joseph, dated from Rajmahal, 
 the 1st of March. He was then well, in good spirits, and 
 busy making his Survey. He says his name is now known 
 in Bengal, and he is not afraid but that he will in future 
 have staff appointments. His cousin, James Pagan, was 
 with him, and living in his ,tent, on a visit for a month. 
 James was very well, got Joseph's elephant every day to shoot 
 upon, and generally succeeded in shooting as much game a& 
 served for dinner. He had nearly, I mean his elephant, 
 stumbled on a sleeping tiger, but James prudently turned his 
 elephant's head, and obeyed the old proverb of letting sleep- 
 ing dogs lie. I am glad they are together. Will you tell this 
 story to my dear sister Mary, and say that I wish to have a 
 long letter from her own hand] I forgot to say that Joseph's 
 appointment will, while it lasts, bring him .£600 or £700 
 a-year above bis pay. I summed up lately what my two 
 engineers had cost me, and found it to exceed a thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 "For my own part, I am busy beyond all example. I 
 have twice as much to write as what I ought to do, but I have 
 taxed my strength not beyond what it can bear, and I intend 
 to give my body a month's pleasure, and my heart a month's- 
 
! 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 joy, in coming and seeing you next year in the summer at 
 your own fireside. I shall come when no one shall know. 
 The first notice to yourself will be my alighting at your gate. 
 and we shall have long conversations with no one to inter- 
 rupt us. I am just now busy writing the Life of Burns. I 
 am receiving new information from many sources, also 
 letters, and even poems of his, and I expect to make a good 
 work, such a one as the world will take. It will extend 
 to six volumes. A painter is, I believe, even now in Niths- 
 dale taking sketches of scenery to engrave for it. Among 
 other things, he is making me a drawing of the Blackwood 
 yews where our cottage stood in w T hich I was born. This is 
 a matter of vanity, so say nothing about it. 
 
 "Your grandson Allan is a quiet, steady lad, and a good 
 workman, and will do very well there can be no doubt. 
 Tell my sister at the village that he gives me full satisfac- 
 tion, and will be able to save money. Tell my sister that 
 we, that is, all of us, often talk of her, and that her boy 
 Frank is grown tall, much like Joseph, and is an admirable 
 scholar. Tell my sister Jean that she must find some 
 anecdotes of Burns for me. I have got several more of his 
 autographs, and expect a dozen or two of his letters which 
 have never yet been published. 
 
 "My wife, for I have this moment returned from Black- 
 heath, sends her kind love to you. She unites with me in 
 love to my sisters. — I remain, my beloved Mother, your 
 affectionate son, 
 
 " Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " Mrs. Cunningham." 
 
 " Belgrave Place, 15th March, 1835. 
 
 " My dear Mother, — I ought to have written this letter 
 some time ago, but, to tell the truth, I had neither heart 
 
328 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 nor health for details of sorrow. We have suffered sad 
 bereavements — you have lost a much-loved son — I have 
 lost a dear brother, and my wife has been deprived of two 
 brothers — all in the course of a few months. These events 
 have kept us in a state of agitation and sorrow, but we are 
 now becoming more composed, and are endeavouring to look 
 forward, and, above all, upward, for true relief can only come 
 from that quarter. It helps to soothe us, too, to hear that 
 you are better. The spring suns are beginning to shine, and 
 the spring flowers to appear, and you will be able to step 
 over the door a little; and were your walks no wider than 
 your own garden, it cannot fail to refresh you to see the 
 daisies and lilies, and many other flowers which you taught 
 me to be fond of, growing on every side. In the little spot 
 of ground before my own window, I see, as I write now, the 
 crocuses and snow-drops in full blow, and the lilies appearing, 
 and I feel gratified, and think of the little nook at the Roads 
 where I delved and dibbled, and thought my toils overpaid 
 when I got you to come and look at my auriculas and roses. 
 li We had long letters on Saturday last from India. Alex- 
 ander had been a second time promoted, but when he wrote 
 his letter he had been for some time laid up with cold and 
 fever. The fever, he said, was gone, but the cold and sore 
 throat remained. Joseph's letter was three weeks later, and 
 he had heard from Alexander two days before. He was then 
 all but well, and on the point of riding out to begin his 
 inspection of the public buildings of Central Bengal. He 
 obtained this appointment through the kindness of Major 
 Irvine, an eminent engineer, a native of Langholm. Joseph 
 was quite well, and expected to be a twelvemonth more 
 employed on the Canal. As soon as we hear from Alexander 
 we will let you know. James Pagan was very well on the 
 12th of October, the date of his cousin's letter. Frank is at 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 329 
 
 school at Twickenham, and is making great progress. Mary 
 has a governess at home, and has learned to play Scotch 
 tunes, and work flowers, and make puddings, though I 
 hardly think she is equal to the construction of the pigeon 
 pie, which I once heard you describe, with a dove-cote and 
 doves on the top of it. 
 
 " Peter is, you know, a clerk in the Audit office. The 
 situation begins at .£90 a-year, and rises in course of time to 
 £500 or .£600. He has much leisure, and resolves to employ 
 it like his father in making books. He is busy editing two 
 volumes at present, and has good offers for original composi- 
 tions. My only fear is that he will throw himself before 
 the public sooner than his mind is informed and his taste 
 matured. His place was given to me by my friend Sir 
 Robert Peel, accompanied by a letter so complimentary and 
 so kind as will ever endear him to my heart. My brother 
 Peter is with us, and helps to make our fireside more 
 cheerful. He is so equal of temper and mind, and so full too 
 of all kinds of entertaining knowledge, that I hardly know 
 whom to compare him to. Were I to say he is almost as 
 good as I am, my wife would reply, ' He is far better 
 natured than Allan/ and really I believe she would be right ; 
 yet I am not ill-tempered you know, as tempers go. 
 
 "We see our brother Thomas' widow and son and 
 daughters often. It was fortunate for them that John was 
 established in Mr. Kennie's before his father's death. They 
 would have nearly been desolate (destitute'?) also, for my 
 brother had neglected to insure his life for the benefit of his 
 family. Were I removed to-morrow, my wife would have 
 ,£500 from the Life Insurance Office, besides what she may 
 calculate on for my works, and what her children owe her. 
 I pay £20 a-year to insure this sum. I shall not die a 
 minute the sooner for it, and it helps to keep my mind easy. 
 
330 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " Now you must not imagine, that because I am not so 
 well as I have been, I am at all in a dangerous state. In 
 truth, I wrought too much and too anxiously. The educa- 
 tion of my sons, and the outfit of the two eldest to India, 
 have left me far from rich, and that made me toil more than 
 was good for my health. I have not written twenty pages 
 these three months, and am allowing my mind as well as 
 body to lie fallow, as the farmers say, with the hope of a 
 better crop at the next ploughing. If I can only get a 
 couple of years or so over my head, I will, I think, leave 
 my place with Mr. Chantrey, and, taking a house and garden 
 some three or four miles from London, try what three hours' 
 writing in the day and a little gardening and amusement 
 will do for me. I am not a person of expensive habits, and 
 can, when Frank is provided for, live on a small income. 
 
 " My wife sends her best love to you, and to Mina, and 
 Jean, and I add mine. Will you be so good as name us to 
 Mr. David Bodan and Mrs. Bodan, also to Mrs. Burgess'? 
 When I am next on the Nith I shall take more leisure than 
 I could obtain when I was down last. I particularly wish 
 to spend some days with the Bodan family, the Bobson 
 family, the Taylor family, and, though last, not least in my 
 esteem, with the M'Ghies, father, and son. All these were 
 friends of my father's family, and friends of mine, and are 
 often present to my thoughts. There are others, but I have 
 neither room nor leisure to be more particular. 
 
 " The stockings fitted me finely, and were made very 
 welcome, particularly the pair which you knitted. Mina or 
 Jean will be so good as write to say that the letter and 
 enclosure have arrived; and if you could but write, were it 
 only three lines yourself, they would be made most welcome 
 by your loving and affectionate son, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 
 "Mrs. Cunningham." 
 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 331 
 
 "27 Belgrave Place, 4th April, 1835. 
 
 " My dear Mother, — I write to assure you that I am now 
 quite as well as ever I was, reading, writing, and talking, as 
 usual, during the evenings, and busy with marble and bronze 
 during the day. Indeed, we are all as well as you can wish 
 us. We had letters from India speaking of Alexander's 
 illness, but a letter, dated 12th November, from Joseph says 
 that he is quite as well as ever. We are looking for letters 
 from the East every day, but winds and waves cannot be 
 commanded. 
 
 " I almost envy you the little garden at your door. I 
 have a small patch at mine where I persuade a lily or a daisy 
 to bloom upon, with now and then a tulip and a rose. I 
 miss a large garden much, and I feel persuaded that if I had 
 one my health would be better, and I hope to have one soon 
 in the neighbourhood of London. I was almost tempted to 
 come down and dwell beside you lately, but luckily for my- 
 self I yielded not; for though I love the people, and the 
 vale, and long to be among those whom I love, I cannot 
 conceal from myself that London is the proper place for me. 
 We are all in confusion here from the disputes between the 
 Tories and the Whigs. The former propose measures which 
 all who love their country cannot but approve, while the 
 latter oppose them with all their might, and care nothing for 
 either honour or consistency, so long as they can succeed in 
 thwarting and upsetting them. Should the Whigs succeed, 
 and I think they will, the Church of England will receive a 
 blow from which it can never recover. If the revenues of 
 the Established Church are bestowed on the Catholics in 
 Ireland, the Dissenters of England, and I am one you know, 
 will demand the same concession, and so will the Dissenters 
 of Scotland. 
 
332 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 " My brother Peter is very well; so is my son Peter, and 
 so likewise are Frank and Mary. I know not if we shall 
 be in Scotland this year ; the pain of parting with the North 
 is not small, and the outlay is great. My wife joins me in 
 love to Mina and Jean, and, above all, my beloved Mother, 
 to yourself. — I remain, your affectionate son, 
 
 " Allan Cunningham. 
 
 " I shall write soon again. 
 "Mrs. Cunningham." 
 
 The Works and Life of Robert Burns came out in 
 eight volumes, instead of six, as had been originally 
 advertised, the matter having increased upon his hands, 
 and he put forth all his energies to make the enterprize 
 a success. After all his praying, pleading, and payment- 
 promising, to certain distinguished writers, with regard 
 to the "Anniversary Annual" for 1830, to which we have 
 already referred, it came to nothing; for he descended 
 from his editorial throne and ceased all connection with 
 it, as the proprietor and publisher having twice changed 
 its character, determined to change it again, by making 
 it a monthly instead of an annual volume. Perhaps this 
 stimulated his efforts the more, to show that in an inde- 
 pendent capacity he was quite willing to risk public 
 opinion on his side as he had hitherto done, and 
 without regret. Poets, authors, and artists, are often- 
 times, if not always, particularly sensitive in matters 
 which belong to their several professions. The work 
 appeared in a very elegant form, and was hailed with 
 general approbation. Cunningham carried out his 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 333 
 
 design most faithfully, and from the research he made, 
 and the industry he bestowed in finding out fresh 
 materials for the Life, as well as Notes, he deserves the 
 acknowledgments of succeeding biographers of the 
 great bard, seeing that they have made ample use of 
 what he originally supplied. Of course, many things 
 have come to light with reference to Burns since that 
 work was issued, which Cunningham could not be ex- 
 pected to know at the time he wrote, but yet his edition 
 is still considered a standard work on the subject. In a 
 prefatory notice to the last volume he thus takes leave 
 of his brother bard : — 
 
 "My task is ended — fareweel, Robin! 
 My 'prentice muse stands sad and sobbin', 
 To think thy country kept thee scrubbin' 
 
 Her barmy barrels, 
 Of strains immortal mankind robbin', 
 
 And thee of laurels. 
 
 "Let learning's Greekish grubs cry humph! 
 Hot zealots groan, cold critics grumph, 
 And ilka starr'd and garter'd sumph 
 
 Yawn, hum, and ha; 
 In glory's pack thou art a trumph 
 
 That sweeps them a'. 
 
 "Round thee flock'd scholars mony a cluster, 
 And dominies came in a cluster, 
 In words three span lang 'gan they bluster 
 
 Of classic models, 
 Of Tully's light and Virgil's lustre, 
 
 And shook their noddles. 
 
 "Ye laugh'd, and muttering, 'Learning! d — n her!* 
 Stood bauldly up, but start or stammer 
 
334 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Wi' Nature's fire for lore and grammar, 
 And classic rules, 
 
 Crushed them as Thor's triumphant hammer 
 Smash'd paddock stools. 
 
 "And thou wert right, and they were wrang — 
 The sculptor's toil, the poet's sang, 
 In Greece and Rome frae nature sprang, 
 
 And, bauld and free, 
 In sentiment and language Strang 
 
 They spake like thee. 
 
 "Thy muse came like a giggling taupie 
 Dancing her lane; her sangs sae sappy 
 Cheer'd men like drink's inspiring drappie — 
 
 Then, grave and stern, 
 High moral truths sublime and happy 
 
 She made them learn. 
 
 "Auld grey-beard Lear, wi' college lantern, 
 O'er rules of Horace stoitering, veuturin', 
 At song, glides to oblivion saunterin' 
 
 And starless night; 
 Whilst thou, up cleft Parnassus canterin', 
 
 Lives on in light. 
 
 "In light thou liv'st. While birds lo'e simmer, 
 Wild bees the blossom, buds the timmer, 
 And man lo'es woman — rosy limmer! 
 
 I'll prophesie 
 Thy glorious halo nought the dimmer 
 Will ever be. 
 
 ; 'For me — though both sprung from ae mother, 
 I'm but a weakly young half-brother, 
 Sae ! forgive my musing swither, 
 
 'Mid toils benighted, 
 'Twas lang a wish that nought could smother, 
 To see thee righted. 
 

 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 335 
 
 "Frae Kyle, wi' music in her bowers; 
 Frae fairy glens, where wild Doon pours; 
 Frae hills, bedropped wi' sunny showers, 
 
 On Solway strand, 
 I've gathered, Burns, thy scatter'd flowers 
 
 Wi' filial hand. 
 
 "And 0! bright and immortal Spirit, 
 If ought that lessens thy rare merit 
 I've uttered — like a god thou'll bear it, 
 
 Thou canst but know 
 Thy stature few or none can peer it 
 
 Now born below. " 
 
 A second edition of the work, in one volume, ap- 
 peared the following year, so rapid had been the sale of 
 the first. 
 
336 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BURNS — "WINSOME WILLIE " — TOM WALKER — " CUTTY SARK." 
 
 In many of the earlier editions of Burns' poems, pub- 
 lished after his death, and in some of the cheap editions 
 still, there is found a humorous and scourging " Epistle 
 to a Tailor," in reply to one which the said tailor had 
 transmitted to the poet, admonishing him very severely 
 with regard to his conduct and conversation. This 
 poem is now known to have been a forgery, but which 
 Burns was made aware of at the time by its author, his 
 friend and correspondent, "Winsome Willie." So ad- 
 mirable an imitation was it of the language, style, and 
 sentiment of the great bard himself, that it long passed 
 without detection ; and was even regarded as one of his 
 choicest and raciest effusions, from the salient humour 
 and keen satire which it contained. Yet so great and 
 penetrative was the sagacity of some of the early critics, 
 that it was only after considerable hesitation they agreed 
 to pass it as a genuine production. But although not 
 from the pen or the brain of Burns, yet, as we have said, 
 he was cognizant of its existence; and the opinion he 
 gave of it — not generally known — is one of the reasons 
 why w^e refer to it at present. Cunningham says he 
 had heard it surmised that Burns wrote the epistle him- 
 self for the sake of the answer ; and he seems to believe 
 it, as he considers it a compliment to his genius, but 
 not a just one, in being able to write down to the level 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 337 
 
 of the verses it contains. But it was not so. The 
 original letter in the tailor's autograph is now before us, 
 and could not by any possibility belong to Burns. 
 
 At the time that Burns was farmer at Mossgiel, 
 William Simpson was schoolmaster in Ochiltree, and 
 the two were on friendly — indeed, intimate — terms. 
 Simpson had been at first intended for the church, and 
 had proceeded some length in his college curriculum 
 towards the pulpit, when he suddenly stopped short, 
 bade farewell to the clergy, and adopted the humble 
 but no less important profession of a teacher of the 
 •young. His abilities as a poet were considerably above 
 mediocrity, although he has been characterized by 
 Chambers as only a " rhymer," and he has left behind 
 him a large volume of poems in manuscript, which have 
 never been published. During his lifetime he was often 
 urged to give them to the world, but he always declined, 
 his constant reply being that he wrote for amusement 
 and not for profit. Burns, however, seems to have 
 thought him more than a "rhymer," when he addressed 
 him in the following strains : — 
 
 ' ' Auld Coila now may fidge f u' fain, 
 She's gotten poets o' her ain, 
 Chiels wha their chanters winna hain, 
 
 But tune their lays, 
 Till echoes a' resound again 
 
 Her weel-sung praise. 
 
 " Ramsay and famous Fergusson 
 Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon: 
 Y 
 
338 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Yarrow and Tweed to monie a tune 
 
 Owre Scotland rings; 
 While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 
 
 Naebody sings. 
 
 " Th' Illissus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine 
 Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ; 
 But, Willie, set your fit to mine 
 
 An' cock your crest, 
 We'll gar our streams an' burnies shine 
 
 Up wi' the best. 
 
 " Fareweel, my 'rhyme-composing brither! ' 
 We've been owre lang unkenned to ither, 
 Now let us lay our heads thegither 
 
 In love fraternal; 
 May envy wallop in a tether, 
 
 Black fiend, infernal !" 
 
 It was with difficulty that we persuaded Simpson's 
 brother to repeat to us any of William's poems, though 
 he often spoke of him as a great crony with Burns, and 
 to grant a copy was altogether out of the question. 
 However, we secretly jotted down in shorthand one or 
 two of them, as old Patrick, himself a poet, one evening 
 at his fireside in the school-house of Ochiltree cast his 
 broad shoulders back into his arm-chair, and his soul 
 into the light of other days, when he brought the first 
 copy of the "Twa Herds" to his father's house, and his 
 brother began correspondence with the author. We 
 shall give one or two of Simpson's poetic effusions. In 
 the village of Ochiltree there lived an old pensioner, 
 William Weir, who had seen much military service, and 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 339 
 
 who thought himself entitled to greater remuneration 
 than he received. His pay was one shilling a-day, 
 which he thought too little for his wants, and therefore 
 lie caused a petition to be forwarded to the Duke of 
 York for an increase ; but he received no reply to his 
 application. William boldly addressed a memorial in 
 his own hand to the Duke, which procured him an ad- 
 ditional sixpence. When he died, Simpson wrote the 
 following epitaph for his tombstone: — 
 
 " EPITAPH ON WILLIAM WEIR. 
 
 " Faithfully is lodged here 
 The mortal part of William Weir. 
 William, full of martial mettle, 
 Stood the brunt of many a battle ; 
 Hardships many underwent, 
 Lived a hero — died a saint. 
 Moments military past, 
 Off his armour he has cast, 
 Knapsack, sword, and gun flung by, 
 Where his regimentals lie, 
 Full of hope that when the last 
 Trumpet sounds its potent blast, 
 Starting all of every host, 
 Dead and living to their post, 
 William will (in armour clear, 
 Never more to rust) appear, 
 Ranked among the faithful few, 
 Glorious at the Grand Review." 
 
 When the life of his Majesty George III. was 
 attempted by James Hadfield, in 1800, fortunately 
 without success, various congratulatory addresses were 
 presented to the King on his providential escape. The 
 
340 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 following one was drawn irp by Simpson for the Scottish 
 schoolmasters to sign ; but whether or not it was for- 
 warded for presentation in the proper quarter, we 
 cannot say: — 
 
 " MOST GRACIOUS SOVEREIGN— 
 
 ' ' While reverend priests, who through the nation 
 Hold regicide in detestation, 
 Crowd round, in keen congratulation, 
 
 Britannia's throne, 
 Adoring for your preservation 
 
 Kind Heaven alone; 
 
 " We Dominies benorth the Tweed, 
 Wha inly shudder at the deed 
 Of firing at a monarch's head, 
 
 In heartfelt strains 
 The Power praised that wis'd the lead 
 
 Out o'er your brains. 
 
 " For, like yoursel', we're monarchs a', 
 Tho' mair despotic as to law; 
 And shall, while treason we misca', 
 
 Rejoice till, death, 
 That Hadfield neither made you fa', 
 
 Nor did you scaith. 
 
 " Now Lon'on town rings like a beD, 
 Wi' 'Jamie Hadfield's no himsel';' 
 It may be sae, I canna tell; 
 
 But this attempt, 
 Unless ye hang him, argues well 
 
 Ye're scant o' hemp. 
 
 " He's no himsel' ! what plague then is he 
 Meg Nicholson, that hav'rel hizzy — 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 341 
 
 Wha blew the pipe till grown sae dizzy — 
 
 Her rusty gully 
 Drew, and drave (the Deil's aye busy), 
 
 Wi' murderous sally. 
 
 " To ettle death wi' sic a shaft, 
 Convinced us a' that Meg was daft ; 
 And therefore she's humanely left, 
 
 Untwin'd o' life; 
 Of liberty alone bereft, 
 
 And yon auld knife. 
 
 " But Meg's by far owre weel ta'eu care o', 
 And selfish Hadfield hearing thereo' — 
 Her lot to share, he coft a pair o' 
 
 Pistols indeed; 
 And ane discharged within a hair o' 
 Your royal head ! 
 
 ' ' If legislation prove sae callous, 
 As wink at sic audacious fallows; 
 If rascals may get up to kill us, 
 
 And no be snibbet, 
 What signify your laws, your gallows, 
 
 Your jail, your jibbet ? 
 
 " May a' concerned in ony plot 
 'Gainst you or yours be hanged and shot, 
 Amen. When Satan thus has got 
 
 His ain, we'll sing 
 The fervent prayer of every Scot, 
 God Save the King! 
 
 The above specimens of Simpson's muse show that 
 he was something more than a "rhymer." But we 
 turn to another character. In a small cottage called 
 
342 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Pool, not far from the village of Ochiltree, lived, 
 now upwards of a century ago, a man of the name of 
 Thomas Walker, by trade a tailor, by propensity a 
 poet. Of Walker's life little is now remembered, his 
 position in society not being one which exposed him 
 much to public notice beyond the bounds of his im- 
 mediate neighbourhood. As a tradesman he was well 
 skilled in his craft, and was greatly resorted to when 
 the needle and shears were in requisition. He was a 
 member of that portion of the dissenting Church called 
 the Burghers, and during the whole course of his life he 
 engaged in the ordinances of religion with a zeal and 
 piety indicative of the pleasure he took in their observ- 
 ance. He was none of those, however, who consider an 
 unbending gravity an indispensable requisite for the 
 character of a Christian. He was gay and joyous, could 
 break a joke upon his friend, and take one in return. 
 Apart from his religious duties, his whole soul was wrapt 
 in the worship of the Muses; and if he was favoured 
 with but few visits from the celebrated Nine themselves, 
 he had frequent intercourse with their nearest kin. As 
 a poet he does not rank in the first class certainly, nor 
 did he make any pretension to this. His ideas of 
 poetry do not appear to have been the most correct. 
 With him the whole charm of poetizing seemed to 
 consist in a good jingle and a host of verses. From a 
 long habit of throwing his thoughts into rhyme he had 
 acquired great facility in making a stanza on the most 
 trivial occurrence, and the shortest notice. Once on a 
 time, while plying his vocation in a farm-house in the 
 neighbourhood, one of the servants entered the kitchen, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 343 
 
 and in the absence of the mistress purloined a small 
 slice of beef from a ham hanging overhead, at the same 
 time addressing the tailor with — " Noo, Tarn, ye're no to 
 tell the guidwife, or mak' a sang on me, for takin' this 
 bit thin skliffer," to which Tom immediately gave the 
 following impromptu : — 
 
 * i Ye greedy-like thief, 
 
 Let be the hung beef, 
 And meddle nae mair wi' the ham, 
 
 Or else the guidwife 
 
 Will raise up a strife, 
 And lay a' the wyte o't on Tarn." 
 
 At the time Simpson was enjoying the friendship and 
 correspondence of Burns, his neighbour, the tailor, was 
 ambitious of a similar honour, and did his utmost to 
 secure it, but without success. Though labouring under 
 the difficulties of a limited education, yet he possessed 
 the feelings and affections of a poet. Many a late and 
 early hour he devoted to the Muses, but the wants of a 
 family were to be attended to, and the flow of some 
 melodious stanza was cruelly interrupted by his having 
 to mount the board. Yet there sat he, whistling, sing- 
 ing, joking, and rhyming from morning till night, with 
 Rab Burns o' Mossgiel floating uppermost in his mind. 
 Mustering courage, he sent the following letter to Burns, 
 properly addressed, but weeks passed and no answer 
 was returned: — 
 
 "EPISTLE TO ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 " What fine amusement's this I hear, 
 That doth my dowie spirits cheer ? 
 
344 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 It's Robin, fam'd baith far and near 
 
 n For makin' rhyme, 
 Whilk sounded sweetly in my ear, 
 Noo mony a time. 
 
 " Some cantie callan thou maun be; 
 Altho' I never did th.ee see, 
 Fain wad I shake a paw wi' thee, 
 
 And crack a blink; 
 But thou'rt owre far awa for me, 
 
 I really think. 
 
 " Fine cantie chiel, I do declare, 
 0, wert thou near a mile or mair, 
 Tho' scant o' time, I wadna care 
 
 To gang and crack, 
 And sit wi' thee baith lang and sair 
 Ere I cam' back. 
 
 " Or could we meet some Mauchline fair- 
 I sometimes tak' a bottle there — 
 Thou'd be as welcome to a share 
 
 As thou could'st be; 
 Wae worth the purse that wadna spair 
 
 A drink to thee. 
 
 I'm yet but young, and new set out, 
 My rhymes begin to rin about, 
 And aye I ken I get a clout 
 
 Frae you and Willie ; 
 Ye ken him weel, without a doubt, 
 
 Your rhyming billie. 
 
 He teaches weans the muckle A's, 
 And keeps a pair o' leather taws, 
 But ne'er lays on without a cause, 
 
 Yet fleys them a'; 
 Lang may he wag about the wa's, 
 
 And never fa'. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN, CUNNINGHAM. 345 
 
 Were you and Willie owre an ingle, 
 Where mutchkin stoups and glasses jingle, 
 You twa wad mak' a bonny pingle, 
 
 I'm sure o' that; 
 A pair o' you is seen but single, 
 
 In ony spat. 
 
 Fair fa' ye, lads, ye're no that slack, 
 Fu' weel I like to hear your knack; 
 Can Will and Allan be come back, 
 
 That lang are dead? 
 Hoot, no; ye're twa raised up to crack, 
 
 Just in their stead. 
 
 But, Robin, when cam' ye asteer? 
 It hasna been this mony a year; 
 Ye like auld warl' folk appear, 
 
 That liv'd langsyne — 
 So your auld fashiont taunt and jeer 
 
 Put me in min' 
 
 0' some auld folk that I hae seen, 
 
 Sit roun' the ingle late at e'en, 
 
 Wi' lang e'ebrows out owre their een, 
 
 And glower at me, 
 As if a ferlie I had been 
 
 For them to see. 
 
 They sat about the ingle lowes, 
 And fley'd me talking about cowes, 
 Witches and warlocks, dead men's pows, 
 
 Till I was weary; 
 The sweat amaist ran aff my brows, 
 
 I was sae eery. 
 
 But, Robin, between me and you, 
 Think ye, maun a' thae things be true ? 
 
346 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 I ken ye're brawlie fit to show 
 
 Me what ye think; 
 I heard some rhymes o' yours a' through, 
 
 And weel they clink. 
 
 " 0, but my heart wad be fu' light, 
 In Ochiltree to get a sight 
 0' your braw rhyme, sae trim and tight, 
 
 As ye can 'dite it; 
 So sit ye doon a while some night, 
 
 And rhyme and write it. 
 
 " Direct to Tarn that mak's the claes — 
 Some tell me that I jag the flaes; 
 But gin they ding me owre the braes, 
 
 They'll ne'er do mair, 
 For I might break baith shins and taes, 
 And that fu' sair. 
 
 "Thomas Walker." 
 
 Receiving no reply to this, lie sent Burns another, in 
 which he fully and freely gave his opinion of the poet's 
 morality, but at the same time not exculpating himself. 
 The following stanzas are a specimen of his second 
 epistle: — 
 
 " Fu' weel ye ken ye'll gang to hell, 
 Gin ye persist in doin' ill; 
 Wae's me, ye're hurlin' doon the hill 
 
 Withouten dread, 
 An' ye'll get leave to swear your fill 
 
 After ye're dead. 
 
 " Rab! lay by thae foolish tricks, 
 An' steer nae mair the female sex, 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 34T 
 
 Or some day ye'll come through the pricks, 
 
 An' that ye'll see; 
 Ye'll fin't hard leevin' at auld Nick's — 
 
 I'm wae for thee. 
 
 " We're owre like those wha think it fit, 
 To stuff their noddles fu' o' wit, 
 And yet content in darkness sit, 
 Wha shun the light, 
 To let them see doon to the pit 
 That lang dark night. 
 
 " But fareweel, Rab, I maun awa, 
 May He that made us keep us a', 
 For that would be a dreadfu' fa', 
 
 An' hurt us sair; 
 Lad, ye would never mend ava, 
 
 Sae Rab, tak' care. " 
 
 No answer was ever received to this letter either, and 
 the poor tailor was sadly grieved, and almost demented, 
 at the seeming slight. Day after day did he make his 
 complaint to Simpson of Burns' unkindness in not 
 writing him. To gratify Tom's ardent longings, Simp- 
 son wrote in Burns' name the poem to which we have 
 referred, entitled " Epistle to a Tailor," and sent it up 
 to Pool. Almost half- naked, and ecstatic with joy, 
 Walker rushed into Simpson's school, crying, "0 Willie,, 
 Willie, I hae got ane noo; a clencher; read it man, read 
 it." With ill-restrained laughter he read it, and returned 
 it to the tailor, who religiously preserved it till the day 
 of his death without ever discovering the hoax which 
 had been played upon him. A few days afterwards 
 Simpson met Burns, and reproached him for not writing 
 
348 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 to the tailor. Burns said, "Man, Willie, I aye intended 
 to write the bodie, but never got it dune." Simpson 
 then told the whole story, and read to him the answer 
 he had sent in his name. Burns gave him a thump on 
 the shoulder and said, "Od, Willie, ye hae thrashed the 
 tailor far better than I could hae dune." Many, many 
 summers have come and gone, shedding a mellow lustre 
 over fair Ochiltree, since "Winsome Willie" followed 
 his famed correspondent and friend to "the land o' the 
 leal." A longer period has passed away since Tom 
 Walker was gathered to his fathers; but the memory of 
 all three is yet fresh among the old inhabitants of the 
 village, and their names are never mentioned but with 
 respect. 
 
 Among the minor celebrities of Burns' acquaintance 
 who have given an interest to his musings, and who in 
 return have been honoured with niches in the edifice 
 of his fame, there is one who occupies a most prominent 
 place, and who, we believe, will be among the very last 
 to be forgotten. Yet, conspicuous as her position is, 
 and distinguished the part she is represented as having 
 performed so well, we do not remember having seen 
 recorded of her any notice, biographical, anecdotical, or 
 obituary, beyond what has been transmitted in the 
 poet's tale. Others have had their historians and their 
 commentators, tracing their genealogies, delineating 
 their characters, describing their persons, and register- 
 ing whatever else has been known or reported of them; 
 but notwithstanding the havoc she wrought, the dread 
 she inspired, and the prominence she held, the memorials 
 of her history seem even more meagre and scanty than 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 349 
 
 the famous garment which contributed to gain her an 
 immortal name. 
 
 "Tarn o' Shanter" we know as Douglas Graham, a gash, 
 honest, Carrick farmer on the Culzean shore, somewhat 
 addicted to sociality, late hours, and bibulous habits on 
 market days in Ayr. His wife, Kate, we know as Helen 
 M'Taggart, superstitious, credulous in witches and bogles, 
 and peculiarly eloquent in a certain kind of discourse 
 when her liege lord was himself both the subject and 
 the principal auditor. " Souter Johnny" we also know 
 as John Davidson, an itinerant house-to-house cobbler,, 
 common in olden times, and who repudiated the maxim 
 that " the cobbler should ever stick to his last." But 
 who was "Cutty Sark"? None can tell Assuredly she 
 was no myth. Yet what is known or remembered of 
 her more than that she was the belle of the famous 
 midnight carousal in Alio way Kirk, and occasionally 
 practised disastrous pranks among the fishermen and 
 farmers on the Carrick shore? We have lately obtained 
 a few particulars respecting this notable w r eird woman 
 from a respectable and trustworthy source, the friend of 
 one who knew her intimately, and whom she presented, 
 a few hours before her death, with a portion of her 
 household chattels as a token of her gratitude for the 
 kindness she had received from him during a long 
 period of years — John Murdoch of Laighpark Kiln. 
 
 It may seem wonderful, but it is yet true, that how- 
 ever disreputable may be the character of a witch, there 
 have been many claimants to the title of "Cutty Sark;"' 
 not, of course, by the parties themselves, but by their 
 descendants, to whom " distance lends enchantment to 
 
350 LIFE OF ALLAX CUNNINGHAM:. 
 
 the view/' and who, now seeing the immortality the cha- 
 racter has attained through the poet's genius, are anxious 
 to claim kindred with the ill-starred quean. The real 
 " Cutty Sark " was Katherine Steven, or, as curtailed in 
 the dialect of the district, Kate Steen, by which she 
 was commonly called, for no one dared to address her 
 by her sobriquet through fear of the sad consequences 
 which mio'ht ensue. She was born in a cottage near 
 the Maidens, and was brought up by her grandmother 
 at Laighpark, in the parish of Kirkoswald, on the Carrick 
 shore, where she paid the debt of nature many years 
 ago, in a state of extreme indigence, when she had 
 attained a good old age, yet generally dreaded to the 
 last. 
 
 When Burns was attending Kirkoswald school, he 
 was intimately acquainted with the dwellers along the 
 Tnrnberry coast. Shanter, the residence of Tarn, Glen- 
 fit, the abode of ( " S outer Johnny," and Laighpark were 
 placed in the immediate neighbourhood of each other, 
 with other cottages around, such as those of the miller 
 and the smith. Kate Steen and her " reverend granny" 
 were both well known to the poet, and many an hour he 
 spent in their shieling, listening to the stories of the 
 withered beldame about pirates and smugglers; and 
 also spell-bound by the unconscious cantrips of the 
 young witch Kate. 
 
 We usually associate the idea of witchcraft with 
 extreme ugliness, deformity, and old age; but history 
 informs us that the young and the fair have oftentimes 
 been branded with the opprobrious epithet, and made 
 to suffer the punishment which was accounted due. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 351 
 
 Saturday, in the Devil's Calendar, was the witches' 
 Sabbath; and it is interesting to mark the synchronical 
 accuracy of the poet in fixing the time of the jubilant 
 carousal — it was early on Saturday morning. The 
 market-day in Ayr being then, as it still is, on Friday, 
 the Carrick farmer had sat "boozing at the nappy," 
 till "the hour, of night's black arch the keystane," 
 when he mounted his mare and took the road home- 
 ward. By the time he reached Alloway Kirk, the 
 morning was in and the orgies were begun. 
 
 The title of "Cutty Sark" was not an original appel- 
 lation of the poet's inveution, though it was new in the 
 use he made of it to the young wench of Kirkoswald 
 shore. In a letter to Captain Grose, when collecting 
 his " Antiquities of Scotland," he mentions three witch 
 stories connected with Alloway Kirk, in one of which 
 there is an account of a merry-making similar to that 
 of his own tale, or which was rather the foundation of 
 his tale, and when a belated farmer " was so tickled, 
 that he involuntarily burst out with a loud laugh, ' Weel 
 luppen, Maggie, wi' the short sark!' and, recollecting 
 himself, instantly spurred his horse to the top of his 
 speed." In this, then, we have the first idea of " Cutty 
 Sark," and what was predicated of Maggie is happily 
 converted into an appellation for Nanny. But why 
 Nanny? There was doubtless the same reason for 
 calling Kate Steen Nanny, as for calling Douglas 
 Graham Tain, and his wife, Helen M'Taggart, Kate 
 — a desire to avoid the delicacy, and the not over- 
 agreeable consequences of direct personality. But to 
 return. 
 
352 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 Kate Steen was universally acknowledged to be a 
 woman of very industrious habits, and was of necessity 
 frugal and economical of whatever she obtained. She 
 was accustomed when travelling from house to house 
 to take her tow rock and spindle or twirling-pin with 
 her, and spin as she went along. Her kind and oblig- 
 ing disposition secured her a warm reception among 
 the farm-houses in the neighbourhood, and she always 
 returned to her shieling at Laighpark Kiln laden with 
 an abundant supply of the common necessaries of life. 
 Her case was remarkable, but, we believe, by no means 
 peculiar, in having the weird character forcibly thrust 
 upon her. She not only made no pretensions, but re- 
 pudiated the idea, of being considered a witch; yet a 
 witch she was held to be in public estimation, and in 
 those days that was enough. Her supposed insight 
 into futurity, and acquaintance with the destinies of 
 men, led also to the belief that she possessed a sway 
 over fate from an intimate connection with Satanic 
 power. In after life the peculiarity of her dress assisted 
 in no small degree in investing her with supernatural 
 agency; and, consequently, so much was she dreaded by 
 young and old, that whenever she was espied on the 
 highway afar off, with her rock and tow, a different 
 road was taken to avoid coming in contact with her, as 
 her presence produced great anxiety and fear, except 
 when she was known to be favourably disposed. 
 Doubtless she had the foibles and infirmities of her sex 
 and calling; and it was, perhaps, not altogether exag- 
 geration when it was said that she was not reluctant 
 on certain occasions to tell, with an ominous shake of 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 353 
 
 the head, that her meal barrel was nearly empty, and 
 that kail and water made but thin broth. Yet it was 
 seldom this necessity was pressed upon her ; for, whether 
 from love or fear, she received a seemingly cordial 
 welcome, and her departure home gave her no cause to 
 suspect its truth. Still, on some occasions, the complaint 
 of Mause might have been hers : — 
 
 " Hard luck, alake ! when poverty and eild, , 
 Weeds out o' fashion, and a lonely bield, 
 Wi' a sma' cast o' wiles, should, in a twitch, 
 Gie ane the hatefu' name 'A wrinkled witch.' 
 The fool imagines, as do mony sic, 
 That I'm a witch, in compact wi' ' Auld Nick.'" 
 
 Kate Steen was of low stature, even for a woman, 
 though we should infer differently from the description 
 given of her as — 
 
 " Ae haudsome wench and walie." 
 
 and also for the dexterous part she performed in detail- 
 ing "noble Maggie" at the "keystane o' the brig." But 
 Burns must be here considered as using a poet's license, 
 either for the sake of the rhyme, or to lend an additional 
 grace to his heroine, even though a witch. A poet's 
 witches, as well as his wenches, are oftentimes very 
 exaggerated descriptions of humanity. Burns' lyric 
 heroines, though adorned with the epithets " loveliest," 
 " fairest," " bonniest," "sweetest," and " beyond compare," 
 were many of them, after all, very mediocre specimens 
 of the masterwork of nature. Nay, some of them, it is 
 said, were scarcely up to what is generally regarded as 
 the minimum standard of female beauty. So, in the 
 
 z 
 
354 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 description of "Cutty Sark," there is certainly much that 
 is exaggerated, much intended to adorn the tale, though 
 she was universally reported as in league with a certain 
 dark conspirator. If not beautiful, she was doubtless 
 powerful : — 
 
 ' ' For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
 And perished mony a bonny boat, 
 And shook baith muckle corn and beer, 
 And kept the countryside in fear." 
 
 Among the cantrips imputed to Kate Steen in the 
 above list is one which is but imperfectly understood, 
 if known at all, in the present day — " Mony a beast to 
 dead she shot." What was the " shoot of dead ? " It 
 was a curse or denunciation of evil upon a living object, 
 that bodily disease and death might speedily overtake 
 it. And it was the popular belief in former days that 
 if such an imprecation were made by any one, and 
 especially by one reputed " no canny," it could not fail 
 in producing the desired effect. 
 
 In the kirk-session records of the parish of Tinwald, 
 Dumfriesshire, of date August, 1699, we find that the 
 "shoot of dead" was a crime demanding more than 
 ordinary church censure and discipline. A report hav- 
 ing been laid before the session that "John Carruthers 
 and Jean Wilson were scolding together, and that the 
 said Jean did imprecate him and his beasts" they were 
 cited to appear at next meeting, which they did accord- 
 ngly, but " John declared it was not Jean Wilson (who 
 was brought up by another party on a like charge), but 
 Bessie Kennedy, who, upon a certain Sabbath, did wish 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 355 
 
 that his horse might shoot to dead — whereupon it fell 
 sick, and he, bringing it home, and sitting at his house 
 reading, the said Bessie Kennedy came by, and he tell- 
 ing her that his horse had not thriven since she cursed 
 it, she wished that the shoot of dead might light on him 
 , and it both." Bessie was summoned and denied the 
 charge; but acknowledged that when he told her his 
 horse had eaten none since she cursed it, she replied 
 that if the shoot of dead should come on him too, he 
 might give her the blame. Bessie was found to have 
 behaved unchristianly, was rebuked for the same and 
 dismissed, after promising greater watchfulness for the 
 future. % 
 
 But witches, notwithstanding their cantrips, and 
 charms, and incantations, are not invulnerable to the 
 shafts of death; and however often they may have 
 whidded over the green knowes, in the form of some 
 sturdy grey maukin', with shot after shot rattling in 
 their rear, when death draws the trigger the aim is 
 sure. So the time came when " Cutty's " mortal career 
 drew to a close; and the presentiment she had of the 
 day and hour of her decease contributed not a little to 
 confirm the popular reputation of her weird character. 
 One morning she sent for one of her neighbours and 
 addressed him in the following terms: — "Noo, John, 
 this is my hinmost day in this warl, and the mid-day 
 hour and me will hae an unco struggle. Ye hae lang 
 befriended me and mine, when few cared little how ill 
 we fared. There's my meal barrel in the corner by; 
 mony a time ye hae filled it, but I shall need it nae 
 mair. Tak' it as a present, along with the bake-brod 
 
356 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 
 and the bread-roller on the tap o't, and when I'm gane 
 ye'll fin' a whisky bottle in the cupboard, wi' some 
 bread and cheese in the same place. Mak' yersel's 
 comfortable, and mourn na for me." 
 
 The meal barrel was a twent}^-pint cask, which had. 
 seen considerable service of a different kind — the bak- 
 ing-board was a few staves of a similar vessel nailed 
 together — and the bread-roller was a long-necked 
 brandy bottle. Such were the humble gifts conveyed 
 in the dying bequest of " Cutty Sark," and they were 
 till lately in the possession of her friend John, who has 
 followed his grateful neighbour over the unrepassable 
 bourne, and who presented these, relics of a wondrous 
 character as a legacy to our informant. 
 
 One by one the morning hours crept wearily away, 
 and exactly at the predicted time the lingering spirit 
 of " Cutty Sark " departed to another scene. After the 
 necessary obsequies had been performed by some 
 female neighbours to the lifeless body, and the curtains 
 had been drawn closely around, they sat down before 
 the fire to refresh themselves, as directed, with the 
 comforts of the cupboard, when, lo ! ere the first morsel 
 had been tasted or the cork drawn, down went the 
 hearth and all upon it, while the whole party fled in 
 terror to the door. After the consternation had been 
 somewhat abated, one bolder than the rest ventured to 
 look through the key-hole, in the fear lest another Allo- 
 way Kirk scene should be going on, but all was silent- 
 With trembling hand she lifted the latch and looked in. 
 The body was lying still in death upon the bed as when 
 they left it, and the hearthstone had disappeared save 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 357 
 
 a single corner. They all returned and found that the 
 cause of their terror was a large vault underneath the 
 hearth, which had been used for the concealment of 
 illicit spirits and other smuggled goods, and also for 
 hiding renegades from the hand of justice. The stone 
 had slidden off one of its end supports, and with its 
 superincumbent load was precipitated below. With 
 considerable difficulty the stone was raised, and set 
 with earth from an adjoining field; the door was securely 
 fastened, and a few days after the mortal remains 
 of "Cutty Sark" were committed to the dust. Some 
 time after the funeral it was found on entering the 
 cottage that the floor surrounding the hearth was 
 growing green, and bidding fair for a beautiful crop of 
 grain. The earth with which the hearth was laid had 
 been taken from a lately sown field. Though there 
 was nothing very remarkable in this, yet it spread like 
 wildfire with manifold exaggerations, and many a sigh 
 of relief was drawn that Laighpark shieling was now 
 without a tenant, and that Kate Steen would trouble 
 the district no more. Poor woman! she never troubled 
 it, but the superstitious fears of its inhabitants did. 
 The troubler and the troubled, however, have long ere 
 now passed equally away. The Maiden rocks still stand 
 as before, a landmark to the passing sailor ; but Shanter, 
 Glenfoot, and Laighpark have long since been removed, 
 and the inquisitive traveller, with difficulty and doubt, 
 has pointed out to him the spots where they stood. 
 
358 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON OBTAINING PLACE-SITUATIONS — LETTERS TO MRS. ANL> 
 MR. S. C. HALL— FAMILY LETTERS — MRS. COPLAND — LAST ILLNESS 
 — DEATH AND BURIAL — CONCLUDING REMARKS. 
 
 Although Cunningham had attained eminence in 
 literature, and could number several of the nobility 
 among his friends, yet he did not receive the attention 
 which he thought his due, with regard to place-situa- 
 tions for his sons in the Government offices. Writing 
 to a near relative in Dumfries on the subject, he com- 
 plains of this in the following terms : — " Frank is grown 
 into a man almost. I have been trying to get him a 
 clerkship in one of our public offices, but though Lord 
 Melbourne spoke, nay wrote, very kindly, still the 
 situation is not come, and I believe I must accept a 
 cadetship to India for him, which a noble-minded friend 
 holds for the purpose. Now, you see it is not quite my 
 choice to send my son abroad, but then what can I do? 
 There are many places at home in the gift of ministers, 
 and they bestow them freely, but then they bestow 
 them on men who have wealth or influence — not on 
 those who write songs, and romances, and biographies. 
 It was one of the dreams of my youth that patronage 
 followed eminence in literature, but when I see hundreds 
 obtain situations for their sons who have no eminence 
 to plead in anything, I see that I only dreamed. But 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 359 
 
 this is far from hurting my temper or disturbing my 
 peace. For though these sad times have reduced the 
 profits of literature to the wages of a harvest-reaper, and 
 I have been, by the bankruptcy of one and the knavery 
 of others, deprived of the fruits of my head and hand to 
 the amount of £450, still it is my duty to endure the 
 infliction with patience. With respect to my own 
 health, I still keep out of the doctor's hands. I write 
 much less than I used to do, and must write less yet, 
 for the hard toils of my boyish days are making them- 
 selves felt; but as my hand-work has been long over, I 
 must fatigue myself as little with the head as I can 
 help." These last words were not mere matter of course, 
 and were not written without a reason, as coming events 
 were casting their shadows before them, though still at 
 some considerable distance. 
 
 ' But we now turn to his home correspondence, which 
 is always interesting, especially when he writes to his 
 mother : — 
 
 "Belgrave Place, 2nd January, 1836. 
 
 " My beloved Mother, — When I last heard of you, and 
 that was very lately, you were in excellent health. I need 
 not say with what pain I hear that it is otherwise now, and 
 that you are a sufferer. I have, however, much confidence 
 in the excellence of your constitution, and expect to hear 
 that you have got the better of this attack, as you did that 
 very severe one when your son and grandson hastened from 
 London to see you. The early loss of my father I have 
 often felt was made up by your long life and good health ; 
 and as my grandfather lived till he was beyond ninety, I 
 hope the Giver of all things will be equally indulgent to his 
 
360 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 daughter. We had a letter from Alexander on Thursday, 
 and one from Joseph yesterday. They were both well, and 
 so was your other grandson, James Pagan. The last account 
 comes down to August 13. 
 
 " I am happy to learn that you have such skill at hand as 
 that of the Rev. Mr. Kirkwood, who is the friend of his 
 people both in and out of the pulpit, and also that your 
 nephew Mr. Harley Maxwell is in Dumfries. But what 
 must be your greatest consolation is the presence of your 
 daughters, and the feeling that you have been a good and a 
 kind mother. These are not my words alone, they are the 
 last I remember having heard my father utter, and all your 
 children must join in the sentiments. 
 
 " My brother Peter is writing. I shall therefore say no 
 more, but add that your recovery has been the only wish, the 
 sole prayer of my whole household this morning. I am quite 
 well. My wife, who sends her love, has been suffering of 
 late from a cold. Our love to Jean and Mina. I hope the 
 next letter from ISTewington will tell us that you are better. 
 — I remain, my beloved Mother, your ever affectionate son, 
 
 Allan Cunningham. 
 
 Mrs. Cunningham. 
 
 With Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall he was on the most 
 intimate terms of friendship, and contributed several 
 articles to the Art Journal on " Our Public Statues." 
 The following reply was sent to a request for a piece of 
 poetry from his pen: — 
 
 " Belgrave Place, 3rd August, 1836. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Hall, — I will do anything for you, but my 
 Muse, poor lassie, has lost much of her early readiness and 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 361 
 
 spirit, and finds more difficulty in making words clink and 
 lines keep time ; but she will work for you, and as she loves 
 you, who knows but some of her earlier inspiration may come 
 to her again'? for you must know, I think, her strains have 
 lost much of their free, wild nature since we came from the 
 land of the yellow broom and the blossomed heather. — Yours 
 ever and ever, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham." 
 
 The. following acknowledgment was sent to Mr. S. C. 
 Hall on receiving a copy of the first volume of his 
 "Book of Gems;" and while giving due praise to the 
 work, it also indicates what he himself had in view, and 
 was preparing: — "Your 'Book of Gems' was welcome for 
 your sake, painting's sake, poetry's sake, and my own 
 sake. I have done nothing but look at it since it came, 
 and admire the good taste of the selections, and the 
 happy language — clear too, and discriminating — of the 
 biographies. It will do good both to the living and the 
 dead — directing and animating the former, and giving a 
 fresh lustre to the latter. If it obtains but half the 
 success which it deserves, both your publisher and 
 yourself ought to be satisfied. I have made the char- 
 acters of our poets my study — studied them both as 
 men and as bards, looking at them through the eyes 
 of nature, and I am fully warranted in saying that our 
 notions very seldom differ, and that you come nearer 
 my feelings on the whole than any other person, save 
 one, whom I have ever met. You will see this when 
 my 'Lives of the Poets' are published, and that will 
 be soon, for the first volume is all but ready." This 
 
362 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 projected work of the 'Lives of trie Poets/ after the 
 manner of Johnson, was not carried into effect, so 
 far as we are aware; but it is doubtless to be found 
 among his literary manuscripts, and may yet be given 
 to the public. 
 
 The following letters are interesting: — 
 
 "27 Belgrave Place, 17th May, 1838. 
 
 " My dear Mother, — We have thought of little else these 
 two months but of your grandson Francis, and his visit to 
 you in Scotland, his fitting-out here, and his departure for 
 India. He is now on the sea. He sailed in the Asia, Captain 
 Gillies, from Portsmouth, on Saturday, the 5th of this month; 
 and as the wind was fair, we have no doubt that he is just 
 now at Madeira, where the vessel was to touch and take in 
 wine. He was fitted out in every way more suited to our 
 hopes than to our pocket. He has a whole cabin to himself; 
 lie has a hundred guineas in his pocket; he has a full and 
 more than full equipment of clothes, and an excellent little 
 library of books, and three letters of introduction from first- 
 rate men here to Lord Elphinstone, the Governor, and as he 
 has good health, a clear head, an honest heart, and determin- 
 ation to do something worthy, I have no fears for him. He 
 was much made of in Dumfries, he was the same here. All 
 who met him liked him, and tried to do him service. By the 
 direction of my friend the late Archdeacon of Madras he has 
 undertaken to study the Persian language on his way out, 
 for which I bought him Persian grammars and dictionaries; 
 and by the advice of Sir Francis Chantrey he has undertaken 
 for the sake of his health to shoot a little, not at men, but at 
 birds and beasts, for which he gave him a beautiful double- 
 barrelled gun, which cost forty guineas. 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 363 
 
 " Our eyes, my dear mother, have been a little wet since 
 — from love, not from fear of your grandson, for 'an' he live 
 to be a man/ he will be a distinguished one. It was remark- 
 worthy that on the very morning before he left us he received 
 a letter overland from his brother Alexander. It was from 
 near Delhi, where he was encamped with the Governor- 
 General. He was well, and so was Joseph, from whom he 
 had heard on the 12th of February. His own letter was 
 dated the 14th. Alexander said he had been on a visit with 
 the Misses Eden, sisters of Lord Auckland, and the Prince 
 of Orange, their visitor to Lucknow, where the Prince of the 
 place gave them a public breakfast, and treated them to the 
 show of a battle between elephants, rhinoceroses, antelopes, 
 and rams. The combat of the elephants was fierce and fear- 
 ful; tusks were broken and trunks gored, and they were 
 separated by rockets ; but neither fire nor water, Sandie says, 
 could separate the rhinoceroses. The antelopes made a poor 
 fight, and two tups in England fought better than the 
 rams. 
 
 " He is making drawings of all the old temples, and taking- 
 notes of all the conversations with all the native princes, 
 which he says he will send to me. He expects to see Joseph 
 during their visit to Punjeit Sing, the King of the Punjab; 
 but before that he thinks of making a journey into Cashmere. 
 So much for your grandsons. Now for your poor son himself 
 and his household here. 
 
 " Instead of writing books, I am busied arranging them. I 
 have turned my wife and daughter, who are now well enough, 
 into the drawing-rooms, and made my back and front parlours, 
 by removing part of the partition, into one room, with book- 
 cases all round, and called it my Library. Nor is it unworthy 
 of the name, for with Pate, your grandson's volumes, there 
 are in all little short of two thousand, mostly all good select 
 
364 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 books. I can now sit at my fireside, and in my arm-chair, 
 .and cast my eye, and pnt my hand, on any book I want. 
 This arrangement was planned by your grandson Francis, 
 who saw it begun before he set sail. I assure you the 
 Library looks handsome. It has pictures too and busts, one 
 of the former of Sir Francis Chantrey, one of the latter of 
 Sir Walter Scott — both benefactors of my house. 
 
 Nelly, Thomas' widow, was here with my niece Betsy last 
 night. They are all well. John has got a place at £75 a 
 year; but I hope for his old situation under the Pennies. I 
 shall see Sir John Rennie at the Duke of Sussex's on 
 Saturday night, when I intend to speak in my nephew's 
 favour, and offer myself as his security, if security should be 
 required. Tell Mrs. Pagan that a friend of ours and Peter's, 
 Lieut. Blackett of the Navy, a brother of Sir John Blackett, 
 called the other day, and as he was bound for New Holland, 
 on an excursion of pleasure, though he hopes profit, for he 
 purposes to buy land, he requested introductions to my 
 nieces and nephews on the Hunter River, I wrote to John, 
 and Peter wrote to Jane, and sent her his volumes of Songs. 
 I warned my young friend to beware of his heart and his 
 ,£800 a-year, for all the ladies of the house of Cunningham 
 were accounted handsome. 
 
 "When you see Miss Harley, the kind, the good Miss 
 Harley, give my respects to her. I am concerned to hear 
 that my old and esteemed friend David Rodan is unwell, 
 and that he was compelled to relinquish his farm — also that 
 Jane Taylor, a lady modest and fair, and one whom many 
 loved, is dead and gone. She was my school-fellow at 
 Duncow, and young as I was, I loved to be near her in the 
 class. I heard of my brother Peter the other day; he was 
 well at Athens on the 14th of March. My wife sends her 
 love with mine to my dear sisters three, and Pate and Mary 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 365 
 
 who is well and thriving, join us — Also to you, my beloved 
 mother. — Your ever affectionate son, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 ' ' Mrs. Cunningham . " 
 
 " Belgrave Place, 29th March, 1839. 
 
 " My dear Sister, — I write in hojDe that my dear mother 
 is so much recovered as to enable her to obtain some rest, 
 and even converse with those who so anxiously and kindly 
 attend her; nay, I trust that this setting in of sunny weather 
 will be much in her favour. I wish I could send her some 
 of the many coloured crocuses blooming in bunches, with 
 snow-drops, at my door, for she is a lover of flowers, and has 
 bestowed her taste on me. I wrote to Peter, and stated 
 how ill our dear mother was at first, but that she was 
 slightly better. He will likely be here soon. I am glad that 
 my sister of Dalswinton has been with you; her's is well- 
 timed attention, and my brother and I will remember her 
 for it. 
 
 "We are all in our usual way, and anxious about our 
 beloved mother. Frank says he wrote to his grandmother 
 in December last. He was well on the 12th of January, 
 and in great spirits, for the Bishop of Madras, who, with Sir 
 Robert Comyne, has been very kind to him, has applied to 
 Government to give him the command of the escort which 
 is to accompany him on his Visitation journey through his 
 diocese of Madras. This is high confidence in so young a 
 man, and Francis hopes that his extreme youth will not 
 hinder him from getting such an honourable appointment. 
 Joseph and Alexander both wrote to us on the first day of 
 the year. They were both well and in the Punjab, but 
 Joseph, after having escorted Lord Auckland to the Sutlege, 
 was to return to Lahore, and from thence go to Peshawur 
 
366 
 
 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 with the King of Cabool and the army. He had hopes, he 
 said, of being called on to besiege the Fortress of Peshawur. 
 He is the only Engineer sent with the forces, and has to act 
 as Political assistant likewise. For all this he is well paid. 
 His salary has been increased £250 a year, so that he has 
 now about a thousand per annum, and expects further 
 honours and higher pay. 
 
 " Alexander returns to Scinde with the Governor-General, 
 but Joseph intimates that his brother will soon obtain a 
 political appointment, one he hopes in Afghanistan, the land 
 where his own place is. They have no word of James 
 Pagan, from whom they are now removed more than a 
 thousand miles. I wish that James had volunteered with 
 the invading regiments; such boldness is expected, and always 
 well looked on, and generally remembered when places are 
 to be given away. 
 
 " We have our young friend John Harley Maxwell with 
 us for a few days. He is both anxious and clever, and have 
 no doubt will be made an Engineer. I like him very much. 
 He has capital business habits, as well as a good business 
 hand, and will be a credit to the Maxwells, and Hyslops, 
 and Harleys. We must have him appointed to Bengal. 
 
 " Will you give my love to my venerable and warm- 
 hearted mother, also to my dear sister Mary, and do not 
 forget my sister Jean, nor my sister Isabel? I hope Allan 
 will be established in due time in the Sandbed, and that he 
 and his will prosper. I trust also that good news have 
 reached the Curriestanes from New Holland, and also from 
 India. My wife joins me in all these remembrances. I 
 wish you to write me soon, if you have not written already. 
 — I remain, my dear Mina, your affectionate brother, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 " Miss Mina Cunningham." 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 367 
 
 "27 Lower Belgrave Place, 11th July, 1840. 
 
 " My dear Mother, — I have given myself too little time to 
 write this letter, for I am anxious to send you the enclosed 
 seven pounds, namely, a five pound note and two sovereigns, 
 which I hope will arrive safe, and which I beg my sister 
 Mina to acknowledge, for the post is by no means a safe 
 mode of conveyance. I hope this wall find you easy, if not 
 quite well. It leaves all here in their usual health. Even I 
 have picked up, as we Londoners say, of late; though I feel 
 I must watch over myself, as you did over me, when I first 
 ventured to walk under the Blackwood trees. I find that 
 care, and above all vegetable diet, are the best things for me, 
 and when I go out to dine, I resist all fine dishes and rich 
 wines — indeed, I should like to retire on milk, porridge, and 
 champed potatoes, such as I used to have at the Eoads and 
 the Sandbed, in the sunny days of my youth, when all was 
 bright and full of hope before me. I saw it mentioned in 
 the papers the other day that the Asia will be in England in 
 August, which I trust will be the case, though Peter does 
 not mention it in his last letters. 
 
 " We had letters from your three grandsons of my branch 
 on Monday last — they were all well. Alexander was 
 married at Simla on the 20th of March, and in the middle of 
 April was in his own house at Lucknow with his young- 
 wife. Joseph was busy looking to the affairs of the Punjab, 
 but when cold weather came he proposed to visit his brother 
 at Lucknow; and Francis was about to get a year's leave of 
 absence, to visit Calcutta and Lucknow and Lordiana. The 
 three brothers have a strong regard for one another, and 
 take no important steps without each other's concurrence. 
 Give my regards to Mina and Mary, and all friends. My 
 
368 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 wife and Mary send their love to yon. — I remain, my dear 
 Mother, your affectionate son, 
 
 "Allan Cunningham. 
 "Mrs. Cunningham." 
 
 " 27 Belgrave Place, 18th. May, 1841. 
 
 " My dear Sister, — I heard through Helen Pagan that our 
 dear mother had been ill, and was recovering, and I now hear 
 from you that she continues to improve. That at her very 
 great age she can have the health of other days may be prayed 
 for, but can scarcely be hoped; yet I was not without that 
 hope which is of the imagination, that as she had endured 
 much when young, her old age would be calm and free from 
 pain. When Helen's letters came I consulted our brother 
 Peter, who did not feel any alarm, and regarded the attack, 
 which frightened you so much, as an illness which would 
 soon subside. Give my love to my dear mother, and say 
 how I sympathize deeply, and would willingly, were such an 
 exchange possible, take a share of her suffering. God knows 
 I have little extra health to spare; for though Peter gave a 
 flattering account of my appearance, my constitution is much 
 shaken, and I feel what doctors close their eyes on. My 
 business, in my declining health, grows no less ; my patience 
 in disposing of it lessens as I grow old, and I expect, one of 
 these days, to be buried in the furrow like an old crow whose 
 wing is broken, and cannot carry it out of harm's way. 
 
 "Yet I am cheerful, for why should a living man complain? 
 The work which I am unable to do I leave undone, and the 
 letters which I want leisure or power to reply to, I leave 
 unanswered. I have for more than two years desisted from 
 writing anything but letters, and even these are too numerous 
 for a hand so weak and encumbered as mine. So you see, 
 my dear sister, other people may be suffering as well as- 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 369 
 
 yourself, and yet must perform the duties of their station; 
 but you are a complainer, one who often desires to die — you 
 see the cloud and shut your eyes on the sunshine, and the 
 joy of grief, of which Ossian sings, is the delight of your 
 heart. Had my taste been like yours, I should have been 
 in the dark and narrow house long ago. Continue to comfort 
 our mother — do your duties as you have always done them 
 in regard to her, for our business is not to die in despondency, 
 and I have no doubt that you will find ten long years of 
 enjoyment before you, and hope that I may live to see you 
 enjoy them. We are all well — we heard from our three 
 boys in India last mail. They are all well, and very busy. 
 They all sent their love to you and to their grandmother. 
 My wife sends her love to my mother, and Mary unites with 
 her. — I remain, my dear Sister, your very affectionate 
 brother, 
 
 " Allan Cunningham. 
 "Miss Cunningham." 
 
 We cannot omit to notice, in this concluding chapter, 
 one to whom Cunningham was much indebted for his 
 start in the world as a songster and a poet, Mrs. Cop- 
 land. In the volume of " Remains of Nithsdale and 
 Galloway Song," published by Cromek, but furnished by 
 Cunningham, frequent reference is made to her, as hav- 
 ing supplied songs, and snatches of songs, of the olden 
 time for the work, which were used most gratefully, the 
 interstices being supplemented where required. This 
 lady was no myth as some have supposed, but was in- 
 deed what Cunningham has represented her to be, one 
 of his main sources of ballad lore. She was brought up 
 with her parents, who were highly respectable, at Gate- 
 
 2 A 
 
370 LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 side, in the parish of Newabbey, and when she had 
 attained womanhood she was considered exceedingly 
 good-looking, and was always spoken of as " Bonnie 
 Mary Allan." Her intellectual qualities were much 
 superior to the ordinary standard of young ladies, as 
 well as her physical lineaments, and therefore it was 
 not to be wondered at that she became a special object 
 of attraction to the young men around. Cunningham 
 was a weekly visitor at Gateside, when working in the 
 neighbourhood, while Mary Allan was unmarried, and 
 when he and other young men called there, the whisky 
 bottle was of course produced. Miss Allan was generally 
 seated at the " Wee wheel" on such occasions, but it 
 struck some of the lads that the cc rock " continued from 
 week to week about the same size, though it might have 
 been frequently refurnished. Besides, it was not a secret 
 to them that some book or another received far more 
 attention than did the wheel. On one occasion, taking 
 advantage of her temporary absence, a dram glass was 
 removed from the table and secreted in the heart of the 
 ••rock and wee pickle tow." Some weeks afterwards, 
 when by any amount of diligence at all, several rocks 
 should have been exhausted, the number of young men 
 present being in excess of the dram glasses, one of them 
 opened out the " tow " on the " rock" and brought out 
 the secreted glass. Among the many aspirants for her 
 hand and heart she elected William Copland, Esq., 
 merchant, Dalbeattie, and had a family of four daughters 
 and two sons, one of the latter being John Copland, 
 Esq., surgeon, residing in Dumfries. After Mrs. Cop- 
 land's marriage Cunningham was a frequent visitor at 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 371 
 
 their residence of Greenhead, near Dalbeattie, previous 
 to his removal to London, and his letters to her, after 
 taking up his abode in the great metropolis, were 
 neither "few nor far between;" but of these, it is sad 
 to think, that there is not now one in existence, every 
 scrap having been committed to the flames in the same 
 way as those written to G. D. M'Ghie were, alluded to 
 in a former chapter. Mrs. Copland died in Newabbey, 
 in the spring of 1833, and must have been greatly grati- 
 fied at the success which attended the writings of her 
 friend Allan Cunningham. 
 
 Chantrey, as we formerly said, had the greatest affec- 
 tion for Cunningham, and left him an annuity of £100, 
 with reversion to his widow, but he lived to receive only 
 a single payment, for in the year succeeding that of 
 Chantrey' s death he followed his master and friend to 
 " the land o' the leal." On Chantrey's death Cunning- 
 ham was requested to execute the orders which had 
 been received, but he declined to do so, saying it would 
 take the longest lifetime to do that, but he would finish 
 all that his master had modelled. We fear he did not 
 survive to do even that. 
 
 On the morning of the 29th October, 1842, he was 
 suddenly seized with . paralysis, which was all the more 
 ominous from his having had a similar attack some two 
 years before^ from which, however, he had completely 
 recovered, though his health of late had caused some 
 anxiety to his family and friends. Only two days 
 before the attack he had revised the last proof-sheet of 
 the " Life of Sir David Wilkie," which was published 
 after his death. Medical assistance was found of 
 
372 LIFE OF ALLAN -CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 no avail, and on the night of the following day the 
 life and labours of Allan Cunningham were at an 
 end. Apparently without any suffering, and " in a 
 kind of solemn stillness," he passed away from the world 
 at the comparatively early age of fifty-seven. On the 
 following Friday, at one o'clock afternoon, a hearse and 
 two mourning coaches left a house in Lower Belgrave 
 Place, slowly wending their solemn way to the cemetery 
 in Kensal Green, and there, in a plain grave, with only 
 eight mourners standing round it, was laid the body of 
 Allan Cunningham, far from his native Nithsdale that he 
 loved so well. 
 
 He had acquired many friends in the course of his 
 literary career, but none so intimate and valued as 
 William Jerdan of the Literary Gazette, who at first 
 so greatly roused his ire about the heretical pronoun. 
 No one had better opportunities for knowing his real 
 character and worth, and no one was better qualified 
 to form a correct opinion. In publicly noticing his 
 death, he said, " few persons ever tasted the felicity of 
 passing through the world with more of friendship 
 and less enmity than this worthy and well deserving 
 individual. He was straight-forward, right-minded, and 
 conscientious; true to himself and to others." We 
 believe this was the universal opinion. Few men ever 
 had such delight in family and home as he, and few 
 fathers ever had greater cause to be proud of his sons, 
 who all distinguished themselves greatly in the literary 
 world, as well as in their professional positions. His 
 love for his wife was ardent, and many a tribute of 
 affection he paid her in after days, as well as when he 
 
LIFE OF ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 373 
 
 wooed her in the woods of Arbigland. After a separa- 
 tion of twenty -two years she now sleeps by his side. 
 
 As a writer his fancy was perhaps a little too luxuriant 
 — he loved nature in her wildest tangles, and to have 
 trimmed the wild-rose bush, or the hawthorn tree, would 
 have been in his sight vandalism which he could not 
 endure. While to the trained critic of modern literature 
 there may appear in his works too great an exuberance 
 of imagination, and too strong a fragrance of flowers, 
 we are much mistaken if these are not the very things 
 that will embalm his memory in the minds of those 
 whom he sought most to please, the peasantry of his 
 native land. We now reverentially let fall the curtain, 
 and would inscribe upon the monolith which covers his 
 grave — "Honest Allan — a credit to Caledonia!" 
 
 " Thou, like me, hast seen another grave would suit our Poet well, 
 Greenly banded by the breckan in a lonely Highland dell, 
 Looking on the solemn waters of a mighty inland sea, 
 In the shadow of a mountain, where the lonely eagles be ; 
 Thou hast seen the kindly heather blown around his simple bed ; 
 Heard the loch and torrent mingle dirges for the poet dead ; 
 Brother, thou hast seen him lying, as it is thy hope to lie, 
 Looking from the soil of Scotland up into a Scottish sky. 
 It may be such grave were better, better rain and dew should fall, 
 Tears of hopeful love to freshen Nature's ever-verdant pall. 
 
 Better after-times should fiud him — to his rest in homage bound- 
 Lying in the land that bore him, with its glories piled around." 
 
GLASGOW: 
 PKINTED BY KOBERT ANDERSON, 22 ANN STREET. 
 
 ",.218 4 
 
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