'^>^\ %-^' ^^: ^^' <3> , EX iLBfys fVELLISH I\OBEFVR5l EM ipoo i^ - 'jJ^ J » ^ j>:» ■- >:> "^ -■* > zap !>:> - ■■> 13r ^=i » J >-:» » > > >,^ ^i ^'>^- "^-^ > > -3ifc :>5 ■ -^ ^^^J^ ;» » \^ >3 - >■ 'S^^s^ h » ^ >:> ■•>' ■ ^i'^^? .^. -s^^Jfc L>i^ ^ ^-^'S^ ^ ^ :>v :» Z» \^£ ^ ^^ ^^ »^ -^'i "g^ l3 ^ :>>^ :V) >> ^«? s ■•^^->^ -.Vi ^tjti ^^S= ^ • ^^3* ^oi» :i.,^'^6 S ^ ' ■ -%»_J>» ;VS'> "Xi ^^^ ^ k ^ - si^ -qo -J ^ I '-' ^ ^^ i.> ::ii "^ — 4 .k. i-i. ~i» 2 . ~ ^ ■; : ^ -.C^ ■■* * • .J . -^^ .* ' ' ^ >>.>'> :>> ~^^ >• >^ -. ■■■■ ;-ii ^.3>.^ 3» -*> ^^ ^^^ > ^ ^•^ :>:> ^ -^-^ ,63 V, ^. 4 THE LIFE AND WORKS OF ROBERT BURNS. EDITED BY ROBERT CHAMBERS. IX FOUR VOLUMES. VOL. III. EDINBURGH: WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. 1852. EDINBURGH : PRINTED BY W. AND R. CHAMBERS. CONTENTS. *** The Italic letters indicate the publication in whicla the several compositions respectively appeared : see note prefixed to the Contents of Volume I. Pieces which have not appeared in any previous edition of the poet's works are marked n. The letter O refers to the authorised edition of the Letters to Clarinda, Edinburgh, 18-13. ELLISLAND. June 1788— December 1791. — (continued.) PAGE Letter to John M'Mwdo, Esq., 9tli Jan. 1789, - - 13 Letter to Professor Diigald Stewart, 20th Jan. (e) Fragment of the Poei's Pro^rress. ... Creech satirised, - /i M Creech's relation to Burns, - - - - IG Letter to , 22d Jan. Virtues difficult to some, com- pared with others. Good -writing requires care and pains, n 17 Extempore to Captain Riddel, on returnin(j a Neicspaper, - h 18 Letter to Captain Riddel. Sends some idle rhymes, - 7i 18 Burns's Jealous Feelings. Ode on Mrs Oswald, - - c 19 Burns and Pegasus at Wanlockhcad. To John Taylor, - j 20 Letter to Bishop G'eddes, 3d Feb. His marriage and prospects, e 21 Letter to Mr James Barnes, 9th Feb. Family matters, - i 22 Visit to Edinburgh : racking of accounts witli Creech, - 24 William, a younger brother of Burns. Letter to him, - 2-i Letter to Clarinda, 9th March, defending Ids conduct, - o 25 Letter from the Rev. P. Carfrac, about a friend's poems, - 2G Letter to il/?s Dunlop, 4th March. Jlortified feelings, c 27 Letter to the Rev. P. Carfrae, about his friend's poems, - e 28 Letter to Mr Peter Hill, Bookseller. A present of a cheese. Whimsical proposal, - - - - - e 29 Letter to Dr Moore, 23d March. Introduces Eev. LIr Niclson, and gives an account of his Ode on Mrs Oswald, - e 31 Dr Moore's Answer, - - - . . 33 Letter to Mr William Burns, 2ot\\ JNIarch, - - *;t 33 Vi CONTENTS. PAGE A Parish Library. Letter to Mr P. Ilill, 2d April. Frugality, c 33 Letter to Mrs Dunlop, •Itli April, enclosing Sketch of Charles James Fox, - - - - - - c So Letter to Mrs M'Murdo, 2(1 Slay. Courteous gratitude, j 37 Letter to Mr Cunninc/ham, 4th IMay, enclosing Verses on a Wounded Hare, - - - - - e 38 Burns's Antipathy to Field-Sports. His dogs, - - 39 Delia, an Ode, ...--- 39 Dr Gregory's Criticism on the Verses to a Hare, - - 40 On Seeing a Wounded Hare Limp hy me, final copy, - c 42 Letter [in verse] to James Tennant of Glenconner, - - IGl Letter to Mrs Dunlop. Birth of her grandchild, - e 1G2 Stanzas on a Posthumous Child, - - - - e 162 CONTENTS. IX PAGE Subsequent history of the Posthumous Child (M. Henri), - 163 Letter to Mr William Dunbar, 17th Jan. 1791. Good wishes, 16-1: Letter to Mr Peter Hill, 17th Jan. Sends money to account. Poyerty. Wealth excuses offence, - - - e 16i Pecimiary Circimistances of Bums at, this time. He acts as an accommodator or creditor, - - - - 165 The Books ordered by Burns from Hill, - - - 167 Letter to ^Mr Cunningham, 23d Jan. Elegy on Miss Burnet, e 167 Letter to the Rev. Archibald Alison, 14th Feb. Kemarks on the Association theory of Beauty, - - - e 168 Letter to Mrs Graham of Finlry. Hopes that liis poetry will outlive his poverty, - - - - -el 70 Lament of Mary Queen of Scots on the approach of Spring, *c 170 Letter to Dr Moore, 28th Feb. Remarks on his own recent poems. His prospects, - - - - e 173 Carelessness in distributing his Compositions ; wUl not write for money, ------- 173 Letter to Rev. Mr Baird. Michael Bruce's poems, - e 17-i Letter to Mr Cunningham, 12th ISIarch. Always likes his own poems at first. Song — Tliere'll never be Peace tillJamie comes Hame, ------ e 174: Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn, - - - c 176 Lines to Sir John Whitefoord, - - - - - 178 Letter to Mr Alexander Dalzell, 19th March. The Glencairn family, ------- h 178 Letter to Lady E. Cunningham, enclosing the Lament, e 170 Burns breaks his right arm. Janet Little, the i)oetical milkmaid. 170 Letter to Mrs Dunlop, 7th April. His son Francis, - c 170 Birth of Burns's third son, . - . - ISO Letter to Mrs Dunlop, 11th April. Good qualities of a rustic spouse, - - - - - - -e 180 Correspondence with A. F. Tytler on Tarn o' Shanter, - 181 Letter to Lady W. Maxwell Constable, 11th April. Acknow- ledges a present, - - - - -el 84 Letter to Mr P. Hill. Severe remarks on Mr Miller, - n ISi Letter to Mr Cunningham, 11th June. Recommends ]\Ir Clarke, a teacher. ' O to be a sturdy savage,' &c., - - e 185 Source of the bitter feelings of Bums, - . - 187 Literary Scolding, ------ 188 Third Epistle to 2L- Graham of Fintry, - - - c 188 Letter to Mr P. Hill: jocular, - - - n 190 Burns visited by two English gentlemen. His punch-bowl, 191 X CONTENTS. PAGE Letter to Mr Thomas Sloan, 1st Se-pt. Consolation. Sale of Crop, A 192r Correspondence -with the Earl of Buchan on the Inauguration of Thomson's Bust, _ _ . _ _ Address to the Shade of Thomson, - - - Letter to Colonel FuUarton, 3d Oct. Compliments, ^ - ^ Burns becomes acquainted ■with Miss Davies. Letter to her, Songs — Lovehj Davies; the Bonnie Wee Thing, Letter to Miss Davies. Disparity between our wishes and our powers. Inequalities of life, ... Sad history of Miss Davies, .... Whimsical Letter to Charles Sharpo of Hoddam, in the character of a vagrant fiddler, ... Sharpe presents Burns with a mason's apron, Letter to Sir John Sinclair; the Monkland Library, To Mr Maxwell of Terraughttj on his Birthdaij, Account of Mr Maxwell, .... Letter to Mrs Dunlop, 17th Dec, enclosing Song of Death, ■ Burns's circumstances and prospects. Gives up his farm, and removes to Dumfries, - - . - Fourth Epistle to Mr Graham of Fintry, e 193 c 194 h 195 19G d 197 e 198 199 e 200 202 e 203 h 204 205 e 205 20G e 207 DUMFRIES. December 1791— July 1796. Description of Dumfries, ----- oqq Sotting the bane of country towns, - . - - 209 Burns kindles to French revolutionary politics, - - 210 Letter to Mr Ainslie. Sufferings from a debauch, - e 211 A last visit of Burns to Edinburgh^Sces Clarinda once more, 211 Eenewed Correspondence with Clarinda, then about to leave Scotland, .-.„.. 212 Song — Sweet Sensibiliti/ how charming, - - e 212 Song — Ae Fond Kiss, and then we sever, - - - 7i 214 Other Songs on Clarinda, ... - 214-217 Letter to Mr James Clarke, Moffat, 10th Jan. 1792, • n 218 Burns becomes acquainted with Maria Woodley, Mrs Riddel, 218 Letter introducing her to Smellie, 22d Jan. - - - 220 CONTENTS. XI PAGE Letter to Mr P. Hill, otli Feb. Payment of Fergusson's Monument, - - - - - - n 220 Letter to Mr James Clarke, IMoffat, 17tli Feb. A Victory, n 222 Letter to Mr William Nicol, 20th Feb. Ironical, - - e 222 Capture of a Smuggler. Burns's present of cannon to the French government, . - - - _ 223 Song — Tlie DeiVs aica ivl' the Exciseman, - - d 22-i Note to Mr Samuel Clarke, orf/aiiist, l(jth July, - - /* 227 Letter to Mrs Dunlop, 22d Aug. Miss Lesley Baillie. Hopes of a future life, - - - - - - e 227 Song — Bonnie Lesley, ----- e 228 Letter to Mr Cunningham, 10th Sept. IMatrimony, - e 230 Mr George Thomson of Edinburgh opens a correspondence with Burns on Scottish Songs, - - - . 232 Burns to Mr Thomson, 16th Sept. Agrees to contribute songs for Mr Thomson's work, - - - - c 233 Fourth volume of Johnsoiis Museum published. Songs by Burns, 234-248 Mrs Henri's painful situation in France, - - 248 Letter to Mrs Dunlop, 24th Sept. Farming life. His children, e 248 Birth of a daughter to Burns, - _ . Mrs Eiddel and Smellie, . - - - - Mr Thomson to Burns, 18th Oct. . - - Lurns to ]\fr Thomson. The Lea-riff. Remarks on songs, Ljciter to Mrs Dunlop. Death of her daughter, Mrs Henri, Burns to Mr T/iomson, 8th Nov. M>/ Wife 's a icinsome Wee Thinr/, ------- Burns to Mr Thomson, 14th Nov. Iliffhland Mary, Dumfries Theatre. Miss Fontenelle, 77(6 Ilii/hts of Woman, an Occasional Address, spoken ly Miss Fontenelle, ------ Letter to, and Epiffram on, Miss Fontenelle, Letter to Mrs Riddel. Low spirits, - - - Letter to , recommending an actor, Letter to Mrs Riddel. ' Novemberish,' Source of Burns's mental gloom at this time. A domestic tale, Mr Thomson to Burns, Nov. - - _ . Burns to Mr Hiomson, 1st Dec. The Lea-riff, Burns to Mr Thomson, 4th Dec. Auld Rob i\forris. Du can Gray, ------. Burns's residence and manner of life in Dumfries, Clarinda's return from the West Indies, - 249 249 250 c 251 e 253 e 253 e 254 25G e 2->6 k 257 e 25S e 258 e 259 2(J0 2G1 e 2G3 c 2G4 26C 2C8 XU COXTENTS. PAGE Letter to Sfiss Marij Peacocl; respecting Clarinda, Gth Dec. - 268 Political Crisis of 1792, ----- 269 Burns's political manifestations, - - _ . £70 Letter to Captain Johnstone, Nov. 13. Orders the Gazetteer, m 270 Song on the reforming leaders — Here's a Health to them that's awa, ...... fi 271 Letter to Mrs Diinlop, 6th Dec. Melancholy reflections on the death of friends. His daughter. Qiiotations, - - e 272 Burns's politics adverted to by the Excise Board, - - 274 Letter to R. Graham, Esq. on being informed against, - h 274 Question as to the severity of the rebuke, - - _ 275 Letter to Mrs Dunhp, 31st Dec. Has become silent on politics, - - - - - - e 276 Letter to Mrs Dunhp, 5th Jan. 1793. Praises the amiable circle at Dunlop. A Whigmaleerie cup, - - e 276 Anecdote of a baptism in Burns's house, - - _ 278 Burns to Mr TJwmson. Songs— Puirtith Cauld, Gala Water, e 279 Sonnet written on the 25th January, - - - e 281 Mr Thomson to Burns, 20th Jan. ... 281 Burns to Mr Thomson, 2Gth Jan. Anecdotes of Scotch songs, e 283 Lord Gregory, . . . . . g 284 Letter to Clarinda. Congratulation on her retm'n. Forbids advice, - - - - - - - o 285 Letter to Mr Cunningham, 3d March. A seal. David Allan, e 286 Burns to Mr Thomson, 20th March. Mary Morison, - e 287 Wandering Willie, - - _ . _ e 288 Letter to Miss Benson, 21st March, - - - e 288 Anecdote of Burns at Arbigland, - _ - . 289 Burns and the education of his boys, ... 289 Letter to the Dumfries magistrates for a privilege, - h 290 Burns to Mr Thomson. Open the door to me, oh ! - e 290 Burns to Mr Thomson. Young Jessie, - - e 291 Letters with copies of new edition of liis poems, - - 291 Mr Thomson to Burns, 2d April, _ _ . . 293 Burns to Mr Thomson. Song — The Soldier's Return. Meg o' the Mill, - - - - - . - c 294 Burns to Mr Thomson,'7th. .Lpril. Anecdote of 77^6 Lass o' Patie's Mill, ...... e 297 Escapes of Political Feeling. Dumourier, . . h 299 Letter to Mr Er shine of Mar, 13th April. The Excise Board's Kebuke. Assertion of his independence, - - h 300 Mr Thomson to Burns, April, - - - . 302 COIsTEKTS. XIU PAGE Burns to Mr Tliomson. Dislike of proposed changes on Eam- say's songs, - - - - - - e 303 Burns to Mr Thomson. The Last Time I came o'er the Moor, e 301 INIr Thomson to Burns, 2Cth April. Disapprobation of some of Eamsay's songs, . . _ _ - 305 Letter to Mr Robert Ainslie, 26th April. Cannot answer a letter. Spunkie, - - - - - /t 30G Removal to a better house, ----- 307 Letter to Mr Peter Hill. Distresses arising from the War, n 308 Burns to Mr Thomson, June. These accursed times. Eraser, Hautboy-player. Song — Blithe ha'e I been on yon Hill, e 303 Burns to Mr Thomson, 25th June. Logan Braes. gin vij/ Love were yon Bed liose, - - - - e 309 Mr Thomson to Burns, 1st Jidy. A Present of Money, - 312 Burns to Mr Thomson, 2d July. Bonnie Jean, - - e 312 Burns to Mr Tliomson. Hurt by the pecuniary parcel. Spurns remuneration for his Writings, - . - e 314 Burns's Eefusal to -write for money, though Ms circumstances at the time y^ere straitened, - - - - 316 LIFE A^'D WORKS OP E B E E T BURNS. ELLISLAND. June 1788— December 1791— (continued.) Among the gentlemen of Nithsdale by whom Burns had been kindly received was Mr M'Murdo, chamberlain to the Duke of QueensbeiTy. This gentleman, with a fine young family, which included some blooming daughters, resided i he ducal mansion of Drumlanrig, a few miles from the poet's farm ; and he had there entertained our bard with the most distinguished kindness. TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. , Ellisland, 9th Jan. ITS!)- Sir — A poet and a beggar arc in so many points of view alike, that one might take them for tlic same individual cliaracter under different designations ; were it not that, thoiigli, with a trifling poetic licence, poets may be styled beggars, yet the converse of the propo- sition does not hold, tliat every beggar is a poet. In one particular, however, they remarkably agree ; if you help cither the one or the other to a mug of ale or the picking of a bone, they will very will- ingly repay you with a song. This occurs to me at present (as I have just despatched a well-lined rib of J. Kilpatrick's Highlander ;i ' Kilp.itrick was the n.anio of a ncii,'hboiirin!; blacl;smith. Burns alliulcs tn a piece of IIii,'hl;iml mutton, which souifhow may have been obtained thiuugh tlio medium of Mr M'Murdo fiuni tlus persunagc. 14 LIFE AND WORKS OF BUKXS. a bargain for -vvliich I am indebted to you), in tlie style of our ballad- printers, 'Five Excellent New Songs.' The enclosed is nearly my newest song, and one that has cost me some pains, though that is but an equivocal mark of its excellence. Two or three others Avhicli I liave by me shall do themselves the honour to wait on your after- leisure : petitioners for admittance into favour must not harass the condescension of their benefactor. You see, sir, what it is to patronise a poet. 'Tis like being a magistrate in Pettyborough ; you do them the favour to preside iu their council for one year, and your name bears the prefatory stigma of bailie for life. With not the compliments, but the best wishes, the sincerest prayers of the season for you, that you may see many happy yeai's with Mrs M'JIurdo and your family — two blessings, by the by, to which your rank does not entitle you — a loving wife and fine family being almost the only good things of this life to which the farm- house and cottage have an exclusive right — I have the honour to be, sir, your much indebted and very humble servant, E. BURNS.^ TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART. Ellisland, S0(7t Jan. 1789. Sir — The enclosed sealed packet I sent to Edinburgh a few days after I had the happiness of meeting you in Ayrshire, but you were gone for the continent. I have now added a few more of my pro- ductions, those for v/hicli I am indebted to the Nithsdale Muses. Tiie piece inscribed to K. G, Esq. is a copy of verses I sent Mr Graham of Fintry, accompanying a request for his assistance in a matter to me of very great moment. To that gentleman I am already doubly indebted for deeds of kindness of serious import to my dearest interests, done in a manner grateful to the delicate feelings of sensibility. This poem is a species of composition new to me ; Init I do not intend it shall be my last essay of the kind, as you will see by tlie Poefs Progress. These fragments, if my design succeed, are but a small part of the intended whole. I propose it shall be the work of my utmost exertions, ripened by years : of course I do not wish it much known. The fragment beginning 'A little, upright, pert, tart,' &c. I have not shewn to man living, till I wow send it you. It forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a charac- ter, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in a variety of lights. This particular part I send you merely as a sample of my hand at portrait-sketching ; but, lest idle conjecture should pretend to point out the original, please to let it be for your single, sole inspection. Need I make any apology for tliis trouble to a gentleman who has treated me Avith such marked benevolence and peculiar kindness ; ' The original of this letter is in possession of Mr John Gibson, post-master, Wliitfchaven. SATIEICAL SKETCH OF 2IE CREECH. 15 ■who has entered into my interests with so much zeal, and on whose critical decisions I can so fully depend ? A poet as I am by trade, these decisions are to me of the last consequence. My late transient acquaintance among some of the mere rank and file of greatness, I resign with ease ; but to the distinguished champions of genius and learning, I shall bo ever ambitious of being known. The native genius and accurate discernment in Mr Stewart's critical stric- tures ; the justice (iron justice, for he has no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner) of Dr Gregory's remarks, and the delicacy of Professor Dalzell's taste, ^ I shall ever revere. I shall be in Edinburgh some time next month. I have the honour to be, sir, your highly obliged and very humble servant, R. B. We learn from the above letter to Mr Stewart, that he meditated a laborious poem, to be entitled The Poet's Proc/ress, probably of an autobiographical nature. He enclosed various short pieces designed to form part of this poem, but none have been preserved except the following : - — A SKETCH. A little, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight, And still his precious self his dear delight ; Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets, Better than e'er the fairest she he meets. A man of fashion too, lie made his tour. Learned vive la bagatelle, et vive V amour ; So travelled-monkeys their grimace improve, Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' love. Much specious lore, but little understood ; Veneering oft outshines the solid wood : His solid sense — by inches you must tell, But mete his cunning by the old Scotch ell ; His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. Still makintj work his selfish craft must mend. o It is painful to come to the conclusion, from a remark and quotation in a subsequent letter, that this selfish, superficial wight was — Creech — the same ' Willie ' whom he described in such affectionate terms in May 1787, and to whom he then wished ' a pov/- as auld's Methuselam.' The dally ings of the witty biblio- pole over his accounts, his keen tenacity towards his own mterests in every transaction, and the essential stinginess which Im-ked under a complaisant manner, had combined to disgust Bums 1 Dalzcll was professor of Greek in the Edinbursh University. 2 It is not unlikely that the linos on 'William Smcllic, already introduced, were intended to form a part of Tlic Pud's Progress. IG LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. entirely with one whom he originally looked upon as a kind patron, and a man of agreeable talents and character. I could not pretend to say to what extent there was any solid justification of the antipathy of Burns, or even to what extent our poet was prepared for a serious and open avowal of such opinions regard- ing his publisher. It will be seen that on a second settlement of accounts in February, Burns was satisfied with the measure of justice extended to him by the bookseller; and in May he addressed him a civil letter. Afterwards he resumed his expres- sions of disgust and antipathy, but again became reconciled ; and this state of things existed at the time of his death. On the whole, it is probable that Creech acted too much according to his wonted instincts towards Burns, although with such a show of fairness as occasionally disarmed the poet of his resentment. If some of his old associates in the literary trade are to be credited, it was not in his nature to have treated Burns with justice. On the other hand, Dr Currie seems to Iiave been convinced that there was no cause to blame the publisher. lie says, in a letter to Messrs Cadell and Davies, Dec. 30, 1797 : ' It is true there was a difference between our high-souled poet and Mr Creech, and some of Burns's friends have a notion that Mr Creech did not use him liberally. For my own part, I have found the correspon- dence among Burns's papers, and I can see no proof of any ill-usage. The bard indulged occasionally in sarcasms against men of charac- ter ; yet I can discover that his deliberate opinions were the result of a judgment profound and nearly unbiassed, and differing much from the effusions of his sensibility. Among the Edinburgh cha- I'acters drawn by him, I think I can discover that of our friend Creech (for the names are not given at length in his diary), and if I do not deceive myself, it is a capital likeness, and on the whole favourable.'^ I have heard that the letters of Burns to Creech — many of them bearing intemperate charges and insinuations against the publisher — were finally submitted to Mrs Play (Margaret Chal- mers), who exerted her influence to have them destroyed ; which was done. Dr Currie, a few days after the above date, wrote to the same gentlemen — ' Mr Creech informs me that whatever little diffe- rence subsisted between Burns and him had been made up long before the bai-d's death, and that he shall do everything in Ids power to serve the family.' ' Manuscripts in possession of Josepli Mayer, Esq., LiverpooL We mu3t differ With l)r Cumu as to tlio favourableness of tlie sketch. LETTER TO . 17 TO Ellisland, 22d January 17G9.1 Sir — Tlicre are two things ■uliich, I believe, the blow that termi- nates my existence alone can destroy — my attachment and propen- sity to poesy, and my sense of what I owe to your goodness. There is notliing in the different situations of a Great and a Little man that vexes me more than the case with which tlie one practises some virtues that to tlie other are extremely difficult, or perhaps Avholly impracticable. A man of consequence and fashion shall richly repay a deed of kindness with a nod and a smile, or a hearty shake of the hand; while a poor fellov,- labours under a sense of gratitude, which, lilcc copper coin, though it loads the bearei', is yet of small account in the currency and commerce of the world. As I have the lionour, sir, to stand in the poor fellow's predicament with respect to you, will you accept of a device I have tliought on to acknowledge these obljirations I can never cancel? ilankind in g-cnoral ajrree in testifying their devotion, th.eir gratitude, their friendship, or their love, by presenting whatever they hold dearest. Everybody who is in the least acquainted with the character of a Poet, knows that there is nothing in the world on which he sets so much \_value as his verses. I have resolved, sir, from time^] to time, as she may bestow her favours, to present you with the productions of my humble Muse. The enclosed are the principal of her works on the banks of the Nith. The Poem insci-ibed to R. G. Esq. is some verses, accom- panying a request, which I sent to Mr Graham of Eintry — a gentle- jnau who has given double value to some important favours he has Ijestowed on me by his manner of doing them, and on whose future patronage likewise I must depend for matters to me of the last conseciuence. I have no great faith in the boasted pretensions to intuitive pro- priety and milaboured elegance. Tlie rough material of Fine Writ- ing is certainly the gift of Genius ; but I as firmly believe that the workmanship is the united effort of Pains, Attention, and Ilepeated- trial. Tlie piece addressed to Mr Graham is my first essay in that did;ictic, epistolary way; which circumstance I hope Avill bespeak your indulgence. To your friend Captain Erskine's strictures I lay- claim as a relation ; not, indeed, that I have the honour to be akiu to tlie peerage, but because lie is a son of Parnassus.'' I intend being in Edinburgh in four or five weeks, when I shall certainly do myself tlie honour of waiting on you, to testify with vliat respect and gratitude, &c. This letter appears to have been addressed to some Edinburgh ' Misdated in tl>e orijin.al ITfiS. 2 Supplit'd on cDnjecliiie, to make up a blank in the original. 3 Allusion is hero made to ('iii)tiiin Andrew Krskine, brother to the Earl pf Kelly, a poet and musical amateur rehiding in Ediubui:;h. VOL. III. U 18 LIFE AXD "WORKS OF BURNS. friend of the xipper class. Thougli written with evident effort — even the handwriting having a laboured air — it contains some striking expressions, and is valuable for a repetition of the poet's just and sound opinion on what is necessary to excellence in literary composition. On returning a newspaper which Captain Riddel had sent to him for his perusal, containing some strictures on his poetry, I^urns added a note in impromptu verse, exhibiting that wonderful facility of diction which he possessed even under the greatest rhymmg-difficulties : — ox RETURNING A NEWSPAPER. Ellisland, Monday Evening. Your news and review, sir, I 've read through and through, sir, "With little admiring or blaming ; The papers are barren of home-news or foreign, No murders or rapes worth the naming. Our friends, the reviewers, those chippers and hewers, Are judges of mortar and stone, sir ; But of meet or unmeet, in O: fabric complete, I '11 boldly pronounce they are none, sir. My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness Bestowed on your servant the poet; Would to God I had one like a beam of the sun, And then all the world, sir, should know it ! TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL. Ellisland, 17?9. Sir — I wish from my inmost soul it were in my power to give you a more substantial gratification and retiirn for all the goodness to the poet, than transcribing a few of his idle rhymes. However, * an old song,' though to a proverb an instance of insignificance, is generally the only coin a poet has to pay with. If my poems which I have transcribed, and mean still to tran- scribe, into your book, were equal to the grateful respect and high esteem I bear for the gentleman to whom I present tliem, they would be the finest poems in the language. As they are, they will at least be a testimony with what sincerity I have the honour to be, sir, your devoted humble servant, E. B. The irritable genius of Burns led him often to view persons and SATIRE ON SIRS OSWALD. 1^ tilings very much, as tliey affected himself. The same lord, gentle- man, or lady, who, receiving him with urbanity, became the theme of his kindest feelings, might have come in for the eternal stigma of his satu-e, if, by a slight change of circumstances, he or she had been a cause of personal annoyance to him, or awakened his jealous apprehensions regarding his own dignity. In the course of the present month, an example of this infirmity of temper occm'S. Let himself be the recorder of the incident, it being premised that the lady whom he thus holds up to execration was one fairly liable to no such censure :— ' In Januaiy last, on my road to Ap-shire, I had to put up at Bailie "Wliigham's in Sanquhar, the only tolerable inn in the place. The frost was keen, and the grim evening and howling wind were ushering in a night of snow and drift. My horse and I were both much fatigued with the labours of the day ; and just as my friend the bailie and I were bidding defiance to the storm, over a smoking bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry of the late Mrs Oswald,^ and poor I am forced to brave all the terrors of the tempestuous night, and jade my horse — my young favourite horse, whom I had just christened Pegasus — farther on through the wildest hills and moors of Ayrshire to the next inn ! The powers of poetry and prose sink under me when I would describe what I felt. Suffice it to say, that when a good fire at New Cumnock had so far recovered' my frozen sinews, I sat doAvn and wrote the enclosed ode.' ODE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF .MKS OSWALD. Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark ! Who in widow-weeds appears. Laden with unhonoured years, ■* Noosing with care a bursting purse. Baited with many a deadly curse ! STROPHE. View the withered beldam's face — Can thy keen inspection trace Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace ? Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'crflows. Pity's flood there never rose. See these hands, ne'er stretched to save, Hands that took— but never gave. ' Doc. 6, 1788, died, at her house in Croat George Street, AVeBtminstcr, Mrs Oswald, widow of Hicliara Obwald, Es(i., of Auchincruive.— .Vcit/a^JHC Ohiluary. 20 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, Lo, there slie goes, unpitied and unblest She goes, but not to reahiis of everlasting rest ! ANTISTROPHE. riundcrer of armies, lift thine eyes (Awhile forbear, ye tort'ring fiends) ; Seest thou whose step, nnwilling, hither bends ? No fallen angel, hurled from upper skies ; 'Tis thy trusty quondam mate. Doomed to share thy fiery fate, »Shc, tardy, hell-ward plies. ERODE. And are they of no more avail, Ten thousand glittering pounds a year ? In other Avords, can JIammon fail. Omnipotent as he is here ? O bitter mockery of the pompous bier. While down the wretched vital part is Jriv'ii ! The cave-lodged beggar, vv-ith a conscience clear, Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heav'ii. There is a pleasanter memorial of one of his Ayrshire journeys. To quote a narrative first presented by Allan Cunningham — ' He had arrived at "VVanlockliead on a winter day, -when the roads were slippery Avith ice, and Jenny Geddes or Peg Nicolson [more likely, Pegasus] kept her feet with difficulty. The blacksmith of the place was busied witli other j^i'essing matters in the forge, and could not spare time for frosting the shoes of the poet's mare ; and it is likely he would have proceeded on his dangerous journey, had he not bethought himself of propitiating the son of Vulcan with verse. He called for pen and ink, and ■wrote these verses to John Taylor, a person of influence in Wanlockhead : — TO JOHN TAYLOR. With Pegasus upon a day, Apollo weary Hying, Through frosty hills the journey lay, On foot the way was plying. Poor slip-shod giddy Pegasus Was but a sorry walker; To Vulcan then Apollo goes, To get a frosty calkcr. LETTER TO BISHOP GEDDES. 21' Obliging Vulcan foil to work, Threw Ly his coat and Lounet, And did Sol's business in a crack ; Sol paid him with a sonnet. Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, I'ity my sad disaster ; My Pegasus is poorly shod — I '11 pay you like my master. K.vMAGz's, 3 o'ciod:. 'When he liad done, a gentleman of the name of Sloan, who at-companied him, endorsed the note in prose in these words : — •• J. Sloan's best compliments to Mr Taylor, and it would be doing him and the Ayrshire Bard a particular favour if he would oblige them instanter with his agreeable company. The road has been so slippery, that the riders and the brutes were equally in danger of getting some of their bones broken. For the Poet, his life and limbs are of some consequence to the world ; but for poor Sloau it matters very little what may become of him. The whole of this business is to ask the favour of getting the horses' shoes- sliarpened." On the receipt of this, Taylor spoke to the smith, and tlie smith flew to his tools, and sharpened the horses' shoes. It is recorded that Burmvnn lived thirty years to say " he had never been weel paid but ance, and that was by a poet, who paid liim in money, paid him in drink, and paid him in verse." ' TO BISHOP GEDDES.l Elmsland, 3d Feb. 1/89. A'F.N'r.RABLE Fatiikr^As I am conscious that, wherever I am, you do mo the honour to interest yourself in )ny welfare, it gives me pleasure to inform you that I am hero at last, stationary in tho serious business of life, and have now not only the retired leisure, l)Ut the hearty inclination, to attend to those great and important (liicstions — what I am, where I am, and for wluit I am destined. la that first concern, the conduct of tlie man, tliere was ever but one side on which I was habitually blameable, and there 1 have ' Alcxnnder fii,'r (ieddes, liis extraordinary attempts to translate the Hihle, and his nnnierons fus'itive i)ub- lieations on tontroversial divinity, made nuieh noise at tin; time; but lie is now only remembered for some s'leeessfiil Seoteh verses. This singular man died in J.ondon, February iO, lliui, in tbu sixtyfifth year of his age. 22 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BUKXS. secured myself in tlie way pointed out by nature and nature's God. I was sensible that, to so helpless a creature as a poor poet, a wife and family were encumbrances, which a species of prudence would bid liim shun ; butM'hen the alternative was, being at eternal warfare with myself, on account of habitual follies, to give them no v/orse name, whicli no general example, no licentious wit, no sophistical infidelity, would to me ever justify, I must have been a fool to have hesitated, and a madman to have made another choice. Besides, I had in my ' Jean ' a long and much-loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery among my hands ; and who could trifle with such a deposit ? In the affair of a livelihood, I think myself tolerably secure : I have good hopes of my farm; but should they fail, I have an Excise- commission, which, on my simple petition, will at any time procure me bread. There is a certain stigma affixed to the character of an Excise-officer, but I do not pretend to borrow honour from my profession ; and tliough the salary be comparatively small, it is luxui'v to anything that the first twenty-five years of my life taught me to expect. Thus, with a rational aim and method in life, you may easily guess, my reverend and much-honoured friend, that my chai'acter- istical trade is not forgotten. I am, if possible, more than ever an enthusiast to the Biases. I am determined to study man and nature, and in that view incessantly ; and to try if the ripening and corrections of years can enable me to produce something wortli preserving. You vvill see in your book — which I beg your pardon for detaining so long^ — that I have been tuning my lyre on the banks of Mth. Some large poetic plans tliat are floating in my imagination, or partly put in execution, I shall impart to you when I have the plea- sure of meeting v/ith you, which, if you are then in Edinburgh, I shall have about the beginnino; of March. That acquaintance, Avorthy sir, with which you were pleased to honour me, you must still allow me to challenge ; for with whatever unconcern I give up my transient connection with the merely great, I cannot lose the patronising notice of the learned and good without the bitterest regret. E. B. TO MR JAMES BURNES. Ellisland, 9th Fi-h. 1789. My dear Sir — Why I did not write to you long ago, is what — even on the rack — I could not answer. If you can in your mind form an idea of indolence, dissipation, hurry, cares, change of country, enter- ing on untried scenes of life, all combined, you will save mc the ' A copy of Burns's Poems, belonging to Dr Gcddcs, into wliicli the poet had transferred some of his more recent verses. VISIT TO EDrSBURGH, FEE. 1789. 23 trouble of a bluslmig apology. It could not be want of regard for a man for whom I had a high esteem before I knew him — an esteem which has much increased since I did know him ; and, this caveat entered, I shall plead guilty to any other indictment with which you shall please to charge me. After I parted from you, for many months my life was one con- tinued scene of dissipation. Here at last I am become stationary, and have taken a farm and — a wife. The farm is beautifully situated on the Xith, a large river that runs by Dumfries, and falls into the Solway Frith. I have gotten a lease of my farm as long as I pleased ; but how it may turn out is just a guess, and it is yet to improve and enclose, &c. ; however, I have good hopes of my bargain on the wliole. My wife is my Jean, with whose story you are partly acquainted. I found I had a much-loved fellovz-creature's happiness or misery amou"- my hands, and I durst not trifle with so sacred a deposit. Indeed, I have not any reason to repent the step I have taken, as I have attached myself to a very good wife, and have shaken myself loose of a very bad failing. I have found my book a very profitable business ; and with the profits of it I have begun life pretty decently. Should fortune not favour me in farming, as I have no great faith in her fickle ladyship, I have provided myself in another resource, which, however some folks may affect to despise it, is still a comfortable shift in the day of misfortune. In the heyday of my fame, a gentleman, whose name at least I daresay you know, as his estate lies someM'lierc near Dundee — Mr Graham of Fintry, one of the commissioners of Excise — offered me the commission of an Excise-officer. I thought it prudent to accept the offer ; and accordingly I took my instructions, and have my commission by me. Whether I may ever do dutj', or be a penny the better for it, is what I do not know ; but I have the com- fortable assurance, that, come whatever ill -fate will, I can, on my simple petition to the Excise-board, get into employ. We have lost poor uncle Robert this winter. He has long been very weak, and with very little alteration on him : he expired 3d January. His son William has been with me this winter, and goes in May to be an apprentice to a mason. His other son, the eldest, John, comes to mc, I expect, in summer. They are both remarkably stout young fellows, and promise to do well. His only daughter, Fanny, has been with me ever since her father's death, and I purpose keeping her in my family till siie be quite woman-grown, and fit for better service. She is one of the cleverest girls, and has one of tlic most amiable dispositions I have ever scen.i All friends in this county and Ayrshire arc well. Eemembcr mo to all friends in the nortli. My Avifc joins mc in compliments to JIrs C and family. I am ever, my dear cousin, yours sincerely, K. B. ' This young woman afterwards married a brother of 3Irs Bums. 2-4 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. About the end of February Burns paid liis proposed visit to Edinburgh, in order to have a further ' racking of accounts ' with Creech. He would now be entitled to receive payment in respect of sales effected during the last half of the year 1787 and the iirst half of 1788 : from an expression dropped in one of his letters, the sum appears to have been about £50 ; and it further appears that Burns was satisfied with the degree of justice measured out to him by the publisher. Burns had a younger brother named William, who had been brought up as a saddler, and was now in search of employment. This youth had visited the poet at the Isle early in the preceding month, and had been kindly treated. There is something inte- resting in the conduct of Bnnis towards this young relative, so different from himself in an intellectual respect and in importance in the world's eye, yet possessing a claim of equality as another child of the same parents. "William appears to have paid a visit to his brother about the end of 1788, and spent some weeks with Irim. The young man had then proceeded to Longtown, in search of employment m his business, whicli he had readily obtained. Though his education Avas greatly inferior to that of Robert and Gilbert, and his highest ambition was to be a good journeyman saddler, he seems to have had some small share of that natural readiness and propriety of diction which so remarkably distin- guished liis elder brothers, and the eldest particularly. We find him tluis addressing the poet'(15th February 1789) : — ' I know not how it happened, but you were more shy of your counsel than I could have wished the time I stayed with you : whether it was because you thought it would disgust me to have my faults freely told me while I was dependent on you, or whether it was because you saw that, by my indolent disposition, your instructions would laave no effect, 1 cannot determine ; but if it proceeded from any of these causes, the reason of withholding your admonition is done away, for 1 nov/ stand on my own bottom, and that indolence which I am very conscious of, is something rubbed off, by being called to act in life whether I will or not ; and my inexperience, which I daily feel, makes me wish for that advice which you are so able to give, and which I can only expect from you or Gilbert, since the loss of the kindest and ablest of fathers.' Isx-E, 2d March 1739i My dear William — I arrived from Edinburgh only the nighi before Inst, so could not answer your epistle sooner. I congratulate you on the prospect of employ ; and I am indebted to you for one of TINDICATOr.Y LETTER TO CLARINDA. 2o the best letters that has been written by any mechanic-lad in Nitlis- dale, or Annandale, or any dale on either side of tlie border, tliis twelvemonth. Not that I would have you always affect the stately stilts of studied composition, but surely writing a handsome letter is an accomplishment worth courting;; and, with attention and prac- tice, I can promise you that it will soon be an accomplishment of yours. If my advice can serve you — that is to say, if you can resolve to accustom yourself not only in reviewing your own deport- ment, manners, &c. but also in carrying your conseriuent resolutions of amending the faulty parts into practice — my small knowledge and experience of the world is heartily at your service. I intended to have given you a sheetful of counsels, but some business has pre- vented me. In a word, learn taciturnity ; let that be your motto. Though you had the wisdom of Newton, or the wit of Swift, garru- lousness would lower you in tlie eyes of your fellow-creatures. I'll ])robably write you next week. — I am your brother, Robert Burxs.i The union with Jean had of course closed the liopes of Clarinda. The lady heard of the event wath indignation, having had all possible reason to hope that Burns might sooner or later be her own. In a letter to Burns, which has not been preserved, she appears to have expressed her opinion of his conduct in the plainest terms. He made this answer, at once justilicatory of himself, and preserving due respect towards the lady : — TO CLARIXDA. 9lh March 17P.0. Madasi — The letter you wrote me to Heron's carried its own answer in its bosom ; you forbade me to write you, unless I was willing to plead guilty to a cci'tain indictment tliat you were pleased to bring against mo. As I am convinced of my own innocence, and, thouirh conscious of liic-h imprudence and egregious follv, can lav mv hand on my breast and attest the rectitude of my licart, you will pardon me, madam, if I do not carry my c()m])laisancc so far as liu'nbly to acquiesce in the name of Villain, merely out of compli- ment to your opinion, much as I esteem your judgment, and warmly as I regard your worth. I have already told you, and I again aver it, that at the period of time alluded to, I was not imder the smallest moral tic to Mrs I'urns ; iu)r did I, nor could I tlicn know, all the powerful ciixum- stances that onmij)otcnt necessity was busy laying in wait for mo. AVhen yon call over the scenes that luu'o j)assed between us, you will survey tiie conduct of an honest man, struggling successfully with temptations, the most powerful that ever beset humanity, and ' Tlic original of this letter is in possosBion of Mrs Begg. 2G LIFE AND T\'ORKS OF EUEXS. preserving untainted honour, in situations ■vvlicre the austerest virtue would have forgiven a fall ; situations that, I will dare to say, not a single individual of all his kind, even with half his sensihility and passion, could have encountered without ruin ; and I leave you to guess, madam, hov/ such a man is likely to digest an accusation of perfidious treachery. Was I to blame, madam, in being the distracted victim of charms which, I affirm it, no man ever approached with impunity ? Had I seen the least glimmering of hope that these charms could ever have been mine ; or even had not iron necessity But these are unavailing words. I would have called on j'ou when I was in town ; indeed I could not have resisted it, but that Mr Ainslie told me that you were deter- mined to avoid your windows while I was in town, lest even a glance of me should occur in the street. When I shall have regained your good opinion, perhaps I may venture to solicit your friendship ; but, be that as it may, the first of her sex I ever knew shall always be the object of my warmest good wishes. A Eev. Mr Carfrae, a friend of Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop, had addressed the following letter to Burns : — 2d January 1789. Sir — If you have lately seen Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop, you have cer- tainly heard of the author of the verses which accomjiany this letter. He was a man highly respectable for every accomplishmcut and virtue which adorns the character of a man or a Christian. To a great de- gree of literature, of taste, and poetic genius, was added an invincible modesty of temper, which prevented, in a great degree, his figuring in life, and confined the perfect knowledge of his character and talents to the small circle of his chosen friends. He was untimely taken from us a few weeks ago by an inflammatory fever, in the prime of life ; beloved by all who enjoyed his acquaintance, and lamented by all v>'ho have any regard for virtue or genius. There is a wo pro- nounced in Scripture against the pei-son whom all men speak well of J if ever that v.-o fell upon the head of mortal man, it fell upon him. He has left behind him a considei'able number of compositions, chiefly poetical ; sufficient, I imagine, to make a large octavo volume. In particular, two complete and regular tragedies, a farce of three acts, and some smaller poems on different subjects. It falls to my share, who have lived on the most intimate and iminterrupted friend- ship with him from my youth upwards, to transmit to you the verses he wrote on the publication of your incomparable poems. It is probable they were his last, as they were found in his scrutoire, folded up with the form of a letter addressed to you, and, I imagine, were only prevented from being sent by himself, by that melancholy dispensation which we still bemoan. The verses themselves I will not pretend to criticise, when writing to a gentleman whom I consider as entirely qualified to judge of their merit. They are the only verses ADVICE RESPECTING A BROTIIEE-POET. 27 he seems to have attempted in tlie Scottish style ; and I hesitate not to say, in general, that they will hring no dishonour on the Scottish muse : and allow me to add, that, if it is your opinion they are not imworthy of the author, and will be no discredit to you, it is the inclination of Mr Mylne's friends that they should be immediately published in some periodical work, to give the world a specimen of what may be expected from his performances in the poetic line, which, perhaps, will be afterwards published for the advantage of his family I must beg the favour of a letter from you, acknowledging the receipt of this, and to be allowed to subscribe myself, with great regard, sir, your most obedient servant, P. Carfeae. In a letter which Burns addressed to Mrs Dunlop immediately after his return from Edinburgh, he adverts to Mr Carfrae's application : — TO MRS DUNLOP. Ellisland, itfi March 1789. Here am I, my honoured friend, returned safe from the capital. To a man who has a home, however humble or remote — if that home is like mine, the scene of domestic comfort— the bustle of Edinburgh will soon be a business of sickening disgust. ' Vain pomp and glorj- of this -world, I hate j-oii ! ' When I must skulk mto a corner, lest the rattling equipage of some gaping blockhead should mangle me in the mire, I am tempted to exclaim : ' "What merits has he had, or whac demerit have I had, in some state of pre-existcnce, that he is ushered into this state of being with the sceptre of rule, and the key of riches in his puny fist, and I am kicked into the world, the sport of folly, or tlie victim of pride ?' I have read somewhere of a monarch (in Spain I think it Avas), wlio was so out of humour with the Ptolenifean system of astronomy, that lie said, had he been of the Creator's council, lie could have saved him a great deal of labour and absurdity. I will not defend tins lilasphemous speech ; but often, as I have glided with humble stealth through tlie pomp of Princes Street, it has suggested itself to me, as an improvenieut on the present human figure, that a man, in propor- tion to liis own conceit of his consequence in the world, could have pushed out the longitude of his common size, as a snail pushes out his liorns, or as we draw out a prospect-glass. This trifling alteration, not to mention tlie prodigious saving it would be in the tear and wear of the neck and limb sinews of many of his majesty's licge- subjccls, in the Avay of tossing the head and tiptoe strutting, would evidently turn out a vast advantage, in enabling us at once to adjust the ceremonials in making a bow, or nuiking way to a great man, and that too within a second of the precise spherical angle of reverence, tr an inch of the particular point of respectful distance, which tho 28 LIFE AND VTOEKS OF BUKXS. important creature itself requii'cs ; as a measuring -glance at its towerina: altitude would determine the aftair like instinct. You are riglit, madam, in your idea of poor Mylue's poem, which he has addressed to me. The piece has a good deal of merit, but it has one great faidt — it is Ijy far too long. Besides, my success has encouraged sucli a shoal of ill-spawned monsters to crawl into public notice, under the title of Scottish poets, that the very term, Scottish poetry, borders on the burlesque. When I write to Mr Carfrae, I shall advise him rather to ti-y one of his deceased friend's English pieces. I am prodigiously hurried with my own matters, else I would have requested a perusal of all Mylnc's poetic performances, and would have offered his friends my assistance in either selecting or correcting what would be proper for the press. What it is that occupies me so much, and perhaps a little oppresses my present spirits, shall fill up a paragraph in some future letter. In the mean- time, allow me to close tliis epistle with a few lines done by a friend of mine I give you them, that, as you liave seen the original, you may guess whether one or two alterations I have ventured to make in them be any real improvement. ' Like the fair plant that from our touch withdraws. Shrink, mildly fearful, even from applause, Be all a mother's fondest hope can dream, And all you are, my charmin; * * * *, seem. Straight as the foxglove, ere her hells disclose. Mild as the maiden-blushing hawthorn biows, . Fair as tlie fairest of each lovely kind, Your form shall be the image of your mind ; Your manners shall so true your soul express. That all shall long to know the worth they guess ; Congenial hearts shall greet with kindred love, And even sick'uing envy must approve.' ' KB. TO THE REV. P. CARFRAE. [Ellislan-d, March 17P9?] PiEV. Sir — I do not recollect that I liave ever felt a severer pang of shame, than on looking at the date of your obliging letter which accompanied Mr Mylne's poem. I am much to blame : the honour T\Ir Slylne has done me, greatly enhanced in its value by the endearing, tliough melancholy circumstance of its being the last production of his muse, deserved a better return. I liave, as you liint, thought of sending a copy of the poem io some periodical publication ; but, on second thoughts, I am afraid that, in the present case, it would be an improper step. My success, perhaps as much accidental as merited, has brought an inundation of ' These beautiful lines, we have reason to believe, are the production of the lady to whom this letter is addressed. — Cukrie. COMIC LETTER RESPECTING A CHEESE. 29 nonsense under the name of Scottish poetry. Rubscription-bills for Scottish ])oems have so dunned, and daily do dun tlie public, that the very name is in danger of contempt. For these reasons, if pub- lishinf,^ any of Mr Mylnc's poems in a magazine, &c. be at all jiru- dent, m my opinion it certainly should not be a Scottish poem. The profits of the labours of a man of frenius are, I hope, as honourable as any profits whatever ; and Mr Mylne's relations are most justly entitled to that honest harvest which fate has denied himself to reap. But let the friends of Mr Mylne's fame (among whom I crave the lionour of ranking myself) always keep in eye his respectability as a man and as a poet, and take no measure that, before the world knows anything about him, would risk his name and character being classed with the fools of the times. I have, sir, some experience of publishing ; and the way in which I would proceed with Mr Mylne's poems is this: — I will publish, in two or three English and Scottish public papers, any one of his Eng- lish poems which should, by private judges, be thought the most excellent, and mention it at the same time as one of the produc- tions of a Lothian farmer of respectable character, lately deceased, whose poems his friends had it in idea to publish soon by subscrip- tion, for the sake of his nimierous family; not in pity to that family, but in justice to what his friends think the poetic merits of the deceased ; and to secure, in the most effectual manner, to those tender councctious, whose right it is, the pecuniary reward of those merits. li. B.i TO MR PETER HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBERGH. [Ei.LiSLAND, 3Iarch 1700 ?] My de.vr IIiLL — I shall say nothing to your mad present- — you have so long and often been of important service to me, and I snp- ])Ose you mean to go on conferring obligations until I shall not be able to lift up my face before you. In the meantime, as Sir Eoger de (Joverley, because it lui])})ened to be a cold day in which he made liis will, ordered his servants greatcoats for moui'uing; so, because I have been this week plagued with an indigestion, I have sent you by the carrier a fine old ewe-milk cheese. Indigestion is the devil — nay, 'tis the devil and all. It besets a man in every one of his senses. I lose my appetite at tlie sight of successful knavery, and sicken to loathing at the noise and non- sense of self-imj)ortant folly. When the hollow-hearted wretch talics me by tiie han. I AviLL make no excuse, my dear Bibliopolus (God forgive me for murdering language!) that I have sat down to write you on this vile paper, stained with the sanguinary scores of • thac cursed horse- leeches o' the Excise.' 1 Printed in the Kilmnrnnck Jniirnn! (tlicncc first transferred to IIofrK nnd Motherweirs edition) fniin tlio ori'jinal, wliich is described as ahcwn at the Red Lion Tiivern, SUakapearc Square, Kdinburgli. VOL. III. C 34 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. It is economy, sir ; it is that cardinal virtue, prudence ; so I beg you will sit down, and either compose or borrow a panegyric. If you are going to borrow, apply to our friend Eamsay,i for the assist- ance of the author of the pretty little buttei-ing paragraphs of eulogium on your thrice-honoured and never-enough-to-be-praised Magistracy — how they hunt do\\Ti a housebreaker with the sanguinary perseverance of a bloodhound — how they outdo a terrier in a badger-hole in unearthing a resetter of stolen goods — how they steal on a thoughtless troop of night-nymphs as a spaniel winds the unsuspecting covey — or how they riot over a ravaged "' ■•" as a cat does o'er a plundered mouse-nest — how they new vamp old churches, aiming at appearances of piety, plan squares and colleges, to pass for men of taste and learning, &c. &c. &c. ; while Old Edinburgh, like the doting mother of a parcel of rakehelly prodigals, may sing Hoolly and fairly, or cry Wae^s me that e'er I saw ye! but still must put her hand in her pocket, and pay whatever scores the young dogs think proper to contract. I was going to say — but this parenthesis has put me out of breath — that you should get that manufacturer of the tinselled crockery of magistratial reputations, who makes so distinguished and distinguishing a figure in the Evening Courant, to compose, or rather to compound, something very clever on my remarkable ' frugality ; that I write to one of my most esteemed friends on this wretched paper, which was originally intended for the venal fist of some drunken exciseman, to take dirty notes in a miserable vault of an ale- cellar. O Frugality ! thou mother of ten thousand blessings — thou cook of fat beef and dainty greens ! thou manufacturer of warm Shetland hose and comfortable sm-touts ! thou old housewife, darning thy decayed stockings Avith thy ancient spectacles on thy aged nose — lead me, hand me in thy clutching palsied fist, up those heights and through those thickets hitherto inaccessible and impervious to my anxious, weary feet — not those Parnassian crags, bleak and barren, where the hungiy worshippers of fame are, breathless, clambering, hanging between heaven and hell, but those glittering cliffs of Potosi, where the all-sufficient, all-powerful deity. Wealth, holds liis immediate court of joys and pleasures ; where the sunny exposure of plenty, and the hot walls of profusion, produce those blissful fniits of luxury, exotics in this world, and natives of paradise ! Thou withered sibyl, my sage conductress, usher me into thy refulgent, adored presence ! The power, splendid and potent as he now is, was once the puling nursling of thy faithful care and tender arms ! Call me thy son, thy cousin, thy kinsman, or favourite, and adjure the god by the scenes of his infant years no longer to repulse me as a stranger or an alien, but to favour me with his peculiar countenance and pro- tection ! He daily bestows his greatest kindness on the undeserving and the wortliless — assure him that I bring ample documents of 1 Mr David Ramsay, of the Edinburgh Courant. SKETCH, INSCRIBED TO C. J. FOX. 35 meritorious demerits ! Pledj^e yourself for me, that, for the glorious cause of lucre, I will do anything, be anything but the horse-leech of private oppression, or the vulture of public robbery ! But to descend from heroics — what in the name of all the devils at once have you done with my trunk ? Please let me have it by the first carrier. I want a Shcikspeare : let me know what plays your used copy of Bell's Shakspeare wants. I want likewise an English dictionary^ Johnson's, I suppose, is best. In these and all vaj'prose commissions the cheapest is always the best for me. There is a small debt of honour that I owe Mr Piobcrt Cleghorn, in Saughton Mills, my worthy friend and your well-wisher. Please give him, and urge him to take it, the first time you see him, ten shillings' worth of anything you have to sell, and place it to my account. The library scheme that I mentioned to you is already begun under the direction of Captain Riddel and me. There is another in emula- tion of it going on at Closeburn, under the auspices of Mr Monteath of Closeburn, which will be on a greater scale than ours. I have likewise secured it for you. Captain Riddel gave his infant society a great many of his old books, else I had written you on that subject ; but one of these days, I shall trouble you with a commission for the Monkland Friendly Society. A copy of The Spectator, Mirror, and Lounge?; Man of Feeling, Man of the World, Guthrie^s Geographical Grammar, with some religious pieces, will likely be our first order. When T grow richer I will write to you on gilt-post, to make amends for this sheet. At present every guinea has a five-guinea errand with, my dear sir, your faithful, poor, but honest friend, E. B. TO MRS DUNLOP. Ellisland, 4//i.^prJ21789. I NO sooner hit on any poetic plan or fancy, but I wish to send it to you ; and if knowing and reading these give half the pleasure to you that communicating them to you gives to me, I am satisfied. I have a poetic whim in my head, which I at present dedicate, or rather inscribe, to the Riglit Hon. Charles James Fox ; but how long that fancy may hold I cannot say. A few of the first lines I have just rough-sketched as follows : — SKETCH, INSCmnKD TO CHARLES JAMES FOX. How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; How virtue and vice blend their black and their white j How genius, tlie illustrious father of fiction. Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 56 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. I sing: if these mortals, the critics, should bustle, I care not, uot I, let the critics go whistle. But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory At once may illustrate and honour my story. Thou first of our orators, first of our wits, Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky hits; "With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong j "VVith passions so potent, and fimcies so bright, No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right: A sorry, poor misbegot son of the Muses, For usi'ng thy name offers fifty excuses, i [Good L — d, what is man? for as simple he looks, Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks ; "With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, ' All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil. On his one ruling passion Sir Tope hugely labours, That, like th' old Hebrew walking-switch, cuts up its neighbours : Mankind are his show-box— a friend, would you know him ? Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will shew him. "What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd him ; Tor, spite of his fine theoretic positions, Mankind is a science defies definitions. "Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe. And think human nature they truly describe ; Have you found this, or t'other! there's more in the wind, As by one drimken fellow his comrades you'll find. But such is the flaw, or the depth of the i)lan, In the make of that wonderful creature call'd man, No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, Nor even two different shades of the same, Though like as was ever twin-brother to brother. Possessing the one shall imply you've the other.- But truce with abstraction and truce with the Muse, Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, sir, ne'er deign to peruse : ■yVill you leave your justings, your jars, and your quarrels. Contending with Billy for proud-nodding laurels. My much-honoured Patron, believe your poor Poet, Your courage much more than your prudence you shew it: > The verses following within brackets were added afterwards, z The verses following this line were first printed from a manuscript of Burns, in Pickering's edition. LETTER TO MRS M'MURDO, 37 In vain with Squire Billy for laiirels you struggle, He'll have them by fair trade, if not he will smuggle; Not cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em, He'd up the back-stairs, and by G — he Avould steal 'em ! Then feats like S(iuire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em. It is not, outdo him — the task is, out-thieve him!] On the 20th current I hope to have the honour of assuring you- in person how sincerely I am, R. B, In his letter to Mv Peter IIUl two days before, Burns had' tlesired to learn as soon as possible tlie address of Stuart, pub- lisher of the Star newspaper, but under secrecy. He probably designed to send the above sketch to the Star. Our poet had paid a visit this spring to Mr IM'Murdo at Drumlanrig Castle, and had been charmed by the kindness of his reception in that elegant circle. Having occasion soon after to send to Mrs ]\I'^Iurdo a poem which he had recited to her ftimily in an imperfect state, he accompanied it with a letter expressing tliat courteous gi'atitude wliicli he always felt towards persons of supei-ior rank who treated him with unaffected friendliness. TO MKS M'MURDO, DRUMLANRIG. Ellisland, 2d May 1789. Madam — I have finished the piece which had the happy fortune t» be honoured with your approbation ; and never did little miss with.- more sparkling pleasure sliew her applauded sampler to partiab mamma, than I now send my poem to you and Mr M'Murdo, if he is^ returned to Drumlanrig. You cannot easily imagine what thin- skinned animals, what sensitive plants, poor poets are. How do we- siirink into the imbittered corner of self-abasement when neglected or condemned by tliose to whom we look up!— and how do we, ia erect importance, add another cubit to our stature on being noticed and applauded by tlu)se whom we honour and respect! My late visit to Drumlanrig lias, I can tell you, madam, given me a balloon waft up Parnassus, wlierc on my fancied elevation I regard my poetic self with no snnill degree of complacency. Surely, with all liieir sins, the rliymiiig tribe are not ungrateful creatures. I recollect your goodness to your humble guest — I see Mr ^I'^Iurdo adding to the politeness of the gentleman tlie kindness of a friend, and my heart swells as it would burst with warm emotions and ardent wishes ! It may be it is not gratitude — it may be a mixed sensation. That strange, shifting, doubling animal man is so generally, at best, but a negative, often a wortldess creature, that we cannot sec real good- ness and native wortli without feeling the bosom glow with sympa- tlietic approbation. With every sentiment of grateful respect, I liavc tlie honour to be, madam, your obliged and grateful, humblo servant, li. B. 38 LIFE AND WORKS OF BUEXS. TO MR CUNNINGHAM. Ellisland, ith May 1789. My deab Sir — Your duty-free favour of the 26th April I received two days ago : I will not say I perused it with pleasure — that is the cold compliment of ceremony — I perused it, sir, with delicious satis- faction ; in short, it is such a letter, that not you, nor your friend, but the legislature, by express proviso in their postage-laws, should frank. A letter informed with the soul of friendship is such an honour to human nature, that they should order it free ingress and egress to and from their bags and mails, as an encouragement and mark of distinction to supereminent virtue. I have just put the last hand to a little poem, which I think will be something to your taste. One morning lately, as I was out pretty early in the fields, sowing some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a shot from a neighbouring plantation, and presently a poor little wounded hare came crippling by me. You will guess my indignation at the inhuman fellow who could shoot a hare at this season, when all of them have young ones. Indeed, there is something in that business of destroying for our sport individuals in the animal creation that do not injure us materially, which I could never reconcile to my ideas of virtue. Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art. And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ! May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field. The bitter little that of life remains : No more the thickening brakes or verdant plains To thee a home, or food, or pastime yield. Seek, mangled innocent, some wonted form ; That wonted form, alas ! thy dying bed ! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head. The cold earth with thy blood-stain'd bosom warm. Perhaps a mother's anguish adds its wo ; The playful pair crowd fondly by thy side ; Ah ! helpless nurslings, who will now provide That life a mother only can bestow ? Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, And curse the ruthless wretch, and mourn thy hapless fate. Let me know how you like my poem. I am doubtful whether it BURNS AND FIELD-SPORTS. 39 would not be an improvement to keep out the last stanza but one altogether. Cruikshank is a glorious production of the Author of man.i You, he, and the noble Colonel - of the Crochallan Fencibles are to me ' Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my heart.'^ I have got a good mind to make verses on you all, to the tune of * Thi'ee guid fellows ayont the glen.' E. B. The tenderness of Burns towards animals is one of the feelings most conspicuous in his verse after amatory passion : witness the Farmer's Address to Ms Mare, the verses on The Winter Night, the Address to the Mouse, and several other pieces. ^ He could treat the passion of a Tarn Samson jocularly ; and I have been informed that, when visiting j\Ir Bushby at Tinwald Downs, he would accompany the gentlemen - visitors to the field to witness their sport. His deliberate feelings regarding field - sports appear, however, to be presented in The Brigs of Ayr : ' The thundering guns are heard on every side. The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; The feathered field-mates bound by nature's tie. Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie ; (What warm poetic heart but inly bleeds. And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !)' There is no trace of his having ever personally engaged in field- sports, and only one notice of his using the fishing-rod. There is usually printed in Burns's works a little ode entitled Delia, which from its deficiency of force and true feeling some have suspected to be not his composition. Allan Cunningham tells a feasible-enough-looking story regarding it. ' One day, when the poet was at Brownliill, in Nithsdale, a friend read some verses composed after the pattern of Pope's song by a person of quality, and said: " Burns, this is beyond you. The Muse of Kyle cannot match the Muse of London city." The poet took the paper, 1 Mr Cruikshank of the High School. Wo know a gentleman in mature life, who lived as a boarder and pupil with Cruikshank, and to whom the character of the man, in consequence of the severity of his discipline, appeared in a very dift'erent light from what it did in the eyes of boon-companion Hums. Mr t'ruikshank died in March 1795, thus predeceasing his friend the poet by upwards of a year. 2 Mr William Dunbar, W.S. 3 ' As dear to me as are the ruddy drops That visit my sad heart.' — Julius Camr. * Burns had a favourite collie at Ellisland, with thia legend on its collar : • RoBKiiT Burns, 1'okt.'—A. Cunninyham. ' His last doi{— a fine burly fellow, which survived him some time — was named Thl'ki.ow, which I suppose the poet had bestowed on him in compliment to the rough, manly character of the eliancellor. You remember Thurlow's famous reply to the Duke of tirafton, in which he challenged comparison with the noble duke as A MAN. This could not fail to take a strong hold of the feelings of liui-na.'— R. Cariulhas' MS. 40 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. liummed the verses over, and then recited DeUa, an Ode.'' Tliere is not anything in this anecdote inconsistent with the fact, that Burns sent the ode for insertion in a London newspaper. The journal so honoured was the Star, the first of our daily evening papers, set on foot very recently in consequence of the facilities afforded by the new mail-system of Mr Palmer. The publisher was Mr Peter Stuart, who had formed an acquaintance with Burns some years ago, and seems to have been the correspondent who addressed him in February 1787 with some absurd vituperation of the Canongate magistrates for their alleged neglect of Fergusson.^ ' Mr Printer — If the productions of a simple plougliman can merit a place in the same paper with Sylvester Otway and the other favourites of the Muses who illuminate the Star with the lustre of genius, your insertion of the enclosed trifle will be succeeded by future communications from yours, &c. E. Burns. Ellislaxd, near Dumfries, ISth Map 17£9.' helia. Fair the face of orient day, Fair the tints of op'ning rose ; But fairer still my Delia dawns, More lovely far her beauty shews. Sweet the lark's wild warbled lay. Sweet the tinkling rill to licar ; But, Delia, more delightful still, Steal thine accents on mine ear. The flower-enamoured busy bee The rosy banquet loves to sip ; Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse To the sun-browned Arab's lip. But, Delia, on thy balmy lips Let me, no fragrant insect, rove ; O let mc steal one liquid kiss, For, oh .' my soul is parched with love ! The poem on the Hare had been also sent by him to Dr Gregory of Edinburgh, for whose critical judgment and general character Burns, as we have seen, entertained a high veneration. He who had been so lenient with Clarinda's versicles chose to be strict with this piece of Burns. 1 Sec Volume II. , p. 45. DR GREGORY'S CEITICISH ON A POEM. 41 TO MR ROBERT BURNS. EDiNBi'TirjH, 2(7 June 1789. Dear Sir — I take the first leisure hour I could command to thank you for your letter, and the copy of verses enclosed in it. As there is real poetic merit — I mean both fancy and tenderness — and some happy expressions in them, I think they well deserve that you should revise them carefully, and polish them to the utmost. This I am sure you can do if you please, for you have great command both of expression and of rhymes : and you may judge, from the two last pieces of JIrs Hunter's poetry i that I gave you, how much correct- ness and high-polish enhance the value of such compositions. As you desire it, I shall, wilh great freedom, give you my most rigoroiis criticisms on your verses. I wish you would give me another edition of them, mucii amended, and I will send it to Mrs Hunter, who, I am sure, will have much pleasure in reading it. Pray give me like- wise for myself, and her too, a copy— as much amended as you please — of the Water-Fowl on Loch Twit. The Woundt'd Hare is a \n-ciiy good subject, but tlic measure or stanza you have chosen for it is not a good one : it does not flow well; aiid the rhyme of tlie fourth line is almost lost by its distance from tiie first, and the two interposed close rliymes. If I were you, I would put it into a dift'orent stanza yet. Stanza 1. Tlie execrations in the first two lines are too strong or coarse, but they may pass. ' 3Iurder-aiming ' is a bad compound epithet, and not very intelligible. ' Blood-stained ' in stanza iii. line 4, lias the same fault : bleeding bosom is infinitely better. You have accustomed yourself to such epithets, and have no notion iiow stiff and quaint they appear to others, and how incongruous with poetic fancy and tender sentiment?. Suppose Pope had written: 'Why that blood-stained bosom gored,' how would you have liked it? Form is neither a poetic nor a dignified, nor a plain common word : it is a mere sportsman's word — unsuitable to pathetic or serious poetry. • Man'ded ' is a coarse word. ' Innocent,' in this sense is a nursery word ; but both may pass. Stanza 4. ' Who will now provide that life a mother only can bestow ?' will not do at all : it is not granunar — it is not intelligible. Do you mean 'provide for tliat life which the mother had bestowed and used to provide for V There was a ridiculous slip of the pen, ' Feeling,' I suppose, for 'Fellow,' in the title of your copy of verses ; but even ' fellow ' would be wrong — it is but a collo(iuial and vulgar word, unsuitable to your sentiments. 'Shot' is improper too. On seeing a per.wn — or a sportsman — wound a hare ; it is needless to add with what weapon ; but if you think otherwise, you shoidd say trith afou-riiui-picce. Let me see you when you come to town, and I will shew you some more of Mrs Hunter's poems. ' The wife of tlic celfbrat<-d surgeon, Jolin Hunter. Many of her fugitive poema enjoyed at tl.at time a conaidcniblc reputation. 42 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. * It must be admitted,' says Dr Currie, ' that this criticism is not more distinguished by its good sense than by its freedom from ceremony. It is impossible not to smile at the manner in which the poet may be supposed to have received it. In fact it appears, as the sailors say, to have thrown him quite aback. In a letter which he wrote soon after, he says : " Dr Gregory is a good man, but he crucifies me." And again : " I believe in the iron justice of Dr Gregory ; but, like the devils, I believe and tremble." However, he profited by these criticisms, as the reader will find by comparing this first edition of the poem with that elsewhere published.' The piece, as the poet finally left it, is as follows : — ■ ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT. Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art. And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field ! The bitter little that of life remains : No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I '11 miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn. And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate.^ If any further criticism might be tolerated on so unimportant a composition, we would express our dissent from the poet regarding the second last verse of the first edition, and our regret that he omitted it, as it appears to us that the image of the young ones crowding round their wounded dam is one of the finest, if not the only very fine one, in the poem. 1 Allan Cunningham mentions that the poor animal whoso sufferings excited this burst of indignation on the part of the poet, was shot by a lad named James Thomson, son of a farmer near Ellisland. Burns, who was near the Nith at the moment, execrated the young man, and spoke of tiirowing him into the water. We see here the same feeling at work which dictated his rebuke of John Blane, on his running after the dislodged mouse. RHYMED EPISTLE. 45- lETTER TO JAMES TENNANT OF GLENCONNER.l Auld comrade dear, and britlier sinucr, How's a' the folk about Glcnconner? How do you, this blae eastlin wind, That 's like to blaw a body blind? For me, my faculties are frozen. And ilka member nearly dozen'd. atupified I've sent you here, by Johnnie Simson, Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on; Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling. And Eeid, to common-sense appealing. Philosophers have fought and wrangled, And meikle Greek and Latin mangled, Till, wi' their logic jargon tir'd. And in the depth of science mir'd. To common-sense they now appeal. What wives and wabsters see and feel. But, hark ye, friend! I charge you strictly, Peruse them, and return them quickly, For now I 'm grown sae cursed douce, I pray and ponder butt the house ; My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin'. Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston ; Till by and by, if I baud on, I'll grunt a real gospel groan: Already I begin to try it. To cast my e'en up like a pyet, When by the gun she tumbles o'er, Flutt'ring and gasping in her gore : Sae shortly you shall see me bright, A burning and a shining light. My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, The ace and wale o' honest men : _ choice When bending down wi' auld gray hairs. Beneath the load of years and cares. May He who made him still support him, And views beyond the grave comfort him ; His worthy fam'ly far and near, God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! My auld schoolfellow, preacher Willie, The manly tar, my mason Billie, And Auchcnbay, I wish him joy; If he 's a parent, lass or boy, > An old friend of the poet and his family, who assisted him in his choice of the farm of EUisland. 44 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. May ho be dad, and Meg the mithcr, Just five-and-foi'ty years thegither! And no forgetting wabster Charlie, I'm told he offers very fairly. And, Lord, remember singing Sannock, Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, and a bannock ;l And next my auld actiiiaintance Nancy, Since she is fitted to her fancy; And her kind stars hae airted till her directed A good chiel wi' a pickle siller. My kindest, best respects I sen' it, To Cousin Kate and Sister Janet ; Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautions, lacls For, faith, they'll aiblins fin' them fashions. possibly And lastly, Jamie, for yoursel'. May guardian angels tak a spell, And steer you seven miles south o' hell : But first, before you see heaven's glory, May ye get mony a merry story ; Mony a laugh, and mony a drink, And aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. Now fare ye weel, and joy be wi' you ; For my sake this I beg it o' you, Assist poor Simson a' ye can. Ye '11 fin' him just an honest man : Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, Yours, saint or sinner, EoE THE Ranter. TO MR RICHARD BROWN. Mauchmne, 2lst May 1789. My dear Friend — I was in the country by accident, and hearing of your safe arrival, I could not resist the temptation of wishing you joy on your return — wishing you would write to me before you sail again — wishing you would always set me down as jour bosom-friend - — wishing you long life and prosperity, and that every good thing may attend you — wishing Mrs Erown and your little ones as free of the evils of this world as is consistent with humanity — wishing you and she were to make two at the ensuing lying-in, with which Mrs B. threatens very soon to favour me — wishing I had longer time to write to j'ou at present — and, finally, wishing that, if there is to be another state of existence, Mr B., Mrs B., our little ones, and both families, and you and I, in some snug retreat, may make a jovial party to all eternity! My direction is at Ellisland, near Dumfries. Youi's, R. B. ' 1 ' Fortune, if tliou 'II but gie me still, Hale breeks, a scone, and whisky gill,' &c. — Scotch Drink, FACILITY WITH CREECH. 45 TO MR JAMES HAMILTON. Ellisland, 26lh Ma;/ 17S9. Dear Sir— I would fain offer, my dear sir, a word of sympatliy with your misfortunes; but it is a tender string, and I know not how to touch it. It is easy to flourish a set of high-flown sentiments on the subjects that would give great satisfaction to— a breast quite at case • but as one observes who was very seldom mistaken in the theory of life : ' The heart knoweth its own sorrows, and a stranger interraeddleth not therewith.' Amon'^' some distressful emergencies tliat I have experienced in life, I ever laid tliis down as my foundation of comfort : That he icho has lived the life of an homst man has hy no means lived in rain! With every wish for your welfare and future success, I am, my dear sir, sincerely yours, R> B- Untlcr the temporary reconciliation produced by the amicable settlement in February, Burns appears to liavc, with his usual reckless carelessness about his compositions, sent some of the best of his late productions to Creech, wlio at that time thought of bringing out a new edition of the bard's works.! In those days, an author in similar circumstances would deem himself entitled to some certain requital for any additions he might make to a volume which had been the subject of a distinct bargain with a publisher. In the days of the Ayrshire bard such reckonings were less in practice, and nothing of the kind seems to have been thought of by either poet or publisher on this occasion. Having to send in May for a few copies of his volume from the publisher, Burns handed more of his recent compositions to Creech, and at the same time addressed him with an effusion of terms more appropriate to theii* former intimacy than to the business in hand — TO WILLIAM CREECH, T,sk. Kr.i.rsr.AND, 30//t Ma;/ 17S9. Str — I had intended to have troubled you with a long letter; but at present the delightful sensations of an omnipotent toothache so engross all my inner man, as to put it out of my power even to writo nonsense. However, as in duty bound, I ajiproacli my bookseller with an ofluriug in my hand— a few poetic clinL-hes and a song:— to expect any otiier kind of offering from the rhyming tribe would be to know them much less than you do. I do not pretend that there is much merit in these morceaux, but I have two reasons for sending J Creech to Mr C-ulclI, Strand, London, March 7, 1789 : ' llow do ynn stand with regard to Ilurn.s'a I'ociiiM ? The aiithcjr lias given mo several beaiuiful new tliini,'» for a new edition. 1-et nie know if I may put a new edition to press here, and uhat n\uuber may be printed.'— iVS. iu i>osscssion of liobcrl Cole, Esij. 46 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. them.— primo, they are mostly ill-natured, so are in unison with my present feelings, while fifty troops of infernal spirits are driving post from ear to ear along my jawbones ; and, secondly, they are so short that you cannot leave off in the middle, and so hurt my pride in the idea that you found any work of mine too heavy to get through. I have a request to beg of you, and I not only beg of you, but conjure you, by all your wishes and by all your hopes, that the Muse will spare the satiric wink in the moment of your foibles ; that she will warble the song of rapture round your hymeneal couch ; and that she will shed on your turf the honest tear of elegiac gratitude ! Grant my request as speedily as possible : send me by the very first fly or coach for this place three copies of the last edition of my poems, which place to my account. Now may the good things of prose, and the good things of verse, come among thy hands, until they be filled with the good things of this life, prayeth K. B. The sufferings of the poet from the ailment alluded to iii the above letter drew from him at this time his — ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. My curse upon thy venom'd stang, That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ; And through my lugs gies mony a twang, Wi' gnawing vengeance ; Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, Like racking engines ! When fevers burn, or ague freezes, Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes; Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, Wi' pitying moan ; But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases. Aye mocks our groan ! Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! I kick the wee stools o'er the micklp, As round the fire the giglots keckle, To see me loup ; While, raving mad, I wish a heckle Were in their doup. 0' a' the num'rous human dools, sorrows 111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools, Or worthy friends rak'd i' the mools, clods Sad sight to see ! The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools — trouble Thou bear'st the gree. superiority AMENDMENT OF EARLY FAULTS. 47 Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, AVlience a' the tones o' misery yell, And ranked plagues their numbers tell, In dreadfu' raw, Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell Amang them a' ! O thou grim mischief-making cliiel. That gars the notes of discord squeel, Till daft mankind afc dance a reel In gore a shoe-thick!^ Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal A towmond's toothache ! year TO MR M'AULEY, of DUMBARTON. Ellisland, ith June 1789. Dear Sir — Though I am not without my fears respecting my fate at that grand, universal inquest of right and wrong, commonly called The Last Day, yet I trust there is one sin which that arch- vagabond Satan — who, I understand, is to be king's evidence — cannot throw in my teeth ; I mean ingratitude. There is a certain pretty large quantum of kindness for which I remain, and from inability I fear must still remain, your debtor ; but though unable to repay the debt, I assure you, sir, I shall ever warmly remember the obligation. It gives me the sincerest pleasure to hear by my old acquaintance, Mr Kennedy, that you are, in immortal Allan's language, ' Hale, and weel, and living;' and that your charming family are well, and promising to be an amiable and respectable addition to the company of performers whom the Great Manager of the Dx'ama of Man is bringing into action for the succeeding age. AVith respect to my welfare, a subject in which you once warmly and effectively intei-estcd yourself — I am here in my old way, holding my plough, marking the growth of my corn, or the health of my dairy, and at times sauntering by the delightful windings of the Nith — on the margin of which I have built my humble domicile — praying for seasonable weather, or holding an intrigue with the Muses, the only gipsies with whom I have now any intercourse. As I am entered into the holy state of matrimony, I trust my face is turned completely Zion-ward; and as it is a rule with all honest fellows to repeat no grievances, I hope that the little poetic licences of former days will of course fall under the oblivious influence of some good-natured statute of celestial prescription. In my family devotion — which, like a good Presbyterian, I occasionally give to my household folks— I am extremely fond of the psalm, 'Let not the errors of my youth,' &.c. and that other, ' Lo, children are God's lieritagc,' &c. in which last Mrs Burns — who, by the by, has a glorious ' wood-note wild ' at either old song or i^salmody — joins me with the pathos of Handel's Messiah. R. B. 48 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Robert Ainslie used to relate that Burns often quoted with great relish the verses from the 127th psalm in the Scottish translation : Lo, children are God's heritage, The womb's fruit his reward : The sons of youth as arrows ai-e, For strong men's hands prepared. O happy is the man that liath His quiver filled with tliose ; They unashamed in the gate Shall speak unto their foes. The rough, antique force of these verses, and the cheerful view which they give of the natural character of tliat which modern society has pei'verted into an encumbrance — were what made them favourites with the bard. Mr Ainslie used to add, that a young companion of his, who afterwards became a judge under the name of Lord Cringletie, added gi-eatly to tlie amusement of a mirthful company before which Burns had one evening repeated them, when, with great simplicity, he praised them as verses of the bard's own composition. TO MR ROBERT AINSLIE. Ellisland, Sth June 17R9. My dear Friend — I am perfectly ashamed of myself when I look at the date of your last. It is not that I forget the friend of my heart and the companion of my peregrinations, but I have been condemned to drudgery beyond sufferance, though not, thank God, beyond redemption. I have had a collection of poems by a lady put into my hands to prepare them for the press; which horrid taslc, with sowing corn with my own hand, a parcel of masons, wrights, plasterers, &c. to attend to, roaming on business through Ayrshire — all this was against nie, and the very first dreadful article was of itself too much for me. 13'iving friends as a work of considerable ability, lie was a Socinian in principle, though not a disciple of Socinus, none of whose works ho had ever read. In his personal and domestic character he was a strange mixtui-e of simplicity and stoicism. He seldom smiled, but often set the table in a roar by his quaint remarks. He was inflexibly regular in the distribution of his time : he studied so much every day, and took his walk at the same hour in all kinds of weather. Ho player M'Oill died March .30, lfi07, .it the ago of scvcnty-six, and in the forty-sixth year of his ministry. The account of the controversy hero given is abridged from Mio-rai/'s LUrrarii llixlori/ of Galloway. The notes on tlie clergymen arc from a living member of their profession (1851), who officiated iu Ayrshire at a time not long subsciucnt to the period of the poem. GO LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. house, and walk into it before any other person. This was the old freit appropriate to the taking possession of a new house, the object being to secure good- hick for all who should tenant it. The poet, like a man of imagination, delighted in such ancient observances, albeit his understanding on a rigid tasking would have denied their conclusions. lie himself, with his wife on his arm, followed little Betty, the Bible and salt, and so entered upon the possession of what was comparatively to him the Great Babylon which he had built. On the 18th of August his spouse brought him an infant, whom he named Francis Wallace, in honour of Mrs Dunlop. Seeing his family thus extending, and perhaps not greatly in heart about the second year's crop of his farm, he about this time applied to ]\Ir Graham of Fintry to be nominated Excise-officer of the rural district in which he lived. He took this step entirely as a prudential one, calculating on being a gainer by it to an extent not much less than forty pounds a year, which he thought a most desirable addition to the profits of his farm. According to Allan Cunningham, who had opportunities of being well informed about the Ellisland period of Burns's life, he contemplated devoting his farm chiefly to the business of the dairy. His sisters were skilled in this branch of rural economy, and had imparted their know- ledge as far as possible to Mrs Burns. He thought that, while Jean, with the assistance of some of her west-country sisterhood, managed the cows and their produce, he himself might go on with the Excise business, and still have a sufficiency of time for the reduced duties connected with Ellisland which were then left to himself. Thus both ways money would be coming in. It was a good and plausible plan ; but, as Mr Cunningham observes — ' The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft agley." The poet, however, deserves credit for his good intention, and for the castigation of spirit to which he must have submitted on the occasion. * Searching auld wives' barrels, Och, hon! the day! That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; dirty yeast But — what'll ye say! These movin' things ca'd wives and weans, children Wad move the very hearts o' stanes ! ' So he had extemporaneously sung on getting his appointment. The verse shews the motive, and does the poet honour. We have seen that Burns sent his protest against Mr Kirk- patrlck's revolution-sermon to the editor of the Stai; a London CORRESPONDENCE "SVITH A LONDON JOURNALIST, 61 evening papei'. He liad more recently transmitted to the same quarter Delia, an Ode, and no^Y he appears to have proposed to the editor something lilce a regular correspondence. Dr Currie preserved some degree of mystery regarding both the paper and the editor; and it was not without considerable dilhculty that the present biographer obtained light respecting botli. As already mentioned, tlie editor was Mr Feter Stuart, long after known by his connection in succession with i\\Q Morning Post and the Oracle. In the Anti-Gallican position then assumed by this gentleman, we may discern one sufficient reason for the suppression of his name by Currie. His letter is valuable for the testimony it bears to the fascinating social character of the lamented Eobert Fergusson, who had been a schoolfellow and companion of his elder brother Charles, now a dramatic Avriter of some tempor- ary fame. Mr Daniel Stuart, a younger brother, and the most notable man of the three, was the employer of ]\Ir Coleridge in the Morning Post, and a most generous friend towards that extraordinary person during many subsequent years. [to MU ROBERT BURNS.] London, 5/A August 17f9. My dear Sir — Excuse me wlien I say, that the inicommon abilities wliich you possess nmst render your correspondence very acceptable to any one. I can assure you I am particularly proud of your partiality, and shall endeavour, by every method in my power, to merit a continuance of your politeness. * * "When you can spare a few moments, I should be proud of a letter from you, directed for me, Gerard Street, Soho. * * I canuot express my liappincss sufficiently at tlie instance of your attachment to my late inestimable friend. Bob Fergusson,' who was j)articularly intimate with myself and relations. While I recollect M'ith pleasure Ids extraordinary talents and many amiable qualities, it affords me the fjrcatest consolation that I am honoured with the corrcs]ionduncc of Ids successor in natural simplicity and genius. That Mr Burns has refined in the art of poetry, must readily be admitted ; hut notwithstanding many favourable representations, I am yet to learn that he inherits his convivial powers. There was such a richness of conversation, such a jilenitude of fancy and attraction in him, that wlien I call the happy period of our intercourse to my memory, I feel myself in a state of delirium. I was then younger than he by eight or ten years, but liis manner was so felicitous, that he enraptured every person around him, and infused into the hearts of the young and old the spirit and animation which opei'ated on his own mind — I am, dear sir, yours, &c. 1 The erection of u monuir.ent to liini. 62 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. TO MR [peter STUART.] ISepfember'] 1789. My dear Sir — The hurry of a farmer in tliis particular season, and the indolence of a poet at all times and seasons, will, I hope, plead my excuse for neglecting so long to answer your obliging letter of the 5th of August. That you have done well in quitting your laborious concern in * * I do not doubt; the weighty reasons you mention were, I hope very, and deservedly indeed, weighty ones, and your health is a matter of the last importance ; but whether the remaining pro- prietors of the paper have also done well, is what I much doubt. The [Star], so far as I was a reader, exhibited such a brilliancy of point, such an elegance of pai-agraph, and such a variety of intelli- gence, that I can hardly conceive it possible to continue a daily paper in the same degree of excellence : but if there was a man who had abilities equal to the task, that man's assistance the proprietors have lost. "When I received your letter, I was transcribing for [the Star] my letter to the magistrates of the Canongate, Edinburgh, begging their permission to place a tombstone over poor Fergusson, and their edict in consequence of my petition ; but now I shall send them to Poor Fergusson ! If there be a life beyond the grave, which I trast there is; and if there be a good God presiding over all nature, wliich I am sure there is — thou art now enjoying existence in a glorious world, where worth of the heart alone is distinction in the man ; where riches, deprived of all their pleasure - purchasing powers, return to their native sordid matter ; where titles and honours are the disregarded reveries of an idle dream ; and where that heavy virtue, which is the negative consequence of steady dulness, and those thoughtless, though often destructive follies, which are the unavoidable aberrations of frail human nature, Avill be thrown into equal oblivion as if they had never been ! Adieu, my dear sir ! So soon as your present views and schemes are concentred in an aim, I shall be glad to hear from you, as your welfai-e and happiness is by no means a subject indiiFerent to, , yours, E. B. TO MRS DUNLOP. Ellisland, 6th Sept. 1789. Dear Madam — I have mentioned in my last my appointment to the Excise, and the birth of little Frank ; who, by the by, I trust will be no discredit to the honourable name of Wallace, as he has a fine manly countenance, and a figure that might do credit to a little THOUGHTS ON RELIGION. 63 fellow two months older ; and likewise an excellent good temper, though when he pleases he has a pipe, only not quite so loud as the horn that his immortal namesake blew as a signal to take out the pin of Stirling bridge .^ I had some time ago an epistle, part poetic and part prosaic, from your poetess, Mrs J. Little, a very ingenious but modest composition. I should have written her as she requested, but for the hurry of this new business. I have heard of her and her compositions in this country, and, I am happy to add, always to the honour of her character. The fact is, I know not well how to write to her — I should sit down to a sheet of paper that I knew not how to stain. I am no dab at fine-drawn letter-writing ; and, except when prompted by friendship or gratitude, or, which happens extremely rarely, inspired by the Muse (I know not her name) that presides over epistolary writing, I sit down, when necessitated to write, as I would sit down to beat hemp. Some parts of your letter of the 20th August struck me with the most melancholy concern for the state of your mind at present. Would I could write you a letter of comfort, I would sit down to it with as much pleasure as I would to write an epic poem of my own composition, that should equal the Iliad. Religion, my dear friend, is the true comfort ! A strong persuasion in a future state of exist- ence; a proposition so obviously probable, that, setting revelation aside, every nation and people, so far as investigation has reached, for at least near four thousand years, have, in some mode or other, firmly believed it. In vain would we reason and pretend to doubt. I have myself done so to a very daring pitch ; but when I reflected that I was opposing the most ardent wishes, and the most darling hopes of good men, and flying in the face of aU human belief, in all ages, I was shocked at my own conduct. I know not whether I have ever sent you the following lines, or if you have ever seen them ; but it is one of my favourite quotations, ■*vhich I keep constantly by me in my progress through life, in the language of the book of Job, Against the diiy of battle and of var. Spoken of religion : • 'Ti8 this, my fi-iend, that streaks our morning bright, 'Tis this that gilds the horror of our night. AVhcn wcaltli forsaltcs us, and when friends are few ; When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue ; J ' Frae Jop the horn he hinted and couth blaw 8ac asprely, and warned gude .John Wright : The rowar out he strake witli great sleight ; The lavo gacd down, when tlie pin out gaes. A hideous ery ainang the i]eople raise ; Baith horse and men into tlie water fell,' &c. — The Wallace, hook viL line 1179. G4 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. 'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills tlio smart, Disarms affliction, or repels his dart ; AVithin the breast bids purest raptures rise, Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies.' I have been busy with Zeluco. The doctor is so obliging as to request my opinion of it ; and I have been revolving in my mind some kind of criticisnirf on novel-writing, but it is a depth beyond my research. I shall, however, digest my thoughts on the subject as well as I can. Zeluco is a most sterling performance. Farewell! A Dicu, le boii Dieu,je vous commende! We have to turn from this serious letter to two of the merriest affairs in which we have any record of Burns being concerned. The first was that which gave rise to his well-known song of Willie hrcw'd a Pech o' Maid. Burns's note upon that ditty gives its history. ' This air is [Allan] Masterton's; the song mine. The occasion of it was this : Mr William Nicol, of the High School, Edinburgh, during the autumn vacation being at Motfat, honest Allan — who was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton — and I went to pay Nicol a visit. We had such a joyous meeting, that Mr Masterton and I agreed, each in our own way, that we should celebrate the business.' WILLIE BREWED A PECK o' MAUT. O Willie brewed a peck o' maut. And Eob and Allan cam to pree : t;;ste Three blither hearts that lee-lann- nin-ht Ye wad na find in Cliristcndie. We are na fou', we're nae that fou', But just a drappie in our ee ; The cock may craw, the day may da'.<-, And aye we'll taste the barley bree. Hei'e are we met, three merry boys. Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; And niony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hojje to be ! It is the moon, I ken her horn, That's biinkin' in the lift sae hie; She shines sae bright to wile us hame, But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ! Wha first shall rise to gang awa', A cuckold, coward loon is he ! AVha last beside his chair shall fa',1 He is the king amang us three ! 1 In Johnson's Sluaeum — ' Wha first beside his chair ghall fa'.' Evidently a mistake. ' WILLIE BREWED A PECK O' MAUT.' G5 The date of tliis song is ascertained to be not later than the ICth October 1789, because in a letter of Burns of that date {see onward), he quotes two verses of it. As the vacation of the High School at that time extended from about the 13th August to the 25th of September, the date of the song may be ascertained as -within that period of the year. A doubt, however, has arisen regarding the locality. Dr Currie stated that the meeting ' took place at Laggan, a farm purchased by Mr Nicol in Nithsdale, on the recommendation of Burns.' Allan Cunningham adopts this statement, gives Dunscore as the parochial situation of Laggan, and adds : ' It [the song] was composed to commemorate the house-lieating, as entering upon possession of a new house is called in Scotland. William Nicol made the browst strong and nappy ; and Allan i\Iasterton, then on a visit at Dalswinton, crossed the Nith, and with the poet and his celebrated punch-bowl reached Laggan " A wee before the sun gaed down." The sun, however, rose on their carousal, if the tradition of the land may be trusted.' It is true that Nicol purchased a small estate called Laggan, not in the parish of Dunscore, which was Burns's parish, but in the adjacent one of Glencairn, and about a mile and a half from jMaxwelton House. But there is good evidence that he did not do so till the year following the composition of the song. "\Ve are furnished with a note of * a disposition by "William Riddell of Commieston, "W. S., to "William Nicol, one of tlie masters of the High School, Edinburgh, of the lands of Meikle and Little Laggan, lying in the barony of Snaid, parish of Glencairn, and shire of Dumfries, dated 2G March 1790, and registered in the books of council and session, 2 April 1790.'^ It might be supposed possible that Nicol had obtained possession of his property before the date of the disposition, perhaps at the exchanging of missives of agreement, and tliat thus there might be a house-heathuj at Laggan in autumn 1789. But in a letter of Burns to Nicol, February 9, 1790 [see onward), there occurs the following passage : — ' I hope Ned [Nicol's son] is a good scholar, and will come out to gather nuts with me next 1 In an advertisement annoiineing the intended sale of parts of tho estate of MaxweUon, which apj)ear9 in an Kclinbiir;,'li newspaper of I'lst November 17W, ' Lot VIL' is composed of tlie hands of Cruiglyrian, about 790 acres, whereof 17 arc arable, and 'the hinds of Meikle and Litile Lat-'gans, consisting of about 284 acres, whereof 1') are arable and !» meadow - ground ; the remainder is good I)asture - land, and there is some wood upon these lands.' It is stated that the lands of this lot are let together under a current lease till 1797. at the annual rent of £l-.'l, 1«8. I have been infonned that Nicol paid about £1500 for the Laggans. VOL. 111. li G6 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. harvest.' Burns would assuredly not have written precisely in this manner, if Nicol had by that time acquired a countiy residence for himself and his family within four or five miles of EUisland, and as well provided with nuts as EUisland itself. We therefore conclude that Burns's note upon the song is to be accepted as intimating Moifat as the scene of the meeting, and that the statements of Currie and Cunningham are mistakes. A correspondent informs me that Nicol's mansion at Laggan consisted merely of a hut and a hen — that is, a cottage of two rooms. It may be admitted as far from unUkely, that Nicol and Burns had many meetings there, resemhling that celebrated in the song. The house is now in ruins, and passes by the name of NkoVs Wa's. There is a hazel-copse behind the place, where oiir friend used to gather nuts in his schoolboy days ; so that most undoubtedly Ned was independent of the EUisland coppices at the vacation of 1790 and thereafter. Currie's note upon the song, written ten years after its composi- tion, concludes with a sentence which says all that a generous moralist would desire to be said on the ultra -meriy meeting described by the bard. ' These three honest fellows — all men of uncommon talents — are now all under the turf.'' The second affair alluded to was one in which some of the Nithsdale gentlemen of Burns's acquaintance were concerned. Our bard, in introducing, the ballad composed on the occasion, gives the following traditional recital :— ' In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our James VI., there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony whistle, which at the commencement of the orgies he laid on the table, and whoever was the last able to blow it, every- body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their infei'Iorlty. After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy baronet of that name ; who, after three days and thi-ee nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, " And blew on the whistle his requiem slorill." Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, afterwards lost TIIE WIIISTLE-COXTEST, 67 the wliistle to Walter Eicldel of Gleuriddel, ^vlio had married a sister of Sh- Walter's.'! The whistle being now in the possession of Captain Riddel, Burns's neighbour at Friars' Carse, it was resolved that he sliould submit it to an amicable contest, mvolving, besides himself, two other descendants of the conqueror of the Scandinavian — namely, Mr Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, then M.P. for Dumfriesshire. The meeting was to take place at Friars' Carse on Friday the 16th of October, and BmTiS was mvited to be present. The historical associations con- nected with the whistle would have been sure to excite an interest in the bosom of the poet : so magnificent a frolic captivated his imagination. We have the expression of this latter feeling in a letter which he addressed that day on a trivial piece of business — Ellisland, lC(/i Oct. 1789.2 Sir — Big with the idea of this important day at Friars' Carse, I have watched the elements and skies in the full persuasion that they would announce it to the astonished world by some phenomena of terrific portent. Yesternight until a very late hour did I wait with anxious horror for the appearance of some comet firing half the sky ; or aerial armies of sanguinary Scandinavians darting athwart the 1 ' There are some odd blunders in the legend of the Wliistle, which a pedigree of the Maxwelton family in my possession enables mc to mention. There was no Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton prior to or during the reign of James VI. Stephen, the third son of .lohn Lawrie, the first of the family on record, and an inliabitant of Dumfries, i)urchased tlie lands of Maxwelton from tlie Earl of Glencairn in 1614. lie was succeeded by his son John, who died in tlic year 1649 ; and his son and heir, Robert, was created a baronet on the 27th March 1G85. Byliis second wife, Jean Riddel, daughter of the Laird of Minto, he had tlirce sons and four daughters, of wliom Catherine was married to AValter Riddel of Glonriddel, and Anne to Alexander Fergvisson of Craigdarroch. His son Robert was killed, when a lad, by a fall from his horse in 1702. So the story of Queen Anne's drunken Dane may be regarded as a groundless fable, unless such a person came over in tho train of Prince George of IJenmark, the Iiusband of our last Queen Anne, which is not very probable.' — Charles K. Hhar/ic, in 2d edition of J uhnsoni: Musical Museum (1839), iv. .'jes. It is evidently, nevertheless, to tho first baronet that the legend recorded by Rums refers, as his second successor was a son, Sir Walter, a contem- porary of Walter Riddel of Glenriddel. Tlie story liad probably some such founda- tion as that described, though incorrectly stated as to time. 2 Burns, in his notes on Scottish song. Rives ' Friday, KJth October 1790,' as tho date of tlio Whistle-contest. It is certainly a mistake as to the year. It will be admitted that ho is less likely to havo made a mistalce in the date of a letter, than in a statement written at tho distance of .a few years. Resides, his dato • Friday, IGth October 17!Xl,' carries error on its own face, for the 16th of October ITiX) was not a Friday, though the 16th of October 17^9 wa.s. There exists a letter of Robert Ainslic to Mrs M'Leliosc, dated Dumfries, 18th October 17yu, in whicli he tells of having been for several days with Bui'ns at lillisland, but says nothinj; of a whistlc-eontcat on the ICth. ^68 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. startled heavens, rapid as tlic ragged lightning, and horrid as those convulsions of nature that bury nations. Tlie elements, however, seem to take the matter very quietly : they did not even usher in this morning Avith triple suns and a shower of blood, symbolical of the three potent heroes, and tlie mighty claret-shed of the day. For me, as Thomson in his Winter says of the storm — I shall ' Hear astonished, and astonished sing.' The whistle and the man I sing, The man that won the whistle, &c. Here are we met, three merry boys. Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; And mony a night we've merry been, And mony mae we hope to be ! Wha first shall rise to gang awa', A cuckold, coward loon is he : Wha last beside his chair shall fa', He is the king amang us three. To leave the heights of Parnassus, and come to the humble vale of prose. I have some misgivings that I take too much upon me, when I request you to get your guest. Sir Ilobert Lawrie, to fi-ank the two enclosed covers for me ; the one of them to Sir William Cunning- ham of Ilobertland, Bart, at Kilmarnock — the other, to Mr Allan jMasterton, writing-master, Edinburgh. The first has a kindred claim on Sir Eobert, as being a brother baronet, and likewise a keen Toxite ; the other is one of the worthiest men in the world, and a man of real genius ; so, allow me to say, he has a fraternal claim on you. I want them franked for to-morrow, as I cannot get them to the post to-night. I shall send a servant again for them in the evening. Wishing that your head may be crowned with laurels to-night, and free from aches to-morrow, I have the honour to be, sir, your deeply indebted, humble servant, E. B. THE WHISTLE. I sing of a whistle, a whistle of worth, I sing of a whistle, the pride of the North, Was brought to the court of our good Scottish king. And lonff with this whistle all Scotland shall rinir. Old Loda,i still rueing the arm of Fingal, The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 'This whistle's your challenge — to Scotland get o'er, And drink them to hell, sir! or ne'er see me more!' ' See Ossian's Caric-thura.— B. ' THE WHISTLE.' 6D Old poets have sung, and old clironicles tell, What champions ventured, what champions fell ; The son of great Loda was conqueror still, And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Skarr,i Unmatched at the bottle, unconquered in war. He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea — Ko tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gained, AVhich now in his house has for ages remained ; Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, The jovial contest again have renewed. Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw r Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old coins; And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; Or else he would muster the heads of the clan, And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 'By the gods of the ancients!' Glenriddel replies, ']5efore I surrender so glorious a prize, I'll conjure the ghost of tlic great Rorie More,^ And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.* Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, But he ne'er turned his back on his foe — or iiis friend. Said, Toss down tiie whistle, the prize of the field, And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd yield. To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair. So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; But for wine and for welcome not more i-:nown to fame Than the sense, wit, and taste of a sweet lovely dame. A bard was selected to witness the fray. And tell future ages tiie feats of the day; A bard who detested all sadness and sj)Ieen, And wished that Parnassus a vinevard had been. _ ' Tlic Caim, a stronm in filciuiiirn parish, on which MaxwoHon IIoiiso is Bituatc'd; the Skarr, a Biiiiilar niuuntain-rill, in the luirish of I'cnpont; both btiu^ aSiucnts uf tlic Nitli. • Sec Johnson's Tour to the Ilchriilts. — B. 70 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. The dinner being over, the claret they ply, And every new cork is a new spring of joy; In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; Bright Phoebus ne'er witnessed so joyous a core, And vowed that to leave them he was quite forlorn, Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. Six bottles a piece had well wore out the night, When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red. And swore 'twas the Avay that their ancestor did. Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; A high ruling-elder to wallow in wine l^ He left the foul business to folks less divine. The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; But who can Avith fate and quart-bumpers contend? Though fate said — a hero shall perish in light ; So up rose bright Pho3bus— and down fell the kniglit. Next up rose our bard, like a prophet in drink : — ' Craigdarroch, th.ou'it soar when creation shall sink; But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme. Come— one bottle more — and have^at the sublime! ' Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!' The whistle remained in the possession of the late Mr R. C Fergusson of Craigdarroch, M.P. for the Stewartry of Kirkcud- bright, son of the victor. There is a point of dubiety in the history of this notable day, respecting Burns's presence at the contest. Professor Wilson infers from the tenor of the poet's letter to Captain Riddel, that he was not present.^ The eloquent professor is here endeavouring to defend Burns against those who argue, from such compositions as The Whistle, that their author gloried in intemperance. But, 1 An elder of the Scottish church is called a ruling-elder when sent to represent a burgh in the General Assembly. Glenriddel represented the burgh of Dumfries ia several successive assemblies. 2 Essay on the Life and Genius of Burns. THE WHISTLE-CONTEST. 71 while denying that Burns is to be held as himself a wallower in wine because of his writing such poems, I frankly own my inability to believe that so highly dramatic a description of the "Whistle- contest could have been unfaithful to fact in so prominent a particular as the poet's presence. ' A bard was selected to witness the fray' is a phrase too directly indicative to be interpreted as a fiction even in a comic poem. It is, besides, scarcely true that the letter contains no hint of the poet's intended presence: in what other light are we to hold the sentence, ' For me, as Thomson in his Winter says of the storm—" T shall hear astonished, and astonished sing?'" If confirmation of the bodily presence of the poet were wanting, it might be had in the testimony of a man still living, who was then a servant in Friars' Carse House. AVilliam Hunter, of Cockrune, in the parish of Closeburn, reports that he has a perfect recollection of the whole affair. ' Burns,' he says, ' was present the whole evening. He was invited to attend the party, to see that the gentlemen drank fair, and to commemorate the day by writing a song. ' I recollect well,' he adds, ' that when the dinner was over, Burns quitted the table, and went to a table in the same room that was placed in a window that looked south-east: and there he eat down for the night. I placed before him a bottle of rum and another of brandy, which he did not finish, but left a good deal of each when he rose from the table after the gentlemen had gone to bed ^Yhen the gentlemen were put to bed, Bums walked home without any assistance, not being the worse of drink. ' When Bums was sitting at the table in the window, he had pen, ink, and paper, which I brought to him at his own request. He now and then wrote on the paper, and while the gentlemen were sober, he turned round often and chatted with them, but drank none of the claret which tlicy were drinking. ... I heard him read aloud several parts of the poem, much to the amusement of the three gentlemen.' The statement of Hunter as to the sobriety which Burns pre- served amidst the extreme potations of the night, is, after all, more valuable testimony to his character than the denial of his being present at tlic banquet. The fact is, Burns was not, up to this time at least, liable to the reproach of any unusual degree of intemperance. He was of too social and mirth-loving a nature to refuse to join in occasional revelries, such as then too frequently occurred amongst gentlemen as well as commoners ; but he liked these scenos rather in spite of, than from a love of, the drinking. All his old Ellisland servants testify to the sobriety 72 LIFE AND WOEKS OF BURNS. of his life there. Elizabeth Smith says that, in the whole course of her half-year's service (1788-9), she never saw her master in the least affected by liquor, except once, and that was at the New Year. I have been informed by a relative of Sir Robert Lawrie, that he never afterwards quite recovered from the effects of the extra- ordinary contest described by Burns, though he was able some years after to take an active part in the war of the French Eevolution, and survived till 1804. We have to contemplate the poet, not many days after this extravagant merry-making, in one of the most solemn and affecting passages of his life. The grave had closed over jNIary Campbell, as far as our facts and arguments will allow us to assign a date, in the latter part of October 178G. Since then three years had elapsed — years of literary triumph unexampled, of nev/ and startling scenes, of passion, of pleasure, and of pain. The poet had in the interval married and settled in life, and taken up a new and laborious profession. Only a few days back, he was expressing his sense of the importance of being a good husband and father, saying that there lay ' the true pathos and sublime of human life.' It might have been thought that by this time the scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure which passed a few years ago on the banks of the Ayr, would have faded much from memoiy and feeling. It was above all unlikely that, after the fascinating society of Charlotte Hamilton, Margaret Clialmers, and Clarinda, the ghost of any early rustic love should rise to cross his path and darken his spirit. But no — the simple High- land girl wlio had trysted to meet him at Greenock, where, instead of him, she found a grave, was like no other of the shades of the past. A day came at the end of harvest, when the date of the death of ]\Iary three years before was recalled to him. Accord- ing to Mr Lockhart, reporting the statement of Mrs Bui-ns to her friend Mr M'Diarmid, ' he spent that day, though labouring under cold, in the usual woi'k of the harvest, and apparently in excel- lent spirits. But as the twiliglit deepened, he appeared to grow " very sad about something," and at length wandered out into the barnyard, to which his wife, in her anxiety, followed him, entreating him in vain to observe that frost had set in, and to return to the fireside. On being again and again requested to do so, he promised compliance ; but still remained where he was, striding up and down slowly, and contemplating the sky, which was singularly clear and starry. At last Mrs Bums found him stretched on a mass of straw, with his eyes fixed on a beautiful planet " that shone like another moon," and prevailed on him to come in. He immediately, on entering the house, called for his EEMEMBRANCE OF MARY CAMPBELL, 7 J desk, and wrote exactly as they now stand, with all the ease of one copying from memory, these sublime and pathetic verses :' — TO MARY IX HEAVEN. Thou llng'ring star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to preet tlie early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hcar'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, * To live one day of parting love ! Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past ; Thy image at our last embrace, Ah! httle thought we 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green ; Tlie fragrant birch, and hawtliorn hoar. Twined am'rous round the raptured scene; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray — Till too, too soon, the glowing west rroclaim'd the speed of wiugi)d day. Still o'er these scenes my mcm'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care! Time but th' impression stronger makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary ! dear departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hcar'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? Two particulars are to be noted regarding Mr Lockhart's narration— that it assigns September as the date of the incident, and represents evening as the time; whereas we have seen powerful reasons for plachig the dcatli of Highland Mary in the latter part of October, and the poem itself seems to imply morning— * Thou ling'ring star, witli less'ninrj ray, That Iov'kI to (jrcH the eaili/ morn, Again thou lusher'et in the dai/ 74 LIFE AND -WORKS OF BURNS. As anything contradictory of our theory of the October date tends to tlirow discredit on our whole arrangement of the facts of Burns's life at a very important crisis,^ we must be excused for having taken what might otherwise appear too much pains to ascertain whether Mrs Burns's anecdote is rightly related as to time, and whether probability does not pronounce in favour of October. We shall at the same time shew that, if we are to receive the anecdote at all, the morning must have heen poetically imagined as the time. In the first place, the harvest was late that year. We find in the Scottish newspapers of the time, that, in the middle of October, a great deal of grain was still out even in the favoured district around Falkii-k ; while a letter from Sanquhar (Burns's neighbour- hood), dated the 21st, states that ' while much was cut, very little was yet got in, owing to the bad weather.' It appears that harvest was commenced by the 8th of September in some districts, but was interrupted by rains, and was not concluded till near the end of the ensuing month. Consequently, the incident might take place in the latter part of October, and still he connected with harvest operations. The second portion of our evidence on the subject is from one of the exact sciences, and appears to us at once to settle the time of the day — the month — and almost the day of the month. It fully appears that the planet Venus is the one referred to by the poet, for the description applies only to it. Now Venus was in conjunction with the sun, May 30, 1789, and after that became visible as the evening-star towards the end of the summer, reaching its greatest brilliancy in winter. It is therefore certain that the star which ' loves to greet the early morn ' did not at this time ' usher in the day,' and consequently, so far as the time of day alluded to in the poem is concerned, a poetical liberty was taken with truth. On the 21st of September the sun set at six o'clock, and Venus forty -four minutes thereafter. The planet was consequently not to be seen at that time except faintly in the twilight. But on the 21st of October the sun set in the latitude of EUisland at 4^» 53", and Venus l^^ 3m afterwards. Consequently, Venus would then have begun to assume a brilliant appearance during a short interval after sunset. On that day the moon was four days old, and within eight diameters of Venus.2 The planet would then of course be beginning to be dimmed by the moonlight, and this effect would go on increasing till the moon had passed the full — that is, early in November. If, then, 1 See Volume I., p. 24(5-255, and p. 312-316. 21 have to express my obligations to Professor Piazzi Smyth, of the TJniversity of Edinburgh, for his kind attention in furnishing me with these astronoaiital particulars. DATE OF MAKY'S DEATH. 75 we are to set aside the possibility of a later month than October, and keeping in view the all but certainty that Mary was not bm-ied till some time after the 12th of that month, it seems reasonable to conclude that the barnyard musings of Burns took place between five and six o'clock of the evening of some day about the 19th or 20th of October, and consequently a very short time after the merry-meeting for the whistle-contest at Friars' Carse. That a month later than October could have been the date of the incident will, I presume, scarcely be argued for. The moon was at the full on Tuesday the 2d of November, and it could not be till after that day that the first hour of the night would be ' starry,' with Venus ui full blaze. By that time, as far as we can gather from the chronicles of the tune, the harvest was past. Besides, Mrs Burns might easily mistake September for October, but scarcely for November, a month of such different associations. On this point the temperature of the time might throw some light, if we could be sure of the exact meaning to be attached to the phrase — ' the frost had set in.' It chances that the temperature of October that year was unusually high, the average at eight o'clock in the evening in Edinburgh being 45 J° Falu-enheit. The Edinhwr/h Advertiser of 30th October speaks of "apple-trees and bean-stalks renewmg their blossoms in conse- quence of the extraordinary mildness. On the 19th of October, at eight o'clock in the evening, the thermometer indicated in Edinburgh 51° ; on the 20th, at the same hour, 59" ; on the 21st, 51° again. The only approach to frost was on the 30th and 31st, when, at eight in the evening, the thermometer was respectively at 33° and 37°. After this it rose to a more temperate pomt. Hence it becomes evident that literal frost did not then exist at any such period of the day. Probably Mrs Burns merely thought the evening was beginning to be comparatively chilly. If we can admit of this construction being put upon her words, I would be disposed to pitch upon the warmest evening of tlie little period withm which we are confined— for unless the poet had been in a peculiarly excited state, so as to be insensible to external circumstances, which is obviously a different thing from being in a merely pensive state, we must suppose him as not likely to lie doAvn in the open air after sunset, except under favour of some uncommon amount of ' ethereal mildness.' Seeing, on the other hand, how positively inviting to such a procedure would be a temperature of 59°, I leave the subject with scarcely a doubt that the composition of To ^^ar}J in Heaven took place on Tuesday the 20th of October, and that this was consequently the date of the death of the heroine. Burns had written a letter about the late changes in his circum- stances to his venerable friend Blacklock, and intrusted it to llobert LIFE AND AVORKS OF BURNS. Heron, a young scion of the diurcli connected with the south- Avestern district of Scotland, and who was now beginning to busy himself with literary speculations. Heron had proved a faithless messenger, and Blacklock addressed Burns as follows : — TO MR ROBERT BURNS. Edinburgh, 2ilh August 1789. Dear Burns, thou brother of my heart, Both for thy virtues and thy art ; If art it may be called in thee, Which nature's bonntv larije and free With pleasure in thy breast diifuses, And warms tby soul with all the Muses. Whether to laugh with easy grace, Thy numbei's move the sage's face, Or bid the softer passions rise, And ruthless souls with grief surprise, 'Tis nature's voice distinctly felt, Through thee, her organ, thus to melt. Most anxiously I wish to know, With thee of late how matters go : How keeps thy much-loved Jean her health ? What promises thy farm of wealth ? Whether the Muse persists to smile, And all thy anxious cares beguile ? Whether bright fancy keeps alive ? And how tby darling infants thrive ? For mc, with grief and sickness spent. Since I my homeward journey bent, Spirits depressed no more I mourn. But vigour, life, and health return. No more to gloomy thoughts a prey, I sleep all night and live all day ; By turns my friend and book enjoy, And thus my circling hours employ ; Happy while yet these hours remain, If Burns could join the cheerful train, AVith wonted zeal, sincere and fervent, Salute once more his humble servant, Thomas Blacklock. POETICAL EPISTLE TO DR BLACKLOCK. Bums answered as follows : — 77 TO DR BLACKLOCK. Elltsland, 21st Oct. l/S!). Wow, but your letter made me vaiintie ! elated And arc ye hale, and weel, and cantic ? merry I kenned it still your wee bit jamitie, Wad bring ye to : Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye, And then ye '11 do. The ill-thief blaw the Hei'on south! And never drink be near his drouth ! He tauld mysel by word o' mouth, He 'd tak my letter ; I lippened to the chield in trouth, And bade uae better. Eut aiblins honest Master Heron Had at the time some dainty fair one, To ware his theologic care on, And holy study ; And tired o' sauls to waste his Icar on, E'en tried the body. Eut what d'ye think, my trusty fier, I'm turned agauger — Peace be here! Parnassian queans, I fear, I fear, Ye'll now disdain mc! And then my fifty pounds a year Will little gain me. Ye glaiket, gleesome, dainty damies, Wha, by Castalia's wimplin' streamics, Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty linibles, Ye ken, ye ken, That Strang necessity supreme is 'Mang sons o' men. I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, Tiiey maun hae brose and brats o' duddics ; Yo ken yoursels my heart right proud is — I need na vaunt. But I'll sncd besoms— thraw saugh woodics,' Before they want. devil trusted desired perhaps sjiend gidijy %viiidin3 clotUcs cut 1 Woodios— ' two or tlircc willow twitcH twisted tocjctlicr.nsed for liindin;? the end of a broom or bireli bes im.'— /)/• Jm/iiVv.iji. Hunis, in short, avows his wUliiitJUess to bccouie a broom-maker rather than allow his children to want. 78 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Lord help me througli this warld o' care ! I'm weary sick o't late and air ! Not but I hae a richer share Than mony ithers ; But why should ae man better fare, And a' men brithers ? Come, firm Eesolve, take thou the van, Thou stalk o' carl-hempi in man ! ' And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan A lady fair : Wha does the utmost that he can. Will whyles do mair. sometimes But to conclude my silly rhyme (I 'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time), To make a happy fireside clime To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime Of human life. My compliments to Sister Beckle ; And eke the same to honest Lucky, I wat she is a dainty chuckie,^ As e'er tread clay ! And gi'atefully, my guid auld cockie, I'm yours for aye. Robert Burns. In this light strain — and yet it is a levity involving some very serious things — did Burns write (if our conclusions are correct) the day after he had given vent to the tragic strains To Mary in Heaven. Among Captain Riddel's visitors of this season was Francis Grose — a broken-down English gentleman who, under the impulse of poverty, had been induced to exercise considerable literary and artistic talents for the benefit of the public. A large work on the Antiquities of England had been completed some years ago. He had also produced a treatise on Arms and Armour, another on Military Antiquities, and several minor works. The genius and social spirit of the man were scarcely more i*emarkable than his personal figure, which was ludicrously squat and obese. Grose liaving made an inroad into Scotland, for the purpose of sketching and chronicling its antiquities, Burns met him at Friars' Carse, 1 The male hemp, that which bears the seed ; ' Ye have a stalk o* carl-hemp in j'ou," is a Scotch proverb. — Kelly. - Chuckic, a familiar term for a hen, transferred endearingly to a matron of the human species. VEKSES OX GROSE THE ANTIQUARY. 79 and ■was greatly amused by liis aspect and conversation. The comic muse also caught at the antiquarian enthusiasm as a proper subject. The consequence was a poem ox CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. Hear, land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, Frae Jlaidenkirki to Johnny Groat's ; If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede you tent it : varn A chiel's amang you taking notes, And, faith, he'll prent it. If in your bounds ye chance to light Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight, plump O' stature short, but genius bright, That's he, mark weel — And wow ! he has an unco slight 0' cauk and keel. By some aidd houlet-haunted biggin, owl building Or kirk deserted by its riggin, It's ten to ane ye '11 find him snug in Some eldritch part, unholy Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's! colleaguin' At some black art. Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer, Yc gipsy-gang that deal in glamour, necromancy And you deep-read in hell's black grammar, Warlocks and witches; Ye '11 quake at his conjuring hammer, Ye midnight bitches. It's tauld he was a sodgcr bred, And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; But now he's quat the spurtlc blade, And dog-skin wallet, And ta'en the — Anti(piarian trade, I think they call it. He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets, abundance Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets, "Wad baud the Lothians three in tackcts, A towmont guid ; And parritch-pats, and aidd saut-backcts, Before the Flood. 1 Maidcnkirk is an inversion of the name of Kirkmaiden, in Wigtonahire, the DioEl bouthcrly parish in Scotland. 80 LIFE AND "VVOEKS OF BURNS. Of Eve's first fire he lias a cinder ; Auld Tubalcaiu's fire-shool and fender ; That which distinguished the gender O' Balaam's ass ; A broomstick o' the witch of Endor, Weel shod \vi' brass. Forbye, he'll shape you afF, fu' gleg, quickly The cut of Adam's philabeg ; The knife that nicket Abel's craig, neck He'll prove you fully. It was a faulding jocteleg,' Or lang-kail gully. But wad ye see liim in his glee, For meikle glee and fun has he. Then set him down, and twa or three Guid fellows wi' him ; And port, port ! shine thou a wee, And then ye '11 see him! Now, by the powers o' verse and prose ! Thou art a dainty chicl, Grose ! — Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, They sair misca' thee ; I'd take the rascal by the nose, Wad say, shame fa' thee. Another of the facdicc of this acquaintance v/as an EPITAPH ON CAPTAIN GROSE, THE CELEBRATED ANTIQUARY. The Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came Hying ; But when he approached where poor Francis lay moaning, And saw each bedpost with its burden a-groaning, Astonished, confounded, cried Satan : ' By I '11 want 'im, ere I take such a damnable load.' Afterwards, when Grose had gone forward on his mission, 1 ' Jocktalcg, a clasp-knife ; Northumberland and Scotland. Probably from Jock of Licgc. Liege formerly supplied Scotland with cutlery.' — Grose's Provincial Olossm-ii. ' The etymology of this word remained imknown till not many years ago, that an old knife was found, having this inscription Jacques dc Lici/c, the name of the cutler. Thus it is in e,\act analogj* -with Andrea di Fcrrara.' — Lord JIailcs. ' After he [James VI.] had gone to England, it is said he boasted to some of his courtiers, that he would repeat a sentence which none of them could understand. Calling one of his stable-boys, he said to him : " Callan, hae there's threttie pennies; gae wa and buy me a jocktelei/ ,- and gin ye bide, I '11 gang to the bougars o' the bouse, and tak a caber, and reestle your riggin wi 't." ' — Dr Jamieson. LETTER TO MR GROSE. 81 Burns kept up a correspondence with him. Professor Stewart having intimated to the poet a desire to see Grose, the former sent the followmg letter to his antiquarian friend : — TO FRANCIS GROSE, ESQ., P.S.A. Sir — I believe among all our Scots literati you have not met with Professor Dugald Stewart, who fills the moral philosophy chair in the university of Edinburgh. To say that he is a man of the first parts, and, what is more, a man of the first worth, to a gentleman of your general acquaintance, and who so much enjo}s the luxury of unencumbered freedom and undisturbed privacy, is not perliaps recommendation enougli; but when I inform you tliat Sir Stewart's principal characteristic is your favourite feature — that sterling inde- pendence of mind which, tliough every man's right, so few men have the courage to claim, and fewer still tlio magnanimity to support ; wlien I tell you that, unseduced by splendour and undisgusted by wi-etchedness, lie appreciates the merits of the various actors m the great drama of lil'e merely as they perform their parts — in short, he is a man after your own heart, and I comply with his earnest request in letting you know that he wishes above all things to meet with you. His liouse, Catrine, is within less than a mile of Sorn Castle, which you proposed visiting ; or if you could transmit him the enclosed, lie would with the greatest pleasiu'c meet you anywhere in the neio-libourhood. I write to Avrshire to inform JMr Stewart that I liave acipiitted mj-self of my promise. Should your time and spirits pennit your meeting with Mr Stewart, 'tis well ; if not, I hope you will forgive this liberty, and I have at least an opportunity of assuring you with what truth and respect I am, sir, your gi'eat admirer, and very humble servant, R. E. Not being, after all, very sure of the whereabouts of Grose, the bard enclosed liis letter in an envelope addressed to Mr Cardonnel, a brother antiquary, and containing a set of jocular verses in imitation of the quaint song of Sir John ^lalcolm. WRITTEN IN AN ENVELOPE, ENCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN GROSE, Ken yc ought o' Captain Grose? I go and ago. If he's araang his friends or foes ? Irani, coram, dago. Is he to Abra'm's bosom gane ? Igo and ago, Or handing Sarah by the wamc ? Irani, coram, dago. VOL. 111. F 82 LIFE A^'D "WORKS OF BURNS, Is he south or is he north ? Igo ajid ago, Or drowned in the river Forth ? Irani, coram, dago. Is he slain by Highlan' bodies ? Igo and ago. And eaten like a wether haggis ? Iram, coram, dago. Where'er he be, the Lord be near him ; Igo and ago. As for the deil, he daurna steer him, Iram, coram, dago. But please transmit the enclosed letter, Igo and ago. Which will oblige your humble debtor, Iram, coram, dago. So may ye hae auld stanes in store, Igo and ago, The very stanes that Adam bore, Iram, coram, dago. So may ye get in glad possession, Igo and ago. The coins o' Satan's coronation ! Iram, coram, dago. The Excise business might have been a benefit to Burns in more respects than in that of income, if it had only filled up time other- wise liable to be spent in idleness or invaded by dissipation. Neither can we suppose that frequent riding through the beautiful scenery of Nithsdale could be quite an unsuitable way for a poet to spend part of his time. On the contrary, as Burns had always been accustomed to compose while engaged in labour out of doors, his present life might have been expected to prove rather favour- able to the Muse than otherwise. It appears, however, that the business was overtasking. The ten parishes which Burns surveyed form a tract not less than fifteen miles each way. It called for his riding about two hundred miles a week. Under this serious exaction upon his strength, spirits, and time, neither the mental nor the agricultural farm of Bums got fair play. The poet, however, was diligent and exact in the performance of his official duty to a degree which I question if two out of every ten of the present literary men of England would be found to attain. He bent his strong faculties to the purpose, and he OFFICIAL CONDUCT OF BURNS. 83 accomplished it, whatever the Dalilahs of the imagination might say to the contrary. Inspired with a just view of the contraband trade as an infraction and disturbance of the rights of the fair trader, he was disposed to be severe with the regular smuggler ; but in petty matters of maccuracy, or even something worse, among the country brewsters and retailers, he tempered justice with mercy. The late Professor Gillespie of St Andrews remembered seeing Burns on a fair day in August 1793 at the village of Thorn- hill, where, as was not uncommon in those days, a poor woman named Kate Watson had, for one day, taken up the trade of a publican, of course without a licence. ' I saw the poet enter her door, and anticipated nothing short of an immediate seizure of a certain greybeard and barrel which, to my personal knowledge, contained the contraband commodities our bard was in quest of. A nod, accompanied by a significant movement of the forefinger, brought Kate to the doorway or trance, and I was near enough to hear the following words distinctly uttered : " Kate, are you mad ? Don't you know that the supervisor and I will be in upon you in the course of forty minutes ? Good-by t'ye at present." Burns was in the street and in the midst of the crowd in an instant, and I had access to know that the friendly hint was not neglected. It saved a poor widow from a fine of several pounds, for commit- ting a quarterly offence by which the revenue was probably subject to an annual loss of five shillings.' ^ Allan Cunningham relates a similar anecdote. ' The poet and a brother exciseman one day suddenly entered a widow-woman's shop in Dunscore, and made a seizure of smuggled tobacco. " Jenny," said the poet, " I expected this would be the upshot. Here, Lewars, take note of the number of rolls as I count them. Now, Jock, did ye ever hear an auld wife numbering her threads before check-reels were invented ? Thou 's ane, and thou's no ane, and thou's ane a' out — listen." As he handed out the rolls, he went on with his humorous enumeration, but dropping every otlier roll into Janet's lap. Lewars took the desired note v.'ith much gravity, and saw as if he saw not the merciful conduct of his companion.' We see in these homely facts the same benevolent nature which shines in the verses to the Mouse and the Mountain-daisy.- 1 E Afterwards General Dimlop of Dunlop. « Uachcl, a daughter of Mrs Dunlop, was making a sketch of Coila. ^ SKETCH ON NEW- year's DAY. 101 And what is this day's strong suggestion ? ' The passing moment 's all we rest on ! ' Best on — for what I what do we here ? Or why regard the passing year ? Will time, amused with proverbed lore, Add to our date one minute more ? A few days may — a few years must — Eepose us in the silent dust. Then is it wise to damp our bliss? Yes — all such reasonings are amiss ! The voice of Nature loudly cries, And many a message from the skies, That something in ns never dies : That on this frail, uncertain state, Hang matters of eternal weight : Tliat future life in worlds unknown Must take its hue from this alone; AVhether as heavenly glory bright, Or dark as misery's woeful night. Since, then, my honoured, first of friends, On this poor being all depends, I;et us th' important noiv employ, And live as those who never die. Though you, with days and honours crowned, Witness that filial circle round (A sight, lii'e's sorrows to repulse, A sight, pale envy to convulse), Others now claim your chief regard ; Yourself, you wait your bright reward. BuiTis was at this time pressed with business, yet at the same- time as much the victim of hypochondria as if he had been left to total vacuity. The evil prospects of his farm harassed his mind. lUisied and vexed as lie was, he found time to pay occasional evening visits to Dumfries, in order to witness the performances of a tolerable company of players which had temporarily settled there. He had even been led by these theatricals to turn his tlioughts to tlie comic drama as a line not unworthy of the efforts of Coila. But neither at this time nor any other did he ever get beyond the composition of an occasional address or epilogue. TO JIU GILBERT BIR.VS. Ki.Lisi.AVD, WlhJamiarii 17!Kt. Dear Brother — I mean to take advantage of the frank, though I have not in my present frame of mind nnich ajipctite for exertion 102 LIFE AND WORKS OF BUEXS. i in writing. My nerves are in a • state. I feel that horrid hypochondria pervading every atom of both body and soul. Tins farm has undone my enjoyment of myself. It is a ruinous affair on all hands. But let it go to ! I'll fight it out, and be off with it. We have got a set of very decent players here just now. I have seen them an evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayi-, wrote to me by the manager of the company, a Mr Sutherland, who is a man of apparent worth. On New-Year's-Day evening I gave him the following prologue, which he spouted to his audience with applause ! SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES, ON NBW-VEAR'S-DAY EVENING [1790.1 No song nor dance I bring from yon great city That queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity: ^ Though, by the by, abroad why will you roam ? Good sense and taste are natives here at home : But not for panegyric I appear, I come to wish you all a good new-year ! Old Father Time deputes me here before jq, Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : | The sage grave ancient coughed, and bade me say : 'You're one year older this important day.' If wiser, too — he hinted some suggestion, But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question ; And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, He bade me on you press this one word — ' think !' Ye sprightly youths, quite fluslied with hope and spirit, Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, To you the dotard has a deal to say. In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way : He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, That the first blow is ever half the battle ; That though some by tlie skirt may try to snatch him, Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, You may do miracles by persevering. Last, though not least in love, ye youthful fair, Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! To you old Bald-pate smooths Jn's wrinkled brow, And humbly begs you'll mind the important Now ! To crown your liappiness he asks your leave, And offers bliss to give and to receive. For our sincere, though hai:)ly M'eak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favoui'S ; And howsoc'er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. LETTER TO MR WILLIAM DUNBAR. 103 I can no more. If once I was clear of this damned farm, I should respire more at ease. Three days after the writing of this fretful letter, he was restored to a calmer humour. TO MR WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S. Ellisland, nth January 1790. Since we are here creatures of a day, since ' a few summer days, and a few winter nights, and the life of man is at an end,' why, my dear, much-esteemed sir, should you and I let negligent indolence — for I know it is notl\ing worse — step in between us and bar the enjoyment of a mutual correspondence ? We are not shapen out of the common, heavj-, methodical clod, the elemental stuff of the plodding, selfish race, the sons of Arithmetic and Prudence ; our feelings and hearts are not benumbed and poisoned by the cursed influence of riches, which, whatever blessing they may be in other respects, are no friends to the nobler qualities of the heart : in the name of random sensibility, then, let never the moon change on our silence any more. I have had a tract of bad health most part of this winter, else you had heard from me long ere now. Thank Heaven, I am now got so much better as to be able to partake a little in the enjoyments of life. Our friend Cunningham will perhaps have told you of my going into the Excise. The truth is, I found it a very convenient business to have £50 per annum, nor have I yet felt any of these mortifyuig circumstances in it that I was led to fear. Fib. 2d. — I have not, for sheer hurry of business, been able to spare five minutes to finish my letter. Eesides my farm business, I ride on my Excise matters at least 200 miles every week. I havo not by any means given np the Muses. You will see in the third volume of Johnson's Scots So7)gs that I have contributed my mite there. But, my dear sir, little ones that look up to you for paternal protection arc an important charge. I have already two fine healthy stout little fellows, and I wish to throw some light upon them. I have a thousand reveries and schemes about them and their future destiny — not that I am a Utopian projector in these things. I am resolved never to breed up a son of mine to any of the learned professions. I know the value of independence ; and since I cannot give my sons an independent fortune, I shall give them an inde- pendent line of life. What a chaos of hurry, chance, and changes is this world, when one sits soberly down to reficct on it ! To a father, who himself knows the world, the thought that he shall havo sons to usher into it nnist fill him with dread ; but if he have daughters, the prospect in a thoughtful moment is apt to shock him. I hope Mrs Fordyce and the two young ladies are well. Do let nic forget that they arc nieces of yours, and let me say that I never saw 104 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. a more interesting, sweeter pair of sisters in my life. I am the fool of my feelings and attachments. I often take up a volume of my Spenser to realise you to my imagination,^ and think over the social scenes we have had togetlier. God grant that there may be another world more congenial to honest fellows beyond this : a. ■world where these rubs and plagues of absence, distance, misfortunes, ill healtli, &c. shall no more damp hilarity and divide friendship. This I know is your throng season, but half a page will much oblige, my dear sir, yours sincerely, E. B, Mrs Dunlop appears to have at this time accompanied one of her many kind letters Avith a present, perhaps with some reference to the thirty-first birthday of the bard, which was approaching. On that day he wrote to her one of the most interesting of his letters : TO MRS DUNLOP. Ellisland, 2M January I/OO, It has been owing to imremitting luirry of business that I liave not written to you, madam, long ere now. My health is greatly better, and I now begin once more to share in satisfaction and enjoyment witli the rest of my fellow-creatures. Many thanks, my much-esteemed friend, for your kind letters ; but why will you make me run the risk of being contemptible and mercenary in my own eyes ? AVhen I pique myself on my independent spirit, I hope it is neither poetic licence nor poetic rant : and I am so flattered with the honour vou have done me, in makinn: me your compeer in friendship and friendly correspondence, tliat I cannot without pain and a degree of mortification be reminded of the real inequality between our situations. Most sincerely do I rejoice with you, dear madam, in the good news of Anthony. Not only your anxiety about his fate, but my own esteem for such a noble, warm-hearted, manly young fellow, in the little I had of liis acquaintance, has interested me deeply in his fortunes. Falconer, the unfortunate author of the Shipwreck, which you so much admire, is no more. After witnessing the dreadful catastrophe he so feelingly describes in his poem, and after weathering many liard gales of fortune, he went to the bottom with the Atirora frigate I I forget what part of Scotland had the honour of giving him birth^ but he was the son of obscurity and misfortune.2 He was one of those daring, adventurous spirits which Scotland, beyond any other country, is remarkable for producing. Little does the fond motlier think as she hangs delighted over the sweet little leech at her 1 The poet's copy of Spcneor was a present from Mr Puntiar. * Falconer was the son of a tradcbman in the Nctherbow of Edinburgh. LETTER TO CLARINDA. 105 bosom, where the poor fellow may hereafter wander, and wliat may be his fate. I remember a stanza in an old Scottish ballad.i which, notwithstanding its rude simplicity, speaks feelingly to the heart — ' Little did my mother think, That day she cradled me, What land I was to travel in, Or what death I should die ! ' Old Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite study and pursuit of mine; and now l"am on" that subject, allow me to give you two stanzas of another old simple ballad, which I am sure will please you. The catastrophe of the piece is a poor ruined female lamenting hur fate. She concludes with this pathetic wish— • O that my father had ne'er on mc smiled ; O that my mother had ne'er to me sung! that my cradle had never hecn rocked ; But tliat I had died when I was young ! O that tlie grave it were my bed ; My blankets were my winding-sheet ; The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a' ; And O sae sound as I should sleep ! ' I do not remember in all my reading to have met with anything more truly the language of misery than the exclamation in the last line. Jlisery is like love ; to speak its language tndy, the author must have felt it. I am every day expecting the doctor to give your little godson 2 the small-pox. They arc rife in the countiy, and I tremble for his fate. By the way, I cannot help congratulating you on his looks and spirit. Every person who sees him acknowledges him to be the finest, handsomest child he has ever seen. I am myself delighted with the manly swell of his little chest, and a certain miniature dignity in the carriage of his head, and the glance of his fine black eye, which promise the undaunted gallantry of an independent mind. 1 thought to have sent you some rhymes, but time forbids. I promise you jioctry mitil you are tired of it next time I have the honour of assuring you how tndy I am, kc. 11. B. About this time the Clarinda corrGspondence was for a moment renewed, the following letter appearing as an answer to one from the lady, which has not been preserved. It is remarkable for tlio admission it makes of misconduct in his past career, though infer- ring tliat the circumstances in Avhich imprudence had involved > Queen Marv- had four attendants if her own fhristian name. In the ballad menti(JiHd by lUirnH, oni> of thine gentlewomen is diseribed as murdering her illegitimate child, and hulleiing for the crime ; and the verse . 118 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. The farriers said that she had been quite strained in the fillets beyond cure before you had bought her ; and that the poor devil, though she might keep a little flesh, had been jaded and quite worn out with fatigue and oppression. While she was with me she was under my own eye, and I assure you, my much-valued friend, every- thing was done for her that could be done ; and the accident has vexed me to the heart. In fact, I could not pluck up spirits to write to you on account of the unfortunate business. There is little new in this country. Our theatrical company, of which you must have heard, leave us this week. Their merit and character are indeed very great, both on the stage and in private life : not a worthless creature among them ; and their encourage- ment has been accordingly. Their usual run is from eighteen to twenty-five pounds a night : seldom less than the one, and the house will hold no more than the other. There have been repeated instances of sending away six, and eight, and ten pounds a night for want of room. A new theatre is to be built by subscription ; the first stone is to be laid on Friday first to come. Three hundred guineas have been raised by thii-ty subscribers, and thirty more might have been got if wanted. The manager, Mr Sutherland, was introduced to me by a friend from Ayr ; and a worthier or cleverer fellow I have rarely met with. Some of our clergy have slipt in by stealth now and then ; but they have got up a farce of their own. You must have heard how the Kev. Mr Lawson of Kirkmahoe, seconded by the Kev. Mr Kirkpatrick of Dunscore,i and the rest of that faction, have accused, in formal process, the imfortunate and Eev. Mr Heron of Kirkgunzeon, that in ordaining Mr Nielsen to the cure of souls in Kirkbean, he, the said Heron, feloniously and treasonably bound the said Nielson to the confession of faith, so far as it ivas agreeable to reason and the word of God ! Mrs B. begs to be remembered most gratefully to j'ou. Little Bobby and Frank are charmingly well and healthy. I am jaded to death with fatigue. For these two or three months, on an average, I have not ridden less than 200 miles per week. I have done little in the poetic way. I have given Mr Sutherland two Prologues, one of which was delivered last Avcek. I have likewise strung four or five barbarous stanzas, to tlie tune of Chevy Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor unfortunate mare, beginning (the name she got here was Peg Nicholson)^ PEG NICHOLSON. Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, As ever trode on airn ; But now she's floating down the Nith, And past the mouth o' Cairn. 1 Burns's own parish priest. * In burlesque allusion, it may 1)0 presumed, to the insane vroman, Margaret Nicholson, who made an attempt to stab George III. witU a knife, August 1786. DK m'gill's persecutors. 119 Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, And rode tlirougli thick and thin ; But now she's floating down the Kith, And wanting even the skin. Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, And ance she bore a priest ; But now she's floating down the Nitli, For Solway fish a feast. Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, And the priest he rode her sair ; And much oppressed and bruised she was, As priest-rid cattle are — &c. &c. My best compliments to Mrs Nicol, and little Neddy, and all the family : I hope Ned is a good scholar, and will come out to gather nuts and apples with me next harvest. R- B. TO Ellisland, 1790. Dear Sir— Whether in the way of my trade I can be of any service to the Rev. Doctor,^ is, I fear, very doubtful. Ajax's shield consisted, I think, of seven bull-hides and a plate of brass, which altogether set Hector's utmost force at defiance. Alas ! I am not a Hector, and the worthy doctor's foes are as securely armed as Ajax was. Ignorance, superstition, bigotry, stupidity, malevolence, self-conceit, envy— all strongly bound in a massy frame of brazen impudence. Good God, sir ! to such a shield, humour is the peck of a sparrow, and satire the pop-gun of a schoolboy. Creation-disgracing f^celtnds such as they, God only can mend, and the devil only can punish. In the comprehending way of Caligula, I wish they all had but one neck. I feel impotent as a child to the ardour of my wishes! O for a withering curse to blast the germina of their wicked machinations. for a poisonous tornado, winged from the ton-id zone of Tartarus, to sweep the spreading crop of their villanous contrivances to the lowest hell ! R- R- The poet's young brother, William, who liad latterly been employed at Newcastle, Avas now resolved to adventure intp the great Held of London, and he wrote (24th January 1790) to Robert for a letter of introduction to his old preceptor Murdoch. ' You promised,' he adds, ' wlicn I was intending to go to Edinburgh, to ■RTite me some instructions about behaviour in companies » DrM'Gill, ofAjT, 120 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. rather above my station, to which I might be eventually introduced. As I may be introduced into such companies at JIurdoch's or on his account, when I go to London, I wish you would write me some such instructions now : I never had more need of them, for, having spent little of my time in company of any soi't since I came to Newcastle, I have almost foi'got the common civilities of life. To these instructions pray add some of a moral kind, for though — either through the strength of early impressions, or the frigidity of my constitution, I have hitherto v/ithstood the temp- tation to those vices to which young men are so much addicted, yet I do not know if my virtue will be able to withstand the more powerful temptations of the metropolis ; yet, through God's assistance and your instructions, I hope to weather the storm.' ^ The innocence of this is certainly very charming; and one cannot but be amused at seeing Robert Burns applied to for an edification against the vices most besetting to young and hot blood. TO MR WILLIAM BURNS, SADDLER, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE. Ellisland, 10th February 1790. My dear William — .... Now that yon are setting out for that place [London], put on manly resolve, and determine to persevere; and in that case you will less or more be sure of success. One or two things allow me to particularise to you. London swarms with worthless wretches who prey on their fellow-creatures' thoughtlessness or inexperience. Be cautious in forming connections with comrades and companions. You can be pretty good company to yourself, and you cannot be too shy of letting anybody laticnce with this vile world for one thing. Man- kind are by nature benevolent creatures, e.Ncept in a few scoundrelly 12G LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. instances. I do not think that avarice of the good things we chance to have is born with ns ; but we are placed here amid so much nakedness, and hunger, and poverty, and want, that we are under a cursed neces- sity of studying selfishness in order that we may exist ! Still there are in every age a few souls that all the wants and woes of life cannot debase to selfishness, or even to the necessary alloy of caution and prudence. If ever I am in danger of vanity, it is when I contemplate myself on this side of my disposition and character. God knows, I am no saint — I have a whole host of follies and sins to answer for ; but if I could, and I believe I do it as far as I can, I would wipe away all tears from all eyes. Even the knaves who have injured me, I would oblige them; though, to tell the ti'uth, it would be more out of vengeance, to shew them that I was independent of and above them, than out of the ovei-flo wings of my benevolence. Adieu ! K.B. Whatever may be thought of Burns's letters, it is certainly in them that we get the most intimate and peneti'ating glances at his owa nature. Some passages in the above epistle, for instance, are like the lightning-flash on a dark and turbid sea. He feels so intensely the hateful character of worldly selfishness, that he can- not help priding himself on his want of the alloy of caution and prudence. His sense of sin is strongly pressed on his mind, but it is lightened by the consciousness of a boundless philanthropy. And yet, too, he would only benefit the knaves of the earth to shew his sense of superiority over them, thus inflicting upon them the vengeance of a humiliation. To such men as Hill, who, like him- self, could use some licence in thought and speech, he is frank iu the strain of comment and the selection of terms. It is curious to see how, in his communications to the refined and pious Mrs Dunlop, the caution and prudence which he disclaimed, or at least the tact of a man of the world, exercised some restrictive influence over his pen. Thus it is that in a single page, we have the poet almost unconsciously revealing his pride with his benevolence, his abjuration of and his bondage to prudence. The ensuing letter is remarkable for the confession it contains, that he felt high endowments to be a disqLualification for the common struggles of the world : — TO MRS DUNLOP. Elusland, 10th Ajml 1790. I HAVE just now, my ever-honoured friend, enjoyed a very high luxury, in reading a paper of the Loimyer. You know my national prejudices. I had often read and admired the Spectator, Adventurer, Eamhler, and World ; but still with a certain regret that they were so thoroughly and entirely English. Alas ! have I often said to myself, what are all the boasted advantages which my country reaps LETTER TO MRS DUXLOP. 127 from the Union that can counterbalance the annihilation of her independence, and even her very name ! I often repeat that couplet of my favourite poet, Goldsmith : ' States of native liberty possest. Though very poor, may j'et be very blest.' Nothing can reconcile me to the common terms English ambas- sador, English court, &c. ; and I am 'out of all patience to see that equivocal character, Hastings, impeached by ' the Commons of Eng- land.' Tell mc, my friend, is this weak prejudice ? I believe in my conscience such ideas as ' My country ; her independence ; her honour ; the illustrious names that mark the history of my native land,' &c. — I believe these, among your men of the loorld — men who, in fact, guide for the most part and govern our world — are looked on as so many modifications of wrong-hcadedness. They know the use of bawling out such terms, to rouse or lead the rabble ; but for their own private use, with almost all the able statesmen that ever existed or now exist, when they talk of right and wrong they only mean proper and improper ; and their measure of conduct is not what they OUGUT, but what they dare. For the truth of this I shall not ransack the liistory of nations, but appeal to one of the ablest judges of men that ever lived — the celebrated Earl of Chesterfield. In fact, a man who could thoroughly control his vices whenever they interfered with his interests, and who could completely put on the appearance of every virtue as often as it suited his purposes, is, on the Stanhopian plan, the lierfect man ; a man to lead nations. But are great abilities, complete without a flaw, and polished without a blemish, the standard of human excellence ? This is certainly the stanch opinion of men of the v:orld ; but I call on honour, virtue, and worth to give the Stygian doctrine a loud negative ! However, this must be allowed — that if you abstract from man the idea of an existence beyond the gi'ave, then the true measure of human con- duct is, proper and improprr; virtue and vice, as dispositions of the heart are in that case of scarcely the same import and value to the world at large as harmony and discord in the modifications of sound ; and a delicate sense of honour, like a nice car for music, though it may sometimes give the possessor an ecstasy unknown to the coarser organs of the herd, yet, considering the harsh gratings and inliar^ monic jars in this ill-tuned state of being, it is odds but the indivi- dual would be as happy, and certainly would be as much respected by the true judges of society as it would then stand, without either a good ear or a good heart. You must know I have just met with the Mirror and Lounger for the first time, and I am quite in raptures with them ; I should bo glad to have your opinion of some of tho papers. The one I have just read, Lounger, No. (Jl, has cost me more honest tears than any- thing I have read of a long time.i JIackeuzie has been called the ' Tliis p.ipcr rcI.itcB to attaehmcnta between servants and masters, and conclude* •with tho story of Albert iloue. , 128 LIFE AND WOEKS OP BURNS. Addison of the Scots, and, in my opinion, Addison wonld not he hurt at tlie comparison. If he has not Addison's exqnisite humour, lio as certainly outdoes him in the tender and the pathetic. His Man of Feeling — but I am not counsel-learned in the laws of criticism — I estimate as the first performance in its kind I ever saw. From what book, moral or even pious, will the susceptible young mind receive impressions more congenial to humanity and kindness, generosity and benevolence — in short, more of all that ennobles the soul to herself, or endears her to othei'S — than from the simple, affecting tale of poor Harlcy ? Still, with all my admiration of Mackenzie's writings, I do not know if they are the fittest reading for a young man who is about to set out, as the phrase is, to make his way into life. Do not you think, madam, that among the few favoured of Heaven in the structure of their minds — for such there certainly are — there may be a purit}-, a tenderness, a dignity, an elegance of soul, which are of no use, nay, in some degree absolutely disqualifying, for the truly important busi- ness of making a man's way into life ! If I am not much mistaken, my gallant young friend A ****** i is very much under these disqualifications; and for the young females of a family I could mention, well may they excite parental solicitude, for I, a common acquaintance, or, as my vanity will have it, a humble friend, have often trembled for a turn of mind which may render them eminently happy or peculiarly miserable ! I have been manufacturing some verses lately; but as I have got the most hurried season of Excise business over, I hope to liave more leisure to transcribe anything that may shew how much I have the honour to be, madam, yours, &c. K. B. TO DR MOORE. Dumfries, Excise-Office, lith July 1790. - Sir — Coming into town this morning to attend my duty in this office, it being collection-day, I met witii a gentleman who tells me he is on his way to London ; so I take the opportunity of writing to you, as franking is at present under a temporary death. I shall have some snatches of leisure through the day amid our horrid business and bustle, and I shall improve them as well as I can ; but let my letter be as stupid as * * ■■■'' * *, as miscellaneous as a newspaper, as short as a hungi-y grace-before-meat, or as long as a law-paper in the Douglas cause; as ill -spelt as country John's billet-doux, or as unsightly a scrawl as Betty Byre- Muckei''s answer to it ; I hope, considering circumstances, you will forgive it ; and as it will put you to no expense of postage, I shall have the less reflection about it. I am sadly ungrateful in not returning you my thanks for your most valuable present, Zcluco. In fact, you are in some degree 1 Probably Antliony, a son of Mrs Dun]op, is here meant. DUMFRIES ELECTION. 129 blameable for my neglect. You were pleased to express a ■wish for uiy opinion of the work, which so flattered me, that nothing less would serve my overweening fancy than a formal criticism on the book. In fact, I have gravely planned a comparative view of you, Fielding, Eichardson, and Smollett, in your different qualities and merits as novel-writers. This, I own, betrays my ridiculous vanity, and I may probably never bring the business to bear ; but I am fond of the spirit young Elilm shews in the book of Job : 'And I said, I will also declare my opinion.' I have quite disfigured my copy of the book with my annotations. I never take it up without at the same time taking my pencil, and marking with asterisms, parentheses, &c. wherever I meet with an original thought, a nervous remark on life and manners, a remarkaljle, well-turned period, or a character sketched with uncommon precision. Tiiough I should hardly think of fairly writing out my ' Comparative View,' I shall certainly trouble you with my remarks, such as they are. I have just received from my gentleman that horrid summons in the book of Revelation—' That time shall be no more ! ' The little collection of sonnets have some charming poetry in tlicm. If indeed I am indebted to the fair author for the book,i and not, as I ratlier suspect, to a celebrated author of the other sex, I sliould certainly have written to the lady, with my grateful acknow- ledgments, and my own ideas of the comparative excellence of her pieces. I would do this last, not from any vanity of thinking that my remarks could be of much consequence to Mrs Smith, but merely from my own feelings as an author, doing as I would be done by. E- B. The canvass for the Dumfries burghs had been proceeding with excessive vigour all this spring, and when the election at length took place in July, the agitation and fervour of the public mind in the district exceeded everything of the kind previously known. The influence of tlie Duke of Queensberry on the '\^'hig side proved too much for the merits of excellent ' Westerhall,' and the dismissal of liis Grace from the bed-cliambcr was revenged on Pitt by the return of Captain IMiller. In a spirited verse-epistle on the subject, addressed to his friend Mr diraham, Burns still shews, under an affected impartiality, liis Tory and even cavalier leanings. EPTSTLE TO MR CRAUAM OF FINTRY. Fintry, my stay in worldly strife, Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life, Are ye as idle 's 1 am ! Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra flog, vagary O'er I'egasus I'll lUng my log, And ye shall see me try him. I TliU book was the Sonnets of Charlotte Smith. VOL. III. I 130 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. I'll sing tlie zeal Di-umlanrig i bears, Who left the all-important cares Of princes and their dai'lings ; And, bent on winning borough towns. Came shaking hands wi' wabster loons, And kissing barefit carlins. women Combustion through our boroughs rode, Whistling his roaring pack abroad, Of mad, unmuzzled lions ; As Queensberry buft' and blue ~ unfurled, And Westerha' and Hopetouir-^ hurled To every Whig defiance. But Queensberry, cautious, left the war. The unmannered dust might soil his star, Besides, he hated bleeding ; But left behind him heroes bright, Heroes in Coasarean fight Or Ciceronian pleading. O for a throat like huge Mons-Meg,^ To muster o'er each ardent Whig Beneath Drumlanrig's banners ; Heroes and heroines commix All in the field of polities, To Avin immortal honours. M'Murdo^ and his lovely spouse (Th' enamoured laurels kiss her brows) Led on the loves and gi'aces ; She won each gaping burgess' heart. While he, all-conquering, played his part. Among their wives and lasses. Craigdarroch'' led a light-armed corps; Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour. Like Hecla streaming thunder j Glenriddcl,7 skilled in rusty coins. Blew up each Tory's dark designs, And bared the treason under. ' The Duko of Queensberry. Burns, for metre's sake, uses his Grace's second title. " The livery of Mr Fox. 3 The Earl of Hopetoun. ■* A piece of ordnance of extraordinary structure and magnitude, founded in the rcipn of James IV. of Scotland, about the end of the fifteenth centurj-, and which is still exhibited, though in an infirm state, in Edinburgh Castle. The diameter of the bore is twenty inches. * The duke's chamberlain, a friend of Burns. fl Mr Fer(,Ti.sson of Craigdarroch ; the victor of the Whistle-contest. 7 Captain Iliddel of Glcnriddel, DrJIFEIES ELECTION. ! 131 In either wing two champions fought, Redoubted Staig,i who set at nought The wildest savage Tory, And Welsh,- who ne'er yet iiinched his ground, High waved his magnum bonum I'ound With Cyclopean fury. Miller 3 brought up the artillery ranks, The many-pounders of the Banks, Resistless desolation ; While Maxwelton,-^ that baron bold, Mid Lawson's port entrenched his hold, And threatened worse damnation. To these, what Tory hosts opposed ; With these, what Tory warriors closed, Surpasses my descriving : Squadrons extended long and large, AVith furious speed rushed to the charge, Like raging devils driving. Yv'hat verse can sing, what prose narrate. The butcher deeds of bloody fate Amid this mighty tulzie ? conflict Grim Horror grinned ; pale Terror roared, As iliirtlier at his thrapple shored ; tlucatened And hell mixt in the brulzie ! broil As Highland crags, by thunder cleft, When lightnings fire the stormy lift, firmament Hurl down wi' crashing rattle ; As flames amang a hundred woods ; As headlong foam a hundred floods ; Such is the rage of battle. The stubborn Tories dare to die ; As soon the rooted oaks would fly, Reforc th' approaching fellers ; The Whitis come on like Ocean's roar. When all his wintry billows pour Against the Buchan BuUcrs.-'' 1 Provost of Dumfries. 2 The Kheriff of the eoiinty. 3 Mr Miller of Dalswinlon, father of tho candidate. lie had been a banker. ■> Sir Kobcrt Lawrie, M.l'. for the county. ^ The ' Bullcrs of Ituchan ' in an ap|iollation given to a tremendous rocl>-y recess on the Aberdeenshire coast, near Peterhead— having an opening to the sea, whilo tho top is open. The Kea, constantly raging in it, gives it the appearance of a pot or boiler, uud hence the name. 132 UFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, And think on former daring ! The muffled murtherer of Charles ^ The Magna-Charta flag unfurls, All deadly gules its bearing. Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame ; Bold Scrimgeour^ follows gallant Grahame^ — Auld Covenanters shiver — (Forgive, forgive, much-wronged Montrose ! AVhile death and hell engulf thy foes, Thou liv'st on high for ever !) Still o'er the field the combat burns ; The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; But fate the word has spoken — For woman's wit, or strength of man, Alas ! can do but what they can — The Tory ranks are broken. O that my een were flowing burns ! My voice a lioness that mourns Her darling cub's undoing ! That I might greet, that I might ci-y, While Tories fall, while Tories fly. And furious Whigs pursuing ! What Whig but wails the good Sir James ; Dear to his country by the names Friend, Patron, Benefactor ? Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save ! And Hopetoun falls, the generous, brave ! And Stuart bold as Hector ! Thou, Pitt, shall rue this overthrow, And Thurlow growl a curse of wo, And Melville melt in wailing ! Now Fox and Sheridan, rejoice ! And Burke shall sing : ' prince, arise ! Thy power is all-prevailing ! ' For your poor friend, the Bard afar, He hears, and only hears the war, A cool spectator pufely ; So when the storm the forest rends. The robin in the hedge descends. And sober chirps securely. ' Tlio masked oxtciitioncr of Charles I. « John, Earl of Dnndfe, noted for his zeal and suflFerirgs in the cause of the StuartB durini; the time of tlie ('oinmonwealtli. 3 The great Martjuis of Montrose. MURDOCH THE SCHOOLMASTER. 133 TO MR MURDOCH, TEACHER OF FRENCH, LONDON. Ellisland, Wth Julu M^. My dear Sir— I received a letter from you a long time ago, but imfortunately, as it was in the time of my peregrinations and journeyings through Scotland, I mislaid or lost it, and by consequence your dire'ction along with it. Luckily, my good star brought me acquainted with Mr Kennedy, who, I understand, is an acquaintance of yours ; and by his means and mediation I hope to replace that link which my unfortunate negligence had so unluckily broke in the chain of our correspondence. I was the more vexed at the vile accident, as my brother William, a journeyman saddler, has been for some time in London, and wished above all things for your direction, that he might have paid his respects to his father's friend. Ills last address he sent to me was, ' Wm. Burns, at Mr Barber's, saddler, No. 181 Strand.' I writ him by Mr Kennedy, but neglected to ask him for your address ; so, if you find a spare half minute, please let my brother know by a card where and when he will find you, and the poor fellow will joyfully wait on you, as one of the few surviving friends of the man whose name, and Christian name too, he has the honour to bear. The next letter I write you shall bo a long one. I have much to tell you of 'hairbreadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly breach,' with all the eventful history of a life, the early years of whicii owed so much to your kind tutorage ; but this at an hour of leisure. My kindest compliments to Mrs Murdoch and family. I am ever, my dear sir, your obliged friend, K. B.i ' ' Tliis letter was coniimmicated to the editor [Cromck] by a gentleman, to whose liberal advice and information he ia much indebted— Mr John Murdoch, the tutor of the poet— accompanied by the following interesting note:— " London, Hart Street, Bi-ooMsnunv, 28 The letter is printed entire in the Scottish Journal, Dec. 11, 184?. T. G. Steven- son, Edinburgh. ELEGY ON MATTHEW HENDERSON. 135 OX CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. ' Should the poor be flattered ? '— Shakspearb. But now his radiant course is run, For Matthew's course was bright : His soul was like the glorious sun, A matchless, heavenly light ! O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! The meikle devil wi' a woodie rope Haurl thee hame to his black smiddie, O'er liurcheon hides, hedgehos And like stockfish come o'er his studdie Wi' thy auld sides ! He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn, The ae best fellow e'er was born ! Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel' shall mourn By Avood and wild, Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, Frae man exiled ! Yc hills ! near neibors o' the starns, That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! Ye cliffs," the haunts of sailing yearns, eagles Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. My wailing numbers ! Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! wood-pigcon Ye hazelly sliaws and briery dens ! Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, Wi' toddlin' din, purling Or foaming Strang, mI' hasty stcns, leaps Frae lin to liu ! pool Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea ; Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie. In scented bowers; Ye roses on your thorny tree. The first o' Howers. At dawn, when every grassy lilade Droops with a diamond at its head, At even, when beans their fragrance shod, r th' rustling gale, Ye maukins whiddin tlirough the glade, hares skipping Come join my wail. 136 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Mourn, ye wee sonj^stcrs o' the wood ; Ye grouse that crap tlie heather bud ; Ye curlews callin_ '^he should come to Ayrshire, that he wotild make a drawing of AUoway Kirk, as it was the burial-place of his father, where he himself had a sort of claim to lay down his bones when they should be no longer serviceable to him; and added, by way of encouragement, that it was the scene of many a good story of witches and apparitions, of which he knew the captain was very fond. The captain agreed to the request, provided the poet would furnish a witch-story, to be printed along with it. Tam o' Shunter was produced on this occasion, and was first published in Grose^s Antiqitities of Scotland.'' ' The poem,' says Mr Lockhart, ' was the work of one day ; and Mrs Burns well remembers the circumstances. He spent most of the day on his favourite walk by the river, where, in the afternoon, she joined him with some of her children — [there were then only two.] lie was hns'ily crooning to himsel, and Mrs Burns, perceiving that her presence was an interruption, loitered behjmd with her little ones among the broom. Her attention was presently attracted by the strange and wild gesticulations of the bard, who, now at some distance, was agonised with an ungovernable access of joy. He was reciting very loud, and with the teai's rolling down his cheeks, those animated verses which he had just conceived — " Now Tam, O Tam ! had tliae been queans, A' plump and strappin' in their teens ; Their sarks, instead o' crecshie flannen, Been snaw-white scventeen-hunder linen ! Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles, For ae blink o" the bonny burdies ! " ' i TAM O' SH-INTER : A TALE. ' Of bro^^Tiyis and of bogilis full is this buke.' Gawin Douglas. AVhon chapman billies leave the street, fellows And drouthy neibors, neibors meet, As market-days are wearing late. And folk begin to tak the gate ; road ' ' The above,' eays Mr Lockhart, ' is quoted from a manuscript journal of Cromck. Mr M'Diarmid confirms the statement, and adds that the poet, having committed the verses to writing on the top of his sod-dike over the water, came into the buuse, and read them immediately in high triumph at the fireside.' TAM O' SHANTER. 153 While we sit bousing at the nappy, And gettin' fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame. Where sits our sulky sullen dame. Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. This truth fand honest Tarn o' Shanter, As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, (Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses Tor honest men and bonnic lasses.) O Tam ! liadst thou but been sae wise, As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice 1 She tauld thee wcel thou was a skcllum, A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum ;l That frae November till October, Ae market-day thou was na sober; That ilka melder,"- wi' the miller, Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; That every naig was ca'd a shoe on. The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; That at the Lord's house, even on Sunday, Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday.^ • She prophesied, that, late or soon, Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon, Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk, darkness By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet, causes cry To think how mony counsels sweet. How mouy lengthened sage advices. The husband frae the wife despises 1 But to our tale : — Ac market-night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleeziug finely, Wi' reaming swats, thiit drank divinely; new ale And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony; Tam lo'cd him like a vera brither— They had been fou' for weeks thegithcr! I ATI ifllo-talkinK fellow. . 3 'The (iu;uititv of iiuaUTonnd at tlio mill nt onetime.'— iJr/amicton. •'• In Scotland, the \illaKe «lure a iiarish chunh is situated is tiBiially called tlio Kirkton. A certain .Kan Kiiincdy, who kept a. reputable public-houflc in the villago of Kirkuswald, is here alluded to. 154 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. The niglit di-ave on wi' sangs and clatter, And aye the ale was growing better : The landlady and Tam grew gracious, Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious ; The Souter tauld his queerest stories. The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : The storm without might rair and rustle- Tarn didna mind the storm a whistle. Care, mad to see a man sae happy. E'en drowned himself amang the nappy ! As bees flee harae wi' lades o' treasure. The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure : Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ; Or like the snowfall in the river, A moment white — then melts for ever ji Or like the borealis race. That flit ere you can point their place ; Or like the rainbow's lovely form Evanishing amid the storm. Nae man can tether time or tide, The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane. That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; The rattling showers rose on the blast ; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed. Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed : That night, a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand. Weel mounted on his gray marc, Meg, A better never lifted leg, Tam skelpit on through dub and mire, Despising wind, and rain, and fire; Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet. Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; himiniing Whiles glowering round wi' prudent cares, staring Lest bogles catch him imawares. • C'anidiornivibuB, tunc cum cccidcre recontcs, In lifiuidas nondum quas mora vertit aquas. Ovid, Amor, iii 5. TAJI O' SHANTEK. 155 Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigli,l Where gliaists and houlets nightly cry. By this time he was cross the ford, Where iu the snaw the chapman smoored ; smothered ' • Alloway Kirk, with its little enclosed burial-ground, stands beside the road from Ayr to Maybolo, about two miles from the former town. The church has long been roofless, but the walls are pretty well preserved, and it still retains its bell at the east end. Upon the whole, the spectator is struck with the idea that the witches must have liad a rather narrow stage for the performance of their revels, as described in the poem. The inner area is now divided by a partition-wall, and one part forms the family burial-place of Mr Cathcart of Blairston. The " winnock- bunker in the east," where sat the awful musician of the partj', is a conspicuous feature, being a small window divided by a thick mullion. Around the building are the vestiges of other openings, at any of which the hero of the tale may be supposed to have looked in upon the hellish scene. Within the last few years the old oaken rafters of the kirk were mostly entire, but they have now been entirely taken away, to form, in various shapes, memorials of a place so remarkably signalised by genius. It is necessary for those who survey tlie ground in reference to the poem, to be informsd that the old road from Ayr to this spot, by which Burns supposed his hero to have approached Alloway Kirk, was considerably to the west of the present one, which, nevertheless, has existed since before the time of Burns. XJpo» a field about a quarter of a mile to the north-west of the kirk, is a single tree enclosed with a paling, the last remnant of a group which covered " the cairn Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn ; " and immediately beyond that object is • the ford, Whare in the snaw the chapman smoorod ; " (namely, a ford over a small bum which soon after joins the Doon) being two J>laccs which Tarn o' Shanter is described as having passed on liis solitary way. The road then made a sweep towards the river, and, passing a well which trickles down into the Doon, where formerly stood a thorn, on whicli an individual, called in the poem " Mungo's mithcr," committed suicide, approached Alloway Kirk ■upon the west. These circumstances maj' here appear trivial, but it is surprising with what interest any visitor to the real scene will in(j\iiro into, and behold every part of it which can be associated, however remotely, with the poem of Tarn o' Shankr. The churchyard contains several old monuments, of a very humble description, marking the resting-places of undistinguished persons, who formerly lived in the neighbourhood, and probably had the usual hercditai-y title to little spaces of ground in this ancient cemetery. Among those persons rests William Bumess, father of the poet, over whose grave the son had piously raised a small Btone, recording his name and the date of his death, together witli the short poetical tribute to his memorj- whicli is copied in the works of the bard. But for this monument, long ago destroyed and carried away piecemeal, there is now substituted one of somewhat liner proportions. But the churchyard of Alloway has now become fashionable with the dead as well as the living. Its little area is absolutely crowded witli modern monuments, referring to persons many of whom have been brought from considerable distances to take tlieir rest in this doubly- consecrated ground. Among these is one to the memory of a person named TjTie, who, visiting the spot some years ago, happened to express a wish that ho might be laid in Alloway Churchyard, and, as fate would have it, was interred in the spot he had pointed out within .a fortnight. Nor is this all; for even the neighbouring gentry are now contending for departments in this fold of tho departed, and it is probable that the elegant mausolca of rank and wealth will sonn be jostling with the stimtcd obelisks of humble worth and noteless povertj'.' — Chambers's Journal, 1833. 'Oct. 22, 1823, [died] at Doonfoot Mill, Mr David Watt, miller, in the sixty. ciiihth year of his age. He was scliool-fillow with the celebrated Kobcrt Burns, and the last person baptised in Alloway Kiik.'— Magazine Obituary. 156 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. And past the birks and mcikle stane, AVhere drunken Charlie bi-ak's neck-bane ; And tliroiigh the whins, and by the cairn, gorse Where liuntcrs fand the murdered bairn ; And near tlie tliorn, aboon the well. Where Munfjo's mither handed hersel. Before him Doon pours all his floods ; The doubling storm roai's through the woods ; The lightnings flash from pole to pole, Near and more near the thunders roll ; When, glimmering through the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze ; Through ilka bore the beams were glancing, And loud resounded mirth and dancing. Inspiring bold John Barle3'corn ! AVliat dangers thou canst make us scorn ! Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; Wi' usquebae we'll face the devil ! — The swats sae reamed in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonished, Till, by the heel and hand admonished, She ventured forward on the light ; And, wow ! Tam saw an imco sight ! Warlocks and witches in a dance ; Nae cotillon brent new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels. Put life and mettle in their heels : A winnock-bunkcr in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, ehaggy dog To gie them music was his charge ; He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl, scream Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. vibrate Coffins stood round, like open presses. That shawcd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantrip slight trick Each in its cauld hand held a light — By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murderer's bancs in gibbet aims ; Twa span-lang, wee unchristcned bairns ; A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted ; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; A garter which a babe had strangled ; A knife, a father's throat had mangled, TAM O' SHANTER. 157 Whom his ain son o' life bereft, The gray hairs yet stack to the heft : Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', "Which even to name wad be unlawfu'. As Tammie glowred, amazed and curious, The mirth and fun grew fast and furious: The piper loud and louder blew ; The dancers quick and quicker flew; They reeled, they set, tiiey crossed, they cleekit, linked Till ilka carline swat and reekit, smoked And coost her duddies to tlio wark, clothes And linket at it in her sark ! Now Tam, Tarn ! had thae been queans, A' plump and strappin' in their teens ; Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, greasy Been snaw- white seventeen-hunder linen ! ' Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair. That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, I wad hae gi'en them oft' my hurdles, For ac blink o' the bonnie burdiesi ]3ut witliered beldams, auld and droll, Rigwoodie- hags, wad spean a foal, wean Loiiping and Hinging on a cummock, stick I wonder didna turn thy stomach. But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawlic ; There was ac winsome wench and walie, Tliat night eidisted in the core, (Lang after kenned on Carrick shore ; For mony a beast to dead she shot, And perished mony a bonnie boat, And shook baith meikle corn and bear, And kept the country-side in fear.) Her cutty-sark, o' Paisley liarn, That while a lassie she had worn. In longitude tliough sorely scanty, It was iier best, and she was vauntie — Ah ! little ken)ied thy reverend grannio That sark slie coft for lier wee Nannie, Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches), Wad ever graced a dance o' witches! But liere my JIuse her wing maun cour, Sic flights arc far beyond her jiower; goodly short shift ' ' The manufacturer'a tcmi fur a fine linen, woven in a rccd of 17C0 divisions.'— Ornmck. " Worthy of the gallows. 158 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BUKNS. To sing how Nannie lap and flang, (A sonple jad she was and Strang,) And how Tarn stood Hke ane bewitchedj And thought his very een enriched ; Even Satan glowred and fidged fu' fain, And hotched and blew wi' might and main : Till first ae caper, syne anithei', Tarn tint his reason a' thegither, And roars out, ' Weel done, Cutty-sark !' And in an instant all was dark : And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, AVhen out the hellish legion sallied. As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, fret When plundering herds assail their byke ; nest As open pussie's mortal foes, the hare When, pop ! she starts before their nose ; As eager runs the market-crowd. When ' Catch the thief!' resounds aloud ; So Maggie runs, the witches follow, Wi' mony an eldritch screech and hollow. frightful Ah, Tarn! ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy fairin'! In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin'! In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin'! Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, And win the keystane^ o' tlie brig; There at them thou thy tail may toss, A running stream they darcna cross! But ere the keystane she could make, The fient a tail she had to shake ! For Nannie, far before the rest, Hard upon noble Maggie prest, And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle, cndeavotu But little wist she Maggie's mettle — Ae spring brought off her master hale. But left behind her ain gray tail : The carline claught her by the rump. And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. Now, wha tliis tale o' truth shall read. Ilk man and mother's son take heed : Whene'er to drink you are inclined, . Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, Think ! ye may buy the joys ower dear — Eemember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 1 It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any farther than the middle of the next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with hoiiles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back.— B. lege: One of the gcncr.il supcr\'isor3 of E.tcise, 1G4 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. the otherwise plebeian circumstances in which he lived did not greatly aft'ect him. The subject of Burns's stanzas Avas a very- few years ago proprietor of tlie family estates; and it is agi'eeable to add, that Mademoiselle Susette then lived in his paternal mansion, in the enjoyment of that grateful respect to which her lidelity and discretion so eminently entitled her. TO WILLIAM DUNBAR, W. S. Ellisland, Vith Janvarjj 1791. I AM not gone to Elysium, most noble colonel,^ but am still here in this sublunary world, serving my God by propagating his image, and honouring my king by begetting him loyal subjects. Many happy returns of tlie season await my friend. May the thorns of care never beset his path ! May peace be an inmate of his bosom, and rapture a frequent visitor of his soul ! May the bloodhounds of misfortune never track his stejis, nor the screech-owl of sorrow alarm his dwelling ! May enjoyment tell thy hours, and pleasure number thy days, thou friend of the bard ! ' Blessed be he that blesseth thee, and cursed bo he that curseth thee ! ! !' As a further proof that I am still in the land of existence, I send you a poem, the latest I have composed. I have a particular reason for wisliing you only to shew it to select friends, should you think it worthy a friend's perusal ; but if, at your first leisure hour, you will favour me with your opinion of, and strictures on, the performance, it will be an additional obligation on, dear sir, your deeply-indebted humble servant, K. B. TO MR PETER HILL. Ellisland, \']lh January 17!)!. Take those two- guineas, and place them overagainst that damned account of yours, which has gaggedmy mouth these five or six months! I can as little write good things as apologies to the man I owe money to. O the suprome curse of making three guineas do the business of five! Not all the labours of Hercules; not all tlie Hebrews' three centuries of Egyptian bondage, were such an insuperable business, such an infernal task ! ! Poverty ! thou half-sister of death, thou cousin- genuan of liell!— where shall I find force of execration equal to the amplitude of thy demerits ? Oppressed by thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in tiic practice of every virtue, laden with years and wretchedness, implores a little, little aid to support his existence, "So styled SB president of the convivial society called the Crochallan Feneiblos. - In the orifjinal account, y.-nes Mr Thomas Thorburn, Dumfries, Hill enters £;!, 3s. to Hiirns't credit under January 20, 17!)1, leaving a balance to debit of £3, 7s. 5d. It is probable that two guineas haa been written or printed by mistake for three. PECUNIARY CIRCUMSTANCES OF BURNS. 165 from a stony-hearted son of Mammon, whose sun of prosperity never knew a cloud, and is hy him denied and insulted. Oppressed by thee, tlie man of sentiment, whose heart glows with independence, and melts with sensibility, inly pines under the neglect, or writhes, in bitterness of soul, under the contumely of arrogant, unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by thee, the sou of genius, whoso ill-starred ambition plants luni at the tables of the fashionable and polite, must see, in suffering silence, his remark neglected, and his person despised, while shallow greatness, in his idiot attempts at wit, shall meet with countenance and applause. Nor is it only the family of worth that liave reason to complain of thee — ^ the children of folly and vice, though in conmion with thee the ofif'spring of evil, smart equally under thy rod. Owing to thee, the man of unfortunate disposition and neglected education is condemned as a fool for his dissipation, despised and shunned as a needy wretch, when his follies as usual bring him to want ; and when his unprincipled necessities drive him to dishonest practices, he is abhorred as a miscreant, and perishes by the justice of his country. Lut far otherwise is the lot of the man of family and fortime. — His early follies and extravagance are spirit and fire ; hif> consequent wants are the embarrassments of an honest fellow; and when, to remedy the matter, he has gained a legal com- mission to plunder distant provinces, or massacre peaceful nations, he I'cturns, perhaps, laden with the spoils of I'apinc and murder; lives wiciced and respected, and dies a scoundrel and a lord. Nay, worst of all, alas for hcli)less woman ! — the needy prostitute, who has shivered at the corner of the street, waiting to earn the wages of casual pros- titution, is left neglected and insulted, ridden down by the chariot- wheels of the coroncted Rir, lun-rying on to the guilty assignation — slie who, without the same necessities to plead, riots nightly in the same guilty trade. Well, divines may say of it what they please, but execration is to the mind what phlebotomy is to the body — the vital sluices of botli are wonderfully relieved by their respective evacuations. 11. B. As poverty, or at least narrowness of circumstances, has been painfully associated with the name of ]kirns, it is of importance to note at what time, after his sudden transient access of fortune, his purse again became light, lie certainly was at ease in this respect down to the early part of 1790, when lie proffered assist- ance to his youngest brotlier "William, in tlie event of its being wanted. Even in the fall of that year, when the death of William in London caused an unexpected call to be made upon the poet for tlie disc'harge of the expenses iiuuirred by the sickness and funeral of tiic young man, it appears that payment was promj)tly made.' AVe learn from the above letter that Burns iiad for some ' This appcirs from .a letter founfl aninnt; Hiirns"R pnpcra, nml now in tlio pusscesion of Blr Thomas Thorburn, DuinfriuB. 'To .Mr Uohkut 1{i'uns>.— Sir— I 1G6 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. months before the close of 1790 begun to feel himself in some embarrassment for money. What is more, the debt which had gagged him with respect to his friend Hill appears to have been comparatively a trifle — only £6, 10s. 5d. To send £3, 3s. towards an account for a sum so little larger, certainly illustrates in some degree the 'supreme curse of making three guineas do the business of five.' It is, nevertheless, equally true and curious that we have to see Burns at this ci'isis in the new and unexpected character of an accommodator or creditor. It is a trivial affair, which would not be worth noting in the life of any ordinary man. In that of Burns, considering how exclusively we have hitherto heard of him as a poor man, in the way of being patronised by others, even the smallest matter on the other side has some interest. There was a certain Alexander Crombie, a builder at Dalswinton, who had reared the farm - edifices at Ellisland, and whom Burns had probably found to be a good fellow struggling with the difficulties of inadequate capital. A bill lies before me, di-awn by Burns for £20, under date ' Dumfries, December 15, 1790,' at three months, and accepted by Crombie. It is indorsed by Burns to Mr David Staig, agent for the Bank of Scotland at Dumfries. An instrument of protest for non-payment of this bill, drawn up on the 18th of March 1791, is also preserved, shewing that Crombie had not been ready to withdraw it at the proper time. This, after the lapse of some time, had been intimated to the poet by a letter from Mr James Gracie, an officer in the bank, and we obtain from another source a note of Burns in answer thereto : — Globe Inn, 8 o'clock p.m. Sir — I liave your letter ancnt Crombie's bill. Your forbearance lias been very great. I did it to accommodate the tliouglitless fellow. He asks till Wednesday week. If he fail, I pay it myself. In the meantime, if horning and caption be absolutely uGccssary, grip him by the neck, and welcome. Yours, Egbert Burns. It is perhaps just barely worthy of being mentioned, that Mr Hill signs a quittance for payment in full to Burns, 5th December 1791, when the poet would probably be somewhat more in cash than for some time before, in consequence of the sale of his farming effects. The sum was £8, 16s. 8d. The books collected by a man being an index of his taste, it may be curious to see what those were which Burns obtained from received your favour of the 5th instant this day, containing a bill for the money expended in your deceased brother's sicUneES and funeral. Wishing you all health and happiness, I am, air, your very humble servant, W. Barber.— iira«d, Oct. 8, ELEGY ON MISS EUENET. 167 Peter Hill. "We find tliem to have been as follows : — Letters on the Religion Essential to Man ; Peregrine Pickle ; Count Fathom ; Launcelot Greaves ; a Family Bible (£2) ; Johnson's English Dictionary, 8vo edition; Shakspeare; Ossian's Poems; Smellie's Philosophy of Natural History ; The World ; Garrick's Works ; Gibber's Works — all of these prior to March 6, 1790 ; the remainder on the 20th January 1791 — The Adventurer; Arabian Nights' Entertainments; Joseph Andrews; Roderick Random; The Scots Worthies ; Marrow of Modern Divinity ; Cole on God's Sovereignty ; Newton's Letters ; Confession of Faith ; Boyle's Voyages; Blair's Sermons; Guthrie's Grammar ; Buchan's Domestic Medicine; Price on Providence and Prayer; Don Quixote; The Idler. It thus appears that Burns loved Fielding and Smollett, the English essayists and dramatists, and books of liberal divinity. Besides books, the amount includes £1, lis. 6d. for a copy of Ainslie's IMap of Scotland on rollers. Burns would of course love to see ' Caledonia stem and wild,' his ' auld respected mother,' hung up in full view in his best room. » TO MR CUNNINGHAM. Ellisland, 23d January 1791. Many happy returns of the season to you, my dear friend ! As many of the good things of this life as is consistent with the usual mixture of good and evil in the cup of being ! I have just finished a poem — Tarn r> Shanter — which you will receive enclosed. It is my first essay in the way of tales. I have these several months been liammering at an elegy on the amiable and accomplished !SIiss Burnet.' I have got, and can get, no farther than the following fragment, on which please give me your strictures. In all kinds of poetic composition, I set great store by your opinion ; but in sentimental verses, in the poetry of the heart, no Roman Catholic ever set more value on the infallibility of the Holy Father than I do on yours. I mean the introductory couplets as text verses. ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET OF MONBODDO. Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize As Burnet, lovely from her native slvics ; Nor envious death so triumphed in a blow, As that which laid th' accomplished Burnet low. > This beautiful oro.ituro, to whom Hums paid so hi'-!li a complimrnt in his address to Edinburijii, had been carried off by eonsuniption, 17th June 1790. 168 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ? In ri(;liest ore tlie brightest jewel set ! In thee, high Heaven above was truest sliewn, As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known. In vain j'c flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; Thou crystal streamlet with tliy flowery sliorc, Ye Avoodland choir that chant j'our idle loves. Ye cease to charm— Eliza is no more ! Ye heathy wastes, immixed with reed}' fens ; Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stored ; Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhangiug dreary glens, To you I fly, ye witli my soul accord. Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their worth, 8Iiall venal lays their jiompous exit hail ? And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth, And not a muse in honest grief bewail ? We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres ; But, like tlio sun eclipsed at morning-tide, Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, That heart how sunk, a i)rey to grief and care ; So decked the woodbine sweet yon aged tree ; iSo from it ravished, leaves it bleak and bare. Let me hear from you soon. Adieu ! R. B. The licv. Archibald Alison, a clergyman of the English Church, but connected with .Scotland, and ultimately for many years minister of one of the Episcopal chapels in Edinburgh, had at this time produced his celebrated Essay on Taste. Having become acquainted with Burns in Edinburgh, he sent a copy of the book to Ellisland. TO THE REV. ARCHIBALD AtlSON. Ellisland, WU Feb. 17!)1. '^^^ — You must by this time have set me down as one of the most tingratefid of men. You did me the honour to present me with a book which does honour to science and the intellectual powers of inan, and I have not even so much as acknowledged the receipt of it. The fact is, you yourself are to blame for it. Flattei-cd as I was by your telling me that you wished to have my opinion of the work, the old spiritual enemy of mankind, who knows well that vanity is one BURKS ON THE DOCTRINE OF ASSOCIATION. 169 of tlie sins that most easily beset mc, put it into my head to ponder over the performance with the look-out of a critic, and to draw up forsooth a deep- learned digest of strictures on a composition, of which, in fact, until I read the book, I did not even know the fiist principles. I own, sir, that at first glance several of your propositions startled me as paradoxical. That the martial clangour of a trumjiet had something in it vastly more grand, heroic, and sublime, than the twingle-twangle of a Jew's harp : that the delicate flexure of a rose- twig, wlien the half-blown flower is heavy with the tears of the dawn, was infinitely more beautiful and elegant than the ui)riglit stub of a burdock ; and that from something innate and independent of all associations of ideas — -these I had set down as irrefragable, orthodox truths, until perusing your book siiook my faith. In short, sir, except Euclid's Elements of Gcometri/, which I made a shift to imravel by my father's fireside in the winter evenings of the first season I held the plough, I never read a book which gave me such a TIio towl here referred to was formed of laph-oUaris, tlie Btonc of wliiuli Tnvc- rary C'astlo is built. It was fasliioned by tlie liands of Mr Armour of Maiieliliiie, nnd presented by him as a miirriaRC-gift to his famoiis son-inlaw. After the poet's death, it fell into the hands of Mr Ale.xander Cunningham of Pldinburgh, front which attain it passed to those of Mr Hastic, representative of Paisley in several parliaments, who is said to have refused three hundred guineas for it, a sum that Would have set Hums on his legs for ever! 102 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. and could scarcely distinguish it when assisted by the morning's dawn.'^ TO MR THOMAS SLOAN. Ellisland, \r.l Sept. l/Ol. My dear Sloan — Suspense is worse than disappointment; for that reason I hurry to tell you that I just now learn that Mr Ballantine does not choose to interfere more in the business. I am truly sorry for it, but cannot help it. You blame me for not writing you sooner ; but you will please to recollect that you omitted one little necessary piece of information — your address. However, you know equally well my hurried life, indolent temper, and strength of attaclmient. It must be a longer period than the longest life ' in the world's hale and undegenerate days,' that will make me forget so dear a friend as Mr Sloan. I am prodigal enough at times, but I will not part with such a treasure as that. I can easily enter into the emharras of your present situation. You know my favourite quotation from Young — -' On Reason build Resolve! That column of true majosty in man." And that other favourite one from Tliomson'a Alfred — • What proves the hero truly great, la, never, never to despair." Or, shall I quote you an author of your acquaintance ? ' Whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, You may do miracles by — persevering.' I have nothing new to tell you. The few friends we have are going on in the old way. I sold my croi) on this day se'en-night, and sold it very well. A guinea an acre, on an average, above value. But such a scene of dnnikenncss was hardly ever seen in this country. After the roup was over, about thirty people engaged in a battle, every num for his own hand, and fouglit it out for three hours. Nor was the scone much better in the liousc. No fighting, indeed, but folks lying drunk on the floor, and decanting, until both my dogs got so drunk by attending them that they could not stand. You will easily guess how I enjoyed the scene, as I was no farther over than you used to see me. Mrs B. and family have been in Ayrshire tliese many weeks. Tarewell ! and God bless you, my dear friend! E. B. ' Given from the information of one of the party. INVITATION FROM THE EARL OF BUCIIAN. 193 Tlie reader must not suppose that Burns had given any special encouragement to the glass at the sale of his crop. It was the custom on such occasions to produce a quantity of whisky or some similar liquor, from which the persons attending the sale were expected to help themselves at discretion. The common belief was, that without this attraction there might be a difficulty in assembling a company, and that without such a stimulus to bidding the stock would go off at prices beneath its value. Such matters are usually left to the auctioneer, and probably on this occasion our poet was passive in all respects but that of an observer of self-degraded human nature. There is seldom any excess now- a-days ; but stiU the bottle never fails to appear side by side with the auctioneer. The Earl of Buchan, whose connection with the Glencairn family gave him a claim on Burns's consideration which he could never have derived from his own character, was at this time con- templating one of the puerile fetes for which he had so restless a propensity, the ostensible object being the inauguration of a temple built to Thomson the poet on Ednam Hill, while the true one was the glorification of the Earl of Buchan. His lordship wrote to Burns, requesting his presence on the occasion, and suggesting that he should ' go across the country, and meet the Tweed at the nearest point to his farm — and wandering along the pastoral banks of Thomson's pure parent stream, catch inspiration on the devious walk, till he finds Lord Buchan sitting on the ruins of Dryljurgh. There,' he adds, ' the Commendator [for so he considered himself, as being the successor of the ancient abbots] will give him [Burns] a hearty welcome, and try to light his lamp at the pure flame of native genius upon the altar of Caledonian virtue !' Burns gave a courteous and conceding answer : TO THE EARL OF BUCHAN, Er.Lisi.AVD, [September'] 1790. My Lord — Language sinks under the ardour of my feelings wlien I would tliuiik your h)rdshi)) for the honour you liave done 7no in inviting me to make one at tlic coronation of tliu bust of Tliomson. In my first enthusiasm ia reading the cai'd you did mo the lionour to write me, I overlooked every obstacle, and determined to go ; but I fear it will not be in my j)Ower. A week or two's absence, in tlio very middle of my harvest, is wliat I nuicli doubt I dare not venture on. I once already made a jiilgrirnage uj) tlic wliole course of tlio Tweed,' and fondly would I take the same deliglitful journey down the winding's of tiiat deli'ditful stream. 1 In reality, only to Innerleithen. VOL. III. M 194 - LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Your lordship hints at an odo for the occasion ; but v/ho would •write after Collins? I read over his verses to the memory of Thomson, and despaired. I got indeed to the length of three or four stanzas, in the way of address to the shade of the bard, on crowning his bust. I shall trouble your lordship with the subjoined copy of tlicm, which, I am afraid, will be but too convincing a proof how unequal I am to the task. However, it aftbrds me an opportunity of approaching your lordship, and declaring how sincerely and gratefully I have the honour to be, &c. R. B. ox CROW.MXG Ills BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. "While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle jrreen, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, Or tunes Jilolian strains between : ' "While Summer with a matron grace Eetreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace The progress of the spiky blade : While Autumn, benefactor kind, By Tweed erects his aged head. And sees, with self-approving mind. Each creature on his bounty fed : "While maniac Winter rages o'er The hills whence classic Yarrow flows. Bousing the turbid torrent's roar, Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : So long, sweet Poet of the year ! Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won ; While Scotia, witli exulting tear. Proclaims that Thomson was her son. Burns, in looking into Collins for his verses to tlie memory of Thomson, had probably glanced at the same poet's exquisite Ode io Evening, for the three concluding verses are manifestly imitated in this address: ' W^hile Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe tliy breathing tresses, meekest Eve : While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light : LETTER TO COLONEL FULLAETON. 195 Willie sallow Autumn fills thy cup with loaves, Or Whiter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes : So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favom'ite name ! ' TO COLONEL FULLARTON, OF FULLARTON.^ Ellisland, October 3, 179L Sir — I have just this minute got the frank, and next minute must send it to post ; else I purposed to have sent you two or three other bagatelles that might have amused a vacant hour, about as well as Six Excellent Neio Songs, or the Aberdeen Prognostications for the Year to come? I shall probably trouble you soon with another packet : about the gloomy mouth of jS^ovember, when the people of England hang and drown themselves, anything generally is better than one's own thoughts. Fond as I may be of my own productions, it is not for their sake that I am so anxious to send you them. I am ambitious, covetously ambitious, of being known to a gentleman whom I am proud to call my countryman ;•' a gentleman, who was a foreign ambassador as soon as he was a man, and a leader of armies as soon as he was a soldier, and that with an eclat unknown to the usual minions of a court — men who, with all the adventitious advantages of princely connections and princely fortunes, must yet, like the caterpillar, labour a whole lifetime before they reach the wished-for height, there to roost a stupid chrysalis, and doze out the remaining glimmering existence of old age. If the gentleman that accompanied you when you did me the honour of calling on me, is with you, I beg to be respectfully remem- bered to him. I have the honour to be your highly obliged, and most devoted humble servant, K. B. Burns had become acquainted, probably at Friars' Carse, with ' This gentleman, it will be recollected, is honourably mentioned in The Vision. The letter first appciircd in the Paislq/ Magazine, 1828. For the favour- able opinion which he entertained of Hums, sec the present volume, p. 1.39. 2 A conspicuous brancli uf popular literature in .Scotland till a recent period con- Bistcd of coarse brochures of four leaves, sold at a halfpenny, and generally con- taining something approjiriato to the title of 'Six Excellent New Sonps — viz.' iVc. The other branch of popular literature mentioned in the text consisted of abnanacs, published at Aberdeen, at the price of a penny. '^ Meaning a native of the same county. 19G LIFE AND AVOr.KS OF BURNS. a beautiful young Englisliwoman, a relation of the Eiddels, and also connected by the marriage of a sister with the noble family of Kenmure in the neighbouring stewartry. Deborali Davies —for this was her name — was of small stature, but exquisitely handsome, and she possessed more than an average share of mental graces. With his usual sensibility to female beauty, but especially that of a refined and educated woman. Burns became an idolater of Miss Davies, and the feelings which possessed him soon led to aa effusion of both prose and verse. TO MISS DAVIFS. Madam — I understand my very wortliy neighbour, Mr Riddel, has informed you tliat I have made you the subject of some verses. There is something so provolcing in the idea of being the burden of a ballad, that I do not think Job or Moses, though such patterns of patience and meekness, could have resisted the curiosity to know what tliat ballad was ; so my worthy friend has done me a mischief, which I daresay he never intended, and reduced me to the unfor- tunate alternative of leaving your curiosity xmgratilied, or else disgusting you with foolish verses, the imfinislied production of a random moment, and never meant to have met your ear. I have heard or read somewhere of a gentleman who had some genius, much eccentricity, and very considerable dexterity with his pencil. In the accidental group of life into which one is thrown, wherever this gentleman met with a character in a more than ordinary degree congenial to liis licart, lie used to steal a sketcli of the face ; merely, lie said, as a nota bene, to point out the agreeable recollection to his memory. Wliat this gentleman's pencil was to him, my Muse is to me; and the verses I do myself tlie lionour to send you are a metncuto exactly of the same Icind that be indulged in. It may be moi"e owing to the fastidiousness of my caprice than tlie delicacy of my taste, but I am so often tired, disgusted, and liurt witli the insipidity, affectation, and pride of mankind, that when I meet with a person 'afccr my own heart,' I positively feel what an orthodox Protestant would call a species of idolatry, which acts on my fancy like inspiration ; and I can no more desist rhyming on the impulse, than an /Eolian harp can refuse its tones to the stream- ing air. A distich or two would be the consequence, though the object which hit my fancy were gray -bearded age; but where my theme is youth and beauty, a young lady whose personal charms, wit, and sentiment, are equally striking and unaffected — by Heavens! though I had lived threescore yeai's a married man, and threescore years before I was a married man, my imagination would hallow the very idea : and I am truly sorry that the enclosed stanzas have done Buch poor justice to such a subject. R. B. SONGS ON MISS DAYIES. 197 LOVELY DAYIES. TvsE—Miss iluii: O how shall I, imskilfii', try The poet's occupation, The tiinefu' powers, in happy hours, That whisper inspiration ? Even they maun dare an effort mair Than aught they ever gave us, Ere they rehearse, in equal verse, The charms o' lovely Davies. Each eye it cheers, when she appears. Like Phoebus in the morning, "NVhen past the shower, and every flower The garden is adorning. As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, When winter-bound the wave is; Sae droops our heart when we maun part Frae charming, lovely Davies. Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift. That maks us mair than princes ; A sceptered hand, a king's comuiaud. Is in her darting glances : The man in arms, 'gainst female charms, Even he her willing slave is ; He hugs his chain, and owns the reign Of conquering, lovely Davies. 3Iv Muse to dream of such a theme, Her feeble powers surrender ; The casrle's jrazo alone survevs The sun's meridian splendour : I Mad in vain essay the strain. The deed too daring brave is ; I'll drop the lyre, and mute admire The charms o' lovely Davies. Burns afterwards canonised the lady still more effectively in a briei'cr but more sentimental ditty, which had the good fortune to he conceived in connection with one of the most tenderly-beautiful of the national airs. THE BOXME WEF. TIIINO. TrvR— Bonnie icec Thing. Bonnie wee thing, cannic wee thing, Lovely woe thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear tlicc in ]uy bosom. Lest my jewel I should tine! 198 LIFE AND WOEKS OF BURNS. Wishfully I Ipok and languish In that bonnie face o' thine ; And my heart it stouuds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na miine. Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, In ae constellation shine; To adore thee is my dutj', Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! Bonnie wee thing, cannie v/ee thing, Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine ! ' One day, while Burns was at Moffat ' — thus writes Allan Cunningham — ' the charming, lovely Davies rode past, accompanied by a lady tall and portly: on a friend asking the poet, why God made one lady so large, and Miss Davies so little, he replied in the words of the epigram : ' Ask why God made the gem so small, And v/hy so huge the granite ? Because God meant mankind should set The hiffher value on it. *£>' ' No one,' adds Allan, ' has apologised so handsomely for scrimpit stature.' TO MISS DAVIES. It is impossible, madam, that the generous warmth and angelic purity of your youthful mind can have any idea of that moral disease under which I unhappily must rank as the chief of sinners : I mean a torpitude of the moral powers, that may be called a lethargy of conscience. In vain Remorse rears her horrent crest, and rouses all her snakes : beneath the deadly fixed eye and leaden hand of Indolence, their wildest ii'e is charmed into the torpor of the bat, slumbering out the rigours of winter in the chink of a ruined wall. Nothing less, madam, could have made me so long neglect your obliging commands. Indeed, I had one apology — the bagatelle was not worth presenting. Besides, so strongly am I interested in Miss Davies's fate and welfare in the serious business of life, amid its chances and changes, that to make her the subject of a silly ballad is downright mockery of these ardent feelings ; 'tis like an imper- tinent jest to a dying friend. Gracious Heaven ! why this disparity between our wishes and our powers? Why is the most generous wish to make others blest EVENTUAL HISTORY OF MISS DAVIES. 199 impotent and ineffectual, as the idle breeze that crosses the pathless desert ? In my walks of life I have met Avith a few people to whom how gladly would I have said : ' Go ! be happy! I know that your hearts have been wounded by the scorn of the proud, whom accident Las placed above you — or, worse still, in whose hands are perhaps placed many of the comforts of your life. But there ! ascend that rock. Independence, and look justly down on their littleness of soul. Make the worthless tremble under your indignation, and the foolish sink before your contempt ; and largely impart that happiness to others which, I am certain, will give yourselves so much pleasui-e to bestow.' Why, dear madam, must I wake from this delightful reverie, and find it all a dream ? Why, amid my generous enthusiasm, must I find myself poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of Pity, or of adding one comfort to the friend I love ! Out upon the world ! say I, that its afFaii'S are administered so ill ! They talk of reform ; good Heaven ! what a reform would I make among the sons, and even the daughters, of men ! Down immediately should go fools from the high places where misbegotten chance has perked them up, and through life should they skulic, ever haunted by their native insignificance, as the body marches accompanied by its shadow. As for a much more formidable class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do with them : had I a world, there should not be a knave in it. But the hand that coidd give, I would liberally fill ; and I would pour delight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and generously love. Still, the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively toler- able — but there is a delicacy, a tenderness, accompanying every view in which we can place lovely woman, that are grated and shocked at the rude, capricious distinctions of Fortune. Woman is the blood- royal of life : let there be slight degrees of precedency among them ■ — but let them be all sacred. Whether this last sentiment be right or wrong, I am not accountable : it is an original component feature of my mind. E. B. Allan Cunningham relates the romantic subsequent history of Miss Davies, from the information of a nephew of the lady. A Captain Dclany ' made himself acceptable to her by sympathising in her pursuits, and writing verses on her, calling her his Stella, an ominous name, which might have brought the memoi'y of Swift's unhappy mistress to her mind. An offer of marriage was made and accepted ; but Delany's circumstances were urged as an obstacle: delays ensued : a coldness on the lover's part followed : his regi- ment was called abroad, he went with it : she heard from him once and no more, and was left to mourn tlie change of affection — to droop and die. He perished in battle or by a foreign climate, soon 200 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS, after tlic dccath of the young lady, of whose love he was so uuwortliy. ' The "following verses on this unfortunate attachment form part of a poem found among her papers at her death : she takes Delany's portrait from her bosom, presses it to her lips, and says — " Xexfc to thyself, 'tis all on earth, Thy Stella dear doth hold ; The glass is clouded witli my brcatli, And as ray bosom cold : Tliat bosom which so oft has glowed, "With love and friendsliip's name, Where you the seed of love first sowed. That kindled into flame. You tliere neglected let it burn, It seized the vital part, And left my bosom as an urn, To hold a broken heart ; I once had tlioiight I should have been A tender, happy wife, And passed my future days serene, AVith thee, my James, through life." ' Amongst the gentry of Dumfriesshire was one possessed of accomplishments akin to those of Burns — Charles Sharpe of Hoddam, an excellent violinist, and a composer of both music and verse. I am not aware of the publication of any specimen of Mr Sharpe's poetry ; but his son, Mr Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, printed a few years ago an air to the song of llie Ewe-milMmj's Bonnie, which the Laird of Iloddam was believed to have produced upon the stock and horn when only eight years of age ; and it certainly is a pleasing example of melody of the Scottish cha- racter, and perfectly original. Burns having heard an air of Mr Sharpe's composition, adopted tlie whimsical idea of addressing him under a fictitious signature, in the character of a vagrant fiddler: — TO CHARLES SHARPE, ESQ. OF HODDAM, ENCLOSING A BALLAD. It is true, sir, you arc a gentleman of rank and fortune, and I am a poor devil — you are a fcatlier in the cap of Society, and I am a very liobnail in his sliocs ; yet I have the honour to belong to the same family with you, and on that score I now address you. You will perhaps suspect that I am going to claim affinity with the ancient and lionourablc house of Kirkpatrick. No, no, sir : I cannot indeed be properly said to belong to any house, or even any province or "WHIMSICAL LETTER TO CHARLES SHAEPE OF IIODDAM. 201 kingdom ; as my mother, wlio for many years was spouse to a, marching- regiment, gave me into tiiis bad world, aboard the packet- Ijoat, somewhere between Donagliadee and Portpatrick. By our common family, I mean, sir, the family of the Pluses. I am a fiddler and a poet ; and you, I am told, play an exquisite violin, and have a standard taste in the helles leitrcs. The other day, a brother catgut gave me a charming Scots air of your composition. If I was pleased ■with the tune, I was in raptures with the title you have given it; and, taking up the idea, I have spun it into the three stanzas enclosed. Will you allow me, sir, to present you them, as the dearest oftering that a misbegotten son of poverty and rhyme has to give ! I have a longing to take you by the hand and unburden my heart by saying : ' Sir, I honour you as a man who supports the dignity of himiau nature, amid an age when frivolity and avarice have, between them, debased us below the brutes that perish !' But, alas, sir ! to mc you are unapproachable. It is true the Muses baptised me in Castaliaii streams ; but the thoughtless gipsies forgot to give me a name. As the sex have served many a good fellow, the Nine have given me a great deal of pleasure ; but, bewitching jades ! they have beggared me. Would they but spare me a little of their cast-linen ! were it only to put it in my power to say that I have a shirt on my back ! But the idle wenches, like Solomon's lilies, ' they toil not, neither do they spin;' so I must e'en continue to tie my remnant of a cravat, like the hangman's rope, round my naked throat, and coax my galligaskins to keep together their many-coloured fragments. As to the affair of shoes, I have given that up. My pilgrimages in my ballad-trade from town to town, and on your stony-liearted turnpikes too, arc what not even the hide of Job's behemoth could bear. The coat on my bac'.c is no more : I shall not speak evil of the dead. It would be eipially unhandsome and ungrateful to find fault with my old surtout, which so kindly supplies and conceals the want of that coat. My hat, indeed, is a great favourite ; and though I got it literally for an old song, I would not exchange it for the best beaver ill Britain. I was during several years a kind of fac-totum servant to a country clergyman, where I picked up a good many scra]>s of learning, particuhirly in some branches of the mathematics. Wiien- ever I feel inclined to rest myself on my way, I take my scat under a hedge, laying my poetic wallet on the one side, and my fiddle-case on the other, and, placing my hat between my legs, I can by means of its brim, or rather brims, go through the whole doctrine of the conic sections. However, sir, don't lot me mislead yotJ, as if I would interest your pity. Fortune has so mucli forsaken me, tliat she has taught mo to live without her ; and, amid all my rags and poverty, I am as independent, and much more happy, than a monarch of the world. According to the hackneyed metaphor, I value the several actors in the great drama of life simj)Iy as they act tlieir parts. I can look on a wortlilcss fellow of a duke witii unqualified contempt, and can regard an honest scavenger with sincere respect. As you, sir, go 202 LIFE AND AYOEKS OF BURNS. throii^li j-our rdle with svicli distinguished merit, permit me to make one in the cliorus of universal applause, and assure you that, with the highest respect, I have the honour to be, &c. This queer epistle led to an intimacy between Mr Sharpe and Burns, of w^hicli all literary evidence has vanished. The only other memorial of the friendship of the two fiddlers that has appeared is a cm-ious relic in the possession of a gentleman at "Wliitehaven — namely, a masonic apron described as of ' shammy leather, very fine, with figures of gold, some of them relieved with green, others with a dark - red colour,' while ' on the under side of the semi- circular part which is turned down at the top, is written in a bold fail' hand — " Charles Shakpe of Hotham, TO Eabbie Burns. Dumfries, Dec. 12, 1791." 'i The local library scheme which Burns had helped to set on foot soon after coming to EUisland, had now run its three years' course with success. It had become the duty of Mr Kirkpatrick, the minister of Dunscore, to send an account of his parish to Sir John Sinclair, for publication in the large statistical work which he had commenced : from this the reverend gentleman omitted all reference to the Monkland Library, probably, as Allan Cunning- ham suggests, from a dislike to the kind of literature patronised by it. Mr Riddel resolved to make up, as far as possible, for this deficiency, and prevailed on Burns to write an account of the library, Avhich he enclosed to Sir John in one from himself. Both letters appeared in the third volume of the Statistical Account of Scotland. TO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR, BART. Sir John — I enclose you a letter, written by Mr Burns, as an addition to the account of Dunscore parish. It contains an account of a small library which ho was so good (at my desire) as to set on foot in the barony of Monkland, or Friars' Carse, in this parish. As its utility has been felt, particularly among the younger class of people, I think that if a similar plan were established in the- different parishes of Scotland, it would tend greatly to the speedy improvement of the tenantry, trades-people, and work-people. Mr Burns was so good as to take the M'hole charge of this small concern. He was treasurer, librarian, and censor to this little society, who 1 Letter of Mr .John Rnmsay (author of Woodnolcs of a Wanderer), in Ayr Advertiser, January 9, 1851. ACCOUNT OF THE MOXKLAKD LICEAEY. 203 \rlll long have a grateful sense of liis public spirit and exertions for their improvement and information. I have the honour to be, Sir John, yours most sincerely, Robert PiIDDEl. TO SIR JOHN SINCLAIR. [1791.] Sir — The following circumstance has, I believe, been omitted in the statistical account transmitted to you of the parish of Dunscore, in Nithsdale. I beg leave to send it to you because it is new, and may be useful. How far it is deserving of a place in your patriotic publication you are the best judge. To store the minds of the lower classes with useful knowledge is certainly of very great importance, both to them as individuals and to society at large. Giving them a turn for reading and reflection, is giving them a source of innocent and laudable amusement, and, besides, raises them to a more dignified degree in the scale of rationality. Impressed with tliis idea, a gentleman in this i^arish, Piobert Eiddel, Esq. of Glenriddel, set on foot a species of circulating library, on a plan so simple as to be practicable in any corner of the country; and so useful as to deserve the notice of every country gentleman who thinks the improvement of that part of his own species, whom chance has thrown into the humble walks of the peasant and the artisan, a matter worthy of his attention. Mr Riddel got a number of his own tenants and farming neighbours to form themselves into a society for the purpose of having a library among themselves. They entered into a legal engagement to abide by it for three years ; ' with a saving-clause or two, in case of removal to a distance or of death. Each member at his entry paid five shillings ; and at each of their meetings, which were held every fourth Saturday, sixpence more. With their entry-money, and the credit which they took on the faith of their future funds, they laid in a tolerable stock of books at the commencement. What authors they were to purchase was always decided by tlie majority. At every meeting, all the books, imder certain fines and forfeitures, by way of penalty, were to be produced ; and the members had tlieir choice of the volumes in rotation. He whose name stood for that niglit first on the list, had his choice of what volume he pleased in the whole collection ; the second had his choice after the first ; the third after the second ; and so on to tiio last. At next meeting, he who had been first on the list at the preceding meeting was last at this ; he avIio had been second was first; and so on through the whole three years. At the expiration of the engagement, the books were sold by auction, but only among the members themselves ; and each man had his share of the common stock, in money or in books, as he chose to be a purchaser or not. At the breaking up of this little society, wliicli was formed under Mv Riddel's patronage, what with benefactions of books from him, 20-t LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. and what with their ov.-n purchases, they liad collected together upwards of one hundred and fifty volumes. It will easily be guessed that a good deal of trash would be bought. Among the books, however, of this little library, were — Blair^s Sermo>i.<;, BohertsorCs History of Scotland, Hume's History of the Stum-L^, The Spectator, Idler, Adventurer, Mirror, Loungtr, Observer, Man of Feeling, Man of the World, Chrysal, Don Quixote, Joseph Andrews, &c. A peasant ■wlio can road, and enjoy such books, is certainly a much superior being to his neighbour who perhaps stalks beside his team, very little removed, except in shape, from the brutes he drives. "Wishing your patriotic exertions their so much merited success, I am, sir, your humble servant, A Peasant. TO MR MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTY, ON IIIS BIRTHDAY. Health to the Maxwell's veteran chief! Health, aye unsoured by care or grief: Inspired, I turned Fate's sybil leaf This natal morn ; I see thy life is stuff o' prief. Scarce quite half worn. This day thou metes threescore eleven, And I can tell that bounteous Heaven (The second-sight, ye ken, is given To ilka Poet) On thee a tack o' seven times seven Will yet bestow it. If envious buckies view wi' sorrow Thy lengthened days on this blest morrow, May desolation's lang-teethed harrow, Nine miles an hour, Hake them like Sodom and Gomorrah, In brunstanc stoure ! But for thy friends, and they are mony, Baith honest men and lassies bonnie. May couthie fortune, kind and cannie. In social glee, Wi' mornings blithe, and c'cnings funny, Bless them and thee ! Fareweel, auld birkie! Lord be near ye, And then the deil he daurna steer ye: Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye ; For me, shame fa' me, If neist my heart I dinna wear ye While Burns they ca' me ! SOXG OF DEATH. 205 The person addressed in these verses — John ^Maxwell, Esq. of Terraughty and Munches — was a leading public man in the county of Dumfries. He was on several accounts very remarkable, but particularly for his birth and the proximity into which his family history brings us with events comparatively remote ; for jMr Maxwell was grandson's-grandson, and no more, to the gallant and faitliful Lord Ilerries, who on bended knees entreated Queen Mary to prosecute Bothwell as the nuu-derer of her husband, and who sul> sequently fought for her at Langside. One cannot learn without a pleasing kind of surprise that a relation in the fifth degree of one who was Warden of the West Marches in 15-45, should have lived to the close of the French Eevolution wai's, which was the case of Mr Maxwell, for lie died in January 1814. Mr Maxwell was an active man both in the management of his own estate and in public business, and is admitted to have contributed greatly to the jarosperity of liis native district. A very curious paper drawn up by him in 1811, giving a view of the advance of the country in its agricultural economy during his centenai-ian existence, has been published. TO SIRS DUXLOP. Ellisi.an'd, I'lh Dcceniljcr 1791. Many thanks to you, madam, for your good news respecting the little floweret and tlie mother-plant. I hope my poetic prayers luivo been heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of their fullest extent; and tlien Mrsi Henri will find her little darling tlie representative of liis late parent, in everything hut his abridged existence. I have just finished the following song, which, to a lady, the descend- ant of AVallace, and many heroes of Jiis truly illustrious line — and lierself the mother of several soldiers — needs neither preface nor apology, SOXG OF DEATH. Am — Oran an Aoij. Scene— A. Fidd of B.attlc— Time of the d.ay, F.vcninc;— T)io wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in llie following sonj; : — Farewell, tluni fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies. Now gay M-itli the l)i-ight setting sun ; Farewell loves and fricndsliips, ye dear tender ties — Oar race of existence is run ! 206 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's gloomy foe ! Go, frighten the coward and slave ; Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know No terrors hast thou to the brave ! Thou strik'st the dull peasant — he sinks in the dark, Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark! He falls in the blaze of his fame ! In the field of proud honour — our swords ia our hands, Our king and our country to save— "While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, Oh ! who would not die with the brave? The circumstance that gave rise to tlie foregoing verses was — looking over with a musical friend M'Donald's collection of Highland airs, I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled Oran an Aoig, or the Song of Death, to the measure of which I have adapted my stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces, which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares at old Mother Earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to transcribe for you. A Dieuje vous commende. K. B. We have seen that so early as January 1790, after a little more than a year and a half's experience of his farm, the poet had become alarmed at its unprofitableness. His statement to Lady Elizabeth Cunningham in spring 1791 is, that but for the support he had from his Excise income he must have sunk under the bad bargain of his farm. It is difficult now to imagine such a farm as ruinous at £50 or even £70 a year, when the existing tenant pays £170, notwithstanding that it is now less by a few acres than in Burns's time, and that the markets are even lower than they were then. But some explanation is hinted when we hear Burns speaking of wandering out among the broom in his neighbourhood : the land was not then in its present state of cultivation ; high, or even tolerable farming was not understood or pi-actised ; and, accordingly, it might be more difficult to wring £70 out of this farm for the landlord in 1791 than it is now to pay him £100 more. However this may be, Burns now only waited for a some- what better appointment in the Excise to throw up his ungrateful acres.' 1 In a conversation I had with Mr Kirkpatrick, the present tenant, in June 1850, he 8i)oke of the farm as one which would be a pretty good bargain at £14(I, even under the new prospects of British agriculture. The land has been much improved since Buma's time, but still is not of first-rate quality. BUKKS ABANDONS HIS FAEil. 207 His thirrl versified epistle to Mr Graham, which is here placed in summer 1791, expresses, though hintingly, the eager Avishes of the poet for such an appointment, and at length, by the kindness of that gentleman, it was obtained towards the close of the year. He had expected, as we have seen, a supervisorship ; but this was to remain a hope deferred. The arrangement was that Bums should perform duty in Dumfries as an ordinary exciseman, and enjoy a salary of £70 per annum. This was an advance of £20 upon his Ellisland income, and as he did not now require to keep a horse, the advantage must be reckoned at a still higher sum. However this was. Burns considered himself as for the meantime independent of the farm. The mcome was indeed a small one, and it was something of a declension to be the common exciseman only ; but hope at this time made up for pU — he was led to expect an advance in the service which, though increasing his toils, would put him comparatively at ease in his circumstances. On this occasion he composed his \ FOURTH EPISTLE TO MR GRAHAM OF FINTRV. I call no goddess to inspire my strains, A fabled muse may suit a bard that feigns ; Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, And all the tribute of ray heart returns, For boons accorded, goodness ever new. The gift still dearer, as the giver, you. Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light ! And all ye many sparkling stars of night ; If aught that giver from my mind efface. If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres, Only to number out a villain's years ! As a first step, he had to get Ellisland taken off his hands by Mr Miller. It had pleased Heaven to bring these two remarkable men into a sort of friendship, but to ' decrease it upon better acquaintance.' Burns quickly found that Mr Miller's relation to him was that of the patron : he expected deference, and Avhen Burns would not submit to such terms, tlic landlord and his gifted tenant became comparatively estranged. Yet there is no evidence of Mr iMiller having ever acted otherwise than generously and leniently with Burns, or of Burns having ever acted ungratefully or with open disrespect towards Mr Miller. "When the crisis arrived which caused the poet to wish to part with tlie farm, the landlord was fortunately in such circumstances as to render him 208 LIFE AND TVORKS OF BURNS. more than willing to take back the lease. A neighbour, Mr IMorine, was willing to purchase for £2000 what Burns could not profitably lease at £70. Mr Miller was not unwilling to part on such terms with a piece of his property, which was awkwardly detached from the rest by the river. Accordingly, on the 19th November, j\Ir ^loriue became proprietor of ' the forty-shilling or three-merk land of old extent of EUisland,' and Burns at the same time renounced his concern in the ground. lie soon after sold off his stock and implements, and taking a small house in Dumfries, moved thither with his family and his furniture — ' leaving nothing at EUisland,' says Allan Cunningham, ' but a putting-stone with which he had loved to exercise his strength, a memory of his musings which can never die, and £300 of his money sunk beyond redemption in a speculation from which all had augured happiness.' D U M FRIES: Decembeu 1791— July 179G. It must have been a sad change to the poet and his family, when, leaving tlie beautiful knolls and haughs of Ellisland, and all the rough comforts of a farm, they had to take up tlieir residence in the first floor of a small house in the ' Wee' Vennel of Dumfries, -where the father no longer saw the sun rise over the beautiful river, the little ones had no longer the gowaned sod to sport over, and the mother found that every article of household necessity had to be purchased. How light, however, would present inconveniences have appeared, if any of the group could have known that they had taken the first but decisive step towards the tragic conclusion which stretched this noble poet on his deathbed less than five years after! Dumfries is a compact and rather elegant small town, situated on the Is'ith at the point where it becomes navigable. The environs are generally beautiful ; one spot particularly so, where the ruins of Lincluden Church adorn the peninsula between the Nitli and its tributary the Cluden. The curse of country towns is the partial and entire idleness of large classes of the inhabitants. There is always a cluster of men living on competencies, and a greater number of tradesmen whose shop -duties do not occupy half their time. Till a very recent period, dissipation in greater or less intensity was the rule and not the exception amongst these men ; and in Dumfries, sixty years ago. this rule held good. In those days tavern enjoyments were in vogue among men who do not now enter a public place of entertainment once in a twelvemonth. The weary waste of spirits and energy at these soaking evening meetings was deplorable. Insipid toasts, petty raillery, empty gabble about trivial occurrences, endless disputes on small questions of fact, where an almanac or a dictionary would have settled all, these, relieved by a song when it was to be had, VOL. III. N 210 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. formed the staple of convivial life as I remember it in such places in my o^vn younger days. It was a life without progress, or profit, or any gleam of a tendency to moral elevation. The oply redemption to be hoped for it was in such scintillations of wit and eloquence as a man like Burns could give. For him, on the other liand, to do so was to sacrifice the bread of angels before blocks and dolts. Burns came into this society a comparatively pure man, for though the contrary has been asserted, there is no evidence that he had as yet acquired over-convivial habits. His own inclination was to shun rather than to court the bacchanalian revel, and there was a literal truth in what he told the Countess of Glen- cairn as to bringing his punch-bowl from its dusty comer on her ladyship's birthday. Burns, however, does not seem ever to have aimed at systematically resisting the temptations of convivial society. He yielded to them when they came, and it depended on the frequency of occasion or opportunity whether he was to be much or little in merry company. Now tliat he was thrown into Dumfries, it was of course to be feared that he would become much more a victim to such indulgences than formerly. The removal to Dumfries was a crisis in the fate of Bums in another respect. In the earlier years of the French Eevolution, it does not appear that our poet felt much interest in that agitating subject ; nor do we observe any traces of political liberalism in his writings or conduct up to the latter part of 1791. In this respect he was not different from the great bulk of British society, for certainly till the publication of Burke's pamphlet the proceedings of the patriotic party in France had excited much less attention than might have been expected. There were as yet no democratic publications, no ultra-reforming societies. The active sympathisers were a small party of intelligent men, chiefly connected Avith the dissenting bodies. It was only now that the violent arrogations of the democratic party in the Legislative Assembly of France began to be viewed with any serious uneasiness by the English government. Men of rank and state could not but sympathise with the unfortunate Louis, whom his subjects kept in an honourable, but perilous captivity. Sober men began to fear that the new regime was not to settle to quiet or sober courses. On the other hand, the more ardent minds were loath to see danger. It is at this crisis that we find the mind of Burns beginning to kindle to French politics. Formerly ill affected, though in no serious way, to the Brunswick dynasty, it was with liim, as witli many other Jacobites, a simple change in the form of opposition to take up with the doctrines which were now a subject of alarm to the English and all other reigning families. Not that LETTER TO MR R. AINSLIE. 211 he would have readily sanctioned any violent changes in the constitution of his country — such things were not generally thought of — but his sympathies were certainly with the patriots in France, as against their own sovereign and the powers proposing to replace him in full authority. These are general observations which come in suitably at this place ; but it is not immediately that their application appears. TO MR AINSLIE. My dear Ainslte — Can you minister to a mind diseased ? — can you, amid the horrors of penitence, regret, remorse, headache, nausea, and all the rest of the hounds of hell, that beset a poor wretch who has been guilty of the sin of drunkenness — can you speak peace to a troubled soul ? Miserable j'/^rdii that I am ! I have tried everything that used to amuse me, but in vain : here must I sit, a monument of the vengeance laid up in store for the wicked, slowly counting every chick of the clock as it slowly, slowly numbers over these lazy scoundrels of hours, who, * * * *, are ranked up before me, every one following his neighbour, and every one with a burden of anguish on his back, to pour on my devoted head — and there is none to pity me. My wife scolds me, my business torments me, and my sins come stai'ing me in the face, every one telling a more bitter tale than his fellow. * « I began Elihanlcs and Elihraes, but the stanzas fell unenjoyed and unfinished from my listless tongue : at last I luckily thought of reading over an old letter of yours that lay by me in my book-case, and I felt something, for the first time since I opened my eyes, of pleasurable existence "Well — I begin to breathe a little since I began to write to you. How are you, and what are you doing? How goes law? Apropos, for connexion's sake, do not address to me supervisor, for that is an lionour I cannot pretend to : I am on the list, as we call it, for a supervisor, and will be called out by and by to act as one ; but at present I am a simple gauger, though t'other day I got an appoint- ment to an excise division of £25 per annum better than the rest. My present income, down money, is £70 per annum. I have one or two good fellows here whom you would be glad to know. K. B. We have but an obscure notice of a visit which Bums paid to Edinburgh in November of this year, being the last he ever made to that capital. Up to nearly this time Mrs M'Lehose had main- tained the unforgiving distance wliich she assumed after his final union with Jean, notwithstanding his having sent her several 212 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. exculpatory letters. She had lately written to him in a style ■which drew forth the following reply : — STLVANDER TO CLARINDA. I HAVE received both your last letters, madam, and ought, and ■would have answered the iirst long ago. But on what subject shall I write you ? How can you expect a correspondent should write you when you declare tliat you mean to preserve his letters with a view, sooner or later, to expose them on the pillory of derision and the rack of criticism? This is gagging me completely as to speaking the sentiments of my bosom ; else, madam, I could perhaps too truly ' Join grief with grief, and eclio sighs to thine ! ' I have perused your most beautiful, but most pathetic poem ; do not ask me how often or with what emotions. You know that ' I dare to si7i, but not to lie.^ Your versos wring the confession from my inmost soul, that — I will say it, expose it if you please — that I have, more than once in my life, been the victim of a dauining conjuncture of circumstances : and that to me vou must be ever ' De;ir us the light that visits those sad eyes.' I have just, since I had yours, composed the following stanzas. Let me know your opinion of them : — Sweet Sensibility, how charming. Thou, my friend, canst truly tell ; But how Distress, with horrors arming, Thou, .-.las! hast known too well! Fairest Flower, behold the lily, Blooming in the sunny ray ; Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, See it prostrate on the clay. Hear the wood-lark charm the forest, Telling o'er his little joys; But, alas ! a prey the surest To each pirate of the skies. Dearly bought the hidden treasure Finer feclino'S can bestow: Cords that vibrate sweetest pleas\n-e Thrill the deepest notes of wo. T have one other piece in your taste; but I have just a snatch of time. Now, however, the lady was approaching a critical passage of her own liistory. She had resolved, though with much hesitation, KENEWED CORRESPONDENCE WITH CLARINDA. 213 to accept an invitation from her heartless husband, and join him in Jamaica. In the softened feeling arising from the contempla- tion of such a movement, she relented so far towards Burns as to admit him to a visit. Wliat one would give to know the par- ticulars of the interview! It took place on the Gth of December. That it gave occasion to an effusion of passionate feeling is strongly hinted in a letter of the poet written a twelvemonth after. We may also hesitate little in reading as a record of the scene a series of lyrics, one of which is amongst the most eai-nest and arresting expressions of intense feeling ever composed in verse. He also addressed several letters to the lady. TO CT.ARINDA. LcAPHiLLS, Thursday noon, \^Dcc. 11, 179I-] [After transcribing the Lament of Manj Qmen cif Scots; he adds} — Such, my dearest Clarinda, were tlie words of the amiable but unfortunate Mary. Misfortune seems to take a peculiar pleasure in dartinjj her arrows against 'lionest men and bonny lasses.' Of this you are too, too just a proof; but may your future fate be a bright exception to the remark. In the words of Hamlet — ' Adieu, adieu, adieu ! Remember me.' Sylvander. to clarinda. Dumfries, [ISift Dec. 1791] I HAVE some merit, my ever dearest of women, in attracting and securing the heart of Clarinda. In her I met with the most accomplisbed of all womankind, the first of all God's works ; and yet I, even I, had the good-fortime to appear amiable in her sight. liy the by, this is the sixth letter that I have written you since I left you ; and if you were an ordinary being, as you are a creature very extraordinary — an instance of what God Almighty in the plenitude of his power and the fulness of his goodness can make! — I would never forgive you for not answering uiy letters. I have scut your hair, a part of the parcel you gave me, with a measure, to Mr I3ruce the jeweller in Princes JStrect, to get a ring done for me. I have likewise sent in the verses On Sensibility, altered to ' Sensibility how chnrminp, Dearest Nancy, thou canst tell,' &c. to the editor of the Srntx Songs, of which you liavc throe volumes, to set to a most beautiful air — out of coinjilinient to the first of women, my cvcr-bclovcd, my ever-sacred Clariiula. I shall probably write you to-morrow. In the meantime, from a man who is literally drunk, accept and forgive ! II. B. 21-4 Ln?E AND WOEKS OF BURNS. TO CLARINDA. DuMFBiBs, 27(ft Decemher 1791. I HAVE yours, my ever-dearest madam, this moment. I have just ten minutes before the post goes, and tliese I shall employ in sending you some songs I have just been composing to different tunes for the Collection of Songs, of wliich you have three volumes, and of ■wliich you shall have the fourth. SONG. •=■ Iv^s—Rory Ball's Port. Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ! Ae fare w eel, and then for ever! Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge tlice, Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, While the star of hope she leaves him ? Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me; Dark despair around benights me. I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, Naething could resist my Nancy : But to see her was to love her; Love but her, and love for ever- Had we never loved sae kindly, Had Ave never loved sae blindly ! Never met — or never parted. We had ne'er been broken-hearted. Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest ! Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest ! Thine be ilka joy and treasure, Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure! Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! Ae fareweel, alas ! for ever I Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee^ Warring sighs and groans I'll v/age thee. SONG. To an old Scots Tune. Behold the hour, the boat, arrive! My dearest Nancy, fareweel! Severed frae thee, can I survive, Frae thee whom I hae loved sae weel ? SONGS ON MES M'LEHOSE. 215 Endless and deep shall be my grief; Nae ray o' comfort shall I see ; But this most precious, dear belief ! That thou wilt still remember me. Alang the solitary shore, Where fleeting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar, I'll westward turn my wistful eye. Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say. Where now my Nancy's path shall be ! While through your sweets she holds her way, O tell me, does she muse on me ? SONG. To a charming plaintive Scots Air. Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and caro : Sad was the parting thou mak'st me remember. Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair! Fond lovers' parting is sweet, painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; But the dire feeling, oh, farewell for ever ! Anguish unmingled and agony pure ! The rest of this song is on the wheels. Adieu. Adieu. Sylvander. The poet afterwards added the following verses : — Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom. Since my last hope and last comfort is gone ! Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; For sad v.-as the parting thou mak'st me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair! The song to the air Rotij DalVs Port is the remarkable expres- sion of passion above alluded to. The fourth stanza Byron put at the head of his poem, The Bride of Ahydos. Scott has remarked that that verse is worth a thousand romances ; and Mrs Jameson has elegantly said that not only are these lines what Scott says, 21 G LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. 'but in themselves a complete romance. They are,' she adds, ' the alpha and omega of leeUng, and contain the essence of au existence of pain and pleasure distilled into one burning drop.' On the 25th of January 1792, Mrs M'Lehose wrote a friendly letter to Burns, bidding him farewell in anticipation of her immediate departure for Jamaica. She says : ' Seek God's favour, keep his commandments, be solicitous to prepare for a happy eternity. There I trust we will meet in never-ending bliss!' She sailed in February in that vessel, the Eoselle, in which Burns intended to have left his country a few years before. One of the final meetings of Burns and Clarinda is believed to be the subject-matter of the following song, which, however, must be regarded as a poetical rather than historical recital: — O MAY, THY MORN. May, thy morn was ne'er so sweet As tlic mirk night o' December, For sparkling was the rosy wine, And secret was the chamber ; And dear was she I darena name, But I will aye remember: And dear was she I darena name. But I will aye remember. And here's to them that like ourscl' Can push about the jorum ; And here's to them that wish us wecl, May a' that's gude watch o'er them ! And here's to them we darena name. The dearest o' the quorum : And here's to thorn we darena tell, The dearest o' the quorum. These lyrics could not have been written without an earnest, however temporary and transient feeling on the part of the author; yet we conceive it would be a great mistake to accept them as a literal expression of the particular passion in which they origi- nated, or a description of incidents to which that passion gave rise. We ought to make a considerable allowance for the extent to which the poet's mind is actuated by mere considerations of art and the desire of effect. In one there is a levity, and in others a tincture of metier^ which are alike incompatible with our notions of this sentimental attachment. The Ae Fond Kiss appears in a different light. The tragic tale seems there concentrated in a wild gush of eloquence direct from the poet's heart. SONGS ON MRS M'LEHOSE. 217 In the course of the ensuing summer, while Mrs M'Lehose was absent in the West Indies, the poet's feelings subsided into a comparative caha, and he then composed the following beautiful pastoral : — MY NANNIE 's AWA. Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays, And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, AVhile birds warble welcome in ilka green sliaw ; But to me it's delightless — my Nannie's awa. The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw. They mind me o' Nannie— and Nannie's awa. Thou laverock that springs frae the dews of the lawn. The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn ; And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', Give over for pity— my Nannie's awa. Come autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray, And soothe lue with tidings o' nature's decay : The dark dreary winter and wild driving snaw Alane can delight me — now Nannie's awa! ITirowIng himself sympathetically into the circumstances of the unhappy lady, he at the same time gave expression to her supposed feelings in seeking a reunion with her aberrant hus- band : — WANDERING AVILLIE. Here awa, there awa, wandering "Willie, Now tired with wandering, hand awa hamc ; Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, And tell me thou bring'st me my Willie the same. Loud blew the oauld winter winds at oin" parting; It wasna the blast brought tiie tear in my ce : Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. Ye hurricanes, rest in tiic cave o' your slumbers! how your wild horrors a lover alarms! Awaken ye breezes ! blow gently, ye billows ! And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 218 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. But if he's forgotten his faithfullest Nannie, O still How between us, thou wide-roaring main ; May I never see it, may I never trow it, But, dying, believe that my Willie 's my ain! l It will be found that Burns afterwards made some alterations on the above song. In a letter to Mr Cunningham, dated June 11, 1791, we have seen Burns expressing himself warmly in behalf of his friend Mr Clarke, the teacher at Moffat, whom he regarded as suffering an unworthy persecution. He appears in the interval to have been continuing to exert himself in behalf of Mr Clarke. ■*t3 TO MR JAMES 'c[LARKE], MOFFAT. Dumfries, 10//t January 1792. I received yours this moment, my dear sir. I sup with Captain Riddel in town to-night, else I had gone to Carse directly.^ Courage, mon ami ! The day may after all be yours ; but at anyrate, there is other air to breathe than that of Moffat, pestiferously tainted as it is with the breath of that arch- scoundrel, J- — •. There are two quotations from two poets which, in situations such as yours, were congenial to my soul. Thomson says — ' What proves the hero truly great, Is never, never to despair.' And Dr Young — ' On Reason build Resolve, That column of true majesty in man." To - morrow you shall know the result of my consultation with Captain Riddel. Yours, R. B. In the more elevated society of Dumfries, into which Burns had, as usual, been invited, he found a young married lady of no common character. Maria AVoodley was the daughter of a governor of Berbice, and had been married at a very early age to ' This song appears to have had a prototj'pe in an old one of which two stanzas have been preserved : — Here awa, there awa, here awa, Willie, Here awa, there awa, here awa hame ; Lang have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee, Now 1 hae gotten my Willie again. Through the lang muir I have followed my Willie, Through the lang muir I have followed him hame, Whatever betide us nought shall divide us. Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain. * Doubtless to make interest for hia friend on some point brought under his notice. MKS WALTER EIDDEL. 219 Mr Walter Riddel, a younger brother of Glenriddel, possessed of an estate in Antigua, but who had lately returned to his native country to enjoy the fruits of fortune. About four miles to the south of Dumfries stands a handsome mansion surrounded with a small estate ; originally, under the name of the Holm, it was the rural retreat of the eminent advocate Andrew Crosbie, who has been generally reputed as the prototype of Counsellor Pleydell in Giiy Mannering. Afterwards it was bought by a gentleman named Goldie,who called it Goldielea, after his own name and that of his wife — Leigh — a descendant of the elder branch of that distinguished English family. Mr Riddel, purchasing the place from Mr Goldie, named it Woodley Park, after the name of his wife ; and so it con- tinued to be called till, by the non-payment of the purchase- money, it reverted to Mr Goldie, and regained its former appella- tion of Goldielea, by which it is now recognised. The lady, who was as yet under twenty, though already a mother, possessed beauty, abilities, and accomplishments; was a little of an esjrritfort; had a taste for literature and natural history ; and delighted in the society of men of talent. The A'ivid genius of Bums instantly attracted her, and he became a frequent visitor at Woodley Park. There he found a fine library, comprising not only English litera- ture, but choice examples of that of France and Italy, with wliich the fair proprietress was willing to make him acquainted. She- was a writer of verses herself — at first sight an alarming fact for a literary visitor ; but it happened that ]\Irs Riddel's poetry was fiir above mediocrity, and that she had too much good sense to allow it to become an annoyance to her friends. On the whole, then, Woodley Park was a most fiiscinating retreat for our susceptible bard. Nor does it appear that he was treated by either the lady or her husband in a patronising way, but, on the contrary, on a footing of equality, for the eldest son of tlie bard has a recollec- tion of Mrs Riddel occasionally making friendly calls at his father's house in Dumfries. Mrs Riddel had already a little literary scheme of her own in view, and wished to consult competent persons on the subject. It was not, however, of a poetical nature, and therefore she does not seem to have explained it to Burns. As it embraced, in an account of a voyage to ]\Iadeira and the Leeward Isles, some sketches of natural histoiy, she seems to have thought tliat Burns's friend Smellie would be a good adviser respecting her scheme. She asked the poet for an introduction. The idea seems to have been startling to the bard. To present a bcau- tifid, young, accomplished woman of fashion to tlic hirsute, rough- spoken old naturalist, who called him Eahbie, and perhaps never made a bow in his life to man or woman — how was it to be 220 LIFE AND T/ORKS OF EUKNS. accomplished ! Tlie -way in which Burns, after all, performed the duty, is very amusing : TO MR WILLIAM SMELLIE, TRINTER. Dumfries, 52;; January 1792. I SIT down, my dear sir, to introduce a young lady to you, and a lady in the first ranks of fashion too. What a task! to you — who care no more for the herd of animals called young ladies, than you do for the herd of animals called young gentlemen. To you — who despise and detest the groupings and combinations of Fashion, as an idiot painter that seems industrious to place staring fools and unprincipled knaves in the foreground of his picture, while men of sense and honesty arc too often thrown in tlie dimmest shades. Mrs Kiddel, who will take this letter to town with her, and send it to you, is a character that, even in your own way, as a naturalist and a philosopher, would be an acquisition to your acquaintance. The lady, too, is a votary to the Muses ; and as I think myself somewhat of a judge in my own trade, I assure you that her verses, always correct, and often elegant, are much beyond the common run of the ladjj-poetesses of the day. She is a great admirer of your book ;l and hearing me say that I was acquainted with you, slie begged to be known to you, as she is just going to pay her first visit to our Caledonian capital. I told her that her best way was to desire her near relatiou, and your intimate friend, Craigdarroch, to have you at his house while slie was tiiere ; and lest you might think of a lively West Indian girl of eighteen, as girls of eighteen too often deserve to be thought of, I should take care to remove that prejudice. To be impartial, however, in appreciating the lady's merits, she has one imlucky failing — a failing whicli you wiil easily discover, as she seems rather pleased Avith indulging in it — and a failing that you will easily pardon, as it is a sin which very nmch besets yourself — where she dislikes or despises, she is apt to make no more a secret of it than where she esteems and respects. I will not present you with the unmeaning compliments of the seaso7i, but I will send you my warmest wishes and most ardent prayers, that Fortune may never throw your subsistence to the mercy of a knave, or set your character on the judgment of a KOOL ; but that, upright and erect, you may walk to an honest grave, where men of letters shall say : ' Here lies a man who did honour to science,' and men of worth shall say : ' Here lies a man who did honour to human nature.' K. B. TO MR peter hill, DuMFr.Tr.s, 5th Feb. 1792. My nr.Aii Friend — I send yon by the bearer, Mr Clarke, a parti- cular friend of mine, six pounds and a shilling, which you will dispose J 77ie Philosophp of Kaiiiral Iluiory, fergusson's tombstone. 221 of as follows: — five pounds ten shillings per account I owe jMr 11. Burn, architect, for erecting the stone over tlie grave of poor Fergusson. lie was two years in erecting it after 1 had commissioned him for it, and I have been two years in paying him, after he sent me his account ; so he and 1 are quits. He liad the hardiesse to aslc me interest on the sum ; but, considering that the money was due by one poet for putting a tombstone over another, he may, with grateful surprise, thank Heaven that he ever saw a farthing of it. With the remainder of the money pay yourself for the Oflice of a Messenger that 1 bought of you ; and send me by Mr Clarke a note of its price. Send me likewise the fifth volume of the Observer by Mr Clarke ; and if any money remain, let it stand to account. My best compliments to Mrs Hill. I sent you a maukin [hare] by last week's fly, which I hope you received. Yours, most sincerely, II. B. The account here spoken of has been preserved and copied. Tlie following is a literal transcript : — Mr Robert Burns To J. & R. Bunrf. June 23, 1789. 54 Feet Polished Craigkith Stone for a Ilcadstone for Robert ) £■> ,< « Fergusson, at Is. ... . . / 10 Feet 8 inches dble Base Moulding, at Is. 6d. . . . 16 4 I-arge Iron Cramps, 2 10 2 Stones to set the base on, at Is 2 3-;0 Letters on do. at 83 15 8 Lead, and setting up Ditto, . . . . . . 5 Gravcdiggers' dues 5 Mr Robert Burn, in the letter accompanying the account, addressed the poet with the familiarity of an acquaintance. After apologising for the delay that had taken place in erecting the stone, he facetiously says : ' I shall be liappy to receive orders of a like nature for as many more of your friends that have gone hence as you please.'^ It was probaldy about this time that Burns inscribed the following lines in a copy of The World, from which they have been copied : — Ill-fated genius ! Ilcaven-taught Fergusson ! Wiiat heart that fools and will not yield a tear, To think life's sun did set ere well begun To shod its influence on thy bright career. why should truest worth and genius ])ine. Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Wo, Wliilo titled knaves anil idiot greatness shine In all tho splendour Fortune can bestow ! ' O'eiitlcman's Magazine, Nov. 1823. 222 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. TO MR JAMES C[LARKE], MOFFAT. Dumfries, Ifth Feb. 1792. My dear Sir — If this finds you at Moffat, or as soon as it finds you at Moffat, you must without dehiy wait on Mr Riddel, as he has been very kindly thinking of you in an affair that has occurred of a clerk's place in Manchester, which, if your hopes are desperate in your present business, he proposes procuring for you. I know your gratitude for past, as well as hopes of future favours will induce you to pay every attention to Glenriddcl's wishes ; as he is almost the only, and undoubtedly the best friend that your unlucky fate has left you. Apropos, I just now hear that you have beat your foes, every tail hollow. Huzza ! lo triumplie ! Mr Riddel, who is at my elbow, says that if it is so, he begs that you will wait on him directly, and I know you are too good a man not to pay your respects to your saviour. Yours, R. R. A letter written at this time to William Nicol explains itself as drawn foi'tli by an epistle of reproachful advice to the poet : TO MR WILLIAM NICOL. mn February 1792. O THOU, wisest among the wise, meridian blaze of prudence, full- moon of discretion, and chief of many counsellors ! How infinitely is thy puddle -headed, rattle-headed, Avrong - headed, round-headed slave indebted to thy supereminent goodness, that from the luminous path of thy own right-lined rectitude, thou lookest benignly down on an erring wretch, of whom the zig-zag wanderings defy all the powers of calculation, from the simple copulation of units up to the hidden mysteries of fluxions ! May one feeble ray of that light of wisdom which darts from thy sensorium, straight as the arrow of heaven, and bright as the meteor of inspiration, may it be my portion, so that I may be less unworthy of the face and favour of that father of pi'overbs and master of maxims, that antipode of folly and magnet among the sages — the wise and witty Willife Nicol ! Amen ! Amen ! Yea, so be it ! For me ! I am a beast, a reptile, and know nothing ! From the cave of my ignorance, amid the fogs of my dulness, and pestilential fumes of my political heresies, I look up to thee, as doth a toad through the iron -barred lucerne of a pestiferous dungeon, to the cloudless glory of a summer sun ! Sorely sighing in bitterness of soul, I say, when shall my name be the quotation of the wise, and niy countenance be the delight of the godly, like the illustrious lord of Laggan's many hills ? As for him, his works are perfect : ADVENTURE WITH A SMUGGLING VESSEL. 223 never did the pen of calumny blur the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of hatred fly at his dwelling. Thou mirror of purity, when shall the elfin lamp of my glimmerous understanding, purged from sensual appetites and gross desires, shine like the constellation of thy mtellectual powers ! As for thee, thy thoughts are pure, and thy lips are holy. Never did the unhallowed breath of the powers of darkness and the pleasures of darkness pollute the sacred flame of thy sky -descended and lieaven- bound desires ; never did the vapours of impurity stain the unclouded serene of thy cerulean imagination. O that like thme were the tenor of my life, like thine the tenor of my conversation ! — then should no friend fear for my strength, no enemy rejoice in my weakness ! Then should I lie down and rise up, and none to make me afraid. May thy pity and thy prayer be exercised for, thou lamp of -wisdom and mirror of morality ! thy devoted slave, R. B. A few days after the date of the last letter occurred one of the most remarkable events m the life of Burns. It may be related in the words of Mr Lockhart, -who constructed this part of his work from original and authoritative documents : — 'At that period [1792] a gi-eat deal of contraband traffic, chiefly from the Isle of Man, was going on along the coasts of Galloway and Ayrshire, and the whole of the revenue-officers from Gretna to Dumfries were placed under the orders of a superintendent residing in Annan, who exerted himself zealously in intercepting the descent of the smuggling vessels. On the 27th of February, a suspicious-looking brig was discovered in the Solway Firth, and Burns was one of the party whom the superintendent conducted to watch her motions. She got into shallow water the day afterwards, and the officers were enabled to discover that her crew were numerous, armed, and not likely to yield without a struggle. Lewars, a brother exciseman, an intimate friend of our poet, Avas accordingly sent to Dumfries for a guard of dragoons ; the superintendent himself, Mr Crawford, proceeded on a similar errand to Ecclefechan, and Burns was left with some men under his orders, to watch tlie l)rig, and prevent landing or escape. From the private journal of one of the excisemen — now in my hands— it appears that Burns manifested considerable impatience wliile thus occupied, being left for many hours in a wet salt-marsh, with a force which he knew to be inadequate to the purpose it was meant to fulfil. One of his comrades hearing him abuse his friend Lewars in particular, for being slow about his journey, the man answered that he also wished the devil had him for his pains, and that Burns in tlie meantime would do well to indite a song upon tlie sluggard : Burns said nothing ; but after taking a few strides 22-i I-IFE AND WORKS OF BUKNS. by himself among the reeds and shingle, rejoined his party, and chanted to them the well-known ditty — TUE DEIL'S AWA Wl' THE EXCISEMAN. [Tune — The Looking -glass. The deil cam fiddling through the town, And danced awa wi' the Exciseman, And ilka wife cries: ' Auld Mahoun, I wisii you luck o' the prize man ! ' The deil's awa, tlie deil's awa, The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman ; He's danced awa, he's danced awa, He's danced awa wi' the Exciseman! We'll male our maut, we'll brew our drink, We'll dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; And niony braw thanks to the meikle black deil That danced awa wi' tlie Exciseman. Tiie deil's awa, the deil's awa, The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman; He's danced awa, lie's danced awa, He 's danced awa wi' the Exciseman ! There's threesome reels, there's foursome reels, There's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; But tiie ae best dance e'er cam to the land Was — the deil 's awa wi' the Exciseman. The deil's awa, the deil's awa. The deil's awa wi' the Exciseman ; He's danced awa, he's danced awa. He 's danced awa wi' the Exciseman !] ' Lewars arrived shortly after with his dragoons ; and Buras, putting himself at their head, waded sword in hand to the brig, and was the first to board her. The crew lost heart and submitted, though their numbers were greater than those of the assailing force. The vessel was condemned, and, with all her arms and stores, sold next day at Dumfries ; upon which occasion Burns, wliose conduct had been highly commended, thought fit to pureliase four carronades by way of trophy.' Mr Lockhai-t goes on to say that the poet sent these guns as a present ' to the French Convention,' Avith a letter testifying his admiration and respect, and that the gift and letter were inter- cepted at the custom-house at Dover. The whole affair was treated by Allan Cunningham as of a fabulous character ; but it has been substantiated in the main PRESENT OF CAXXOX TO THE FREXCII GOYERNMEXT. 225 particulars by Mr .Tosepli Train, the successor of Lewars as supervisor at Dumfries, from the original diary of Mr Crawford; an account of tlie seizure and sale of the vessel by Burns himself; and a document written by Lewars detailing the circumstance of Burns having purchased tlie four carronades, and despatched them as a present to the French Convention. In the sale-catalogue, in Burns's liandwriting, Avhich Mr Train possesses, tlie poet enters himself as the purchaser of the four guns for £3.^ Some doubt may nevertheless remain as to the gra^■ity of Burns's faidt in his disposal of the guns. Mr Lockhart says : ' We were not, it is true, at war with Fi-ance ; but every one knew and felt that we were to be so erelong; and nobody can pretend that Bums was not guilty on this occasion of a most absurd and presumptuous breach of decorum.' With all proper deference, we do pretend at least to doubt, if not entirely to deny, that the act of Burns Avas necessarily to be held as a breach of decorum. A careful investigation of dates and attendant circumstances places the affair in a light very different from that in which it is represented by Mr Lockhart. At the time when Burns purchased the four carronades, there was no such body in existence as the French Convention. Such a body did come into being in the ensuing September ; but if Burns delayed so long to send the guns, the fact should have been ascer- tained and distinctly stated, as a few months in a year distinguished by such a rapid course of events, and such extraordinary changes of public sentiment, make all possible difference in the character of the transaction. If, as is likely, Burns sent the guns to Paris immediately on their being bought (for what other purpose could he have made such a purchase ?), he must have addressed them to tlie Lqiislo.tive Assemhhj — a body which liad as yet done nothing to forfeit the respect of worthy Englishmen, which was at this moment supporting a ministry of the Constitutional party around Louis XVI., and holding fortli every demonstration of pacific feeling towards England. On the 28th of February 1792, it was less than a month from the time wlien George III. opened parlia- ment with little besides congratulations on the peace and internal prosperity of the country. The three per cents, ivcrc above ninelij- six, and expected to go up to par. Not a whisper had yet occurred of any proceedings of the British government with regard to the bad blood arising between France and tlie emperor of Germany. Not till August was the British ambassador recalled from Paris ; not till the ensuing January was war proclaimed by England against France. Burns, in sliort, was entitled, at this 1 Rco tlicse documents more particularly alluded to in Blackie'a edition of Burns, I. ccxliii. VOL. III. O 226 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. particular moment, to make a friendly demonstration towards the French government, -without necessarily being presumed to intend a breach of decorum towards his own. It is true we are told that the authorities at Dover intercepted the guns ; but we do not know how long it was before they reached that place. In the state of conveyances at that time, it could not be a very short time. If they were not there before the end of April — war having then been proclaimed by the French against the emperor — the Eritish government might feel warranted in stopping the guns, merely from a sense of the impi-opriety of sending even this small modicum of aid to a power which was arraying itself against one of our allies. Here it must not be supposed that we are imaware that the British court viewed the proceedings of the Legislative Assembly with dislike even so early as February. M. de Perigord — afterwards so well known as Talleyrand — having then come to sound the English ministry as to their sentiments on the possible attack of the French on the emperor's Flemish domains, found himself slighted at the levee, and was passed by the queen in the drawing-room without notice. But these were only premonitory symptoms of what was to follow. The essential fact of the case is, that the minutest daily chronicles of the time bear no trace of an apprehension on the part of the public that we were likely to become the enemies of France.^ If Burns, then, despatched these guns soon after purchasing them, he may be said at the most to have committed, for a Scottish citizen and public officer, a somewhat eccentric action ; but he cannot be accused of an ' absurd and presumptuous breach of decorum ; ' nor does it appear that his act was regarded in this light by any person entitled to take notice of his conduct. One inference hitherto unnoted is to be made from his purchase of the four guns — that he possessed at this time a little spare money. Of this there are other symptoms, as his settling Hill's accoimt for books in December, and his soon after discharging the debt for Fergusson's tombstone. He afterwards made an acknowledgment to his brother Gilbert, that he had incurred 1 A few gleanings from the newspapers of the day will help ns to set a right estimate on the act of Burns. In the summer of IT.OI, a gentleman of Glasgow had communicated to Lafayette a plan for artillery carried by horses, and four guns so mounted Avere in consequence used by his troops with great effect at the battle of Maubeuge, June 9, 1792. In the latter part of .January 1792, a subscription was opened at Glasgow ' to aid the French in carrying on the war against the emigrant princes or any foreign power by whom they may be attacked.' la the words of the paragraph — ' It is said that £I200 have already been subscribed.' In May 15th, it is stated as a report that sixteen sail of the line are to be fitted out ; ' but we do not believe it, as we Iiope our ministry are too prudent to think of involving this nation in any disputes that may arise from the French lie volution." NOTE TO SAMUEL CLARKE, THE ORGANIST. 227 some debts in consequence of carelessness about expense on liis coming to reside in Dumfries. Thus we see that Burns, when he possessed any money over and above what was immediately required for subsistence, easily allowed it one way or another to slip through his hands. The small reversion of his farming scheme did not probably survive his arrival m Dumfries many months. An interval of some months elapses, during which we have no letters of Burns, nor any trace of his actions. It seems, however, to have been a cheerful period of his life. He is first found writing in July, on a trivial piece of business, to an Edinburgh musical friend : — TO MR SAMUEL CLARKE, EDINBURGH. IGlh July 1792. Mr Burns begs leave to present his most respectful compliments to Mr Clarke. Mr B. some time ago did himself the honour of writing Mr C. respecting coming out to the country, to give a little musical instruction in a highly respectable fiimily, where Mr C. may have his own terms, and may be as happy as indolence, the devil, and the gout will permit him. Mr B. knows well how Mr C. is engaged with another family ; but cannot Mr C. find two or three weeks to spare to each of them ? Mr B. is deeply impressed with, and awfully con- scious of, the high importance of Mr C.'s time, whether in the winged moments of symphonious exhibition, at the keys of harmony, while listening seraphs cease their own less delightful strains ; or in the drowsy arms of slumberous repose, in the arms of his dearly-beloved elbow-chair, where the frowsy but potent power of indolence circum- fuscs her vapours round, and sheds her dews on the head of her darling son. But half a line conveying half a meaning from Mr C. would make Mr B. the happiest of mortals. TO MRS DUNLOP. Annan ■\Vatkr-foot, 22d -4(//7i(.?< 1792. Do not blame me for it, madam— my own conscience, hackneyed and weather-beaten as it is, in watching and reproving my vagaries, follies, indolence, &c. has continued to punish me sufticiently. Do you think it possible, my dear and honoured friend, that I could be so lost to gratitude for many favours, to esteem for much wortli, and to the honest, kind, pleasurable tie of, now old ac(iuaintance, and I hope and am sure of progressive, increasing friendship— as for a single day, not to think of you— to ask the Fates what they arc dou)>' and about to do with my much-loved li'icud and her wide- 228 LIFE AND -WORKS OF BURNS. scattered connections, and to beg of them to be as kind to you and yours as they possibly can ? Apropos ! — though how it is apropos T have not leisure to explain — do you know that I am almost in love with an acquaintance of yours? Almost! said I — I am in love, souce over head and ears, deep as the most unfatliomable abyss of the boundless ocean ! — but the word love, owing to the intei-minr/ledoms of the good and the bad, the pure and the impure, in this world, being rather an equivocal term for expressing one's sentiments and sensations, I must do justice to the sacred purity of my attachment. Know then, that the heart-struck awe ; the distant humble approach ; the delight we should have in gazing upon and listening to a mes- senger of Heaven, a})pearing in all the unspotted purity of his celestial home, among the coarse, polluted, far inferior sons of men, to deliver to them tidings that make their hearts swim in joy, and tlieir imaginations soar in transport — such, so delighting and so pure, were the emotions of my soul on meeting the otiier day with Bliss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour at M[aytield]. Mr B. witli his two daughters, accompanied by Mr H. of G., passing through Dumfries a few days ago, on tlieir way to England, did me the honour of calling on me ; on which I took my liorse — though, God knows, I could ill spare the time — and accompanied them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined and spent the day with them. 'Twas about nine, I think, when I left them, and riding home, I composed the following ballad, of which you will probably think you have a dear bargain, as it will cost you another groat of postage. You must know that there is an old Ijallad beginning with — ' My bnnnie Lizzie Raillie, 1 '11 rowe tlico in my plaidio,' &c. So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy, ' un- anoiuted, unannealed,' as Hamlet says :— BONNIE LESLKY. saw ye bonnie Lesley, As she gaed ower the Border ? She's gane, like Alexander, To sjjread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her. And love but her for ever ; For nature made her what she is, And never made anither ! Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee ; Tliou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. CELEBRATES MISS LESLEY BAILLIE. 229 The deil he couhlna scaiih thee, Or aii<;lit that ^va(l behiug tliee ; He 'd look into tliy bonnic face, And sav, ' I canna wrans: thcc !' Tlie powers aboon will tent thee ; Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, That ill they'll iie'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Keturn to Caledonie 1 That we may brag, we hae a lass There 's nane again sae bonnie.^ So much for ballads. I regret that yon are gone to the cas& country, as I am to bo in Ayrshire in about a fortniglit. This world' of ours, notwithstanding it has many good tilings in it, yet it has ever had this curse — that two or three people, wlto would be the happier tlie oftener they met together, are, almost without exception, always so placed as never to meet but once or twice a year, which, consider- iiig the few years of a man's life, is a very great ' evil under the sun,' which I do not recollect that Solomon has mentioned in his catalogue of the miseries of man. I hope and believe that there is a state of existence beyond the grave where tiio worthy of this life will renew their former intimacies, with this endearing addition — that ' we meet to part no more.' ' Tell us, ye dead, Will none of }'0U in pity disclose the secret, What 'Lis you are, and wc must shortly be? '2 A thousand times have I made tliis apostroplte to the departed sons' of men, but not one of thcni has ever thought fit to answer the question. 'O that some courteous ghost would blab it out!' But it cannot be : you and I, my friend, nnist make the experiment by ourselves and for ourselves. However, I am so convinced that an unshaken faith in the doctrines of religion is not only necessary, by making us better men, but also by nudving us hapiiier men, that I should take every care that your little godson, and every little creature that sliall call me father, shall be taught them. So ends this heterogeneous lettei-, written at this wild place of the world, in the intervals of my labour of discharging a vessel of rum from Antigua. I!. B. ' Mis3 Lestcy Baillic became Jlrs Cummine of Logic, and died at Edinburgh, July li!1.3. * Blair's Grave, 230 LIFE AND WOEKS OF BURNS. TO MR CUNNINGHAM. Dumfries, lOlh Septemher 1792. No ! I win not attempt an apology. Amid all my hurry of business, grinding the faces of the publican and the sinner on the merciless wheels of the Excise ; making ballads, and then drinking and singing them ; and, over and above all, the coi'recting the press- work of two difterent publications ;^ still, still I might have stolen five minutes to dedicate to one of the first of my friends and fellow- creatures. I might have done, as I do at present, snatched an hour near ' witching-time of night,' and scrawled a page or two. I might have congratulated my friend on his marriage ; - or I might have thanked the Caledonian archers for the honour they have done me 3 (though, to do myself justice, I intended to have done both in rhyme, else I had done both long ere now.) Well, then, here is to your good health !— for you must know, I have set a nipperkin of toddy by me, just by way of spell, to keep away the raeikle horned deil or any of his subaltern imps, who may be on their nightly rounds. But what shall I write to you ? — ' The voice said, Cry ;' and I said, 'What shall I cry ?' O thou spirit ! whatever tliou art, or wherever thou makest thyself visible ! Be thou a bogle by the eerie side of an auld thorn, in the dreary glen through which the herd-callan maun bicker in his gloamin route frae the fauld ! Be thou a brownie, set, at dead of night, to thy task by the blazing ingle, or in the solitary barn, where the repercussions of thy iron flail half affright thyself, as thou performest the work of twenty of the sons of men, ere the cock-crowing summon thee to thy ample cog of substantial brose. Be thou a kelpie, haunting the ford or ferry in the starless night, mixing thy laughing yell with the howling of the storm and the roaring of the flood, as thou viewest the perils and miseries of man on the foundering horse, or in the tumbling boat ! Or, lastly, be thou a ghost, paying thy nocturnal visits to the hoary ruins of decayed grandeur ; or performing thy mystic rites in the shadow of the time-worn church, while the moon looks witliout a cloud on the silent, ghastly dwellings of the dead around thee ; or taking thy stand by the bedside of the villain, or the murderer, portraying on his dreaming fancy, pictures dreadful as the horrors of unveiled hell, and terrible as the wrath of incensed Deity ! Come, thou spirit, but not in these horrid forms ; come with the milder, gentle, easy inspirations ■which thou breathest round the wig of a prating ' Mr Creech to Mr Cadell, June 13, 1792: 'I enclose a sheet of Burns's Poems, now going on, that you may have the plate in readiness. There will be fifty pages of additional poems to this edition.' The other work now in the course of being corrected by Burns as it passed through the press was probably Johnson's Musical Museum. 2 '[Married] at Edinburgh (April 13, 1792), Mr Alexander Cunningham, ^\Tite^, to Miss Agnes Moir, youngest daughter of the late Rev. Henry Moir, minister of the gospel at Auchtortool.'— .S'co^s Maf/azine. 3 The diploma sent by this honourable body to the poet is in possession of his son, Major J. G. Burns. LETTER TO ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAM. 261 advocate, or the tete-a-tete of a tea-sipping gossip, "while their tongues run at tlie light-horse gallop of clish-maclaver for ever and ever — come and assist a poor devil who is quite jaded in the attempt to share half an idea among half a hundred words ; to fill up four quarto pages, while he has not got one single sentence of recollection, information, or remark, worth putting pen to paper for. * * * * Apropos, how do you like — I mean really like — the married life ? Ah, my friend ! matrimony is quite a different thing from what your love-sick youths and sighing girls take it to be ! But marriage, we are told, is appointed by God, and I shall never quarrel with any of his institutions. I am a husband of older standing than you, and shall give you my ideas of the conjugal state {en passant; you know I am no Latinist ; is not conjugal derived from jugicm, a yoke ?) Well, then, the scale of good Avifeship I divide into ten parts : Good-nature, four ; Good Sense, two ; Wit, one ; Personal Charms — namely, a sweet face, eloquent eyes, fine limbs, graceful carriage (I would add a fine waist too, but that is soon spoilt, you know), all these, one ; as for the other qualities belonging to or attending on a wife, such as Fortune, Connections, Education (I mean education extraordinary), family blood, kc. divide the two remaining degrees among them as you please; only, remember that all these minor properties must be expressed hy fractions, for there is not any one of them, in the aforesaid scale, entitled to the dignity of an integer. As for the rest of my fancies and reveries — how I lately met w-ith Miss Lesley Baillie, the most beautiful, elegant woman in the world — how I accompanied her and her father's family fifteen miles on their journey out of pure devotion, to admire the loveliness of the works of God, in such an unequalled display of them — how, in galloping home at night, I made a ballad on her, of wliich these two stanzas make a part — ' Thou, bonnie Lesley, art a queen, Thy subjects we before thee ; Tliou, bonnie Lesley, art divine, The hearts o' men adore thee. The very dcil he couldna scathe Whatever wad belang thee! He 'd look into thy bonnie face, And say, " I canna wrang thee." ' Behold all these things are written in the chronicles of my imagina- tion, and shall lie read by thee, my dear friend, and by thy beloved spouse, my other dear friend, at a more convenient season. Now, to thee, and to tliy ])cfore-dcsigncd ioso?rt-companion, be given the precious things brought forth by the sun, and the precious things brought forth by the moon, and the benigncst influences of the stars, and the living streams which flow from tlic fountains of life, and by the tree of life, for ever and ever ! Amen ! E. B. 232 WFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. The Scots Musical Museum of Johnson was orighially an engraver's undertaking. The assistance of Burns unexpectedly made it an ample repertory of the Scottish music and songs, besides giving it the attractions of his own brilliant muse. It had also the benefit of the co-operation of iMr Samuel Clarke, the organist, in harmonising the airs. It was, however, a work of plain appearance, and scarcely suitable in purity of taste for refined society. About the time at which we have now arrived, a small fraternity of musical amateurs in Edinburgh had matured the design of a collection of the Scottish airs with poetry, in a much more elegant form, under more rigid editorial care, and with the novel advantage of symphonies and accompaniments by the first musicians of the continent. The person chiefly concerned was Mr George Thomson, a man somewhat above Burns's own age, occupying the situation of clerk in the office of the Board of Trustees for the Encouragement of Manufactures in Scotland. Another was the Honourable Andrew Erskine, brother of the musical Earl of Kellie,^ a wit and versifier well known in aristocratic circles. The former gentleman lived till February 1851 in the possession of all his faculties, not less in the enjoyment of his favourite music, and of all the rational pleasures of society — a remarkable proof of what a moderate, cheerful mind, not unduly tasked by business or crushed by care, will do in prolonging Hfe, and thus forming a striking contrast to the hapless bard of Caledonia. It was determined by the little group of amateurs that the assistance of Burns should be asked, and Mr Thomson accordingly addressed him. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. Edjnburgh, Scptemler 1792. Sir — For some years past I have, with a friend or two, employed many leisure hours in selecting and collating the most favourite of our national melodies for publication. We have engaged Plcyel, the most agreeable composer living, to put accompaniments to these, and also to compose an instrtmiciital prehide and conclnsion to each air, tlie better to fit them for concerts, botli public and private. To render this work perfect, we are desirous to have the poetry improved wherever it seems unworthy of the music ; and that it is so in many instances is allowed by every one conversant with our 1 Third son of Alexander, fifth Karl of Kellie, by .Tanct, daughter of the cele- brated j)hysician and wit, Dr I'iteairn. BIr Erskine was the author in part of a ciirioiia and rare volume entitled Letters hetrrccn ike Hon. Andrew Erskine and James JSom-cll, E.sq. London, 17f)3— an amusing specimen of youthful frolic and vivacity. AGREES TO VrRITE SONGS FOR MR THOJrSOX. 233 musical collections. Tlio editors of these seem in general to have depended on the music proving an excuse for the verses ; and hence some charming melodies are iniited to mere nonsense and doggrel, while others are accommodated with rhymes so loose and indelicate as cannot be sung in decent company. To remove this reproach •would be an easy task to the author of tlic Cotter's Saturdaij Night; and, for the honour of Caledonia, I would fain hope he may be induced to take up the pen. If so, we shall be enabled to present the public with a collection infinitely more interesting than any that lias yet appeared, and acceptable to all persons of taste, whether they wisli for correct melodies, delicate accompaniments, or charac- teristic verses. We will esteem your poetical assistance a parti- cular favour, besides paying any reasonable price you shall please to demand for it. Proht is quite a secondary consideration with us, and we are resolved to spare neither pains nor expense on tlie publication. Tell me franlcly, then, whether you will devote your leisure to writing twenty or twenty-five songs suited to the particular melodies which I am prepared to send you. A few songs, exception- able only in some of their verses, I will likewise submit to your consideration, leaving it to you eitlicr to mend these or make new songs in their stead. It is superfluous to assure you tliat I liave no intention to displace any of tlie sterling old songs; those only will Lc removed which appear quite silly or absolutely indecent. Even these shall be all examined by Jlr Burns, and if he is of opinion that any of them are deserving of tlie music, in such cases no divorce shall take place. G. Tjiojisox. BURN'S TO MR TIIOMSOX. Dumfries, IC.Vj .Sr/if. 1/9?. Sir— I have just this moment got your letter. As the request you make to me will positively add to my enjoyments in complying with it, I shall enter into your undertaking with alLthe small portion of abilities I have, strained to their utmost exertion by the impulse of enthusiasm. Only, don't hurry me — 'Deil tak the hindmost' is by no means the cri dr guerre of my JIusc. Will you, as I am inferior to none of you in enthusiastic attachment to the poetry and music of old Caledonia, and, since you request it, have cheerfully promised my mite of assistance — will you let me have a list of your airs with the first line of the printed verses you intend for them, that I may have an opportunity of suggesting any alteration that may occur to me.' You know 'tis in the way of my trade ; still leaving you, gentlemen, the undoubted right of publishers to approve or reject, at your pleasure, for your own j)ublication. Apropos, if you are for English verses, there is, on my jjart, an end of the nnitter. Wliether in the simplicity of the ballad, or the pathos of the song, I can only hojie to please myself in being allowed at least a sprinkling of our native tongue. 234 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. English verses, particularly the works of Scotsmen that have merit, are certainly very eligible. Tweedside! Ah! the j)oor shepherd^s mourn fid fate! Ah! Chloris, could I noio hut sit} &c. you cannot mend; but such insipid stuff as To Fanny fair coidd I impart, kc. usually set to The Mill, 3Iill, ! is a disgrace to the collections in which it has already appeared, and would doubly disgrace a collection that will have the very superior merit of yours. But more of this in the farther prosecution of the business, if I am called on for my strictures and amendments— I say amendments, for I will not alter except where I myself, at least, think that I amend. As to any remuneration, you may think my songs either above or below price; for they shall absolutely be the one or the other. In the honest enthusiasm with which I embark in your undertaking, to talk of money, wages, fee, hire, &c. would be downright prostitution of soul ! 2 A proof of each of the songs that I compose or amend I shall receive as a favour. In tlie rustic phrase of the season, ' Gude speed the wark!' I am, sir, your very humble servant, E. Burns. In August, Johnson published the fourth volume of his Scots Musical Museum, containing a number of songs by Burns, either wholly original, or improvements upon rude ditties of the olden time. Such as have not already been inserted in connection with particular dates and circumstances are here presented : CRAIGIEBURN WOOD. Sweet closes the eve on Craigieburn Wood, And blithely awaukens the morrow ; But the jiridc of the spring in the Craigieburn Wood Can yield mc nothing but sorrow. Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie, And oh, to be lying beyond thee ! sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep That's laid in the bed beyond thee. I see the spreading leaves and flowers, I hear the wild birds singing ; But pleasure they hae nane for me, While care my heart is wringing. I canna tell, I maunna tell, I darcna for your anger; But secret love will break my heart, If I conceal it langer. • In manuscript a clause here erased by Bums : ' except, excuse my vanity, you should for Gilderoi/ prefer my own song, " From thee, Eliza, I must go." ' 2 This expression was altered by Currie. In the original manuscript, a stronger term was employed. CRAIGIEEURX WOOD. 235 I see tlicc gracefu', straight, and tall, I see thee sweet and bonnie ; But oh, what will my torments be, If thou refuse thy Johnnie ! To see thee in another's arms. In love to lie and languish, 'Twad be my dead, that will be seen, death My heart wad burst wi' anguish. But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, Say thou loes nane before me ; And a' my days o' life to come I'U gratefully adore thee. [The above, he himself tells us, was composed as a representation of the passion which a Mr Gillespie, a particular friend of his, had for a young lady named Lorimer, who had been born at Craigieburn Wood, a beautiful place near Moffat. The names of Gillespie and Lorimer arc still to be seen inscribed on a pane in the poet's parlour window at Ellisland. As Miss Lorimer was born in 1775, she must have been only sixteen at most when wooed vicariously in those impas- sioned stanzas. It was not her destiny to become Mrs Gillespie ; but it was reserved for her to be the subject of many other lays by Burns, as will be learned more particularly from a subsequent part of these memoirs. Burns afterwards altered and reduced the song of Craigieburn Wood into the following more correct, but also tamer form :— ' Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn, And blithe awakes the morrow ; But a' the pride o' spring's return Can yield me nocht but sorrow. I see the flowers and spreading trees. I hear the wild birds sinjjinnf ; But what a weary wight can please, And cai'c his bosom wringing ? Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. Yet darena for your anger ; But secret love will break my heart If I conceal it langcr. If thou refuse to pity me, If thou shalt love anitlicr. When yon green leaves fade frae the tree. Around my grave they'll wither. 236 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE. Air — Carron Side. Frae tlie friends and land I lovo Driven by fortune's felly spite, Frae my best beloved I rove, Never niair to taste delight ; Never inair maun hope to find Ease frae toil, relief frae care : When remembranee wracks the mind, Pleasures but unveil despaii'. Brightest climes shall mirk appear, Desert ilka blooming shore. Till the Fates nae mair severe. Friendship, love, and peace restore; Till Revenge, wi' laurelled head. Bring our banished hame a":ain ; And ilk loyal bonnie lad Cross the seas and win his ain. [' Bums says of this song : " I added the last four lines by way of giving a turn to the theme of the poem, sueh as it is." The whole song, however, is in his own handwriting, and 1 have reason to believe it is all his own.' — Slenhoiisc.J MEIKLE THINKS MY LOVE. TtJNE — 3fi/ Tocher's the Jewel. O meiklo thinks my luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie j\Iy tocher 's the jewel has charms for him. It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; It's a' for the honey he'll cherish the bee; Jly laddie's sae meikle in hive wi' the siller. He canna hae luve to spare for mc. Yonr proffer o' hive's an arlc-pcnny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; But an ye be craftj', I am cunnin', F>ae ye wi' another your fortune maun try. Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, Ye '11 slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae uor me. [AHhmi^li this song appears in the Musnitn with the name of Burns, Mrs Beg? affirms that it is in reality only an improvement by her brother upon an old song.] now CAN I BE BLITHE AND GLAD? 237 WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE ? IvsE—lflicit can a Young Lassie do wV an Aiild Man ? "Wliat can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, What can'a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? Bad luck on the penny that tempted my minnio To sell her poor Jenny for siller and Ian'! He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to o'enin', He hoas'ts and he hirples the weary day lang ; coughs He's doyl't and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 1 never can please him, do a' that I can ; He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows: O dool on tlie day I met wi' an auld man ! My auld auntie Katie upon mc takes pity, I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break him, And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. now CAN I BE BLITHE AND GI/AD? TijME— TAe I3onnie Lad (hat's far awa. hov/ can I be blithe and glad, Or how can I gang brisk and braw, "When tlie bonnie lad that I loo best Is ower the hills and far awa 2 It's no the frosty winter wind, It's no the driving drift and snaw ; But aye the tear comes in my ce, To think on him that's far awa. Jly father pat mc frae his door, My friends they hae disowned mc a' ; But i hue ane will tak my part. The bonnie lad that's far awa. A pair o' gloves he bought to me. And silken snoods he gao me twa ; And I will wear them for his sake, The bonnie lad that's far awa. ['lie took the fust line, .ind even some hints of hia vcrsca, from nn old smig in Herd's collection, which hcgins, lluiv can I be blithe (rrf E — The Su)L'ct Lass that Iocs mc. O Iceze mo on my spinning-wheel, O leeze me on my rock and reel ; Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, comfortably And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! wraps clean I'll set me down and sing and spin, While laigh descends the simmer snn, low Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — O leeze me on my spinning-wheel ! On ilka hand tlie burnies trot, And meet below my theekit cot; The scented birk and hawthorn white, Across the pool their arms nnitc, Alike to screen the birdie's nest, And little fishes' caller rest : The sun blinks kindly in the biel', Where blithe I turn my siiinning-whecl. On lofty aiks the cushats wail, And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; The lintwhites in the hazel braes, ])eli":hted, rival ither's lavs : The craik amang the clover hay, The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley, The swallow jinkin' round my sliiel, Amuse me at my spinning-wlieel. Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, O wha M'ad leave tliis humble state, For a' the pride of a' the great ? Amid their flaring, idle toys, Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, Can they the peace and pleasure feel Of Bessy at her spinning-wlieel? cool shed wood-pigeons linnets Uind-rciil COUNTRY LASSIE. 241 NITHSDALE S WELCOME HAME. [■Written when Lady Winifred Maxwell, the descendant of the forfeited Karl of Nithadale, returned to Scotland and rebuilt Terregles House, in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright. Captain IJiddel of Glenriddel furnished the air to which Burns composed the verses. ] The noble IVraxwells and their powers Are coming o'er tlie Border, And they'll gao bigg Terregles towers, And set tliem a' in order. And they declare Terregles fair, For their abode they choose it ; There's no a heart in a' the land Eut's lighter at the news o't. Though stars in skies may disappear. And angry tempests gather, Tlie happy hour may soon be near That brings us pleasant weather: The weary night o' care and grief May liae a joyful morrow; So dawning day has brought relief — • Fareweel our night o' sorrow ! COUNT II Y LASSIE. Tune — The Country Lass. In simmer, when the hay was mawn, And corn waved green in ilka field, "While claver blooms white o'er the lea. And roses blaw in ilka bield; BHthe Bessie in the milking shiel, Says: ' I'll be wed, come o't what will.' Out spak a dame in wrinkled cild : *0' guid advisement conies nac ill. • It's ye hae wooers mony ane. And, lassie, ye 're but young, yc ken; Then wait a wee, and cannie wale A routhie butt, a routine l)en : There's Johnnie o' tlie Buskie Glen, Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen. It's plenty beets the luver's fire.' *For Johnnie o' the Buskic Glen, I dinna care a single file; He Iocs sac weel his craps and kye, lie has nac luve to spare for nio: VOL. III. P 242 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. But blithe 's the blink o' Eobbie's ee, And, weel I wat, he loes me dear : Ae blink o' him I wadna gie For Buskie Glen and a' his gear.' ' thoughtless lassie, life 's a faught ; The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; wisest way But aye fou han't is fechtin best, A hungry care 's an unco care . But some will spend, and some will spare, And wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, Keep mind that ye maun di'ink the yill.' * O gear will buy me rigs o' land, And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; But the tender heart o' leesome luve ^ The gowd and siller canna buy. We may be poor — Robbie and I, Light is the burden luve lays on ; Content and luve brings peace and joy — What mair hae queens upon a throne V FAIR ELIZA. [Bums composed this song to a Highland air which he found in Macdonald's collection. In the original manuscript, tlie name of the heroine is Rahina, which he is understood to have afterwards changed to Eliza, for reasons of taste. Mr Stenhouse relates that the verses were designed to emhody the passion of a Mr Hunter, a friend of the poet, towards a Rahina of real life, who, it would appear, was loved in vain, for the lover went to the West Indies and there died soon after his arrival.] Turn again, thou fair Eliza, Ae kind blink before we part. Rue on thy despairing lover ! Canst thou break his faithfu' heart ? Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; If to love thy heart denies, For pity hide the cruel sentence, Under friendship's kind disguise ! Thee, dear maid, hae I offended? The offence is loving thee : Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, Wha for thine wad gladly die ? While the life beats in my bosom, Thou shalt mix in ilka throe ; Turn again, thou lovely maiden, Ae sweet smile on me bestow- THE POSIE, 243 Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o' sunny noon ; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the simmer moon : Not the poet in the moment Fancy lightens on his ee. Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture That thy presence gies to me. LUVE WILL VENTURE IN. TvNE— The Posie. O luve will venture in where it daurna weel be seen ; luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; But I will down yon river rove, among the Avood sae green — And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear ; For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer- And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 1 '11 pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, For it's like a bauniy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou' ; The hyacinth for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue — And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair. And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there; The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air — And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The hawthorn I will pu' wi' its locks o' siller gray. Where, like an aged man, it stands at break of day ; But the songster's nest within the bush I winna tak away- — And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu' when the e'cning star is near, And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear ; The violet 's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear — And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. I'll tie the posie round wi' tlie silken band o' luve. And I'll place it in her breast, and I'll swear by a' above. That to my latest draught o' life tlie band siiall ne'er remove- And this shall be a posie to my ain dear May. g44 LIFE AND -WOrvKS OF BURNS. THE BANKS OF BOON. Tune — Caledonian Hunt's dclUjht. Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sac fresb and fair ; How can yc chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary fu' o' care ! Thou'It break my heart, thou warbling bird. That wantons through the flowering thorn : Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed — never to return ! Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon, ^ To see the rose and Avoodbine twine ; And ilka bird sang o' its luve. And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; And my fause luver stole my rose. But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. This, it will be observed, is a second version of the ballad which r.urns produced in 1787 upon the sad fate of Miss Peggy K . Although none of Burns's songs has been more popular than this, one cannot but regret its superseding so entirely the original ballad, which in touching simplicity of expression is certainly much superior. WILLIE WASTLE. Tune— 27ie Eight Men of Moidarl. Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, The spot they called it Linkum-doddie; Willie was a wabster guid. Could stown a clew wi' ony bodie. He had a wife was dour and din, hard Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither — Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her. She has an ee — she lias but ane, The cat has twa the very colour; Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller : A whiskin' beard about her mou'. Her nose and chin they threaten ither — Sic a wife as Willie iiad, I wadna gie a button for her. FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. 245 She's bough-lionghed, she's hein-shinned, Ae limpiu' leg a hand-breed shortci" ; She's twisted right, she's twisted left, To balance fair in ilka quarter : She has a hump upon her breast, The twin o' that upon her shouther — Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her. Auld baudrons by the ingle sits, the eat And wi' her loof her face a-washin' ; palm But Willie's wife is nae sae trig. She dights her grunzie wi' a luishion ; mouth cushion Her walie nieves like midden-creels, huge fists Her face wad fvle the Lo";an- Water — Sic a wife as AVillie had, I wadna gie a button for her. FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. Tune — The Yellow-haired Laddie. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream. Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds through the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, Yax marked with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, !JIy flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant tliy banks and green valleys below, Wlicre wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea. The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave. As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Clary's asleep by thy murmuring stream. Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb uot her dream. 2-46 LIFE AND TVOEKS OF EUENS. Dr Currie states that this song was composed in honour of Mrs Stewart of Stair, whose paternal property was situated on the banks of the Afton, an Ayrshire tributary of tlie Nith, near New Cumnock. Mrs Stewart, it will be recollected, was one of the first persons of rank who knew or extended any friendship to Burns. In a paper by Mr Gilbert Burns, communicating to Mr George Thomson memoranda of the subjects of his brother's songs, Floio gently, Sweet Afton is thus noticed : — ' The poet's Highland Mary. But Dr Currie gives a different account of it. . . . . G. B. thinks Dr C. misinformed in several of the above particulars ; but he must not be contradicted.' It may be doubted if Mr Gilbert Burns was rightly informed on the subject. THE SMILING SPRING. Tune— 2%e Bonny Bell. The smiling spring comes in rejoicing, And surly winter grimly flies ; Now crystal clear are the falling waters. And bonnie blue are the sunny skies. Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morniii"-. The evening gilds the ocean's swell ; All creatures joy in the sun's returning, And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. The flowery spring leads sunny summer, And yellow autumn presses near, Then in his turn comes gloomy winter, Till smiling spring again appear. Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, Old Time and Nature their changes tell, But never ranging, still unchanging, I adore my bonnie Bell. THE GALLANT WEAVER. TvNK— The Weavers' March. Wliere Cart rins rowin' to the sea, By mony a flower and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me. He is a gallant weaver. O I had wooers aucht or nine, They gicd me rings and ribbons fine ; And I was feared my heart would tine, And I gied it to the weaver. she's faik and fause. 247 Sly daddie signed my tocher-band, dowry-bond To gie the lad that has the land ; But to my heart I'll add my hand, And gie it to the weaver. AYhile birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; While bees delight in opening flowers ; "While corn grows green in simmer showers, I'll love my gallant weaver. she's fair and pause. Tune — She 's Fair and Fause. She 's fair and fause that causes my smart, false I loed her meikle and lang ; She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, And I may e'en gae hang. A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, fool abundance And I hae tint my dearest dear ; lost But woman is but warld's gear, Sae let the bonnie lass gang. Whae'er ye be that woman love, To this be never blind — ■ Nae fcrlie 'tis though fickle she prove, wonder A woman has't by kind. O woman, lovely woman fair ! An angel form 's fa'n to thy share, 'Twad been owcr meikle to gien thee raair— I mean an angel mind. [In a song entitled The Address, -which appears in The Lark (2 vols. 17G5), there is a passage which perhaps sugscstcd the thought in the fourth stanza of the above song— 'Twixt pleasing hope and painful fear True love divided lies ; With artless look and soul sincere. Above all mean disguise. For Celia thus my heart has moved, Accept it, lovely fair; I 've liked before, but never loved. Then let ine not despair. My fate before your feet I lay, Sentence your willing slave ; Remember that though tyrants slay. Yet heavenly powers save. 248 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS, To bless is heaven's peculiar grace. Let me a blessing find ; And since you tvcar an angd's face, shew an anr/cl's mind.^ Mrs Dunlop had written to Burns regarding lier ■widowed daughter, Mrs Henri, who had gone to France with her infant, in order to introduce him to his father's family. The dethrone- ment of the king and proclamation of a republic, and the wild outrageous proceedings against all persons of rank suspected of royalist feelings, had involved the young Avidow in serious troubles, to which the state of her own health was no light addition. TO MRS DUNLOP. Dumfries, 2t(h September 1792. I HAVE this moment, my dear madam, yours of the 23d. All your other kind reproaches, your news, &c. are out of my head, wlien I read and tliink on Mrs Henri's situation. Good God ! a licart-wounded, helpless yoimg woman — in a strange, foreign land, and that land convulsed witli every horror that can harrow the human feelings — sick — looking, longing for a comforter, but finding none — a mother's feelings too — but it is too much: He who wounded — He only can — may He heal ! I wish the farmer great joy of his new acquisition to his family .i * * * I cannot say that I give him joy of his life as a farmei". 'Tis as a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable rent — a cursed life ! As to a laird farming his own property ; sowing his own corn in hope; and reaping it, in spite of brittle weather, in gladness; knowing that none can say unto him, ' what dost thou?' — fattening liis herds ; shearing his flocks ; rejoicing at Christmas ; and begetting sons and daughters, imtil he be the venerated, gray-haired leader of a little tribe — 'tis a heavenly life ! but devil take the life of reaping tlie fruits that another must cat. Well, your kind wishes will be gratified as to seeing me when I make my Ayrshire visit. I cannot leave Mrs B. until her nine months' race is run, which may, perhaps, be in three or four Aveeks. She, too, seems determined to make me the patriarchal leader of a band. However, if Heaven will be so obliging as to let me have them in the proportion of three boys to one girl, I shall bo so much the more pleased. I hope, if I am spared with them, to shew a set of boys that will do honour to my cares and name ; but I am not equal to the task of rearing girls. Besides, I am too poor — a girl should always have a fortune. Apropos : your little godson is thriving charmingl}', but is a very devil. He, though two years younger, has completely mastered his brother. Robert is indeed the mildest, gentlest creature I ever saw. He has a most surprising memory, and is quite the pride of his schoolmaster. ' A son of Mrs Dunlop. CORRESPONDENCE OF JfRS RIDDEL AND MR SMELLIE. 249 You know how readily we get into prattle upon a subject dear to our heart — you can excuse it. God bless you and yours ! R. B. It so happened, nevertheless, that Mrs Burns brought her husband a girl, born on the 21st November. The child was named Elizabeth Riddel, in honour of the lady of Friars' Carse, and lived to be a great favourite with her father. A native of Dumfries puts Burns into an attitude more than usually pleasing to contemplate, in describing him, as she has often seen him, sitting in the summer evenings at his door with this little infant in his arms, dandling her, singing to her, and trying to elicit her mental faculties. It Avill be found that the child was not destined to a long life, and that her death was a source of the deepest affliction to our poet at a time when other woes were pressing upon him. Mrs Riddel had visited Edinburgh in January, had made the acquaintance of jMr Smellie, and soon after (March 7th) we find her transmitting to that sage her manuscript of travels. In an accompanying letter she alludes to our poet. ' Robbie Burns dined with us the other day. He is in good health and spirits ; but I fear his Muse will not be so frequent in her inspirations, now that he has forsaken his rural occupations.' Smellie read the lady's manu- script with surprise. lie says, March 27th : ' When I considered your youth, and still more your sex, the perusal of your ingenious and judicious work, if I had not previously had the pleasure of your conversation, the devil himself could not have frightened me into the belief that a female human creature could, in the bloom of youth, beauty, and consequently of giddiness, have produced a performance so much out of the line of your ladies' works. Smart little poems, flippant romances, are not uncommon ; but science, minute observation, accurate description, and excellent composition, are qualities seldom to he met witli in the female world.' ^ It seems worth while to transcribe these sentences of Smellie, in order to help out our picture of a lady who certainly was one of the most intimate friends that Burns ever had, and whose character of course, on the principle of nosdtur a socits, serves as an illustration of his own. A small volume being put by Mrs Riddel to Smellie's press, the acquaintance between that pair advanced during the summer, and at length in Septem1)er, when the book was nearly ready for publication,2 the eccentric naturalist came to Dumfries, and spent ' Kerr's Jfemnirs of William FlmcUlc, 2 volH. * Mrs Hiildol's work is announced in the Si-uts Magazine of November 1/92, ns pub- lished, uniler the following title :— Ko.v.';''.' '" Ihe Madeira and Laioard Caribbcc Itlands ; with Skelrhet of the Natural Histori/ of thac Islands. By Maria U ♦ * ♦ * * * Cadull, London ; Hill, Edinburgh. 250 LIFE AND WOEKS OF BURNS. some time with tlie lady and liis friend Rahbie. The gay young authoress seduced Smellie to present his extraordinary figure at one of the assemblies of Dumfries, and it is understood that he and Burns received some species of public entertainment from the ma"-istrates. There must have been some brilliant though mixed scenes at Woodley Park and elsewhere on this occasion — vivid gaiety from the lady, wit, sense, knowledge from Smellie, flashes of electric genius from Burns. They would differ from such reunions in our own time, in as far as there was then less restraint of speech. Even a woman of refinement in those days had to stand a great deal from her male friends. For example, we find Smellie telling Mrs Riddel, after a two months' acquaint- ance : ' Your name, to quiet your conscience, shall be contracted Maria R , though I stUl think it would do great honour to any ***** in Britain.' The blank left by our authority can of course be easUy supplied. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, 13tJi Oct. 1792, Dear Sir — I received with much satisfaction your pleasant and obliging letter, and I return my warmest acknowledgments for the enthusiasm witli which you have entered into our undertaking. We have now no doubt of being able to produce a collection highly deserving of public attention in all respects. I agree with you in thinking English verses, that have merit, very eligible, wherever new verses are necessary, because the English becomes every year, more and more, the language of Scotland ; but if you mean that no English verses, except those by Scottish authors, ought to bo admitted, I am half inclined to differ from you. I should consider it unpardonable to sacrifice one good song in the Scottish dialect, to make room for English verses ; but if we can select a few excellent ones suited to the unprovided or ill-provided airs, would it not be the very bigotry of litei'ary patriotism to reject such, merely because the authors were born south of the Tweed ? Our sweet air, 3fy Nannie, ! which in the collections is joined to the poorest stuff that Allan Ramsay ever wrote, beginning. While some for pleasure pawn their health, answers so finely to Dr Percy's beautiful song, Nancy, ivilt thou rjo with me ? that one Avould think he wrote it on purpose for the air. However, it is not at all our wish to confine you to English verses : you shall freely be allowed a sprinkling of your native tongue, as you elegantly express it ; and, moreover, we will patiently wait your own time. One thing only I beg, which is, that, however gay and sportive the Muse may be, she may always be decent. Let her not write what beauty would blush to speak, nor wound that charming delicacy which forms the most precious dowry of our daughters. I do not conceive the song to be the most proper vehicle THE LEA-EIG. 251 ■"or witty and brilliant conceits; simplicity, I believe, sliould be its prominent feature ; but in some of our songs the writers have con- founded simplicity with coarseness and vulgarity ; although, between the one and the other, as Dr Beattie well observes, there is as great a difference as between a plain suit of clothes and a bundle of rags. Tlie humorous ballad or pathetic complaint is best suited to our artless melodies ; and more interesting, indeed, in all songs, than the most pointed wit, dazzling descriptions, and flowery fancies. With these trite observations, I send you eleven of the songs, for which it is my wish to substitute others of your writing. I shall soon transmit the rest, and, at the same time, a prospectus of the whole collection ; and you may believe we will receive any hints that you are so kind as to give for improving the work with the greatest pleasure and thankfulness. I remain, dear sir, &c. BURNS TO MR THOMSOX. Mv DEAR Sir — Let me tell you that you are too fastidious in your ideas of songs and ballads. I own that your criticisms are just : the songs you specify in your list have, all but one, the faults you remark in them; but who shall mend the matter? Who shall rise up and say, 'Go to! I will make a better?' For instance, on reading over Tlie Lea-Rig, I immediately set about trying my hand on it, and, after all, I could make nothing more of it than the following, which Heaven knows, is poor enough : — THE LEA-RIG. •Tune — TAc Lm-Rig. When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells buglitin time is near, my jo ; folding And owsen frac the furrowed field, Return sae dowf and weary ; dull Down by the burn, where scented birks Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, lily ain kind dearie 0. In mirkest glen, at midnight honr, I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie (>, afraid If througli tiiat glen I gaed to thee, My ain kind dearie O. Although the night were ne'er sac wct,i And I were ne'er sae wearic 0, I 'd meet tlice on the lea-rig. My ain kind dearie O. ' This word, whioli raises an unpleasant idea as to the situation of the lovers, was Bubsoqucntly altered by, the poet to wild— ' evidently a great improvement,' says Dr Currie. 252 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Tour observation as to the aptitude of Dr Percy's ballad to the air, Xaiiiiie, 0! is just. It is besides, perhaps, the most beautiful ballad in the English language. But let me remark to you, that in the sentiment and style of our Scottish airs, there is a pastoral sim- plicity, a something that one may call the Doric style and dialect of vocaf music, to which a dash of our native tongue and manners is particularly, nay peculiarly, apposite. For this reason, and, upon my honour, for this reason alone, I am of opinion — but, as I told you before, my opinion is yours, freely yours, to approve or reject, as you please— that my ballad of Nannie, ! might perhaps do for one set of verses to the tune. Now don't let it enter into your head that you are under any necessity of taking my verses. I have long ago made up my mind as to my own reputation in the business of authorship, and have nothing to be pleased or offended at in your adoption or rejection of my verses. Though you should reject one lialf of what I give you, I shall be pleased with your adopting the other half, and shall continue to serve you with the same assiduity. In the printed copy of My Nannie, ! the name of the river is horridly prosaic. I will alter it : ' Behind j'on hills where I.iigar flows. Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of syllables. I will soon give you a great many more remarks on this business ; but I have just now an opportunity of conveying you this scrawl, free of postage, an expense that it is ill able to pay;i so, with my best compliments to honest Allan, Gude be wi' ye, &c. Friday night. Saturdai/ morning. As I find I have still an hour to spare this morning before my conveyance goes away, I will give you Nannie, 0! at length. Your remarks on Eive-bughts, Marion,a.re just; still it has obtained a place among our more classical Scottish songs ; and what with many beauties in its composition, and more prejudices in its favour, you will not find it easy to supplant it. In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl. It is quite trifling, and has nothing of the merits of Eioe-hmjlits ; but it will fill up this page. You must know that all my earlier love-songs were the breathings of ardent passion, and though it miglit have been easy in after-times to have given them a polish, yet that polish to me, whose they were, and who perhaps alone cared for them, Avould have defaced the legend of my heart, which was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, tlieir race. [Here follows the song, M'ill yc go io the Indies, my Mary? Mr Thomson did not adopt the song in his collection.] Gala Water and Auld Rob Morris, I think, will most probably be ' The postage marked on the first letter of Burns to 3Ir Thomson is 8d. — so modestly did the poet regard theEc brilliant contributions to his friend's work. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 253 the next subject of my musings. However, even on my verses, speak out your criticisms witli cijual frankness. My wish is, not to stand aloof, the uncomplying Ligot of opinidtrete, but cordially to johi issue with you^ in the furtherance of the work. A temporary absence occm-red at this time. On his return, the bard found a letter of Mrs Dunlop, informing him of the melan- choly death of her daughter, Mrs Henri.^ TO MRS DUNLOP. [DuMFRiKs, Cf(o6cr 1792.] I HAD been from home, and did not receive your letter until my return the other day. What shall I say to comfort you, my mucli- valued, much-aflflicted friend? I can but grieve with you; consola- tion I have none to offer, except that which religion holds out to the children of affliction— (f/uYf/re/i of aJjlidion!—\\oyf ]v\si the expres- sion!)— and, like every other family, they have matters among them •which they hear, see, and feel in a serious, all-important manner, of which the world has not, nor cares to have, any idea. The world looks indifferently on, makes the passing remark, and proceeds to the next novel occurrence. Alas, madam! who would wish for many years? "What is it but to drag existence until our joys gradually expire, and leave us in a nio-ht "of misery— like the gloom which blots out the stars, one by on'c, from the face of night, and leaves us without a ray of comfort in the howling waste! I am interrupted, and must leave off. You shall soon hear from K. B. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. November 8, 1732. If you mean, my dear sir, that all the songs in your collection shall be poetry of the first merit, I am afraid you will find more difficulty in the undertaking tlian you are aware of. Tiiere is a peculiar rhytiimus in many of our airs, and a necessity of adapting .syllables to the emi)hasis, or what I would call tiie feature-notes of the tune, that cr.amp the ]ioet, and lay him under .almost insuperable difficulties. For instance, in the air, Mij WIf'' '.f a Wanton Wpc Thiiifj, if a few lines smooth and pretty can bo adapted to it, it is all you can expect. The following were made extempore to it; and though, on further study, I might give you something more profound, yet it 'It will be observcil that IJurns here uses a familiar I'-nglish law-tonu in a contrary .sense. *'Sept. 15, [died] at Mu^'es, Aiguillon, Mrs Henry, widow of the late Janiea Henry, Ki'ould humbly suggest,' And ne'er made sic anither ;' and I would fain have you substitute some other line for ' Return to Caledonie,' in the last verse, because I think this alteration of the orthography and of the sound of Caledonia, disfigures the word, and renders it Hudibrastic. Of the other song, My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing, I think the first eight lines very good; but I do not admire the other eight, because four of them are a bare repetition of the first verses. I have been trying to spin a stanza, but could make nothing better than the following : do you mend it, or, as Yorick did with the love- letter, whip it up in your own way : — O leeze me on my wee thing, My bonnie blithesome wee thing ; Sae lang's I hae my wee thing, I'll think my lot divine. Though warld's care we share o't, And mav see meikle niair o't, Wi' her'i'Il blithely bear it, And ne'er a word repine. You perceive, my dear sir, I avail myself of the liberty which you condescend to allow me by speaking freely what I think. Ee assured, it is not my disposition to pick out the faults of any poem or picture I see ; my first and chief object is to discover and be delighted with the beauties of the piece. If I sit down to examine critically, and at leisure, what perhaps you have written in haste, I may happen to observe careless lines, the reperusal of which might lead you to improve them. The wren will often see what has been overlooked by the eagle. I remain yours faithfully, &c. P. S.—YovLY verses upon Highland Mary are just come to hand : they breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, and, like the music, will last for ever. Such verses, united to such an air, with the delicate harmony of Pleyel superadded, might form a treat worthy of being presented to Apollo himself. I have heard the sad story of your Mary ; you always seem inspired when you write of her. COMPLETE VERSION OP THE LEA-PwIG. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Dumfries, 1st Dec. 1793. Your alterations of 3Iy JSfannie, ! are perfectly right. So are those of My Wife's a Wi>isovie Wee Thing. Your alteration of the second stanza is a positive improvement. Now, my dear sir, with the freedom which characterises our correspondence, I must not, cannot alter Bonnie Lesley. You are right ; the word ' Alexander ' malces the line a little uncouth, but I think the thought is pretty. Of Alexander, beyond all other heroes, it may be said, in the sublime language of Scripture, that ' he went forth conquering and to conquer.' For nature made her what she is, And never made anitlier. (Such a person as she is.) This is, in my opinion, more poetical than ' Ne'er made sic anitlier.' However, it is immaterial ; make it either way. ' Caledonie,' I agree with you, is not so good a word as could be wished, though it is sanctioned in three or four instances by Allan Ramsay ;\but I can- not help it. In short, that species of stanza is the most difficult that I have ever tried. The Lea-Big is as follows : — THE LEA-RIG. Tune — The Lea - Jli(j. "When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin time is near, my jo; And owscn frae the furrowed field Return sae dowf and wcaiy O : Down by the burn, where scented birks ^ Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie O. In mirkest glen, at midnight Iiour, I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie <), If through that glen I gaed to thee, My ain kind dearie O. Although the night were ne'er sao wild, And I were ne'er sae wcarie O, I 'd meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie 0. ' For ' scented birks,' in some copies ' birkcn buds.' 264 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. Tlic hunter loes the morning sun, To rouse the mountain deer, my jo ; At noon the iisher seeks the glen, Along the burn to steer, my jo ; Gic me the hour o' gloamin gray. It maks my heart sae cheery O, To meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind dearie 0. I am interrupted. Yours, &c. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. AULD ROB MORRIS. ilh December 1792. There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, dwells He's the king o' guid fellows and wale o' auld men ; choice He has gowd in iiis coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; She's sweet as the evening aniang the new hay ; As blithe and as artless as tlie lambs on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. But oh ! she's an heiress, auld I?obin's a laird, And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard ; A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed. The wounds I must liide that will soon be my dead, death The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. had she but been of a lower degree, 1 then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me ! O how past descriviiig had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express ! DUNCAN GRAY, Duncan Gray cam here to woo. Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blithe Yule-night when we were fou', Ha, ha, the wooing o't. DUNCAN GRAY. 2G5 Mag;gie coost licr head fii' high, Looked asklent and unco skeigh, coy Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh ; aloof Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleeched, and Duncan prayed; flattered Ha, ha, &c. ; Jleg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,l Ha, ha, &c. Duncan sigliod baith out and in, Grat his ccn baith bleert and blin', wept Spak o' lowpin' ower a linn ; Ha, ha, kc. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, &c. ; Slijrhted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, &c. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty liizzic die ? jade She may gae to — France for rac ! Ha, ha, &c. How it comes let doctors tell, Ha, ha, &c. ; Meg grew sick — as he grew heal, Ha, ha, &c. Sonictliing in her bosom wi-ings. For relief a sigli she brings ; And oh, licr eon, they spak sic things ! Ha, ha, &c. Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, &c. ; Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, &c. Duncan couldna be her deatli, Swelling pity smoored his wnith ; Now tliey're crouse and canty baith ; Ha, ha, kc. The foregoing I submit, my dear sir, to your better judgment. Acquit them or condemn them as secmeth good in your sigiit. DiDtatn Clrtuj is that kind of light-liorsc gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature. Auhl Roh Morria was written l)y Burns on the basis of a rude old ditty which appears in Juhiisoii's Mmeum, and of -Nvhich he ' A Wfll-knywn rocky iBlet in the Firth of Clyde. 266 LIFE AND "WORKS OF BURNS. retained only the two initial lines. The second stanza was designed as a description of Charlotte Hamilton. So Burns himself told Miss Dunlop, who communicated the fact to Major Adair, Char- lotte's son, who again is my informant. Duncan Gray is likewise composed on the basis, and to the tune, of a rude old song in Johnson's Museum, the name of the hero being alone retained. The first eighteen months of Burns's life in Dumfries present him as occupying a very small dwelling on the first floor of the house in the Wee Vennel (now Bank Street.) He has three small apartments, each with a window to the street, besides perhaps a small kitchen in the rear. The small central room, about the size of a bed-closet, is the only place he has in which to seclude himself for study. On the ground -floor immediately underneath, his friend John Syme has his office for the distribution of stamps. Over head is an honest blacksmith called George Haugh, whom Burns treats on a familiar footing as a neighbour. On the opposite side of the street is the poet's landlord. Captain Hamilton, a gentleman of fortune and worth, who admires Burns, and often asks him to a family Sunday dinner. The Kith rolls within a hundred yards, but it is not here a shining, pebbly stream, as at EUisland, with green, broomy banks, but a sluggish tidal river, admitting of small craft from Cumberland and Liverpool. It was professionally a busy time with Burns ; so much so, that one would have thought he had little time for dissipation. Nevertheless, he did not escape the snare. Dumfries was then a great stage on the road from England to the north of Ireland; the Caledonian Hunt occasionally honoured it with their meetings; and the county gentlemen were necessarily often within its Avails. Its hotels were consequently well fre- quented ; and when a party of strangers found themselves assembled there, with no other means of passing an evening, they were very apt to make an efi'ort to obtam the company of Burns, the brilliant intellectual prodigy of whom fame spoke so loudly. Now it certainly was a most unreasonable thing for such persons to expect that they were to draw Burns away from his humble home, and his wife and little ones, to bestow his time, strength, and spirits merely for the amusement of a set of people whom he probably never saw before and was never to see again. Equally absurd was it for Bums to yield to such invitations, and render himself up a voluntarily-enslaved Samson to make sport for such a set of Phihstines. Yet so it is, that gentlemen, or what were called such in those days, would send messages for Burns, bidding him come to the 'King's Arms,' the ' George,' or the 'Globe,' as it might be, and there drink with them. And equally true it is, BURXS CALLED TO THE COilPAKY OF STRANGERS. 267 though most lamentable, that Burns did not feel called upon by any prmciple, either of respect to himself or regard for his gentle •wife and innocent children, to reject these imworthy invitations. Sure was he to answer on the spur of the moment in some such good-humoured terms as these — The king's most humble servant, I Can scarcely spare a minute ; But I'll be with you by and by, Or else the devil's in it. And sure was he in time to make his appearance before the strangers, meditating at &st of course only a social hour, but certain to be detained for hour after hour, till perhaps the cock had given his fost, if not his second accusing crow. According to all accounts, it was not a love of debauchery for its own sake that rendered Burns the victim of this system. Nor can we doubt that he felt himself in error in giving way to such temptations. TMiy, then, could he not resist them? Need we answer that the first grand cause was his social, fervent tempei'a- ment, his delight in that ideal abnegation of the common selfish policy of the world which arises amongst boon-companions over the bowl ? He could not but know the hollowness of convivial friend- ship ; yet he could not resist the pleasing deceit. Burns, more- over, though a pattern of modesty amongst poets, was not by any means so insensible to flattery as his more ardent admirers would in general represent him. He would have been more than mortal if he had been beyond all sensibility to distinction on account of his extraordinary intellect. Notwithstanding, then, his great pride, and the powerful self-assertion which he had sometimes shewn, he certainly felt no small pleasure in being so signalised by these gentlemen strangers, and in seeing himself set up amongst them as a luminary. It was the ready compensation for that equality with common functionaries, and that condemnation to a constant contact with the vulgar, in which his professional fate condemned him to spend the most of his time. A vigorous will might have saved him from falling under this influence ; but here again our poet was sadly deficient. And yet he was occasionally sensible that his course was a wrong one. Of this there is proof in a very interest- ing anecdote preserved jjy the family of his neighbour, George Haugh. One summer morning, this worthy citizen had risen some- what earlier than usual to work : Burns soon after came up to his shop-door, on his way home from a debauch in the ' King's Arms.' The poet, though excited by the liquor he had drunk, addressed his nciglibour in a sufficiently collected manner. ' George,' said he, ' you are a happy man ; you have risen from a refreshing sleep, 2G8 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. and left a kind wife and children, while I am returning a self- condemned wretch to mine.' And j'et he would go sinning on. Clarinda's visit to the West Indies had proved unfortunate. Her husband received her coldly; his temper was insupportably bad; and she was mortified to find how grossly unfaitliful he had been during the period of their separation. She was at the same time admonished by the state of her health, that she could not expect long to bear the effects of a warm climate. She therefore returned to Scotland in August, and recommenced that quiet course of life which sustained no further interruption till her death — an event postponed to take place amidst a different gene- ration. In consequence, probably, of the weakened state to which she was reduced by her voyage, she did not immediately write to Burns. The bard addressed two letters to her friend, Mary Pea- cock, inquiring after the quondam ' mistress of his soul ; ' but they imfortunately miscarried. He had concluded to write no more, when that sensibility to anniversaries which he had already shewn in the case of Highland IMary, overthrew his resolution. He remembered the parting of the Gth of December in the past year, with its anguished outburst : ' Had we never loved sae khidly,' and penned a third brief epistle to the young lady. TO MISS MARY PEACOCK. Dec. 6, 1792. Dear Madam — I have written so often to you and have got no answer, that I had resolved never to lift up a pen to you again ; but this eventful day, the sixth of December, recalls to my memory such a scene ! Heaven and earth ! when I remember a far-distant person ! ■ — but no more of this until I learn from 30U a pro})er address, and why my letters have lain by you unanswered, as this is the third I have sent you. Tlie opportunities will be all gone now, I fear, of sending over the book I mentioned in my last. Do not write me for a week, as I shall not be at home, but as soon after that as possible. Ancc mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; Dire was the parting thou bids me remember, Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair! Yours, R. B.l It appears from this letter that the return of Mrs M'Lehose in the preceding August was as yet unknown to Burns. We shall speedily see the subject revived ; but in the meantime sterner matters call for attention. 1 This letter first ai)pcaretl in PicUering's edition of Burns's Focras. POLITICAL CRISIS OF 1792. 269 A most eventful year -was no-w drawing to a close. In France, under the threatened interference of the German states and the emigres, moderation and constitutionalism had been forced to give way before wild democracy; the king was a prisoner, threatened with capital punishment; the blood of thousands of loyalists had been shed without form of law in Paris; a republic was estab- lished, threatening with the aid of its victorious arms to revolu- tionise other countries. AYe have seen that in February scarcely any apprehension was felt for either the contagion of French politics or the possibility of war. A rapid change had taken place during tlie year. Paine's Essay on the Eights of Man, and other publications believed to be of a seditious tendency, had appeared. In the course of summer, societies taking the name of Friends of the People Avere established in many parts of the empire, manifesting only a desire of ' stemming the torrent of coiTuption,' and bringing about ' a redress of real grievances,' calling for as specific measures ' a full, free, and equal represen- tation of the people,' and a shortening of the duration of parlia- ments — carefully disclaiming all extreme and dangerous courses, and professing to seek by timely reform the permanence of the ancient institutions of the country — yet felt by those in the management of affairs, and by the gi-eat bulk of the influential classes, to be, in their practical bearing on the time, of evil omen to the peace of society. Such societies were supported by a mere handful of men above the vulgar; and the general feeling in England was one of good affection towards the reigning sovereign and the institutions of the country. Indeed, Paine himself had been mobbed at Dover; and disloyal men generally found them- selves by no means in favour with the public. Nevertheless, towards the close of the year the government became seriously uneasy about seditious publications and seditious practices and opinions. It was now contemplating hostilities against the French, on the ostensible ground of their infraction of the rights of the Dutch in the opening of the Scheldt, but in reality for the purpose of repelling, and, if possible, extinguishing, a spirit whicli was felt to be dangerous to all aUars and all thrones. A sound spirit in its own officers of all grades and services might well in such circumstances be felt of importance. 15urns had continued to sympathise with the French, notwith- standing all blots in their reforming career. He did not hesitate in company to express an unfavourable opinion of the warlike policy about to be adopted I)y the English ministry, and to avow Ills persevering desire of those reforms which had long been demanded by the AMiIg party. lie would even, in the heat of discourse, denounce public men in terms far less remarkable for 270 LIFE AND ■WORKS OF BURNS. tlieir justice than tlieir vehemence and severity. It does not appear that he had gone the length of openly joining any of the affiliated societies called Friends of the People ; but his other demonstrations were sufficiently imprudent. As an example : — a paper called the Gazetteer had been started in Edinburgh by a gentleman named Captain Johnstone, for the purpose of advocating the reforming views. Now Johnstone was so noted as a reformer, that at an aggregate meeting or convention of representatives from the different societies, which took place in James's Court, Edinburgh, on the 22d of November, he being observed in the room, was unanimously called to take the chair, which, however, he declined doing. A few months afterwards he was imprisoned by the authorities, as was likewise the succeeding editor of the Gazetteer. I have heard even the printer — who, by the by, had been an honest Jacobite — tell how his being concerned in this ill-odoured paper stopped his credit at banks and made him a marked man, till his entering a loyal volunteer regiment in 'some degree restored his good name. Burns, like Willie Gairlace and his friends in Hector M'Neill's poem, ' gat the Gazetteer;'' and these were the terms in which he ordered it: TO CAPTAIN JOHNSTONE. Dumfries, Nov. 13, 1792, Sir — I have just read your prospectus of the Edinburgh Gazetteer. If you go on in your paper with tlie same spirit, it will, beyond all comparison, be the first composition of the kind in Europe. I beg leave to insert my name as a subscriber, and if you have already published any papers, please send me them from the beginning. Point out your own way of settling payments in this place, or I shall settle with you through the medium of my friend, Peter Hill, bookseller in Edinburgh. Go on, sir ! Lay bare with undaunted heart and steady hand that hoi-rid mass of coiTuption called politics and state-craft. Dare to draw in their native colours those — ' Calin-thinking villains whom no faith can fire,' whatever he the shibboleth of their pretended party. The address to me at Dumfries will find, sir, your very humble servant, PiObert Burns. "Whether this letter was ever seen by any emissary of power it is not likely that the fact of Burns getting the Gazetteer was unobserved in Dumfries. I would not assert that that fact for certain operated to his disadvantage ; but when I remember that, so lately as 1817, an emissary of the Lord Advocate traced out the subscribers to a liberal newspaper then started in Edinburgh SONG IN HONOUR OF THE WHIG PARTY. 271 — tlae first that could obtain a footing after the Gazetteer — ^I must admit that, if the fact was known, it could not fail, as being an overt tangible act on his part, to draw down upon him the dis- pleasiire of those who trembled for the safety of the national insti- tutions. At anyrate we see in it the tendency of Burns's mind regarding the fearful questions at this time agitating the public, and the degree of fervour with which he allowed himself to speak even to those ha whose prudence he had no reason to place con- fidence. It is to be feared also that he gave voice to some of his feelings in the form which was the most apt to give them cuiTency, and thus expose then- author. From the allusions, it seems higlily probable that he at this time threw off the following song complimentary to the leaders of the reforming party in the House of Commons : — here's a health to THEM THAT'S AWA. TvsE— Here's a Health to them that 's awa. Here's a health to them that's awa. Here 's a health to them that 's aAva ; And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, May never guid luck be their fa' ! It's guid to be merry and wise, It 's guid to be honest and true. It 's guid to support Caledonia's cause. And bide by the buff and the blue. Here's a health to them that's awa. Here's a health to them that's awa; Here's a health to Charlie ' the chief o' the clan, Althougli that his band be sma'. Jlay liberty meet wi' success ! Jlay prudence protect her frac evil ! May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, And wander their way to the devil ! Here's a health to them that's awa. Here's a health to them that's awa; Here's a hcaUh to Tammie,^ the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' tlie law ! Here's frccdoui to liim that wad read, Here's freedom to liiin that wad write ! There's nane ever feared that the truth should be heard. But they wham the truth wad indite.'' ' Charles James Fox. Buffand blue formed his well-known livery at tlie Weat- minster elections, and came to be an ensign of the Whig party generally. - The Hon. Thomas ICrskine, afterwards Lord Krskine. 3 For indict, a Scotch law-plirasc meaning accuse. LIFE AND AVOEKS OF EUKXS. Here's a health to them tliat's awa, Here's a health to them that's awa ; Here's Chieftani M'Leod, a-chieftain worth gowd,^ Thougli bred amang mountains o' snaw ! Here's friends on both sides of the Forth, And friends on both sides of the Tweed; And wha wad betray old Albion's rights, May they never eat of her bread. Verily, if such a song as this, known to be from the pen of Burns, came under the eye of authority about the close of the year 1792, it could not fail to obtain for liim distinction of a certain kind. On the Gth of December we find Burns, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, alluding to his sentiments on public affairs as of the Opposition complexion, but stating that the sense of his situation made him cautious in the expression of them. TO JinS DUNLOP. Dumfries, Cth December 179'J. I SH/VLL be in Ayrshire, I think, next week; and, if at all possible, I shall certainly, my much-csteenicd friend, have the pleasure of visiting at Dunlop House. Alas, madam, how seldom do we meet in this world, that we have reason to congratulate ourselves on accessions of happiness ! I have not passed half the ordinary term of an old man's life, and yet I scarcely look over the obituary of a newspaper that I do not see some names that I have known, and which I and other acrpiaintances little thought to meet with there so soon. Every other instance of tlie mortality of our kind makes us cast an anxious look into the dread- ful abyss of uncertainty, and sluiddor with apprehension for our own fate. But of how different an importance are the lives of different individuals ! Nay, of what importance is one period of the same life more than another ? A few years ngo I could have lain down in the dust, ' careless of the voice of the morning;' and now not a few, and these most helpless individuals, would, on losing me and my exertions, lose both their * staff' and shield.' By the way, these helijless ones have lately got an addition : Mrs B. having given 1 M'Lcod of Dunvcgan, Islo of Skyc, at tliig time M.P. for the countj- of Inver- nees. At the .James's Court meeting above alluded to, M'Leod made a speech in which he declared his imalteruble determination to support and prosecute the reforming objects which the society had in view, for which a unanimous vote of thauka was tendered to him. LETTER TO MRS DUNLOP. 273 me a fine girl since I wrote yoii.i Tliere is a charmmg passage in Thomson's Edward and Eleanora : ' The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer ? Or what need he regard his single woes ? ' — &c. As I am got in the way of quotations, I shall give you another from the same piece, peculiarly— alas ! too peculiarly— apposite, my dear madam, to your present frame of mind — ' Who so unwonhy but may proudly deck him With his fair-weather virtue, that exults Glad o'er the summer main ? The tempest comes, The rough winds rage aloud ; when from the helm This virtue shrinks, and in a corner lies Lamenting. Heavens ! if privileged from trial, How cheap a thing were virtue ! ' I do not remember to have heard you mention Thomson's dramas. I pick up favourite quotations, and store them in my mind as ready armour, offensive or defensive, amid the struggle of this turbulent existence. Of these is one, a very favourite one, fi'om his Alfred : ' Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds And offices of life ; to life itself. With all its* vain and transient joys, sit loose." Probably I have quoted some of these to you formerly, as indeed, when I write from the heart, I am apt to be guilty of such repeti- tions. The compass of the heart, in the musical style of expression, is much more bounded than tliat of the imagination, so the notes of tlie former are extremely apt to run into one another; but in return for the paucity of its compass, its few notes arc much more sweet. I must still give you another quotation, which I am almost sure I liave given you before, but I cannot resist the temptation. The sub- ject is religion : spealcing of its importance to mankind, the author says— ' 'Tis this, my friend, that streaks our morning bright,' &c. I see you are in for double postage, so I shall e'en scribble out t' other sheet. We in this country here have many alarms of the reforming, or rather tlie re})ublican spirit of your part of the king- dom. Indeed wo are a good deal in commotion ourselves. For me, lam a placeman, you know; a very humble one indeed, liuavcn knows, but still so much as to gag me. AVhat my private sentiments arc you will find out without an interpreter. I have taken uj) the subject, and the otlicr day, for a pretty actress's benefit ni^dit, I wrote an Address, which I will give on the otlier page, called The Bights of Woman. I shall have the honour of receiving your criticisms in person at Dunlop. li- 1^- 1 Elizabeth Riddel, born, as has been mentioned, on the 21st November. VOL. 111. K 274 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Burns did visit Ayrshire, and spent four days with Mrs Dunlop. He appears to have been utterly unconscious of any impending evil. At this very time, however, some information regarding his political opinions, if not acts, was on its way to the Board of Excise, and a cloud was about to burst on his head. TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ., FINTRY. iDccemher 1792.] Sir — I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted by Mr Mitchell, the collector, telling me that he has received an order from your Board i to inquire into my political conduct, and blaming me as a person disaifected to government. Sir, you are a husband and a father. You know what you would feel to see the much-loved wife of your bosom, and your helpless, prattling little ones turned adrift into the world, degraded and dis- graced from a situation in which they had been respectable and respected, and left almost without the necessary support of a miser- able existence. Alas ! sir, must I think that such soon will be my lot ! and from the d dark insinuations of hellish, groundless envy too ! I believe, sir, I may aver It, and in the sight of Omni- science, that I would not tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even v/orse horrors, If worse can be, than those I have mentioned, hung over my head ; and I say, that the allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie ! To the British Constitution, on revolution principles, next after my God, I am most devoutly attached. You, sir, have been much and generously my friend — Heaven knows how warmly I have felt the obligation, and how gratefully I have thanked you. Fortune, sir, has made you powerful, and me Impotent — has given you patronage, and me dependence. I would not, for my single self, call on your humanity; were such my insular, uncon- nected situation, I would despise the tear that now swells in my eye — I could brave misfortune, I could face ruin, for at the worst 'Death's thousand doors stand open;' but, good God! the tender concerns that I have mentioned, the claims and ties that I see at this moment, and feel around me, how they unnerve coui-age and wither resolution ! To your patronage, as a man of some genius, you have allowed me a claim ; and your esteem, as an honest man, I know is my due. To these, sir, permit me to appeal ; by these may I adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to over- whelm me, and which — with my latest breath I will say it — I have not deserved. K. B. To think of this great poet having to say that the consideration of his wife and little ones unnerved courage and withered resolu- 1 The Commissioners of the Scottish Board of Excise were at this time George BroAvn, Thomas Wharton, Jamea Stodart, Robert Graham (of Fintry), and John Grieve, Esqrs. DENOUNCED TO THE EXCISE BOARD. 275 tion in the braving of any indignity ! There has been a dispute about the nature and extent of the trouble Into -which Burns fell on this occasion. His supervisor, Mr Alexander Findlater, who survived till 1839, expressed his conviction that a very slight hint of disapprobation or -warning -was alone given to Burns, because, had it been of a more serious nature, he must neces- sarily have been the channel through which it was communicated. In support of this affirmation is the fact ascertained by Mr Lockhart, that no notice of a reprimand to Burns appears in the records of the Board of Excise. To the same effect is the trivial notice taken of the matter by the poet a few days after, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, as weU as the little reference made to it by him at any subsequent time. All this would make it seem that Burns, In his letter to Mr Graham, expressed an unnecessary alarm and warmth of Indignation. On the other hand, we shall see that the rumour of the day represented the unfortunate poet as dismissed from his situation for his political heterodoxy, and that the poet himself, in a letter which he wrote to Mr Erskine of Mar, in April 1793, stated that, but for Mr Graham's Intercession, this dismissal would have taken place. With that fact before us, and remembering the character of the time, the jealousy of all men in power, and the sense they could not but have of the danger of Burns's hostility to government within the sphere of his personal influence, we cannot doubt that the affair was one of a serious character, calculated to sink deeply Into the spii'It of our poet, already sufficient at war with fortune and all circumstances, social and domestic. TO MRS DUNLOP. Dumfries, 3Ut December 1792. Dear Madam — A hurry of business, thrown in lieaps by my absence, has until now prevented my returning my grateful acknow- ledgments to the good family of Dunlop, and you in particular, for that hospitable kindness which rendered the four days I spent under that genial roof four of the plcasantest I ever enjoyed. Alas, my dearest friend ! how few and fleeting arc those things we call pleasures! — on my road to Ayrshire I spent a night with a friend whom I much valued, a man whose days promised to be many; and on .Saturday last we laid him in the dust ! Jan. 2d 1793. I HAVE just received yours of tlie .30th, and feel much for your situation. However, 1 heartily rejoice in yoiir prospect of recovery from that vile jaundice. As to myself, I am better, though not quite free of my complaint. You must not think, as you seem to 276 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. insinuate, that in my way of life I want exercise. Of that I have enougii ; but occasional liard drinlving is the devil to mc. Against this 1 have again and again bent my resolution, and have greatly succeeded. Taverns I have totally abandoned : it is the private parties in the family way, among the hard-drinking gentlemen of this country, tliat do mc the mischief — but even this I have more than half given over.i Mr Corbet can be of little service to me at present; at least I should be shy of applying. I cannot possibly bo settled as a super- visor for several years. I must wait the rotation of the list; and there are twenty names before mine. I might, indeed, get a job of officiating where a settled supervisor was ill or aged ; but that hauls me from my family, as I could not remove them on such an uncertainty. Besides, some envious, malicious devil has raised a little demur on my political principles, and I wisli to let that matter settle before I offer myself too much in tiie eye of my supervisors. I have set, henceforth, a seal on my lips as to these unlucky politics ; but to you I must breathe my sentiments. In this, as in everything else, I shall shew tlio imdisguised emotions of my soul. War I deprecate: misery and ruin to thousands are iu the blast that announces the destructive demon. * * * * j^_ j^ TO THE SAME.2 5lh January 1793. You see my hurried life, madam ; I can only command starts of time : however, I am glad of one thing — since I finished the other ' The following extract from a letter addressed by Mr Bloomfield to the Earl of Buchan contains so interesting an exhibition of the modesty inlierent in real worth, and so philosophical, and at the same time so poetical an estimate of tlie different characters and destinies of Hums and its antlior, tliat I should esteem myself culpable were I to withhold it from the public view : — ' The illustrious soul that lias left amongst us the name of Burns has often been lowered down to a comparison with mc; but the comparison exists more in circum- stances than in essentials. That man stood up with the stamp of superior intellect on his brow — a visible greatness: and great and patriotic subjects would, only have called into action the powers of his mind, which lay inactive while he played calmly and exquisitely the pastoral pipe. ' The letters to which I have alluded in my preface to the Rural Tales were friendly warnings, pointed with innnediate reference to the fate of that extra- ordinai-y man. " Remember Burns I " has been the watchword of my friends. I do remember Burns; but I am not Burns! — neither have 1 his fire to fan or to quench, nor passions to control ! Where, then, is my merit if I make a peaceful voyage on a smooth sea, and with no mutiuy on board ■* To a lady— I have it from herself — who remonstrated with him on his danger from drink, and the pursuits of some of his associate's, he replied: " Madam, they would not thank me for my company if I did not drink with them. I must give them a slice of my constitution." How much to be regretted that he did not give them thinner slices of his constitution, that it might have lasted longer ! ' — C'roim kk. - In l)r Curriu'8 edition this letter is dated January 1792, and appears in the place appropriate to that date. The present editor, entertaining no doubt that the real date is 1793, has tiansferred it from the fomier to the present place. What gives reason to believe the latter the true date is the allusion to the ' political blast' that had threatened the poet's welfare. EFFECTS OF THE WALLACE CUP. 277 sheet the political blast that threatened my welfare is overblown. I liave corresponded with Commissioner Graham — for the Board liad made me the subject of their animadversions ; and now I have the pleasure of informinn; you tliat all is set to rights in that quarter. Now as to these informers, may tlie devil be let loose, to . But, liold ! I was praying most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a-swearing in this. Alas! liow little do the wantonly or idly officious think what mischief they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect imperti-" nence, or thoughtless blabbings. What a difference there is in intrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, generosity, kindness — in all the charities and all the virtues — between one class of human beings and another. For instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed with in the hospitable hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts, theiy uncontaminated dignified minds, their informed and polished under- standings — what a contrast when compared — if such comparing were not downright sacrilege— with the soul of the miscreant who can deliberately plot the destruction of an honest man that never offended him, and with a grin of satisfaction see the inifortunate being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents, turned over to beggary and ruin.i Your cup, my dear madam, arrived safe. I had two worthy fellows dining with me the other day, when I with great formality produced my whigmaleerie cup, and told them that it had been a family- piece among the descendants of AVilliani "Wallace. This roused sucli an enthusiasm that they insisted on bumpering the punch round in it ; and by and by never did your great ancestor lay a siithron more completely to rest than for a time did your cup my two friends. Apropos, this is the season of wishing. May God bless you, my dear friend, and bless me, the humblest and sincerest of your friends, by granting you yet many rctunis of tiie season ! Jlay ail good things attend you and yours, wherever tliey are scattered over the earth ! B. B. ' Mr Gilbert I?urns, speaking of such a crisis, says that on the side of the government will be fi)unil ranged a great part of the wise and jiriident ; ' but on tliut Bide also will be found a great host of a very difl'ereut description — all the satellites of power and tlie parasites of greatness, with all the worthless and detestable crew of time-serving and officious informers. At such times loyalty comes to be esteemed the cardinal virtue, capable of " hiding a multitude of sins;" an Oh, happy be the Avoodbine bower, Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, The place and time I met my dearie! Her head upon my throbbing- breast. She, sinking, said, ' I 'in thine for ever ! ' While mony a kiss the seal imprest, , The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. The hannt o' Spring's the primrose brae. The Simmer joys tlie flocks to follow ; How cheery througli her shortening day, Is Autunm, in her weeds o' j'cliow ! But can they melt the glowing heart. Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure? Or through each nerve the rapture dart. Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ? Bravo! say I ; it is a good song. Sliould you think so too (not else), you can set the music to it, and let the other follow as English verses. Autumn is my propitious season. I make more vei'ses in it than all the year else. God bless you ! ' BUr.XS TO MU TIIOMSOX. Anpust I'm. You may readily trust, my dear sir, that any exertion in my power is heartily at yonr service. But one thing I must liint to you : the very name of Peter Pindar is of great service to your publication ; so get a verse from him now and then, though I iiave no objection, jis well as I can, to bear the burden of tlie business.^ Is Wli.iiitle,(uid Pll come to you, mi/Lad, one of your airs I I admire 1 ' While he lived in Dumfries, he hnd throe favourite walks : on the Dock-Crcen hy the river-side— among tlic ruins of Lincludon Collevcc — and towiirds tlio Martin^;- ilon-ford, on the north side of the Nith. This latter plaee was sjcUiiled, commandeil a view of the distant hills, and the romantie towers of I.ineludtn, and art'ordrd soft p-ecnsward banks to rest upon, and the sii;ht and sound of the stream. Hero he composed many of his finest son^s. As soon ua he was heard to hum to himself, his wife taw that he had somcthiu'^ in his mind, and was prepared to see hiui snatch up his hat, and set silently otV for his musinKuround. Wl:en hy himself, and in the open air, his ideas arranged themselves in their natural order — words eame at will, and he seldom returned without having finished .a song. In ease of interiuption, he set ahout completing it at thi' fireside ; he balanced himself on the liind-legs of his armchair, and rocking to and fro, continued to hum the tune, and seldom failed of success. When the vers-s were finished, he pa.'-scd them through the ordeal of Mrs Hiirns's voice ; listcneil attentively when she sang; asked her if any of the words were diflicult ; and when one happ( luil to lie too rough, he readily foimd a smoother— but he never, save at the resolute entreaty of a scientific musi- cian, sacrificed sense to sound. 'I'he autumn was his favourite season, and the twilight his favourit^^ hour of study.'— .1. Cuimiiujhnm. " I)r Carrie has transferrf The two first stanzas of this song had appeared in the second volume of the Scots Musical Museum. PETER PINDAR. 27 The daisy amused my fond fancy, So artless, so simple, so wild ; Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis ! For she is simplicity's child. The rose-bud's the blush o' my charmer, Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest : How fair and how pm-e is the lily, But fairer and purer her breast. Yon knot of gay flowers in the ai'bour. They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie : Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine, Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye. Her voice is the song of the morning, That wakes through the green-spreading grove, When Phcebus peeps over the mountains, On music, and pleasure, and love. But, beauty, how frail and how fleeting — The bloom of a fine summer's day ! While worth in the mind o' my Phillis Will flourish without a decay. Mr Clarke begs you to give Miss Phillis a corner in your book, as she is a particular flame of his. She is a Miss Phillis M'Murdo, sister to ' Bonnie Jean.' They are both pupils of his. You shall hear from me the very fii'st grist I get from my rhyming-mill. A modern reader will be surprised by the terms in which Burns speaks of Peter Pindar, whose works are now condemned to oblivion. He certauily was a remarkable example of the extent to which moderate abilities, exerted in subserviency to popular prejudices, and with a ribald recklessness towards all true taste in literature, will carry their possessor on the way to what appears for the time literary distinction. It must ever be a humiliating consideration tliat this modern Aretin was richly pensioned by the booksellers, while Burns, the true sweet singer, lived in comparative poverty. BUUNS TO MR TIIOMSO.V. [28/A] Aiioiist 1793. That tune, Cauld Kail, is such a favourite of yours, that I once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the Muses ; i when ' Gloamin, twili-^ht — prob.iWy frcm glooming. A bonutiful poetic word, which ought to be adopted in KngluiiJ. A gloamin-shot, a twilight interview.— Currijk. 28 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURKS. the Muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my old inspiring dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me tlie following. I have two reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet simple inspircr that was by my elbow, ' smooth gliding without step/ and pouring the song on my glowing fancy. In the first place, since I left Coila's native haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen to cheer her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from her, so I more than suspect that she has followed me hither, or at least makes me occa- sional visits ; secondly, the last stanza of this song I send you is the very words that Coila taught me many years ago, and which I set to an old Scots reel in JoJinson's Museum. COMK, LET ME TAKE TIIEE TO MY BREAST. Air — Cauld Kail. Come, let me take thee to my breast, And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; And I sliall spurn as vilest dust Tlie warld's wealth and grandeur : And do I hear my Jeanie own That equal transports move her ? I ask for dearest life alone That I may live to love her. Thus in my arms, wi* all thy charms, I clasp my countless treasure ; I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, Than sic a moment's pleasure : And by thy een sae bonnie blue, I swear I 'ni thine for ever ! And on thy lips I seal my vow, And break it shall I never ! If you think the above will suit your idea of your favourite air, I shall be highly pleased. The I'xst Time I came o'er the Moor I cannot meddle with as to mending it ; and the musical world have been so long accustomed to Kamsay's words, that a different song, though positively superior, would not be so well received. I am not fond of choruses to songs, so I have not made one for the foregoing. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. DAINTY DAVIE. Tune — Dainty Davie. [28^0 Auguit 1703. Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers ; And now come in my happy hours, To wander wi' my Davie. ACTIVITY IN SONG-WRITING IN AUTUMN '93. 29 Meet me on the warlock knowc, Dainty Davie, dainty Daviu ; Tliere I'll spend the day wi' you, My ain dear dainty Davie. Tlie crystal waters round us fa'. The merry birds are lovers a', The scented breezes round us blaw, A-wandering wi' my Davie. When purple morning- starts the hare, To steal upon her early fare, Then througli the dews I will repair, To meet my foithfu' Davie. When day, expiring in the west. The curtain draws o' nature's rest, I cottish songs, and making only that faint glance at politics, in the remark on the (Icorgium Sidus. It must not be supposed from this fact, that he had forced himself into an inditlercncc towards either tiie state of affairs in France, where the unfortunate (iirondists were now pcrisiiing in tliu 1 Sec volume lii., p. 109, 30 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. fields and on the scaffold, or to the progress of the reaction at home, which threatened to crush every sentiment of liberty in which England had formerly gloried. But the beauty of the season had come over him with its benign influence, and he gladly sought some relief from the exasperations of public affairs in the soothing blandishments of the Doric muse. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, Ist Sept. 1793. My dear Sir — Since writing you last, I have received half-a- dozen songs, with which I am delighted beyond expression. The humour and fancy of Whistle, and I'll come to you, my Lad, will render it nearly as great a favourite as Duncan Gray. Gome, let one take thee to my Breast, Adoivn winding Nith, and By Allan Stream, &c. are full of imagination and feeling, and sweetly suit the airs for which they are intended. Had I a Gave on some ivild distant Shore, is a striking and affecting composition. Our friend, to whose story it refers, reads it with a swelling lieart, I assure you. The union we are now forming, I tliink, can never be broken: these songs of yours will descend, with the music, to the latest posterity, and will be fondly cherished so long as genius, taste, and sensibility exist in our island. "While the IMuse seems so propitious, I think it right to enclose a list of all the favours I have to ask of her — no fewer than twenty and three ! I have burdened the pleasant Peter with as many as it is probable he will attend to : most of the remaining airs would puzzle the English poet not a little — they are of that peculiar measure and rhythm, that they must be familiar to him who writes for them. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Sept. 1793. You know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few of nature's instincts, untaught and imtutored by art. For this reason many musical compositions, particularly where much of the mci'it lies in counterpoint, liowever they may transport and ravish the ears of you connoisseurs, affect my simple lug no otherwise than merely as melodious din. On the other hand, by way of amends, I am delighted with many little melodies, which the learned musician despises as silly and insipid. I do not know whether the old air, Jley, tuttie taitie, may rank among this number; but well I know that, with Fraser's hautboy,^ it has often filled my eyes with tears. ' Frasei" was many j'oars after the hautboy- player in the orchestra of the Edin- burgh theatre, where his solos were always gi'catly admii-cd. ' bruce's address.' 31 There is a tradition, -wliich I have met witli in many places in Scotland, tliat it was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of Bannock- burn. This thought, in my yesternight's evening walk, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on tlic theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be the gallant royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that eventful morning. BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURX. TirNE — Ilcy, tuttie iaitic. Scots, wha hae wi' "Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory ! Xow's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o' battle lour : See approach proud Edward's power — Chains and slavery ! Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave ? Wha sae base as be a slave ? Let him turn and flee ! Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword Avill strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Let him follow me ! By oppression's woes and pains ! By your sons in servile chains ! AVc will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free ! Lay the proud usui-pcrs low! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty 's in every blow ! — Let us do or die ! So may God ever defend the cause of truth and liberty, as He did that day ! Amen. P. 8. — I shewed the air to Urbani, who was highly pleased with it, and begged mc to malvc soft verses for it ; but I had no idea of giving myself any troulilo on tlie subject, till the accidental recollec- tion of that glorious struggle for freedom, associated with tlic glowing ideas of some other struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient, roused my rliyming mania. Clarke's set of the tune, with his bass, you will find in the ^fvxfum, though I am afraid that the air is not what will entitle it to a place in your elegant selection. 32 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. So the magnificent ode of ' Bruce to his Men ' sjarang partly from the inspiration aft'orded by tlie success of tlie French in beating back the arrogant enemies of tlieir republic ! According to Mr Syme, in his letter on the Galloway excursion of July, Burns was engaged in the composition of this ode while riding in the storm from Kenmure to Gatehouse, and when passing on the second morning thereafter on his way from Kirkcudbright to Dumfries. Mr Syme adds, that tlie poet presented him with a copy of the poem next day, along with a second one for INIr Dalzell. There is a discrepancy here, which can only be cleared up by supposing that Mr Syme, writing at the distance of some years, had mis- applied circumstances to dates, or been misled by his imagination. The discrepancy had been observed by Dr Currie ; but lie unfor- tunately adopted a way of overcoming the difficulty little credit- able to himself, for he altered the expression ' my yesternight's evening walk ' into ' my solitary wanderings ' — a vitiation of the original letter, wdiich has only been of late detected. I do not indeed see in Burns's letter conclusive proof that tlie composition Avas not commenced or thought of during the Galloway excursion, for a person of all desirable fidelity of mind, in relating an indifferent matter to a friend, may give it in such an abbi'eviated form, or with such a suppression of particulars, as may amount to a kind of misrepresentation. For example — It is not doubted that Burns composed Tarn o' Shunter, as has been related, while wandering one day by the banks of the Nith, in the autumn of 1790; yet, on the 22d of January 1791, he says in a letter to Alexander Cunningham : ' I liave just Jinishcd a poeni [2\im o' Shanier), which you will receive enclosed.' Is'o one oould have supposed from this expression that the whole poem had been produced at a heat three or four months before, and that only a few corrections at most had lately been administered to it by the hand of its autlior. It is impossible, however, to observe in this letter of September the expressions that lie had thought no more of Urbani's request till ' the accidental recollection,' &c. in his ' yesternight's evening walk,' ' warmed ' him ' to a pitch of enthu- siasm,' and continue to believe that Burns had given Syme a copy the day after the conclusion of their excursion at the beginning of the preceding niontli. And an error being proved here, it ma}' be the more doubted if Burns was at all engaged in such a subject of poetic meditation during that storm on the wilds of Kenmure. 'behold the hour.' 33 BIRNS TO MR THOMSOX. ISept, 1793.] I DARESAY, my dear sir, that jou will begin to think my corre- spondence is persecution. No matter, I can't help it : a ballad is my hobby-horse, ■which, though otherwise a simple sort of harmless idiotical beast enough, has yet this blessed headstrong property, that when once it has fairly made off with a hapless wight, it gets so enamoured with the tinkle-gingle, tinkle-gingle of its own bells, tiiat it is sure to run poor pilgarlick, the bedlam jockey, quite beyond any useful point or post in the common i-ace of men. The following song I have composed for Oran Gaoil, the Highland air that you tell me in your last you have resolved to give a place to in your book. I have this moment finished the song, so you have it glowing from the njint. If it suit you, well ! if not, 'tis also well ! BEHOLD THE HOUR. Tu.VE— Oran Gaoil. Behold the hour, the boat arrive; Thou goest, tiiou darling of my heart ! Severed from thee, can I survive ? But fate has willed, and we must part. I'll often greet this surging swell, Yon distant isle will often hail : * E'en here I took the last farewell ; There latest marked her vanished sail.' Along the solitary shore. While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar, I'll westward turn my wistful eye: Happy thou Indian grove, I '11 say, Where now my Nancy's path ma)' be! While through thy sweets site loves to stray, Oh, tell me, docs she muse on me \ MR THOMSON TO DURNS. Kni.vuuROH, 5/A Sept. 1793. I BELIEVE it is generally allowed that tlic greatest modesty is the sure attendant of the greatest merit. While you are sending mo verses that even Shakspcare migiit be proud to own, you speak of them as if they were ordinary productions ! Your heroic ode is to nic the noblest composition of the kind in the Scottish language. I VOL. IV. ^ S-i LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. liappened to dine yesterday with a party of your friends, to whom I read it. They were all charmed with it ; entreated me to find out a suitable air for it, and reprobated the idea of giving it a tune so totally devoid of interest or grandeur as Hey, tidtie taitie. Assuredly your partiality for this tune must arise from the ideas associated in your mind by the tradition concerning it, for I never heard any person, and I have conversed again and again with the greatest enthusiasts for Scottish airs — I say, I never heard any one speak of it as Avorthy of notice. I have been running over the whole hundred airs, of which I lately sent you the list ; and I think Lewie Gordon is most happily adapted to your ode ; at least with a very slight variation of the fourth line, which I shall presently submit to you. There is in Lewie Gordon more of the grand than the plaintive, particularly when it is sung with a degree of spii'it, which your words would oblige the singer to give it. I would have no scruple about substituting your ode in the room of Lewie Gordon, which has neither the interest, the grandeur, nor the poetry, that characterise your verses. Now, the variation I have to suggest upon the last line of each verse — the only line too short for the air — is as follows : Verse 1st, Or to gloriozis victory. 2d, Chains — chains and slavery. 3d, Let him, let him turn and flee. 4th, Let him bravely follow me. .5th, But they shall, they shall be free. 6th, Let us, let us do or die ! If you connect each line with its own verse, I do not think you will find that either the sentiment or the expression loses any of its energy. The only line which I dislike in the whole of the song is, 'Welcome to your gory bed.' AVould not another word be preferable to 'welcome ?' In your next, I will expect to be informed whether you agree to what I have proposed. The little alterations I submit with the greatest deference. The beauty of the verses you have made for Oixm Gaoil will insure celebrity to the air. Mr Thomson is here imfortunate in his criticism, particularly as to the choice of an air for Bruce's Address. Lewie Gordon is a tame melody, quite unsuited for such a heroic outburst. Besides, the necessity of inserting expletive syllables in each verse to make it suit that air, is insufferable. Mr Thomson carried his point against the better sense of Burns for the time; but the public in a few years reversed the judgment, and Heu, tuitie taitie was united to the song for ever. OBSERVATIONS ON A LIST OF SONGS. 35 BUENS TO MR THOMSON. Sept. 1793. I HAVE received your list, my dear sir, and here go my observa- tions on it.i Doicn the Burn, Davie — I have this momeut tried an alteration, leaving out the last half of the third stanza, and the first half of the last stanza ; thus : As down the bum they took their way, And through the flowery dale ; His cheek to hers he aft did lay. And love was aye the tale. With ' Mary, when shall we return. Sic pleasure to renew ? ' Quoth Mary : ' Love, I like the burn. And aye shall follow you.' - Through the Wood, Laddie — I am decidedly of opinion that both in this, and There HI never he Peace till Jamie comes Harae, the second or high part of the tune being a repetition of the first part an octave higher, is only for instrumental music, and would be much better omitted in singing. C'owdcn-lcnoices—VvGmemhQY in your index, that the song in pure English to this tune, beginning — ' When summer comes, the swains on Tweed,' is the production of Crawford. Robert w as his Christian name. Laddie, lie near me, must lie by me for some time. I do not know tlic air ; and until I am complete master of a tune, in my own singing (such as it is), I can never compose for it. Jly way is : I consider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea of tlie musical expression ; then choose my theme; begin one stanza: when tiiat is composed, whicli is generally the most difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and then, look out for objects in nature around me that are in unison and harmony with tlie cogitations of my fancy, and workings of my bosom ; liumming every now and then the air with tlie verses I have framed. "When I feel my Muse beginning to jade, I retire to the solitary fireside of my study, and there conunit my effusions to paper ; swinging at intervals on the ' Mr Tlujnison's listofsonRS for his publication. In Iiis remarks, thobard proceeds in order, ;md goes through the whole ; but on many of them he meivly signifies his approbation. All his remarks of any importance are presented to the reader.— C I! R R I K. - This alteration Mr Thomson has adopted (or at least intended to adopt), instead of the last stanza of the original song, which is objectionable in point of delicacy. — CuRRie. 56 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. liind-Iegs of my elbow-chair, by way of callinpf forth my own critical strictures as my pen goes on. yeriously, this, at home, is almost invariably my way. What cursed egotism ! Gill Morice I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy length ; tlie air itself is never sung ; and its place can well be supplied by one or two songs for fine airs that are not in your list — for instance, Craigiehurii Wood and Boys Wife. The first, beside its intrinsic merit, has novelty ; and the last has high merit, as well as great celebrity. I liave the original words of a sonji: for the last air, in the handwritln'' of the lady who composed it ; and they are superior to any edition of the song which the public has yet seen. Highland Laddie — Tiie old set will please a mere Scotch ear best; and the new .an Italianised one. There is a third, and what Oswald calls the old Ilif/hlaiid Laddie, which pleases me more than either of them. It is sometimes called Gingliii Johnnie; it being the air of an old humorous tawdry song of that name. You will find it in the Museum, / hae been at Crookimen, &c. I would advise you, in this musical quandary, to oflt'er up your prayers to the Muses for inspiring- direction ; and in the meantime, waiting for this direction, bestow a libation to Bacchus ; and there is not a doubt but you will liit on a judicious choice. Prohatum est. Atdd Sir Simon I must beg you to leave out, and put in its place The Quaker's Wife. Blithe hae I been o'er the Hill, is one of the finest songs ever I made in my life, and, besides, is composed on a young lady, positively the most beautiful, lovely woman in the world. As I ])urpose giving you the names and designations of all my heroines, to appear in some future edition of your work, perhaps half a century hence, you must certainly include The bonniest Lass in a' the Warld in your collection. Dainty Davie I have heard sung nineteen thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine times, and always with the chorus to the low part of the tune ; and nothing has surprised me so much as your opinion on this subject. If it will not suit as I proposed, we will lay two of the stanzas together, and then make the chorus follow. Fee him. Father — I enclose you Fraser's set of this tune when he plays it slow : in fact, he makes it the language of despair. I shall here give you two stanzas, in that style, merely to try if it will be any improvement. "Were it possible, in singing, to give it half the pathos which Fraser gives it in playing, it would make an admirably' pathetic song.^ I do not give these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time in which ' Patie Allan's mither died — that was, about the back o' midnight,' and by the lee-side of a bowl of puncli, which had overset every mortal in company except the liautbois and the Muse. ' I well recollect, about the j'car 1821, hearing Fraser play Fee hitn, father, on his benefit nif^ht, in the Edinburgh theatre, ' in the manner in which he had played it to Hums ' It was listened to with breathless attention, as if the house had felt it to be a medium of communion with the spirit of the departed bard. A FRAGMENT — 'WHERE ARE THE JOYS,' &C. 37 THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER. Tune — Fichiin, Father. Thou liast left me ever, Jamie ! thou hast left me ever; Tliou hast left me ever, Jamie ! thou hast left me ever : Aften hast thou vowed that death only should us sever ; 2fo\v thou'st left thy lass for aye — I mauu see thee never, Jamie, I'll see thee never. Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie ! thou hast me forsaken ; Tliou hast me forsaken, Jamie ! thou hast me forsaken : Thou canst love anithcr jo, while my lieart is breaking; Soon my weary een I'll close — never mair to waken, Jamie, Ne'er mair to waken ! i Jocl'ie and Jenny I would discard, and in its place would put There's nae Luck about the Ilowic, which has a very pleasant air, and which is positively the finest love-ballad in that style in the Scottish, or perhaps in any otlier lanii;uage. When she rame ben she bohbit, as an air, is more beautiful tluin either, and in the andante way would iniite with a charminj' sentimental ballad. Sail} ye my Father? is one of my greatest favourites. The evening before last, I wandered out, and began a tender song, in what I thiniv is its native style. I must j)remise, that the old way, and the wa^' to give most effect, is to have no starting- note, as the fiddlers call it, but to burst at once into the pathos. Every country girl sings Saw yc my Father? &c. My song is but just begun; and I should like, before I proceed, to know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it witii the Scottish dialect, but it may be easily turned into correct Englisli. FRAGMENT, TiTNE — Saw lie iiii/ Father? Where are the joys I liae met in the morning, That danced to the lark's early sang ? Wliere is tlie jieace tlnit awaited my wandering, At e'enin' the wild woods amangJ Nae mair a-winding the course o' yon river, And marking sweet flowerets sae fair; Nae mair I trace the liglit footsteps o' pleasure, lint sorrow and sad sighing care. ' It is siirprisinR th.it Hurns sliould liavc thoiii^lit it ncc'cflRiirj' to siibstitiito new AiTHOB for the old .iijii.i{ t(i this iiir, «liich i« ono of tlie nioht cxqviisite cfl'tigions of KC'i'iiiie niitunil Hontinii'iit in the whcili- riin:;e of Scottisli lyrical poetry. Its merit is now fully apprceiiited, while Uurnb'a Bubstitutc song is scarcely ever sung. 38 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Is it that simmer's forsaken our valleys, And grim, surly winter is near? No, no ! the bees humming round the gay roses I'roclaim it the pride o' the year. Fain wad I hide what I fear to discover, Yet lang, lang too well I hae known ; A' that has caused the wreck in my bosom Is Jenny, fair Jenny, alonc.^ Todlin Ilame. — Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which has long been mine, that this air is highly susceptible of pathos : accordingly, you will soon hear him at your concert try it to a song of mine in the Museum, Ye Banlcs and Braes o' bonnie Boon. One song more, and I have done: Auld Lang Syne. The air is but mediocre; but the following song, the old song of the olden times, and which lias never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air : — AULD LANG SYNE. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne ? CHORUS. For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang sync. We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne ! We twa hae run about the braes. And pu'd the gowans fine ; But we 've wandered mony a weary foot, Sin' auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine ; But seas between us braid hae roared. Sin' auld lang syne. And here's a hand, my trusty fiero. And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, For auld lang syne. And surely ye '11 be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine ; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. 1 In this case also, the old song, though ohjectionable in subject, has kept its gi'ound against Burna's efl'oit to supplant it. BANNOCKBURN. 39 Now, I suppose, I have tired your patience liiirly. You must, after all is over, have a number of ballads, properly so called. Gill Morice, Tranent Muir, Macplierson^s Fareivell, Battle of Sheriff- miiir, or. We ran and they ran (I know the author of this charming- ballad, and his history), Ilardtknute, Barbara Allan (I can furnish a finer set of this tune than any that has yet appeared) ; and besides, do you know that I really have the old tune to which The Cherry and the Slae was sung, and which is mentioned as a well-known air in Scotland's Comjylaint — a book published before poor Mary's days? ^ It was then called, The Banks o' Helicon; an old poem, which Pinkerton has brought to light. You will see all this in Tytler's History of Scottish Miisic. The tune, to a learned ear, may have no great merit; but it is a great curiosity. I have a good many original things of this kind. BURXS TO MR TUOMSOX. [8//0 Seplcmher 1793. I AM happy, my dear sir, that my ode pleases you so much. Your idea, ' honour's bed,' is, though a beautiful, a hackneyed idea;- so, if you please, we will let the line stand as it is. I have altered the song as follows : — BANNOCKBURN. BOBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HTS ARMY. Scots, wlia hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce lias aftcn led; Welcome to your gory bed ! Or to glorious victory ! Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o' battle lour: See approach proud Edward's power — Edward ! chains and slavery ! ' The tunc here alliulcj to Tiy Buma, ami which was inserted in the fifth volume of .Tohnson, in connection with tlie t'hcrni and the Ufai; was obtaineil by Mr Ititson from Mward AVillianiR, a WelKlinian, who, it is thought, had probably noted it rU 5, 1S41. VOL. IV. V 50 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. selves an appetite, it might be said that the week was one entire and perfect chrysolite of merry-making. One day, when they were to dine at the Globe, they found, on coramg in at three, that no dinner had been ordered. As Burns had taken on himself this duty, the fault was his, and the other two gentlemen were wroth with him accordingly. ' Just Uke him,' quoth Mrs Hyslop : 'ye might hae kent that he's ne'er to lippen to.' 'Well, but can we have anything to eat ? You know we must dine some- how.' Mrs Hyslop, or as Burns called her, Meg, proved pro- pitious. There was a tup's-head m the pot for John and herself; and, if they pleased, they might have the first of it. Now a good tup's-head, with the accompanying trotters — seeing that, in the Scottish cuisine, nothing is taken off but the wool — is a dish which will amply satisfy six, or even eight persons ;i so it was no contemptible resource for the hungry trio. When it had been disposed on the board, ' Bums,' said Nicol, ' we fine you for your neglect of arrangements : you give us somethmg new as a gi-ace.' Our poet instantly, with appropriate gesture and tone, said : O Lord, when hunger pinches sore, Do thou stand us in need, And send us from thy bounteous store, A tup or wether head ! Amen. They fell to and enjoyed their fare prodigiously, leaving, how- ever, a miraculously ample sufficiency for the host and hostess. 'Now, Bums, we've not done with you. We fine you again. Eeturn thanks.' He as promptly said: O Lord, since we have feasted tlras, Which we so Httle merit, Send Meg to take away the flesh, And Jock to bring the spirit ! Amen.- MR THOMSON TO BURNS. ']lh November 1793. My good Sir — After so long a silence, it gave me peculiar pleasure to recognise your well-known hand, for I had begun to be apprehensive that all was not weU with you. I am happy to find, however, that your silence did not proceed from that cause, and that you have got among the ballads once more. 1 The editor bogs to say, that he here speaks with due caution : he has been one of a party of eight persons who dined heartily on a tup's-head wth its accompanying broth. 2 From a gentleman who was intimate with Bums at that time. ' MY SPOUSE NANCY.' 61 I have to thank you for your English song to Leiger «i' clioss, which I think extremely good, although the colouring is warm. Your friend Mr Tumbull's songs have doubtless considerable merit ; and as you have the command of his manuscripts, I hope you may find out some that will answer as English songs, to the airs yet improvided. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. December 1793. Tell me how you like the following verses to the tune of Mi/ Jo Janet ? — MY SPOUSE NANCY. Tune — My Jo Jancl. ' Husband, husband, cease your strife, Nor longer idly rave, sir ; Though I am your wedded wife, Yet I am not your slave, sir.' ' One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy ; Is it man, or woman, say, My spouse, Nancy ?' ' If 'tis still the lordly word. Service and obedience ; I'll desert my sovereign lord. And so good-by allegiance!' * Sad will I be, so bereft, Nancy, Nancy ; Yet I'll try to make a shift, My spouse, Nancy.' ' My poor heart then break it must, My last liour I'm near it: When you lay me in the dust, TJiink, think how you will bear it.' 'I will hope and trust ux Ileaveji, Nancy, Nancy ; Strength to bear it will be given, My spouse, Nancy.' ' Well, sii-, from the silent dead. Still I'll try to daunt you; Ever round your midnight bed Horrid sprites sliail haunt you.' 62 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. 'I'll wed another like my dear, Nancy, Nancv ; Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse, Nancy.' i TO JOHN M'jIURDO, ESQ. Dumfries, Deccmlcr 1793. Sir — It is said that we take the greatest liberties with our irreatest friends, and I pay myself a very high compliment in the manner in which I am going to apply the remark. I have owed you money longer than ever I owed it to any man. Here is Ker's account, and here are six guineas ; and now, I don't owe a shilling to man — or woman cither. But for these d ■ dirty, dog-eared little pages, I had done myself the honour to have waited on you long ago. Inde- pendent of the obligations your hospitality has laid me under, the consciousness of your superiority in the rank of man and gentleman, of itself was fully as much as I could ever make head against j but to owe you money, too, was more than I could face. I think I once mentioned something of a collection of Scots songs I have for some years been making — I send you a perusal of what I have got together. I could not conveniently spare them above five or six days, and five or six glances of them will probably more than sufiice you. A very few of them are my own. When you are tired of them, please leave them with Mr Clint, of the King's Arms. There is not another copy of the collection in the world; and I should be sorry that any unfortunate negligence should deprive me of what has cost me a good deal of pains. 11. B. It seems far from unlikely that Mr M'Murdo was the friend to whom Burns applied for the loan of a few guineas in summer, and that, having discharged an account of Mr Ker against that gentleman, he was now clearing off the balance of the debt by the enclosure spoken of. From an early period of his career, Burns had begun to dabble in verse conceived in a strain of licentious humour. Into this taste he was led by his enthusiastic love of all the forms of his country's elder muse. With a strange contradiction to the grave and religious character of the Scottish people, they possessed a wonderful quantity of indecoroixs traditionary verse — not of an inflammatory character, but simply expressive of a profound sense ' Dr Ciirrie here added the song, Will thou he my Dearie? It doc3 not appear in the original manuscript. The reader will find it afterwards in a different connection. CLANDESTINE POEMS. 5$ of the liulici'OiTS In connection -wltli the sexual afifections.' Such things, usually kept from public view, oozed out in merry com- panies such as Burns loved to frequent. Men laughed at them for the moment, and, in the sober daylight of next morning, had forgotten them. When our poet was particularly struck by any free - spoken ditty of the old school, he would scribble it down, and transfer it to a commonplace - book. In time, what he thus collected, he was led to imitate, apparently for no other object than tliat of amusing such rough good-fellows as himself in their moments of conviviality. We see that, in establishing his commonplace-book in spring 1787, he designed to commit to it a few of his compositions of this class. He afterwards repeated copies of them, which he would, with his usual heedlessness, allow to pass into the hands of his friends. We now see from the above letter to Mr M'Murdo, that he had at length transcribed them uito a volume, which he would occasionally intrust to the keeping of a friend. These facts have been the cause of much reproach to liurns; and I do not say that his conduct was excusable. I am, nevertheless, convinced that it originated mainly in nothing worse than his strong sense of the ludicrous. Of this, I venture to say, there could be no doubt entertained by tlie public, if it were allowable to bring the proper evidence into court. It is also to be admitted that, to heighten the effect, he was too apt to bring in a dash of levity respecting Scriptural characters and incidents — a kind of bad taste, however, which was likewise exemplified to his hand by the common conversation of his countrymen; for certain it is, that the piety of the old Scotch people did not exclude a very considerable share of what may be called an unconscious profanity. There is a jocular ballad of Burns, of the khid described, which he exhibited to his friends as if designed for the press, witli a prose note from the publisher : ' Courteous Reader — The following is certainly the production of one of those licentious ungodly (too much abounding in this our day) wretches, who take it as a com- pliment to be called wicked, provided you allow them to be witty. Pity it is, that while so many tar-barrels in the cotmtry are empty, and so many gibbets untenanted, some example is not made of ' ' In Rritnin, ami particularly in reading Scotland, you know that the library of tlie iK.'asant is composed chiefly of such coarse fictions as the }ijploil-': vf (leimje liuchanan, the historiuH oi John Cheap the Chapman, Leper the Tailor, Lothian Tom, Paddy from Cork, the CreHman'$ Cnurtshiji, Simpk John ami his Tirtlee Misfortunes, and such like; all of them saturated with indecency, anc wliolo of this Hong was wTittcn hy Rums, except the thinl an. M-CuUoch is admitted a member. Hums is not mentioned in the Ibt of those present. 2 The King's Birthday of 1794 was pelebrated in I>umfrips with umisual rordiality and variety of demonstrations. Two large dhnior-parfies met at the iiuis, and at six o'eloek there was a grand n'uuun in the Town Hall, to drink the king's houlth. The Lot/al Anlivc Club wore ribbons embroidered by loyal lailies in their hat-s, anil the multitude wa-s regaled with bunflres. It Is very likely that this was the occasiou of Mr M'CuUoch's rencontre with Hurtu. VOL. IV. P 82 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. passed over, Burns recovered in a great measure from his depressed state, and once more thought that a supervisorship might be in store for him. It is to be feared, however, that some degree of permanent sourness towards ' respectable people' from this time remained in his mind, accompanied by a greater tendency for society beneath even his own humble grade. It also appears that the vigour of his constitution was now beginning, at five-and- thirty, to give way under the effects of his generally imprudent course of life. It was very probably in consequence of an appointment made at their late rencontre, that Burns wrote as follows to Mr M'CuUoch. The allusion to a visit to Mr Heron of Heron at Kerroughtree, is characteristic of the proud poet, and also valuable as shewmg that at least a Whig country gentleman deemed him presentable at this time before good society. TO DAVID M'CULLOCH, ESQ. Dumfries, 2U« June 1794. Mv DEAR Sir — My lonof-projected journey through your country is at last fixed ; and on Wednesday next, if you have nothing of more importance to do, take a saunter down to Gatehouse about two or three o'clock ; I shall be happy to take a draught of M'Kune's best with you. Collector Syme will be at Glen's about that time, and will meet us about dish-of-tea hour. Syme goes also to Kerroughtree, and let me remind you of your kind promise to accompany me there : I will need all the friends I can muster, for I am indeed ill at ease whenever I approach your honourables and right honourables. Yours sincerely, R. B. SO MRS DUNLOP. Castle-Douglas, 25th June 1794, Here, in a solitary inn, in a solitary village, am I set by myself, to amuse my brooding fancy as I may. Solitary confinement, you know, is Howard's favourite idea of reclaiming sinners ; so let me consider by what fatality it happens that I have so long been so exceeding sinful as to neglect the correspondence of the most valued friend I have on earth. To tell you that I have been in poor healtli will not be excuse enough, though it is true. I am afraid that I am about to suffer for the follies of my youth. My medical friends threaten me with a flying gout ; but I trust they are mistaken. I am just going to trouble your critical patience with the first sketch of a stanza I have been framing as I passed along the road. The subject is liberty : you know, my honoured friend, how dear the LAST LETTER TO CLAFaNDA. 83 theme is to me. I design it as an irregular ode for General Wash- ington's birthday. After having mentioned the degeneracy of other kingdoms, 1 come to Scotland thus : Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song, To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; AVhere is that soul of freedom fled ? Immingled with the mighty dead. Beneath the hallowed turf where Wallace lies ! Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death, Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep, Disturb yc not the hero's sleep, Nor give the coward secret breath. Is this the power in freedom's war. That wont to bid the battle rage ? With the additions of — Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, Braved usurpation's boldest daring; That arm whicli, nerved witli thundering fate. Crushed the despot's proudest bearing: One quenched in darkness like tlie sinking star, And one the palsied ai'm of tottering, powerless age. You will probably have another scrawl from me in a stage or two. II. B. There has been preserved one moi*e letter to Clarinda, and from several allusions contained in it, it seems not unlikely to have been penned at the same time with the preceding epistle to Mrs Dunlop. TO* CLARTNDA. BEPonE you ask me why I have not written yon, first let mo bo informed by you, hoio I sliall write you? 'In friendsliip,' you say; and I have many a time taken up my pen to try an epistle of 'friendship ' to you, but it will not do ; 'tis like Jove grasping a pop- gun after having wielded his tiuiuder. Wlien I take up the pen, recollection ruins me. Ah, my ever-dearest Clarinda! Clarinda! What a host of memory's tenderest offspring crowd on my fancy at that sound! But I must not indulge that subject; you have forbid it. I am extremely happy to learn that your precious health is rc- cstablislied, and tliat you are once more tit to enjoy that satisfaction in existence wliicii licalth alone can give us. My old friend Ainslio has indeed been kind to you. Tell him, tlmt I cuvy him tlic power 84 LIFE AND -^OEKS OF BURNS. of serving j'ou. I had a letter from him awhile ago, but it was so dry, so distant, so like a card to one of his clients, that I could scarce bear to read it, and have not yet answered it. He is a good, honest fellow, and can write a friendly lettei-, which would do equal honour to his liead and his heart, as a whole sheaf of his letters which I have by me will witness; and though Fame does not blow her trumpet at my approach now as she did then, when he first honoured me with his friendship, yet I am as proud as ever; and when I am laid in my grave, I wish to be stretched at my full length, that I may occupy every inch of ground I have a riglit to. You would laugh were you to see me where I am just now. Would to Heaven you were here to laugh with mo, though I am afraid that crying would be our first employment ! Here am I set, a solitary hermit, in the solitary room of a solitary inn, with a solitary bottle of wine by me, as grave and as stupid as an owl, but, like that owl, still faithful to my old song ; in confirmation of which, my dear 3Irs Mac, here is your good healtli ! i\Iay tlie hand-waled benisons o' Heaven bless your bonnie face ; and the wratcli wha skellies at your welfare, may the auld tinlder deil get him to clout his rotten heart ! Amen. You must know, my dearest madam, that these now many years, wherever I am, in whatever company, wlien a married lady is called as a toast, I constantly give you ; but as j'our name has never passed my lips, even to my most intimate friend, I give you by the name of Mrs Mac. Tliis is so well known among my acquaintances, that when any married lady is called for, the toast-master will say : ' Oh, we need not ask him who it is : here's Mrs Mac !' I have also, among my convivial friends, set on foot a round of toasts, which I call a round of Arcadian Shepherdesses — that is, a round of favourite ladies, under female names celebrated in ancient song ; and then you are my Clarinda. So, my lovely Clarinda, I devote tliis glass of wine to a most ardent wish for your happiness. In vain would Prudence, with decorous sneer, Point out a censuring worId,*and hid me fear : Above that M'orld on wings of love I rise, 1 know its worst, and can that worst despise. * Wronged, injured, shunned, unpitied, imredrest; The mocked quotation of the scorner's jest'— Let Prudence' direst bodements on me fall, Clarinda, rich reward ! o'erpays them all. I have been rhyming a little of late, but I do not know if they are worth postage. Tell me what you think of the following monody. * * * * The subject of the foregoing is a woman of fashion in this country, •with whom at one period I was well acquainted. Ey some scanda- lous conduct to me, and two or three other gentlemou here as well INSCRIPTION TO MRS GRAHAM OF FINTRY. 85 as nie, she steered so far to the north of my good opinion, that I have inado lier the theme of several ill-natured things. The followinj: epigram struck nie the other day as I passed her carriage. * * o llie monody was that Ona Lachj famed forher Caprice — namely, the beautiful and accomplished Mrs Walter Eiddel. The epigram is a composition even less worthy of Burns, and this not merely in respect of ability, but of feeling. To have given expression to such sentiments regarding a female, even though a positive wrong had been inflicted, would have been totally indefensible; and still more astounding is it to find, that the bard could think of exhibit- ing such an effusion to another female. Strange that the generous heart, which never failed to have ruth on human wo, which felt even for ' the ourie cattle and the silly sheep,' which glowed with patriotic fire, and disdained everything like a sordid or shabby action, should have been capable of condescending to an expres- sion of coarse and rancorous feeling against a woman, and one who had shewn him many kindnesses! But yet such was Burns — the irritable genius, as well as the humane man.' BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Jul!/ 1794. Is there no news yet of I'leyel ? Or is your work to he at a dead stop, until the allies set our modern Orpheus at lihcrty from the savage thraldom of democrat discords ? Alas the day ! And wo is mo! That auspicious period, pregnant with the happiness of millions * * * seems by no means near. I have presented a copy of your songs to tlie daughter of a much- valued and nuich-iionoured friend of mine, ^Ir Oraliam of Fintry. I wrote on the blank side of the title-page the following address to the young lady : — Here, where tlic Scottish JInse immortal lives, In sacred strains and tuneful nuinhers joined, Accc]it the gift, though luiuible he wiio gives; Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast, Discordant jar thy bosoni-cliords among; Uut I'eace attuiu- thy gentle soul to rest, Or Love ecstatic wake his seraph song : Or I'ity's notes, iu luxury of tears, As modest Want the tale of wo reveals; Wliile conscious Virtue all the strain ciidcare, And heaven-horn Piety her sanction seals. ' Tlic manuscript of tlio oi«i;;raiii in quostion is in the I<0!ctbion of Mr Vi . V. ■Watson, Trinccs Street, Kdinburgli. 86 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Tills letter contains an ironical tirade on the mishaps of Prussia in her war against France, which Dr Currie had deemed unfit for publication. Though Burns had on several occasions, in 1793, acted on his own principle, ' to jouk and let the jaw flee o'er,' it is to be feared that he sometimes let himself out in this manner respecting passing events, both in conversation and in private letters. Nor can we suppose that so impetuous a spirit, which regarded the whole anti-Gallic policy of Europe as an error, leading to the destruc- tion of men and tlieir best interests, could have effectually chained itself up. Even the foolish fears often expressed by the conser- vative party of the day, and the paltriness of the means conde- scended to in many instances for the preservation of the country thi'oughout the crisis, were but too apt to provoke a manly nature such as his to cry out and spare not. Being, on the other hand, little apt to think his words of great consequence, it is to be feared that he was much less cautious in the expression of his opinions than was necessary for his escaping censure. We have already had some of these escapes of political sentiment before us. Many others have survived till these times on the breath of tradition and otherwise. In a lady's pocket-book, he inscribed an extempore quatrain: Grant mc, indulgent Heaven, tliat I may live, To see tlie miscreants feel the pains they give : Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, Till slave and despot be but things which were. More bitter was the verse which he called — THE CREED OF POVERTY. In politics if thou wouldst mix, And mean thy fortunes be ; Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind, Let great follcs hear and see. Burns and Syme, with a young physician named Maxwell, and several others, all latitudinarians in most respects, and all of them enemies of the system pursued by the government, held occa- sional symposia of a secret, or at least strictly private nature, at which they could enunciate their sentiments freely. It is said that they locked the door of their place of meeting — a circum- stance which would, of course, set the popular imagination at work, and cause tliem to be suspected of something even worse than what they were guilty of. In antagonism to them, was a DEMOCRATIC EFFUSIONS. 87 •club of Anti-Gallicans, who took upon themselves the name of the Loyal Natives; and it appears that one of these gentlemen ventured on one occasion to launch a political pellet at the three friends of the people. A very miserable pellet it was : — Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song ; Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell pervade every throng ; With Craken the attorney, and Blundell the quack, Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack. This being handed across the table to Burns at one of the meetings of the disloyal corps, he instantly endorsed it with — Ye true Loyal Natives, attend to my song, In uproar and riot rejoice the night long; From envy and hatred your corps is exempt, But where is your shield from the darts of contempt? It is far from likely that the whole of the democratic effusions of Burns have come down to us. For many years, that kind of authorship was attended with so much reproach, that men of humanity studied to conceal rather than to expose the evidence by which it could be proved against him. And even after the poor bard's death, the interests of his young family demanded of all the admirers of his name, that nothing should be brought forward which was calculated to excite a political jealousy regarding l\im. Hence, for many years there was a mystery observed on this subject. During that time, of course, many manuscripts might perish. As things now stand — the whole matter being looked on as only a curious piece of literary history — there can be no great objection to the publication of any piece of the kind which may have chanced to be preserved. There is one which, but for the manner in wliich it introduces the name of the unfortunate Louis XVI., might have now been read witliout any pain, as containing only the feelings of a man who looked too sanguinely upon the popular cause in France : — THE TREE OF LIBERTY. Heard ye o' the tree o' Franco, I watiia wliat's tho name o't; Around it a' tlic patriots dance, Weed Europe kens tlic fame o't. 88 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. It stands where ance the Bastile stood, A prison built by kings, man, "When Superstition's hellish brood Kept France in leading-strings, man. Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, Its virtues a' can tell, man ; It raises man aboon the brute, It maks him ken himsel, man. Gif ance the peasant taste a bit, He's greater than a lord, man, And wi' the beggar shares a mite 0' a' he can afford, man. This fruit is wortli a' Afric's wealtli. To comfort us 'twas sent, man : To gie the sweetest blush o' health. And mak us a' content, man. It clears the een, it cheers tlio heart, Maks higii and low gude friends, man; And he wha acts tlie traitor's part, It to perdition sends, man. 3Iy blessings aye attend the chiel, Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man, And staw a branch, spite o' the deil, Frae yont the western waves, man. Fair Virtue watered it wi' care. And now she sees wi' pride, man, How weel it buds and blossoms tliere, Its branches spreading wide, man. But vicious folk aye hate to see The worivs o' Virtue thrive, man ; The courtly vermin's banned the tree, And grat to sec it tlirivc, man ; King Loui' tliought to cut it down, When it was unco sma', man ; For this the watchman cracked his crown, Cut aft' his head and a', man. A wicked crew syne, on a time, Did tak a solemn aitii, man. It ne'er should flourish to its prime, I wat they jjledged their faith, man. Awa they gaed wi' mock parade. Like beagles hunting game, man. But soon grew weary o' the trade, And wished they'd been at hanie, man. THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 89 For Freedom, standing by the tree, Her sons did loudly ca', man ; She sang a sang o' liberty, Which pleased them ane and a', man. By her inspired, the new-born race Soon drew the avenging steel, man ; The hirelings ran — her foes gied chiise, And banged the despot wee), nutr.. Let Britain boast her hardy oak, Her poplar and her pine, man, Auld Britain ance could crack iier joke, And o'er her neighbours shine, man. But seek tlie forest round and round, And soon 'twill be agreed, man, That sic a tree can not be found 'Twixt London and the Tweed, man. Without this tree, alake this life Is but a vale o' wo, man ; A scene o' sorrow mixed wi' strife, Nae real joys we know, man. We labour soon, we labour late. To feed the titled knave, man ; And a' the comfort we 're to get. Is that ayont the grave, man. Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow, The warld would live in peace, man ; The sword would help to muk a plough, The din o' war wad cease, man. Like brethren in a common cause, We'd on each other smile, man j And equal rights and equal laws Wad gladden every isle, man. Wae worth the loon wha wadna cat Sic halosome dainty cheer, man ; I'd gie my shooa frae atV my feet. To taste sic fruit, I swear, man. Sync let us pr.ay, auld England may Sure pliint tiiis far-famed tree, man ; And blithe we'll sing, and hail the day That gave us liberty, man. ' ' Originally printed in the Pcoi.Ie'.s I'Milion of niirns tlR40), from a mnnitscript in the poBsession of ilr Jaincs Duncan, Moscsflcld, Glasgow. t)0 LIFE AND WORKS OF BUENS. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, iOth August ITW. My dear Sir — I owe you an apology for having so long delayed to acknowledge the favour of your last. I fear it will be as you say, I shall have no more songs from Pleyel till France and we are friends ; but, nevertheless, I am very desirous to be prepared with the poetry; and as the season approaches in which your Muse of Coila visits you, I trust I shall, as formerly, be frequently gratified with the result of your amorous and tender interviews ! It will be found in the few ensuing pages that, as usual, Burns got into active inspiration during the autumn. He appears to have now recovered from the low spirits which beset him in the early part of the year. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. 30th August 1794. The last evening, as I was straying out, and thinking of O'e?- the Hills and far away, I spun the following stanza for it; but whether my spinning will deserve to be laid up in store, like the precious thread of the silkworm, or brushed to the devil, like the vile manu- facture of the spider, I leave, my dear sir, to your usual candid criticism. I was pleased with several lines in it at first, but I own that now it appears rather a flimsy business. This is just a hasty sketch, until I see whether it be worth a ■critique. We have many sailor-songs, but as far as I at present recollect, they are mostly the effusions of the jovial sailor, not the wailings of his lovelorn mistress. I must here make one sweet exception — Sweet Annie frae the Sea-beach came. Now for the song: — ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. Tune— O'er the Hills, &e. How can my poor heart be glad. When absent from my sailor lad ? How can I the thought forego, He's on the seas to meet the foe? Let me wander, let me rove, Still my heart is with my love : Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day. Are with him that's far away. CHORUS. On the seas and far awav. On stormy seas and far away ; Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day. Are aye with him that's far away. SONG — ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY, 91 When in summer's noon I faint, As weary flocks around me pant, Haply in the scorching sun My sailor 's thundering at his gua : Bullets, spare my only joy ! Bullets, spare my darling boy ! Fate, do with me what you may. Spare but him that's far away! At the starless midnight hour, "When winter rules with boundless power; As the storms the forest tear. And thunders rend the howling air. Listening to the doubling roar. Surging on the rocky shore. All I can — I weep and pray. For his weal that 's fai- av.ay. Peace, thy olive wand extend, And bid wild war his ravage end, Man with brother man to meet. And as a brother kindly greet; Then may Heaven with prosperous gales, Fill my sailor's welcome sails, To my arms their charge convey, My dear lad that's far away. I give you leave to abuse this song, but do it iu the spirit of Christian meekness. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. EDiNDunoH, \6th Sept. 1794. My dear Sir — You have anticipated my opinion of On the Seas and far away; I do not tliink it one of your very happy produc- tions, though it certainly contains stanzas that are worthy of all acceptation. The second is the least to my liking, particularly, ' Bullets, spare my only joy!' Confound the bullets! It might, perhaps, be objected to the third verse, * At the starless midniglit hour,' that it has too much grandeur of imagery, and that greater simplicity of thought would have better suited the character of a sailor's sweetheart. Tlie tunc, it must bo remembered, is of the brisk, checrfid kind. Upon the whole, therefore, in my himiblo opinion, tlic song would bo better adapted to the tune, if it consisted only of the first and last verses, with the choruses. 92 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. BURNS TO MR TUOMSON. Sept. 179*. I SHALL withdraw my On the Sea.-i and f(ir mcay altogether: it is unequal, and iinwortliy the work. Makini^r a poem is like begetting a son : you cannot know whether you have a wise man or a fool, until you produce him to the world to try him. For that reason, I send you the offspring of my brain, abortions and all ; and, as such, pray look over them, and forgive them, and burn tlieni.i I am flattered at your adopting Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes, as it was owing to me that ever it saw the light. About seven years ago, I was well acquainted with a worthy little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr Ciimie, who sang it charmingly ; and, at my request, Mr Clai-ke took it down from his singing. When I gave it to Johnson, I added some stanzas to the song, and mended others, but still it will not do for you. In a solitary stroll which I toolc to-day, I tried my hand on a few pastoral lines, following up tlie idea of the chorus, which I would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and imperfections on its head. Ca' the yowes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them where the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie ! Hark I the mavis' evening-sang Sounding Cluden's woods amang; Then a faulding let us gang, My bonnie dearie. We'll gae down by Cluden side, Through the hazels spreading wide, O'er tlie waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Yonder Cluden's silent towers, Where at moonshine midnight hours. O'er the dewy bending flowers, Fairies dance sae clieery. ' This Virgilian order of tlie poet sliould, I thiiilv, be disobeyed witli respect to the song in question, the second stanzji excepted. — A'o/c by Mr Thomson. Doctors differ. The objection to the Bccoud stanza does uot strike the editor. — ClIlIUE. SONG — SHE SAYS SHE L0E3 ME BEST OF A'. 93 Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; Thou'rt to love and heaven sae clear, Noclit of ill may come thee near, My bonnie dearie. Fair and lovely as tliou art, Thou hast stown my very heart ; I can die — but canna ])art, My bonuie dearie. "While waters wimple to the sea; While day blinks in the lift sac hie; Till clay-caiild death shall blin' my ec, Ye shall be my dearie. I shall give you my opinion of your other newly-adopted songs, my first scribbling fit. BURXS TO MR THOMSON. Sept. 1704. Do you know a blackguard Irish song called OnagJi's Waterfall? Our friend Cunningham sings it delightfully. The air is charming, and I have often regretted the want of decent verses to it. It is too much, at least for my humble rustic JIuse, to expect that every eftbrt of hers shall have merit ; still, I think that it is better to have mediocre verses to a favourite air, than none at all. On this principle I have all along proceeded in the S'fots Musical Mnnciun ; andius tiiat publication is at its last volume, I intend the following song, to the air above mentioned, for that work. If it does not suit you as an editor, you may be pleased to havo verses to it that you can sing in the company of ladies, SHE SAYS SUE LOES ME BEST OE a'. Tf.vE— Ona.'/A'.« Lock. Sae flaxen were her ringlets, Her eyebrows of a darker hue, Bowitchingly o'cr-acching Twa laughing eon o' bonnie blue. Her smiling, sac wiling, Wad make a wretch forget his wo : What pleasure, what treasure, Unto these rosy lips to grow : Such was my Chloris' bonnie face. When first her bonnie face I saw; And aye my (Miloris' dearest charm, She says she Iocs mu best of a'. 94 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Like harmony her motion ; Her pretty ankle is a spy Betraying fair proportion, Wad make a saint forget the sky. Sae warming, sae charming, Her faultless form and graceful air ; Ilk feature — auld nature Declared that she could do nae mair. Hers are the willing chains o' love. By conquering beauty's sovereign law ; And aye my Chloi'is' dearest charm, She says she loes me best of a'. Let others love the city, ' And gaudy show at sunny noon ; Gie me the lonely valley, , The dewy eve, and rising moon Fair beaming, and streaming. Her silver light the boughs amang; While falling, recalling. The amorous thrush concludes his sang : There, dearest Cliloris, wilt thou rove By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love, And say thou loes me best of a'. Not to compare small things with great, my taste in music is like the mighty Frederick of Prussia's taste in painting : we are told that he frequently admired what the connoisseurs decried, and always without any hypocrisy confessed his admiration. I am sensible that my taste in music must be inelegant and vulgar, because people of undisputed and cultivated taste can find no merit in my favourite tunes. Still, because I am cheaply pleased, is that any reason why I should deny myself that pleasure? Many of our strathspeys, ancient and modern, give me most exquisite enjoyment, where you and other judges would probably be shewing disgust. For instance, I am just now making verses for Eotliemurclde's Rant, an air which puts me in raptures ; and, in fact, imless I be pleased with the tune, I never can make verses to it. Here I have Clarke on my side, who is a judge that I will pit against any of you. liofhemurdde, he says, ' is an air both original and beautiful ;' and on his recommendation I have taken the first part of the tune for a chorus, and the fourth or last part for the song. I am but two stanzas deep in the work, and possibly you may think, and justly, that the poetry is as little worth your attention as the music. [Ttee staiizas will be found afterwards in the complete sonp."] I have begun anew, Let me in this ae Night. Do you think that we ought to retain the old chorus ? I think we must retain both the old EPIGRAM ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECOYERY. 95 chorus and the first stanza of the old song. I do not altogether like the third line of the first stanza, but cannot alter it to please myself. I am just three stanzas deep in it. AVould you liavc the denouement to be successful or otherwise ? — should she ' let him in' or not? Did you not once propose The Sow's Tail to Geordie as an air for your work ? I am quite delighted with it ; but I acknowledge, tliat is no mark of its "real excellence. I once set about verses for it, ■which I meant to be in the alternate way of a lover and his mistress chanting together. I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs Thom- son's Christian name, and yours, I am afraid, is rather burlesque for sentiment, else I had meant to have made you [two] the hero and heroine of the little piece. How do you like the following epigram, which I wrote the other day on a lovely young girl's recovery from a fever ? Dr Maxwell was the physician who seemingly saved her from the grave; and to him I address the following : — ON MISS JESSIE STAIQ'S RECOVERY. Maxwell, if merit here you crave, That merit I deny : You save fair Jessy from the grave !- An angel could not die 1 God grant you patience with this stupid epistle ! MR THOMSON TO BURNS. I PERCEIVE the sprightly Muse is now attendant upon her favourite poet, whose wood-notes wild are become as enchanting as ever. She says she loes me best of a' is one of the pleasantest table-songs I have Been, and henceforth shall be mine when the song is going round. I'll give Cunningham a copy; he can more powerfully proclaim its merit. I am far from undervaluing your taste for the strathspey music; on the contrary, I tliink it liiglily animating and agrccalde, and that some of the strathspeys, wiien graced with such verses as yours, will make very pleasing songs, in tlie same way that rough Christians are tempered and softened by lovely woman, without whom, you know, they had been brutes. I am clear for having the Suw'.i Tail, particularly as your proposed verses to it arc so extremely promising. Geordie, as you observe, is a name only fit for burlestiue composition. Mrs Tlioinson's name (Katharine) is not at all poetical. Jictain .Icanic, therefore, and make the otlicr Jamie, or a;iy otlicr that sounds agreeably. Your 6'a' the J-Jwes is a precious little morccau. Indeed, I am perfectly astonished and charmed with the endless variety of your 96 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. fancy. Here let nio ask you, whether you never seriously turned your thoughts upon dramatic writing? That is a field worthy of your genius, in which it might shine forth in all its splendour. One or two successful pieces upon the London stage would make your fortune. Tlie rage at present is for musical dramas : few or none of those which have appeared since the Duenna possess much poetical merit ; there is little in the conduct of the fable, or in the dialogue, to interest the audience: they ai-e chiefly veliicles for music and pageantry. I think you might produce a comic opera in three acts, which would live by the poetry, at the same time that it would be proper to take every assistance from her tuneful sister. Part of the songs, of course, would be to our favourite Scottish airs ; the rest might be left to the London composer — Storace for Drury Lane, or Shield for Covent Garden, both of them very able and popular musicians. I believe that interest and manoeuvrinof are often neces- sary to have a drama brought on ; so it may be witii the namby- pamby tribe of flowery scribblers : but M'ere you to address Mr Sheridan himself by letter, and send him a dramatic piece, I am persuaded he avouUI, for the honour of genius, give it a fair and candid trial. Excuse me for obtruding these hints upon your consideration. "With reference to the suggestion here made by Mr Thomson, Dr Currie says that our bard had previously received the same advice, and had certainly gone so far as to cast about for a subject. MR THOMSON TO BURN'S. Edixbuhgh, Wh Oct. 1794. The last eight days have been devoted to the re-cxamination of the Scottish collections. I have read, and sung, and fiddled, and considered, till I am half blind, and wholly stupid. The few airs I have added are enclosed. Peter Pindar has at length sent me all the songs I expected from him, whicli are, in general, elegant and beautiful. Have you heard of a London collection of Scottish airs and songs, just published by Mr Kitson, an Englishman? I shall send you a copy. His intro- ductory essay on the subject is curious, and evinces gre.at reading and research, but does not decide the question as to the origin of our melodies ; though he shews clearly tliat Mr Tytler, in his ingenious dissertation, has adduced no sort of proof of the hypothesis he wished to establish, and that his classification of the airs according to the eras when they were composed, is mere fancy and conjecture. On John Pinkerton, Esq., he has no mercy, but consigns him to damnation. He snarls at my publication, on the score of I'indar being engaged to write songs for it; imcandidly and unjustly leaving DESCRIBES CHLORIS AS HIS POETICAL GODDESS. 97 it to be inferred, that the songs of Scottish writers had been sent a packing to make room for Peter's ! Of you lie speaks witli some respect, but gives you a passing hit or two for daring to dress up a little some old foolish songs for the Jlii-seitm. His sets of the Scottish airs are taken, he says, from the oldest collections and best authorities : many of them, however, have such a strange aspect, and are so unlike the sets mIucIi are sung by every person of taste, old or young, in town or country, that we can scarcely recognise the features of our favourites. By going to the oldest collections of our music, it does not follow that we find the melodies in their original state. These melodies had been preserved, we know not how long, by oral communication, before being collected and prijited ; and as different persons sing the same air very dift'erently, according to their accurate or confused recollection of it, so, even supposing the first collectors to possess the industry, taste, and discernment to choose the best they could hear — whicli is far from certain— still it must evidently be a chance whether the collections exhibit any of the melodies in the state they were first composed. In selecting the melodies for my own collection, 1 have been as much guided by the living as by the dead. Where these differed, I preferred the sets that appeared to me the most simple and beautiful, and the most generally approved: and without meaning any comjilinient to my own capability of clioosing, or speaking of the pains I have taken, I flatter myself that my sets will be found e(iually free from vulvar errors on the one hand, and affected iini )]'<)'>(!, in your selection: it is as great a favourite of his as of mine. The lady on whom it was made is one of the finest women in Scotland ; and, in fact (ciitre nous), is in a manner to me what Kterne'.s Kliza was to him — a mistress, or friend, or what you will, in the guileless sim|ilicity of Platonic love. (Now, don't jiut any of your sipiiiUing consti'uctions on this, or have any clishmachivcr about it among our acciuaintances.) I assure you, that to my lovely friend you are indebted for many of your best songs of mine. Do you think that the sober, gin-horse routine of existence could insjiire a man with life, and love, and joy — could fire him with cnthusiusm, or melt him with pathos, equal tu VOL. IV. U £8 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. the genius of your book ? No — no ! Whenever I want to be more than ordinary in song— to be in some degree equal to your diviner airs — do you imagine I fast and pray for the celestial emanation ? Tout au contrairel I have a glorious recipe; the very one that for his own use was invented by the divinity of healing and poetry, Avhen erst he piped to the flocks of Admetus. I put myself in a regimen of admiring a fine woman; and, in proportion to the adorability of her charms, in proportion you are delighted with my verses. The lightning of her eye is the godhead of Parnassus, and the witchery of her smile the divinity of Helicon! To descend to the business with which I began : if you like my idea of When she cam ben she bobbit, the following stanzas of mine, altered a little from what they Avere formerly, when set to another air, may perhaps do instead of worse stanzas : — SAW YE MY PHELY? Tune — WJien she cam hen she hohhit. Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love, She winna come hame to her Willy. What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? She lets thee to wit, that she has thee forgot. And for ever disowns thee, her AVilly. Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy. Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. The Posie (in the Museum) is my composition ; the air was taken down from Mrs Burns's voice.i It is well known in the west country, but the old words are trash. By the by, take a look at the tune again, and tell me if you do not think it is the original from which Roslin Castle is composed. The second part, in particular, for the first two or three bars, is exactly the old air. Strathallan's Lament is mine; the music is by our right trusty and deservedly well-beloved Allan Masterton. Donochi- llead is not mine ; I would give ten pounds it were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald, and came to the editor of that paper 1 This, and the other poems of which he speaks, had appeared in Johmon'n Museum, and Mr T. had inquired whether they were our bard's.— Currie. KEilARKS OX SCOTTISH SOXGS. 99 with tlic Newcastle post-mark on it.i Whistle o'er the Lave o't is mine : the music said to be by a Jolm Bruce, a celebrated violin- player in Dumfries, about the beginning of this century. This I know — Bruce, who was an honest man, thougli a red-wud Highland- man, constantly claimed it ; and ])y the old musical people here, is believed to be the author of it. Andrew and his cutti/ Gun. — The song to which this is set in the Museum is mine, and was composed on. Miss Eupheniia 3Iurray, of Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called The Flower of Strathmore. How long and dreary is the Night 1—1 met with some such words in a collection of songs somewhere, which I altered and enlarged ; and to please you, and to suit your favourite air, I have taken a stride or two across my room, and have arranged it anew, as you will find on tlie other page. ' The reader will be cui-ious to see this poem, so highly praiicd by Barns. Hei-e it is :— ' Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht-Hcad,' The snaw drives snelly through the dale, The gaberUinzie tirls ray sncck, And^ shivering, tells his waefu' tale. '• ('auld is the night, oh, let me in. And dinna let yonr minstrel fa'. And dinna let his winding-sheet iJe naething but a wTeath o' snaw. " Full ninety winters hac I seen. And piped where gor-cocks whirring flew, And mony a day I've danced, 1 ween. To lilts which from my drone I blew." Jly Eppie waked, and soon she cried : " Get up, guidman, and let him in ; For weel ye ken the winter night Was short when he began his din." My Eppie's voice, oh, wow it's sweet. Even though she bans and scaulds a wee; ]Uit when it's tuned to sorrow's tale, Oh, liaith, it's doubly dear to me! '• Come in, auld carl, I'll steer my fire, I'll make it bleeze a bonnie flame; "Vour bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate, Yd shouldna stray sae far frac hame." " Nae hame have I," the minstrel said ; " Sad party-strife o'erturneing at the eve of life, I wander through a wreath o' snaw." ' This affecting poem is apparently incomplete. The author need not l)e ashamed to own himself. It is worthy of Burns, or of Macneill.— CiRRiE. [It was written by a gentleman of Newcastle, named Pickering.] 1 A mountain In tbo north. 100 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. HOW LONG AND DREARY IS THE NIGHT ! Tune— Cnj(M Kail in Aberdeen. How long and dreary is the night AVlien I am frae my dearie! I restless lie frae e'en to morn, Though I were ne'er sae weary. CHORIS. For oh, her lanely nights are lang! And oh, her dreams are eerie! And oh, her widowed heart is sair, That 's ahsent frae her dearie ! "When I think on the liglitsome davs I spent wi' tliee, my dearie, And now what seas between us roar, How can I be but eerie? How slow ye move, ye heavy houi-s ! The joyless day, how dreary I It was na sae ye glinted by. When I was wi' my dearie ! Tell mo how you like this. I differ from your idea of tlic expres- sion of the tune. Tiiere is, to me, a great deal of tenderness in it. You cannot, in my opinion, dispense witli a bass to your addenda fiirs. A lady of my acquaintance, a noted performer, plays A^ae Luck about the Housp, and sings it at the same time so charmingly, that I shall never hear to see any of her songs sent into tiio world, as naked as Mr What-d'ye-call-um has done in his London collection.! These English songs gravel me to death. I have not that command of the language that I have of my native tongue. In fact, I tliiiik my ideas are more barren in English than in Scotcli. I have been at Duncan dray, to dress it in English, but all I can do is deplorably stupid. For instance :— LiiT NOT WOMAN E'eR COMPLAIN. Tine— i>(n)c«n Gray. Lot not woman e'er complain Of inconstancy in love ; Let not woman e'er complain Fickle man is apt to rove : J Mr Kitson. SONG ON C1IL0RI3. 101 Look abroad tlirougli Nature's range, Nature's inii^lity law is change ; Ladies, would it not be strange, Man should then a monster prove i Mark the winds, aiid mark the skies ; Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow : Sun and moon but set to rise, Round and round the seasons go. Why, then, ask of silly man To oppose great Nature's plan ? We'll be constant wjiile we can— You can be no more, you know. Since the above, I have been out in the country taking a dinner with a friend, where I met with the lady whom I mentioned in the second page in this odds-and-ends of a letter.' As usual, I got into song; and returning home, I composed the following : — THE lover's morning SALUTE TO lltS MISTRESS. Tine— Z^CiV lak the ll'arx. Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thon, fairest creature ? Kosy Morn now lifts his eye. Numbering ilka bud which nature Waters wi' tiio tears o' joy : Now through the leafy woods, And by the recking floods. Wild nature's tenants freely, gladly sti'ay; The lintwiiitc in his bower Chants o'er tiie breatiiing flower; The lav'rock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, While the sun and tiiou arise to bless the day. rhonbns gilding the brow o' morning, JJanisiius ilk darksome shade, Nature gladd'iiing anil adorning; Such to me my lovely maid. When absent frac my fair, The murky shades o' care ' An account of this lady is given a few p.nges onw-ird. 102 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BUKNS. With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky ; But Avhen in beauty's light, ' She meets my ravished sight, When through my very heart Her beaming glories dart — 'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and joy ! i If you honour my verses by setting the air to them, I will vamp up the old song, and make it English enough to be understood. I enclose you a musical curiosity, an East Indian air, which you would swear was a Scottish one. I know the authenticity of it, as the gentleman who brought it over is a particular ac(|uaintance of mine. Do preserve me the copy I send you, as it is the only one I have. Clarke has set a bass to it, and I intend putting it into the Musical Museum. Here follow the verses I intend for it : — THE AULD MAN. But lately seen in gladsome green, The woods rejoiced the day ; Through gentle showers the laughing flowers In double i)ride were gay : But now our joys are fled On Avinter blasts awa ! Yet maiden Blay, in rich array, Again shall bring them a'. But my white pow, nae kindly thowe head Shall melt the snaws of age ; My trunk of eild, but buss or beild, senility without Sinks in Time's wintry rage. Oh, age has weary days. And nights o' sleepless pain ! Thou golden time o' youthful prime, Why com'st thou not again ? 1 Variation :— Now to tlie streaming fountain, Or up tlie heathy mountain, Tlie hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly- wanton stray ; In twining hazel bowers His lay the linnet pours ; The lav'rock to the sky Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. When frae my Chloris parted, Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted. The night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, o'ercast my sky : ]5ut when she charms my sight. In pride of beauty's light ; When through my very heart Her beaming glories dart — 'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and joy !— Ccrrie. ACCOUNT OF CIILORIS. 103 I would be obliged to you, if you would procure me a sight of litson's collection of English songs which you mention in your letter. I will thank you for another information, and that as speedily as you please : whether this miserable, drawling, hotch- potch epistle has not completely tirpd you of my correspondence ? The story of the Chloris of Burns is not much less romantic than that of Clariiida. At the time when the poet came to Ellis- land, ]Mr William Lorimer, a substantial farmer, planted himself at Kemmis-hall, on the opposite side of the Nitli, about two miles nearer Dumfries. Mr Lorimer had realised some wealth in conse- quence of an extremely favourable lease, and he now, in addition to farming, carried on extensive mercantile transactions in Dumfries and at Kemmis-liaU. It was in consequence of his dealing in teas and spirits that he fell under the attention of the poet, who then protected the revenue interests in ten parishes. Burns became intimate with the Lorimers. They scarcely ever had company at their house, without invitmg him : they often sent him delicacies ■from their farm; and whenever he passed their way on his pro- fessional toui's, Mrs Lorimer was delighted to mmister to his comforts with a basin of tea, or whatever else he might please to have. A daughter of the family recollects seeing many letters of his addressed to her father: one contained only the words, ' Coming, sir;' a quaint answer, probably, to some friendly note of invitation. No fiscal visitor was ever so liked as he; but then, he was the most good-natured of such visitors — of which one little circumstance, recollected by the person above mentioned, may be sufficient proof. Having arrived one evening, and without Mrs Lorimer's knowledge, put up his horse in the stable, he came in by the back entrance, and so into the kitclieu, where the lady was busy in the preparation of a considerable quantity of candles for home consumption — caudles being then an excisable article. lie looked not — he stopped not — but only remarkmg : 'Faith, ma'am, you're thrang to-night,' passed hastily on to the parlour. Mr Lorimer's eldest daughter Jean was at this time a very young lady, but possessed of uncommon personal charms. Her form was symmetry itself, and, notwithstanding hair of flaxen lightness, the beauty of her face was universally admired. A Mr Gillespie, a brother-officer of Burns, settled at Dumfries, was already enslaved by Miss Lorimer ; and to his suit the poet lent all his inlluence. But it was in vain. Miss Lori- mer became the wife of another, under somewhat extraordinary circumstances. A young gentleman named Wlielixlalc, con- nected with the county of Cumberland, and who had already 104 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. signalised himself by profuse habits, settled at Barnhill, near Moffat, as a farmer. He was acquainted with a respectable family named Johnston at Drumcrieff, near Craigieburn, where Miss Lorimer visited. He thus became acquainted with the young beauty. He paid his addresses to her, and it is sup- posed that she was not adverse to his suit. One night, in March 1793, when the poor girl was still some months less than eighteen years of age, and of course possessed of little prudence or knowledge of the world, he took her aside, and informed her that he could no longer live except as her husband ; he therefore entreated her to elope with him that very night to Gretna Green, in order that they might be married, and threatened to do himself some extreme mischief if she should refuse. A hard -wrung consent to this most imprudent step fixed her fate to sorrow for life. The pair had not been united for many months, when Mr AVhelpdale was obliged by his debts to remove hastily from Barnhill, leaving his young wife no resource but that of returning to her parents at Kemmis- hall. She saw her husband no more for twenty-three years ! Though Burns had now removed to Dumfries, his intimacy with the Kemmis-hall family was kept up — and, let it be remarked, he was not intimate with them merely as an individual, but as the head of a family, for his wife was as much tlie friend and associate of the Lorimers as himself, though perhaps less frequently at their house. When Jean returned thither in her worse than widowed state, she was still under nineteen, and in the full blaze of her uncommon beauty. It was now that she fell more particularly under the notice of the Ayrshire poet. She became his poetical divinity under the appellation of Chloris — a ridiculous appellative of the pastoral poets of a past age, but which, somehow, does not appear ridiculous in the verse of Burns. He is found in Sep- tember 1794 — at which time she was exactly nineteen — beginning to celebrate her in the series of songs of which two or three have already been introduced. With the feelings of the poetical admirer, there appear to have been mingled the compassionate tenderness due to the hapless fate of his young heroine. Such a feeling he expressed in his best style in an inscription on a book presented to her. TO CHLORIS. 'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend, Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwiUing ear attend The moralising Muse. LATTER HISTORY OF CIILORIS. 105 Since thou, in all tliy youth and charms, Must bid the world adieu, (A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) To join the friendly lew : Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, Chill came the tempest's lower ; (And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast Did nip a fairer flower :) Since life's gay scenes must charm no more; Still much is left behind ; Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — The comforts of the mind ! Thine is the sclf-approviiin; glow. On conscious honour's part ; And, dearest gift of Heaven below. Thine friendship's truest heart. The joys refined of sense and taste, With every Muse to rove : And doubly were the poet blest, These joys could he improve. We shall see that during the Avhole of this autumn and winter, Burns was in the full glow of poetical worship towards Mrs Whelp- dale, till he had celebrated her charms in no fewer than eleven songs, some of wliich are amongst the happiest of his compositions. The case was literally as he himself states it. Fascinated by the beauty of this young creature, he erected her as the goddess of his inspiration, at the same time that respect for her intelligence and pity for her misfortunes were sufficient, supposing the absence of other restraints, to debar all unholier thouglits. The subsequent liistory of the lady is pitiful. Some years after this outpouring of poesy in her jM-aise, her father was unfortunate in business, and ceased to be the wealthy man he once was. Tlie tuneful tongue which had sung her praise was laid in silence in Dumfries church-yard. Slie continued to derive no income from her husljand, and scarcely even to know in what part of the world he lived. She was now, therefore, compelled to accept of a situation as plain governess in a gentleman's family; and in such situations she pas.sed some years of her life. In 1810, returning from a visit to her brother in Sunderland, slie inquired at Brampton for her husband, and learned that she liad only missed seeing him by a few hours, as he had tliat day been in the village. lie was now squandering some fourth or fifth fortune, which lOG LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. had been left to him by a relation. Not long after, learning that he was imprisoned for debt at Carlisle, she went to see him. Having announced to him her wish for an interview, she went to the place where he was confined, and was desired to walk in. His lodging was pointed out to her on the opposite side of a quadrangle, round which there was a covered walk, as in the ambulatories of the ancient religious houses. As she walked along one side of this court, she passed a man whose back was towards her — a bulky-looking person, slightly paralytic, and who shuffled in walking, as from lameness. As she approached the door, she heard this man pronounce her name. ' Jean ! ' he said, and then immediately added, as under a more formal feeling, ' Mrs AVhelpdale!' It was her husband — the gay youth of 1793 being now transformed into a broken-down middle-aged man, whom she had passed without even suspecting who he was. The wife had to ask the figure if he was her husband, and the figure answered that he was. To such a scene may a romantic marriage lead ! There was kindness, nevertheless, between the long-sepa- rated pan-. Jean spent a month in Carlisle, calling upon her husband every day, and then returned to Scotland. Some months afterwards, when he had been liberated, she paid him another visit ; but his utter inability to make a prudent use of any money intrusted to him, rendered it quite impossible that they should ever renew their conjugal life. After this, she never saw him again. It is understood that this poor, unprotected woman at length was led into an error which lost her the respect of society. She spent some time in a kind of vagrant life, verging on mendicancy, and never rising above the condition of a domestic servant. She never ceased to be elegant in her form and comely of face ; nor did she ever cease to recollect that she had been the subject of some dozen compositions by one of the greatest modern masters of the lyre. About the year 1825, a benevolent gentleman, to whom she had made her penury known, bestirred himself in her behalf, and represented her case in the public prints, with the hope of drawing forth a little money for her relief. His wife, having sent her some newspapers containing the paragraphs which he had Avritten, received the following note, in which we cannot help thinking there is something not unworthy of a poetical heroine : — 'Bums's Chloris is infinitely obliged to Mrs ■ for her kind attention in, sending the newspapers, and feels pleased and flattered by having so much said and done in her behalf. Ruth was kindly and generously treated by Boaz ; perhaps Bums's Chloris may enjoy a similar fate in the fields of men of talent and worth. March 2, 1825.' LETTER TO MR PETER HILL. 107 The lady here addi*essed saw Mrs Whelpdale several times, and was pleased with her conversation, which shewed con- siderable native acuteness of understanding, and a play of wit such as might have been supposed to charm a high intellect in one of the opposite sex. Afterwards, our heroine obtained a situation as housekeeper with a gentleman residing in Newington, and there she lived for some time in the enjoyment, she said, of greater comfort than she had known since she first left her father's house. But a pulmonary affection of a severe nature gradually undermined her health, and she was ultimately obliged to retire to a humble lodging in Middleton's Entry, Potterrow, near the place where Bums had first met with Clarinda. Here she lingered for some time in great suffering, being chiefly supported by her late master; and here, in September 1831, she breathed her last. Her remains were interred in Newington burying-ground. Her husband, who latterly lived at Langholm, in Dumfriesshu'e, on a small pension, survived her three or four years. Poor Chloris is a sad memento of the evils which spring to woman from one rash step in what is, for that sex, the most important movement in life. Life was to her clouded in its mom : every grace that Heaven gives to make woman a charm and a solace to man, was possessed in vain ; all through this false step, taken, though it was, at a time when she could scarcely be considered as responsible for her own actions. In an inedited passage of the last letter, our passion-swayed poet alludes to Clarinda, as 'a ci-devant goddess of mine!' It was right, even in these poetico-Platonic affairs, to be off with the old love before he was on with the new. Yet it was only four months before, only in June, that she was ' my ever-dearest Clarinda ! ' And a letter of friendship was then too cold to be attempted. Oh woman -kind, think of that when you are addressed otherwise than in the language of sober common-sense ! So lately as June, ' my ever-dearest,' and now only ' a ci-devant goddess ! ' We turn to lighter matters. TO MR PETER IIILL, EDINBURGH. [Di-MFRIES, rnd of Odubtr 1794 ?] My dear HiLi — By a carrier of yesterday, Henry Osbom by name, I sent you a kippered salmon,' which I trust you will duly receive, and wliicli I also trust will give you many a toothful of 1 A salmon rut up and dried in the smoke of the chiiimey— .i favourite break- fast relish in Scotland. 108 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. satisfaction. If you have the confidence to say, that there is anytliinp; of the kind in all your great city superior to this in true kipper relish and flavour, I will be revenged by — not sending you another next season. In return, the first party of friends that dine with you — provided that your fellow-travellers and my trusty and well- beloved veterans in intimacy, Messrs Kamsay and Cameron,^ be of the party — about that time in the afternoon when a relisli or devil becomes grateful, give them two or three slices of the kipper, and drink a bumper to your friends in Dumfries. Moreover, by last Saturday's fly, I sent you a hare, which I hope came, and carriage- free, safe to your hospitable mansion and social table. So much for business. How do you like the following pastoral, which I wrote the other day, for a tune that I daresay you well know I [Follows the song, Co.' the Yowcs to the Kiwivef.^ And how do you like the following ?— ON SEEING MRS KEMBI.E IN YAUICO. Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief Of Moses and his rod ; At Yarico's sweet notes of grief The rock with tears had flowed.^ Or this ?— ON W R , ESQ. So vile was poor Wat, such a miscreant slave. That the worms even damned him when laid in liis grave ; 'In his skull there is famine!' a starved reptile cries; 'And his heart it is poison !' another replies. My best good-wishes to Mrs Hill, and believe me to be, ever yours, E. Burns.'' ' Mr Ramsay was printer of that venerable journal, the I':dinhurgh Eveninii Courant, which still partly belongs to his family. Mr Cameron was a paper manu- facturer. These two gentlemen seem to have recently been at Dumfries, along with Mr Hill, on which occasion there would of course be a merry-meeting with Burns. 2 ' On Friday last, our theatre received a great acquisition in the favourite opera of Inhle and Yarico, by the lirst appearance of Jlrs Kemble, in the amiable and interesting character of Yarico. Her excellent performance of that character has been the subject of high panegyric. We can only join our tribute to her estab- lished reputation, by observing that her delineations were striking, natural, and affecting, and commanded tlie attention and applause of an elegant audience. The farce -viSiS Animal Magnetism, &c.' — Dumfries Journal, Oct. 21, 1794. The actress hi question was the wife of Mr Stephen Kemble, a senior brother in a family which has given at least three distinguished ornaments to the British stage. Jlr S. Kemble composed a ver.v pleasing song on the occasion of the death of Burns. 3 This letter appeared in the Knickerbucker (New York Slagazine) for September 1S4!). On another copy of the epigram on Mrs Kemble, it appears that the per- formance of Inkle and Yarico which Burns witnessed, took place on the 24th of October 1794. ALLAN'S PICTURE OF MAGGIE LAUDER. 109 MR THOMSON TO BURNS. EDRfBiTEGH, Z/th OctobeT 1794. I AM sensible, my dear friend, that a genuine poet can no more exist without his mistress than his meat. I wish I knew the adorable she, whose bright eyes and witching smiles have so (iften enraptured tlie Scottish bard, that I might drink her sweet liealth wlien tlie toast is going lound. Crair/ielnini Wood must certainly be adopted into my family, since slie is the object of the song; but, in the name of decency, I must beg a new cliorus-verse from you. O to be lying beyond thee, dearie, is perhaps a consum- mation to be wished, but will not do for singing in the company of ladies. The songs in your last will do you lasting credit, and suit the respective airs cliavmingly. I am j)erfect]y of your opinion with respect to the additional airs. The idea of sending them into tiio world naked as they were born, was ungenerous. They must all be clothed, and made decent by our friend Clarke. I find I am anticipated by the friendly Cunningham in sending you Ritsou's Scottish collection. Permit me, therefore, to present you with his English collection, which you will receive by the coach. I do not find his liistorical essay on Scottish song interesting. Your anecdotes and miscellaneous remarks will, T am sure, be much more so. Allan has just sketched a charming design from Maggie Lauder. She is dancing with such spirit as to electrify the piper, who seems almost dancing too, Avhile he is ])laying with the most exquisite glee. I am much inclined to get a small co})y, and to have it engraved iu the style of Ilitson's prints. P.H. — Tray, what do your anecdotes say concerning Maggie Lauder!' — was she a real ijcrsonage, and of wliat rank? You would surely upeer/w her, if you ca'd at Amter toicn. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Novembn' 1794- Many thanks to you, my dear sir, for yoiir j)refient; it is a book of the utmost importance to me. I have yesterday begun my anecdotes, &;c. for your work. I intend drawing them uj) iu the form of a letter to you, which will save me from the tedious, dull business of systematic arrangement. Indeed, as all I have to say consists of unconnected remarks, anecdotes, scrajjs of old songs, .^c. it would be impossible to give the work a beginning, a middle, and an end, which the critics insist to be absolutely necessary in a work. In my last, I told you my objections to the song you had selected for My Lodgivg ix on tin: rold (IriMunl. On my visit the otiier day to my fair Chloris — that is the ])oetic name of the lovely goddess of my insi)irati()ii — • she suggested an idea, which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the following song : — 110 LIFE AKD WORKS OP BURNS. MY CHLORIS, MARK HOW GREEN THE GROVES. TusE — My Lodging is on ihe cold Grotmd. My Chloris, mark how green the groves, The primrose banks how fair ; The balmy gales awake the fiowers, And wave thy flaxen hair. The lav'i'ock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings : For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, To shepherds as to kings. Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string In lordly lighted ha' : The shepherd stops his simple reed. Blithe, in the birken shaw. The princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; But are their hearts as light as ours Beneath the milk-white thorn ? The shepherd, in the flowery glen, In shepherd's phrase will woo : The courtier tells a finer tale. But is his heart as true ? These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine : The courtier's gems may witness love — But 'tis na love like mine. How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this pastoral ? I think it pretty well. I like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into the story of 'ma chere amie.^ I assure you, I was never more in earnest in my life, than in the account of that aft'air which I sent you in my last. Conjugal love is a passion which I deeply feel and highly venerate ; but, somehow, it does not make such a figure in poesy as that other species of the passion — "Where love is liberty, and nature law. Musically speaking, the first is an instrument of which the gamut is scanty and confined, but the tones inexpressibly sweet, while the last has powers equal to all the intellectual modulations of the human soul. Still, I am a very poet in my enthusiasm of the passion. The welfare and happiness of the beloved object is the first and inviolate ' CIIAR^nNG CHLOE.' Ill sentiment that pervades my soul ; and whatever pleasures I might wish for, or whatever might be tlie raptures they would give me, yet, if they interfere with that first principle, it is having these pleasures at a dishonest price ; and justice forbids, and generosity disdains, the purchase ! . . . . Despairing of my own powers to give you variety enough in Englisli songs, I have been turning over old collections, to pick out songs, of which the measure is somethh)g similar to what I want ; and, with a little alteration, so as to suit the rhythm of the air exactly, to give you them for your work. Where the songs have hitherto been but little noticed, nor have ever been set to music, I think the shift a fair one. A song which, under the same first verse, you will find in Eamsay's Tea-tahle Miscellanij, I have cut down for an English dress to your Daintj Davie, as follows: — IT WAS THE CHARMIKG MONTH OF MAY. TvttE—Dainli/ Davie. It was the charming month of May, When all the flowers were fresh and gay, One morning, by the break of day. The youthful, charming Chloe ; From peaceful slumber she arose. Girt on her mantle and her hose. And o'er the flowery mead she goes, The youthful, charming Chloe. Lovely was she by the dawn, Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o'er tlie pearly lawn. The youthful, charming Chloe. The feathered people, you might sec Perched all around on every tree, In notes of sweetest melody They liail the charming Ciiloe ; Till, painting gay the eastern skies. The glorious sun began to rise, Out-rivalled by the radiant eyes Of youthful, charming Chloe. You may think meanly of this, but take a look at the bombast original, and you will be surprised tliat I have nuide so mucli of it. 1 have finished my song to llotUcinurchii's /.' change most reniarkahlo is IhL' suhstitiition of ICliza fur .Maria. The aHciiation of Mrs Riddel, and his resentment ai the Morning Chronicle. What would weigh the more with him, his prospects in the Excise were at this time brightening; his hopes of a speedy appointment to a supervisorship were strong. Again, it must be pressed on the reader's attention, that Burns, though cer- tainly not a rich man, and though he had some little debts hanging over his head, was not quite so sunk in poverty as to have made the refusal of Mr Perry's offer the last degree of hardship. The whole popular idea entertained of the pecuniary circumstances of Burns, and consequently of the manner in which he and his family subsisted in the latter part of his life, requires correction. The stated official income of Burns Avas L..50 a year, which usually became L.70, in consequence of extra allowances for certain departments of business. It has been surmised that he had to keep a horse out of this little income; but in reality, Avhen a horse was required during the Dumfries period of his life, he was accustomed to hire one from an inn, and its expense was charged to the service. There seem to have been other sources of official income, of a more precarious nature : on the back of a song in his handwriting, he has noted what follows: 'I owe Mr FindlaterL.G, 8s. 5;kl. My share of last year's fine is L.l'i, 2s. Id. W. M., L.14, 3s. 6d.' If this was anything like the average of some other perquisite, it would make up Burns's official revenues to something above L.80 a year. It may also be remarked, that his son, Mr Robert Burns, believes that the poet occasionally derived a little income from land-surveying — a business for which his Kirkoswald education had laid the foundation of his qualifications. Add to all this the solid perquisites which he derived from seizures of contraband spirits, tea, and other aiticles, which it was then the custom to divide among the officers, and we shall see that Burns could scarcely be considered as enjoying less than L.90 a year. This, indeed, is but a humble income in comparison with the deserts of the bard ; yet it is equally certain, that many worthy families in the middle ranks of life in Scottish country towns were then supported in a decent manner upon no larger means ; and very few men of the poet's original profession, out of East Lothian and Berwickshire, drew larger incomes from their farms. It is therefore not surprising to learn that Bums, though now and then forced to be beholden to a friend for a small temporary loan — we have seen an example of this when a failure of importation closed one of his sources of extraordinary income — did, nevertheless, in general maintain his household in MENAGE OF CUKNS AT DUMFRIES. 125 some reasonable degree of comfort. I have consulted the eldest son of the bard on this subject, and find his views of the paternal riunarje, at Dumfries very much the same as those with which many little circumstances have impressed myself. Mr K. B. speaks of the house in the Mill Vennel as being one of a good order, such as were used in those days by the better class of citizens, and the life of his father and mother as being comparatively genteel life. They always had a maid-servant, and sat in their parlour. Tliat room, and the two principal bedrooms, were carpeted, and otlier- wise well furnislied. The poet possessed a mahogany dining-table, •where he often had good company assembled. In the same room stood his folding-down desk, at wliich he had to do a considerable amount of business in the granting of licences, permits, &c. and where the son remembers seeing him writing his letters to Mr Thomson, always a business requiring a good deal of care. Tliere was much rough comfort in the house not to have been found in those of ordinary citizens; for, besides the spoils of smugglers, as above mentioned, the poet received many presents of game and country produce from the rural gentlefolk, besides occasional barrels of oysters from Hill, Cunningham, and other friends in town, so that he possibly was as much envied by some of his neighbours as he has since been pitied by the general body of his countrymen. An intimate friend of Mrs Burns during tl\e life of the poet — the Jessy of liis songs, now Mrs James Thomson — has similar recol- lections of the household in the Mill Vennel. She speaks of the large seizures of rum, and the frequent presents, as only leading to a degree of hospitality somewhat excessive. At the same time, as far as circumstances left Burns to his own inclinations, his personal domestic hal^its were generally simple and temperate. As he was often detained by company from the dinner provided for him by liis wife, she sometimes, on a conjecture of his probable absence, would not prepare that meal for him. "When he chanced to come home, and find no dinner ready, he was never in the least troubled or irritated, but would address himself with the greatest cheerful- ness to any sucuedaneum that could be readily set before liim. They generally had abundance of good 1 )uiilop cheese, sent to them by their Ayrshire friends. The poet would sit down to that whole- some fare, with l)reHd and butter, and his book by his side, and seem to any casual visitor as happy as a courtier at the feasts of kings. lie was always anxious that his wife should have a neat and genteel appearance. In conse([uence, as she alleged, of tiic duties of nursing, and attending to her infants, she could not heli) being sometimes a little out of order. Burns di.slikod this, and not only remonstrated against it in a gentle way, but did the utmost tliat in him lay to counteract it, by buying for her the best clothes he could 126 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. afford. Any little novelty in female dress was almost sure to meet •with patronage from Burns — all with the aim of keeping up a spirit for neat dressing in his wife. She was, for instance, one of the first persons in Dumfries who appeared in a dress of gingham — a stuff now common, but, at its first introduction, rather costly, and almost exclusively used by persons of superior condition. On the whole, it must be admitted that Burns's poverty at this, and perhaps at several other periods of his life, has been over- stated. After settling in Dumfries, he certainly was without spare funds, or anything that could be considered as a provision for his family. But of the necessaries of life he never was in any want, nor, down to the few last months, were even the comforts deficient. BURKS TO MR THOMSON. IPost-mark, Dec. 9], 1794. It is, I assure you, the pride of my heart to do anything to for- ward or add to the value of your book ; and as I agree with you, that the Jacobite song in the 2Iuseum to There'll never he Peace till Jamie comes Hame, would not so well consort with Peter Pindar's excellent love-song to that air, I have just framed for you the following : — [The song hei-e transcribed was one entitled My Nannie's area, referring to Mrs M'Lehose's absence in the Vv'est Indies. Though perhaps not completed till now, it has been printed in the third volume of the present edition, p. 217.] How does this please you ? As to the point of time for the expression,, in your proposed print from my Sodger's Eeturn,\t must certainly bo at — ' She gazed.' The interesting dubiety and suspense taking pos- session of her countenance, and the gushing fondness, with a mixture of roguish playfulness in his, strike me as things of which a master will make a great deal. In great haste, but in great truth, yours. TO 5IRS DUXLOP, IN LONDON. Dumfries, 20\ illiafii himlh, porfuiner, Uumfrics.' VOL. IV. 1 130 LIFE AXD WORKS OP BURNS. paperis either have never been sent me, or else have never reached me. To be deprived of any one number of the first newspaper in Great Britain for information, ability, and independence, is what I can ill brook and bear ; but to be deprived of that most admirable oration of the Marquis of Lansdowne, when he made the great, though ineffectual attempt (in the language of the poet, I fear too true) ' to save a sinking state '—this was a loss that I neither can nor will forgive you. That paper, sir, never reached me; but I demand it of you. I am a Briton, and must be interested in the cause of liberty ; I am a man, and the rights of human nature cannot be indifferent to me. However, do not let me mislead you — I am not a man in that situation of life which, as your subscriber, can be of any consequence to you, in the eyes of those to whom .SITUATION OF LIFE ALONE is the Criterion of man. I am but a plain tradesman, in this distant, obscure country-town ; but that humble domicile in which I shelter my wife and children, is the Castellu.ai of a Briton; and that scanty, hard-earned income which supports them, is as truly my property, as the most magnifi- cent fortune of the most puissant member of your house of nobles. These, sir, are my sentiments, and to them I subscribe my name ; and were I a man of ability and consequence enough to address the PUBLIC, with that name should they appear. I am, &c. The date of this letter may be referred with tolerable confidence to the commencement of 1795, as the specimen of parliamen- tary eloquence to which it alludes was probably a remarkable oration against the continuance of the war, which the Marquis of Lansdowne delivered in the debate on the Address, 30th December 1794. So existence flows on with Burns in this pleasant southern town. He has daily duties in stamping leather, gauging malt-vats, noting the manufacture of candles, and granting licences for the transport of spirits. These duties he performs with fidelity to the king and not too much rigour to the subject. As he goes about them in the forenoon, in his respectable suit of dark clothes, and with his little boy Robert perhaps holding by his hand and conversing with him on his school-exercises, he is beheld by the general public with respect, as a person in some autliority, the head of a family, and also as a man of literary note ; and people are heard addressing him deferentially as Afr Burns — a form of his name which is still prevalent in Dumfries. At a leisure hour before dinner, he will call at some house where there is a piano — such as Mr NcAvall, the writer's — and there have some young miss to touch over for liim one or two of his favourite Scotch airs, such as the Sutor's Daughter, in order that he may accommodate to it some stanzas tliat have been humming through DAILY LIFE OF EURNS AT DUMFRIES. 131 ' his brain for the kst few days. For another half horn*, he will be seen standing at the head of some cross street with two or three young fellows, bankers' clerks, or ' writer-chiels' commenc- ing business, whom he is regaling with sallies of his bright but not always innocent wit — indulging there, indeed, in a strain of conversation so diiferent from what had passed m the respectable elderly writer's mansion, that, though he were not the same man, it could not have been more different. Later in the day, he takes a solitary walk along the Dock Green by the river-side, or to Lincluden, and composes the most part of a new song ; or he spends a couple of hours at his folding-down desk, between the fire and window in his parlour, transcribing in his bold round hand the remarks which occur to him on Mr Thomson's last letter, together with some of his o^vn recently composed songs. As a possible variation upon this routine, he has been seen passing along the old bridge of Devorgilla Balliol, about three o'clock, with his sword-cane m his hand, and his black beard unusually well shaven, being on his way to dine with John Syme at Ryedale, where young Sir Oswald of Auchincruive is to be of the party — or maylie in the opposite direction, to partake of the luxuries of John Bushby, at Tinwald Downs. But we presume a day when no such attraction invades. The evening is passmg quietly at home, and pleasant-natured Jean has made herself neat, and come in at six o'clock to give him his tea — a meal he always takes. At this period, however, there is something remarkably exciting in the proceedings of the French army under Fichegru; or Fox, Adam, or Sheridan, is expected to make an onslaught upon the ministry in the House of Commons. The post comes into Dumfries at eight o'clock at night. There is always a group of gentlemen on the street, eager to hear tlic news. Bums saunters out to the High Street, and waits amongst the rest. The intelli- gence of the evening is very interesting. The Convention has decreed the annexation of the Netherlands — or tlio new treason- bill has passed the House of Lords, with only the feeble protest of Bedford, Derby, and Lauderdale. These things merit some discussion. The trades-lads go off to strong ale in the closes; the gentlemen slide in little groups into tlie King's Anns Hotel or the George. As for Burns, he will just have a single glass and a half- hour's chat beside John Hyslop's fire, and then go (juietly Iiome. So he is quickly absorbed in the little narrow close where tliat vintner maintains his state. There, however, one or two friends have already established themselves, all with i)reci8ely the same virtuous intent. They heartily greet the bard. Meg or John bustles about to give liim his accustomed place, which no one ever disputes. And, somehow, the debate on the news of the evening 132 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. leads on to other cliat of an intei-esting kind. Then Bums becomes brilliant, and his friends give him the applause of their laughter. One jug succeeds another — mirth aboimds — and it is not till Mi\s Hyslop has declared that they are going beyond all bounds, and she positively will not give them another drop of hot water, that our bard at length bethinks him of returning home, where Bonnie Jean has been lost in peaceful slumber for three hours, after vainly wondering ' what can be keeping Robert out so late the nicht.' Burns gets to bed a little excited and worn out, but not in a state to provoke much remark from his amiable partner, in whom nothing can abate the veneration with which she has all along regarded him. And though he beds at a latish hour, most likely he is up next morning between seven and eight, to hear little Robert his day's lesson in Cwsm; or, if the season invites, to take a half-hour's stroll before breakfast along the favourite Dock Green. Thus existence moves on, not unenjoyed, and not without its labours both for the present and future ; and yet it is an unsatis- factory life, as compai'ed with what might have been expected by those who saw Burns in his first flush of fame at Monboddo's suppers or the reunions of Dr Ferguson. He has had his aspira- tions after better things. In 1788, he thought of a poetical autobiography, the PoeVs Progress, and wrote two little bits for it, sketches of Creech and Sniellie. At the end of '89, stimulated by reading English plays and visiting the Dumfries theatre, he had bethought him of a Scottish comic drama of modern manners, but, so far as we know, never wrote a line of it. The idea still kept possession of his head ; but in autumn '90, when Mr Ramsay of Ochtertyre visited him, he had shifted the proposed period, and thought of dramatising a droll legend regarding Robert Bruce. What even so lively a wit could have made of such an incident as Eoh Macquechan^s elshen, wliich ran nine inches up into the fugitive king's heel, we cannot tell. It does not seem to have ever gone beyond an mtention. It is supposed, but on no clear evidence known to us, that the poet composed Brnce's Address as a portion of a more serious drama on the liberator of Scotland, which he then contemplated. We see now that he cast about for the subject of a Scottish opera like the Duemm, and it is not nnlikely that, in the Lover's Morning Address to Ms Mistress, he either composed a portion of such a work, or was trying his hand in such a kind of composition. This, too, the last of his schemes for an extended eftbrt in literature, died in the conception. Occasional songs, or other short pieces, were alone compatible with his present duties and inclinations ; and we may be thankful that, in such circumstances, he exerted himself even in that limited manner. SONG — ' FOR a' that AND A' THAT.' 133 BURNS TO MR THOMSON. January 179.i. I TV..KU for my songs; however, a few may please, yet originality is a coy feature in composition, and in a multiplicity of efforts in the same style, disappears altogetiier. For these three thousand years, we poetic folks have been describing the spring, for instance ; and as the spring continues the same, there must soon be a sameness in the imagery, kc. of these said rhyming folks A great critic (Aikin) on songs says, tliat love and wine are the exclusive themes for song- writing. Tlie following is on neither subject, and conse(piently is no song, but will be allowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts inverted into rhyme: — Fou a' that axd a' that. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that ! The coward slave we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that ! For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp,' The man's the jjowd for a' that! AVhat thoufrh on hamclv fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' tliat; Oie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' th.at ! For a' that, and a' that. Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Is kinff o' men for a' that ! O Ye sec yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha stmts, and stares, and .V that ; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' tliat : fcol For a' that, and a' that, Ilis ribbon, star, and a' that; The man of indcjiendent mind. He looks and laugiis at a' that. 1 A similar thou(?ht occurs in Wvclicrl.v's niln-Dialn: wlilcli niimg probat.Iy never saw : 'I wciKh the man. not his title; 'tis not tlio kiuKs !.l»ni|i cm muko the mftiul better or heavier. Your lord is a Uttdcn shilling, which jou bend every way, and debases the stamp he bears.' 134 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that ; But an honest man's aboon his miglit, Guid faith, he maunna fa' • that ! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that ; Tlie pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank 2 than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may — As come it will for a' that — That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. May hear the gree, and a' that. supremncy For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that ! Jan. 15)!7t.— The foregoing has lain by me this fortnight, for want of a spare moment. The supervisor of excise here being ill, I liavo been acting for him, and I assure you I have hardly five minutes to myself to thank you for your elegant present of Pindar. The typography is admirable, and worthy of the truly original bard. I do not give you the foregoing song for your book, but merely by way of vine la bagatelle; for the piece is not really poetry. How will the following do for Craigieburn Wood ? [For the new version of Craigieburn Wood, hero transcribed by the bard sec Vol. iu. p. 235.] ' Farewell ! God bless you ! By this time the paroxysm of alarm vMch. commenced in 1792, and under which every man who did not see perfection in the British constitution had been treated as something little better than a mad dog, was in a great measure past. The reaction of the French against Barrere and other heroes of the Committee of Safety, was in full flow, and Britain felt that she had nothing to dread from the analogous class of her own citizens. The unfor- tunate reformers of '92 and '93 began, accordingly, to get up their heads again, not as reformers— for all idea of change for years to come was at an end— but as well-meaning members of society. Conservatism felt that it could afford to be compas- sionate and forgiving; and many of its special votaries were perhaps conscious in their secret thoughts, that certain of their ' Fa', as a noun, means lot or share; as a verb, to get or obtain. Burns horo uses the word in a violent sense, q. d. ' He must not attempt to have that as a thuis m \ns power.' - Usually printed ' ranks,' but so in manuscript. FraENDLINESS OF CAPTAIN HAMILTON. 135 opponents had been grievously misjudged and wronged. Burns, amongst others, appears to have experienced the benetit of this relenting mood. Both the house which he had occupied in the Wee Venuel, and that now tenanted by him, belonged to Captain John Hamilton of Allershaw ; a gentleman of the highest respectability and most amiable character, who had treated him from the iirst with great kindness. For a twelvemonth past, there had been no intercourse between the landlord and his distinguished tenant ; but now, on Bums sending a small sum of money towards the liquidation of arrears of rent, Hamilton sent him a friendly note : — TO MR BURNS. DiMFWEs, mil Jan. I'M. Dear Sir — At same time that I acknowledge the receipt of three guineas to account of house-rent, will you permit me to enter a complaint of a different nature ? When you first came here, I courted your acquaintance ; I wished to sec you ; I asked you to call in, and take a family dinner now and then, when it suited your convenience. For more than twelve months, you have never entered my door, but seemed rather shy when we met. This kept me from sending any further particular invitation. If I have in any sliapc offended, or from inadvertency hurt the delicacy of your feelings, tell me so, and I will endeavour to set it to rights. If you are disposed to renew our acquaintance, [I] will be glad to see you to a family dinner at 3 o'clock on Sunday, and, at anyratc, hope you will believe me, dear sir, your sincere friend, John Hamilton. Burns's answer came next morning : — to captain HAMILTON. Salurday Moriiinp, {Juntiarp .11.] Sir— I was from home, and had not the opportunity of seeing your more than polite, your most friendly card. It is not possilile, most worthy sir, that you could do anything to offend anybody. l^Iy backwardness proceeds alone from tlie aba.sliing con.sci()usnes.s of my obscure station in the ranks of life. I^Iany an evening have I bighed to call in and spend it at your social fireside; but a shyness ol appearing obtrusive amid the fashionable visitants occasionally there, kept me at a distance. It shall do so no more. On Monday, I must be in the countrv, and most part of the week ; but the first leisure evening I shall .avail myself of your liospiUiblc gooducss. ^^ Uh Iho most ardent sentiments of gratitude and respect, I have tlie honour to be, sir, your highlv-obliged humble servant, Koijt. Buuns. loG LIFE AND WORKS OF EUKNS. It is tolerably clear, that the reason which Burns here assigns for his conduct could not be the sole one. So modest a sense of his position in life was not characteristic of the bard who had just sung, A Man's a Man for a' that. And it might have been asked, how he had come to act on this feeling for the last twelvemonth, when no such sentiment had withheld his visits to Hamilton's mansion before. One can scarcely doubt, that there were other considera- tions pressing upon him — the unpleasant sense of debt towards his landlord, and the consciousness that he was under the ban of a large part of respectable society on account of politics, the Riddel quarrel, and his own many imprudences. He had clearly set forward as the sole and all-sufficient reason one comparatively weak, but that which could alone be gracefully acknowledged. On the other hand, the warmth of Hamilton's letter, so unlike the spirit of the M'CuUoch anecdote of June '94, sliews toler- ably well how Burns was beginning to recover in the good graces of the respectables. The movement towards a reconciliation with Maria Riddel, which commenced in November, had not been allowed to stop short. About this time, the lady had sent Bums a book which she probably supposed him likely to enjoy in the perusal. She had also communicated a new poetical expression of her feelings on their late estrangement, in tlie form of a song, which she desired the poet to correct or criticise, for in this strange con- fusion of love and literature, it seems to have been thought not imfitting that Burns should, in the way of his art, help to polish the shaft of tender reproach aimed at his own bosom. TO MRS RIDDEL. Mr Burnk's compliments to Mrs Riddel— is much obliged to her for her polite attention in sendirifj him the book. Owing to Mr B. at present acting as supervisor of Excise, a department that occupies liis every hour of the day, he has not that time to spare whicli is necessary for any belles-lettres pursuit; but as he will in a week or two again return to his wonted leisure, lie will tlien pay that attention to Mrs R.'s beautifid song. To tkae, loved Nith, which it so well deserves. When Anacharsm's Travels come to hand, which Mrs Riddel mentioned as her gift to the public library, Mr B. will feel honoured by the indulgence of a perusal of them before presontatiou : it is a book he has never yet seen, and the regulations of the library allow too little leisure for deliberate reading. RECONCILIATION WITH MRS RIDDEL. Friday evciiiiur. P. S.—lIr Burns will be much obliged to Mrs Riddel, if she will favour him with a perusal of any of her poetical pieces which he may not have seen. The song has fortunately been preserved. TO THEEj LOVED XITH. To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains, Where late with careless thought I ransod, Though prest with care, and sunk in wo, To thee I bring a heart unchanged. I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes. Though Memory there my bosom tear. For there he roved, that broke my heart. Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear ! And now your banks and bonnie braes But waken sad remembrance' smart ; The very shades I held most dear, Now strike fresh anguish to my heart : Deserted bower ! where are they now — Ah ! where the garlands tliat I wove With faithful care, each morn to deck The altars of ungrateful love? The flowers of spring, how gay they bloomed. When last with him I wandered here! The flowers of spring are passed away For wintry horrors dark and drear. Yon osiered stream, by whose lone banks My songs have lulled him oft to rest, Is now in icy fetters locked — Cold as my false love's frozen breast. MR THOM.SON TO BURN.". Edimurgh, .W/i January I'VX My dear Sir— I tliank you heartily for Xaniuf'''s Airrr, aa well as for Crairjieburn, which I think a very comely pair. Your observation on tlic difficulty of orij,'inal writing in a number of cflbrts, in the same style, striU-es me very forcihiy ; and it has, again and again, excited my wonder to find you continually surmounting this difficulty, in the many delightful songs you have sent me. Your vive la udfjal'dk song. For (c" that, shall undoubtedly 1)C included in my list. The supervising duties which Bums had taken up, brought him early in February to the village of Ecclefeclian, in Annandale-a 138 LIFE AKD WORKS OF BUENS. place which will contmue to be memorable in Scottish biography as the birthplace of several remarkable men, all of them con- nected with the histoiy of our bard. The first was the school- tyi-ant Nicol, of whom we have not heard for some time. The second was Dr Currie of Liverpool, the amiable editor of Bm-ns, and most effective friend of his family. A third, who would be first seeing the light just about this time, was Thomas Carlyle, than whom no man has written about Bums with a fairer appre- hension of his merits, or a truer expression of sympathy for his misfortunes. Burns, little thinking of the destinies of Ecclefechan infants, had come there in the midst of air extraordinary fall of snow, which threatened to keep him a prisoner to his inn for many days. It was such a snow-faU as no living man remembered. Most people throughout Scotland, on wakening in the morning, fomid their houses absorbed in it up to the second tier of windows ; and in some hollows of the Campsie Fells, near Glasgow, it was drifted to the depth of from eighty to a hundred feet. Some roads were impassable for weeks, and even in the streets of Edinburgh, it had not entirely disappeared on the king's birthday, the 4th of June. The immediate consequences to Burns are amusingly described by himself : — BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Ecclefechan, "iih February 179j. My uear Thomson — You cannot have any idea of the predicament in wliich I write to you. In the course of my duty as supervisor — in which capacity I liave acted of late — I came yesternight to this unfortunate, wicked little village.' I have gone forward, but snows of ten feet deep have impeded my progress ; I have tried to fjae hack the gait I cam again, but the same obstacle has slnit me up within insuperable bars. To add to my misfortune, since dinner, a scraper has been torturing catgut, in sounds that would have insulted the dying agonies of a sow under the hands of a butcher, and thinks liimsclf, on tliat very account, exceeding good company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, cither to get drunk, to forget these miseries ; or to hang myself, to get rid of them : like a prudent man — a character congenial to my every thought, word, and deed — I, of two evils, have chosen the least, and am very drunk, at your service (2 I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to tell you all I wanted to say ; and, Heaven knov/s, at present I have not capacity. 1 Dr Currie remarks, that the poet must have been tipsy indeed to abuse sweet Ecclefechan at this rate. 2 Tlie handwriting confirms the poet's confession, for it lacks his usual clearness and regularity. SONG—' O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING YET?' 139 Do yoii know an air — I am sure you must know it — We'll gang nae. inair to yon Toicn ? I think, in slowish time, it would make an excel- lent song. I am highly delighted with it ; and if you should think it worthy of youi- attention, I have a fair dame in my eye, to whom I would consecrate it. Try it with this doggrcl — until I give you a better : wat ye wha's in yon town, Ye see the e'eniu' sun upon ? The dearest maid 's in yon town That e'eniu' sun is shinin' ou. O sweet to me yon spreading tree, "Where Jeanic wanders aft her lane ; The hawthorn flower that shades her bower. Oh, %vhcn shall I behold again ? As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good-night. E. B. P. ,S'.— As I am likely to be storm-staid here to-morrow, if I am in the humour, you shall have a long letter from me. BDBNS TO MR THOMSON. lPosl-mar}i, February 9], 1793. Here is another trial at your favourite : O LASSIE, AIIT THOU SLEEPINC! YliT ? Tl'se— £et me in this ae Kight. O lassie, art thou sleeping yet? Or art thou wakin', I would wit? For love has bound me liaiid and foot, And I would fain be in, jo. cnoRi's. O let me in this ac niglit, Thisae, ac, ac night; For pity's sake this ae night, O rise and let mc in, jo! Thou hcar'st the winter wiml and wcct, Nae star blinks through tlie driving sleet ; Tak pity on my weary feet. And shield me frac the rain, jo. 140 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Tlie bitter blast that round me blaws Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; Tlie cauldness o' thy heart's the cause Of a' my grief and pain, jo. HER ANSWER. O tell na me o' wind and rain, Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ; Gae back the gait ye cam again — ■ I wiuna let ye in, jo ! CHORUS. I tell you now this ae night, This ae, ae, ae night ; And ance for a' this ae night, I vvinna let you in, jo! The snellest blast, at mirkest hours. That round the pathless wanderer pours, Is nocht to wliat poor she endures, Tliat's trusted faitliless man, jo. Tiie sweetest flower that decked the mead. Now trodden like tlie vilest weed ; Let simple maid tlie lesson read, The weird may be her ain, jo. The bird tliat charmed his summer-day, Is now tiie cruel fowler's prey ; Let witless, trusting woman say How aft her fate 's the same, jo ! I do not know whether it will do. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. ^jth February 1795. I HAVE to thank you, my dear sir, for two epistles — one con- taining Let me in this ae Nirjld; and the other from Ecclefechan, pi-oving that, drunk or sober, ^our ' mind is never muddy.' You have displayed great address in tlie above song. Her answer is excellent, and at the same time takes away the indelicacy that otherwise would have attached to his entreaties. I like the song, as it now stands, very much. THE KIRKCUDCKIGHT ELECTION, 1795. 141 I had hopes you would be arrested some days at Ecclefechan, and !)e obliged to beguile the tedious forenoons by song-making. It will give me pleasure to receive the verses you intend lor icat ye u-Iiu's in yon Town? Amongst other things ^snowed up by the storm of February '95, was a Scotch county election. The death of General Stewart in January had created a vacancy in the representation of tiie Stewartry of Kirkcudbright — a district so closely adjoining to Dumfries, that all its concerns are tliere deeply felt. A writ Jiad been issued and intrusted to Lord Garlics, M.P., son of the Earl of Galloway; but his lordship kept it back for several weeks, for the ostensible reason, that it was impossible for the electors at such a season to meet for the recording of their votes. Mean- while, public feeling was strongly excited, the vacant seat being ciratested between a Tory, under the Galloway influence, and an independent country gentleman of Whig politics. The latter ■was the same JMr Heron of Kerrouiihtree whom Burns had visited in June of the past year, soon after his melancholy ren- contre with David I\I'Culloch. He was a benevolent and most respectable man. Tlie candidate in the Tory interest was Mr Gordon of Balmaghie, himself a man of moderate property and influence, but greatly fortifled by the favour of his imde, Mr Murray of Broughton, one of the wealtliieat proprieturs in the south of Scotland, as well as by the interest of the Earl of Galloway. It was certainly most unsuitable for Burns to take any part in this conflict, as, while no public duty was neglected by his silence, his partisanship was ten times more likely to do him harm than good. lie saw, however, some of his favourite aversions, such as the Earl of Galloway and John Bushby of Tiiiwald Downs, on the one side, while on the other stood a really worthy man, who liad shewn him some kindness, and whose jjolitical prepossessions accorded with his own. AVith his characteristic recklessness, lie threw off several ballads, and even caused them to be circulated in print; effusions which must now be deemed of secondary im- portance in the roll of his works, but which yet are well worthy of preservation for the traits of a keen .satiric spirit which mingle with their local and scarcely intelligil)le allusions : BALLADS 0.\ Mil HERO.n's ELIXTION, 1795. OAI.I.AD FIRST. Whom will you send to London town, To rarlianiont and a' tliat ? Or wha in a' tlio country round. The best deserves to fa' that ? 142 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. For a' that, and a' that, Through Galloway and a' that ; Where is the laird or belted knight That best deserves to fa' that ? Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett, And wha is 't never saw that ? Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree meets, And has a doubt of a' that ? For a' that, and a' that. Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! The independent patriot, The honest man, and a' that. Though wit and worth in either sex, St Mary's Isle can shaw that ; Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix, And weel does Selkirk fa' that. For a' that, and a' that. Here *s Heron yet for a' that ! The independent commoner Shall be the man for a' that. But why should we to nobles jouk ? bend And is 't against the law that ? For why, a lord may be a gouk, fool AVi' ribbon, star, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that. Here's Heron yet for a' that! A lord may be a lousy loun, Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that.i A beardless boy comes o'er the hills, Wi' uncle's purse and a' that. But we'll liae ane frac 'mang oursels, A man we ken, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! For we're not to be bought and sold, Like naigs, and nowt, and a' that. cattle Then let us drink the Stewartry, Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that. Our representative to be. For weel he's worthy a' that. 1 The vituperation in tfiis stanza refers, not to the Selkirk family, for which Burns had a respect, as shewn in the preceding verse, but to the Earl of Galloway. KIRKCUDBRIGHT ELECTION BALLADS. 143 For a' that, and a' that, Here's Heron yet for a' that ! A House of Commons such as ho, They would be blest that saw that. BALLAD SECOXD. Fy, let US a' to Kirkcudbright, For there will be bickering there ; For Murray's light horse are to muster. And oh, how the heroes will swear ! i First, there will be trusty Ken-oughtrce,"2 Whase honour was ever his law ; If the virtues were packed in a parcel, His worth might be sample for a'. And strong and rcspectfu's liis backing, The maist o' the lairds wi' hira stand ; Nae gipsy-like nominal barons, Whase property 's paper, but lands.^ For there frae the Niddisdale borders. The Maxwells will gather in droves, Teugh Jockie,-* stanch Geordic,'' and Wellwood,'' That griens for the fishes and loaves. longs And there will be Heron the Major,7 Wlia'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys ; Our flattery we 'U keep for some other, Hira only 'tis justice to praise. And there will be Maiden Kilkerran," And also Barskiniming's gude knight;'' And there will bo roaring IJirtwhistle,'*' AVlia luckily roars i' the riglit. ' This liallad is oomposcd in imitation of a rouch but most nmiisintr spcrimon of the old hallad litoraturo of Scotland, (Icscriptive of the- company iittcndin;; a country wedding — 'Fy, let us a' to the weddinjr, For there'll bo lilting there,' fee. - Mr Heron of Kerroughtree, the Whig oandidato. •' Many of the county electors were, previous to t!ie IJcfomi Act of I8.TJ, pos- scssors of fictitious votes only— often called /uiprr volrrs. ■• Mr Maxwell of Terrauglity, the venerable gentleman on whose birtliday Burns wrote some verses. See vol. iii., ji. 204. •'' George Ma.xwell of Carruchan. Mr Wellwood Maxwell. 7 Major Heron, brother of the Whig candidate. " Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkerran. " Sir AVilliam Miller of BarsKimming; afterwards o Judge under tlic designation of Lord Olenlee. 1" Mr Hirtwhistle of Kirkcudbright. 144 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Next there will be wealtliy young Richard '— Dame Fortune should liing by the neck For prodigal thriftless bestowing — His merit had won him respect. And there will be rich brother nabobs, Though nabobs, yet men of the first ;^ And there will be Collieston's whiskers,^ And Quintin, o' lads not the warst.* And there will be Stamp-office Johnnie-'— Take care how ye purchase a dram; And there will be gay Cassencarrie,'J And there will be gleg Colonel Tam." And there will be folk frae St Mary's, A house of great merit and note ;>> The deil ane but honours them highly, The deil's few will gie them a vote. And there'll be Murray commander,!' And Gordon the battle to win;"' Like brothers they'll stand by each other, Sae knit in alliance and sin. And there will be black-lippit Johnnie,'! The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; An he gets na hell for his haddin, The deil gets nae justice ava. And there'll be Kempleton's birkie,'- A chiel no sae black at the bane; For as for his fine nabob fortune. We'll e'en lot that subject alane.'^ ' Richard Oswald of Aucliinoi-uive. 2 Messrs Hannay. ■3 Mr Copland of Collieston. * Quintin M'Adam of C'raigengillan. * Mr John Syme, distributer of stamps, Dumfries. ® of Cassencarrie. 7 Colonel Goldie of Goldielea. « The family of the Earl of Selkirk. '•' Mr Murray of Broughton. This gentleman had left his wife, and eloped ■nith a lady of rank. Large fortune had allowed him to do this with comparative impunity, and even without forfeiting the alliance of his wife's relations, one of whom he was supporting in this election. '0 Mr Gordon of Balmaghie, the government candidate. ' ' Mr John Bushby. '2 William Bushby of Kempleton, brother of John. He had been involved in the ruinous affair of Douglas, Heron, & Co.'s Bank, and had subsequently gone to India, where he realised a fortune. " Far.— For now what he wan in the Indies, Has scoured up the laddie fu' clean. KIRKCUDBRIGHT ELECTION BALLADS. 145 And tliere'll be Wigton's new slierifF,! Dame Justice fu' brawly has sped ; She's gotten the heart o' a Biishby, But, Lord I what's become o' the head* And there'll be Cardoness Esquire,- Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes, A wight that will weather daTnnation, For the devil tlic prey will despise. And tliere is our king's lord-licutcuant. So famed for his grateful return ; The birkie is getting liis questions-, To say in St Stephen's the morn. And there will be Douglasses douglity, New-christening towns far and near; ' Abjuring their democrat doings. By kissing the of a peer. And there'll be lads o' the gospel ; Muirlicad, wha's as gude as he's truc;^ And there'll be Buittle's apostle, AVha's mair o' the black than the blue.' And there'll be Keinnure sae generous,'' Whase honour is proof to the storm ; To save them frae stark reprobation, He lent them his name to the firm. And there'll be Logan M'Dowall,7 Sculduddery and he will be there ; And also the wiUl Scot o' Galloway, Sodgering gunpowder Blair." But we winna mention Tledcastlo," The body, e'en let him escapi-! He'd venture the gallows for siller. An' 'twere na' the cost o' tlio rape. ' Ml- Busliliy Maitliinil, son of .lolin, and nowl.v ai.pointpd slicnfr of Wi^ton- aliii-p. The samo idea occurs in Tlu KpiilU of Etojnii to hlariti. - David Maxwell of Cardoness. ,. ,1 ■■ The Messrs Douiflas, brothers, of Carlinwork {n(V-chnskn(d by l.icm ( a.-itlc. Douglas) and Orchardton. * Rev. Mr Muirhcad, minister of I'rr. «• Rev. GeorRC Maxwell, minister of Uuittlc. * Mr (iordon of Kennnire. . . _ , „ , ~ ._ 7 Captain M'Dowall of Logan, the hero of I'c- flan*» and Draft Itoivit Poon, " Mr Bluir of Dunskey. » Walter Sloan Lawric of Redcastle. VOL. IV. J 146 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. Then liey the chaste interest o' Broughton, And hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, In Sodom 'twould make him a king. And hey for the sanctified Murray, Our land who wi' chapels has stored ; He foundered his horse among harlots. But gied the auld naig to the Lord. Though Bums had, we may -well believe, anything but a view to his own interest in writing these diatribes, it appears that there resulted from them some little glimpse of a hope of promotion. Mr Heron, hearing of them, and having perused one, wrote to Mr Syme, with some references to the poet, as if it were not impossible that he might be able to advance his interests. TO MR HERON OF HERON. Sir— I enclose you some copies of a couple of political ballads, one of which, I believe, you have never seen. Would to Heaven I could make you master of as many votes in the Stewartry— but — Who does the utmost that he can, Does well, acts nobly— angels could no more. In order to bring my humble efforts to bear with more effect on the foe, I have privately printed a good many copies of both ballads, and have sent them among friends all about the country. To pillory on Parnassus the rank reprobation of character, the utter dereliction of all principle, in a profligate junto, which has not only outraged virtue, but violated common decency, spurning even hypocrisy as paltry iniquity below their daring— to unmask their flagitiousness to the broadest day— to deliver such over to their merited fate— is surely not merely innocent, but laudable ; is not only propriety, but virtue. You have already, as your auxiliary, the sober detestation of mankind on the heads of your opponents ; and I swear by the lyre of Thalia, to muster on your side all the votaries of honest laughter, and fair, candid ridicule. I am extremely obliged to you for your kind mention of my interests in a letter which Mr Syme shewed me. At present, my situation in life must be in a great measure stationary, at least for two or three years. The statement is this — I am on the supervisors' list, and as we come on there by precedency, in two or three years I shall be at the head of that list, and be appointed of course. Then, a FRIEND might be of service to me in getting me into a place of the kingdom which I would like. A supervisor's income varies from about a hundred and twenty to two hundred a year ; but the business is an incessant drudgery, and would be nearly a complete bar to Gvery species of literary pursuit. The moment I am appointed JOHN eushby's lamentation. 147 supervisor, in the common routine, I may be nominated on the collector's list; and this is always a business purely of political patronage. A collectorship varies much, from better than two hundred a year to near a thousand. They also come forward by precedency on the list; and have, besides a handsome income, a life of complete leisure. A life of literary leisure, with a decent com- petency, is the summit of my wishes. It would be the prudish affectation of silly pride in me to say that I do not need, or would not be indebted to, a political friend ; at the same time, sir, I by no means lay my aiFaii-s before you thus, to hook my dependent situa- tion on your benevolence. If, in my progress of life, an openinj^ should occur where the good offices of a gentleman of your public character and political consequence might bring me forward, I shall petition your goodness with the same frankness as I now do myself the honom- to subscribe myself, IL B. After the election, which was decided in Mr Heron's favour, Bums could not resist the temptation to raise a paean of triumpli .over the discomfited earl and his factotum Bushby : JOHN bxjshby's lamentation. Tune — The Babes in the Wood. 'Twas in the seventeen hunder year 0' grace and ninety-five. That year I was the wae'est man O' ony man alive. In March the three-and-twentieth morn, The sun raise clear and bright; But oh I was a waefu' man Ere to-fa' o' the night. Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land, Wi' equal right and fame, And thereto was his kinsman joined The Murray's noble namc.i Yerl Galloway lang did rule the laud, Made me the judge o' strife ; But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre's broke, And eke ray hangman's knifo.^ 1 p^ar.— Fast knit in clinsto anC, Imty bands, Wi' UrouKlitoMS iioblo name. - Fil/".— tarl Gallowa.v's man o' mtn was I, • Anil chief o' lirougliton '» host ; So twa blinil l>cKKar» <>n a slrinR The faithfu' t.yke will trust. Rut now Karl Galloway '» sci'ptro'i* broke, And Jtroughton's wl' the nloln, And I my ancient craft may try, Sii»' honesty is g.inc. 148 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. 'Twas by the banks o' bonnie Dee, Beside Kirkcudbright's towers, The Stewart and the Murray tlicre Did muster a' their powers. The Muri-av, on t'le auld grav vaud, Wi' iviiifjcd Sjnus did ride,l That auld gray yaud, yea,'- Nidsdalc radc, He staw upon Nidside. stole An' there had na been the yerl himsel', there had boon nae play ; But Garlies was to London gane, And sae the kye might stray. And there was Balmaghie, I wccn, In front rank he wad shine ; But Balmaghie had better been Drinking Madeira wine. Frae the''* Glenkens came to our aid, A chief o' dougiity deed ; In case that worth should wanted be, 0' Kenmure we had need. And by our banners marched JIuirhead, And Buittle was na slack ; Whase haly priesthood nane can stain. For wha can dye the black ? And there sae grave Squire Cardoness, Looked on till a' was done; Sae, in tlie tower o' Cardoness, A howlet sits at noon. And there led I tlie Bushby clan, My gamesome billie Will ; And my son Maitland, wise as brave, My footsteps followed still. The Doufrlas and the Heron's name "We set nought to tlieir score ; The Douglas and the Heron's name Had felt our weight'* before. ' An obscure allusion to the lady with wliom Murray had eloped— a nicmbcr of the house of Johnston, whoso well-lviiown crest Is a winged spur. « Var.—A. 3 Far.— And fra. * Trtr.— Might. DR MUIRIIEAD's LAMPOON ON BURNS. 149 But Douglasses o' weiglit had we, The pair o' lusty luirds, For building cot-houses sac famed, And christening kail-yards. And there Piedcastle drew his sword, That ne'er was stained wi' gore, Save on a wanderer lame and blind. To drive him frae his door. And last came creeping C 1- Was mair in fear than wrath ; Ae knave was constant in his mind. To keep that knave frae scaitli. * ' * The country gentlemen submitted to these diatribes of liunis ■with probably no great difficulty, his social position making liim no proper object for ostensible resentment. There was, however, a clergyman amongst the victims, a vigorous-minded, somewhat eccentric personage, his name and description being, the Ifev. .lames INIuirliead, minister of Urr. Landed property and a pedigree singled this gentleman out from the class to which he belonged, lie took a pride in considering himself as the chief of the Muir- heads, and his neighbours had of course heard a good deal of his family heraldry. Burns introduced him in the second of these ballads by the single line — ' Muirhead, wha's as gnde as he's true.' lie also figures in the third liallad, under a still more pointoil allusion. Muirliead, who had lived with the Edinburgh wits, iJr Gilbert Stuart and Dr John Brown, was himself a scribbler of epigrams and lampoons, and little disposed to receive Burns's venomed darts Avith Christian meekness. lie caused a small brochure to be printed in Kdinbiirgh, commencing tluis: ' The ancient poets, all agree, Sang sweeter far than moilorn wo. In this, hcsiilcs, their racy rhymes AVcre told in far, far fewer lines,' &c. Then he quoted — .MAUTIALIS LinKU XI^ F.I". G(J. IN V.K F.KIIVM. 'Kt delator es, ct raliiinniatnr; Kt fraiidator es, et nctrotiator : Kt fellator es, et lanista : nilror Quarc non liaheai, Varerra, numnioi.' 150 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Followed a translation, or rather paraphrase : ' Vacerras, shabby son of w , Why do thy patrons Ueep thee poor ? Bribe-worthy service thou canst boast, At once their bulwark and their post ; Thou art a sycophant, a traitor, A liar, a calumniator, Who conscience (hadst thou that) would sell, Nay, lave the common sewer of hell. For whisky : Eke, most precious imp. Thou art a rhymster, ganger, pimp ; Whence comes it, then, Vacerras, that Thou still art poor as a church-rat ? ' This is a curiosity, not merely as a specimen of clerical bitter- ness, but as almost the only known contemporary satu-e on Burns which obtained the honours of print. It will be found that our bard made a rejoinder.^ In the early part of 1795, two companies of volunteers were raised by Dumfries, as its quota towards the stationary troops which were found necessary at that crisis, when the regular army was chiefly engaged in maintaining external warfare against France.^ Many a liberal who had incurred the wrath or suspicion of the government and its friends, was glad to enrol himself in these corps, in order to prove that he bore a sound heart towards his country. Syme, Dr Maxwell, and others of the Dumfries Whigs, took this step, and Bm-ns also joined the corps, though, according 1 ' It consists with my knowledge, that no publication in answer to the scurrilities of Burns ever did him so much harm in public opinion, or made Burns himself feel so sore, as Dr Muirhead's translation of Martial's epigram. When I remon- strated with the doctor against his printing and circulating that translation, I asked him how ho proved that Vacerras was a ganger as well as Burns. He answered : " Martial calls him fellator, which means a sucker, or a man who drinks from the cask."'— From a MS., b)j the late Alexander Yoimg, Esq., W.S., Edinhiirgh. '[Died, May 16, 1808] at Spottes Hall, Dunscore, the Rev. Dr James Muirhead, minister of IJrr, in the sixty-eighth year of his age, and thirty-eighth of his ministry.' — Magazine Ohituary. 2 ' War Office, 2Iarch 24 (1795).— Dumfriesshire Corps of Volunteers. A. S. De Teyster, Esq., to be Major Commandant; John Hamilton and John Finnan, Esq., Captains; David Newall and Wellwood Maxwell, gent., First Lieutenants; Francis Shortt and Thomas "W'hite, gent., Second Lieutenants.' — Gazette. On the king's birthday, a set of colours, prepared by Mrs De Peystcr, wife of the commandant, was presented in a ceremonious manner to the Dumfries Volunteers, in the square where the Duke of Queensberry's monument stands. The Rev. Mr Burnside, one of the clergymen of the town, said e prayer on the occasion, and complimented the corps on its good discipline, which he said had been mainly owing to De Peyster's assiduity in drilling. 'At four o'clock, the whole Volunteers, and a number of other gentlemen, were entertained at dinner in the King's Arms by the magistrates ; and at five the company ac^ourned to the court-house, where the king's health was drunk, and other loyal and constitutional toasts suited to the occasion. The whole day was spent in the utmost harmony,' &c. — Dumfries Journal, June 9, 1795. SONG—' THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS.' 151 to Allan Cunningham, not without opposition from some of the haughty Toi'ies, who demurred about his political opinions. ' I remember well,' says Cunningham, ' the appearance of that respectable corps; their odd, but not ungraceful dress; white kerseymere breeches and waistcoat; short blue coat, faced with red; and round hat, surmounted by a bearskin, like the helmets of our Horse-guards ; and I remember the poet also — his very swarthy face, his ploughman stoop, his large dark eyes, and his indifferent dexterity m the handling of his arms.' The poet made a further and more public demonstration of his sentiments about Gallic propagandism, by penning his well-known song — THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. TwE—Push about Vie Joninu Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? Then let the loons beware, sir ; There's wooden walls upon our seas, And volunteers on shore, sir. The Nith shall run to Corsincon,^ And CrifFcl - sink in Solway, Ere we permit a foreign foe On Britisli groimd to rally ! Fall de rail, &c. Oh, let us not like snarling tykes dogs In wrangling be divided ; Till, slap, come in an unco loon, And wi' a rung decide it. bludgeon Be Britain still to Britain true, Among oursels united; For never but by British hands Maun British wraiigs be righted. Fall de rail, &c. The kettle o' the Kirk and State, Perhaps a clout may fail in't; But deil a foreign tinkler loon Shall ever ca' a nail in't. Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought. And wha wad dare to spoil it; By Heaven, the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it. Fall de rail, &c. 1 A hi(?h hill at the soiiro.- of tl.o Nitli.--H. 3 A weU-knowu niounUiii near the mouth of the Mth. 152 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. The -wretch that wad a tyrant own, And the wretch his true-born brother, \Vh' 'ould set the mob aboon the throjie. May they be damned together ! Wlio will not sing ' God save tlie King,' Shall hang as high's the steeple ; But while we sing ' God save the King,' We'll ne'er forget the People. This ballad appears in the Dumfries Journal of 5th May, •whence it was quickly transferred into other newspapers. So decided a declaration in behalf of order, joined with so guarded, yet so felicitous an assertion of popular principles, ought to have secured some share of govei*nraent favour for Burns. In tlie same spirit, and in much the same phraseology, was an epigram which he is said to have given forth at a festive meeting to celebrate Rodney's victory of the 12th of April. TOAST FOR THE I'llll OF APRIL. Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast^ Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost ! — That we lost, did I say ? nay, by Heaven, that we found ; Eor tlieir fame it shall last while the world goes round. The next in succession, I'll give you — the King! Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing; And here's the grand fabric, our free Constitution, As built on the base of the great Revolution; And longer with politics not to be crammed. Be Anarchy cursed, and be Tyranny damned ; And who would to Liberty e'er prove disloyal. May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial ! Cunningham says of the invasion-song, that ' it hit the taste, and suited the feelings of the humbler classes, who added to it tlie Poo7' and Honest Sodger, the Song of Death, and Scots loha hae vjr Wallace hied. Hills eclioed with it; it was heard in every street, and did more to right the mind of the rustic part of the population, than all the speeches of Pitt and Dundas, or the chosen Fivc-and-Forty.' Assuming this to have been the case, it might well seem strange that the Scottish minister who has been named, in his abundant benevolence towards Scotland, never extended the slightest patronage towards one from whom Scotland derived more lionour than from any other of her living sons. We do not find, indeed, that from the first to last of Burns's career, any movement was made in high quarters to distinguisli him by state patronage. We have no trace of his ever having LETTER TO MU OSWALD OF AUCniNCRUIVE. ] 53 attracted the slightest attention from the royal family. No minister smiled upon him. Scarcely a single' Tory noble or gentleman granted him fm-ther grace than a subscription for his poems. All his active patrons among the gi-eat were of the Whig party, men destitute of the power of advancing him beyond the humble function to which the favour of one of them had condemned him. His receiving no ray of state favour is the more remarkable, since it appears that Mr Addington entertained a most earnest feeling of interest m the poetry of the Scottish ploughman, and that his strains had touched even the temperate bosom of Mr Pitt. Mr Lockhart had learned, apparently on good authority, that the latter statesman spoke thus of the productions of P)urns, at the table of Lord Liverpool, not long after the death of the hapless bard: ' I can tliink of no verse since Shakspeare's that has so much the appearance of coming sweetly from nature.' ^ Allan Cunningham had learned that ]Mr Addington reminded Pitt of the deservings of the poet in his lifetime; but Pitt 'pushed tlic bottle to Lord Melville, and did nothing.'- Mr Lockhart adds very justly: 'Had Burns put forth some newspaper .«quibs upon Lepaux and Carnot, or a smart pamphlet " On the State of the Countiy," he might have been more attended to in liis lifetime. It is common to say: " What is everybody's business is nobody's business;" but one may be pardoned for thinking that, in such cases as this, that which the general voice of the country does admit to be everybody's business, comes, in fact, to be the business of those whom the nation intrusts with national concerns.' The fact is, tliat no man allying himself to tlic Wliigs could in those days be tolerated by the ministry. l>urns, tliough practi- cally demonstrating his attachment to tlie general fabric of tlio constitution, made no secret at the same time of his wisliing to see it in other hands than those in wliicli it now rested. Tlii.s was enough. We see the earnestness of his sentiments, even in the volunteering crisis, in a letter which has come down to us without any address, but wliich seems to liave enveloped the election ballads to some Whig gentleman— probably iMr Oswald of Auchincruive, a young Ayrsiiirc siiuirc of great wealth, now living near Dumfries, and whom lie liad lately met :' TO [RlfHAUn A. (iSWAI.n, ESQ.] Di'MKitiKJs 83rf April 1793. SlU— You see the danger of patronising tlio rlivniing tril.o: yon flatter the poet's vanity- a most potent ingredient in the composition ' /.oc-kfinrl's I.ifr of lUirnf. p. 2^7- ' Cniiiiuiihitm-t l.ijf of fliino, p. Sfii. ^ The letter lias lately been found among tlie pajiern of the Auililnorui\e family. 154 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. of a son of rhyme — by a little notice; and he, in return, persecutes your good-nature with his acquaintance. In these days of volun- teering, I have come forward with my services, as poet-laureate to a highly respectable political party, of which you are a distinguished member. The enclosed are, I hope, only a beginning to the songs of triumph which you will earn in that contest. — I have the honour to be, sir, your obliged and devoted humble servant, E. Burns. About the same time, he wrote a song upon the beautiful young wife of Mr Oswald, and sent it to Mr Syme, enclosed in the following letter : — TO JOHN SYME, ESQ. You know that, among other liigh dignities, you have the honour to be my supreme court of critical judicature, from which there is no appeal. I enclose you a song which I composed since I saw you, and I am going to give you the history of it. Do you know that among much that I admire in the characters and manners of those great folks whom I have now the honour to call my acquaintances, the Oswald family, there is nothing charms me more than Mr Oswald's unconcealable attachment to that incomparable woman? Did you ever, my dear Syme, meet with a man who owed more to ^he Divine Giver of all good things than Mr O.? A fine fortune ; a pleasing exterior; self-evident amiable dispositions, and an ingenu- ous, upright mind, and that informed, too, much beyond the usual nin of young fellows of his rank and fortune : and to all this, such a woman ! — but of her I shall say nothing at all, in despair of saying anything adequate. In my song, I have endeavoured to do justice to what would be his feelings, on seeing, in the scene I have drawn, the habitation of his Lucy. As I am a good deal pleased with my performance, I in my first fervour thought of sending it to Mrs Oswald, but on second thoughts, perhaps what I offer as the honest incense of genuine respect, might, from the well-known character of poverty and poetry, be construed into some modification or other of that servility which my soul abhors. Do let me know some con- venient moment, ere the worthy family leave the town, that I, icitli 'propriety, may wait on them. In the circle of the fashionable herd, those who come either to shew their own consequence, or to borrow consequence from the visit^-^in such a mob I will not appear : mine is a different errand. — Yours, Kobt. Burns. The song enclosed was that which follows. It is curious that, when lately commenced, he had assigned the name Jeanie to the heroine, apparently having a totally different person in his eye. We have seen that it was no imusual thing with him to shift the devotion of verse from one person to another, or to make one poem seiTe as a compliment to more than one individual. SONG IX HONOUR OF ]SrRS OSWALD. 155 on, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN? Tune— JTe'W gang nae mair to yon Totcii. Oh, -wat ye wha's in yon town, Ye see the e'enin' sun upon? The fairest dame 's in yon town, That e'enin' sun is shining on, Now haply down yon gay gi-een shaw, She wanders by yon spreading tree ; How blest ye flowers that round her blaw, Ye catch the glances o' her ee ! Ho^^ blest ye birds that round her sing, And welcome in the blooming year ! And doubly welcome be the spring, The season to my Lucy dear. The sun blinks blithe on yon town, And on yon bonnie braes of Ayr ; But my dehght in yon town. And dearest bliss,i is Lucy fan-. Without my love, not a' the charms O' Paradise could yield me joy ; But gie me Lucy in my arms. And welcome Lapland's dreary sky ! My cave wad be a lover's bower, Thouo-h raging winter rent the air ; And she a lovely little flower, That I wad tent and shelter there. Oh, sweet is she in yon town, Yon sinkin' sun's ganc down upon ; A fairer than's in yon town His setting beam ne'er shone upon. If angry fate is sworn my foe, And suffering I am doomed to bear ; I careless quit aught else below, But spare me-spare mc, Lucy dear . For while life's dearest blood is warm, Ac thought frae her shall ne'er depart. And she-as fairest is her form! She has the truest, kindest heart! 1 In original manuscript, 'Joy.* 1 5G LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. Lucy Johnston, daughter of Wynne Johnston, Esq., of Hilton, was married 23d April 1793, to Richard Alexander Oswald, Esq., of Auchincruive, in the county of Ayr. A portrait of the lady adorns the work entitled The Land of Burns, where a brief notice of her is wound up as follows: ' Alas for beauty, fortune, affection, and hopes I This lovely and accomplished woman had not blessed Mr Oswald above a year beyond this period, Avhen she fell hito pulmonary consumption. A removal to a warmer climate was tried, in the hope of restoring health, but she died at Lisbon, in January 1798, at an age little exceeding thirty.' It appears from tliis letter, that Burns was in the habit of submitting his verses to the judgment of his friend Syme, and abiding by the decision. It may be added, that he had likewise a critical friend in Collector Mitchell, Avho, having been educated for the church, possessed a mind not ill qualitied to judge of literary compositions. At his death, a whole sheaf of iirst copies of poems and songs by Burns was found in the collector's repo- sitories, on which it was understood that he had been asked to give his opinion. The bundle was lost by the family, and has never since been heard of. I had an opportunity, in 182G, of conversing with Mr Syme regarding Burns. He was a very good specimen of the Scotch gentleman of the latter part of the eighteenth century — a good deal of the bon-vivant, yet intelligent, well-bred, and full of anecdote. He referred with pride and pleasure to the meetings he had had with Bui-ns in the same room in which I now found him living (in a villa called Eyedale, on the Galloway side of the river.) He expatiated on the electric flashes of the poet's eloquence at table, and on the burning satiric shafts which he was accustomed to launch at those whom he disliked, or who betrayed any affecta- tion or meanness in tlieir conversation. I particularly remember the old gentleman glowing over the discomfiture of a too con- siderate Amphytryon, who, when entertaining himself, Burns, and some otliers, lingered with screw in hand over a fresh bottle of claret, which he evidently wislied to be forbidden to draw — till Burns transfixed him by a comparison of his present position with that of Abraham lingering over the filial sacrifice. Another souvenir of the poet's wit referred to a person who bored a com- pany for a considerable time with references to the many great people he had lately been visiting — No more of your titled acquaintances boast, And in what lordly circles you've been: An insect is still but an insect at most, Though it crawl on the head of a queen. INTIMACY WITH JOHN SYMK. 157 Mr Syinc, ia 182D, tlius wrote regarding the personal appear- ance of Burns at the time of their intimacy: ' The poet's expression varied perpetually, according to tlie idea tliat predominated in his mind; and it was beautiful to remark how well the play of his lips indicated the sentiment he was about to utter. His eyes and lips, the first remarkable for fire, and the second for tlexibility, formed at all times an index to his mind, and, as sunshine or sliade predominated, you might have told, a priori, whether the company was to be favoured with a scintilhition of wit. or a sentiment of benevolence, or a burst of fier}- indignation .... I cordially concur with what Sir Walter Scott says of the poet's eyes. In his animated moments, and particularly when liis anger was roused by instances of tergiversation, meanness, or tyranny, they were actually like coals of living fire.^ There is evidence from tlie bard himself, that he botli looked up to ]\>r Syme as a judge of literature, and loved him as a companion. Sending him a dozen of porter from the Jerusalem Tavern of Dumfries, Burns accompanied the gift with a compli- mentary note — Oil, had the malt thy strcnfjth of mind, Or hops tlic flavour of thy wit, 'Twere drink for first of human kind, A srift that even for Svmo were fit. At Syme's own liouse, being pressed to stay and drink mora, Burns hesitated; then taking up a tumbler, he scribbled on it — Tliero's Death in the cup, sac beware — Nay, mair, tlicro is danger in touching; But wha can avoid the fell snare? The nuin and his wine's sao bewitching. So late as the ITtli December 1795, when Burns was in declining healtli, lieing invited by Syme to dine, with a promise of tlie l)cst company and the best cookery, he accompanieil liis apology with a similar compliment — No more of your guests, ho they titled or not, And cookery tlio first in tlit; nation; Who is proof to tliy jiursonal convcr.so and wit. Is proof to all other temptation. Syme possessed vivid talents, which Dr Curric regarded with such respect, tiiat he i)resscd liim to undertake the editing of tliJ poet's life and writings. That ho was also a man of probity and 158 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. lionoui*, a long respectable life fully testifies. Yet it is also true, that Mr Syme, like many other men of lively temperament, could not boast of a historical accuracy of naiTation. He most un- doubtedly was carried away by his imagination in his statement regarding the composition of 15ruce's Address to his troops. So also he appears to have been in a story, of which several versions have been given to the public. It relates to a conversation on some particulars of Burns's personal conduct, which took place in one of their social evenings at Ryedale. 'I might have spoken daggers,' says Mr Syme, ' but I did not mean them : Burns shook to the inmost fibre of his frame, and drew his sword-cane, when I exclaimed: "What! wilt thou thus, and in mine own house?" The poor feUow was so stung with remorse, that he dashed himself down on the floor.' This anecdote having been unluckily com- municated to the public in an article in the Quarterly Review by Sir Walter Scott, an undue importance has come to be attached to it. When the matter was rigidly investigated, nothing more could be substantiated than that Syme and Burns had one evening become foolishly serious in the midst of their merry-making — that some allusions by the one to the sins or irregularities of the other, led to a piece of mock-heroic very suitable to the occasion, Bums touching the head of his sword-cane, as implying that his honour might be avenged for any indignity, and Syme making a corre- sponding tragic start, with the words : * Wliat! in mine own house?' It was very natural for Mr Syme to retain but an obscure recollec- tion of the incident ; but he cannot be acquitted of culpable incautiousness in allowing it to come before the world with a shade of seriousness attached to what never was more than a piece of rodomontade. BURNS TO MR THOMSON.^ [After transcribing the song, Oh, toat ye u-Jia's in yon Town? the poet goes on : — ] Your objection to the last two stanzas of my song, Let me in this ae Night, does not strike me as just. You will take notice, that my heroine is replying quite at her ease, and when she talks of faithless man,' she gives not the least reason to believe that she speaks from her own experience, but merely from observation of what she has seen around her. But of all boring matters in this boring world, criticising my own works is the greatest bore. ' In original, there is no date or post-mark. Currie gives as a date May 1"95. SOXG — ' ON CHLORIS BEING ILL.' 159 ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. Tune— IF/j€re 'H bonnic Ann lie? or, Loch-ErrocJi Side. O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay ! Jlor quit for me the trembling spray ; A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining. Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art ; For surely that wad touch her heart, Wha kills me wi' disdaininsr. Say, was thy little mate unkind. And heard thee as the careless wind ? Oh ! nocht but love and soitow joined, Sic notes o' wo could wauken. Thou tells o' never-ending care ; O' speechless grief, and dark despair: For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair, Or my poor heart is broken ! Let me know, your very first leisure, how you like this song.^ ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. Trms—Aye tcdkin 0. Long, long the night. Heavy comes the morrow, While my soul's delight Is on her bed of sorrow. Can I cease to care ? Can I cease to languish ? While my darling fair Is on the couch of anguish ? Every hope is fled. Every fear is terror ; Slumber even I dread ; Every dream is horror. 1 This sentence appears in Curric's edition, but not in the original manuscript. 160 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Hoar me, Powers divine! Oil, in pity hear me! Take aiij^ht else of mine, But my Ciiloris spare me ! How do you like tlie foregoino; ? The Irish air, Humours of Glen, is a f^reat favourite of mine, and as, except the silly stuff in the Poor Soldier, there are not any decent verses for it, 1 have written for it as follows :— THEIR GROVES o' SWEET MYItT!.E. Tl'xe — Humours of Glen. Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, AVliere bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume ; Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, forn Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom. Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen: For there, lightly tripping amang the wild-flowers, A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. Thougli ricli is tlie breeze in their gay sunny valleys. And cauld Caledonia's blast on tlie wave ; Tlieir sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace. What are tliey ? — the haunt of the tyrant and slave! Tlie slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains. The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; He wanders as free as the winds of liis mountains, Save love's willing fetters — the chains o' his Jean ! Yours, R. B. P.S. — Stop! turn over. 'twas NA llETl BONNIE BLUE EE WAS MY RUIN. 'Tv •an,— Laddie, He nearme. 'Twas na lier bonnie blue ee was my ruin ; Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoing : 'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us, 'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness. Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, Sair do I fear that despair maun abide nie ; But though fell fortune should fate us to sever. Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever ! ^ PRESENT OP A PICTURE FEOM MR THOMSON. 161 Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest. And thou liast plighted me love o' the dearest! And thou'rt the angel that never can altei-, Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. Let me hear from you. MR THOMSOX TO BURN'S. You must not think, my good sir, that I have any intention to enhance the value of my gift, when I say, in justice to tiie ingenious and worthy artist, that tiic design and execution of the Cutter's Saturday Night is, in my opinion, one of tlie hap])icst productions of Allan's pencil. I shall be grievously disappointed if you are not (juitc pleased with it. The figure intended for your portrait, I think strikingly like you, as far as I can remember your pliiz. This sliould make the ])iece interesting to your family every way. Tell me whether Mi-s Burns finds you out among tiie figures. I cannot express the feeling of admiration with whicli I have read your pathetic Address to the Woodlurk, your elegant panegyric on (-aledonia, and your affecting verses on CIdoris's illness. Every re])eated perusal of these gives new delight. The other song to Laddie, lie near me, thougli not equal to these, is very pleasing. BURNS TO MR THOMSOX. [Post-marh, J/iiy 9,] 1795. HOW CRUEL ARE TIIE r.\KEXTs! AI.TEUKI) FROM AN OLD ENGLISH SONG. 'Vv^v.—Juhn Anderson »n.v Jo. IIow cruel are the parents, Who riches only prize ; And to tlie wealthy booby, J'oor woman saeiifice ! Meanwhile, tlie hajiless daughter lias but a choice of stiife ; — To shun a tyrant fatiicr's hate, Jiecome a wrctclied wife. The ravening hawk pursuing, Tiie trembling dove tlius Hies, To shini impelling ruin Awhile her jiinions tries : Till of csiai)e despairing, No shelter or retreat, * She trusts the ruthless falconer, And drops beneath his feet. VOL. IV. K 162 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. 31ARK YONDER POMP OF COSTLY FASHION. Tune— DciZ tak the Wars. Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, Round the wealthy, titled bride : But when compared with real passion, Poor is all that princely pride. What are the showy treasures ? What are the noisy pleasures ? The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art : The polished jewel's blaze May draw the wondering gaze, And courtly grandeur bright The fancy may delight, But never, never can come near the heart. But did you see my dearest Chloris, In simplicity's array ; Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower is, Shrinking from the gaze of day. Oh then, the heart alarming. And all resistless charming, In Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul I Ambition woidd disown The world's imperial crown, Even Avarice would deny His worshipped deity, And feel through every vein Love's raptures roll. Well! this is not amiss. You see how I answer your orders — your tailor could not be more punctual. I am just now in a high fit for poetising, provided that the strait-jacket of criticism don't cure me. If you can, in a post or two, administer a little of the intoxi- cating potion of your applause, it will raise your humble servant's frenzy to any height you want. I am at this moment ' holding high converse' with the Muses, and have not a word to tlirow away on such a prosaic dog as you are. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Mai/ 1795. Ten thousand thanks for your elegant present — though I am ashamed of the value of it being bestowed on a man who has not, by any means, merited such an instance of kindness. I have shewn it to two or three judges of the first abilities here, and they all agree with me in classing it as a first-rate production. My phiz is sae Allan's picture— cotter's Saturday night. 163 kcnspeckle, that the very joiner's apprentice, whom Mrs Burns employed to break up the parcel (I was out of town that day), knew it at once. My most grateful compliments to Allan, who h;us honoured my rustic Muse so much with his masterly pencil. One strange coincidence is, that the little one who is making the felonious attempt on the cat's tail, is the most striking likeness of an ill-deedie, d — n'd, wee, rumble-gairie urchin of mine, whom, from that propen- sity to witty wickedness, and raanfu' mischief, which, even at twa days' auld, I foresaw would form the striking features of his disposi- tion, I named Willie Nicol, after a certain friend of mine, who is one of the masters of a grammar-school in a city which shall be name- less. Several people think that Allan's likeness of me is more striking than Nasmyth's, for which I sat to him half-a-dozcn times. However, there is an artist of considerable merit just now in this town, who has liit the most remarkable likeness of what I am at this moment, that I think ever was taken of anybody. It is a small miniature, and as it will be in your town getting itself be-crystallised, &c. I have some thoughts of suggesting to you to prefix a vignette taken from it to my song. Contented ici' Little and Cunti/ irP Mair, in order the portrait of my face and the picture of my mind may go down the stream of time together. Give the enclosed epigram to my much- valued friend Cunningham, and tell him, that on Wednesday I go to visit a friend of his, to whom his friendly partiality in speaking of me in a maimer intro- duced me — I mean a well-known miUtary and literary cliaracter, Colonel Dirom. You do not tell me how you liked my two last songs. Are they condemned ? MR THOMSON TO BURNS. LlZ/t Ifai/ 1795. It gives mc great pleasure to find that you ai'c all so well satisfied with Mr Allan's production. The chance resemblance of your little fellow, whose promising disposition appeared so very early, and suggested whom he should be named after, is curious enough. I am acquainted with that person, who is a prodigy of Icanung and goniuH, and a pleasant fellow, tliough no saint. You really make me blush, when you tell me you have not merited the drawing from me. I do not thuik I can ever repay you, or sufficiently esteem and respect you, for the liberal and kind manner in which you h.ave entered into tlie sjiirit of my undertaking, wliicli could not have been perfected witlioutyou. So I beg you would not make a fool of me again by sjjeakiiig of obligjition. I like your two last songs very mjich, and am happy to find you arc in such a liigh fit of poetising. Long may it la.'-t ! Chirko han made a fine pathetic air to Mallet's superlative l)alla(l of William and Marrjaret, and is to give it to mc, to be enrolled among tho elect. 184 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. These letters refer to a very interesting picture of the Cotter's ■Saturday Nighty wliich had been executed by the first Scottisii . artist of his day for such subjects — tlie ingenious David Allan. Mr Thomson, it is to be observed, had from the beginning thouglit Burns entitled to pecuniary remuneration for his songs, and, though not rich himself, and his work was far from being a pro- mising adventure, he had pressed one small pecuniary gift upon the poet. Burns, on the other hand, as we have seen, was decidedly repugnant to such gifts, and tlu-eatened, in the event of a second, to discontinue his assistance. In these circumstances, Mr Thomson's sense of obligation sought relief in small presents to the poet. On one occasion, he ventured on a shawl for Mrs Burns, of a -kind then novel and fashionable. He now sends an original picture by an artist of reputation, and with a subject the selection of which •must have been felt as a compliment by the bard. He had also been, as Ave have seen, liberal in the bestowal of copies of his first half volume, wliich was all that was published in Burns's lifetime. In the letter of Burns to Mr Thomson, in which the poet describes the arrival of the picture, there is a passage which Dr Currie omitted : ' As to what you hint of my coming to Edin- burgh, I know of no such arrangement.' One cannot well resist the inclination to believe, that this relates to a plan of the bene- volent Laird of Fintry for the benefit of Burns. Professor "Walker speaks of such a scheme as belonging to an earlier period of the poet's official career. ' Mr Graham,' he says, ' taking advantage of the reasonable measure of official reputation which Burns possessed. had, with no less judgment than kindness, projected a plan for his benefit. Could this plan have been executed, it would in all pro- bability have been equally effectual in providing him with the means of comfortable subsistence, with a stimulus to mental exertion, and Avith those moral restraints Avhich his character appears to have required. The plan Avas to appoint him to a respectable office at Leith, Avith an easy duty, and Avith emoluments rising nearly to L.200 per annum. There he Avould naturally have formed a stricter intimacy Avitli his literary patrons in Edinburgh. His ambition to rencAV their applause, Avould have urged him to employ his leisure in poetical compositions ; and his desire to retain their favourable notice, Avould have been the most efficient correction of those irregular habits, and tliat neglect of character, into Avhich he Avas betrayed by his passions But all these friendly designs of his patron Avere frustrated by the imprudence of the poet.' It seems not unlikely that, noAv the blast of 1792 Avas fairly over- bloAvn, and Burns's official qualifications had stood the test of three more years, Mr Graham liad rencAved his Avell-meant plan, and entertamed some hopes of carrying it into effect. SOXG — ' LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.' 1C5 BURNS TO MR TnOMSON.l ENGLISH SONG. FORLORX, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR. Tr.NE — Let mc in this ae Kitfkt. Forlorn, my love, no comfort near. Far, far from thee, I wander here ; Far, far from thee, the fate severe At which I most repine, love. CHORUS. Oil, wert thou, love, but near mc ; But near, near, near me: How Ivindly thou wouldst cheer me. And mini'lc siirhs witli mine, love. Around mc scowls a wintry slcy. That blasts each bud of liope and joy; And shelter, shade, nor home have I, Save in those arms of thine, love. Cold, altered friendship's cruel part, To poison fortune's rutldess dart- Let me not break thy faithful heart. And say that fate is mine, love. But dreary though the moments fleet, Oh, let me think we yet shall meet ! That only ray of solace sweet Can on thy Chloris sliine, love. How do you like the foregoing? I luivc written it within this hour : so mJch for the speed of my Pegasus ; hut what say you to his bottom ? BURNS TO Mil THOMSON'. iroilmark, July 3,] ITOj- SCOTTISH nAI.I.Ati. LAST MAY A U II A W WOOKU. Tlmc— T/ic Lothian Umif. Last May a braw wooer cam down the l.ing glen, And sair wi' his love lie did deave me ; I said there was naething I liated hko incn- The deuce gac wi'm to believe mo, behcvo mc; The deuce gae wi'm to believe mc. . This letter l,as no .late or post-mark. In CurrlcH scrio., it i. pliic.d crronc ously alter that which licrc follows it. 366 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BUENS. He spak o' the darts o' my bonnie black cen, And vowed for my love he was dying ; I said he might die when he liked for Jean — The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying ; The Lord forgie me for lying ! A well-stocked mailen — himsel for the laird — ■ farm And marriage afF-hand, were his proffers : I never loot on that I kenned it, or cared, But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers ; But thought I might hae waur offers. But what wad ye think ? — in a fortnight or less, The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! He up the Gateslack to my black cousin Bess, Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could beai' her; : Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! I glowred as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock; I glowred as I'd seen a warlock. But owre my left shouther I gae him a blink. Lest neibors might say I was saucy ; My wooer he capered as he'd been in drink. And vowed I was his dear lassie, dear lassie ; And vowed I was his dear lassie. I speered for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, Gin she had recovered her hearin'. And how my auld shoon fitted her shachl't feet,i distorted But, Heavens ! how he fell a swearin', a sweaxin'; But, Heavens ! how he fell a swearin'. He begged, for guidsake, I Avad be his M'ife, Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow : So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow ; I think I maun wed him to-morrow. FRAGMENT. TxjNE— The Caledonian Hunt's Delight, Why, why tell thy lover, Bliss he never must enjoy ? Why, why imdecoive him. And give all his hopes the lie I 1 When a lover passes over from one mistress to another, the latter is said to take up the old shoes of her predecessor. GATESLACK AND DALGARNOCK. 167 O why, while fancy, raptured, slumbers, Chloris, Cliloris all the theme, Why, why wouldst thou cruel. Wake thy lover from his dream ? Such is the peculiarity of the rhythm of this air, that I find it impossible to make another stanza to suit it. I am at present quite occupied with the charming sensations of the toothache, so have not a word to spare. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. 3d June 1795. My dear Sir — Your English verses to Let me in this ae Night, arc tender and beautiful; and your ballad to the Lothian Lassie is a master-piece for its humour and iiaivctc. The fragment for the Caledonian Hunt is quite suited to the original measure of the air, and, as it plagues you so, the fragment must content it. I would rather, as I said before, have had bacchanalian words, hud it so pleased the poet; but, nevertheless, for what we have received, Lord, make us thankful ! [In this letter, Mr Tliomson objected to the introduction of the word Gateslack, and also that of Dalgarnock, in the song of the Braio Wooer.'] BURNS TO MR THOMSON. ll'usl-mark, August 3,] 1/95. In Whistle, and Pll come to ye, my Lad, the iteration of that lino is tiresome to my ear. Here goes what I think i.s an improvement • O whistle, and I '11 come to ye, my lad ; O whistle, and I '11 come to ye, my lad ; Though father and mother and a' should gac mad, Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad. In fact, a fair dame, at whose shrine I, the Priest of tlic Nine, ofl'cr up the incense of Parnassus — a dame whom the Graces have attired in witchcraft, and whom the Loves have armed witli lij;htniiig— a fair one, herself the heroine of tlie song, insi.sta on tlie amendment, and dispute her commands if you dare ! Gateslack, the word you object to, is the name of a particular place, a kind of passage up among the Lowtlicr Hills, on the confincH of tills county. Dalgarnock i.s also the name of a romantic spot near the Nitli, where are still a ruined church and a burial-ground. However, let the first run, 'lie up the lang loan,' &c. 168 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. O THIS IS yO 51 Y AIX LASSIE. Tune — This is no my ain House. CHORUS. this is no my ain lassie, Fair though tlic lassie be; O weel ken I my ain lassie, Kind love is in her ee.^ I see a form, I see a face. Ye weel may wi' the fairest place : It wants, to me, the witcliinj,' j^'racc. The kind love that's in her ee. She's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall, And lanrr has had niv heart in thrall; And aye it charms my very saul. The kind love that's in her ee. A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, sly To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; quick But gleg :is light arc lovers' een, When kind love is in the ee. It may escape tlic courtly sparks, It may escape the learned clerks ; But weel the watching lover marks The kind love that's in her ee. Do you know that you have roused the torpidity of Clarke at last ? He has requested me to write three or four songs for him, which he is to set to music himself. The enclosed sheet contains two songs for him, which please to present to my valued friend Cunningham. I enclose the sheet open, both for your inspection, and tliat you raay copy the song, Bonnie teas yon rosy Brier. I do not know whether I am right, but that song pleases me ; and as it is e.\.tremely probable that Clarke's newly-roused celestial spark will be soon .smothered in the fogs of indolence, if you like tlie song, it may go as Scottish verses to the air of / i'.w/i my Love icus in a Mire; and poor Erskine's English lines may follow. I enclose you a For cC that, and a' that, which was never in print : it is a much superior song to mine. I have been told that it was composed by a lady. ' The reader will learn with surprise, that the poet originally wrote t'.ils chorus— O this is no my ain Body, Kind though the Body be, &c. SONG ADDRESSED TO MR CUNNINGHAM. 169 TO MR CUNNINGHAM. SCOTTISH SONO. Now spring has clad the grove in green, And strewed tlie lea wi' flowers : The furrowed, waving corn is seen Rejoice in fostering showers ; Wliile ilka thing in nature join Their sorrows to forego, O wliy thus all alone are mine The weary steps of wo ! Tlie trout within von wininlinir burn Glides swift — a silver dart ; And safe beneath tlie shady thorn Defies the angler's art. My life was ance that careless stream, That wanton trout was I ; But love, wi' unrelenting beam. Has scorched my fountains dry. The little floweret's peaceful lot, In yonder clitt^' that grows, Which, save the linnet's fliglit, I wot, Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, And blighted a' my bloom, And now beneath the witherinjr blast My youth and joy consume. The wakened laverock warbling springs, And climbs tlie early sky, Winnowing blithe her dewy wings In morning's rosy eye. As little recked I sorrow's power, I'^ntil tlie flowery snai-e O' witching love, in luckless hour, Made me the tlirall o' care. O had my fate been Oroenland snows, Or Afric's burning /one, Wi' man and nature leagued my foes, So Peggy ne'er I'd known! The wretch wli:ise doom is, 'Ijopc nac mair,' Wliat tongue his woes can tell! Within whiise bosom, save despair, Nae kinder spirits dwell. 170 LIFE AND "WORKS OF EUKNS. O BONNIE "WAS YON ROSY BUIER. bonnie was yoii rosy brier. That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; And bonnio she, and ah! how dear! It shaded frae the e'enin' sun. Yon rosebuds in the morning dew. How 2)uro amang the leaves sae green ; But purer was the lover's vow They witnessed in their shade yestreen. All in its rude and prickly bower, That crimson rose, how sweet and fair; But love is far a sweeter flower Amid life's thorny path o' care. The pathless wild and wimpling burn, Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn, Its joys and griefs alike resign. Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung imder the name of Chloris : — ' To Chloris.' [See antea, p. 104.] Une bagatelle de Vamitic. Coil A. MR THOMSON TO BURNS. Edinburgh, Zd Atigust 1/95. My dear Sir — This will be delivered to you by a Dr Brianton, who has read your works, and pants for the honour of your acquaint- ance. I do not know the gentleman ; but his friend, who applied to me for this introduction, being an excellent young man, I have no doubt he is worthy of all acceptation. My eyes have just been gladdened, and my mind feasted, with your last packet — full of pleasant things indeed. What an imagina- tion is yours! — it is superfluous to tell you, that I am delighted with all the three songs, as well as with your elegant and tender verses to Chloris. I am sorry you should be induced to alter ' whistle, and I 'II come to ye, my lad,' to the prosaic line, ' Thy Jeanie will venture wi' ye, my lad.' I must be permitted to say, that I do not think the latter either reads or sings so well as the former. I wish, therefore, you would in my name petition the charming Jeanie, whoever she be, to let the line remain unaltered. BURNS AND THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY. 171 I should be happy to see Mr Clarke produce a few airs to he joined to your verses. Everybody regrets his writing so very little, as everybody acknowledges his ability to write well. Pray, was the resolution formed coolly before dinner, or was it a naidiii'^ht vow, made over a bowl of punch with the bard ? I shall not fail to give Mr Cunningham what you have sent him. P.S.-~T\ic lady's i'V a' that,and a' that, is sensible enough, but no more to be compared to yours, than I to Hercules. To the summer of this year, Dr Currie assigns an INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAU TO I^•DEPENDE^•CE, AT KERROUGIITREE, THE SE.IT OF MR IIEKOX. Thou of an independent mind, With soul resolved, with soul resigned ; Prepared Power's proudest frown to brave, Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; A'^irtue alone who dost revere, Thy own reproach alone dost fear, Approach this shrine, and worship here. Allusion has several times been made to the Duke of Queens- berry, as a personage held in hatred by the poet. His Grace's character requires little illustration here. As Earl of March, his career on the tui-f had gained him notoriety. Succeeding in 177H to the highest title of his family, he had not with years and honours acquired any additional share of public respect. To this heartless grandee, who resided almost constantly in London, was committed the chief territorial influence in Dumfriesshire, with all its political consequence. Country gentlemen bowed to the yoke ; but the exciseman of Dumfries— delighted at all times to « Bare the mean heart that lurks beneath a star'— omitted no opportunity of doing justice upon the sybarite. Tht^ two following stanzas were probably a part of tlie election ballad of 1790, Init omitted from the copy sent by tlic author to Mr Graham : — How shall I sing Drunilanrig'.s Grace- Discarded renuiant of a race Once great in martial story? His forbear.s' virtues all contrasted — •ncntori The very name of I)ougla.s blasted — ilia that inverted glory. 172 LIFE AND WORKS OF BUENS, Hate, envy, oft tlie Douglas bore ; But he has superadded more, And sunk tliem in contempt : Follies and crimes have stained the name, But, Qweensberry, thine the virgin claim. From aught that's good exempt. In 1795, the duke stripped his domains of Drumlanrig, in Dumfriesshire, and Neidpatli, in Pecl)lessliire, of all the wood fit for being cut, in order to furnish a dowry for the Countess of Yarmouth, whom he supposed to be his daughter, and to whom, by a singular piece of good-fortune on her part, Mr George Selwyn, the celebrated wit, also left a fortune, under the same (probably equally mistaken) impression. It fell to the lot of "Wordswortli to avenge on the ' degenerate Douglas ' his leaving old Neidpath so * beggared and outraged.' The vindication of nature in the case of Drumlanrig became a pleasing duty to Bui-ns. In one of his rides, he inscribed the following verses on the back of a window-shutter in an inn or toll-house near the scene of the devastations : — [VKRSES ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRUMLANRIG.] As on the banks o' wandering Nith, Ae smiling simmer-morn I strayed, And traced its bonnie howes and haughs, Where lintics sang and lambkins played, I sat me down upon a craig, And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, When, from the eddying det^p below, Uprose the genius of the stream. Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, And troubled, like liis wintry wave, And deep, as sughs the boding wind Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave — ' And came ye hero, my son,' he cried, ' To wander in my birken shade ? To muse some favourite Scottish theme, Or sing some favourite Scottish maid. ' There was a time, it's nae lan sowthcrs it a'; When at tlio blithe cud of our joiinioy at last, Wha the deil over thinks o' tho road ho lias past!* This is Bums's own view of his life, and it is in some measure true to his ordinary feelings and practice." In the autumn of 1795, Burns suflcred much in mind from tho protracted illness of his infant daughter, who at length died nt such a distance as to prevent him from paying her the last duties.- ' See Appendix, No. 13. - Tlils infant died and waa burled at IMaucliline. 176 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. According to Dr Currie, the poet's health had for upwards of a year before his death — that is, from early summer of 1795 — begun to give way. This would appear to be quite true, for a gentleman informs mc that, calling for Burns in spring 1795, he found him ailing. He rubbed his shoulders slightly, and said : ' I am beginning to feel as if I were soon to be an old man.' But, indeed, we have his own testimony in a letter to JNIrs Dunlop, of 25th June 1794, that he was even then threatened with a punish- ment for the follies of liis youth, in the form of a Hying gout, though he hoped that his medical friends were mistaken in their surmises. The fact is, that Burns had lived too fast to be what most men are at seven-and-thirty. According to Dr Currie, who had access to the best information on the subject, the poet was confined with ' an accidental complaint,' from October 1795 till the , January following. The fact of tlic ailment and its date may be admitted ; but it would appear tliat the continenient was at least not constant, or such as to interfere witli the performance of duty. Professor Walker passed two days Avith him in November, and observed no unfavourable change in his looks, his spirits, or his appetite. ' Circumstances,' says tlic professor, ' having at that time hid me to Scotland, after an absence of eight years, during which my intercourse with Burns had been almost suspended, I felt myself strongly prompted to visit liim. For this purpose, I went to Dumfries, and called upon liim early in the forenoon. I found him in a small house of one storey.^ He was sitting on a window- seat reading, with the doors open, and the family arrangements going on in his presence, and altogether without that appearance of snugness which a student requires. After conversing Avith him tor some time, he proposed a walk, and promised to conduct me through so.me of his favourite haunts. We accordingly quitted the town, and wandered a considerable way up the beautiful banks of the Nith. Here he gave m.e an account of his latest produc- tions, and repeated some satirical ballads wliich he had composed, to favour one of the candidates at the last borough election.- . . . He repeated also his fragment of an Ode to Liberty, with marked and peculiar energy, and shewed a disposition, which, however, was easily repressed, to throw out peculiar remarks, of the same nature with those for which he had been reprehended. On finishing our walk, he passed some time with me at the inn, and I left him early in tlie evening, to make another visit at some distance from Dumfries. > The house is one of two floors. ^ The ballads on the Kirkcudbright election ; vide svpra. VISIT OF MK JOSIAII WALKER, 177 'On the second morning after/ continues the professor, T returned Avith a friend, who was acquainted with the poet, and we found him ready to pass a part of the day witli us at the inn. On this occasion, I did not think him quite so interesting as lie liad appeared at his outset. His conversation was too elaborate, and his expression weakened by a frequent endeavour to give it arti- ficial strength. He had ^een accustomed to speak fur applause in the circles which he frequented, aud seemed to think it neces- sary, in making the most common remark, to depart a little from the ordinary simplicity of language, and to couch it in something of epigrammatic point. In his praise and censure, he was so decisive as to render a dissent from his judgment dilhcult to be reconciled with the laws of good-breeding. His wit was nut more licentious than is unhappily too venial in higher circles, though I thought liim rather unnecessarily free in the avowal of his excesses. Such were the clouds by which the pleasures of the evening were partially obscured, but frequent coruscations of genius were A'isible betv/een them. When it began to grow late, he shewed no disposition to retire, but called for fresh supplies of liquor, with a freedom which might be excusable, as we were in an inn, and no condition had been distinctly made, though it might easily have been inferred, had the inference been welcome, that he was to consider himself as our guest ; nor was it till lie saw us worn out that he departed, about three in the morning Upon the whole, I found this last interview not cpiitc so gratifying as 1 had expected; although I had discovered in his conduct no errors which I had not seen in men who stand high in the favour of society, or sufficient to account for the mysterious iiisimiatiuns which I had heard against his character. He on this occasion drank freely without being intoxicated, a circumstance from whirli 1 concluded, not only that his constitution was still iml)rukcn, iiut that he Avas not addicted to solitary cordials ; for if he had tasted licpior in the morning, he must have easily yielded to the excess of the evening.' It is proper to state the remark which a friend of Professor Walker has made to us respecting tliese anecdotes of J'.urns— namely, that the learned gentleman was iincunscioiis of the fastidiousness which eiglit years of refined life in Kngliind liacl created in his own mind, ami thus unintentionally ju.li;vd of IJunis's manners more severely than was strictly just. The /)er, or dried salmon, with a brief but apparently cheerful letter, imposing on his friend the condition, ' that you do not, like a fool, as you were last year, put yourself to five times the value in expense of a return ; ' sending, moreover, compliments to various friends, and promising a longer letter in ten days, but in the meantime saying not a word of illness.^ It would have been puzzling to find him, two days later, writing in the following doleful terms to Mrs Dunlop, if we had not already had ample opportunities of knowing how light and transient were all the feelings of Burns, three days of suffering being as liable to appear to him as a long season of avo, as a few hours of merriment were to make him forget that any misfortune lay at his door : — to MRS DUNLOP. Duinfrks, 31.rf January 179o. These many months you have been two packets in my debt — Avhat sin of ignorance I have committed against so highly valued a friend, I am utterly at a loss to guess. Alas ! madam, ill can I ' Vohimo of Bviriis's letters to Mr Peter Kill, in possession of Wilson, Esq., Dalniarnock. TO COLONEL DE PEVSTER. 185 afford, at this time, to be deprived of any of the small remnant- of my pleasures. I have lately drunk deep of the eu)) of affliction. The autumn robbed me of my only da\i^hter and darlinif child, and that at a distance, too, and so rapidly, as to put it out of my power to pay the last duties to her. I had scarcely begun to recover from that siiock, when I became myself the victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and long the die spun doubtful ; nntil, after many weeks of a sick-bed, it seems to have turned up life, and 1 am beginning to crawl across my room, and once indeed have been before my own door in the street. AVheu pleasure fascinates the mental sight. Affliction purities the visual ray, Religion hails the drear, the untried night, And shuts, for ever shuts ! life's doubtful day. R. B. About this time, he met one clay in the street !Mrs Ilaugh, who had been his neighbour when he resided in the Wee Vennel. 'riiey had some serious conversation about his healtli, and she afterwards remembered one remarkable expression which he used : ' I find,' said he, ' that a man may live like a fool, but he will scarcely die like one.' His commander had sent to make some kind inquiries about his health, and he replied in rhyme : TO COLONEL DK PEYSTER. My honoured colonel, deep I feel Your interest in tiie ])oet'8 weal : Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel climb The steej) Parnassus, Surrounded thus by bolus i>ill, And potion glasses. O what .a canty warld were it, AVould pain and care and sickness spare it; And fortune favour worth and merit, As they deserve ! And aye a rowtli roast beef and claret; plenty Syne, wha wad starve I Dame Life, though fiction out may trick lier. And ill paste gems and frijipcry deck her; Oh ! Hickering, feeble, and unsicker uncurtain I've four.d her still Aye wavering like the willow-wicker, 'Twecn good and ill. 186 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, Watches like baudrons by a rattan, Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on Wi' felon ire ; Syne, whip ! his tail ye'U ne'er cast saut on- He's aiFlike fire. Ah Nick ! ah Niclc ! it is na fair, First shewing us the tempting ware, Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare. To put us daft ; Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 0' hell's damned waft. Poor man, the flee, aft bizzes by, And aft, as chance he comes thee nigh, Thy auld damned elbow yeuks wi' joy, And hellish pleasure ; Already in thy fancy's eye, Tliy sicker treasure ! Soon, Iieels-o'er-gowdie ! in he gangs, And like a sheep-head on a tangs, Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs And murderinff wrestle. As, dangling in the wind, he hangs A gibbet's tassel. But lest you think I am uncivil, To plague you with this draunting drivel. Abjuring a' intentions evil, I quat my pen : The Lord preserve us frae the devil I Amen ! Amen ! i the cat clutch itches certain heels-overhead 1 Colonel Arentz Schulyer de Peyster died at Dumfries in November 1822, at the age, it was believed, of ninety-six or ninety-seven years. He had held the royal commission for about eighty years. In early life, he commanded at Detroit, Michilimackinac, and other parts of Upper Canada, during the seven years' war, when he distinguished himself by detaching the Indians from the service of the French. To pursue an obituary notice in the Dumfries Courier: ' The ileceased also served in various other parts of North America under his uncle, Colonel Schulyer ; and after being promoted to the rank of colonel, and com- manding for many years the 8th Regiment, he retired to Dumfries, the native town of Mrs De Peyster, the faithful follower of his fortunes in every situation— in camp and in quarters— amidst savage tribes and jiolished communities— in the most distant stations of Upper Canada, as well as in walled and garrisoned cities. Indeed, we may here state, without the slightest qualification, that there never was a more venerable and tenderly-attached pair. For more than fifty years, they shared the same bed, without having been separated in any one instance ; and altogether, the gallant old colonel's bearing to his faithful and long-cherished spouse, resembled more what we ween of the age of chivalry, than the altered, and, as we suspect, not improved manners of the present times. ' At the stormy period of the French Revolution, the zeal and talents of our INCREASING ILLNESS OF BURNS. 187 Dr Currie, who must have been generally well informed respect- ing Burns's illness, says : ' His appetite now began to fail ; his hand shook, and his voice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse became weaker and more rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, deprived him of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too much dejected in his spirits, and too well aware of his real situation to entertain hopes of recovery, he was ever musing on the approaching desolation of liis family, and his spirits sank into a imiform gloom.' SIR TIIOJISOX TO BURNS. 5lh Feb. 1796. O Robby Burns, are yo sleeping yet ? Or are ye waukuig, I v.ould v.it ? The pause you have made, my dear sir, is awful ! Am I never to hear from you again I I know and I lament how much you have been afflicted of late; but I trust that rcturniuq; licalth and spirits will now enable you to resume the pen, and delight us with your musings. I have still about a dozen Scotch and Irish airs that I wish 'married to immortal verse.' We have several true-born Irishmen on the Scottish list; but they arc now naturalised, and reckoned our own good subjects. Indeed, we have none bettor. I believe I before told you, that I have been much urged by some friends to publisli a collection of all our favourite airs and songs in octavo, embellished with a number of etchings b}' our ingenious friend Allan : what is your opinion of this ? townsman were a^ain called Into exercise, in the embodj-ing and traininj^ of the 1st Regiment of Dumfries Volunteers. On this occasion, his milit.-iry ardour completely revived ; and so successfully did he labour in his vocation, that in the course of a very few months, his associates in arms displayed nearly all the steadi- ness and precision of a regiment of the line. Of this corps, the author of Tam o' Shanter was an original member; and we have even heard it whispered, that the private and field-ofiiccr (the latter of whom had a great fondness for litcr.aturo, and a ready talent at versification) enfjaged, unknown to each other, in a poetical controversy, which was conducted with considerable spirit through the respectable medium of the Dumfries Journal. Many members of the regiment still survive; and to mark their regard for the memory of the deceased, the oflircrs resumed tho habiliments so long laid aside, while a party of tlie privates carried his body to tho grave, supported by tho staff of tho Dumfriesshire militia. 'In hi.s person, Colonel De I'cystcr wa.s tall, soldier-like, and commanding; in his manners, ea.sy, affable, and open ; in his aflcctions, warm, generous, ami sincere ; in his principles, and particularly his political principles, firm oven to inllexibility. No man, we believe, ever possessed more of the ])rinciplc of vitality. Old iige, vhieh had silvered his hair, and furrowed his chcelt.s, appeared to make no impres- sion on his inner man ; and those who knew him best peared as active, and his intcllcct.s ns vieorou.s as they were fifty years ago. When tho weather permitted, ho still took his accus- tomed exercise, and walked round the billiard - table, or bestrode his gigantic charger, apparently with as little ilifiieulty as a man of midille ago. When so mounted, we have often fancied we beheld in him the last connecting link botwLxt the old and now schools of military men." 188 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. Februari/ 179fi- Many thanks, my dear sir, for your handsome, elegant present to Mrs Burns, and for my remaining vohmie of P. Pindar. Peter is a delightful fellow, and a first favourite of minc.i I am much pleased with your idea of publishing a collection of our songs in octavo with etchings. I am extremely willing to lend every assistance in my power. The Irish airs I shall cheerfully undertake the task of finding verses for. I have already, you know, equipt three with words, and the other day I strung up a kind of rhapsody to another Hibernian melody which I admire much. Tv^iE—BaUnamona ora. Awa wi' 3'our witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms : O gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, trie me the lass wi' the wecl-stockit farms. CHORUS. Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ; Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher — the nice yellow guineas for me. Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, And withers the faster, the faster it grows : But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowos, Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowcs. And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blesf, The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest ; But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, The langcr ye hae them, the mair they 're carest. If this will do, you have now four of my Irish engagement. In my by-past songs I dislike one thing; the name Chloris — I meant it as the fictitious name of a certain lady : but, on second thouglits, it is a high incongruity to have a Greek appellation to a Scottish pastoral ballad. Of this, and some things else, in my next : I have more amendments to propose. AV^hat you once mentioned of 'flaxen locks' is just : they cannot enter into an elegant description of beauty. Of this also again— God bless you ! "^ ' In the oriijlnal letter, the poet here advorts to some business matters, and allows some angry feelings regarding the Riddels to escape him. •^ Our poet never explained what name he would have substituted for Chloris. — Mr TiioMSOM. CRAVES RETURN OF SOME LENT MONEY. 189 MU THOMSON TO BURNS. Tour Heij for a lass vV a Tocher is a most excellent song, and with you the subject is soaielhiii^ new indeed. It is the first time I have seen you debasing the god of soft desire into an amateur of acres and guineas. I am happy to find you approve of my proposed octavo edition. Allan has designed and etched about twenty plates, and I am to have my choice of them for that work. Independently of the llogartliian Inmiour with which they abound, they exhibit the character and costume of the .Scottish peasantry with inimitable felicity. In this respect, he himself says, they will far exceed the a(piatinta plates he did for the Gentle Shepherd, because in the etching he sees clearly what he is doing, but not so with the acpiatinta, which he could not manage to his mind. The Dutch boors of Ostade are scarcely more characteristic and natural than the Scottish figures in those etchings. Some years before, Burns had taken a kindly zealous interest in behalf of Mr James Clarke, a schoolmaster at Moffat, whom he believed to be a worthy man, suffering under an unrighteous per- secution. ^ He had lent Clarke some money, apparently not an inconsiderable sum — an interesting addition to the instances in which we have seen him in the unexpected relation of a creditor and accommodator. The delit had probably lain for years un- noticed by Burns, although money was never abundant with him, and a few debts of liis own hung over his head. Now, when his salary Avas reduced, when the staple food of the country was so dear as to keep the humbler classes almost in a state of insurrec- tion, and medical expenses were added to his ordinary outlay, r.urns was obliged to address his old friend, Avith a retjuest ior repayment either in whole or ui part. I\lr Clarke, who was now prospering as a teacher at Forfar, answered on the 18tli February, and his letter reveals l)y reflection the condition of the poor bard's afiliirs, as well as the kind feelings with which he had inspired the writer. My ukar Frtkni)— Your letter makes me very unhaj.py, tho more so, as I had heard very flattering accounLs of your situation some months ago. A note [2n,s.] is enclosed ; and if such partial payments will be acceptable, this shall sonn be followed l>y more. Mv appointment here has more tlian answered my expectations ; 1)ii"t furnishing a large liouse, kc. li.as kci)t me still very jioor : and the persecution I suffered from that rascal, Lord II , broiiglit iiio » See vol. iii., pp. IW, 218. 190 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. into • expenses which, with all my economy, I have not yet rubbed oiF. Be so kind as write me. Your disinterested friendship has made an impi-ession which time cannot efface. Believe me, my dear Burns, yours in sincerity, James Clarke.^ Miss Grace Aiken, a very young lady, the daughter of Burns's early patron, Mr Robert Aiken of Ayr, had occasion during spring to pass tlu'ough Dumfries, on her way to pay a visit in Liverpool. In walking along the street towards the residence of her friend, Mrs Copland, she passed a tall, slovenly-looking man, of sickly aspect, who presently uttered an exclamation which caused her to turn about to see who it was. It was Burns ; but so changed from his former self, that she could liardly have recognised him, except for the sound of his voice m addressing her. On her asking him playfully, if he had been going to pass her without notice, he spoke as if he had felt that it was proper for him, now-a-days, to leave his old friends to be the first to hold forth the hand of friendship. At her pressing request, he accompanied her to the house of Mrs Copland; he even yielded, but not till after much entreaty, to go home and put himself in order, that he might return at four to dinner. He spent the evenmg cheerfully in their temperate society, and retu-ed about midnight. The circumstance is worthy of notice, because neither Mrs Copland nor any of her friends — all members of the best society in Dum- fries — had any objection to entertaining or meeting Burns. The hostess had not seen him for a considerable time, but from no cause affecting the reputation of the poet — only, she understood that he had of late shewn a preference for Avhat might positively as well as comparatively be called low society — a circumstance she greatly lamented. All this shews that Bnrns's social discredit in his latter days must have been the 'result of no universal feeling among his fellow-citizens. The fact seems to be, that while many condemned and forsook him— the provincial clergy to a man — on the other hand, many, sensible that his faults were rather allied to imprudence and indecorum than to turpi- tude, regarded him with forbearance, if not with undiminished esteem and affection. The state of Burns's health on the 14th of April, was such as to allow him to be present at a meeting of the Mason Lodge that evening. On this occasion. Captain Adam Gordon, brother of his friend Mr Gordon of Kenmure, was admitted apprentice. It is not unlikely that, both on this occasion and on the 28th of 1 The original of this letter is in possession of Robert Cole, Esq., Upper Norton Place, London. REDUCTION OF SALARY. 191 Januaiy, Burns made an effort, if not a sacrifice, for the honour of persons whom he regarded as friends.^ ' It was hoped by some of his friends,' says Dr Currie, ' that if he could live through the months of spring, the succeeding season might restore him. But they were disappointed.' The month of May came in with more than its poetical beauty and geniality ; ^ but it only could charm the poet's feeling, it could infuse no new vigour into his languid frame. The summer wind blew unrefresh- ing for him. Being now entirely laid aside from duty, Burns understood that, as usual in such cases, his salary would be reduced; and this, we may well believe, was no small addition to the distresses he suffered. Dr Currie informs us, that the Board, to their honour, continued his full emoluments ; but it appears that this resolution was not taken, or at least not intimated, wlxile the poor poet was capable of being comforted by the intelligence. It is certain that the duty, necessary, we presume, for keeping up the reduced pay, was all the time performed out of kind- ness for Burns by a young expectant of Excise named Stobie; to whom, therefore, in reahty, the gi'atitude of those who love the memory of the bard must be considered as chiefly due. Dr Currie also states, that ' Mr Graham of Fintrj', hearing of tlie poet's illness, though unacquainted with its dangerous nature, made an offer of his assistance towards procuring him the means of preserving his healtli.' The letter containing this offer was 1 The fdllowing memoranda from the record of the Lodge may be perused with some interest. They refer to all the raeetiuijs which took place during tlie period of liums's connection with the Lodge. 27iil IT.'W.— Burns present, ('apt. Adam Gordon admitted apprentice. 16(A Aj)r'U 1790.— Burns not mentioned. 2 ' It is the finest weather in the world. The whole rounf ry is rovercd wilh green and blossoms; and the sun shines perpetuiilly through a light ea«l whid, whIoU would have brought you here from Boston since It began to blow.'— i/f^Trry, to hi* brutlicr, 20th May 17911. Cuckhurni Life 0/ Lord Jeffrq/. 192 LIFE AND WORKS OF EURNS. dated on the 15th July, so that the poet coukl not have received it more than a couple of days before consciousness left him.^ BURXS TO MR THOMSON. April 1793. Alas! my dear Thomson, I fear it will bo some time ere I tune my lyre again! 'By Babel streams I have sat and wept' almost ever since I wrote you last : I have only known existence by the pressure of the heavy hand of sickness, and have conntcd time by the reper- cussions of pain! Ilhcumatism, cold, and fever, have formed to me a terrible combination. I close my eyes in misery, and open them without hope. I look on the vernal day, and say with poor Eergusson- ' Say wherefore has an all-indulgent Heaven Light to the comfortless and wretched given ? ' This will be delivered to you by a Mrs Hyslop, landlady of tlie Globe Tavern here, which for these many years has been my liowff,- and where our friend Clarke and I have had many a merry squeeze. I mention tliis, because she will be a very proper hand to bring that seal you talk of. I am highly delighted with Mr Allan's etchings. Wookl an' married an'' a\ is admirable ! The grouping is beyond all praise. The expression of the figures, conformable to the story iu the ballad, is absolutely faultless perfection. I next admire Turnini- spike. What I like least is Jenny said to JocJci/. Besides the female being in her aj)pearance quite a virago, if you take lier stooping into the account, she is at least two inclies taller than her lover. Poor Cleghorn ! I sincerely sympathise with him. Happy I am to think that he yet has a well-grounded hope of health and enjoyment in this world. As for me— but that is a damning subject! Farewell! R. B. 1 'Another charge of cruelty has been brought forward against tlie Board— that of refusing his full salary din-inghis illness, which a little explanation will set to rights. A few years previous to this period, an addition of L.15 per annum had been made to the salaries, accompanied with the condition of being stopped to officers not doing duty. This still existed in Burnss time, and he was no worse treated than others in similar circumstances of indisposition. It is here incumbent on me to mention, that Commissioner Graham, regretting, I have no doubt, his inability to comply with the poets wishes as to the full salary, sent him a private donation of L.5, which, I believe, nearly or totally compensated the loss.'— Findi,.wer, in Glasijow Courier, March 1834. - A place of resort nmch frequented by any person is, in Scotland, called his JtoirfT. The windows of that common room in the Globe Tavern, which might be more particularly called Burns's IJoirff, still bear some scribblings in his handwriting. i SONGS ON JESSY LE^VAUS. 193 Mli THOMSON TO BURNS. ith May 1796. I NEED not tell you, my pood sir, wliat concern the receipt of your last gave me, and how much I sympathise in your sufferings. But do not, I beseech you, give yourself up to despondency, or speak the language of despair. The vigour of your constitution, I trust, ■will Boon set you on your feet again ; and then, it is to he hoped, you ■will see tho -wisdom and the necessity of taking due care of a life so valuable to your family, to your friends, and to the world. Trusting that your next will bring agreeable accounts of your convalescence and returning good sj)irits, I remain, with sincere regard, yours. P.S. — Sirs Hyslop, I doubt not, delivered the gold seal to you in good condition. BURNS TO MR THOMSON. [About Mix;/ 17, 179''] My dear Sir — I once mentioned to you an air which I have long admired — //rre's a health to them that's aiva, hinnij, hut I forget if you took any notice of it. I have just been trying to suit it with verses, and I beg leave to recommend the air to your attention once more. I have only begun it. JESSY. Here's a health to ane I loe dear! Here's a health to ane I loe dear! Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, And soft as their parting tear — Jessy! Although thou maun never be mine, Altiiough even hojjc is denied : 'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, Tlian aught in the world beside— Jessy ! I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, As, liopeles.s, I muse on thy charms; But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber, For tlien I am lock't in tiiy arms— Jessy ! I guess by the dear angel smile, I guess by the lovc-rolIing ce ; But why urge the tender confession, 'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree— Jessy ! VOL. IV. M 194 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. This will be delivered by a Mr Lewars, a young fellow of uncom- ! mon merit; indeed by far the cleverest fellow I have met with in this part of the world. His only fault is D-m-cratic heresy. As he will be a day or two in town, 3'ou will have leisure, if you choose, to write me by him ; and if you have a spare half hour to spend with him, I shall place your kindness to my account. I have no copies of the songs I have sent you, and I have taken a fancy to review them all, and possibly may mend some of them : so, when you have complete leisure, I will thank you for either the originals or copies. I had rather be the author of five well-written songs than of ten otherwise. My verses to Cauld Kail I will suppress ; as also those to Laddie lie near me. They are neither worthy of my name nor of your book. I have great hopes that the genial influence of the approaching summer will set me to rights, but as yet I cannot boast of returning health. I have now reason to believe that my com- plaint is a flying gout— a sad business ! Do let me know how Cleghorn is, and remember me to him. This should have been delivered to you a month ago, but my friend's trunk miscarried, and was not recovered till he came here again.i I am still very poorly, but should like much to hear from you. Jessy, the heroine of the song above cited, was a sister of Lewars, an amiable young woman, who acted the part of a minis- tering angel in his house during the whole of this dismal period of distress. It is curious to find him even in his present melancholy circumstances, imagining himself as the lover of his wife's kind-hearted young friend, as if the position of the mistress were the most exalted in which his fancy could place any woman he admired or towards whom he felt gratitude. This is not, however, the only strain of fancied love which Burns addressed to Jessy Lewars. The lady relates that, one morning she had a call from the poet, when he offered, if she would play him any tune of Avhich she was fond, and for which she desired new verses, to gratify her in her wish to the best of his ability. She placed herself at the pianoforte, and played over several times the air of an old song beginning with the words — The robin cam to the wren's nest, And keekit in, and keekit in : O weel 's me on your auld pow ! Wad ye be in, wad ye be in? Ye 'se ne'er get leave to lie without, And I within, and I within, As lang's I hae an auld clout, To row ye in, to row ye in.^ ^ The letter appears to have been despatched by post on the 17th June. Currie unaccountably divides the letter into two. ^ This set of the old song is from Juhnson's Museum, v. 4!9. KIKXCUDBRIGHT ELECTION, 1796. 195 As soon as his ear got accustomed to the melody, Bums sat do^vn, and in a very few minutes he produced the beautiful song: OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD BLAST. Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 3Iy plaidie to the angry airt, I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : Or did misfortune's hitter storms Aromid thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bicld should be my bosom, protection To share it a', to share it a'. Or were I in the wildest waste, Sae black and bare, sac black and bare. The desert were a paradise, If thou wert there, if thou wert there : Or were I monarch o' the globe, Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown "Wad be my ciuccn, wad be my queen. The anecdote is a trivial one in itself; but we feel that the circumstances — the deadly illness of the poet, the beneficent worth of Miss Lewars, and the reasons for his grateful desire of obliging her — give, it a value. It is curious, and something more, to connect it with tlie subsequent musical fate of the song, for many years after, when Burns had become a star in memory's galaxy, and Jessy Lewars was spending lier quiet years of widow- hood over her book or her knitting in a little parlour in Maxwell- town, the verses attracted the regard of Felix Mendelssohn, who seems to have divined the peculiar feeling beyond all common love which Burns breathed through them. By that admirable artist, so like our great bard in a too early death, th'ey were married to an air of exquisite pathos, ' such as the meeting soul may pierce.' Bums, Jessy Lewars, Felix Mendelssohn— genius, goodness, and tragic melancholy, all combined in one solenm and profoundly affecting association ! Parliament being dissolved in May, there arose a new contest for the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright. i\lr Heron was opposed on this occasion by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart, a younger son of the Earl of Galloway. Burns, reduced in health as he was — con- lined, indeed, to a sick-chamber — could nut remain an uiu'oncerued onlooker. He produced a ballad at once more allegorical and more bitter against ^Ir Heron's opponents than any launched on the former occasion. There is a set of vagrant traftickers in 196 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. Scotland, somewhat superior to pedlers, and called Troggers. They deal in clothes and miscellaneous articles, and their wares are recognised under the general name of Troggin. Burns con- ceived a trogger, with the characters of the Galloway party for a stock. AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. Tune— />;()/ Broom Besoms. "Wlia will buy my troggin. Fine election ware; Broken trade o' Broughtoii, A' in high repair. Buv braw tro'j'jin, *" DO ' Frae the banks o' Dee ; AVha wants troggin Let him come to me. There's a noble carl's Fame and high renown,^ For an aiild sang — It's thought the gudes were stown. Buy braw troggin, kc. Here 's tlie wortli o' Brougliton,- In a needle's eo; Here's a reputation Tint by Balniaghie.^ Buy braw troggin, kc. Here 's its stuff and lining, Cardoncss's head ;■* Fine for a sodger, A' tlie wale o' lead. choice Buy braw troggin, he. Here 's a little wadset, mortgage Buittle's scrap o' truth,-'' Fawned in a gin-sliop, Quenching holy drouth. Buy braw troggin, &c. Here's an honest conscience Might a prince adorn ; Frae the downs o' Tinwald — tSo was never worn.G Buy braw troggin, kc. ■' The Karl of Oalloway. * Cordon of Cardonoss. - Mr Murray of ISrouxhton. ^ llev. George Maxwell, minister of Buittle. ^ Gordon of Balmaghio. *■ A bitter allusion to Mr Bushby. ELECTION BALLAD. J 97 Here's armorial bearings, Frae the manse o' Urr ; Tiie crest, a sour crab-apple, Eotten at tlie core.' liiiy braw troggin, kc. Here is Satan's picture. Like a bizzarii gled, j.;,^ Pouncing poor Iledcastle,- Sprawlin' as a taed. ,^3^ Buy braw troggin, &c. Here's tlie font wliore Douglas Stane and mortar names ; Lately used at C Christening M[urray's] crimes. Buy braw troggin, &c. Here's the worth and wisdom Collieston can boast ;3 By a thievish midge pn^t They had been nearly lost. Buy braw troggin, &c. Here is Murray's fragments 0' the ten commands ; Gifted by black Jock,* To got them aft" his hands. Buy braw troggin, kc. Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? If to buy ye 're slack, Iloniie's turnin' chapman — the Devil He'll buy a' the jiack. Buv braw trojr'rin Frae tlie banks o' Dec; Wha wants ti-oggin Let him come to me. It gives a new idea of Burns, that he should have been able to put such a keen edge upon his satiric weajyon, and wield it with such power, within a few weeks of his dcatli. Mr Heron was also successful in this contest, an event which did not happen till the poor bard had I)cen laid in the dust. Tlu! election being subjected to tlu- judgment of a connnittcc. Mr Heron was unseated. He died on his Avay down to Scotland. Allan ' Ttiis appears to have hcen the retaliation for thn epl({raiii lauiirhrntriliiileen a fl.'Mor to Williains..n on i.rovious or-,.a..ioi.«. nml .loo, not nppoar to have l.cn prompt in Lis payn.onts, In March J7|»4. M.ssrs Hrown nn.l AVillian.son, .-lothi.Ts. ai.nown.vd to Horns that th.'V wr- .l.sHoUmK thr.r ropart- nerv, .and colIoHioK' the .l.l.t.s .!...■ to it. Th.v rnHos... an a.-rounl for u halunco of L.7, OS., due by him shice tlie beginning ot tlic procoilnig year. 206 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. melancholy and low spirits are half my disease — guess, then, my horrors since this business began. If I had it settled, I would be, I tliink, quite well in a manner. How shall I use the language to you — oh, do not disappoint mc ! but strong necessity's curst command. I have been thinking over and over my brother's affairs, and I fear I must cut him up ; but on this I will correspond at another time, particularly as I shall [require] your advice. Forgive me for once more mentioning by return of post — save me from the horrors of a jail ! BIy compliments to my friend Jamcs,^ and to all the rest. I do not know what I have written. Tlie subject is so horrible, I dare not look it over again. Farewell ! R. B. BURNS TO MR TK03IS0N. Brow, on the Solwrnj Fr'dli, l2Ui July 1796. After all my boasted independence, curst necessity compels mo to implore you for five pounds. A cruel scoundrel of a haber- dasher, to whom I owe an account, taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced a process, and will infallibly put me into jail. Do, for God's sake, send me that sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me this earnestness; but the horrors of a jail have made me half distracted. I do not ask all this gratuitously; for, upon returning health, I hereby promise and engage to furnish you with five pounds' worth of the neatest song-genius you have seen. I tried my hand on Botheviurchie this morning. The measure is so difficult, that it is impossible to infuse much genius into the lines ; they are on the other side. Forgive, forgive me ! To think of Burns composing love -verses in these circum- stances ! It was to happy days spent on the banks of the Devon during the short blaze of his fame, and to Charlotte Hamilton and her youthful loveliness, that his mind reverted at this gloomy time. FAIREST MAID ON DEVON BANKS. T USE — liothenncrch ie. CHORUS. Fairest maid on Devon banks, Crystal Devon, winding Devon, Wilt thou lay that frcv/n aside. And smile as thou wert wont to do ? ^ The son of Mr Burnes, now a youth of sixteen. This respectable man, the father of Sir Alexander Burnes, died in spring 1H32. MONEY SENT BY ME THOMSON. 207 Full well thou loiow'st I love thee dear, Couldst thou to malice lend an ear? Oh, did not love exclaim : ' Forbear, Xor use a faithful lover so ! ' Then come, thou fairest of the fair, Those wonted smiles, oh, let me share! And by tliy beauteous self I swear, Xo love but tliine my heart shall know. Mr Burnes, who was not a rich man, but possessed, like his illustrious relative, of a liberal heart, immediately sent the sum asked. ]Mr Thomson, who was in circumstances not greatly superior to those of Burns himself, but who also possessed a libei-al nature, had been ruminating on the illness of the poet, and asking himself if, at such a time, a fresh present of five pounds was not likely to be taken more kindly than that which he had sent three years before. Between two such enthusiasts, in then- respective domestic circumstances, such a donation did not truly bear the ah of meanness which some -svi-iters have since attributed to it. At all events, it was what Mr Thomson had it in his power to give, and he sent it with all his usual cordiality. 5IR THOMSON TO BURNS. Uth July 1:9c. My dear Sir — Ever since I received your melancholy letters by Sirs Hyslop, I have been ruminating in what manner I could endea- vour to alleviate your sufferings. Again and again I thought of a pecuniary offer, but the recollection of one of your letters on tliis suljject, and the fear of offending your independent spirit, checked my resolution. I thank you heartily, therefore, for tlie frankness of your letter of the l-2th, and with great j)leasure enclose a draft for the very sum I proposed sending. AVould I were Chancellor of the Exchequer but for one day, for your sake ! Pray, my good sir, is it not possible for you to muster a volume of poetry? If too much trouble to you, in the present state of your healtii, some literary friend mif^ht be found liere, wlio would select and arrange from your manuscripts, and take upon him tlie task of editor. In the meantime, it could be advertised to be pulilished by subscription. Do not shun tliis mode of obtaining the value of your labour: remember, I'opc published the Iliad by subscription. Think of tliis, my dear Burns, and do not reckon mo intrusive with my advice. You are too well convinced of tlie respect and frieiidsliip I bear you, to impute anything I say to an unworthy motive. Yours faitlifully. The verses to Rotlicmurchie will answer finely. I am liupjiy to sec you can still tune your lyre. 208 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. A kind-hearted friend, Mr Gracie, banker in Dumfries, sent to inquire after the poet's health, and to offer his carriage to bring him back to his home. TO JAMES GRACIE, ESQ. Brow, Wednesday morning [\3lh JuJy.'] My dear Sir — It would [be] doing high injustice to this place not to acknowledge that my rheumatisms have derived great benefits from it already; but, alas! my loss of appetite still continues. I shall not need your kind offer this iveel; and I return to town the beginning of next week, it not being a tide- week. I am detaining a man in a burning hurry. So, God bless you ! K. B. The delicate condition of Mrs Burns liad of course prevented her from accompanying her husband to Brow. He addressed her thus, apparently on the 14th: , TO MRS BURNS. Brow, Thursday. My dearest Love — I delayed writing until I could tell you what effect sea-bathing was likely to produce. It would be injustice to deny that it has eased my pains, and I thinlc has strengtliencd me ; but my appetite is still exti'emely bad. No flesh nor fish can I swallow ; porridge and millv ai-e the only thing I can taste. I am very happy to hear, by Miss Jess Lewars, tliat you are all well. My very best and kindest compliments to lier, and to all the children. I will see you on Sunday. Your affectionate husbaud, 11. B. Mr M'Diarmid of Dumfries communicated to Mr Lockhart an anecdote of Burns referable to this time. ' Eousseau, we all know, when dying, wished to be carried into the open air, that he might obtain a parting look of tlie glorious orb of day. A night or two before Burns left Brow, he drank tea with Mrs Craig, widow of the minister of Ruthwell. His altered appearance excited much silent sympathy; and the evening being beautiful, and the sun shining brightly through the casement. Miss Craig — now Mrs Henry Duncan i — was afraid the light might be too mucli for him, and rose with the view of letting down the window-blinds. Burns immediately guessed what she meant; and, regarding the young lady with a look of great benignity, said: " Thank you, my dear, for your kind attention ; but oh, let him shine : he Avill not shine long for me!"' 1 Mrs Duncan was the wife of the late highly estimable Dr Duncan, minister of Ruthwell, the originator of savinijs-banks, and the first describer of reptilian footsteps on the surfaces of ancient strata. DEATH OF THE POET. 209 Before leaving Urow, Burns experienced a new attack of fever. According to Allan Cunningliam, who was living in Dumfries at the time, the poet 'returned on the 18th. in a small spring -cart. The ascent to liis house was steep, and the cart stopped at the foot of the Mill-hole-brae : when he alighted, he shook much, and stood with difficulty; he seemed unable to stand upright. He stooped as if in pain, and walked tottering towards his own door: his looks were hollow and ghastly, and those who saw him then €xpected never to see him in life again.' Dr Currie. who probably liad exact information regarding the case from iMaxwell. says: 'At this time a tremor pervaded his frame; his tongue was parched, and his mind sank into delirium when not roused by conversation.' On returning to his home, he wrote what is supposed to be the last letter or composition of any kind penned by him. It was addressed to his father-in-law, and related to an expected domestic event Avhich helped in no small degree to deepen the tragic character of the hour. TO MR JAMES ARMOTR, MAVCHMNE. DfMFniKS, Wh July 1795. Mv DEAR Sir — Do, for Heaven's sake, send Mrs Armour horo immediately. My Avife is liourly expecting to be put to bed. Good God ! what a situation for her to l)c in, poor girl,' without a friend ! I returned from sca-batliiiig <[iiarters to-d;iy, and my medical friends would almost pursuade me that I am better; but I think and feel tliat my strength is so gone, that the disorder will j)rove fatal to nic. Your son-in-law, K. li. The life of Burns was now to be measured by liours rather than days. To secure the quietness demanded at such a time, his four little boys Avert; sent to the house of Mr Lewars. .lessy hovered ]jy his couch with her usual assiduity. Findlater came occasion- ally to soothe the last moments of his friend. Karly in the m.orn- ing of the 2lst, liurns had sunk into delirium, ami it becanm evident that nature was well-nigh exiiausted. Tlit^ children were then sent for to see their parent for the last time in life. They .stood round the bed, whih; calndy and gradually he .sank into his last repose. The eldest son retained a distinct n'collecfion of the scene, and has reported the sad fact, that the last words of tlio bard were a muttired execration against the legal agent by whose letter, wittingly or unwittingly, tlie parting days of Hums iiaJ been imbittered. 1 Mrs Burns v.as not yet thirty years of ago. VOL. IV. N 210 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Tliough mitcli of the conduct and conversation of Burns was matter of disapprobation with a portion of society in his own district, his death caused a general feeling of regret throughout Dumfries and its neighbourhood. By high and low, his geniu& had been admired. Many knew well the generous character of the man. All deplored the premature extinction of a spirit which, but a few years before, had shone out upon society with sa bright a promise. They also sympathised with the young widow and her helpless children, now left without any provision for the future. In the general public, although the death of Burns was communicated through an authoritative channel in a manner disrespectful to his memory,^ the same sentiments of regret and sympathy prevailed. The nation seemed to feel at its heart a pang of self-accusation for not having better appreciated and done more to foster a genius so extraordinary. It felt, and felt ti'uly, that many a year might pass ere anotlier equal to him should arise. The funeral of Burns is well described by Dr Currie. ' The Gentlemen Volunteers of Dumfries determined to bury their illustrious associate with military honours, and every preparation was made to render this last service solemn and impressive. The Fencible Infantry of Angusshire, and the regiment of cavalry of the Cinque Ports, at that time quartered in Dumfries,- offered their assistance on this occasion ; the principal inhabitants of the town and neighbourhood determined to walk in the funeral pro- cession; and a vast concourse of persons assembled, some of them from a considerable distance, to witness the obsequies of the J The newspaper notice here adverted to must have been the production of some- injudicious friend. ' On the 21st inst., died at Dumfries, after a lingering illness, the celebrated Robert Uurxs. His poetical compositions, distinguished equally by the force of native humour, by the warmth and the tenderness of passion, and by the glowing touches of a descriptive pencil— will remain a lasting monument of the vigour and versatility of a mind guided only by the Lights of Nature and the Inspirations of Genius. The public, to whose amusement he has so largely contri- buted, will hear with regret, that his extraordinary endowments were accompanied with frailties which rendered them useless to himself and his family. The last moments of his short life were spent in sickness and indigence ; and his widow, with five infant children, and in hourly expectation of a sixth, is now left without any resource but what she may hope from the regard due to the memory of her husband. ' The public are respectfully informed, that contributions for the wife and family of the late Robert Burns, who are left in circumstances of extreme distress, will be received at the houses of Sir William Forbes & Co., of Messrs Mansfield, Ramsay, & Co., and at tlie shops of the Edinburgh booksellers. ' As it is proposed to publish, some time hence, a posthumous volume of the poetical remains of Robert Burns, for the benefit of the author's family, his friends and acquaintances are requested to transmit such i^oems and Utters as happen to be in their possession to Alexander Cunningham, writer, George's Street, Edin- burgh; or to John SjTne, Esq., of Eycdale, Dumfries.'— J?d/«. Advertiser, July SB. - The Cinque Ports Cavalry had arrived in Dumfries only a few days before the death of Burns. Among the junior ofiiccrs was the Hon. Mr Jenliinson, afterwards Earl of Liverpool and prime minister of England. FUNERAL OF THE POET. 211 Scottish bard. On the evening of the 25th of July, the remains of Bums were removed from his house to the Town Hall, and the funeral took place on the succeeding day.i A party of the Volimteers, selected to perform the military duty in the church- yard, stationed themselves in the front of the procession, with their arms reversed ; the main body of the corps surrounded and supported the coffin, on which were placed the hat and sword of their friend and fellow-soldier; the numerous body of attendants ranged themselves in the rear; while the Fencible regiments of infantry and cavalry lined the streets from the Town Hall to the burial-ground in the southern church-yard, a distance of more than half a mile. The whole procession moved forward to that sublime and affecting strain of music, the Dead March in Saul; and three volleys fired over his grave marked the return of Bums to his parent earth ! The spectacle was in a higli degree grand and solemn, and accorded with the general sentiments of sympathy and sorrow which the occasion had called forth.' Dr Currie adds: 'It was an affecting circumstance, that on the morning of the day of her husband's funeral, Mrs Burns was undergoing the pains of labour, and that, during the solemn service we have just been describing, the posthumous son of our poet Avas born.' This child was named Maxwell, in honour of Dr Maxwell, the physician who had attended Biu-ns on his death-bed. He died in infancy. As Dr Currie's description of Bums was composed under advantages which no subsequent writer can enjoy, and is an elegant piece of writing, I am induced to transfer it to these pages. ' Burns was nearly five feet ten inches in height, and of a fomi that indicated agility as well as strength. His well-raised forehead, shaded with black curling hair, indicated extensive capacity. His eyes were large, dark, full of ardour and intelligence. His face was well formed; and his countenance uncommonly interesting and expressive. His mode of dressing, wliich was often slovenly, and a certain fulness and bend in his shoulders, characteristic of his original profession, disguised in some degree the natural synnnctry and elegance of his form. The external apjiearance of Burns was most strikingly indicative of the cliaracter of his mind. On a first view, his physiognomy had a certain air of coarseness, mingled, however, with an expression of deep penetration, and of calm thoughtfubiess, approaching to melancholy. Tiicrc appeared in his > The Edinhitrrih Advcrliscr of Friday Iho SUtli coiitnins n i-aranraph, ilatcl * Dumfries, 2()th .lul.v,' which says that 'tho reniniius of Itums wero intcrrt'd on Mondai/, witli iniliUiry honours and every suiUil)le respect.' Monday was the !Ulh, and this undoubtedly was tlic duy of the funeral. 212 LIFE AND WORKS OF BUKNS. first mannei- and address, perfect ease and self-possession, bvit a stern and almost supercilious elevation, not, indeed, incompatible •with openness and affability, which, however, bespoke a mind conscious of superior talents. Strangers that supposed themselves approaching an Ayrshire peasant wlio could make rhymes, and to whom their notice was an honour, found themselves speedily overawed by tlie presence of a man who bore himself with dignity, and who possessed a singular power of correcting forwardness and of repelling intrusion. i But though jealous of the respect due to himself. Burns never enforced it where he saw it v/as willingly paid; and though inaccessible to the approaches of pride, he was open to every advance of kindness and of benevolence. His dark and haughty countenance easily relaxed into a look of good-will, of pity, or of tenderness; and as the various emotions succeeded each otlier in his mind, assumed with equal ease tlie expression of the broadest humour, of the most extravagant mii-th, of the deepest melancholy, or of the most sublime emotion. The tones of his voice happily corresponded witli tlie ex])ression of his features, and with the feelings of his mind. When to these endowments are added a rapid and distinct apprehension, a most powerful imderstanding, and a happy command of language — of strength as Avell as brilliancy of expression — we shall be able to account for the extraordinary attractions of his conversation — for the sorcery which, in his social parties, he seemed to exert on all around him. In the company of women, this sorcery was more especially apparent. Their presence charmed the fiend of melanclioly in his bosom, and awoke his liappiest feelings; it excited the powers of his fancy, as avcII as the tenderness of his heart; and by restraining the vehemence and the exuberance of his language, at times gave to his manners the impression of taste, and even of elegance, which in the company of men they seldom possessed. This influence was doubtless reciprocal. A Scottish lady accustomed to the best society, declared with characteristic naivete, that no man's conversation ever carried her ' 'During his residence in Glasgow, a characteristic instance occurred of the way in whjcli he would repress petulance and presumption. A young man of some literary pretensions, who had newly commenced husiness as a bookseller, had been in the practice of writing notices of ISurnss poems in a style so flippant, and withal so patronising, as to excite feelings in tlie poet towards him very different from what he counted upon. Reckoning, however, upon a very grateful reception from Burns, he was particularly an,\ious for an early introduction to his company ; and, as his friends knew, had been at some pains to prepare himself for making a dazzling impression upon the Ayrshire ploughman, as it was then the fashion, amongst a certain kind of literary folks, to call the poet. At the moment the introduction took place. Burns was engaged in one of his happiest and most play- ful veins with my friend and another intimate or two; but upon tlie gentleman's presentation, who advanced in a manner sufficiently affable, the " ploughman " assumed an air of such dignified coldness, as froze him into complete silence during the time he remained in his company.'— C'w?Tfs;)Oiutoi« (if the Scotsman, 1820. MRS riddel's sketch OF BURKS. 213 80 completely off her feet, as tliat of Bunis;^ and an English lady, familiarly acquainted witli several of the most distinguished characters of the present times, assured the editor, that in the happiest of his social hours, there -was a charm about Burns whicli she had never seen e(;[ualled.- This charm arose not more from the power than the versatility of his genius. Xo languor could be felt in the society of a man who passed at pleasure from grave to gay, from the ludicrous to the pathetic, from the simple to the sublime; who wielded all his fi^culties with equal strength and ease, and never failed to impress the oftspring of his fancy Avith the stamp of his understanding. ' This, indeed, is to represent Burns in his happiest phasis. In large and mixed parties, he was often silent and dark, sometimes fierce and overbearing; he was jealous of the proud man's scorn, jealous to an extreme of the insolence of wealth, and prone to avenge, even on its innocent possessor, the partiality of fortune. By nature, kind, brave, sincere, and in a singular degree com- passionate, he was on the other hand proud, irascible, and vin- dictive. His virtues and liis failings had their origin in the extraordinary sensibility of his mind, and equally partook of tlie cliills and glows of sentiment. His friendships were liable to interruption from jealou.sy or disgust, and his enmities died away under tlie influence of pity or self-accusation. His understanding was equal to the other powers of his mind, and his deliberate opinions were singularly candid and just; but, like otlicr men of great and irreguhir genius, the opinions which he delivered in conversation were often the oflspring of temporary feelings, and widely different from the calm decisions of his judgment. Tliis was not merely true respecting the characters of others, but in regard to some of the most important points of human speculation.' Ijittle more than a fortnight after the deatli of Burns, Mrs Walter lliddol presented anonymously in the Diuiifrles Journal a view of his personal (qualities, designed to counteract the effects of the misrepresentation and calumny which had already begun to circulate regarding him. The notice is even more creditable to the heart than to the intellect of tiu: lady, for, before writing it. she had to forgive all those unhappy lampoons wiiidi, under temporary irritation. Burns had launched against her and licr husljand. "We must consich'r the wluilo conduct of tliis la.ly respecting Burns as a solid testimony in liis favour. He liad sinned against her, as against much tliat was more sacred tlian > It has been stated that this lady was Jane, DuchcM of Gordon. » Mrs Walter Kiddel is licrc meant. "214 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. she ; but she, nevertheless, acknowledged his many merits and excellences, and fomid in him no oifences which a pm-e mind might not regard with leniency. The late Mr Alexander Smellie, son of the rough old naturalist already introduced to the reader, had visited Mrs Riddel a few months before Burns's death, when he found her talking of him in terms of opprobrium, only perhaps too well justified by his conduct towards herself. He revisited her immediately after the death of the poet, and found that all offence had been lost in admiration and regr'et. Attended by her young friend, the enthusiastic lady went that night at a late hour to St Michael's Cliurch-yard, and planted laurels over the poet's new-made grave. Mrs Riddel opens with an assertion which must have been startling to the public of that day, who had not yet leai-ned to contemplate Burns as anything beyond a prodigy of versifying power. She says : ' The fact is, that poetry (I appeal to all who have had the advantage of being personally acquainted with him) was actually not his forte. Many others, perhaps, may have ascended to prouder heights in the region of Parnassus, but none certainly ever outshone Burns in the charms, the sorcery, I would almost call it, of fascinating conversation, the spontaneous eloquence of social argument, or the unstudied poignancy of brilliant repartee ; nor was any man, I believe, ever gifted with a larger portion of the vivida vis animi. His personal endowments were perfectly correspondent to the qualifications of his mind — ■ his form was manly — his action, energy itself — devoid in a great measure perhaps of those graces, of that polish, acquired only in the refinement of societies where in early life he could have no opportunities of mixing; but where, such was the irresistible power of atti'action that encircled him, though his appearance and manners were always peciiliar, he never failed to delight and to excel. His figure seemed to bear testimony to his earlier desti- nation and employments. It seemed rather moulded by nature for the rough exercises of agriculture, than the gentler cultivation of the belles-lettres. His features were stamped with the hardy character of independence, and the firmness of conscious, though not arrogant, pre-eminence ; the animated expressions of coun- tenance were almost peculiar to himself; the rapid lightnings of his eye were always the harbingers of some flash of genius, whether they darted the fiery glances of insulted and indignant superiority, or beamed with the impassioned sentiment of fervent and impetuous affections. His voice alone could improve upon the magic of his eye : sonorous, replete with the finest modulations, it alternately captivated the ear with the melody of poetic numbers, the perspicuity of nervous reasoning, or the ardent MRS riddel's sketch OF BURNS. 215 sallies of enthusiastic patriotism. The keenness of eatu'e was, I am almost at a loss whether to say his forte or his foible; for thougli nature had endowed him "with a portion of the most pointed excellence in that dangerous talent, he suffered it too often to be the vehicle of personal, and sometimes unfounded, animosities. It was not always that sportiveness of humour, that " unwary pleasantry," which Sterne lias depicted with touches so conciliatory, but the darts of ridicule were frequently directed as the caprice of the instant suggested, or as the altercations of parties and of persons happened to kindle the restlessness of his spirit into interest or aversion. This, however, was not invari- ably the case ; his wit (which is no unusual matter indeed) had always the start of his judgment, and would lead him to the indulgence of raillery uniformly acute, but often unaccompanied with the least desire to wound. The suppression of an arch and full-pointed hon-mot, from a dread of offending its object, the sage of Zurich very properly classes as a virtue onhj to he sought for in Ihe calendar of saints ; if so, Burns must not be too severely dealt with for being rather deficient in it. He paid for his mischievous wit as dearly as any one could do. " 'Twas no extravagant arithmetic," to say of him, as was said of Yorick, that " for every ten jokes he got a hundred enemies ;" but much allowance will be made by a candid mind for the splenetic warmth of a spirit whom ^' distress had spited with the world," and which, unbounded in its intellectual sallies and pursuits, continually experienced the curbs imposed by the waywardness of his fortune. The vivacity of his wishes and temper was indeed checked by almost habitual disappointments, which sat heavy on a heart that acknowledged the ruling passion of independence, without having ever been placed beyond the grasp of penury. His soul was never languid or inactive, and his genius was extinguished only with the last spark of retreating life. His passions rendered him, according as they disclosed themselves in affection or antipathy, an object of enthusiastic attachment, or of decided enmity ; for he possessed none of that negative insipidity of character, whose love iniglit bo regarded with indifference, or whose resentment could be con- sidered with contempt. In tiiis, it sliould seem, tl\c temper of his associates took the tincture from his own ; for he acknowledged in the universe but two classes of objects— those of adoration the most fervent, or of aversion the most uncontrullablc ; and it has been frequently a reproach to him, tiiat, unsusceptible of indif- ference, often hating where he ought only to have despised, he alternately opened his heart and poured fortli the treasures of his understanding to such as were incapable of appreciating the homage, and elevated to tlie privileges of an adversary some who 216 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. were unqualified in all respects for the honour of a contest so distinguished. ' It is said that the celebrated Dr Johnson professed to " love a good hater" — a temperament that would have singularly adapted him to cherish a prepossession in favour of our bard, who perhaps fell but little short even of the surly doctor in this qualification, as long as the disposition to ill-will continued ; but the warmth of his passions was fortunately corrected by their versatility. He was seldom, indeed never, implacable in his resentments, and sometimes, it has been alleged, not inviolably faithful in his engagements of friendship. Much, indeed, has been said about his inconstancy and caprice ; but I am inclined to believe, that they originated less in a levity of sentiment, than from an extreme impetuosity of feeling, which rendered him prompt to take umbrage ; and his sensations of pique, whore he fancied he had discovered the traces of neglect, scorn, or unkindness, took their measure of asperity from the overflowings of the opposite senti- ment which preceded them, and which seldom failed to regain its ascendancy in his bosom on the return of calmer reflection. He was candid and manly in the avowal of his errors, and his avoical "was a reparation. His native jierte never forsaking him for a moment, the value of a frank acknowledgment was enhanced ten- fold towards a generous mind, from its never being attended with servility. His mind, organised only for the stronger and more acute operations of the passions, was impracticable to the efforts of superciliousness that would have depressed it into humility, and equally superior to the encroachments of venal suggestions that might have led him into the mazes of hypocrisy * That Burns had received no classical education, and was acquainted with the Greek and Roman authors only through the medium of translations, is a fact of Avhich all who were in the habit of conversing Avith him might readily be convinced. I have, indeed, seldom observed him to be at a loss in conversation, unless where the dead languages and their writers have been the subjects of discussion. When 1 have pressed him to tell me why he never applied himself to acquire the Latin, in particular, a language Avhich his happy memory would have so soon enabled him to be master of, he used only to reply with a smile, that he had already learnt all the Latin he desired to know, and that was omnia vincit amor — a sentence, that from his writings and most favourite pursuits, it should undoul)tedly seem that he was most thoroughly versed in; but I really believe his classic erudition extended little if any further.' Mrs Riddel acknowledged the imputed irregularities of Burns, but pled that ' the eccentric intuitions of genius too often yield CHARACTER OF BURNS. 217 the soul to the -wild effervescence of desires, always unbounded, and sometimes equally dangerous to the repose of otliers as dangerous to its own I trust,' she says in conclusion, ' that honest fame will be permanently affixed to Burns's cb.aracter, wliicli I think it will be found he lias merited by the candid and impartial among his countrymen. And wliere a recollection of the impru- dences that sullied his brighter qualitieations interposes, let tlic imperfection of all human excellence be remembered at the same time, leaving those inconsistencies, which alternately exalted liis nature into the serapli and sank it again into the man, to the tribunal which aloiie can investigate the labyrinths of the human heart — " Where they alike in trembling hope repose — The bosom of his father and his God." ' i Mrs Riddel's prediction has certainly been verified, for an honest fame, and sometliing more, does now attach to the memory of liobert Burns. It is many years since any open attempt lias been made to vilify the peasant bard on any account whatever, and it is abundantly clear, that no such attempt will ever again be made by any man who wishes to stand well with the Scottish public ; for whatever sectarian views may sway, or whatever prudish feelings intrude, no man amongst us can endure tliat the sliadow of the fame of Burns, personal or literary, should ever be made less. The danger is now, indeed, not that Burns may be nnder-estimated or cahunniated, but tliat tlie affection in •wliicli liis memory is held, may interfere with even the most friendly attempts to set fortli the liglits and shadows of his character witli historic fidelity. On a narrow and critical examination of tlie life and conduct of our great poet, and tlms getting quit of tlie almost mytliic gloss which already invests it, we do not find cither that garreteer- like poverty which is usually associated with liis name, or that tendency to excessive or wild irregularity which has been imputed to him. liurns was cut short by an accidental disease in the midst of a life, humble indeed compared with his deserts, but one attended ■with no essential privations, not to any serious extent distressing to his spirit, and not unhopcfid. A very short time before liis death, he is found looking chefrfidly forward to promotion in the branch of public service to which he had attached himself; and it may be added, if he had lived a few years longer, and attained the expected promotion, his situation would have been one far from despicable. In his ollicial conduct, Burns, it fully ajipears, ' Mrs Walter Riddel gave material assistance lo Pr Currlc In his task sj biographer and editor of Hums. 218 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. displayed diligence and accuracy. He behaved himself much more like a man of the world than is generally supposed. The charges against him on the score of intemperance have been proved to be greatly exaggerated. He was only the occasional boon-companion, never the dram-drinker or the sot ; and his aberrations in this line were those of the age, not his own. There remains, indeed, one serious frailty at the charge of Burns. It has been spoken of here with candour, lest, in the event of its being slurred over, an exaggerated idea of it should be entertained. It certamly was much to be deplored ; and yet we must see that it was connected and inwrought with the peculiar poetical power which he pos- sessed, a power of which, apparently, we should not have had the benefits on cheaper terms. ^ We may pronounce, there- fore, against the sin, and deplore the humiliation into which it brought so noble a genius ; but we must at the same time remem- ber, that the light which led astray was in him truly *a light from heaven.' If Burns had lived ten years longer, we should have seen him surmounting the turbid wave of passion, and atoning for many of his errors. Let us give him the benefit of this ideal amendment. There, after all, was a defect in Burns which no number of years would have ever enabled him to remedy, and this was his want ■of a vigorous will. Thomas Carlyle, after writing most gene- rously of Burns, has been carried so far in his ardent admiration as to say, that no other man was so well entitled to be at the head of the public afiiiirs of his day, as if his being so pecviliarly a man of talent fitted him above all rivalry for that eminent situation. There could not be a greater mistake, for how could 1 ' by his own hand — in words the import of which cannot be mistaken — it has been recorded that the order of his life but faintly corresponded with the clearness of his views. It is probable that he could have proved a still greater poet if, by strength of reason, he could have controlled the propensities which his sensibiUties engendered ; but he would have been a poet of a different class : and, certain it is, had that desirable restraint been early established, many peculiar beauties which enrich his verse would never have existed, and many accessory influences which contribute greatly to their effect woiUd have been wanting. For instance, the momentous truth of the passage, " One point must still be greatly dark," &c., could not have possibly been conveyed with such pathetic force by any poet that ever lived, speaking in his own voice ; unless it were felt that, hke Burns, he •was a man who preached from the text of his ovm errors ; and whose wisdom, beautiful as a flower that might have risen from seed sown from above, was in fact a scion from the root of personal suffering. Whom did the poet intend should be thought of occupying that grave over which, after modestly setting forth the moral discernment and warm affections of its "poor inhabitant below," it is supposed to be inscribed that — " Thoughtless follies laid him low, And stained his name." Who but himself^iimself anticipating the too probable termination of his own course ? Here is a sincere and solemn avowal— a public declaration from his own vnll — a confession at once devout, poetical, and human — a history in the shape of a prophecy ! ' — Wordsworth. BURNS AS A POET. 219 a man, who was unable to exercise a control upon his own passions in the simplest thmgs, have ever been able to exercise the control upon himself and others which is necessary in the great statesman ? The general abilities of Durns were no doubt extra- ordinary ; but it is perfectly clear, that the poetical temperament ruled in his nature. He was impressionable, irritable, capricious. Whatever he did tliat was brilliant, he did under impulse. He only reflected when it was too late. Mmds like his have their own mission ; but it is not to sway great democracies. It is to touch the souls of men with their hue sensibilities, and give an imperish- able voice to the subtlest emotions of their bosoms. In studying such minds, we are not to expect calm and regulated movement, as of some machine perfect in all its parts, and which has certain definite purposes to serve. It is not of ^hat active character at all. We are rather to look for some passive thing like the ^-Eolian hai'p, which has a hundred moods in an hour. Such, truly, is the Poet ; and it must ever be a fearful problem, how such a being is to stand towards the rest of society, how he is to get his living, and how he is to observe one -half of the sober maxims of conventional life. As a poet. Burns is not of course to be ranked with any of the higher denominations. He competes not with the Homers or the Miltons ; scarcely even with the Drydens or Popes. But he stands in a very noble rank by himself, as one who treated with unap- proached felicity all the sensuous familiar things which lay around him in the world. It may be said, that he is happy in the treating of these things in a great measure by reason of his singular command of language. Whatever idea was within him, there was a channel of expression for it, by which it came out in full and true lineaments, and without a single sacrifice to rant, or trick, or the exigencies of verse. The possession of this language-power, Horatian as it was, would have never of itself made a gi-cat poet ; but it, and the fruitful muid together, conferred an advantage wliicli there was no resisting. Wlien we seek to ascertain what it is in the thoughts and feelings of Burns wliich pleases us so much, wo find that it mainly is their unaffected simplicity and naivete. ^ He was the true man before he was the true i)oet. To be so entirely free of a tedious literalncss, he is tlic most faitliful of painters. Tiie emotions of a liberal genial nature flow from liini, and wc; all feel that it is a voice which admirably represents Iiis kind. There is never any pause for an expletive ornament. Art is completely con- cealed in his case, simply because he wrote the ideas as they natu- rally rose and came, and not with any secondary view to effect. Thus he is the least egotistic of poets, for even whore he worsliips some female divinity of his own, he docs it in the words which all would 220 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. feel to be suitable in the like circumstances. It is alike in humour and in tlie serious or sentimental. Never does Burns fail to be true, simple, and direct, and rarely, accordingly, do his verses fail to paint themselves upon the imagination of the reader. I must, after all, hesitate about the place which ought to be assigned to him among the British poets. Since his own day, he has advanced immensely in consideration ; and perhaps he is only now as Shakspeare was in the time of Dryden and Howe. What the British opinion may ultimately decide about one who drew so ftiithfully and sang so sweetly, it might be rash to vaticinate. POSTHUMOUS HISTORY OF BURNS. Burns died, not exactly in pressing indigence or privation, but without possessing any such amount of property as could place his widow and children above more than immediate want. It is not, everything considered, so wonderful that he left liis iiimily in tliese circumstances, as that he died free of debt except to a compara- tively trifling amount.' This is indeed a fact highly remarkable, and one which reflects a peculiar lustre upon the name of Burns. The money realised by his pocm^ appears to have been expended by the time he left Ellisland: he obtained no more that we are aware of from that source, excepting the small sum thrust upon liim by jNIr Thomson. He had lived four and a half years in Dumfries, with an ascertained income which ' was for some time as low as L.50, and never rose above L.70 a year,'- with a ' It has hecn repeateulj' stated in so many words, that Ruriis died free of debt. This, even by his own confession (letter to liis brother, .July Id, I7i">'. is not strictly true. Besides the amount of the iint'ortiin:ite account wliich had been presented at so unsuiting a time, he had small accounts due to other tradesmen. The poet would also appear to have never quite succeeded in sijuarin;; accounts with his landlord. Captain Hamilton. The interest of his countrymen about every authentiir particular respecting IJurns, seems to ^ive these small matters a title to be noticed. I deem it prol)ablc, after .ill, that the t0t.1l amoimt of our poet's debts did not much exceed thirty pounds. The foUowinff letter from Cilliert liurns to .^I^ Wallace, writer in Dumfries, throws soma light on the subject, while still further confirming the fact, that Mr Jamca Clarke, the schoolmaster, was a debtor of Burns : Mossoii-.i., Ill Jan. 1797- JIti AVat.i.ace— Sir, I intended to have been in Dumfries about this lime, to have paid otr my brother's debts; but I (hid nnicli ilifrirulty in sparini? as mui'li money. I think of offcrinjf Captain Hamilton and 'Mr Williamson the hilf of Ibeirnce". and beKRiiiK a little time to pay the other half. If .Mr Cliirk pay up liis bill, I hope to be able to pay off the .smaller ace" 1 be« you will write mc your opinion immediately on this .subject. Will you have the i;oodncis It) mention tliU to them, which will .save mc some imcasiness when I come to Dumfries, which I think will be in two or three weeks, unless I have occ.i.*it)n to delay it till Dumfries lair'; I bCK that you will smooth the w.iy to me in Ibis business as much ns you cm. I y": " rejoices me to hear so lartrc a sum is to come from other pluces-mid [l]J"in you in reprobatiuK Caledonia's capital for her slml.l.y donatK.ii. Ilut 1 u-re are lew Bouls atiuwlun who understood or could enter into the relish of such n tr poetry, to their being fully understood. It wa;; .admitted by I)r Aiken, then considered at the head of criticism in England, tliat English literature scarcely contained any compositions of the same nature equal to them. The success of the publication was great. Four editions, of 2000 copies each, were disposed of in the tirst four years. It is not unworthy of remark, that the first edition wds printed in a very elegant style at Liverpool, by John M'Creerv, a north-of-Ireland man of Scottish extraction, who had entered upon his task with a feeling superior to the usual principles of trade. He is described as a man of talent and extraordinarv ardour of character, a lover of literature, and a worsliipper of genius. He had exerted himself to render the volumes a beauti- ful specimen of the typographic art, and in this object he succeeded, so as to secure general admiration.' The profits of the work are stated by Mr Wallace Currie as having been L.1200; but I lind in Dr Currie's own papers reference made to the sum of L.1400, as that realised for the Avidow and her famiiv bv the publication. Mrs Burns continued to live in the same small house in which her husband died, an object of general respect on account of her modest and amiable character, and the interest associated with the memory of the poet. The proceeds of the fund raised for her, sufficed to enable her to bring up her sons in a creditable manner. Dr Currie paid her a visit in June 1804, when ' everything about her,' he says, ' bespoke decent competence, and even comfort. Si\e shewed me the study and small library of her husband nearly as he left them. By everything I hear, she conducts herself irreproachably.' He adds : • From ^Irs Burns's house, I went to the church-yard, at no great distance, to visit the grave of the poet. As it is still uninscribed, we could not liave found it, had not a jierson we met with in the church-yard pointed it out. He told us he knew Burns well, and that he (Burns) himself chose the spot in which he is buried. His grave is on the north-east corner of the church-yard, which it fills up, and at tlie side of the grave of his two sons, Wallace and Maxwell, the first of whom, a lad of great promise, died last year of a consumption, the last immediately after liis father.' Robert, tlie eldest son, who.se early intelligence seems to have excited general admiration, attended for two .sessions at the univer- sity of Edinburgh, and one in the university of Glasgow. A situation being procured for him in the Stamp Oflice, London, he ' Ten copies were printed on tliicl;er and finer paper than the rcst-of whirh four were for tiie hrotlier ami three sisters of Hiirni, one to S.vine, one to George Thomson, one to .Murdoch (the pocfs preceptor), and one to Mr Ko.ncoc. 230 LIFE AND WOEKS OF BUnNS. removed thither in 1804, and devoted himself to a routine of drudgeries which seems to have effectually repressed tlie literary tendencies of his mind. Only a few songs and miscellaneous pieces of poetry, some of which, however, possessed considerable merit, have proceeded front his pen. For twenty-nine years, he pursued this humble career, endeavouring to improve his slender income by privately teaching the classics and mathematics, and during this long time he was never able to revisit Scotland, or have a meeting with his mother. In 1833, having obtained a superannuation allowance, he retired to Dumfries, where he still lives (1852). James and William, the two other surviving sons of the poet, obtained commissions in the East India Company's service through the kindness of the Marchioness of Hastings. They passed through a most honourable career of service, attaining respectively the ranks of major and lieutenant-colonel. In their wanderings in a foreign land, they ever found their name and parentage a passport to the friendship of all whom they encoun- tered or with whom they were associated. Among their most cherished desires, was that of adding to the comforts of their mother. Mr Maule of Panmure (afterwards Lord Panmure) had, in 1817, settled a pension upon Mrs Bums of L.50 a year, and this she had enjoyed about a year and a half, when her son James, having obtained a place in the commissariat, was able to relieve her from the necessity of being beholden to a stranger's generosity. Mrs Burns, through the liberality of her children, spent her latter years in comparative affluence, yet ' never changed, nor wished to change her place.' In March 1834, at the age of. sixty-eight, she closed her respectable life in the same room in which her husband had breathed his last thirty- eight years before. ^ ^ The household effects of Mrs Burns were sold by public auction on the 10th and nth of April, and brought uncommonly high sums, from the anxiety of the public to possess relics of this interesting hovisehold. According to the Dum- fries Courier, ' the auctioneer commenced with small articles, and when he came to a broken copper coffee-pot, there were so many bidders, that the price paid exceeded twenty-fold the intrinsic value. A tea-kettle of the same metal suc- ceeded, and reached L.2 sterling. Of the linens, a tablecloth, marked 1792, which, speaking commercially, may be worth half-a-crown or five shillings, was knocked down at L.5, 7s. Many other articles commanded handsome prices, and the older and plainer the furniture, the better it sold. The rusty iron top of a shower-bath, which Mrs Dunlop of Dunlop sent to the poet when afflicted with rheumatism, was bought by a Carlisle gentleman for L.l, 8s. ; and a low wooden kitchen-chair, on which the late Mrs Burns sat when nursing her children, was run up to L.3, 7s. The crystal and china were much coveted, and brought, in most cases, splendid prices. Kven an old fender reached a figure which would go far to buy half a dozen new ones, and everything towards the close attracted notice, down to greybeards, bottles, and a half-worn pair of bellows. The poet's eight-day clock, made by a MauchUne arti.st, attracted great attention, from the circumstance that it had frequently been wound up by bis ov.Ti hand. In a few seconds it was bid up to L.15 or guineas, GILBERT BURNS'S EDITION. 231 Mr Gilbert Burns, the early companion, and at all times the steadfast friend of the poet, continued to struggle with the miserable soil of Mossgiel till about the year 1797, -when he removed to the farm of Dinning, on the estate of Mr Monteath of Closebura, in Nithsdale. He, some years after, united himself to a Miss Breckonridge, by whom he had six sons and five daughters. He was a man of sterling sense and sagacity, pious without asceticism or bigotry, and entertaming liberal and enlight- ened views, without being the least of an enthusiast. His letter to Dr Currie, dated from Dinning, October 24, 1800, shews no mean powers of composition, and embodies nearly all the philan- thi'opic views of human improvement which have been so broadly realised in our own day. We are scarcely moi'e affected by the consideration of the penury under which some of his brother's noblest compositions were penned, than by the reflection, that this beautiful letter was the effusion of a man who, with his family, daily wrought long and laboriously under all those circumstances of parsimony which characterise Scottish rural life. Some years after, Mr Gilbert Bums was appointed by Lady Blantp-e to be land-steward or factor upon her estate of Lethington, in East- Lothian, to which place he accordingly removed. His conduct in this capacity, during nearly twenty-five years, was marked by such fidelity and prudence as to give the most perfect satisfaction to his titled employer. When the fourteen years' copyright of Dr Currie's edition of the poet's works expu-ed, and other publishers began, as usual, to reprint it, Messrs Cadell & Davies were anxious to maintain a preference for their own impressions in the market, and bethought them that this might be secured by their inducing Mr Gilbert Burns to add such notes and make such changes as he thought desirable. Gilbert was the more ready to yield to their wish, that he had now been convinced by two of his brother's surviving intimates, Messrs (Jray and Findlater, that Dr Currie had done injustice to the poet's memory. A negotiation was entered upon, which excited some attention in unexpected quarters. Mr Words- worth issued a pamphlet, in the form of a letter to Mr Gray, discussing the whole (juestion as to the extent of revelation required from the biographer of an author, with regard to the character of his subject, and especially any imputed failings. He avowed a sense of indignation at Dr Currie for revealing so much ami was finally ili?i)oscri of for T...1.">. The purchaser had a hnrd hattle to flglit; but his .spirit was good, and his purse obviously not a lipjht one, and the story ran that ho had infitructod Mr Richardson to secure a preference at any sum tinder L.GO.' 232 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. of the infirmities of Burns, and professed his desire to see tliis evil corrected. Gilbert Burns, while he felt annoyed at Words- worth's interference, resolved to act on the same view of the subject. This brought forth an indignant inquiry from Mr Eoscoe, regarding the faults imputed to his friend Dr Currie, whose work, he said, had been, at its publication, approved of by none more loudly than by Gilbert Burns. Gilbert explained that, at the time when Dr Currie's book came out, he supposed that the biographer had spoken of his brother's errors from good information. He himself, having for the last few years of the poet's life lived fifty miles off, had not opportunities of knowing how the case really stood : he therefore approved of Dr Currie's memoir at the time; but afterwards, from what he had learned from Mr Findlater, he became convinced that the statements had been exaggerated. The reader of the present work has an opportunity of judging (see Appendix, No. 13) to what extent Gilbert acted discreetly in disturbing the matter which Currie has treated so gently. The edition which Gilbert Burns consequently prepared, and which appeared in 1820, must be regarded as a fiiilure, as far as the views of the publishers were concerned. Messrs Cadell & Davies from the first desired a mass of fresh information, to illustrate both the course of the poet's life and his poems. When Gilbert Burns, in reply to their inquiry, asked L.500 for his trouble, they were confii-med in their expectation of such a new edition as would maintain a superiority over all others; and with some difficulty they brought themselves to agree to the demand. Their disap- pointment must have been great, when they found that their editor furnished only a very few meagre notes, did not admit any pieces excluded by Currie, and distinguislied his edition chiefly by giving two letters on the poet's character from Gray and Findlater, together with a dissertation from his own pen on the effect of the Scottish national religion upon the Scottish national character! In reality, as only one edition was printed, the money paid to Gilbert was L.250, another moiety of the stipulated sum being contingent upon a reprint. If left to himself, he would have probably asked comparatively a trifle, if anything at all, for what he chiefly regarded as a labour of love and duty; it was Mr Gray, who, loving booksellers as little as he loved authors much, prompted this simple and worthy man to make a charge so much beyond all ordinary scales of literary remuneration. Gilbert seems to have been greatly relieved when Cadell and Davies 'regarding the handsomeness of the amount as a mark of what it will be in your power to do for us,' at once acceded to a proposition which, the other very naively says, ' I scarce could muster impudence to name.' BURNS'S MONUMENT AT DUMFRIES. 203 The receipt of the money enabled Gilbert to discliarge to the ■widow of his brotlicr the debt he had contracted thirty-two years before, when the generous poet advanced him L.180 out of the profits of his poems. After all, it was not appropriated by the poet's widow, but applied to relieve another member of the family from the pressure of poverty. The mother of Kobert and Gilbert Burns lived in the household of the latter at Grant's Braes, near Lethington, till 1820, when she died at the age of eighty-eight, and was buried in the church- yard of Bolton. In personal aspect, Eobert Burns resembled his mother ; Gilbert hacl the more aquiline features of his father. The portrait of Robert Burns, painted by a Mr Taylor, and of which an engraving was published l)y Messrs Constable & Com- pany a few years ago, bore a striking resemblance to Gilbert. This excellent man died at Grant's Braes^ November 8, 1827, aged about sixty-seven years. After many years had passed without bringing the public to the raising of a monument over the remains of Burns, his widow, out of her small means, placed an unpretending stone upon his grave, merely indicating his name and age, and those of his two sons interred in the same spot. At length, J.Ir William Grierson, who had been acquainted with Burns, and had attended his funeral, succeeded in getting a few gentlemen together, by whom a committee was formed for the purpose of collecting subscriptions for that object. Money was speedily obtained ; a plan was selected, and the foundations of a mausoleum were laid in St JMichael's Churchyard, at a little distance from the angle wlicre the remains of the poet had been orighially placed. On the 19th of September 1815, the coffin of Burns was raised from its original resting-place, that it might be deposited in the new monument. On the lid being removed, ' there,' says Mr M'Diarmid, ' lay the remains of the great poet, to all appearance entire, retaining various traces of recent vitality, or to speak more correctly, exhibiting the features of one who had recently sunk into tlie sleep of death. The forehead struck every one as beautifully arched, if not so liigh as miglit reasonably have been supposed, while the scalp was rather tliickly covered with hair, and the teeth perfectly linn and white.' Altogether, the scene was so imposing, that the commonest work- men stood uncovered, as tlie late Dr (Jregory did at the exhuma- tion of the remains of King Kubcrt Bruce, and for some moments remained inactive, as if thrilling under the effects of some unde- Unable emotion, while gazing on all tliat remained of one " wlio.'^c ' Sec Appendix, No. 15. 234 LIFE AND "WORKS OF BURNS. f fame is wide as the world itself." But the scene, however im- posing, was bi'ief; for the instant the workmen inserted a shell beneath the original wooden coffin, the head separated from the trunk, and the whole body, with the exception of the bones, crumbled into dust.' The monument erected on this occasion is an elegant Grecian temple, adorned with a mural sculpture by Turnerelli, descriptive of the idea of Coila finding Burns at the plough, and flinging her inspiring mantle over him. YERSICLES OF BURIiS. Burns was much addicted through life to the enunciation of impromptu verses, in the form of epigrams and epitaphs, gene- rally of a satiric character. Having provided himself in Edinburgh with a diamond suitable for vrritiiig on glass, lie often scribbled these hasty productions on the windows of inns and taverns, thus gratifying the whim of the moment too often at the expense of prudence and self-respect. Dr Currie remarks, that the epigrams of Burns are strikingly inferior to his other writings, and few will be inclined to dissent from the opinion. They often, indeed, are totally without point, sproacb the commmiion-table. Hereupon Humphry sent the bellman through the town, to proclftim ' Seats in the meeting-house to be had ohoap— cheap— cheaj) as dirt— apply to James Humphry ! ' This gives some idea of the man. 238 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. ANOTHER. One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, When deprived of her husband she lovtid so well, In respect for the love and aftection he shewed her, She reduced him to dust, and she drank off the powder. But Queen Netherplace, of a different complexion. When called on to order the funeral direction. Would have ate her dead lord, on a slender pretence, Not to shew her respect, but — to save the expense! TAM THE CHAPMAK, As Tarn the Chapman on a day Wi' Death forgathered by the way, Weel pleased, he greets a wiglit sae famous. And Death was nae less pleased wi' Thamas, Wha cheerfully lays down his pack, And there blaws up a heartj^ crack ; His social, friendly, honest heart Sae tickled Death, they couldna part : Sae, after viewing knives and garters, Death taks him hame to gie him quarters. * Tam the Chapman was a person named Kennedy, whom Bums had known in boyhood, and whom he afterwards encoxmtered as an itinerant merchant, when he found him a pleasant companion and estimable man. Tam, in old age, was known to William Cobbett, who printed these lines, either from a manuscript or from recollection. VERSES TO JOHN RANKINE. Ae day, as Death, that greusome carle, grim Was driving to the tither vt'arl' A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad, And mony a guilt-bcspotted lad ; Black gowns of each denomination, And thieves of every rank and station, From him that wears the star and garter, To him that wintles in a halter : Ashamed himsel' to sec the wretches, He mutters, glowrln' at the bitches : 'By G — , I'll not be-seen behint them, Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present them. YERSICLES. 230 Without, at least, ae honest man, To grace this d — d infernal clan.' By Adamhill a glance he threw, ' L— G— ! ' quoth he, ' I have it now ; There's just the man I want, i' faith !' And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. ox MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR. Oh, had each Scot of ancient times, Been Jeany Scott, as thou art ; The bravest heart on English ground, Had yielded like a coward. THE BOOK-WOKMS. ' Bums,' says Allan Cunningham, ' on a visit to a nobleman, was shewn into the library, where stood a Shakspeare, splendidly bound, but unread, and much worm-eaten. Long after the poet's death, some one happened to open, accidentally perhaps, the same neglected book, and found this epigram in the handwriting of Burns : ' Through and through th' inspired leaves, Yo maggots, make your windings ; But oh ! respect his lordship's taste. And spare the golden bindings. GRACES BEFORE MEAT. Some hae meat and canna eat. And some would eat that want it ; But wc hae meat and wc can eat, Sae let the Lord be thankit. Thou, who kindly dost provide For every creature's want! We bless Thee, God of Nature wide, For all thy goodness lent : And, if it please Tiicc, heavenly guide. May never worse be sent ; But whether granted or denied, Lord, bless us with content! Amen! 240 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. O Thou, in whom we live and move, "Who mad'st tlie sea and shore ; Thy goodness constantly we prove, And grateful would adore. And if it please Thee, Power above. Still grant us, with such store, The friend we trust, the fair we love, And we desire no more. EXTEMPORANEOUS GRACE ON A HAGGIS. Ye powers wha gie us a' that's gude. Still bless auld Caledonia's brood, Wi' great John Barleycorn's heart's bluid, In stoups or higgles ; And on our board the king o' food, A glorious haggis ! It has been stated, that being present at a party where a haggis formed part of the entertainment, and being asked to say some- thing appropriate on the occasion, Burns produced this stanza by way of grace ; which being well received, he was induced to expand it into the poem entitled To a Haggis, retaining the verse in an altered form as a peroration. 1 When Burns was in Edinburgh, he was introduced by a friend to the studio of a well-known painter, whom he found engaged on a representation of Jacob's dream; after minutely examining the work, he wrote the following verse on the back of a little sketch which is still preserved in the painter's family:— Dear , I'll gie ye some advice. You'll tak it no uncivil: You shouldua paint at angels mair, But try and paint the devil. To paint an angel's kittle wark, Wi' auld Nick there's less danger; You'll easy draw a weel-kent face, But no sae weel a stranger. K. B. VERSICLES. 241 ON SI R W. C R U I K S n A N K, OF THE men SCHOOL, EDINBURGH. Honest Will to heaven is gane, And mony shall lament him ; His faults they a' in Latin lay, In English nane e'er keut them. ox MR W. NICOL. Ye maggots, feed on Nicol's brain, For few sic feasts ye've gotten; You've got a prize o' AYillie's heart. For deil a bit o't's rotten. ON MR w. MicniE, SCHOOLMASTER, CLEISH, FIFESUIRE. Here lie Willie Michie's banes; Ratan, when ye tak him, Gie him the schoolin' o' your weans, For clever deils he'll mak 'em! ON MISS BURNS. Cease, ye prudes, your envious railings, Lovely Burns has charms, confess : True it is, she had one failing — Had a woman ever less? WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH. A canld, cauld day December blew, A cauld, cauld kirk, and in't but few; A caidder minister never spak, It'sc be warmer weather crc I como back. VOL. IV. P 242 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. ON A FRIEND, An honest man here lies at rest As e'er God with his image blest ! The friend of man, the friend of truth ; The friend of age, and guide of youth ; Few hearts like his, with virtue warmed. Few heads with knowledge so informed : If there's another world, he lives in bliss; If there is none, he made the best of this. HOWLET FACE. * One of the lords of Justiciary, when holding circuit at Dum- fries, dined one day with Mr Miller at Dalswinton. According to the custom of the times, the after-dinner libations were some- what copious; and, on entering the drawing-room, his lordship's visual organs were so much affected, that he asked Mr MiUei-, pointing to one of his daughters, who were reckoned remarkably handsome women, " Wha's yon howlet-faced thing in the comer?" ' Nest day, Burns, who then resided at EUisland, happened to be a guest at Dalswinton, and, in the course of conversation, his lordship's very ungallant and unjust remark was mentioned to him. He immediately took from his pocket an old letter, on the back of which he wrote in pencil the following lines, and handed them to Miss Miller: — How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced, Ye ugly, glowering spectre ? My face was but the keekin' glass, An' there ye saw your picture.' Correspondent. THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT. [Spoken in reply to a gentleman who sneered at the sufferings of Scotland for conscience' sake, and called the Solemn League and Covenant ridiculous and fanatical.] The Solemn League and Covenant Cost Scotland blood — cost Scotland tears ; But it sealed freedom's sacred cause — If thou'rt a slave, indulge thy sneers. VERSICLES. 243 ON A CERTAIN PARSON S LOOKS. That there is falsehood in his looks I must aiid will deny ; They say their master is a knave — Aaid sure they do not lie. WILLIE STEWART. * Sir Walter Scott possesses a tumbler, on which are the follow- ing verses, written by Burns on the arrival of a friend, Mr W. Stewart, factor to a gentleman of Nithsdale. The landlady being very wroth at what she considered the disfigurement of her glass, a gentleman present appeased her by paying down a shilling, and carried off the relic' — Loci-hart. You 're welcome, Willie Stewart ; You're welcome, "Willie Stewart; There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That's half sae welcome's thou art. Come, bumpers high, express your joy, The bowl we maun renew it ; The tappit-hen,i j^ae bring her ben, To welcome Willie Stewart. May foes be Strang, and friends be slack, Ilk action may lie rue it ; May woman on him turn her back, That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart ! ANDREW TURNER. Being called impertmently one evening from a party of friends at the King's Arms, Dumfries, to see a vain coxcomb in the form of an English commercial traveller, who, having a bottle of wine on his table, thought he might patronise the Ayrshire Ploughnan, Bums entered into conversation with the creature, and soon saw what sort of person he had to deal with. About to leave the room. Bums was urged to give a taste of his powers of 1 'A cant phrase denoting a. tin measure, containing a quart, so called from the knob on the Ud, supposed to resemble a crested hm.'—JiWikson. 244 LIFE AND ■WORKS OF BURNS. impromptu versifying before lie went, when, having asked the stranger's name and age, he instantly penned and handed to him the stanza which follows — after which lie abruptly departed. In seventeen lumdrcd forty-nine, Satan took stuff to make a swine, And cuist it in a corner ; But wilily he changed liis plan, And shaped it something like a man, And ca'd it Andrew Turner ! VERSES TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. WITH A TRESENT OP BOOKS. Oh, could I give thee India's wealth, I As I this trifle send, Because tliy joy in botli would be To share them with a friend ! But golden sands did never grace The Heliconcan stream ; Then take what gold could never buy — An honest Bard's esteem. [Mr M'JIurdo resided at Drumlanrig, as chamberlain to the Dvke of Queensberry. He and his wife and daugliters are alluded to in the election piece entitled Second Epislle to Mr Graham of Finlrij. They were kind and hospitable friends of Burns, who celebrated several of the young ladies in his songs.] ON MR M'MURDO. rNSCRIBED OM A TANK OF GLASS IX HIS HOUSE. Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day ! No envious cloud o'ercast hi.s evening ray ; No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of care. Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair ! Oh, may no son the father's honour stain. Nor ever daughter give the mother pain ! WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. The graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, Give me with gay Folly to live ; I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, But Folly has raptures to give. VEKSICLES. 245 EXCISEMEN UNIVERSAL. WRITTEN ON A WINDOW.' Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering Gainst poor excisemen ? give the cause a hearing. AVhat arc your landlords' rent-rolls ? teasing ledgers : What premiers — what ? even monarchs' mighty gangers Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men ? "What are they, pray, but spiritual excisemen ? ON A GROTTO IN FRIARS' CARSE GROUNDS. To Riddel, much-lamented man, This ivied cot was dear; Eeader, dost value matchless worth ? This ivied cot revere. ON A NOTED COXCOMB. Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, His chicken heart's so tender j But build a castle on his head, His skull will prop it under. ON COMMISSARY GOLDIE's BRAINS. Lord, to account who dares thee call, Or e'er dispute thy pleasure ? Else why within so thick a wall Enclose so poor a treasure ? ^ EPITAPH ON MR GABUIKL RICHARDSON, BREWER, DUMFRIES.^ Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct. And empty all his barrels ; He's blest if as he brewed he drink, In upright honest morals. 1 In the Kind's Anns Inn, iJunifrU's, in consequence of overhearing a gentleman speak despitefully of the otIioiTS of Kxcisc. - From a blank loaf of n copy of Hunis's works, in possession of Mrs Lindsay, 411 Albany Street, Kiliiibiirgh. ^ Fatlicr of bir Jobn lUtharilson, the arctic traveller. 246 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. ON JOHN BUSHBY, WRITER, DUMFRIES. Here lies John Bushby, honest man ! Cheat him, devil, if you can. TO MISS JESSY LEWARS. WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS. Thine be the vohimes, Jessy fair, And with them take tlie Poet's prayer- That Fate may in her fairest page, With every kindliest, best presage Of future laliss, enrol thy name : With native worth, and spotless fame, And wakeful caution still aware Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare ; All blameless joys on earth we find, And all the treasures of the mind — These be thy guardian and reward ; So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. THE EARL OF GALLOWAY. Burns had an antipathy of old-standing towards the Earl of Galloway. It was against him that he launched invectives when Mr Syrae pointed to Garlies House, across the Bay of Wigton, in the course of their excursion in July 1793. There is a string of epigrams which the irascible bard launched at this respectable nobleman, with of course no other effect than to make moderate-minded men lament his own subordination of judgment to spleen. What dost thou in that mansion fair ? — Flit, Galloway, and find Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, The picture of thy mind ! No Stewart art thou, Galloway, The Stewarts all were brave ; Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, Not one of them a knave. VERSICLES, 247 Bright ran thy line, Galloway, Through many a far-famed sire ! So ran the far-famed Roman way, So ended in a mire. On being informed [misinformed ?] that the earl threatened him with liis resentment — Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway ; In quiet let me live : I ask no kindness at thy hand, For thou hast none to give. It may be curious to contrast with these ungracious and sub- stantially unjust quatrains, the newspaper character of the earl at his death in 1806. ' His loss wiU be extensively and deeply felt; his numerous friends and connections profited by his advice and assistance; his active frame and mind he never spared; he did nothing by halves. As a husband and father, he was exemplaiy; as a friend, indefatigable; he adored the Supreme Being; he loved his king ; his aflairs prospered. He was admired for his taste in music ; and had great skiU. hi agricultural pursuits.' For once, a friendly obituary notice may be accepted in evidence ; it was at least nearer the truth than Burns's election lampoons and epigrams. SONGS OF WHICH THE DATE IS NOT KNOWN. CALEDONIA. Tu.YE — Caledonian Hunt's Delight. There was once a day — but old Time then was young — That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, From some of your northern deities sprung (Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : Her heavenly relations there fixtid her I'cign, And pledged her their godheads to warrant it good. A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred the heroine grew : Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, ' Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue ! ' AVith tillage or pasture at times she would sport. To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn ; But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort. Her darling amusement the hounds and the horn. Long quiet she reigned; till thitherward steers A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand : Eepeatcd, successive, for many long years. They darkened the air, and they plundered the land; Their pounces Avero murder, and terror their cry, They'd con(|ucred and ruined a world beside; She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly— The daring invaders they fled or they died. The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; Tlie wild Scandinavian boar issued forth To wanton in carnage, and wallow in gore : O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevailed, No arts could appease them, no arms could repel ; Eut brave Caledonia in vain they assailed, As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. SO^"GS OF WHICH DATE IS XOT KXOWN. 249 The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose, With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife ; Trovoked beyond bearing, at last she arose, And robbed him at once of his hopes and his life : The Anglian lion, the terror of France, Oft prowling, ensanguined the Tweed's silver flood: But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learned to fear in his own native wood. Thus bold, independent, unconquered, and free. Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; I '11 prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : Ecctangle-triangle the figure we'll choose, The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse ; Then ergo, she '11 match them, and match them always. WIIA IS SHE THAT LOES ME? Tine — Mvnifj. wha is she that Iocs me. And has my heart a keeping ? sweet is she that Iocs me, As dews o' simmer weeping. In tears the rose-buds steeping ! O that's the lassie o' my heart, Jly lassie ever dearer ; O that's the queen o' womankind, And ne'er a ane to i)eer her. If thou shalt meet a lassie In grace and beauty charming, Tiiat e'en thy chosen lassie, Erewhilc tiiy breast sae warming, Had ne'er sic powers alarming ; O that's the lassie, &c. If thou luidst heard her talking, And tliy attentions plighted. That ilka body talking, J'ut her by thee is sbghtcd. And tiiou art all deligiited; O that's the lassie, &:c. '250 LIFE AKD WORKS OF BURNS. If thou hast met this fair one ; When frae her thou hast parted, If every other fair one, But her, thou hast deserted, And thou art broken-hearted ; O that 's the lassie o' my heart, My lassie ever dearer ; O that's the queen o' womankind, And ne'er a ane to peer her. OLD SONGS IMPROYED BY BURNS, FROM JOHNSON'S MUSEUM. O WHARE DID YOU GET? TxTSE—Bo7inie Dundee. [The air of Bonnie Dundee appears in the Skene MS., of date circa 1620. The tune seems to have existed at even an earher period, as there is a song to it amongst those which were written by the EngUsh to disparage the Scottish followers by whom James VI. was attended on his arrival in the south. The first of the foUo'n-ing verses is from an old homely ditty, the second only being the composition of Burns.] whare did you get that hauver meal bannock? O silly blind body, O dinna ye see ? 1 gat it frae a brisk young sodger laddie, Between St Johnston and bonnie Dundee. O gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! Aft has he doudled me upon his knee ; May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, And send him safe hame to his babie and mc ! My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, My blessin's upon thy bonnie ec-bree ! Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie, Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to me ! But I'll big a bower on yon bonnie banks, Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear ; And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine, And mak thee a man like thy daddie dear. I AM MY mammy's AE BAIRN. TusB— J'm more young to Marry yet. I am my mammy's ae bairn, Wi' unco folk I weary, sir ; And if I gang to your house, I'm fley'd 'twill make me eerie, sir. afraid I'm owrc young to marry yet; I'm owrc young to marry yet ; I'm owre young — 'twad be a sin To tak mo frao my mammy yet. 252 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Hallowmas is come and gane, Tlie nights are lang in winter, sir ; And you and I in wedlock's bands, In troth, I dare na venture, sir. Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind Blaws through the leafless timmer, sir ; But if ye conic this gate again, I '11 aulder be gin simmer, sir. UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. Tltje — Cold blows the Wind. [Written on the basis of an old song, the chorus of vihich is liere preser^'ed.] CHORUS. Up in the morning's no for me, Up in the morning early ; When a' the hills are covered wi' snaw, I'm sure it's winter fairly. Caiild blaws the wind frae east to west, The drift is driving sairly ; Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly. » The birds sit chittering in the thorn, A' day they fare but sparely ; And lang's the night frae e'en to morn — I'm sure it's winter fairly. THERE WAS A LASS. Tune — Duncan Davison. There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, And she held o'er the moors to spin ; There Avas a lad that followed her, They ca'd him Duncan Davison. The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh, tedious timorous Her favour Duncan could na win ; For wi' the rock she wad him knock, And aye she shook the temper-pin. As o'er the moor they lightly foor, went A burn was clear, a glen was green. Upon the banks they eased their shanks. And aye she set the wheel between : SONGS IMPROVED. 253 But Duncan swore a haly aith, That ]Meg should be a bride the morn, Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith, And flang them a' out o'er the burn. AYe'U big a house — a wee, wee liousc. And we will live like king and queen, Sae blithe and merry we will be When ye set by the wheel at e'en. A man may drink and no be drunk ; A man may fight and no be slain ; A man may kiss a boniiie lass, And aye be welcome back again. LADY OXLIE. TcNE— 27te Ruffian's Rant. A' the lads o' Thornie-bank, When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, They '11 step in and tak a pint Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; I wish her sale for her guid ale. The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. Her house sae bien, licr curch sac clean, I wat she is a dainty chucky ; And cheerlio blinks the ingle-gleed Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! Lady Onlie, honest Lucky ! Brews guid ale at sliore o' Bucky ; I wish her sale for her guid ale. The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. THE PLOUGHMAN. The ploughman he's a bonnie lad. His mind is ever true, jo, His garters knit below his knee. His bonnet it is blue, jo. Then up wi't a', my ploughman lad. And hey my merry ploughman ; Of a the trades tiiat I do ken, Commend mo to the ploughman. 254 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. I hao been east, I hae been west, I hae been at St Johnston ; The bonniest sight that e'er I saw. Was tlie ploughman laddie dancin'. Up wi't, &c. Snaw-white stockins on his legs, And siller buckles glancin' ; A guid blue bonnet on his head, And oh, but he was handsome. Up wi't, &c. [Of this piece, the two last verses alone are by Burns. For the longer song, including them, reference may be made to the Museum.^ MY HOGGIE. What will I do gin my hoggie ^ die, BIy joy, my pride, my hoggie ? My only beast, I had nae mae. And oh, but I was vogie. vain The lee-lang night we watched the fauld. Me and my faithfu' doggie, We heard nought but the roaring linn, Amang the braes sae scroggie.- But the howlet cried frae the castle wa', The blutter frae the boggie, mire-snipe The tod replied upon the hill — fox I trembled for my hoggie. When day did daw and cocks did crav/, The morning it was foggie, An unco tyke lap o'er the dyke, dog And maist has killed my hoggie. 1 > simmer's a pleasant time. TtWE — Ai/e WauTiin 0. Simmer's a pleasant time. Flowers of every colour ; The water rins o'er the heugh, And I long for my true lover. Hoggie, a yoimg sheep after it is smeared, and before it is first shorn.'— Slenhcmse. - Full of stunted bushes. SONGS IMPROVED. 255 Aye -waukin O, Waukin still and wearie : Sleep I can get nana For thinking on my dearie. I When I sleep I dream, When I wauk I'm eerie : timorous Sleep I can get nane For thinking on my dearie. Lanely night comes on, A' the lave are sleeping ; rest I think on my bonnie lad, And bleer my een -wi' greetin'. [This is an old song, upon which Burns appears to have made only a few- alterations.] riRST WHEN MAGGY "WAS MY CARE. TvsR— Whistle o'er the Lave o 't, First -when Maggy was my care, Heaven I thought was in her air ; ^ Now we 're married — speir nae mair — inquire Whistle o'er the lave o't. Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, Bonnie Bleg was nature's child ; Wiser men than me 's beguiled — Whistle o'er the lave o 't. How we live, my Meg and me. How we love, and how we 'gree, I care na by how few may sec — Whistle o'er the lave o't. "Wnia I wish were maggots' meat, Dished up in her winding-sheet, I could write— but Meg maun see't — Whistle o'er the lave o't. JAMIE, COME TRY ME. Jamie, come try me ; Jamie, come try me ; If thou would win my love, Jamie, como try me. 256^ LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. If thou should ask my love, Could I deny thee ? If thou would win my love, Jamie, come try me. If thou should kiss me, love, Wha could espy thee? If thou would be my love, Jamie, come try me. A W A, AV II I G S, A W A ! TvyE^Aiva, Whijs, aica. ClIOKUS. Awa, Whigs, awa ! Awa, Whigs, awa! Ye'i'e but a pack o' traitor louns, Ye '11 do uac good at a'. Our thrisslcs flourished fresh and fair. And bonnie bloomed our roses ; But AVhigs came like a frost in June, And withered a' our jiosies. Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust — Doil blin' them wi' the stour o't ; And write their names in his black beuk, Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. Our sad decay in Cliurch and State Surpasses my dcscriving ; The WJiigs came o'er us for a curse. And we liae done wi' thriving. Grim vengeance laug has ta'en a nap. But we may see him waukeii ; Guid help the day Avhen royal heads Are hunted like a maukin. hare [The second and last stanzas alone are by Burns; tlie rest is from an old Jacobite song.] WHARE IIAE YE BEEN? 1vj>i:—KUHecrankie. Whare hao ye been sae bi'aw, lad ? Where hae ye been sae brankie, ? pranked Oh, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam ye by Killiecrankie, 1 SONGS IMPROVED. 257 An 3'e had been whare I hae been, Ye wad na been sae cantie, ; merry An ye had seen what I liae seen, On the braes of Killiecrankie, 0. I fought at land, I fought at sea ; At hanie I fouglit my auntie, O ; But I met tlic devil and Dundee, On the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr, And Clavers got a clankie, ; Or I had fed an Athole gled, kite On the braes o' Killiecrankie, 0. [' The chorus of this song is old; the rest of it was written by Burns.'Stcnhouse.'] ca' the ewes to the knowes. Ca' the ewes to the knowes, Ca' them where the heather grows, Ca' them wliore the buruie rows, My bonnie dearie. As I gaed down the water-side, There I met my shepherd lad, He rowed me sweetly in his plaid. And he ca'd ine his dearie. Will ye gang down the water-side, And see the waves sae sweetly glide? Bcncatli the hazel spreading wide, The moon it sliines fu' clearly. [Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, Cauf leather shoon upon your feet, And in my ai"ms ye'se lie and sleep, And ye sail be my dearie. If ye but stand to what ye've said, I'se gang wi' you, my sliejdierd lad, And ye may row me in your plaid. And I sail be your dearie.] While waters wimple to the sea. While day blinks in the lift sac liio, Till clay-caiihl death shall blin' my cc, Ye sail bo my dearie. [The verses within brackets are old, with only a few touches of improvement by Burns.] VOL. IV. Q 268 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. FOR a' that, and a' THAT. Though women's minds, like winter winds. May shift and turn, and a' that ; The noblest breast adores them maist, A consequence I draw that. For a' that, and a' that, And twice as mickle's a' that. The bonnie lass that I loe best. Shall be my ain for a' that, &c. YOUNG JOCKEY. Tune— rou)?i7 Jockcp. Young Jockey was the blithest lad In a' our town or here awa : Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud, Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. He roosed my een, sae bonnie blue, praised He roosed my waist, sae genty sma' ; And aye my heart came to my mou', When ne'er a body heard or saw. My Jockey toils upon the plain. Through wind and weet, through frost and snaw : And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain. When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. And aye the night comes round again, When in his arms he takes me a' ; And aye he vows he'll be my ain, As lang's he has a breath to draw. [' The whole of [this song], excepting three or four lines, is the production of Kuma.'—Stcnhoitsc.'] WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR? TvvE—Lass, an I come near thee. Wha is that at my bower door ? O wha is it but Findlay : Then gae your gate, ye 's nae be here ! Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. What mak ye, sae like a thief? O come and see, quo' Findlay. Before the morn ye '11 work mischief; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. SON'GS IMPROVED. 259 Gif I rise and let you in ; Let me in, quo' Fiudlay : Ye '11 keep me waukin' wi' your din; Indeed will I, nuo' Findlay. In my bower if ye should stay ; Let me stay, cjuo' Findlay : I fear ye '11 bide till break o' day; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. Here this night if ye remain ; I'll remain, quo' Findlay: I dread ye '11 learn the gate again; Indeed will I, (juo' Findlay. "What may pass within this bower ; Let it pass, quo' Findlay : Ye luaun conceal till your last hour ; Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. [' Mr Gilbert Burns told the editor (Cromek) that tliis song was suggested to his brother by the Auld Mali's Addrass to tlie Widoti; printed in Ramsay's Tea-2'able JIUceUany, which the poet first heard sung by Jean Wilson, a silly old widow- woman, then living at Torbolton, remarkable for the simplicity and na'ivcU of her character, and for singmg old Scotch songs with a peculiar energy and earnestness of manner. Having outlived her family, she still retained the form of family worship ; and before she sang a hymn, she would gravely give out the first line of the verse, as if she had a numerous audience, to the great diversion of her listening neighbours.' —Cromek.] THE TITIIER MOUK. To a Highland air. The tithcr morn, when I forlorn Ancath an aik sat moaning, I did na trow, I'd sec my jo, Beside me, 'gain the gloaming. IJut he sao trig, lap o'er the rig, And dawtingly did cheer me. When I, wliat reck, did least cxpcc', To sec my lad so near me. His bonnet he, a tliought ajec, Cocked sprusli when first he clasped me ; And I, I wat, wi' fainness grat, Wliilo in his gri]is he pressed nic. Dcil tak the war ! 1 late and air, liae wished, .since Jock departed; Hut now as glad 1 'in wi' my lad. As short sync broken-hearted. 260 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Fu' aft at e'en wi' dancing keen, When a' were blithe and merry, I cared na by, sae sad was I, In absence o' }uy dearie. But, praise be blest, my mind's at rest, I'm happy wi' my Johnny : At kirk and fair, I'se aye be there, And be as canty 's ony. AS I WAS A WANDERING. Tune— TJinn Meudial mo Mhealladh. As I was a wandering ae midsummer e'enin', The pipers and youngsters were making their game ; Amang them I spied my faithless fause lover, Which bled a' the wounds o' my dolour again. Weel, since lie has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him ; I may be distressed, but I winna complain ; I flatter my fancy I may get anither. My heart it shall never be broken for ane. I conldna get sleeping till dawin for greetin'. The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain : Had I na got greetin', my heart wad ha' broken. For oh ! love forsaken "s a tormenting pain. Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, I dinna envy liim the gains he can win ; I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow Than ever hae acted sae faithless to him. [Burns has here merely made some changes upon an old song, and it is ques- tionable if his alterations are improvements.] THE WEARY FUND O' TOW. Tune— 27ie Weary Pimd o' Tow. The weary pund, the weary pund. The weary pund o' tow ; I think my wife will end her life Before she spin her tow. I bought my wife a stane o' lint As guid as e'er did grow ; And a' that she has made o' that, Is ae poor pund o' tow. SOXGS IMPROVED. 261 There sat a bottle in a bole, Beyont the ingle lowe, And aye she took the tither souk, To drouk the stowrie tow. Quoth I, for sliame, ye dirty dame, Gae spin your tap o' tow ! She took the rock, and wi' a knock She brak it o'er my pow. At last her feet — I sang to see't — Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; And or I wad anither jad, I'll wallop in a tow. GAME IS THE DAY. TvsE—Guidtvi/c, count the Lamn. Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, But we '11 ne'er stray for fau't o' light, For ale and brandy 's stars and moon. And bluid-rcd wine's the rising sun. Then guidwife, count the lawin, The lawin, the lawin ; Tlien guidwife, count the lawin. And bring a coggie mair. There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, .\nd simple folk maun light and fen ; But here we're a' in ae accord, For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. My coggie is a haly pool, Tliat heals the wounds o' care and dool ; And pleasure is a wanton trout. An yc drink but deep ye '11 find him out. JT IS NA, JEAN, THY DONNIE FACE. Ti'NE— 7'/ie Maid's Complaint. It is na, Jean, thy bonnic face Nor shape that I admire, Althougli thy beauty and thy grace Might wcel awake desire. 262 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Something, in ilka part o' tliee, To praise, to love, I find ; But dear as is thy fonn to me, Still dearer is thy mind. Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae, Nor stronger in my breast, Than if I canna mak thee sae, At least to see thee blest. Content am I, if Heaven shall give But happiness to thee : And as wi' thee I'd wish to live, For thee I 'd bear to die. MY COLLIER LADDIE. Tvyz—The Collier Laddie. Where live ye, my bonnie lass ? And tell me what they ea' ye ; My name, she says, is Mistress Jean", And I follow the Collier Laddie. See you not yon hills and dales, The sun shines on sae brawlie ! They a' are mine, and they shall be thine, Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. Ye shall gang in gay attire, Weel buskit up sae gaudy ; And ane to wait on every hand, Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Laddie. Though ye had a' the sun shines on. And the earth conceals sae lowly ; I wad turn my back on you and it a', And embrace my Collier Laddie. I can win my five pennies in a day. And spen't at night fu' brawlie ; And make my bed in the Collier's neuk, And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. Luve for luve is the bargain for me, Though the wee cot-house should haud me ; And the world before me to win my bread, And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. [Bums, in his Notes, speaks of this song as an old one ■n-ith which he had had nothing to do. As it appears, however, in no other collection, and is found in his handwriting among Johnson's manuscripts, Mr Stenhouse infers that the greater part of it is his own composition.] SONGS IMPKOVED. 263 YE JACOBITES BY NAME, TvyE—Ye Jacobites hy Name. Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; Ye Jacobites by name. Your fautes I will proclaim, Your doctrines I maun blame — You shall hear. What is right and what is wrang, by the law, by the law? "What is right and what is wrang by the law ? Wliat is right and what is wrang? A short sword and a lang, A weak arm, and a Strang For to draw. What makes heroic strife, famed afor, famed afar? What makes heroic strife famed afar ? What makes heroic strife I To whet th' assassin's knife, Or hunt a parent's life Wi' bluidie war. Then let your schemes alone, in the state, in the state; Then let your schemes alone in the state ; Then let your schemes alone, Adore the rising sun. And leave a man undone To his fate. LADY MARY ANN. txTX^—Craigton's Groicinrj. ['ModeUed by Burns from an ancient ballad, entitled Craiglon's Gmcing.'- SUnhouse.'i Oh, Lady Mary Ann looked o'er the castle wa' ; She saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba' ; ^ The youngest he was the flower amang them a'— My bonnie laddie's young, but he's growin' yet. O father ! O father ! an ye think it fit, We'll send him a year to the college yet : We'll sew a green ribbon round about his hat, And that will let them ken he's to marry yet. Lady Mary Ann was a flower i' the dew, Sweet was its smell, and bonnie was its hue ; And the langer it blossomed the sweeter it grew : * For the lily in the bud will be bonnier yet. 264 LIFE AND WORKS OP BURNS. Young Charlie Cochrane was the sprout of an aik ; Bonnie and bloomin' and straught was its make : The sun took delight to shine for its sake, And it ■will be the brag o' the forest yet. The simmer is gane when the leaves they were green, And the days are awa that we hae seen ; But far better days I trust will come again. For my bonnie laddie's young, but he's groAvin' yet. kenmure's on and awa. Tone — Kenmure's on and aiva, Willie. O Kenmure's on and awa, Willie! O Kenmure's on and awa! And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw. Success to Kenmure's band, "Willie ! Success to Kenmure's band; There 's no a heart that fears a Whig That rides by Kenmure's hand, ■ Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie! Here's Kenmure's health in wine; There nc'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, Nor yet o' Gordon's line. O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! O Kenmure's lads are men ; Their hearts and swords are metal true — And that their faes shall ken. They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie! Tliey'U live or die wi' fame; But soon, wi' sounding victorie, May Kenmure's lord come hame. Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! Here's him that's far awa! And here's the flower that I love best — The rose that 's like the snaw ! [This song is supposed to be one of those which Burns only improved from old versions. William Gordon, sixth Viscount of Kenmure, raised a body of troops for the Pretender in 1715, and had the chief command of the insurgent forces in the south of Scotland. Taken at Preston, he vas tried and condemned to be beheaded, which sentence was executed on the 24th February 1716. His forfeited estate was bought back by his widow, and transmitted to their son. By the son of that son — afterwards Viscount of Kenmure in consequence of the restoration of the title — Burns was on one occasion entertained at his romantic seat of Kenmure Castle, near New Galloway.] SOXGS IMPROVED. 265 SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION. Tune— ^ Parcel of Rogues in a Nation. Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory, Fareweel even to the Scottish name, Sae famed in martial story. Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands. And Tweed rins to the ocean, To mark where England's province stands — Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. What force or guile could not subdue Througii many warlike ages, Is wrought now by a coward few, For hireling traitors' wages. The English steel we could disdain, Secure in valour's station ; But English gold has been our bane — Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. O would, ere I had seen the day That treason thus could fell us. My auld gray head had lien in clay, Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! But pith and power, till my last hour, I'll niak this declaration; We're bought and sold for Englisli gold — Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. THE CARLES OF DYSART. TcNE— /7i' King. It was a' for our rightfu' king We left fair Scotland's strand ; It was a' for our riglitfu' king We e'er saw Irish land, My dear; We e'er saw Irish land. Now a' is done that men can do, And a' is done in vain ; My love and native land farewell. For I maun cross the main, My dear; For I maun cross the main. He turned him right, and round ahout ITpon the Irish shore; And ga'e his bridle-reins a shake, Whh adieu for evernioi'e, My d(!ar ; With adieu for evermore. The sodger from the wars returns. The sailor frae the main ; But I hae jiarted frae my love, Never to meet again, My dear ; Never to meet again. When day is gano, and night is come, And a' folk bound to sleep ; I tliinlc on him that's far awa', The Ice-lang niglit, and weep, My dear ; The lee-lang night, and weep. [The autliorsliip of this song may bo doubted. Allan Cunninsbam was of opinion, tlittt Durns ' ratlior bcautiilod and amended some ancient strain which lie had discovered, tlian wrote it wholly from his own licart and fancy.' Sec contlrnm- tion of this in Ifolcs lu Johimoii's Museum, by .Mr David Laing.] TIIK IIKillT.AM) WIDOWS LAMENT. Oil, I am come to the low countrie, Och-on, och-on, och-rie! Without a penny in my purse. To Iniy u meal to inc. VOL. IV. R 274 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. It was na sae in the Highland hills, Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! , Nae woman in the country wide Sae happy was as me. For then I had a score o' kye, Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Feeding on yon hills so high, And giving milk to me. And there I had threescore o' yowes, Och-on, och-on, och-rie .' Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, And casting woo' to me. I was the happiest of the clan, Sair, sair may I repine ; For Donald was the brawest lad, And Donald he was mine. Till Charlie Stewart cam at last, Sae far to set us free ; My Donald's arm was wanted thei. For Scotland and for me. Their waefu' fate what need I tell ? Right to the wrang did yield: My Donald and liis country fell Upon Culloden's field. Oh, T am come to the low countrie, Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! Nae woman in the world wide Sae wretched now as me. [' This pathetic ballad was wholly composed by Burns for the Museum, unless we except the exclamation: "Och-on, och-on, och-rie!" which appears in the old song composed on the massacre of Glencoe, inserted in the first volume of the Mv^atm.' —Slmhouse.'] O STEER HER UP. Tune— steer her up, and hand her gaun. [The first four lines of this song are part of an old ditty .3 O steer her up and haud her gaun — Her mother's at the mill, jo ; And gin she winna take a man. E'en let her take her will, jo : SONGS IMPROVED. 275 First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, threaten And ca' another gill, jo; And gin she take the thing amiss, E'en let her flyte her fill, jo. scold steer her up, and be na blate, bashful And gin she take it ill, jo, Then lea'e the lassie till her fate. And time nae langer spill, jo : Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute, But think upon it still, jo ; Then gin the lassie winna do't, Ye '11 fin' anither will, jo. WEE WILLIE GRAY. Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet, Peel a willow-wand, to be him boots and jacket ; The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet, The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet. Wee Willie Gray and his leather wallet, Twice a lilie flower will be liim sark and cravat ; Feathers of a flie wad feather up liis bonnet, Feathers of a flie wad feather up his bonnet. [Written by Burns in imitation, and to the tune, of an old nursery-song.] O AVE MY WIFE SHE DANG ME. TcNE— IT/ Wife site c/a»fir me. O aye my wife she dang me, beat And aft my wife did bang mc. If ye gie a woman a' her will, Guid faith, she'll soon o'crgang ye. On peace and rest my mind was bent, And fool I was I married ; But never honest man's intent As cursedly miscarried. Some sa'r o' comfort still at last, When a' my days arc done, man ; My pains o' hell on earth are past, I'm sure o' bliss aboon, nuui. O aye my wife she dang me, And aft my wife did bang me, If ye gie a wonuin a' her will, Guid faith, she'll soon o'crgang ye. 27ft LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. O GUID ALE COMES. guid ale comes and guid ale goes, Guid ale gars ine sell my hose, Sell my hose and pawn my slioon; Guid ale keeps my lieart aboon. 1 had sax owsen in a pleu^ h, They drew a' wcel enough, I selt them a' just ane by ane ; Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. ROBIN SIIURE IN IIAIRST, CHORUS. Eobin shure in bairst, I shure wi' him ; Fient a heuk had I, Yet I stack by him. I gaed up to Dunse, . To warp a M'ab o' plaincn ; At his daddie's yett, Wha met me but Robin? AYas na Eobin banid, Though I was a cotter. Played me sic a trick, And me the eller's doclitcr ? Robin promised me A' my winter vittle ; Fient haet he had but three Goose feathers and a whittle. SWEETEST MAY. Sweetest May, let love inspire thee ; Take a heart wliicli he desires thee; As thy constant slave regard it; For its faith and truth reward it. Proof o' shot to birth or money, Not the wealthy but the bonnie ; Not high-l)orn, but noble-minded, In love's silken band can bind it. SONGS I>rPROA'ED. 277 THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. There was a bonnie lass, and a bonnie, bonnio lass, And she loed her bonnie laddie dear, Till war's loud alarms tore her laddie frac her arms, Wi' monie a sigh and a tear. Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar, He still was a stranger to fear ; And nought could him quail, or his bosom assail, But the bonnie l^ss he locd sac dear. CROWDIE. that I had ne'er been married, I wad never had nae care ; Isow I've gotten wife and bairns, And they cry crowdie cvermair. Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, Three times crowdie in a day ; Gin ye crowdie ony mair, Yc'll crowdie a' my meal away. Wacfu' want and hunger fley me, Giowrin' by the haUan en'; Sair I fecht them at the door. But aye I 'ni eerie tliey come ben. ['The first verse of this sotig is old; the second was written by Burns.' Suuhoiuc.'} NOTES TO JOHNSON'S SCOTS MUSICAL MUSEUM. [In the latter part of his life, Burns procured an interleaved copy of Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, for the purpose of concentrating in that place his remarks on Scottish songs and airs, and all that he knew of their authors. The copy thus annotated he presented to Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, whose niece, Eliza Bayley, of Manchester, latterly possessed it. Blost of the notes are merely indications of an author's name, or of a simple fact respecting the locality or origin of the song. Such of them as possess any general interest are here presented.] O OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY. It is somewhat singular, that in Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and Dumfries sliircs, there is scarcely an old song or tune which, from the title, &c., can be guessed to belong to, or be the production of, these counties. This, I conjecture, is one of these very few ; as the ballad, which is a long one, is called, both by tradi- tion and in printed collections, The Lass of Lochryan, which I take to be Lochryan, in Galloway. CLOUT THE C.VLDRON. A tradition is mentioned in the Bee, that the second Bishop Chlsholm, of Dumblane, used to say, that if he were going to be hanged, nothing would soothe his mind so much by the Avay as to hear Clout the Caldron played. I have met with another tradition, that the old song to this tune liae ye ony pots or pans, Or ony broken clianlers ? was composed on one of the Kenmure family, in the cavalier times, and alluded to an amour lie had, while under hiding, in the disguise of an itinerant tinker. The air is also known by the name of The Blacksmith OMcl his Apron, which, from the rhythm, seems to have been a line of some old song to the tune. NOTES TO JOKNSON'S MUSICAL MUSEUIT. 279 SAW YE MY PEGGY? This charming song is much older, and, indeed, superior to Ramsay's verses, The Toast, as he calls them. There is another set of the words, much older still, and which I take to be the original one ; but though it has a very great deal of merit, it is not quite ladies' reading. The original words, for they can scarcely be called verses, seem to be as follow — a song familiar from the cradle to every Scottish ear :— Saw ye my Maggie, Saw ye my Maggie, Saw ye my Maggie T. inkin ' o'er the lea ? High kilted was she, High kilted was she, High kilted was she, Her coat aboon her knee, &c. Though it by no means follows that the silliest verses to an air must, for that reason, be the original song, yet I take this ballad, of which I have quoted part,' to bo old verses. The two songs in Ramsay, one of them evidently his own, are never to be met with in the fireside circle of our peasantry ; whi'c that which I take to be the old song is in every shepherd's mouth. Ramsay, I suppose, had thought the old verses unworthy of a place in his collection. THE FLOV/EUS OF EDINBUKGU. This song is one of the many efAisions of Scots Jacobitism. The title, Mowers of JUdinbnrr/li, has no manner of connection with the present verses ; so I suspect there has been an older set of words, of which the title is all that remains. By the by, it is singular enough that the Scottish Muses were all Jacobites. I have paid more attention to every description of Scots songs than perhaps anybody living has done, and I do not recollect one single stanza, or even the title, of tiie most trifling. Scots air, which has the least panegyrical reference to the families of Nassau or Brunswick, while tiierc are hundreds satirising them. Tins may be thou'dit no panegyric on the Scots poets, but 1 mean it as such. For myself, I would always take it as a compliment to liavc it said that my heart ran before my head- and surely tlio gallant though unfortunate house of Stuart, the kings of our fathers for so many heroic ages, is a theme .... '280 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. rVE, GAE RUB HER O'eR WI' STRAE. It is self-evident, that the first four lines of this song arc part of a song more ancient than lianisay's beautiful verses which are annexed to thern. As music is tlie language of nature ; and poetry, particu- larly songs, are always less or more localised (if I may be allowed the verb) by some of tlie modifications of time and place, this is the reason why so many of our Scots airs have outlived their original, :iud pei'haps many subsequent sets of verses, except a single name, or phrase, or sometimes one or two lines, simply to distinguish tlio tunes by. To this day, among people who know nothing of Ramsay's verses, the following is the song, and all the song that ever I heard: — Gin ye meet a boiinie lassie, Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, Fye, gae rub her o"er wi' strae : And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. THE LAST TIME I CAME O ER THE MLIR. [The last time I came o'er the muir, I left my love behind me ; Ye gods, what pains do I endure, When saft ideas mind me, &c. ] T?amsay found the first line of this song, which had been preserved as tlic title of the cliarming air,' and then composed the rest of the verses to suit that lino. This has always a finer effect than compos- ing English words, or woi'ds with an idea foreign to the spirit of the old title. AVhere old titles of songs convey any idea at all, it will generally be found to be quite in the spirit of the air. HIGHLAND I.ADDIE. As this was a favourite theme with our later Scottish Muses, there are several airs and songs of that name. That which I take to be the oldest, is to be found in the Musical Museum, beginning, ' I hae been at < 'rookie-den.' One reason for my thinking so is, that Oswald lias it in his collection by the name of The A uld Highland Laddie. It is also known by the name of J injlaii Johnnie, which is a well- ' [The title of this air in the Skene manuscript, circa 1C20, is Alace that I cam o'er Uu Muir, and le/l my Love behind hi«.] NOTES TO Johnson's musical museujt. 281 known song of four or five stanzas, and seems to be an earlier song tlian Jacobite times. As a proof of tbis, it is little known to the peasantry by the name of Highland Lculdie, while everybody knows Jinjlan Johnnie. The song begins— Jinglan John, the meikle man, He met m' a lass was blithe and bonnie. Another Highland Laddie is also in the Museian, vol. v., whicii I take to be Ramsay's original, as he has borrowed the chorus, O ?;;// bonnie Highland Lad, kc. It consists of three stanzas, besides the chorus, and has humour in its composition — it is an excellent, but somewhat licentious song. It begins — As I cam o'er Cairney-ilount, And down amang the blooming heather. This air, and the common Highland Laddie, seem only to be dift'erent sets. Another Highland Laddie, also in the Museum, vol. v., is tlic tune of several Jacobite fragments. One of these old songs to it, only exists, as far as I know, in these four Hnes — Whare hae ye been a' day, Bonnie l.iddie, Highland laddie? Down the back o' Bolls brae. Courtin' Maggie, courtin' Maggie. Another of this name is Dr Arne's beautiful air, called the new Highlund Laddie, FAIREST or THE FAIR. It is too barefoced to take Dr Percy's charming song, and, by moans of transposing a few English words into Scots, to otter to pass it for a Scots song. I was not acquainted witli the editor until the first volume was nearly finished, else, bad I known in time, 1 would have prevented such an impudent absurdity. THE BLArrUUlE o'T.' The following is a set of this song, which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. Wlien a ciiild, an old woman sang it to inc, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing: — O Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand To sing you a song whioh you did me commnnd ; But my memory's so bad, 1 luid almost forgot That you called it tlic gtnr and llu- blaitlirie o't. > [' Shame fall the gear and the blad'ry o't,' Is the turn of an old Scottish son^, spoken when a you>.g handsome girl marries an old man upon the account of hu. wealth. - Kelly's iicoU I'roi\rbs, p. 290.] 282 LIFE AND AVORKS OF BURNS. I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride, I '11 sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride ; For virtue is an ornament tiiat time will never rot, And preferable to gear and tlie blaithrie o't. Though my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on. We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne ; I wad rather hae my lassie, though she cam in her smock, Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't. Though we hae nae horses or menzie at command, "We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand ; And when wearied without rest, we 'U find it sweet in any spot, And we'U value not the gear and the blaithrie o't. If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent ; Hae we less, hae we mair, we will aye be content ; For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins but a groat, Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't. I'll not meddle wi' th' afifairs o' the kirk or tlie queen ; They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink let them swim; On your kirk I'U ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still remote, Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't. MAY EVE, OR KATE OF ABERDEEN. Kate of Aherdeen is, I believe, the work of poor Cunningham the player, of whom the following anecdote, though told before, assant, that the beautiful reel of Tullochgoriim wanted words, she begged them of Mr Skinner, who gratified her wishes, and the Avishes of every lover of Scottish song, in this most excellent ballad. These particulars I had from the author's son, Bishop Skinner, at Aberdeen. A SOUTHLAND JENNY. [A Southland Jenny that was right bonnie. She had for a suitor a Norlan* Johnnie ; But he was sicken a bashfu' wooer, That he could scarcely speak unto her. But blinks o' lier beauty, and hopes o' her siller, Forced him at last to tell his mind till'er ; ' My dear,' quo' he, ' we '11 nae longer tarry ; Gin ye can love me, let's o'er the mmr and marry,' &c.] This is a popular Ayrshire song, though the notes were never taken down before. It, as well as many of the ballad tunes in this collection, was written from Mrs Burns's voice. ' [In reality, the town of Ellon, in Aberdeenshire.] NOTES TO JOKXSON'S MUSICAL MUSEUM. 291 o'er the moor amang the heather. [Coming through the craigs o' Kyle, Amang the bonnie blooming heather, There I met a bonnie lassie. Keeping a' her yowes thegither. O'er the moor amang the heather, O'er the moor amang the heather. There I met a bonnie lassie. Keeping a' her yowes thegither, &c.] This song is the composition of a Jean Glover, a girl who %vas not only a , but also a thief j and, in one or other character, has visited most of the correction-houses in the West. She was horn, I believe, in Kilmarnock. I took the song down from her smging, as she was strolling through the country with a slcight-of-hand blackguard. the tears I SHED MUST EVER FALL. This song of genius was composed by a Miss Cranston.^ It wanted four lines to make all the stanzas suit the music, which I added, and are the four first of the last stanza. No cold approach, no altered mien. Just what would make suspicion start ; No pause the dire extremes between, He made me blest— and broke my heart ! BOB O' DUMBLANE. Ramsay, as usual, has modernised this song. The original, which I learned on the spot, from my old hostess, in the principal inn there, is — Lassie, lend me your brew hemp heckle, And I'll lend you my thrippliu-kame ; My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten. And wc '11 g;ie dance the bob o" Dumblanc, &.C. I insert tliis song to introduce the following anecdote, which I have heard well authenticated :— In the evening of tlie day of tho battle of Dumblanc (Shcriffinuir), when the action was over, a Scots officer in Argyle's army observed to his Grace, that ho was afraid the rebels would give out to the worUl that /!n >/ had gotten the victory. ' Weel, weel,' returned his Grace, alluding to the foregoing ballad, 'if they tliiuk it bo na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again.' > [Afterwards Mrs Dugald Stewart.] PROSE ARTICLES UNPLACED. ADDKESS OF THE SCOTCH DISTILLERS TO THE PaGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM riTT. Sir — While pursy burgesses crowd your gate, sweating under the weight of heavy addresses, permit us, the cpiondani distillers iu tliat part of Great Britain called Scotland, to approach you, not with venal approbation, but witli fraternal condolence; not as what you are just now, or for some time have been, but as what, in all proba- bility, you will shortly bo. We shall have the merit of not desert- ing our friends in the day of tlieir calamity, and you will have the satisfaction of perusing at least one honest address. You are well acquainted with the dissection of human nature ; nor do you need the assistance of a fellow-creature's bosom to inform you, that man is always a selfish, often a perfidious being. This assertion, how- ever tlie hasty conclusions of superficial observation may doubt of it, or the raw inexperience of youth may deny it, those who make the fatal experiment we have done, will feel. You are a statesman, and consequently are not ignorant of the traffic of these corporation compliments. The little great man who drives the borough to market, and the very great man who buys the borough in that market, they two do the whole business; and you well know, they, likewise, have their price. With that sullen disdain which you can so well assume, rise, illustrious sir, and spurn these hireling efforts of venal stupidity. At best, they are the compliments of a man's friends on the morning of his execution : they take a decent farewell ; resign you to your fate ; and hurry away from your ajiproaching hour. If fame say true, and omens be not very much mistaken, you are about to make your exit from that world where the sun of gladness gilds the paths of prosperous men : permit iis, great sir, with the sympathy of fellow-feeling, to hail your passage to the realms of ruin. Whether the sentiment proceed from the selfishness or cowardice of mankind, is immaterial; but to point out to a cliild of misfortune those who are still more induippy, is to give him some degree of positive enjojonent. In this light, sir, our downfall may be again useful to you : though not exactly in the same way, it is not perliaps the first time it has gratified your feelings. It is true, tlie triinnjih of your evil star is exceedingly despiteful. At an age when others PROSE ARTICLES UNPLACED. 293 are the votaries of pleasure, or underlings in business, yon had attained the liighest wisli of a British statesman ; and witli the ordinary date of human life, what a prospect was before you ! Deeply rooted in jw/aZ/aroi/j-, you overshadowed the land. The birds of passage which follow ministerial sunshine through every clime of political faith and manners, flocked to your brandies; and the beasts of the field (the lordly possessors of hills and valleys) crowded under your shade. ' But behold a watcher, a holy one, came down from heaven, and cried aloud, and said thus: Hew down tiie tree, and cut off his brandies; shake off his leaves, and scatter his fruit; let the beasts get away from imdcr it, and the fowls from his branches ! ' A blow from an nuthonght-of anegyrics on your jjrivate virtues h.-ivo so often wounded your delicacy, that we shall not distress you with anything on the subject. There is, however, one i)art of your public conduct which our feelings will not permit us to pass in 294 LIFE AND WOEKS OF BURNS. silence; our gratitude must trespass on your modesty: we mean, worthy sir, your whole behaviour to the Scots distillers. In e^dl hours, when obtrusive recollection presses bitterly on the sense, let that, sir, come like a healing angel, and speak the peace to your soul which the world can neither give nor take away. We have the honour to be, sir, your sympathising fellow-sulFerers and grateful humble servants, John Barleycorn, Frcesss. TO MR ALEXANDER FINDLATER, SUPERVISOK OP EXCISE, DUMFRIES. Sir — Enclosed are the two schemes, I would not have troubled you with the collector's one, but for suspicion lest it be not right. Mr Erskine promised me to make it right, if you will have the goodness to shew him how. As I have no copy of the scheme for myself, and the alterations being very considerable from what it was formerly, I hope that I shall have access to this scheme I send you when I come to face up my nev*'^ books. So much for schemes. And that no scheme to betray a friend, or mislead a stranger; to seduce a young girl, or rob a hen-roost; to subvert liberty, or bribe an exciseman; to disturb the general assembly, or annoy a GOSSIPPING ; to overthrow the credit of orthodoxy, or the authority of OLD songs; to oppose your wishes, or frustrate my hopes — may prosper — is the sincere wish and prayer of K. B. PIECES DOUBTFULLY ATTRIBUTED TO BURNS. THE HERMIT. ■WRITTEN OX A MARBLE SIDEBOARD, IX THE HEKMITAGE BELOXGIXG TO THE DVKE OF ATHOLE, IM THE WOOD OF AEEHTELDT. Whoe'er thou art, these lines now reading, Think not, though from the world receding, I joy my lonely days to lead in Tliis desert drear ; That fell remorse a conscience bleeding Hath led me here. No thought of guilt my bosom sours ; Free-will'd I fled from courtly bowers ; For well I saw in halls and towers That lust and pride, The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powers, In state preside. I saw mankind with vice incrusted ; I saw that honour's sword was rusted ; That few for aught but folly lusted; That he was still deceived who trusted To love or friend ; And hither came, with men disgusted, My life to end. In this lone cave, in garments lowly, Alike a foe to noisy folly. And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, I wear away My life, and in my office holy Consume the day. This rock my shield, when storms arc blowing, The limpid streamlet yonder flowing Supplying drink, tlic earth bestowing My simple food ; But few enjoy the calm I know in This desert wood. 296 LIFE AKD WORKS OF BUKNS. Content and comfort bless me more in This grot, than e'er I felt before in A palace — and with thoughts still soaring To God on higli, Each night and morn with voice imploring, This wish I sinrh : ' Let me, Lord ! from life retire, Unknown each guilty worldly fire, Eemorse's throb, or loose desire ; And when I die. Let me in this belief expire — To God I fly.' Stranger, if full of youth and riot. And yet no grief has marred thy qniet. Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at The hermit's prayer — But if thou liast good cause to sigh at Thy fault or care ; If thou hast known false love's vexation. Or hast been exiled from thy nation, Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. And makes thee pine. Oh ! how must thou lament thy station, And envy mine ! THE VOAVELS: 'Twas where the birch and sounding thong ai-e plied, The noisy domicile of pedant pride ; Where Ignorance her darkening vapour tlirows. And Cruelty directs the thickening blows ; Upon a time, Sir Abece the great. In all his pedagogic powers elate. His awful chair of state resolves to mount, And call the trembling vowels to account. First entered A, a grave, broad, solemn wight, But, ah! deformed, dishonest to the sight! His twisted head looked backward on his way, And flagrant from the scourge he grunted, ai! Reluctant, E stalked in ; with piteous race The justling tears ran down his honest face! PIECES DOUBTFULLY ATTEIBUTED TO BURNS. 297 That name, that woU-worn name, and all his own, Palo he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ! Tlie pedant stifles keen the Konian sound Kot all his moii]f;rcl diphthongs can compound ; And next the title foUowintj close behind. He to the nameless, ghastly -wretch assigned. Tlie cohwehbed Gothic dome resoimded, Y! In sullen vengeance, I, disdained reply : The pedant swung his felon cudgel round, And knocked the groaning vowel to the ground! In rueful apprehension entered 0, The wailing minstrel of despairing wo ; Til' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert, Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art; So grim, deformed, with horrors entering, U His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew ! As trembling U stood staring all aghast, The pedant in iiis left hand clutched him fast, In helpless infants' tears he dipped his right. Baptised him eu, and kicked him from his sight. ON PASTORAL POETRY. Hail Pocsic ! thou Nymph reserved ! In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved Frae common-sense, or sunk cnnerved 'JMaug heaps o' clavcrs; babblings And och ! ower aft thy joes hae starved, ilid a' "thy favours ! Say, Lassie, why thy train amang. While loud, the trump's heroic clang, And sock or buskin skelp aUuig To death or marriage ; Scarce anc has tried the shepherd-sang But wi' miscarriage ? In Homer's craft Jock I\IiUon thrives; Eschvlus' pen Will Shakspeare drives ; ■\Vec'Popc, the knurlin, 'till liim rives dwarf Iloratian fame ; In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives E'eu Sappho's flame. 298 LIFE AND WOEKS OF BURNS. But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; Squh'e Pope but busks his skinldia patclies O' heathen tatters : I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, ■ That ape their betters. In this braw age o' wit and !ear. Will uane the Shepherd's whistle mair Blaw sweetly in its native air And rural grace ; And wi' the far-famed Grecian share A rival place ? Yes ! there is aue ,• a Scottish callan — There 's aiu ; come forrit, honest Allan ! Thou need na jouk behint the liallan, skulk door A chiel sae clever ; The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan, But thou's for ever! Thou paints auld nature to the nines, In tliy sweet Caledonian lines ; Nae gov.'den stream through myrtles twines, "Where Philomel, WhUe nightly breezes sweep the vines. Her griefs will tell ! In gowany glens thy burnie strays, Whei'e bonnie lasses bleach their clacs ; Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, Wi' hawthorns grey. Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays At close o' day. Thy rural loves are nature's sel' ; Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; floods Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 0' witchin' love ; That charm that can the strongest quell, The sternest move. APPENDIX. No. 13.— PiEPUTATlOX OF BuRNS IX HIS LaTTER YeARS. ' A bent tree is not to be drawn as a straight one ; or the truth of history vanishes, and its use as a discipline of knowledge and of wLsdom. Hence the representation of my friend's life is unsatisfactory. By the omission of certain portions, it might easily have been made to appear more satisfactory ; but then it would have been a lie : and every lie — O that people woiUd believe it ! — is at best , but a whited sepulchre.' — Hare's Life of Sterling. The habits of Burns during his latter years in Dumfries have been the subject of much controversy, and two very decided views of the matter have been tal^cn. Wc hear, on the one hand, of a life of dissi- pation. Dr Currie, whose wish was to speak as mildly as might bo possible without calling forth exposures by the enemies of the poet, uses the expression : ' Perpetually stimulated by alcohol in one or other of its various forms.' And he adds : ' He who suffers the pollu- tion of inebriation, how shall he escape other pollution V Even tlio notice of Burns's death, which appeared in the most respectable of the Edinburgh newspapers, contains this sentence : ' The public, to whoso amusement he has so largely contributed, will learn with regret, that his cxtraordinaiy endowments were accompanied with frailties which rendered them useless to himself and his family.' Heron, who wrote the first memoir of the poet's life, says : ' In Dumfries, liis dissipation became still more habitual [that is, than it had been in the country] The morals of the town were not a littlo con*upted, and, though a husband and a fatiicr. Burns did not escape suffering by the general contamination, in a manner which I forbear to describe.' On the other hand, strong testimonies in favour of Burns's conduct during this period have been set forth by his superior officer, Mr Alexander Findlater, and by tho Reverend James Gray, who was schoolmaster to the poet's sons. Mr Findlater s.ays : 'My connection with Robert Burns commenced immediately after his admission into the E.\cisc, and continued to the hour of his death. In all that time, the superintendence of his behaviour, as an officer of the revenue, wa.s a branch of my especial province, and it may bo supposed I would not bo an inattentive observer of the general conduct of a man and a poet so celebrated by his countrymen. In the former capacity, ho was exemplary in his attention ; and was even jealous of tho least imputation on his 300 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. vigilance it was not till near the end of his days that there was any falling off in this respect ; and this was amply accounted for by the pressm-e of disease and acciunulating infirmities. I Avill further avow, that I never saw him— which was very frequently while he lived at Ellisland, and still more so after he removed to IDumfries — • but in hours of business he was quite himself, and capable of discharg- ing the duties of his office : nor was he ever known to drink by him- self, or seen to indulge in the use of liquor in a forenoon That when set down in an evening with a few friends whom he liked, he was apt to prolong the social hour beyond tiie bounds which prudence would dictate, is uncpiestionable ; but in his family, I will venture to say, ho was never seen otherwise than attentive and affectionate in a high degree.' Jlr Gray's testimony is to much the same purpose. He was inti- mate with Burns in his last years, and saw him frequently. ' It is not to be denied,' says Mr Gray, ' that he sometimes mingled with society unworthy of him. He was of a social and convivial nature. He was courted by all classes of men for the fascinating powci'S of his conversation, but over his social scene uncontrolled passion never presided Burns was seldom intoxicated. The drunkard soon becomes besotted, and is shunned even by the convivial. Had he been so, he could not long have continued the idol of every party. It came under my own view professionally, that he superintended the education of his children with a detrree of care that I have never seen surpassed by any parent in any rank of life whatever. In the bosom of lus family, he spent many a delightfid hour in directing the studies of his eldest son, a boy of uncommon talents. I have frequently found him explaining to this youth, tlien not more than nine years of age, the English poets from Shakspeare to Gray, or stoi'ing his mind with examples of heroic virtue, as they live in the pages of our most celebrated English historians. I would ask any person of common cajidour, if employments like these are consistent with liabitual drunkenness?'^ ' ' He was a kind and attentive father, and took great delight in spending his evenings in the cultivation of the minds of his children. Their education was the grand object of his life, and he did not, lil^c most parents, tliink it sufficient to send them to jjublic schools; he was their private instructor, and even at that early age, bestowed great pains in training their minds to habits of thought and reflection, and in keeping them pure from every form of vice. This he considered as a sacred duty, and never, to the period of his last illness, relaxed in his diligence. With his eldest son, a boy of not more than nine years of age, he had read many of the favourite poets, and some of the best historians in our language : and what is more remarkable, gave him considerable aid in the study of Latin. This boy attended the Grammar School of Uimifries, and soon attracted my notice by the strength of his talent and the ardour of his amliition. Before he had been a year at school, I thought it right to advance liiin a form, and he began to read Caesar, and gave me translations of that author of such beauty as I confess surprised me. On inquiry, I found that his father made him turn over his dictionary, till he was able to ti-ans- late to him the pa,ssage in such a way that he could gather the author's meaning, and that it was to him he owed that polished and forcible English with which I was so greatly struck. I have mentioned this incident merely to shew what minute attention he paid to this important branch of parental duty.' — Letter from the Reverend James (irai/ to Mr Gilbert Burns. See his edition, vol. i. Appendix, No. v. APPENDIX. 301 The poet's widow was amongst the most earnest of his defenders. Whatever miglit have been the aberrations of J5urns on some points deeply concerning conjugal peace, liis amiable partner had no charge to make against him. The penitence lie had himself expressed, and the invariable tenderness of his conduct towards herself, had saved liim from all reprobation in that quarter. Sirs Burns always repre- sented the convivial habits of her husband as greatly exaggerated by report. She asserted, that she had never once known him return home at night so greatly affected by liquor but that he was able, as usual, to see that the house was secure, and to take off his own clothes without assistance. To the perplexity arising from all this conflicting testimony, the conduct of Mr Gilbert Burns adds not a little. When Dr Ciirrie's memoir came out, the brother of the poet expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with it, and for several years he uttered no remon- strance against the admissions M-hich it had made with respect to Ilobert iJurns's habits. In 1816, ho announced his intention of enter- ing a defence of his brother against the unjust or exaggerated picture which Dr Currie had drawn ; and when this announcement drev/ a somewhat indignant notice from Mr Koscoe, as the friend of the late Dr Currie, Gilbert accounted for the apparent incon- sistency of his conduct by saying that, having seen little of his brother for some years, and consequently knowing little about his liabits at Dumfries, he had been unable to say anything in contradic- tion of what Dr Currie had stated; but now, knowing from the testimony of Mr Findlater and Mr Gray that the poet had been misrepresented, he felt it to be his duty, with all grateful deference to the memory of the biographer, to vindicate his brother's memory. He acted upon this feeling of duty by publishing, in his edition of the poet's works in 1820, the letters of Mr Findlater and Mr Gray, as being all-sufficient to clear the name of Bobert Burns from the stigma which had been fastened upon it by Currie. The same defensive tone has been assumed by various subsequent writers, and by none with greater force of language than by Professor Wilson. 1 Indeed, the modern fashion is to write of Burns as if lie liad been a man of compai-atively temperate and pure life, who had been remarkably unfoi-tuuate in his early biographers. The subject is a diHicult and a critical one; but 1 believe it may be possible to admit the truth of what is directly advanced by Find- later and Gray, and yet to see that the original rej)reficntations of Eurns's character were not so unfaithful to truth as has l>een assumed. It is, I believe, incontestalilc, that Burns was a good and tflicient officer, always fit for duty during the business ))art of the day, never known to drink by himself or to indulge in li(iuor in the forenoon. It is also true that he was aniiatjie in his ])rivate domestic relations. Such are tiie positive averments of Findhiter. Mr (Jray says lie was not a habitual drunkard, which is nearly the same thing tliat Findlater has advanced ; and lie draws a delightful picture of the ' Essay on the Oonius and Character of Bums, Land qf Bunts, 1810. 302 LIFE AXD "WORKS OF BURNS. poet's habits in his family, inferring that one who took so great a charge of his son's education, and whose mind v/as so clear in the moi-ning, could have no habits which society is entitled to condemn. The facts advanced by 3Ir Gray may be admitted, but the illogical character of his inference is palpable. There is not, in reality, anything in Findlater and Gray's state- ments which denies that Burns, in his latter years at Dumfries, did indulge in tavern and other convivialities to a degree which even for that age was excess. On the contrary, these gentlemen make admis- sions pretty much to that effect. Neither do they positively deny, what is hinted at by Currie, that our bard descended even lower in the scale of sensual habits. All that they can fairly be said to do, is to refute the notion, whether arising from Currie's memoir or in any other way, that Burns was a habitual drunkard. What, then, was the fact ? From aU that can now be learned on respectable testimony, I believe it to ■ have been this : Eobert Burns never at any period of his life was habitually under the influence of a love of liquor ; he never was, properly speaking, its victim : on this point the statements of Dr Currie are certainly unjust towards the name of Burns. Our bard was nevertheless facile towards social enjoyment, and had himself an immense power of promoting it. Wherever he lived, he naturally fell among the gay and good-natured part of society, and he unavoidably partook of their convivialities, and even, latterly at least, helped to encourage the replenishment of the bowl and the pulling of the fresh bottle — not that he cared much for the liquor, but that, once involved in the flow of merriment, he did not like to interrupt it by leaving the table. Thus, while he was far from being a regular toper, his occasional convivialities occurred, during the latter years of his Hfe, with a degree of frequency, and were carried to a degree of excess, which were much to be deplored. It did not matter much, per- haps, that there was no indulgence before the early dinner hour of that time and place — which was three o'clock — if he very often spent the evenings over the bowl, and not unfrequently prolonged the merry-making past the midnight hour. It may be asked what is meant by very often ; and this it is not easy to answer. But that our bard spent too many evenings in this way for the comfort of his family, for his own health and peace of mind, and for the preserva- tion of his dignity as a man and a poet, I believe to be only too true. Nor was this all, for that co-ordinate debasement to which Dr Currie alludes, was not escaped. Let God judge him, a being formed in frailty, and inspired with wild and misdirected impulses ; not I. But so is the fact. Let it be observed, however — though, in following tastes so depraved. Burns necessarily came in contact with persons of both sexes utterly unworthy of his society, and latterly v.'ould associate witli individuals of such a character as would, on a full explanation, astonish the admirers of his genius — yet he never reached nor even approached that point where a respect for external decency is lost. APPENDIX. 303 He preserved, as far as he could, the air, and performed the duties, of a vigilant governmeut ofiicer and respectable head of a family. He wrote, spoke, and walked about the daylight streets and ways, as a man knowing the value of chai-acter in the eye of the world. Incautious as he was in many things, he had yet sufficient tact to abstain from allusions to the coarse merry-making, and the worse debauches which sometimes followed, before those who, being comparatively pure themselves, were sure to have no sympathetic relish for such things. And thus it was that Gray — himself a man of irreproachable life and conversa- tion — had no opportunity of knowing Burns in the whole of his character and habits. Neither, perhaps, had Fmdlater, with whom, as a superior officer whose good opinion was of consequence, he must have wished in an especial manner to stand well. To many, the actual tastes of the poet were sufficiently well known; and it was of course impossible in a country town to keep his name entirely out of the mouth of scandal. But society is never very severe witli those who pay it the homage of a regard to appearances, and Burns was quite the man whom it would wish to spare as much as possible. He was a kind of lion in that little town — a great man in one sense,, and a man of many excellent properties. The very humility of his position, as something beneath his deserts, excited a feeling in his behalf. His over-convivial habits, his frequent coarseness of speech, his more tlian suspected aberrations, were therefore regarded by the great bulk of the community with a certain degree of tenderness. And hence, wlulc he on his part seemed to have no idea of being much of a reprobate, the society which surrounded him was not unwilling to take him as far as possible for what he seemed. Another circum- stance tending to keep up a certain reputablcness about Burns, was the extraordinary attractiveness of his conversation. Men, and women too, of the upper and more refined circles, who might know that he fell into not unfrequent excesses, were nevertheless anxious for the pleasure of his society. For this they overlooked and tolerated much which would have made them comparatively cold towards other men. It is therefore true, that he never was without some friends among these upper circles. On the whole, then, it appears that there are some grounds for the ill repute which so Linientably invested the name of our great poet for some years after liis death, though the facts of the case liavo been to some extent misstated, and even, it may bo said, exaggerated. An endeavour has here been made to state the truth; aud if it appear to press more severely on the name of our gieat national poet tlian was anticipated, I can only say on my own behalf, that I have taken pains to ascertain it, and to jiut down nothing less or more — humljly hoping that, where there is so much to admire, the admission of tliat which must be reprobated still leaves us a grand figure under the worshipped name of Br;uNs ; but it is at all events certain, that any other than a faithful view of the character of the man — that is, a view comprehending the shades as well as tho 304 LIFE AND WORKS OF BUKNS. brightnesses — would be an imperfect thing, a moral torso, most imsatisfactory to all judicious minds, and not capable, in the lon"-- run, of imposing upon anybody. Xo. 14. — Subscriptions for Burns's Family. LIST IN EDINBURGH NEWSPAPERS, AUGUST 23, 1796. Subscribed in Dumfriesshire, L.104, 12s. Sir James Hall, . L.5 Lord Meadowbanlc, 1 Prof. D. Stewart, . 3 Dr Duncan, . 1 Mr Mundell, . . 1 James Gibson, Esq., 1 Mrs Dunlop of Dnnlop, 2 Mr Fergusson of Banks, 2 Major Duff, . 1 Wm. Dunbar, W. S., 1 Jn. Carmichael, Esq., of Skirling, Sir J. Sinclair, Bart., Mr James Innes, Mr Henry Raeburn, Mr A. Cunningham, Mr Geo. Thomson, . Mr Rob. Cleghorn, Mrs Cleghorn, Mr John Allan, . Mr Rob. Wight, Mr John Haig, . Mr Robert Wallcer, . Mr Barclay Fyffe, 1 1 2 2 2 2 2 1 2 2 2 9 5 1 3 1 1 1 2 2 1 1 1 1 2 2 2 2 2 1 2 2 2 10 2 6 The Right Hon. the Earl of Selkirk, . L.5 Mr Wm. Robertson, Re- gister Oihce, . 1 Mr W. Inglis, W. S., 1 Mr E. Balfour, . 1 James Gordon, . Mr Inglis, . A Gentleman, . 1 A Foreigner, . Arch. Constable, . W. Handyside, W. S., 1 Mr G. Russel, wr., . 1 Mr T. Potts, Kelso, 1 Mr Alex. Mackenzie, •writer, Mrs Spalding, Mr Wm. Creech, Mr Kerr, G. P. O., . Mr Wm. Dallas, . Rev. Dr Greenfield, . The Boys of Mr Cririe's Class in the High School, . . 1 [A second list, amounting to L.52, 10s. has not been recovered.] Amount of su Mr Woods, Theatre- royal, . . L.l Mr Kemble, Theatre- royal, . . 2 Receipt of Benefit at the Theatre, . . 32 John Fergusson, Esq., Calcutta, . 10 Robt. Ainslie, Esq., W.S., 2 Mr George Brown, . The Rev. Mr White, 1 April 4, 1797- former Subscriptions, L.llO, 93. nscunsERs continued. Subscription from Mrs Paterson's Inn, . L.l Mrs Fletcher, Queen's Street, . . 1 Mrs Cathcart, Castle Street, . . 1 A. W., . . Mr Johnson, engraver, 4 Mr Hume of Wedder- burn, . . 2 James Graham, Esq., 1 1 2 1 10 2 10 6 1 5 ' 1 1 1 10 6 10 6 10 6 5 (i 1 1 1 1 10 6 5 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 5 2 1 APPENDIX. 305 LONDON LIST, AT CLOSE OF SUBSCRIPTION, MAY 1800. Subscriptions, L.122, 173. Lord de Dunstunville, L.5 5 Thomson Bonar, . 5 5 James Shaw, Robert Shedden, . 5 5 James Mackenzie, 5 5 Peter Laurie, John M'Ta^'gart, David Hunter, J. R. Miller, Duncan Hunter, John Inglis, J. Mayne, Adam Lymbourncr, Colonel ]jlair, John J. Angerstein, . John Anderson, . Robert Burns, James Brymer, . Dr Moore, David Shaw, . . W. Parker (Montreal) Captain R. Gordon, 71st Regt, . Matthew Boyd, William Boyd, . (Jiiarles Ferguson, John Grey, James Innes, John Frascr, James Duff, . Robert Hunter, . John Rae, T. Reid, . J. Irving, Tiiomas JLaiii, •John Younger, J. Parker, AVilliam SVatson, Mr Tweedy, Jlenry Tiiompson, A. Learmonth, . Robert Service, John Heatiicotc, Adam Bell, . J. F. Throckmorton, VOL. IV. T L.5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 r> O 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 ] 1 1 1 U 5 5 5 3 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 '■> 2 2 2 2 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 10 t) (t G J. Campbell, Inveraiy, L.O 10 6 William Douglas, 2 2 Samuel Douglas, 2 2 James Douglas, 2 2 William Borredailo, 2 2 Hugh Mair, . 2 2 Wm. Walker, Birinin cr- ham, . " 2 2 Alex. Wulkei-, ditto, 2 2 Capt. Errol Boyd, 2 2 Rn. Borradaile, 2 2 William Pratt, . 2 2 John Maitland, 2 2 Robert Buchannan, 2 2 Arch. Tod, 2 2 James Walker, 2 2 Joseph Berwick, 2 2 Charles Hornyold, . 2 Colonel A. Gamniell, 2 2 (► James Fairlec, John AValker, Peter Bwansou, James Colquhoun, Alex. Riddell, Edward Boyd, . James Kctland, John Paterson, John Gillespie, . Robert Cowie, n Samuel Lenox, . John Bannatvnc, William Barclay, (» Arch. i\Iackean, John Scott, (1 George Morrison, George i\Iunro, . Thomas (Jordou, James Forsytii, . n James ]5ell, . (1 JMark Sjirolt, Wm. Dtigidd, C. Harper, Wm. Ogilvy, jun., Joim Auldjo, Miss Heudcrson, Dui) , u 306 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. C. Bellen, . . L. Alexander Begbee, . L.l Mr TaafFe, John Tait, . 1 James Dawson, . ] James Smith, . 1 James Inglis, Thomas Pinkertoii, 1 William Urquliart, . Robert Arthur, . 1 DaA'id Maitland, . : A. M. Bennett, . 1 K. Hamilton, . ; Alexander Harper, . 1 J. Anderson, sen., R. Haden, . 1 A. Glennio, . . ] Thomas Bell, . 1 Hugh Bethune, . ] Edward Penman, 1 George Service, Malcolm Ross, . 1 a Cochran M'Clure, J. Parish, jun., Hambro', 1 Samuel Donaldson, . ] Joseph Forsyth, . 1 Joseph Eodgers, . Alexander Ross, jun., 1 Robert Ewing, George Glenny, . 1 William Graham, ] Thomas Watson, 1 George Reid, David Maitland, . 1 Peter Swanson, second Dividend on L.400 Stock Donation, . for lialf a year, pay- H. S. Dickey, . ] able in Oct. 1797, 6 Et. Anderson, Ditto in April 1798, . 6 a J. G. Gerrard, . ] Ditto in October 1798, 6 George Lyon, . ] Ditto in April 1799, 6 William Christie, Ditto in October 1799, 6 Jos. Lachlan, . ] Ditto on L.500, April John Lyall, 1800, . . . 7 10 Total, L.267 9 Mr James Shaw, subsequently Sir James Shaw, and chamberlain of London, took upon himself the whole trouble connected with the subscription in the metropolis. He purchased L.400 of the 3 per cent. Reduced Stock in June 1797 at L..50|, and L.lOO of the same stock in October 1799 at L.59 ; and this L.500 of stock was transferred in May 1800 to the magistrates of Ayr for the benefit of the poet's family. 'Mr Alderman Shaw, of London, an Ayrshire gentleman, some time after the death of our admired poet, patronised a subscription for the benefit of his widow and children. The sum so raised was vested in the 3 per cent, annuities, and amounted to L.500 of that stock. Last week, the alderman being in company with Sir Francis Baring, the conversation turned on Burns and the circumstances of his family. The worthy baronet, who is a warm admirer of our poet, requested that he also might have the honour of being a con- tributor, and immediately put into his hands L.lOO, which was also bought into the same stock, and the receipts sent to the magis- trates; and with the L.500 makes L.676, 19s. lOd. 3 per cents., standing in the name of the provost and bailies of the town of Ayr, for the benefit of the widow and children of Robert Burns.' — Newspaper Paragraph, 1804. APPENDIX. 307 Another paragraph, of apparently little later date, is as follows : — 'It had lately come to the knowledge of Mr Alderman Shaw, London, that Burns had left two daughters, natural children, who have not hitherto hencfited by the liberality of the public to tlieir father's family ; which induced that gentleman, whose active bene- volence in behalf of this family is well known, to renew a subscription among a few friends for making a small provision for the destitute girls. The subscriptions have amounted to L.310, lis., at the head of which is fifty guineas from William Fairlie, Esq., Calcutta. With this sum, L.523 have been purchased in the reduced 3 per cents., which, added to that already purchased in the same fund, and together standing in the name of the pi'ovost and bailies of the town of Ayr, makes a total of L. 1200, of which L.800 is to be appropriated to the use of Mrs Burns and her tiiree sons, and L.400 to the use of the two girls ; one moiety payable to each on marriage, or on attaining the age of twenty-one ; and in the event of either of them dying under these periods, the moiety due to her to go to the survivor.' The two girls here referred to were : Elizabeth Burns, the daughter of Elizabeth Baton (i., 87) — ^born in 1784 — who became the wife of Mr John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, and died in December 1816, aged thirty-two ; and Elizabeth Burns, the daughter of Anne Park, born 31st Marcli 1791 (iii., 260), and who became the wife of Thomson, weaver, Pollockshaws. No. 15. — TuE Cranium of Burns. At the opening of the Mausoleum, March 1S34, for the interment of Mrs Burns, it was resolved by some citizens of Dumfries, with the concurrence of the nearest relative of the widow, to raise the cranium of the poet from the grave, and have a cast moulded from it, with a view to gratifying the interest likely to be felt by tho students of phrenology respecting its peculiar development. This purpose was carried into effect during the night between tlio 31st March and the 1st April, and tlie following is tiie description of tho cranium, drawn up at the time by Mr A. Blacklock, surgeon, one of tiie individuals present: — ' Tlie cranial bones were perfect in every respect, if we except a little erosion of their external table, and firmly held together by their sutures ; even the delicate bones of the orbits, with the trifling exception of tlie o.s xuujuli in tlie left, were sound, and uninjured by death and the grave. The superior nuixillary bones still retained the four most posterior teeth on each side, including the denies fiapientiaj, and all without spot or blemish ; the incisures, cuspidati, &c., had in all jjrobability recently droi)pcd from the jaw, for tho alveoli were but little decayed. The bones of tho face and palate 308 LIFE AKD WORKS OF BURNS. were also sound. Some small portions of black liair, with a very few gray hairs intermixed, were observed while detaching some extraneous matter from the occiput. Indeed, nothing could exceed the high state of preservation in which we found the bones of tlie cranium, or ofler a fairer opportunity of supplying what has so long been desiderated by phrenologists — a correct model of our immortal poet's head : and in order to accomplish this in the most accurate and satisfactory manner, every particle of sand, or other foreign body, was carefully washed off, and the plaster of Paris applied witli all the tact and accuracy of an experienced artist. Tlie cast is admirably taken, and cannot fail to prove highly interesting to phrenologists and others. 'Having completed our intention, the skull, securely enclosed in a leaden case, was again committed to the earth, precisely where we found it. Archd. Bt.acklock.' A cast from the skull having been transmitted to the Plirenological Society of Edinburgh, the following view of the cerebral development of Burns was drawn up by Mr George Combe, and published iu connection with four views of the cranium ( W. and A. K. Johnston, Edinhurgh) : — 'l. — DIMENSIONS OF THE SKULL. Inches. Greatest circumference, 221 From Occipital Spine to Individuality, over the top of the head, 14 Ear to Ear vertically over the top of the head, . . .13 Pliiloprogenitivcness to Individuality (greatest length), . . 8 ■ Concentrativeness to Comparison, 7g Ear to Philoprogenitivoncss, 4|- Individuality, ....*... 4^ ■ — — Benevolence, Si Firmness, Si Destructiveness to Destructivcness, 5| Secretiveness to Secret ivencss, S|- Cautiousness to Cautiousness, 5^ Ideality to Ideality, 4§ Constructivcuess to Constructiveness, 4.i Mastoid Process to Mastoid Process, 4| ■II. — DEVELOPMENT OF THE ORGANS. 1. Amativeness, rather large, 2. Philoprogenitiveness, very large, 3. Concentrativeness, large, 4. Adhesiveness, very large, . 5. Combativeness, very large, 6. Destructiveness, large, 7. Secretiveness, large, 8. Acquisitiveness, rather large, . f). Constructivene.s.s, full, . 1 0. Self-Estecm, large, 11. Love of Approbation, very large, 12. Cautiousness, large, . Scale. IG 20 1,'! 20 20 18 1.9 16 15 18 20 19 APPENDIX. 309 Scale. 13. Benevolence, very large, 20 14. Veneration, large, 18 15. Firmness, full, 15 16. Conscientiousness, full, 15 17. Hope, full, 14 18. Wonder, large, 18 19. Ideality, large, 18 20. Wit, or Mirthfulness, full, 15 21. Imitation, largo, 19 22. Individuality, large, 1,9 23. Form, rather large, 16 24. Size, rather large, 17 25. Weight, rather large, 1(> 26. Colouring, rather large, 16 27. Locality, large, 1!! 28. Number, rather full, 12 29. Order, full, 14 30. Eventuality, large, 18 31. Time, rather large, 16 32. Tune, full, 15 3.3. Language, uncertain. 34. Comparison, rather large, 17 35. Causality, large, 18 ' 77te scale of the orrjans indicates their relative proportions to each other: 2 is idiocy; 10, moderate; 14, full; IS, larfje; and 20, very large. 'The cast of a slcuU docs not shew the temperament of the indi- vidual, but the portraits of Burns indicate tlie bilious and nervous temperaments, the sources of strength, activity, and susceptibility ; and the descriptions given by his contemporaries of his beaming and energetic eye, and tlie rapidity and impetuosity of Iiis manifestations, establish the inference that his brain was active and susceptible. ' .Size in the brain, other conditions being ccrt Burns; with Original Descriptions by Allan Cunningham. Svo. London : James Cociiraue .'<: r'o., . . . 1S35 A Descriptive Sketch of Burns's Birthplace, Alloway Kirk, Monument and Slabs, and liis Haunts on tin; Ayr. (I'p. 22.) Printed at the Ayr Observer Office, by J. F. Eraser, . IS37 318 LIFE AMD -WORKS OF BURNS. The Complete Works of Robert Burns ; containing his Poems, )Songs, and Correspondence. Illustrated by Bartlett, AUom, and other Artists. With a new Life of the Poet, and Notices Critical and Biographical. By Allan Cunningham. 2 vols., 4to. London : Virtue, , . . 1839 Fac-simile of Bnrns's celebrated Poem entitled The Jolly Beggars, from the Original Manuscript. With a Frontis- piece from the Original Drawing by Wm. AUan. 4to. Glasgow: James Lumsden & Son, . . . 1838 The Poetical Works of Robert Burns [with a Memoir of Burns by Sir Harris Nicolas.] 3 vols., 12mo. London : WiUiam Pickering, ...... 1839 [Forming part of the series of the Aldine Poets.] 1. The Life of Robert Burns. By James Currie, M.D. Extended by Additional Particulars, many of which were never before made Public. 2. The Poetical Works of Robert Burns ; to which are now added Notes, illustrating Historical, Personal, and Local Allusions. 3. The Prose Works of Robert Burns. With the Notes of Currie and Cromek, and many by the Present Editor. Royal 8vo. Edinburgh : W. & R. Chambers, . 1838-9 The Life, Letters, and Land of Burns, Illustrated by W. H. Bartlett, T. Allom, and other Artists ; with a new Memoir of the Poet, and Notices, Critical and Biographical, of his Writings, by Allan Cunningham. 2 vols., 4to. London : Yirtue, . . . . . . . 1839 The Contemporaries of Burns, and the more recent Poets of Ayrshire. [By James Paterson.] Edin. : Hugh Baton. 8vo. 1840 The Land of Burns; a series of Landscapes and Portraits, illustrative of the Life and Writings of the Scottish Poet. The Landscapes from Paintings made expressly for this work by D. 0. Hill, Esq., R.S.A. The Literary Depart- ment by Professor Wilson and Robert Chambers, Esq. 2 vols. Glasgow : Blackie & Son, . . . 1840 Works of Robert Burns ; with Life by Allan Cunningham, and Notes by Gilbert Burns, Lord Byron, Thomas Carlyle, Thomas Campbell, &;c. 1 vol., 8vo. London: T. Tegg, and C. Daly, ..... 1840 Tomas Seannsair, Maile ri Naoidh dain Eile Le Roibeart Burns, air an cuir an Gaelig le Rob. Mac-Dhughaill, agus oraran ura leis an Eadar-Theangair. Glascho, . . 1840 [This fasciculus contains Gaelic translations of Tarn o'Shanter, the Twa Dogs, the Calf, Lament for James Earl of Glencairn, Bruce's Address, Highland Mary, &c.] Works [Cunningham's edition reprinted.] 1 vol., 8vo, with many engravings. London : G. Virtue, . No date. APPENDIX. ' 319 The Correspondence between Burns and Clarinda; with a Memoir of Mrs M'Lebose (Clarinda.) Arrannjed and Edited by her Grandson, W. C. M'Lehose. Svo. Edin. : W. Tait, 1843 A Guide to Ayr, its Environs, and the Land of Bums. Ayr : M'Cormick & Gemmell, .... 1844 A Winter with Robert Burns. Being Annals of his Patrons and Associates in Edinburgh during the year 1 786-7, and the details of his Inauguration as Poet-Laureate of the Can[ongate] Kil[winniug Mason Lodge.] Edinburgh: Peter Brown, ..... 184$ The "Works of Fiobert Bums ; with a complete Life of the Poet [by Dr Currie], and an Essay on his Genius and Character, by Professor "Wilson; also numerous Notes, Annotations, and Appendices. Embellished by eighty-one Portraits and Landscape Illustrations. 2 vols., royal Svo. Glasgow : Blackie & Son, .... 1846 The Complete Poetical "\Vorks of Eobert Bums; with Explanatory and Glossarial Notes, and the Life of the Poet, by Dr Carrie. London : Adam Scott, . 1846 Poetical Works of Piobert Burns, complete. 1 vol., ISmo. Edinburgh: Martin, ..... 1847 Sylvan's Guide to the Land of Burns. London : Johnstone, 1848 Works [Currie's edition.] 1 vol., Svo. Halifax: Milner, 1S50 Robert Burns as a Poet and as a Man. By Samuel Tyler. 1 vol., 12nio. Dublin : M'GIashan, . . . 1849 The Complete Works of Robert Burns [Currie's edition] ; with an enlarged and corrected Glossary. 1 vol. 12mo. Aberdeen : George Clarke & Son, . . . 1848 The Poetical and Prose Writings of Robert Bums; with Life, Notes, and Correspondence, by Allan Cunning- ham, Esq., and Illustrations. Small Svo. London : Daly, ...... circa 1850 Poetical Works of Robert Burns. [1 vol., very small.] Halifax : Milner k Sowcrby, . . . 1851 Notes on his Name and Family. By James Burnos, K.H., F.R.S. Edinburgh : printed for private circulation, . 1851 American Eomoys op Borm. Poems, 32mo, cloth. E. Kearney. 32mo, clotli, extra. II. F. Anncrs, Philadelphia. 2 vols, roan. T. Davis. The Life and Land of, by Professor Wilson. Langlcy. Works, 8vo, cloth. Crissy k Marklcy, Piiiladclphia. 12mo, cloth. II. F. Anners. '... 12nio, cloth, extra. I'liillips k Sampson, Boston. ICnio, morocco. Api)leton. 16mo, cloth. ApjUeton. Svo, with Life by Lockhart. Otis, Broadcrs, & Co., Boston. 320 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Life and AVorks of Burns, in one volume, 8vo. J. and J. A. James, Cincinnati. Same work, 32mo. Germak Editions and Thanslations of Burxs. Choice of Burns's Poems ; to wliicli is added a Glossary. Royal 8vo. Ansbacli : Dollfuss, . . . '. 1831 Same work, new edition, .... 1S34 Works, kc. "With Selected Notes of Allan Cunningham, a BiograiDhical and Critical Introduction, and a Comparative Etymological Glossary, by Adolphus Wagnei*. Complete in one volume [royal 8vo.] Leipsic : Frederick Fleischer, 1835 Burns : Gedichte Uebers v. Phil. Kaufmann. 8vo. Stuttgart und Tubingen. Cotta'sche Buchhandlung, . . 1S40 Burns : Lieder n. Balladen. Uebertragen v. Ileinr. Jul. Heintze. 2d Ausg. mit d. Bildn. u. einem Kurzen Lebens- abriss d. Distungen nebst erlaut. Anmerkungen. 12mo. Braunschweig : AVestermann, . . . 1840 Burns's Select Poems and Songs, cliiefly in the Scottish Dialect ; with a Glossary. 8vo. Berlin : Schlcsinger'schc Buchhandlung, ...... 1S41 Poetical AVorks of Piobert Burns ; with a Life of the Author, and an Essay on the Genius and AA'ritings of Burns, by A. Cunningham. 12mo. [Part of a Collection of British Authors.] Nurnberg : Fr. Campe, . . . 1843 Burns : Gedichte, Deiitscli v. AV. Gerhard. French Translation of Burxs. Poesies Completes de Pvobert Burns. Traduites de I'Ecossais par M. Leon de AVailly, avec ime Introduction dn Meme. Paris, ....... 1843 INDEXES. THE POEMS, ACCORDING TO THEIR DATES. VOL. 1. — JUVENILE. * AU Devil as I am, a damned Wretch,' The Torbolton Lassos, Verses on the Ronald Family, . ■\Vinter, a Dirge I'rayer written under the Pressure of violent Anguish, . Page 37 45 4B 61 C2 1782. Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie, 1784. Extempore Verses—' Oh, why the deuco should I repine," . A I'rayer in Prospect (if Death, . St:inzas on the same Occasion, The First Psalm, The First Six Verses of the Nine- teenth Psalm, .... Epistle to .John Ranliine, Elej Epitaph on Captain Grose, . 80 Written in an Envelope, enclosing a Letter to Captain Grose, . - 81 The Five Carlines [an Election Ballad] «» 1790. Ske'teh— Now- Year's Day, . . 100 Prologue spoken at the Theatre, Dumfries, on New- Year's Evening (1790), 102- Prologue for Mr Sutherland's Benefit Night, Dumfries, . . .107 Peg Nicholson, .... 118 Written to a Gentleman who had sent the Poet a Newspaper, and offered to continue it free of Expense, . 121 [Second] Epistle to Mr Graham of Fintry, IS."* On Captain Matthew Henderson, 135 Epitaph on Captain Henderson, 137 Tarn o'Shanter : a Tale, . . 152 Stanzas on the Birth of a Posthu- mous Child, born under peculiar circumstances of Family Dis- tress, . .... 102 INDEX. Elegy on the late Miss Burnet of Monboddo ]C7 Lament of Mary Queen of Scots on the approach of Spring, . . 170 Lament for James, Earl of Glcn- caim 176 Lines sent to Sir John AVhitefoord, Hart., of Wliitefoord, with the Foregoing Poem, . . . 178 Third Epistle to Jlr Graham of Fintry, 188 Address to the Shade of Thomson, 194 To Mr Maxwell of Tcrraughty on his Birthday, 204 Fourth Epistle to Mr Graham of Fintry, Sensibility, .... 207 212 1792 Lines on Forgusson, . . . 221 The Rights of AVoman, an Occa- sional Address spoken by Miss Fontenellc, .... 256 To Miss Fontcnelle, on seeing her in a favourite Character, . . 257 1793. Sonnet on hearing a Thrush sing, 281 TOL. iv. Epitaph on a Lap-dog, . . .15 1794. Page Monody on a Lady famed for her Caprice, 61 Epistle from Esopus to Maria, . 62 A Vision, fi<) Sonnet on the Death of Glonriddcl, 77 Fragment of an Ode for Washing- ton's Birthday, ... 83 Address to the Daughter of Jlr Graham of Fintry, ... 85 The Tree of Liberty, ... 87 To Dr Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's Recovery 95 1795. To Chloris Toast for the 12th of April, . Epigrams on Mr Syme, Inscription for an Altar to Independ- ence, Verses on the Destruction of the Woods near Drumlanrig, Address, spoken by Miss Fonte- nellc on her Benefit Niglat (Dec. 1795) 179C. To Collector Slitchcll, . To Colonel de I'eyster, A Toast to Jessy, Epigrams on Miss Lewars, Versicles— Epigrams, Epitaphs, 4:c., 104 152 157 171 172 179 180 185 197 199 235 THE SONGS, ACCORDING TO THEIR FIRST LINES. Page Adieu ! a heart-warm, fond adieu, i. 277 AdowTi winding Nith I did wander, iv. 26 Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, iii. 214 Again rejoicing nature sees, . i. 241 A Highland hid my love was bom, i. 175 Altliough my bed were in yon muir, . . . . . i. 73 Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December, . . iii. 215 And O for ane-and-twenty. Tarn, iii. 239 Anna, thy charms my bosom lire, iv. 75 A rose-bud by my early walk, ii. 158 As I was a wandering ae midsum- mer e'enin', . , . iv. 260 A' the lads o' Thornie-bank, iv. 253 A wa wi' your witchcraft o' beauty 's alarms, . . . . iv. 1R8 Awa, Whigs, awa ! . . . iv. 2.i6 Bannocks o' bear-meal, . iv. 272 Behind yon hills where Stinsiar flows, i. 43 Behold the hour, the boat, arrive — iii. 2U ; iv. ;',3 Blithe, blithe and meny was she, ii. 151 Blithe hae I been on yon hill, iii. 31)9 Bonnie lassie, will ye go, . ii. 122 Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing iii. 1!)7 But lately seen in gladsome green, iv. 102 By Allan Stream I chanced to rove, iv. 24 Hy yon castle wa', at the close of the day, .... iii. 175 Ca' the yowcs to the knowcs, iv. 92, 257 Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? .... iv. 119 Clarinda, mistress of my soul, ii. 207 Come, let me take thee to my breast, iv. 28 Coming through the rye, i)oor body, . . . . iv. 268 Contented -wi" little, and cantie wi' mair, . . , . iv. 118 Cojild aught of song declare my pains, .... iv. 73 Deluded swain, the pleasure, iv. 43 Dire was the hate at old JIarlaw, iv. 182 Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? .... i v. 1.51 Dimcan Gray cam here to woo, iii. 264 Fairest maid on Devon banks, jv; 206 I'areweel to a' our Scottish fame, iv. 265 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, . iii. 205 Page Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, .... ii. 213 First when Maggj- was my care, iv. 255 Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, . . iii. 245 Forlorn^ my love, no comfort near, iv. 165 Frae tlie friends and land I love, iii. 236 From thee, Eliza, I must go, i. 252 Gane is the day, and mirk 's the night, .... iv. 261 Gat ye mo, O gat ye me, . . iv. 269 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, ii. 301 Had I a cave on some wild dis- tant shore, . . . iv. 23 Here awa, there awa, wandering Willie, . . iii. 217, 288, 293-4 Here is the glen, and hero the bower, . . . . iv. 80 Here 's a health to ane I loe dear, iv. 193 Here's a health to them that's awa, iii. 271 Here 's to thy health, my bonnie lass, iv. 71 How can my poor heart be glad, iv. 90 How cruel are the parents, . iv. 161 How lang and dreary is the night, iv. lOO How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, . ii. 170 Husband, husband, cease your strife, . . . . iv. 51 I am a bard of no regard, . . i. 178 I am a son of Mars, who have been in many wars, . . i. 172 I am my mammy's ae bairn, iv. 251 I bought mj' wife a stanc o' lint, iv. 260 I coft a stane o' haslock woo', iv. 26!) I do confess thou art sae fair, . iii. 238 I dreamed I lay where ilowers were springing, .... i. 37 I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, . iii. 9H I hae a wife o' my ain, . . ii. 298 I '11 aye ca' in by yon town, . iv. 272 I '11 kiss thee yet, yet, . . ii. 216 In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles, . . i. 99 In simmer, when the hay was mawn, iii. 241 I once was a maid, though I can- not tell when, ... i. 173 Is there, for honest poverty, . iv. 133 Jt is na, Jean, thy bonnie face, iv. 261 It was a' for our rightfu' king, iv. 273 It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, . . iv. 267 INDEX. 325 Page It was the charming month of May iv. in It was upon a Lammas night, i. 72 Jamiii, come try me, . . iv. 255 Jockey's taen the parting kiss, iv. 75 John Anderson my jo, John, iii. 110 Lassie wi' the lint-white loelvs, iv. 112 Last May a braw wooer cam down the Jang glen, ... iv. 165 Let love sparkle in her ee, . iv. 2fi7 Let me ryke up to dight that tear, i. 176 Let not woman e'er complain, . iv. loo Long, long the niglit, . . iv. 159 Loud blaw the fiMsty breezes, . ii. 215 Louis, what reck I by theo y . iv. 71 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, .... iv. 162 Musing on the roaring ocean, ii. 216 My bonny hiss, I work in brass, i. 177 My Chloris, mark how green the groves, .... iv. 110 My fatlier was a farmer upon the Carriek border, (J, . . i. 62 My Harry was a gallant gay, . iii, 109 My lieart is a breaking, dear tittie, .... iii. lU My heart is sair— I dare na tell, iv. 71 My heart is v/iw, and unco wae, ii. 138 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, . . iii. IIS My Peggy's face, my Pegg>''8form, ii. 165 Nae gentle dames, though e'er sac fail- i. 219 No eliurchman am I for to rail and to write, ... i. 94 >'ow in hiT green mantle blithe nature arrays, . . . iii. 217 Now rosy .May comes in wi' flowers, iv. 28 Now spring has clad tlie grove in green, iv. 169 Now westlin winds and slaught'r- ing guns, . . . . i. 74 O aye my wife she dang me, . iv. 275 () bunnie was yon rosy brier, iv. 170 O cam ye liere tlie fight to shun, iii. Ill Of a' tlie nirts the wind can t>law, ii. 26H O gin my love « ere yon red rose, iii. 31 1 O guid ule comes and guid ale goes iv. 276 Oh, I am come to the low oountric, iv. 273 Oh, Lady Mary Ann looked o'er the castle wa", ... iv. 263 Oh, Mary, at thy window bo, . i. 71 Oh, once I IdvciI a honnie lass, i. ."JO O hiiw can I be blithe ami glad, iii. 2,'I7 () hiiw shall I, luiskiifu', try, . iii. HI' Oh, raging fortune's willuring blast, i. I|uaintance be for- got , . . . . ii. 300 ; iv. Xi Simmer "s a plciiK.int time, . iv. 2.14 Sir Wisdom 'sa fool when he's fou, i. 174 SIcep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature / . . . iv. 101 Stny, my charmer, can you leave me? ii. 214 Streamii that glido iu orient plains, ii. 132 326 LIFE AND "WORKS OF BURNS. Page Sweet closes the eve on Craigie- buin Wood, . . . iii. 234 Sweet fa's the eve onCraigieburn, iii. 235 Sweetest May, let love inspire tliee, iv. 276 The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, iv. 271 TheCatrinewoodswere yellow seen, i. 156 The day returns, my bosom burns, ii. 285 The deil came fiddling through the town, ill 224 The gloomy night is gathering fast, i. 302 Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reclion, . . iv. 160 The laddies by the banks o' Nith, iii. 87 The last time I came o'er the moor, iii. 304 The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill ii. 295 The lovely lass o' Inverness, . iv. 67 The noble Maxwells and their powers, .... iii. 241 The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, iv. 253 There lived a carle on Ivellyburn Braes, .... iv. 266 There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen. . . . iii. 234 Thei'e 's braw, braw lads on Yar- row braes, .... iii. 280 There 's nought but care on every hand i. 92 There was a lad was born in Kyle, i. 97 There was a lass, and she was fair, iii. 313 There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, iv. 252 There was once a day, but old Time then was young, . iv. 248 There were five carlines in the south, .... iii. 89 There were three kings into the east i. 70 The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, . . ii. 250 The smiling spruig comes in re- joicing, .... iii. 246 The Thames flows proudly to the sea, iii. 114 The tither morn, wlien I forlorn, iv. 259 The woaiy pund, the weary pund, iv. 260 Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling ! . . . . ii. 214 Thine am I, my faithful fair, iii. 106 Though cruel fate should bid us part i. 254 Though women's minds, like winter winds, . . . iv. 258 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie ! iv. 37 To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains, iv. 137 True-hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, . . iii. 291 Turn again, thou fair Eliza, iii. 242 'Xwaa even— tlie dewy fields were green, i. 281 'Twaa in the seventeen hunder year iv. 147 Page 'Twas na her bonnie blue ee was my ruin, .... iv. 100 Up in the morning 's no for me, iv. 252 Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, iv. 265 Wae is my heart, and the tear 's in my ce, .... iv. 73 AVee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet, iVi 275 Wha is that at my bower-door ? iv. 258 ■Whare hae ye been sae brav/, lad? iv. 256 What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, . . iii. 237 What will I do gin my hoggie die ? iv. 254 Wha will buy my troggin ? iv. 196 AVhen clouds in skies do come together, . . . . i. 103 When first I came to Stewart Kyle, i. 101 When first I saw fair Jeanie's face iii. 98 When GuUdford good our pilot stood, ii. 49 When o'er the hill the eastern star, .... iii. 251, 263 When rosy morn comes in wi' showers, .... iii. 109 When wild war's deadly blast was blawn, iii. 294 When winter's wind was blawing cauld, iv. 270 Where are the joys I hae met in ' the morning ? . . . iv. 37, 42 Where, braving angry winter's storms, ii. 165 Where Cart rina rowin' to the sea, iii. 246 Where live ye, my bonnie lass ? iv. 262 While larks with little wing, iv. 21 AVhom will ye send to London town? iv. 141 Why, why tell thy lover? . iv. 166 Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, iii. 244 Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary ? i. 250 Wilt thou be my dearie ? . . iv. 72 Ye banks, and braes, and streams around, .... iii. 254 Ye banks and braes 0' bonnie Doon, iii. 244 Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Doon, ii. 33 Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, iii. 110 Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an eai-, . . . iv. 263 Ye 're welcome to despots, Dumourier, .... iii. 299 Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, .... i. 280 Yestreen I got a pint o' wine, iii. 299 Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, . . . iii. 238 YoungJamie,prideofa'the plain, iv. 268 Young Jockey was the blithest lad, iv. 258 Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass i. 198 GENERAL INDEX. Alierdeen, Bums at, ii. 134. Aberfeldy, the falls at, ii. 122. Adair, Dr James M., accompanies Bums to Harvieston, ii. 145, 315. AddLngton, Mr Henry [Lord Sidmouth], verses by, on Burns, ii. 133 ; iv. 153. Afton, river, celebrated by Burns, iii. 245. Aiken, Andrew, poem addressed to, i. 214. , Miss Grace, i. 105 ; ii. 110; iv. 190. , Mr Robert, writer in Ayr, i. 135, IGO; account of, 225, 227; letter to, 234; 290; letter to, 317; ii. 201, 250; iv. 225, 235. Ainslie, Rachel, ii. 79, 92. , Robert, a young fiiend of Bums, ii. 71 ; accompanies Burns on a tour, 78; letters to, 100, 105, 113, IG/; anec- dote told by, 168 ; letters to, 234, 259, 264, 270, 271, 309; iii. 48, 84; visits Burns at EUisland, 151; letters to, 211,306. Ainslie's map of .Scotland, iiL 167. Airds HUl, adventure of Burns at, iv. 18. Albany, Bonny Lass of, a Jacobite effu- sion, ii. 138. Alexander, Wilhclmina, of Balloclunylc, i. 280 ; letter to, 32s. Alison, Rev. Arcliibald, iii. IGO. Allan, David, painter, iii. 287 ; iv. 161, 164. Alloway Kirk, iii. 151, 155, 159. Alnwick, Bums at, ii. 93. American war, ballad on, ii. 49. Anderson, Dr James, editor of the Cce, iii. 145; letter to, 140. • Anna,' a song upon, iii. 299. Argyle, Duke of, anecdote of, iv. 291. Association theory of beauty, iii. 169. Atholc, Duke of, entertains Burns, ii. 123. Auld, Rev. Mr, minister of Mauchline, i. 1.34, 270; iii. 57. AjT, Bums resides at, in boyhood, i. 20. Ayton, Sir Robert, a song by, iii. 23a Bacon, of Bmu-nhill Inn, iv. 49. Baillie, Lady Grizcl— a b;illad of hers cuiotcd, iv. 81. Baillie, Miss Lesley, song upon, iii. 228, 231 , 254. Baird, Rev. Ocorgc, letter to, iii. 174. Balfour, Mr James, a noted singer of Scottish son^'.s, iv. 41. Ballads, ancient, llurns's admiration of, i. 102. Ballantyne, John, E.iq., of Ayr, i. 234, .305 ; letters to, ii. 2, 197. Huron, Robert, i, 287 ; iii- 70. 332 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Highlands, epigram on hospitality in the, ii. 103. Highlands, the, song upon, iii. 113. , tour in.ii. iU-i36. , AVest, short tour of Bums in, ii. 98. Hill, Mr Peter, bookseller, ii. 2/3 ; letters to, 273, 201 ; iii. 29, 33, 117, 125, 164, 184, 190, 220, 308; iv. 13, 10? ; a kipper sent to, iv. 184. Hogg, James, anecdote related by, ii. 81. Howden, Mr Francis, letter to, ii. 181. Howff, Burns's, at Dumfries, iv. 192. ' Howlet face' — epigi'am, iv. 242. Hoy, Mr James, letters to, ii. 160, 102. Humphry, James, i. 170; iv. 236. Hunter, W., of Cockrune, his testimony regarding the Whistle contest, iii. 71. Hyslop, John, of Globe Tavern, Dum- fries, iv. 49 ; his wife, 192. Income of BunisatDimifries, estimated, iv. 124 ; Excise salary reduced, 203. Innerleithen, Burns at, ii. 87. Intemperance, excess of, at Dumfries in 1794, iv. .57. Inverary, Burns at, ii. 99. Inverness, Burns at, ii. 130. Irvine, Burns resides at, i. 40, 59. Isle, the, a house occupied by Bums, ii. 298. Jaeobitism of Burns, ii. 25, 50, 137, 293; iii. 87, 95. *Jean,' Burns's (.Jejin Armour), i. 98, 232; withdraws to Paisley, 253; 270; her first cliildrun, 290 ; Burns's renewed intimacy with, ii. 9S, 202, 2.35; finally married to Burns, 254; marriage for- mula, 277; comes to Ellisland, 297. See ' Bitrns, Mrs Robert.' Jedburgh, Burns at, ii. 81. Jeffrey, Miss, ' The Blue-eyed Lassie,' iii. 96, 98. Jeffrey, Rev. Mr, of Loehmaben, iii. 95. Johnson, .Tames, his Musical Museum, ii. 77, 160 ; songs of Burns in 2d volume, 212-217; letter to, 297; songs in 3d volume, iii. 108-115; songs in 4th volume, 234-247; letter to, iv. 67; Bongs of Burns in 5th volume of his Museum, 67-74; songs of Burns in fith volume, 74-/6 ; letter to, 201. Johnstone, Captain, a democratic editor, iii. 270. Johnston, Sir .lames, of Wcstcrhall, in an election contest, iii. 87. J. T., Burns answers the petition of, iii. 147. Kelso, Burns at, ii. 81. Kemble, Mrs Stephen, iv. 108. , Mrs, epigi'am upon, iv. 108. Kemmis-hall, Burns at, iv. 103. Kenmore, Burns at, ii. 121 ; verses written at, ibid. Kcnmure Castle, Bums .at, iv. 14, 17. , Lord, a song upon, iv. 264. Kennedy, a chapman, iv. 238. , John , a friend of Burns, i. 229 ; letters to, 235, 287. Kennedy, Miss, ii. 242. K , Miss Peggy, heroine of < Ye Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon,' i. 197; letter to, 197; song upon, 198; allusion to her story, 325; ii, 34; iii. 244. Ker, Mr, postmaster, ii. 300. Kilbagie whisky, i. 177. Kilmarnock, i. 220 ; 2i57, 270. mason-lodge, i. 279. respectables, i. 219. Kilpatrick, Nelly, the poet's first love, i. 29. Kilravock, Burns at, il. 130. ' Kirk wad let me be,' an anecdote, iv. 288. Kirk's Alarm, the, a satirical poem, iii. 55. Kirkcudbright election of 1795, iv. 141 ; election of 1/96, 19.'>. Kirkoswald, Burns resides at, i. 31, 32; iii. 153. Kirkpatrick of Dunscore, a Calvinistic clergyman, ii. 293; iii. 49; 118, 202. Kirn, the, at Ellisland, 1790, iii. 151. Ladyman, Mr, anecdote communicated by, iv. 49. Langhorne quoted, ii. 65. Lapraik, John, i. 115, 119, 139. Lass o' Patie's Mill, a song by Ramsay, anecdote respecting, iii. 297. Lawrie, Rev. Archibald, i. 300; letters to, 326, ,327. Lawrie, Rev. George, of London, i. 299, 304, 325 ; ii. 35. Lawrie, Sir R., of Maxwolton, iii. 67, 7?. Legion Wood, a haunt of Wallace, i. 48. Leith, scheme to remove Burns to, iv. 164. Lewars, Jessy, .i young friend of Mrs Burns — her kind services, iv. 194; songs upon, 193, 195; epigrams upon, 198, 199, 246. Lewars, .John, a brother-officer of Burns, iii. 83 ; iv. 194, 222. ' Liberty, Tree of,' a poem, iv. 87. Library, a parish, Burns's care of, iii. .33, 125 ; account of by Burns, 203. Licentious traditionary poetry described, iv. 52. Light, New, described, i. 131. Lindsay, Isabella, admired by Burns at Jedburgh, ii. 82, 84. Linlithgow, Burns at, ii. 114. Little, Janet, the poetical milkmaid, iii. 162, 179. Lochlea, Burns family at, i. 31. Loekhart, Mr, biographer of Burns, quoted, iii. 1.52, 223 ; iv. 66. Loekhart, Mr George, of Glasgow, letter to, ii. 274. GENERAL INDEX. 333 liOgan, Major William, epistle to, i. 322. , Miss, verses to, ii. 27- , Mr John, of Knockshinnoch, letter to, iii. 54 ; 59. Lorimcr, Miss Jeiin, iii. 235; her story, iv. 103. See ' Cliloris.' Lounger, Burns criticised in the, ii. 18 ; Burns's opinion of, iii. 127. Love-letters, early, of Burns, i. .'''.">. Love-letter to an iinlcnown lady, ' My dear Countrj^woman,' ii. 10;). Love-letters written by Burns for a friend, iv. 128. Lowe, author of Mary's Dream, iv. 14, 18. Lumsdale, Ilenr)-, ' Highland Ilarry," iii. 109. Mabane, Miss, rote to, ii. 172. M'Adani, Mr, of ( i:iii,'cnj,'illan, i. 297- WAulcy, Mr, of Dumbarton, letter to, iii. 47. M'Crccry, John, of Liverpool, printer of Carrie's edition, iv. 229. M'CuIIoch, David, of Anlwell, iv. 81. M'Gill, Kev. Mr, of Ayr, iii. rA, 119. M'Ouire, the Ayr violcr, ii. IG. Mackenzie, Henry, author of ' The Man of Feeling,' ii. 18; remarks on his j writings, iii. 127 : ballads by, iv. 290. ] Mackenzie, Mr.lohn. surgeon at .Mauch- line, i. 2(i7, 279, 319; letters to, 321; ii. 28, 172. JIaekenzie of Applecross, satirised by Burns, i. 2.>(>. Mackinlay, Uev. James, i. 220 ; iii. .'i7. Slaclauchlan, Mrs. a song upon, ii. 21G. M'Lehose, Mrs (Cliirinda). accoimt of, ii. 175 ; letters to, 175, 176, 177, 178, 183 ; lines by, 185; letters to, 185, 187, 1H9, 190, 192, 194 lis, 195, I9(), 197, 206; a farewell to, 207; letters to, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211 ; her religious views, 219; letters to, 219, 220, 221 , 222, 223, 224 bis, 23t> bis, 232, 2.17, 2.'i«, 245; remarks on the correspondence with, 2.')5; letters to, iii. 25, 105; song to, KKJ; letter to, with versi'S, 212 ; her voyage to the West Indies, 213; letters to, 213; songs iipon. 214, 215,216,217; returns from the West Indies, 2(i«; letter to, 285; last letter to, iv. 83; final allusion of Burns to, 107; letters of Burns in her possession, 224. M'l.eod, Isabella, of Hnasay, a song upon, ii. 21.5. M'l.eod, John, on the di'atli of, ii. 106. . of Dunvfuan, iii. 272. ■M'I.eods of Buasay, Burns intimate with the, ii. 10."). M'Math, H.v. .lohn, i. 127, MO. M'Miirine, Bev. Mr, minister of Cacr- laverock, iii. 2/8. M'Murdo, John, Esq., letters to, iii. 1.1, 1.34, 292; 314; iv. .V2, 224. M'Murdo, Mrs, letter to, iii. 37. M'Murdo, Phillis, song referring to, iv. 21 , 27. Macpherson, James, a Ilighland robber, ii. 213. Macquechan's, Rob, eli^hon, an incident in life of Bruce, iii. 142. M'Wliinnic, Mr, writer, Ayr, i. 2.15. Marriage, Burns's, question if it was ever annulled, ii. 317- Marriage, irregular, not to be annulled except b}' divorce, ii. 201. Martial, epigram on a translation of, ii. 195; a paraphrase upon one of his epigrams, iv. 149. Mary, Jtiiihlaiid, see ' Campbell, Mary.' — , Queen of Scots, iii. 170. Mason-'odge at Dumfries, notes from its book, iv. 191. Masterton, Allan, iii. 64. 68; iv. 50. , Ann, ^Bonnie Ann,' iii. 110. Mauchlinc, i. 84, 98, 1(11 ; description of, 168; Burns's return to, ii. 9fi. Blaxwell, Dr, a physician at Dumfries, iv. 95, 173, 198, 22,i. Maxwell, John, Esq. of Tcrraughty, verses to. iii. 204 ; iv. 143. Maxwell, Provost, of Lochmabcn, letter to, iii. 95. Mayne, John, a Scottish poet, i. 154 ; iii. 310. ' Merry Beggars,' an old song, prototype of Burns's ' Jolly Beggars," i. 181. Miehie, William, epitaph upon, iv. 241. Miller, Captain, of Daiswinton, iii. 87, 129; iv. 5.^). Miller, Mr James, produces air of ' Yo banks and braes,' <.\;e., iv. 114. Miller, Patrick, of Ual.swinton, ii. 21, 28, 96; letUrs to, 1.19, l.">7; lets a farm to Burns, 242 ; his concern in originating steam navigation, 244; iii. 184, 207; letUT to, 291. Miller, Peter, junior, iv. li.1. Mill-Mannoch on the C'oyl, scene of a Hong, iii. liW. Mill Vcnnel, Dumfries, Burns removes to, iii. 307. Ministry, neglect of Burns by the, iv. 152. Mirceleuch proaceution, iii, 146. Mirry, Mrs Anne, i. 7.1- MitcluU, Collector, iii. 148; letter to, 149 ; rcfcrrcil to by Burns as a critic, iv. 156 ; rliyincd note to, IbO. MitchclHon, Mr ^SaInuel, W.S., ii. 77. Moir, .1., jiriuKT, anecdote told by, ii. 23. Mcmbodilii, l.c.nl, ii. 'IX. Money, Burns's objections to writing fur, iii. 173, .tlti. Monkland Friendly Society, iii. 31, 125, 202, 20.1. Mons Meg, a cannon, iii. I.iO. Monteiith, Sir .lames, of Clo.scburn, anecdiite communicated by, iii. 11.5. Montgomery, Maj.-gen. James, i. 278. 334 LIFE AND WOKKS OF BURNS. Montgomery's Peggy, i. 73, 102. Montrose, Burns at, ii. 136. Moodie, Rev. Alexander, i. 154, 26S. Moore, Dr Jolm, ii. 29 ; letters to, 31, 43, 72, 107, 307 ; iii. 31 ; letter from, 32 ; letters to, 128, 172 ; advice from, 173. Blorine, Mr, purchases EUisland, iii. 208. Morning Chronicle, Burns asked to con- tribute to, iv. 123 ; writes a letter to the editor of, 129. Morrison, Maiy, a song, i. 71 ; ii. 217. , Mr, Mauchline, note to, ii. 286. Mossgiel, Burns's farm, i. 84 ; Burns's room at, i. 144, 187. Muir, Robert, of Kilmarnock, an early friend of Burns, i. 219 ; letters to, 230, 291 ; ii. 71, IIG, 240. Muir, W., of Torbolton Mill, i. 110 ; ii. 230. Muirhead, Rev. James, of Urr, iv. 148, 149, 197. Murdoch, John, first teacher of Burns, i. 17, 18, 21, 24 ; letter of the poet to, Jan. 1783, 64; letter from, ii. 163; iii. 119; letter to, 133. Murray, .Esq., of Broughton, iv. 141, 146, 148, 196. Murray, Euphcmia, of Lintrosc, ii. 150. , Sir ■\Villiam, of Ochtertyre, ii. 123, 145. Murray's Literary History of Galloway quoted, iii. 59. Mylne, Mr, poems of, iii. 28, 29. Nasmyth, Alexander, paints Burns's portrait, ii. 42 ; iv. 163. Newal, Mr David, writer, ii. 298 ; iii. 141 ; iv. 130. Newcastle, Burns at, ii. 93. Nicholson, Peg, a horse, iii. 118. Nicol, Mr William, ii. 93; letters to, 94, 97; his character and history. 111 ; ac- companies Burns in Highlands, 113- 136; letter to, 149; aifair of 'Willie brewed a peck o' Maut,' iii. 64 ; pur- chases an estate, 65; letter to, 117; letter of Nicol to Ainslie, 144 ; letter to, 222 ; with Allan Masterton at Dumfries, iv. 50 ; epitaph upon, 241. Nielson, Rev. Mr, of Kirkbean, iii. 118. Nith, song on the, iii. 114. Niven, Rev. Dr, of Dunkeld, i. 1,33. , William, a companion of Burns at Kirkoswald, i. 33, 244, note, 290. Ochtertyre on the Teith, Burns at, ii. 152. Ochtertyre, Stratliearn, Burns enter- tained at, ii. 148. OflBcer, military, quarrel of Burns with, at Dumfries, iv. 57. Old Rome Forest, Burns concealed at, i. 283. Oswald, Mrs, of Auchincruive, satire on, iii. 19. Oswald, Richard A., Esq. of Auchin- cruive, iv. 114 ; letter to, 153 ; song upon his wife, 155. Paine's Rights of JIan, &c., anecdote cf a copy of, iv. 45. Paisley, Burns at, ii. 100. Parker, Hugh, epistle to, ii. 266. , W^., Kilmarnock, i. 219, 279. Patron, an unkno^vn, letter to, iii. 17. Pattison, Mr, of Kelvip Grove, rencon- tre of, with Burns, iv. 173. Pattison, ]VIr, of Paisley, letter to, ii. 89; 100,231. Peacoclc, Miss Mary (Mrs James Gray), ii. 209 ; letter to, iii. 268 ; 28.'>. Peebles, Rev. William, i. 267 ; iii. 57. Penn, Matthew, solicitor, iv. 205, 209. Percy's Reliques of English poetiy, iii. 172. Perry, Mr, of the Morning Chronicle, makes an ofler to Burns, iv. 123. Phrenological view of Burns's head, iv. 307. Pickering, author of ' Donocht-Hoad,' iv. 99. Pindar, Peter, iii. 282, 284 ; iv. 27. Pitt, William, his opinion of Burns's poetry, iv. 153. Poet's Progress, the, fragment of, iii. 15. Poet, wretchedness of the, depicted by Burns, iv. 19. Political feelings of Burns, ii. 50, 293; iii. 87, 210 ; iv. 45, 57, 86. Portraits of Burns : Nasmyth's, ii. 42 ; Miors's, 168, 181 ; iv. 163. Posthumous child, verses on birth of, iii. 162; curious history of, 163, 205. Poverty of Burns overstated, iv. 124. Prentice, Archibald, of ' Manchester Times," ii. 13. Prentice, IMr, farmer at Covington Mains, entertains Burns, ii. 13. Psalms, verses of, quoted by Bums, iii. 47, 48. Punch-bowl, Burns's, iii. 191. Queensberry, Duke of, iii. 87, 129; iv. 171. Ramsay, Mr David, of Edinburgh Cou- rant, iii. 30. Ramsav, Mr John, of OchtertjTe, ii. 145, 147 ; iii. 142. Rankine, John, a friend of Burns, i. 90 ; iv. 238. Religion, state of in west of Scotland in Burns's time, i. 121. Religious feelings and views of Burns, i. 122, 159; ii. 55, 190, 219; iii. 49, 63, 93 ; iv. 65. Ronton, Mr, of Lamerton, ii. 90. Rcnwiek, Mrs, of New York, iii. 97- Revolution, French, Burns's sympathy with the, iii. 210, 269 ; iv. 87. Richardson, Gabriel, epitaph on, iv. 245. Richmond, .lohn, an early companion of Burns, i. 143, 181 ; letters to, 226, 271, 283 ; ii. 25, 104. Riddel, Captain, of Glenriddel, ii. 270, 285 ; verses on returning him a news- GENERAL INDEX. 335 paper, iii. 18 ; letter to, 18 ; affair of ' the Whistle,' 67; 203; his death, iv. 77; sonnet on, ibid. Riddel, Mrs R., letter to her sister, iv. 78. Riddel, Mr Walter, of Woodlcy Park, iii. 219 ; iv. 58 ; episram upon, 108. Riddel, Mrs Walter, an intimate friend of Bums, iii. 218, 24!) ; letters to, 258, 259; impromptu on her birthday, iv. 48 ; lives solitarily at Woodlcy Park, 55; letter to, 56; ofi'ended by Burns, 58; letters to, 59, GO; lampoons on, 61-64, 85; allusion to, 113; song upon, 119, lil ; song by, addressed to Bums, 121 ; another song addressed to Burns, 137 ; letter to, 184 ; last interview with, 202 ; writes an obituary notiec of Bums, 213;plantslaurelsi)nBurns'sgrave,214. [Robertson], Captain, [of Lude], letter to, iv. 54. Robertson, Principal, ii. 25 ; iii. 186. Rocking, a social meeting, explained, i. 115. Rodger, Hugh, schoolmaster at Kii-k- oswald, i. 33. Ronald, Misses, of Bennals, i. 46. , Mr, iii. 86. , William, his admiration of Bums's prayers, i. 160. Rpsc, Mrs, of KUravock, ii. 130, 227; letter to, 221!. Russell, Rev. John, i. 124, £68 ; iii. 56. Samson, Tarn, of Kilmarnock, i. 294. Sanquhar, Bums at, iii. 19. Schetki, Mr, musician, ii. 206. Scolding, literary, iii. 188. Scott, Mrs, of Wauchope House, ii. 37, 83. , Sir AValter, meets Burns at Dr Ferguson's, ii. C4; in opposition to Burns in a public iiucstiou, iv. 183. Seal cut for Bums, iii. 286. Selkirk, Burns at, ii. 84. , Earl of, iv. 15, 16, 142. Sharpe, Charles, of lluddam, letter to, iii. 200 ; presents a mason's aprun to 15 urns, 202. Shaw, Rev. Urs A. and D., i. 126. Shaw, Sir James, his benevolent exer- tions for Burns's family, iv. 306. Sheep's head, a dinner of, iv. 50. Bhephcrd, Hev. J(jlm, Muirkirk, iii. 51). Sillar, David, an early Mend of the poet, L 50, 6.'>, 105, 155. Simpson, William, schoolmaster of Ochiltrco, i. 128. Sinehiir, Sir John, letters t<>. iii. 209,203. Skinner, Hev. Julin, ii. I;t5, 14(1; letter to, 141 ; letter from, 142 ; Utt<.r8 to, 226 ; 8on)iS by, noticed, iv. 200, 2;M>. Skirving, Mr, writes a song ; anecdote of, iv. 2«). Slave-trade, a poem of H. M. WilllamB, iii. 50. Sliian, Mr Tliomas, a companion of Bums, iii. 21, I'.W. Smellie, Alexander, anecdotes commu- nicated by, ii. 40 ; iv. 214. Smellie, William, Bums's poems printed by, ii. 40; verses on, 41 ; letter to, iii. 220; 249. Smith, Elizabeth, a servant of Burns, ii. 298 ; iii. 59, 72. Smith, James, an early friend of Bums, i. 170 ; epistle to, 182; letters to, 284 ; ii. 96, 101,255. Smith, Rev. George, i. 265. Smuggling vessel, affair of a, iii. 223. Snow-storm, an extraordinary, iv. 138. Songs, Scotch, usually sung too slow, iv. 20. f Spunkie ' — apostrophe to, iii. 306. Staig, JNIiss Janet, song upon, iii. 291 ; epigram upon, iv. 95. Star (newspaper), the. Bums writes a letter to, ii. 293; corresponds with, iii. 61. Steven, Rev. William, i. 292. Stewart, Mrs, of Stair, i. 108 ; letter to, 298; 311 : ii. 290 ; iii. 246. Stewart, AVillie, epigram, iv. 243. , Polly, a heroine of Bums, iv. 72. , Professor Bugald, i. 304, 319; ii. 59 ; his account of Burns in Edin- burgh, 63 ; letters to, 257 ; iii- 14. Stewart, Kev. Mr, of Luss, iii. 142. Stirling, Burns writes disloyal lines at, ii. 120; second visit to, 146. St Marj''8 Isle, Bums at, iv. 15 ; 142. Stobie, Mr, does duty for Burns, iv. 191. Stock and horn, a Scottish musical in- strument described, iv. 119. Stonehaven, Burns at, ii. I3.''. Strang's ' Oermanyin 1830' quoted, iv. ."SS. Strathallan, Viscount, his ' Lament," ii. 214. Strephon and Lydia, anecdote of, iv. 2S7. Stuart, Mr Daniel, iii. 61, 121. , Peter, letter to, ii. 45 ; iii. .37 ; noticed, 40 ; letter from, 61 ; letter to, 62; versified epistle to, 121. Stuart, Prince Charles, his birthday cele- brated by Bums, ii. 25; 1.39. Sutherland, Mr, a player, iii. 102; pro- logue for, 107 ; 256. Sword-eane, story of a, iv. 158. Sjnne, John, Esq., a friend of Bums, iii. 266 ; excursion with Burns in Gallo- way, iv. 14 ; 32 ; 60 ; 144 ; letter to, 154 ; account of in \i2C>, 150 ; exertions for Burns's family, 223. Tait, Crawford, Esq., letter to, iii. 149. , Mr, rif llarvieston, ii. 118. Tarn o' Shanter, iii. l.")2. 'Jiiylor, Dr John, of Paisley, ii. lOO. , John, Wanloekhead, iii. 20. , of Norwich, his work on Original Sin, i. 122, 343. Tennant, Mr James, of Glenconner, ii. 2.t2 ; letter to, 302 ; versilied epistle to, iii. 43. 336 LIFE AND WORKS OF BURNS. Tennant, Mr, of Ajt, his recollections of Hums, i. 20. Thomson, Mr George, of Edinburgh, collection of Scottish Melodies pro- jected by, iii. 232 ; letter to Burns, 232 ; Burns'3 letters to, 233, 251, 253, 254, 263, 2fi4, 279, 283, 287, 290, 291, 294, 297, 303, 304, 308, 309, 312, sends a present of money to Burns, 312 ; letters to, 314 ; iv. 21 bis, 23, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30, 33, 35, 39, 41, 43, 4*;, 51, 80, 85, 90, 92, 93, 97, 110, 115, 126, 133, 138, 139, 158, 162 bis ,- Mr T. attempts to remunerate Burns, 164 ; letters to, 165 bis, 107, 188 ; sends Allan's etchings to Burns, 189; letters to, 192, 193, 201; Burns asks assistance from, 205 ; sends L.5 to Burns, 207 ; his assistance to Currie's edition of Burns, 225 ; his Melodies, 227, note ,■ letter of Gilbert Burns to, 227. Thomson, Peggy, an early flame of Burns, i. 32, 36, 74. Thomson, the poet, temple to, iii. 193 ; address to the shade of, 194 ; quoted, •J73. Thrush, sonnet on hearing one sing, iii. 281. Tinnocli, Nanse, alewife in Mauchline, i. 169. ' Toast for the 12th of April,' iv. 1.52. Toothache, Burns afflicted by, and his address to, iii. 46. Torbolton, Bachelors' Club of, j. 49. , Freemasons' Lodge of, i. 94 ; farewell to, 277 ; books of, 278 ; account of, 342. Train, Joseph, anecdote communicated by, iii. 84 ; 225 ; iv. 17. Traquair, Burns at, ii. 88. Troggin— ' Wha'll buy troggin ?'— a bal- lad, iv. 196. Turit, Loch, Burns visits, ii. 1.50. Turnbull, Gavin, songs by, iv. 46-48. Turner, Andrew, epigram upon, iv. 243. Tytler, Alexander Fraser, letter from, iii. 181 ; letter to, 183. Tytler, Balloon, iv. 284. Tytler, Mr AVilliam, of AVoodhouseleo, ii. 1C8 ; iii. 282 ; iv. 283. ' Vision, a,' a song, iv. 69. Vision, the, a poem, i. 187; additional stanzas of, ii. 32, 311. Volunteers, Dumfries, iv. 150. ' Walker, Professor, ii. 59, 124; letter to, 128; iv. 176. Walks, favourite, of Burns at Dumfries, iv. 25. 'Wallace,' Blind Harry's, quoted, iii. 63. , Mr, writer in Dumfries, iv. 67. Wanlockhead, Burns at, iii. 20. AVashington, General, Burns proposes celebrating his birthday, iv. 83. Wauchope House, ii. 38 ; Burns's letter to Avife of, ii. 38. Whelpdale, Mr, husband of .Jean Lori- mer, iv. 103. ' AVhistle, the,' affair of, and poem .so called, iii. 67, 68. AVhitefoord, Sir John, i. }r,6; ii. 28; letter to, 172; Lines sent to, iii. 178. AVilliams, Helen Maria, ii. 32,43; letter to, iii. 50 ; answer from, ,53. Williamson, an actor, iv. 61. , Mr David, clothier, iv. 20.5. , Rev. David, hero of ' Dainty Davie,' iv. 29. AVillie. Holy, i. 1.35, 170; iv. .58. Wilson, Hugh, a herd-boy, i. 66. , John (Dr Hornbookl, i. 10.9. , .John, printer at Ivilmarnock, i. 257, 349 ; iv. 2.36. AVilson, Mrs David, innkeeper at Roslin, verses on, ii. 43. Wood, Alexander, surgeon, ii. 184, 204. Woodley, Maria, see ' Riddel, Mrs Walla:' Woodley Park, iii. 219. Woods, Joseph, the player, ii. 69. Wordsworth, AVilliam, remark by, iv. 218. Writes a pamphlet on Burns, 231. ' Yarrow Visited,' quotation from, ii. 85. THE END. 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