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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:33:53 -0700 |
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diff --git a/9863-h/9863-h.htm b/9863-h/9863-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..947bf08 --- /dev/null +++ b/9863-h/9863-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15544 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= +"text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<meta name="GENERATOR" content= +"Mozilla/4.7 [en] (WinNT; I) [Netscape]"> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of TITLE, by AUTHOR.</title> +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + * + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 100%; } + // --> + +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Letters of Robert Burns, by Robert Burns + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Letters of Robert Burns + +Author: Robert Burns + +Posting Date: October 29, 2011 [EBook #9863] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: October 25, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LETTERS OF ROBERT BURNS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks, Debra Storr and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h2>BURNS'S LETTERS.</h2> + +<h1>THE LETTERS OF ROBERT BURNS,</h1> + +<h2>SELECTED AND ARRANGED,</h2> + +<h2>WITH AN INTRODUCTION,</h2> + +<h2>Y J. LOGIE ROBERTSON, M.A.</h2> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<hr width="100%"> +<blockquote><i>"You shall write whatever comes first,—what you +see, what you read, what you hear, what you admire, what you +dislike; trifles, bagatelles, nonsense, or, to fill up a corner, +e'en put down a laugh at full length"</i>—Burns. + +<p><i>"My life reminded me of a ruined temple: what strength, +what proportion in some parts! what unsightly gaps, what +prostrate ruin in others!"</i>—Burns.</p> + +<hr width="100%"> +</blockquote> + +<h3><a name="tgen1"></a><a href="#gen1">GENERAL +CORRESPONDENCE</a></h3> + +<table summary="" width="100%"> +<tr> +<td>To Ellison or Alison Begbie (?) + +<p>To Ellison Begbie</p> + +<p>To Ellison Begbie</p> + +<p>To Ellison Begbie</p> + +<p>To Ellison Begbie</p> + +<p>To his Father</p> + +<p>To Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., of Ballochmyle</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Murdoch, schoolmaster, Staples Inn Buildings, +London</p> + +<p>To his Cousin, Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose</p> + +<p>To Thomas Orr, Park, Kirkoswald</p> + +<p>To Miss Margaret Kennedy</p> + +<p>To Miss——, Ayrshire</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Richmond, law clerk, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Smith, shopkeeper, Mauchline</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Muir, wine merchant, Kilmarnock</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Ballantine, banker, Ayr</p> + +<p>To Mr. M'Whinnie, writer, Ayr</p> + +<p>To John Arnot, Esquire, of Dalquatswood</p> + +<p>To Mr. David Brice, shoemaker, Glasgow</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Richmond, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Richmond</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Kennedy</p> + +<p>To his Cousin, Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Stewart, of Stair</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Aikin, writer, Ayr</p> + +<p>To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline; inclosing him verses on dining +with Lord Daer</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Miss Alexander</p> + +<p>In the Name of the Nine. <i>Amen</i></p> + +<p>To James Dalrymple, Esquire, Orangefield</p> + +<p>To Sir. John Whitefoord</p> + +<p>To Mr. Gavin Hamilton, Mauchline</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Ballantine, banker, at one time Provost of Ayr</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Muir</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Chambers, writer, Ayr</p> + +<p>To the Earl of Eglinton</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Ballantine</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Dr. Moore</p> + +<p>To the Rev. G. Lawrie, Newmilns, near Kilmarnock</p> +</td> +<td>To the Earl of Buchan + +<p>To Mr. James Candlish, student in physic, Glasgow College</p> + +<p>To Mr. Peter Stuart, Editor of "The Star," London</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Dr. Moore</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Nicol, classical master, High School, +Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Nicol</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Smith, Linlithgow, formerly of Mauchline</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Richmond</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Dr. Moore</p> + +<p>To Mr. Archibald Lawrie</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Muir, Kilmarnock</p> + +<p>To Mr. Gavin Hamilton</p> + +<p>To Mr. Walker, Blair of Athole</p> + +<p>To his Brother, Mr. Gilbert Burns, Mossgiel</p> + +<p>To Mr. Patrick Miller, Dalswinton</p> + +<p>To Rev. John Skinner</p> + +<p>To Miss Margaret Chalmers, Harvieston</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlop House, Stewarton</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Hoy, Gordon Castle</p> + +<p>To the Earl of Glencairn</p> + +<p>To Miss Chalmers</p> + +<p>To Miss Chalmers</p> + +<p>To Miss Chalmers</p> + +<p>To Mr. Richard Brown, Irvine</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To the Rev. John Skinner</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Rose, of Kilravock</p> + +<p>To Richard Brown, Greenock</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Cruikshank</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Mr. Richard Brown</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Muir</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Nicol (perhaps)</p> + +<p>To Miss Chalmers</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h3><a name="tclar"></a><a href="#clarinda">THE CLARINDA +LETTERS</a></h3> + +<h3><a name="tgen2"></a><a href="#gen2">GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE +(RESUMED)—</a></h3> + +<table summary="" width="100%"> +<tr> +<td>To Mr. Gavin Hamilton + +<p>To Mr. William Dunbar, W.S., Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Smith, Avon Printfield, Linlithgow</p> + +<p>To Professor Dugald Stewart</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. Samuel Brown, Kirkoswald</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Johnson, engraver, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop, at Mr. Dunlop's, Haddington</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. Beugo, engraver, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Graham, of Fintry</p> + +<p>To his Wife, at Mauchline.</p> + +<p>To Miss Chalmers, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. Morison, wright, Mauchline</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. Peter Hill</p> + +<p>To the Editor of the "Star"</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop, at Moreham Mains</p> + +<p>To Dr. Blacklock</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Tennant</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Dr. Moore, London</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Professor Dugald Stewart</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Cleghorn, Saughton Mills</p> + +<p>To Bishop Geddes, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Burness</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To, Mrs. M'Lehose (formerly Clarinda)</p> + +<p>To Dr. Moore</p> + +<p>To his Brother, Mr. William Burns</p> + +<p>To Mr. Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mrs. M'Murdo, Drumlanrig</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham</p> + +<p>To Mr. Richard Brown</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Miss Helen Maria Williams</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Graham, of Fintry.</p> + +<p>To David Sillar, merchant, Irvine.</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Logan, of Knock Shinriock</p> + +<p>To Mr. Peter Stuart, editor, London</p> + +<p>To his Brother, William Burns, saddler, Newcastle-on-Tyne</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Captain Riddel, Friars Carse</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Ainslie, W.S.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Richard Brown, Port-Glasgow</p> + +<p>To Mr. R. Graham, of Fintry</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Lady Winifred M. Constable</p> + +<p>To Mr. Charles K. Sharpe, of Hoddam</p> + +<p>To his Brother, Gilbert Burns, Mossgiel</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Dunbar, W.S.</p> +</td> +<td>To Mrs. Dunlop + +<p>To Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. W. Nicol</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham, writer, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mr. Hill, bookseller, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Dr. John Moore, London</p> + +<p>To Mr. Murdoch, teacher of French, London</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham</p> + +<p>To Mr. Crauford Tait, W.S., Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Dunbar, W.S.</p> + +<p>To Mr. Peter Hill</p> + +<p>To Dr. Moore</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To the Rev. Arch. Alison</p> + +<p>To the Rev. G. Haird</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningharn, writer, Edinburgh</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham</p> + +<p>To Mr. Thomas Sloan</p> + +<p>To Mr. Ainslie</p> + +<p>To Miss Davies</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Smellie, printer</p> + +<p>To Mr. William Nicol</p> + +<p>To Mr. Francis Grose, F.S.A</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. R. Graham, Fintry</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. Robert Graham, of Fintry</p> + +<p>To Mr. Alex. Cunningham, W.S., Edinbiugh</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham</p> + +<p>To Miss Benson, York, afterwards Mrs. Basil Montagu</p> + +<p>To Mr. John Francis Erskine, of Mar</p> + +<p>To Miss M'Murdo, Drumlanrig</p> + +<p>To John M'Murdo, Esq., Drumlanrig</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Riddel</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Riddel</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Riddel</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Riddel</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Johnson</p> + +<p>To Mr. Peter Hill, Jun., of Dalswinton</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Riddel</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop, in London</p> + +<p>To the Hon. The Provost, etc., of Dumfries</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr James Johnson</p> + +<p>To Mr. Cunningham</p> + +<p>To Mr. Gilbert Burns</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Burns</p> + +<p>To Mrs. Dunlop</p> + +<p>To Mr. James Burness, writer, Montrose</p> + +<p>To his Father-in-law, James Armour, mason, Mauchline</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h3><a name="tthom"></a><a href="#thoms">THE THOMSON +LETTERS</a></h3> + +<hr width="100%"> +<h2>BURNS'S LETTERS.</h2> + +It is not perhaps generally known that the prose of Burns exceeds +in quantity his verse. The world remembers him as a poet, and +forgets or overlooks his letters. His place among the poets has +never been denied—it is in the first rank; nor is he lowest, +though little remembered, among letter-writers. His letters gave +Jeffrey a higher opinion of him as a man than did his poetry, +though on both alike the critic saw the seal and impress of +genius. Dugald Stewart thought his letters objects of wonder +scarcely less than his poetry. And Robertson, comparing his prose +with his verse, thought the former the more extraordinary of the +two. In the popular view of his genius there is, however, no +denying the fact that his poetry has eclipsed his prose. + +<p>His prose consists mostly of letters, but it also includes a +noble fragment of autobiography; three journals of observations +made at Mossgiel, Edinburgh, and Ellisland respectively; two +itineraries, the one of his border tour, the other of his tour in +the Highlands; and historical notes to two collections of +Scottish songs. A full enumeration of his prose productions would +take account also of his masonic minutes, his inscriptions, a +rather curious business paper drawn up by the poet-exciseman in +prosecution of a smuggler, and of course his various prefaces, +notably the dedication of his poems to the members of the +Caledonian Hunt.</p> + +<p>His letters, however, far exceed the sum of his other-prose +writings. Close upon five hundred and forty have already been +published. These are not all the letters he ever wrote. Where, +for example, is the literary correspondence in which he engaged +so enthusiastically with his Kirkoswald schoolfellows? "Though I +had not three farthings' worth of business in the world, yet +every post brought me as many letters as if I had been a +broad-plodding son of daybook and ledger." Where are the letters +which brought to the ploughman at Lochlie such a constant and +copious stream of replies? The circumstances of his position will +explain why they perished: he was then "a youth and all unknown +to fame." It is even doubtful if the five hundred and forty +published letters include all the letters of Burns that now +exist. Scarcely a year passes but some epistolary scrap in the +well-known handwriting is unearthed and ceremoniously added to +the previous sum total, And yet, notwithstanding losses past or +within recall, it is probable that we have long had the whole of +Burns's most characteristic letters. It was inevitable that these +should be preserved and published. His fame was so rooted in the +popular regard in his lifetime, that a characteristic letter from +his hand was sure to be received as something singularly +precious. It must not be forgotten, however, that Burns's +personality was so intense as to colour the smallest fragment of +his correspondence, and it is on this account desirable that +every note he penned that yet remains unpublished should be +produced. It might give no new feature to our conception of his +character; but it would help the shading—which, in the +portraiture of any person, must chiefly be furnished by the minor +and more commonplace actions of his everyday life.</p> + +<p>The correspondence of Burns, as we have it, commences, +presumably, near the close of his twenty-second year, and extends +to all but exactly the middle of his thirty-eighth. The dates are +a day somewhere at the end of 1780, and Monday, 18th July 1796. +Between these limits lies the printed correspondence of sixteen +years. The sum total of this correspondence allows about +thirty-four letters to each year, but the actual distribution is +very unequal, ranging from the minimum, in 1782, of one, a +masonic letter addressed to Sir John Whitefoord of Ballochmyle, +to the maximum number of ninety-two, in 1788, the great year of +the Clarinda episode. It is in 1786, the year of the publication +of his first volume at Kilmarnock, the year of his literary +birth, that his correspondence first becomes heavy. It rises at a +leap from two letters in the preceding year to as many as +forty-four. The phenomenal increase is partly explained by the +success of his poems. He became a man that was worth the knowing, +whose correspondence was worth preserving. The six years of his +published correspondence previous to the discovery of his genius +in 1786 are represented by only fourteen letters in all. But in +those years his letters, though both numerous and prized above +the common, were not considered as likely to be of future +interest, and were therefore suffered to live or die as chance +might determine. They mostly perished, the recipients thinking it +hardly worth their while to be sae nice wi' Robin as to preserve +them.</p> + +<p>After the recognition of his power in 1786, the record of his +preserved letters shews, for the ten years of his literary life, +several fluctuations which admit of easy explanation. Commencing +with 1787, the numbers are:—78, 92, 54, 33, 44, 31, 66, 30, 27, +24. The first of these years was totally severed from rural +occupations, or business of any kind, if we except the +publication of the first Edinburgh edition of his poems. It was a +complete holiday year to him. He was either resident in +Edinburgh, studying men and manners, or touring about the +country, visiting those places which history, song, or scenery +had made famous. Wherever he was, his fame brought him the +acquaintance of a great many new people. His leisure and the +novelty of his situation afforded him both opportunity and +subject for an extensive correspondence. For a large part of the +next year, 1788, he was similarly circumstanced, and the number +of his letters was exceptionally increased by his entanglement +with Mrs. M'Lehose. To her alone, in less than three months of +this year, he wrote at least thirty-six letters,—considerably +over one-third of the entire epistolary produce of the year. In +1789 we find the number of his letters fall to fifty-four. This +was, perhaps, the happiest year of his life. He was now +comfortably established as a farmer in a home of his own, busied +with healthy rural work, and finding in the happy fireside clime +which he was making for wife and weans "the true pathos and +sublime" of human duty. He has still, however, time and +inclination to write on the average one letter a week. For each +of the next three years the average number is thirty-six. In 1793 +the number suddenly goes up to sixty-six: the increase is due to +the heartiness with which he took up the scheme of George Thomson +to popularise and perpetuate the best old Scottish airs by +fitting them with words worthy of their merits. He wrote, in this +year, twenty-six letters in support of the scheme.</p> + +<p>There is a sad falling off in Burns's ordinary correspondence +in the last three years of his life. The amount of it scarcely +touches twenty letters per year. Even the correspondence with +Thomson, though on a subject so dear to the heart of Burns, +rousing at once both his patriotism and his poetry, sinks to +about ten letters per year, and is irregular at that. Burns was +losing hope and health, and caring less and less for the world's +favour and the world's friendships. He had lost largely in +self-respect as well as in the respect of friends. The loss gave +him little heart to write.</p> + +<p>Burns's correspondents, as far as we know them, numbered over +a hundred and fifty persons. The number is large and significant. +Neither Gray, nor Cowper, nor Byron commanded so wide a circle. +They had not the far-reaching sympathies of Burns. They were all +more or less fastidious in their choice of correspondents. Burns, +on the contrary, was as catholic, or as careless, in his +friendships as his own <i>Cæsar</i>—who</p> + +<blockquote>"Wad spend an hour caressin'<br> +Ev'n wi' a tinkler gipsy's messan."</blockquote> + +He moved freely up and down the whole social scale, blind to the +imaginary distinctions of blood and title and the extrinsic +differences of wealth, seeing true superiority in an honest manly +heart, and bearing himself wherever he found it as an equal and a +brother. His correspondents were of every social grade—peers and +peasants; of every intellectual attainment—philosophers like +Dugald Stewart, and simple swains like Thomas Orr; and of almost +every variety of calling, from professional men of recognised +eminence to obscure shopkeepers, cottars, and tradesmen. They +include servant-girls, gentlewomen, and ladies of titled rank; +country schoolmasters and college professors; men of law of all +degrees, from poor John Richmond, a plain law-clerk with a +lodging in the Lawnmarket, to the Honourable Henry Erskine, Dean +of the Faculty; farmers, small and large; lairds, large and +small; shoemakers and shopkeepers; ministers, bankers, and +doctors; printers, booksellers, editors; knights, earls—nay, a +duke; factors and wine-merchants; army officers, and officers of +Excise. His female correspondents were women of superior +intelligence and accomplishments. They can lay claim to a large +proportion of his letters. Mrs. McLehose takes forty-eight; Mrs. +Dunlop, forty-two; Maria Riddell, eighteen; Peggy Chalmers, +eleven. These four ladies received among them rather more than +one-fourth of the whole of his published correspondence. No four +of his male correspondents can be accredited with so many, even +though George Thomson for his individual share claims fifty-six. + +<p>It is rather remarkable that so few of the letters are +addressed to his own relatives. His cousin, James Burness of +Montrose, and his own younger brother William receive, indeed, +ten and eight respectively; but to his other brother Gilbert, +with whom he was on the most affectionate and confidential terms, +there fall but three; to his wife only two; one to his father; +and none to either his sisters or his mother. A maternal uncle, +Samuel Brown, is favoured with one—if, indeed, the old man was +not scandalised with it—and there are two to James Armour, mason +in Mauchline, his somewhat stony-hearted father-in-law.</p> + +<p>Burns's letters exhibit quite as much variety of mood—seldom, +of course, so picturesquely conveyed—as his poems. He is, in +promiscuous alternation, refined, gross, sentimental, serious, +humorous, indignant, repentant, dignified, vulgar, tender, manly, +sceptical, reverential, rakish, pathetic, sympathetic, satirical, +playful, pitiably self-abased, mysteriously self-exalted. His +letters are confessions and revelations. They are as sincerely +and spontaneously autobiographical of his inner life as the +sacred lyrics of David the Hebrew. They were indited with as much +free fearless abandonment. The advice he gave to young Andrew to +keep something to himsel', not to be told even to a bosom crony, +was a maxim of worldly prudence which he himself did not +practice. He did not "reck his own rede." And, though that habit +of unguarded expression brought upon him the wrath and revenge of +the Philistines, and kept him in material poverty all his days, +yet, prompted as it always was by sincerity, and nearly always by +absolute truth, it has made the manhood of to-day richer, +stronger, and nobler. The world to-day has all the more the +courage of its opinions that Burns exercised as a right the +freedom of sincere and enlightened speech—and suffered for his +bravery.</p> + +<p>The subjects of his letters are numerous, and, to a pretty +large extent, of much the same sort as the subjects of his poems. +Often, indeed, you have the anticipation of an image or a +sentiment which his poetry has made familiar. You have a glimpse +of green buds which afterwards unfold into fragrance and colour. +This is an interesting connection, of which one or two examples +may be given. So early as 1781 he wrote to Alison Begbie—"Once +you are convinced I am sincere, I am perfectly certain you have +too much goodness and humanity to allow an honest man to languish +in suspense only because he loves you too well." Alison Begbie +becomes Mary Morison, and the sentiment, so elegantly turned in +prose for her, is thus melodiously transmuted for the lady-loves +of all languishing lovers—</p> + +<blockquote>"O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace<br> +Wha for thy sake would gladly dee,<br> +Or canst thou break that heart of his<br> +Wha's only faut is loving thee? + +<p>If love for love thou wiltna gie,<br> +At least be pity on me shown:<br> +A thocht ungentle canna be<br> +The thocht o' Mary Morison!"</p> +</blockquote> + +Again, in the first month of 1783 he writes to Murdoch, the +schoolmaster—"I am quite indolent about those great concerns +that set the bustling busy sons of care agog; and if I have +wherewith to answer for the present hour, I am very easy with +regard to anything further. Even the last worst shift of the +unfortunate and wretched does not greatly terrify me." Just one +year later this sentiment was sent current in the well-known +stanza concluding— + +<blockquote>"But, Davie lad, ne'er fash your head<br> +Though we hae little gear;<br> +We're fit to win our daily bread<br> +As lang's we're hale an' fier;<br> +Mair speer na, nor fear na;<br> +Auld age ne'er mind a fig,<br> +The last o't, the warst o't,<br> +Is only for to beg!"</blockquote> + +Again, in the letter last referred to occurs the passage—"I am a +strict economist, not indeed for the sake of the money, but one +of the principal parts in my composition is a kind of pride, and +I scorn to fear the face of any man living. Above everything I +abhor as hell the idea of sneaking into a corner to avoid a dun." +This is metrically rendered, in May 1786, in the following +lines:— + +<blockquote>"To catch dame Fortune's golden smile,<br> +Assiduous wait upon her,<br> +And gather gear by every wile<br> +That's justified by honour:—<br> +Not for to hide it in a hedge,<br> +Nor for a train attendant,<br> +But for the glorious privilege<br> +Of being independent."</blockquote> + +It would be easy to multiply examples: he is jostled in his +letters by market-men before he is "hog-shouthered and jundied" +by them in his verse; and the legends of Alloway Kirk are +narrated in a letter to Grose before the immortal tale of Tam +o'Shanter is woven for <i>The Antiquities of Scotland</i>. + +<p>There is nothing morbid or narrow in Burns's letters. They are +frank and healthy. You can spend a day over them, and feel at the +end of it as if you had been wandering at large through the +freedom of nature. They seem to have been written in the open +air. The first condition necessary to an appreciative +understanding of them is to concern yourself with the sentiment. +And, indeed, the strength and sincerity of the sentiment +by-and-by draw you away to oblivion of the style, however much it +may at first strike you as redundant and affected. They are not +the letters of a literary man. They have nothing suggestive of +the studious chamber and the midnight lamp. There is often a +narrowness of idea in the merely literary man which limits his +auditory to men of his peculiar pattern. To this narrowness +Burns, with all his faults of style, was a stranger. His letters +are the utterances of a man who refused to be imprisoned in any +single department of human thought. He was no specialist, pinned +to one standpoint, and making the width of the world commensurate +with the narrowness of his own horizon. He moved about, he looked +abroad; he had no pet subject, no restricted field of study; +nature and human nature in their multitudinous phases and many +retreats were his range, and he expressed his views as freely and +vigorously as he took them.</p> + +<p>The general tone of the letters is high. The subject is not +seldom of supreme interest. Questions are discussed which are +rarely discussed in ordinary correspondence. The writer rises +above creeds and formularies and arbitrarily established rule. He +speculates on a theology beyond the bounds of Calvinism, on a +philosophy of the soul above the dialectics of the schoolmen, on +a morality at variance with conventional law. He interrogates the +intuitions of the mind and the intimations of nature in order +that, if possible, he may learn something of the soul's origin, +destiny, and supremest duty. But let us hear himself:—</p> + +<blockquote><i>(a)</i> "I have ever looked on mankind in the lump +to be nothing better than a foolish, head-strong, credulous, +unthinking mob; and their universal belief has ever had extremely +little weight with me.... I am drawn by conviction like a Man, +not by a halter like an Ass." + +<p><i>(b)</i> "<i>'On Earth Discord! A gloomy Heaven above +opening its jealous gates to the nineteen-thousandth part of the +tithe of mankind! And below an inexorable Hell expanding its +leviathan jaws for the vast residue of mortals!'</i> O doctrine +comfortable and healing to the weary wounded soul of man! Ye sons +and daughters of affliction, to whom day brings no pleasure and +night yields no rest, be comforted! 'Tis one to but nineteen +hundred housand that your situation will mend in this world, and +'tis nineteen hundred thousand to one, by the dogmas of theology, +that you will be damned eternally in the world to come."</p> + +<p><i>(c)</i> "A pillar that bears us up amid the wreck of +misfortune and misery is to be found in those feelings and +sentiments which, however the sceptic may deny or the +enthusiast disfigure them, are yet, I am convinced, original and +component parts of the human soul; those; <i>senses of the +mind</i>, if I may be allowed the expression, which link us to +the awful obscure realities of an all-powerful and equally +beneficent God and a world-to-come beyond death and the +grave."</p> + +<p><i>(d)</i> "Can it be possible that when I resign this frail, +feverish being I shall still find myself in conscious +existence?... Shall I yet be warm in life, seeing and seen, +enjoying and enjoyed? Ye venerable Sages and holy Flamens, is +there probability in your conjectures, truth in your stories, of +another world beyond death, or are they all alike baseless +visions and fabricated fables? If there is another life, it must +only be for the just, the benevolent, the amiable, and the +humane; what a flattering idea then is a world to come! Would to +God I as firmly believed it as I ardently wish it!... Jesus +Christ, thou amiablest of characters! I trust thou art no +impostor.... I trust that in Thee shall all the families of the +earth be blessed."</p> + +<p><i>(e)</i> "From the seeming nature of the human mind, as well +as from the evident imperfections in the administration of +affairs, in both the natural and moral worlds, there must be a +retributive scene of existence beyond the grave."</p> + +<p><i>(f)</i> "I never hear the loud solitary whistle of the +curlew in a summer's noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop +of grey plover in an autumn morning, without feeling an elevation +of soul like the enthusiasm of Devotion or Poetry. Tell me, my +dear friend, to what can this be owing? Are we a piece of +machinery, that, like the Æolian harp, passive, takes the +impression of the passing accident? Or do these workings argue +something within us above the trodden clod?"</p> + +<p><i>(g)</i> "Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our +wishes and our powers? Why is the most generous wish to make +others blest, impotent and ineffectual?... Out upon the world! +say I, that its affairs are administered so ill."</p> + +<p><i>(h)</i> "At first glance, several of your propositions +startled me as paradoxical. That the martial clangour of a +trumpet 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, when the half-blown flower is +heavy with the tears of the dawn, was infinitely more beautiful +and elegant than the upright 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."<a +name="FNanchorA"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_A">[a]</a></sup></p> + +<p><i>(i)</i> "O, I could curse circumstances, and the coarse tie +of human laws which keeps fast what common-sense would loose, and +which bars that happiness it cannot give—happiness which +otherwise love and honour would warrant!"</p> + +<p><i>(j)</i> "If there is no man on earth to whom your heart and +affections are justly due, it may savour of imprudence, but never +of criminality, to bestow that heart and those affections where +you please. The God of love meant and made those delicious +attachments to be bestowed on somebody."</p> +</blockquote> + +The inequalities of fortune, the pleasures of friendship, the +miseries of poverty, the glories of independence, the privileges +of wealth allied to generosity, the sin of ingratitude, and +similar topics, are continually recurring to prove the elevation +at which his spirit usually soared and surveyed mankind. It has +been charged against him<a name="FNanchorB"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_B">[b]</a></sup> that these subjects were not the food +of his daily contemplation, but were lugged into his letters for +the sake of effect, and that their clumsy introduction was +frequently apologised for by the complaint that the writer had +nothing else to write about. The frequent apologies here spoken +of will be hard to find, and the critic's only reason for +advancing the charge, for which he would fain find support in the +fancied apologies of Burns, is that many of the letters "relate +neither to facts nor feelings peculiarly connected with the +author or his correspondent." This only means that a very large +proportion of Burns's letters are not like the letters of +ordinary men, and therefore do not satisfy the critic's idea or +definition of a letter. They treat of themes that are not +specially <i>à propos</i> of passing events, and therefore +they are forced and affected. Few are likely to be imposed upon +by such shallow reasoning. Another critic<a name= +"FNanchorC"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_C">[c]</a></sup> avers +that "while Burns says nothing of difficulties at all, he yet +leaves an admirable letter, out of nothing, in your hands!" We +may pit the one critic against the other, and so leave them, +while we peruse the letters, and form an opinion for ourselves. + +<p>While both the verse and the prose of Burns are revelations, +his letters reveal more than his poems the failings and frailties +of the man. His poems, taken altogether, shew him at his best, as +we wish to—and as we mainly do—remember him; a man to be loved, +admired, even envied, and by no means pitied, for his soul, +though often vexed with the irritations incidental to an obscure +and toiling lot, has a strength and buoyancy which readily raise +it to divine altitudes, where it might well be content to see and +smile at the petty class distinctions and the paltry social +tyranny from which those irritations chiefly spring. His letters, +on the other hand, present him to us less frequently on those +commanding altitudes. He is oftener careful and concerned about +many things, groping occasionally in the world's ways for the +world's gifts, and handicapped in the struggle for them by a +contemptuous and half-hearted adoption of the world's methods of +winning them.</p> + +<p>The same personality that stands forth in the poems is +everywhere present in all essential features in the letters. We +have in the latter the same view of life, present and future; the +same fierce contentment with honest poverty; the same aggressive +independency of manhood; the same patriotism, susceptibility to +female loveliness, love of sociality, undaunted likes and +dislikes. The humour is the same, though often too elaborately +expressed.<a name="FNanchorD"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_D">[d]</a></sup> In one important respect, however, +his letters fail to reflect that image of him which his poetry +presents. It is remarkable that his descriptions of rural nature, +and one might add of rustic life, so full and plentiful in his +verse, are so few and slight in his letters. He seems to have +reserved these descriptions for his verse.</p> + +<p>The best, because the most genuine, biography of Burns is +furnished by his own writings. His letters will, if carefully +studied, disprove many of the positions taken up so confidently +by would-be interpreters of his history. It is not the purpose of +this discursive paper to take up the details of the Clarinda +episode; but philandering is scarcely the word by which to +describe the mutual relations of the lovers. As for Mrs. +M'Lehose, the severest thing that can with justice be said +against her is that, if she maintained her virtue, she endangered +her reputation. One remarkable position taken up by a recent +writer<a name="FNanchorE"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_E">[e]</a></sup> on the subject of Burns's amours is, +that he never really loved any woman, and least of all Jean +Armour. The letters would rather warrant the converse of his +statement. They go to prove that while Burns's affections were +more than oriental in their strength and liberality, they were +especially centred upon Jean. He felt "a miserable blank in his +heart with want of her;" "a rooted attachment for her;" "had no +reason on her part to rue his marriage with her;" and "never saw +where he could have made it better." If Burns was never really in +love, it is more than probable that the whole world has been +mistaking some other passion for it. It is this same writer who +in one breath speaks of Burns philandering with Clarinda, and yet +declaring his attachment to her in the best songs he ever wrote. +Another error which the letters should correct is the belief +expressed in some quarters that Burns was no longer capable of +producing poetry after his fatal residence in Edinburgh. It was, +as a matter of fact, subsequent to his residence in Edinburgh +that he wrote the poems for which he is now, and for which he +will be longest, famous—namely, his songs. The writer already +referred to compares the composition of these songs to the +carving of cherry-stones. They were, he says in effect, the +amusement of a man who could do nothing better in literature! The +world has agreed that they are the best things Burns has done; +and rates him for their sake in the highest rank of its poets. +The truth is that Burns came to Ellisland with numerous schemes +of future poetical work, vigorous hopes of carrying some of them, +and an inspiration and faculty of utterance unimpaired. It was in +Dumfriesshire that he composed the most tenderly and melodiously +seraphic of his lyrics—"To Mary in Heaven" and "Highland Mary;" +the most powerful and popular of his narrative poems—"Tam O' +Shanter;" the first of all patriotic odes—"Bruce's Address to +his Army"; and the noblest manifesto of the rights and hopes of +manhood—"A Man's a Man for a' that."</p> + +<p>With one word on his style as a prose-writer this short paper +must close. The most diverse opinions have been uttered on the +subject. The critics trip up each other with charming +independency. To Jeffrey they seemed to be "all composed as +exercises and for display." Carlyle declared that they were +written "for the most part with singular force and even +gracefulness," and that when Burns wrote "to trusted friends on +real interests, his style became simple, vigorous, expressive, +sometimes even beautiful." Dr. Waddell prefers him to Cowper and +Byron as a letter-writer. Scott, while allowing passages of great +eloquence, found in the letters "strong marks of affectation, +with a tincture of pedantry." Taine thinks "Burns brought +ridicule on himself by imitating the men of the academy and the +court." Lockhart thought, with Walker, that "he accommodated his +style to the tastes" of his correspondents. And so on.</p> + +<p>It is worth while to learn from Burns himself what he thought +of his talent for prose-composition. And in the first place it is +to be noted that he practised prose-composition before he took to +poetry. At sixteen he was carrying on an extensive literary +correspondence, which was virtually a competition in +essay-writing. He kept copies of the letters he liked best, and +was flattered to find that he was superior to his correspondents. +He studied the essayists of Queen Anne's time, and formed his +style upon theirs, and that of their most distinguished +followers. Steele, Addison, Swift, Sterne, and Mackenzie were his +models. He liked their rounded sentences, and caught their +conventional phrases. He found delight in imitating them. He +volunteered his services with the pen on behalf of his +fellow-swains. He became the "Complete Letter-Writer" of his +parish, and was proud of his function and his faculty. He was +aware of his "abilities at a billet-doux." To the very last he +had a high opinion of himself as a writer of letters. He speaks +of one letter being in his "very best manner;" and of waiting for +an hour of inspiration to write another that should be as good. +He retained copies of about thirty of his longer letters, and had +them bound for preservation.</p> + +<p>The most serious, almost the only charge brought against the +prose style of Burns is the charge of affectation more or less +occasional. All the earlier critics make it or imply it, and with +such an apparent show of proof that it has generally been +believed. Later critics, while unable to deny the feature of his +style which so looks like affectation, have explained it to such +good effect as to make it appear a beauty; they have asked us to +regard it as the happy result of a sympathetic mind adapting +itself to the object of its address. This looks very like blaming +Burns's correspondents for the badness of his style. There is +some truth in the explanation, putting it even so extremely. But +when this allowance is made, there still remains a wide and +well-marked difference between his use of English prose and his +mastery of Scottish verse. The latter is complete—it is the +mastery of an originator of style. The former, on the other hand, +is the attainment of a clever pupil when the sentiment is +commonplace; when it is deep and vehement, it is often, in the +language of Carlyle, "the effort of a man to express something +which he has no organ fit for expressing." Common people, to whom +niceties of style are unknown, and who read primarily or +exclusively for the sake of the matter, perceive nothing of this +affectation, and think scarcely less highly of Burns's letters +than they do of his poetry.</p> + +<h3>J. LOGIE ROBERTSON.</h3> + +<h3>7 LOCKHARTON TERRACE, SLATEFORD, EDINBURGH.</h3> + +<p><br> +<a name="Footnote_A"></a><a href="#FNanchorA">[a]</a> This is +really the exposure of an absurdity.<br> +<a name="Footnote_B"></a><a href="#FNanchorB">[b]</a> By +Jeffrey.<br> +<a name="Footnote_C"></a><a href="#FNanchorC">[c]</a> Dr. Hately +Waddell.<br> +<a name="Footnote_D"></a><a href="#FNanchorD">[d]</a> See, for +example, the <i>Cheese</i> Letter to Peter Hill, or the +<i>Snail's-horns</i> Letter to Mrs. Dunlop.<br> +<a name="Footnote_E"></a><a href="#FNanchorE">[e]</a> Mr. R. L. +Stevenson.</p> + +<hr width="100%"> +<h2><a name="gen1"></a><a href="#tgen1">GENERAL +CORRESPONDENCE</a>.</h2> + +<h3>LETTERS</h3> + +<h4>I.—To ELLISON OR ALISON BEGBIE (?)<a name= +"FNanchor1"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_1">[1]</a></sup></h4> + +What you may think of this letter when you see the name that +subscribes it I cannot know; and perhaps I ought to make a long +preface of apologies for the freedom I am going to take; but as +my heart means no offence, but, on the contrary, is rather too +warmly interested in your favour,—for that reason I hope you +will forgive me when I tell you that I most sincerely and +affectionately love you. I am a stranger in these matters, A—-, +as I assure you that you are the first woman to whom I ever made +such a declaration; so I declare I am at a loss how to proceed. + +<p>I have more than once come into your company with a resolution +to say what I have just now told you; but my resolution always +failed me, and even now my heart trembles for the consequence of +what I have said. I hope, my dear A——, you will not despise me +because I am ignorant of the flattering arts of courtship: I hope +my inexperience of the work will plead for me. I can only say I +sincerely love you, and there is nothing on earth I so ardently +wish for, or that could possibly give me so much happiness, as +one day to see you mine.</p> + +<p>I think you cannot doubt my sincerity, as I am sure that +whenever I see you my very looks betray me: and when once you are +convinced I am sincere, I am perfectly certain you have too much +goodness and humanity to allow an honest man to languish in +suspense only because he loves you too well. And I am certain +that in such a state of anxiety as I myself at present feel, an +absolute denial would be a much preferable state.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor1">[1]</a> The +original MS. of the foregoing letter is the property of John +Adam, Esquire, Greenock, and the letter was first published in +1878. If it is a genuine love-letter, and not a mere exercise in +love-letter writing, it was probably the first of the short +series to Alison Begbie, who is supposed to have been the +daughter of a small farmer, and who has been identified with the +Mary Morison of the well-known lyric. The sentiment of the last +paragraph of the letter agrees with the sentiment of the last +stanza of the song.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>II.-To ELLISON BEGBIE.</h4> + +[LOCHLIE, 1780.] + +<p>MY DEAR E.,—I do not remember, in the course of your +acquaintance and mine, ever to have heard your opinion on the +ordinary way of falling in love, amongst people in our station in +life; I do not mean the persons who proceed in the way of +bargain, but those whose affection is really placed on the +person.</p> + +<p>Though I be, as you know very well, but a very awkward lover +myself, yet, as I have some opportunities of observing the +conduct of others who are much better skilled in the affair of +courtship than I am, I often think it is owing to lucky chance, +more than to good management, that there are not more unhappy +marriages than usually are.</p> + +<p>It is natural for a young fellow to like the acquaintance of +the females, and customary for him to keep them company when +occasion serves; some one of them is more agreeable to him than +the rest; there is something, he knows not what, pleases him, he +knows not how, in her company. This I take to be what is called +love with the greater part of us; and I must own, my dear E., it +is a hard game such a one as you have to play when you meet with +such a lover. You cannot refuse but he is sincere, and yet though +you use him ever so favourably, perhaps in a few months, or at +farthest in a year or two, the same unaccountable fancy may make +him as distractedly fond of another, whilst you are quite forgot. +I am aware that perhaps the next time I have the pleasure of +seeing you, you may bid me take my own lesson home, and tell me +that the passion I have professed for you is perhaps one of those +transient flashes I have been describing; but I hope, my dear E., +you will do me the justice to believe me, when I assure you that +the love I have for you is founded on the sacred principles of +virtue and honour, and by consequence so long as you continue +possessed of those amiable qualities which first inspired my +passion for you, so long must I continue to love you. Believe me, +my dear, it is love like this alone which can render the marriage +state happy. People may talk of flames and raptures as long as +they please, and a warm fancy, with a flow of youthful spirits, +may make them feel something like what they describe; but sure I +am the nobler faculties of the mind with kindred feelings of the +heart can only be the foundation of friendship, and it has always +been my opinion that the married life was only friendship in a +more exalted degree.</p> + +<p>If you will be so good as to grant my wishes, and it should +please Providence to spare us to the latest periods of life, I +can look forward and see that, even then, though bent down with +wrinkled age—even then, when all other worldly circumstances +will be indifferent to me, I will regard my E. with the tenderest +affection, and for this plain reason, because she is still +possessed of those noble qualities, improved to a much higher +degree, which first inspired my affection for her.<br> +O! happy state, when souls each other draw,<br> +Where love is liberty, and nature law.</p> + +<p>I know, were I to speak in such a style to many a girl, who +thinks herself possessed of no small share of sense, she would +think it ridiculous—but the language of the heart is, my dear +E., the only courtship I shall ever use to you.</p> + +<p>When I look over what I have written, I am sensible it is +vastly different from the ordinary style of courtship—but I +shall make no apology—I know your good nature will excuse what +your good sense may see amiss.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>III.—TO ELLISON BEGBIE.</h4> + +[LOCHLIE, 1780.] + +<p>I verily believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feelings +of love are as rare in the world as the pure genuine principles +of virtue and piety. This, I hope, will account for the uncommon +style of all my letters to you. By uncommon, I mean their being +written in such a serious manner, which, to tell you the truth, +has made me often afraid lest you should take me for some zealous +bigot, who conversed with his mistress as he would converse with +his minister. I don't know how it is, my dear; for though, except +your company, there is nothing on earth gives me so much pleasure +as writing to you, yet it never gives me those giddy raptures so +much talked of among lovers. I have often thought, that if a +well-grounded affection be not really a part of virtue, 'tis +something extremely akin to it. Whenever the thought of my E. +warms my heart, every feeling of humanity, every principle of +generosity, kindles in my breast. It extinguishes every dirty +spark of malice and envy, which are but too apt to infest me. I +grasp every creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and +equally participate in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathise +with the miseries of the unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, I +often look up to the Divine disposer of events with an eye of +gratitude for the blessing which I hope He intends to bestow on +me, in bestowing you. I sincerely wish that He may bless my +endeavours to make your life as comfortable and happy as +possible, both in sweetening the rougher parts of my natural +temper, and bettering the unkindly circumstances of my fortune. +This, my dear, is a passion, at least in my view, worthy of a +man, and, I will add, worthy of a Christian. The sordid +earth-worm may profess love to a woman's person, whilst, in +reality, his affection is centred in her pocket; and the slavish +drudge may go a-wooing as he goes to the horse-market, to choose +one who is stout and firm, and as we say of an old horse, one who +will be a good drudge and draw kindly. I disdain their dirty, +puny ideas. I would be heartily out of humour with myself, if I +thought I were capable of having so poor a notion of the sex, +which were designed to crown the pleasures of society. Poor +devils! I don't envy them their happiness who have such notions. +For my part, I propose quite other pleasures with my dear +partner.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>IV.—TO ELLISON BEGBIE.</h4> + +[LOCHLIE, 178l.] + +<p>MY DEAR E.,—I have often thought it a peculiarly unlucky +circumstance in love, that though, in every other situation in +life, telling the truth is not only the safest, but actually by +far the easiest way of proceeding, a lover is never under greater +difficulty in acting, or more puzzled for expression, than when +his passion is sincere, and his intentions are honourable. I do +not think that it is very difficult for a person of ordinary +capacity to talk of love and fondness which are not felt, and to +make vows of constancy and fidelity which are never intended to +be performed, if he be villain enough to practice such detestable +conduct; but to a man whose heart glows with the principles of +integrity and truth, and who sincerely loves a woman of amiable +person, uncommon refinement of sentiment, and purity of +manners—to such a one, in such circumstances, I can assure you, +my dear, from my own feelings at this present moment, courtship +is a task indeed. There is such a number of foreboding fears and +distrustful anxieties crowd into my mind when I am in your +company, or when I sit down to write to you, that what to speak +or what to write, I am altogether at a loss.</p> + +<p>There is one rule which I have hitherto practised, and which I +shall invariably keep with you, and that is, honestly to tell you +the plain truth. There is something so mean and unmanly in the +arts of dissimulation and falsehood, that I am surprised they can +be used by any one in so noble, so generous a passion as virtuous +love. No, my dear E., I shall never endeavour to gain your favour +by such detestable practices. If you will be so good and so +generous as to admit me for your partner, your companion, your +bosom friend through life, there is nothing on this side of +eternity shall give me greater transport; but I shall never think +of purchasing your hand by any arts unworthy of a man, and, I +will add, of a Christian. There is one thing, my dear, which I +earnestly request of you, and it is this: that you would soon +either put an end to my hopes by a peremptory refusal, or cure me +of my fears by a generous consent.</p> + +<p>It would oblige me much if you would send me a line or two +when convenient. I shall only add, further, that if behaviour, +regulated (though perhaps but very imperfectly) by the rules of +honour and virtue, if a heart devoted to love and esteem you, and +an earnest endeavour to promote your happiness; if these are +qualities you would wish in a friend, in a husband, I hope you +shall ever find them in your real friend and sincere lover.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>V.-To ELLISON BEGBOE.</h4> + +[LOCHLIE, 1781.] + +<p>I ought, in good manners, to have acknowledged the receipt of +your letter before this time, but my heart was so shocked with +the contents of it, that I can scarcely yet collect my thoughts +so as to write you on the subject. I will not attempt to describe +what I felt on receiving your letter. I read it over and over, +again and again, and though it was in the politest language of +refusal, still it was peremptory; "you were sorry you could not +make me a return, but you wish me" what, without you, I never can +obtain, "you wish me all kind of happiness." It would be weak and +unmanly to say that without you I never can be happy; but sure I +am, that sharing life with you would have given it a relish, +that, wanting you, I can never taste.</p> + +<p>Your uncommon personal advantages, and your superior good +sense, do not so much strike me; these, possibly, in a few +instances may be met with in others; but that amiable goodness, +that tender feminine softness, that endearing sweetness of +disposition, with all the charming offspring of a warm feeling +heart—these I never again expect to meet with, in such a degree, +in this world. All these charming qualities, heightened by an +education much beyond anything I have ever met in any woman I +ever dared to approach, have made an impression on my heart that +I do not think the world can ever efface. My imagination has +fondly flattered myself with a wish, I dare not say it ever +reached a hope, that possibly I might one day call you mine. I +had formed the most delightful images, and my fancy fondly +brooded over them; but now I am wretched for the loss of what I +really had no right to expect. I must now think no more of you as +a mistress; still I presume to ask to be admitted as a friend. As +such I wish to be allowed to wait on you, and as I expect to +remove in a few days a little further off, and you, I suppose, +will soon leave this place, I wish to see or hear from you soon; +and if an expression should perhaps escape me, rather too warm +for friendship, I hope you will pardon it in, my dear Miss—, +(pardon me the dear expression for once) R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VI.—TO HIS FATHER.</h4> + +IRVINE, <i>December 27,</i> 1781. + +<p>HONOURED SIR,—I have purposely delayed writing in the hope +that I should have the pleasure of seeing you on New Year's day; +but work comes so hard upon us that I do not choose to be absent +on that account, as well as for some other little reasons which I +shall tell you at meeting. My health is nearly the same as when +you were here, only my sleep is a little sounder, and on the +whole I am rather better than otherwise, though I mend by very +slow degrees. The weakness of my nerves has so debilitated my +mind that I dare neither review my past wants nor look forward +into futurity; for the least anxiety or perturbation in my breast +produces most unhappy effects on my whole frame. Sometimes, +indeed, when for an hour or two my spirits are a little +lightened, I glimmer a little into futurity; but my principal, +and indeed my only pleasurable, employment, is looking backwards +and forwards in a moral and religious way; I am quite transported +at the thought, that ere long, perhaps very soon, I shall bid an +eternal adieu to all the pains, and uneasiness, and disquietudes +of this weary life; for I assure you I am heartily tired of it; +and, if I do not very much deceive myself, I could contentedly +and gladly resign it.<br> +The soul, uneasy, and confin'd at home,<br> +Rests and expatiates in a life to come.</p> + +<p>It is for this reason I am more pleased with the 15th, 16th, +and 17th verses of the 7th chapter of Revelation<a name= +"FNanchor2"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_2">[2]</a></sup> than +with any ten times as many verses in the whole Bible, and would +not exchange the whole noble enthusiasm with which they inspire +me, for all that this world has to offer. As for this world, I +despair of ever making a figure in it I am not formed for the +bustle of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I shall never +again be capable of entering into such scenes. Indeed, I am +altogether unconcerned at the thoughts of this life. I foresee +that poverty and obscurity probably await me, and I am in some +measure prepared, and daily preparing, to meet them. I have but +just time and paper to return you my grateful thanks for the +lessons of virtue and piety you have given me, which were too +much neglected at the time of giving them, but which I hope have +been remembered ere it is yet too late. Present my dutiful +respects to my mother, and my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Muir; +and with wishing you a merry New-year's day, I shall conclude.—I +am, honoured Sir, your dutiful son,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNESS.</p> + +<p>P. S.—My meal is nearly out, but I am going to borrow till I +get more.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor2">[2] </a> +"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day +and night in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne shall +dwell among them.</p> + +<p>They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither +shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.</p> + +<p>For the Lamb, which is in the midst of the throne, shall feed +them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and +God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VII.—To SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, BART., OF BALLOCHMYLE.<a name= +"FNanchor3"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_3">[3]</a></sup></h4> + +SIR,—We who subscribe this are both members of St. James's +Lodge, Tarbolton, and one of us in the office of warden, and as +we have the honour of having you for master of our lodge we hope +you will excuse this freedom, as you are the proper person to +whom we ought to apply. We look on our Mason Lodge to be a +serious matter, both with respect to the character of masonry +itself, and likewise as it is a charitable society. This last, +indeed, does not interest you further than a benevolent heart is +interested in the welfare of its fellow-creatures; but to us, +sir, who are of the lower order of mankind, to have a fund in +view on which we may with certainty depend to be kept from want, +should we be in circumstances of distress, or old age—this is a +matter of high importance. + +<p>We are sorry to observe that our lodge's affairs with respect +to its finances have for a good while been in a wretched +situation. We have considerable sums in bills which lie by +without being paid, or put in execution, and many of our members +never mind their yearly dues, or anything else belonging to the +lodge. And since the separation<a name="FNanchor4"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_4">[4]</a></sup> from St. David's we are not sure +even of our existence as a lodge. There has been a dispute before +the Grand Lodge, but how decided, or if decided at all, we know +not.</p> + +<p>For these and other reasons we humbly beg the favour of you, +as soon as convenient, to call a meeting, and let us consider on +some means to retrieve our wretched affairs.—We are, etc.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor3">[3]</a> The MS. +of the foregoing joint letter in Burns's handwriting belongs to +John Adam, Esquire, Greenock, and the letter was first published +in 1878. Burns was first admitted in St. David's (Tarbolton) +Lodge in July, 1781. At the separation preferred to he became a +member of the new lodge, St. James's, of which, two years +afterwards, he was depute-master.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor4">[4] </a> It was +in June, 1782.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VIII.—To MR. JOHN MURDOCH, SCHOOL-MASTER, STAPLES INN +BUILDINGS, LONDON.</h4> + +LOCHLIE, <i>15th January</i>, 1783. + +<p>DEAR SIR,—As I have an opportunity of sending you a letter +without putting you to that expense which any production of mine +would but ill repay, I embrace it with pleasure, to tell you that +I have not forgotten, or ever will forget, the many obligations I +lie under to your kindness and friendship.</p> + +<p>I do not doubt, Sir, but you will wish to know what has been +the result of all the pains of an indulgent father, and a +masterly teacher; and I wish I could gratify your curiosity with +such a recital as you would be pleased with;—but that is what I +am afraid will not be the case. I have, indeed, kept pretty clear +of vicious habits; and in this respect, I hope, my conduct will +not disgrace the education I have gotten; but as a man of the +world, I am most miserably deficient. One would have thought +that, bred as I have been, under a father who has figured pretty +well as <i>un homme des affaires</i>, I might have been what the +world calls a pushing active fellow; but to tell you the truth, +Sir, there is hardly anything more my reverse. I seem to be one +sent into the world to see and observe; and I very easily +compound with the knave who tricks me of my money, if there be +anything original about him which shows me human nature in a +different light from anything I have seen before. In short, the +joy of my heart is to "study men, their manners, and their ways;" +and for this darling subject, I cheerfully sacrifice every other +consideration. I am quite indolent about those great concerns +that set the bustling, busy sons of care agog; and if I have to +answer for the present hour, I am very easy with regard to +anything further. Even the last, worst shift of the unfortunate +and the wretched<a name="FNanchor5"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_5">[5]</a></sup>does not much terrify me: I know that +even then my talent for what countryfolks call "a sensible +crack," when once it is sanctified by a hoary head, would procure +me so much esteem that even then—I would learn to be happy. +However, I am under no apprehensions about that; for though +indolent, yet so far as an extremely delicate constitution +permits, I am not lazy; and in many things, especially in tavern +matters, I am a strict economist; not, indeed, for the sake of +the money; but one of the principal parts in my composition is a +kind of pride of stomach; and I scorn to fear the face of any man +living: above every thing, I abhor as hell the idea of sneaking +in a corner to avoid a dun—possibly some pitiful sordid wretch, +whom in my heart I despise and detest. 'Tis this, and this alone, +that endears economy to me.<a name="FNanchor6"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_6">[6]</a></sup></p> + +<p>In the matter of books, indeed, I am very profuse. My +favourite authors are of the sentimental kind, such as Shenstone, +particularly his <i>Elegies;</i> Thomson; <i>Man of +Feeling,</i>—a book I prize next to the Bible; <i>Man of the +World</i>; Sterne, especially his <i>Sentimental Journey</i>; +Macpherson's <i>Ossian</i>, etc.;—these are the glorious models +after which I endeavour to form my conduct, and 'tis +incongruous—'tis absurd to suppose that the man whose mind glows +with sentiments lighted up at their sacred flame—the man whose +heart distends with benevolence to all the human race—he "who +can soar above this little scene of things"—can he descend to +mind the paltry concerns about which the terrae-filial race fret, +and fume, and vex themselves! O, how the glorious triumph swells +my heart! I forget that I am a poor insignificant devil, +unnoticed and unknown, stalking up and down fairs and markets, +when I happen to be in them reading a page or two of mankind, and +"catching the manners living as they rise," whilst the men of +business jostle me on every side as an idle incumbrance in their +way. But, I daresay, I have by this time tired your patience; so +I shall conclude with begging you to give Mrs. Murdoch—not my +compliments, for that is a mere commonplace story; but my +warmest, kindest wishes for her welfare; and accept the same for +yourself, from,—Dear Sir, yours, etc.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor5">[5]</a>"The last +o't, the warst o't,<br> + Is only for to beg."</p> + +<blockquote>—<i>First Epistle to Davie.</i></blockquote> + +<a name="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor6">[6]</a>"For the +glorious privilege <br> + Of being independent." + +<blockquote>—<i>Epistle to a Young Friend.</i></blockquote> + +<hr> +<h4>IX.—To HIS COUSIN, MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.</h4> + +LOCHLIE, <i>21st June, 1783.</i> + +<p>DEAR SIR,—My father received your favour of the both current, +and as he has been for some months very poorly in health, and is +in his own opinion (and, indeed, in almost every body's else) in +a dying condition, he has only, with great difficulty, written a +few farewell lines to each of his brothers-in-law. For this +melancholy reason, I now hold the pen for him to thank you for +your kind letter, and to assure you, Sir, that it shall not be my +fault if my father's correspondence in the north die with him. My +brother writes to John Caird,<a name="FNanchor6"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_6">[6]</a></sup> and to him I must refer you for +the news of our family.</p> + +<p>I shall only trouble you with a few particulars relative to +the wretched state of this country. Our markets are exceedingly +high; oatmeal 17d. and 18d. per peck, and not to be got even at +that price. We have indeed been pretty well supplied with +quantities of white peas from England and elsewhere, but that +resource is likely to fail us, and what will become of us then, +particularly the very poorest sort, Heaven only knows. This +country, till of late, was flourishing incredibly in the +manufacture of silk, lawn, and carpet-weaving; and we are still +carrying on a good deal in that way, but much reduced from what +it was. We had also a fine trade in the shoe way, but now +entirely ruined, and hundreds driven to a starving condition on +account of it. Farming is also at a very low ebb with us. Our +lands, generally speaking, are mountainous and barren; and our +land-holders, full of ideas of farming gathered from the English +and the Lothians, and other rich soils in Scotland, make no +allowance for the odds of the quality of land, and consequently +stretch us much beyond what in the event we will be found able to +pay. We are also much at a loss for want of proper methods in our +improvements of farming. Necessity compels us to leave our old +schemes, and few of us have opportunities of being well informed +in new ones. In short, my dear Sir, since the unfortunate +beginning of this American war, and its as unfortunate +conclusion, this country has been, and still is, decaying very +fast. Even in higher life, a couple of Ayrshire noblemen, and the +major part of our knights and squires, are all insolvent. A +miserable job of a Douglas, Heron & Co.'s bank, which no +doubt you have heard of, has undone numbers of them; and +imitating English and French, and other foreign luxuries and +fopperies, has ruined as many more. There is a great trade of +smuggling carried on along our coasts, which, however destructive +to the interests of the kingdom at large, certainly enriches this +corner of it, but too often at the expense of our morals. +However, it enables individuals to make, at least for a time, a +splendid appearance; but Fortune, as is usual with her when she +is uncommonly lavish of her favours, is generally even with them +at last; and happy were it for numbers of them if she would leave +them no worse than when she found them.</p> + +<p>My mother sends you a small present of a cheese; 'tis but a +very little one, as our last year's stock is sold off; but if you +could fix on any correspondent in Edinburgh or Glasgow, we would +send you a proper one in the season. Mrs. Black promises to take +the cheese under her care so far, and then to send it to you by +the Stirling carrier.</p> + +<p>I shall conclude this long letter with assuring you that I +shall be very happy to hear from you, or any of our friends in +your country, when opportunity serves.</p> + +<p>My father sends you, probably for the last time in this world, +his warmest wishes for your welfare and happiness; and my mother +and the rest of the family desire to inclose their kind +compliments to you, Mrs. Burness, and the rest of your family, +along with those of, dear Sir, your affectionate cousin,</p> + + +<hr> +<h4>X.-To MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.</h4> + +LOCHLIE, 17th Feb. 1784. + +<p>DEAR COUSIN,—I would have returned you my thanks for your +kind favour of the 13th of December sooner, had it not been that +I waited to give you an account of that melancholy event, which, +for some time past, we have from day to day expected.</p> + +<p>On the 13th current I lost the best of fathers. Though, to be +sure, we have had long warning of the impending stroke, still the +feelings of nature claim their part, and I cannot recollect the +tender endearments and parental lessons of the best of friends +and ablest of instructors, without feeling what perhaps the +calmer dictates of reason would partly condemn.</p> + +<p>I hope my father's friends in your country will not let their +connection in this place die with him. For my part I shall ever +with pleasure—with pride, acknowledge my connection with those +who were allied by the ties of blood and friendship to a man +whose memory I shall ever honour and revere.</p> + +<p>I expect, therefore, my dear Sir, you will not neglect any +opportunity of letting me hear from you, which will very much +oblige,—My dear Cousin, yours sincerely,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNESS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XI.—To MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, <i>3rd August</i> 1784. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I ought in gratitude to have acknowledged the +receipt of your last kind letter before this time, but, without +troubling you with any apology, I shall proceed to inform you +that our family are all in good health at present, and we were +very happy with the unexpected favour of John Caird's<a name= +"FNanchor6A"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_6A">[6a]</a></sup> +company for nearly two weeks, and I must say it of him that he is +one of the most agreeable, facetious, warm-hearted lads I was +ever acquainted with.</p> + +<p>We have been surprised with one of the most extraordinary +phenomena in the moral world, which, I dare say, has happened in +the course of this half century. We have had a party of +Presbytery relief, as they call themselves, for some time in this +country. A pretty thriving society of them has been in the burgh +of Irvine for some years past, till about two years ago a Mrs. +Buchan from Glasgow came among them, and began to spread some +fanatical notions of religion among them, and in a short time +made many converts; and among others their preacher, Mr. Whyte, +who, upon that account, has been suspended and formally deposed +by his brethren. He continued, however, to preach in private to +his party, and was supported, both he, and their spiritual +mother, as they affect to call old Buchan, by the contributions +of the rest, several of whom were in good circumstances; till, in +spring last, the populace rose and mobbed Mrs. Buchan, and put +her out of the town; on which all her followers voluntarily +quitted the place likewise, and with such precipitation that many +of them never shut their doors behind them; one left a washing on +the green, another a cow bellowing at the crib without food or +anybody to mind her, and after several stages they are fixed at +present in the neighbourhood of Dumfries. Their tenets are a +strange jumble of enthusiastic jargon; among others, she pretends +to give them the Holy Ghost by breathing on them, which she does +with postures and practices that are scandalously indecent; they +have likewise disposed of all their effects, and hold a community +of goods, and live nearly an idle life, carrying on a great farce +of pretended devotion in barns and woods, where they lodge and +lie all together, and hold likewise a community of women, as it +is another of their tenets that they can commit no moral sin. I +am personally acquainted with most of them, and I can assure you +the above mentioned are facts.</p> + +<p>This, my dear Sir, is one of the many instances of the folly +of leaving the guidance of sound reason and common sense in +matters of religion.</p> + +<p>Whenever we neglect or despise these sacred monitors, the +whimsical notions of a perturbated brain are taken for the +immediate influences of the Deity, and the wildest fanaticism, +and the most inconsistent absurdities, will meet with abetters +and converts. Nay, I have often thought, that the more +out-of-the-way and ridiculous the fancies are, if once they are +sanctified under the sacred name of religion, the unhappy +mistaken votaries are the more firmly glued to them.</p> + +<p>I expect to hear from you soon, and I beg you will remember me +to all friends, and believe me to be, my dear Sir, your +affectionate cousin,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNESS.</p> + +<p>P.S.—Direct to me at Mossgiel, parish of Mauchline, near +Kilmarnock.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_6A"></a><a href="#FNanchor6A">[6a]</a> +Probably John Caird, junior, as the father would be over sixty if +he was about his wife's age, and she, Elspat Burnes, was born, we +know, in 1725.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XII.—TO THOMAS ORR, PARK, KIRKOSWALD.</h4> + +DEAR THOMAS,—I am much obliged to you for your last letter, +though I assure you the contents of it gave me no manner of +concern. I am presently so cursedly taken in with an affair of +gallantry that I am very glad Peggy<a name= +"FNanchor7"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_7">[7]</a></sup> is off +my hand, as I am at present embarrassed enough<a name= +"FNanchor7A"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_7A">[7a]</a></sup> +without her. I don't choose to enter into particulars in writing, +but never was a poor rakish rascal in a more pitiful taking. I +should be glad to see you to tell you the affair.—Meanwhile I am +your friend, ROBERT BURNESS. + +<p>MOSSGAVIL, 11<i>th Nov</i>. 1784.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor7">[7]</a> Peggy +Thomson.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_7A"></a><a href="#FNanchor7A">[7a] </a> +Birth of his illegitimate child by Elizabeth Paton, once a +servant with his father at Lochlie.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIII.-TO MISS MARGARET KENNEDY.<a name= +"FNanchor8"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_8">[8]</a></sup></h4> + +[<i>A young lady of seventeen, when this letter was addressed to +her, and on a visit to Mrs. Gavin Hamilton at Mauchline.</i>] + +<p>[<i>Probably Autumn</i>, 1785.]</p> + +<p>MADAM,—Permit me to present you with the enclosed song as a +small though grateful tribute for the honour of your +acquaintance. I have in these verses attempted some faint sketch +of your portrait in the unembellished simple manner of +descriptive truth. Flattery I leave to your lovers whose +exaggerating fancies may make them imagine you are still nearer +perfection than you really are.</p> + +<p>Poets, Madam, of all mankind, feel most forcibly the powers of +beauty,—as, if they are really poets of nature's making, their +feelings must be finer and their taste more delicate than most of +the world. In the cheerful bloom of spring, or the pensive +mildness of autumn, the grandeur of summer, or the hoary majesty +of winter, the poet feels a charm unknown to the most of his +species. Even the sight of a fine flower, or the company of a +fine woman (by far the finest part of God's works below), has +sensations for the poetic heart that the herd of men are +strangers to. On this last account, Madam, I am, as in many other +things, indebted to Mr. Hamilton's kindness in introducing me to +you. Your lovers may view you with a wish—I look on you with +pleasure; their hearts in your presence may glow with +desire—mine rises with admiration.</p> + +<p>That the arrows of misfortune, however they should, as +incident to humanity, glance a slight wound, may never reach your +heart; that the snares of villainy may never beset you in the +road of life; that innocence may hand you by the path of honour +to the dwelling of peace—is the sincere wish of him who has the +honour to be, etc. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor8">[8]</a> Niece of +Sir Andrew Cathcait, of Carleton. A melancholy interest attaches +to her subsequent history. Burns's prayers for her happiness +were unavailing.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIV.—TO MISS ——, AYRSHIRE.<a name="FNanchor9"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_9">[9]</a></sup></h4> + +[1785.] + +<p>MY DEAR COUNTRYWOMAN,—I am so impatient to show you that I am +once more at peace with you, that I send you the book I +mentioned, directly, rather than wait the uncertain time of my +seeing you. I am afraid I have mislaid or lost Collins's Poems, +which I promised to Miss Irvin. If I can find them I will forward +them by you; if not, you must apologise for me.</p> + +<p>I know you will laugh at it when I tell you that your piano +and you together have played the deuce somehow about my heart. My +breast has been widowed these many months, and I thought myself +proof against the fascinating witchcraft; but I am afraid you +will "feelingly convince me what I am.". I say, I am afraid, +because I am not sure what is the matter with me. I have one +miserable bad symptom,—when you whisper, or look kindly to +another, it gives me a draught of damnation. I have a kind of +wayward wish to be with you ten minutes by yourself, though what +I would say, Heaven above knows, for I am sure I know not. I have +no formed design in all this; but just, in the nakedness of my +heart, write you down a mere matter-of-fact story. You may +perhaps give yourself airs of distance on this, and that will +completely cure me; but I wish you would not; just let us meet, +if you please, in the old beaten way of friendship.</p> + +<p>I will not subscribe myself your humble servant, for that is a +phrase, I think, at least fifty miles off from the heart; but I +will conclude with sincerely wishing that the Great Protector of +innocence may shield you from the barbed dart of calumny, and +hand you by the covert snare of deceit. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor9">[9]</a> Lady +unidentified.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XV.—TO MR. JOHN RICHMOND, LAW CLERK, EDINBURGH.<a name= +"FNanchor10"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_10">[10]</a></sup></h4> + +MOSSGIEL, <i>Feb. 17th</i>, 1786. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I have not time at present to upbraid you for +your silence and neglect; I shall only say I received yours with +great pleasure. I have enclosed you a piece of rhyming ware for +your perusal. I have been very busy with the muses since I saw +you, and have composed, among several others, "The Ordination," a +poem on Mr. M'Kinlay's being called to Kilmarnock; "Scotch +Drink," a poem; "The Cottar's Saturday Night;" "An Address to the +Devil," etc. I have likewise completed my poem on the "Dogs," but +have not shown it to the world. My chief patron now is Mr. Aikin, +in Ayr, who is pleased to express great approbation of my works. +Be so good as send me Fergusson<a name="FNanchor11"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_11">[11]</a></sup>, by Connell, and I will remit +you the money. I have no news to acquaint you with about +Mauchline, they are just going on in the old way. I have some +very important news with respect to myself, not the most +agreeable—news that I am sure you cannot guess, but I shall give +you the particulars another time. I am extremely happy with +Smith;<a name="FNanchor11A"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_11A">[11a]</a></sup>he is the only friend I have now +in Mauchline. I can scarcely forgive your long neglect of me, and +I beg you will let me hear from you regularly by Connell. If you +would act your part as a friend, I am sure neither good nor bad +fortune should estrange or alter me. Excuse haste, as I got yours +but yesterday.—I am, my dear Sir, yours, ROBERT BURNESS.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor10">[10]</a> Three +months before this letter was written Richmond was a clerk in the +office of Mr. Gavin Hamilton, writer, Mauchline.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor11">[11]</a> +Fergusson's <i>Poems</i>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_11A"></a><a href="#FNanchor11A">[11a]</a> +Keeper of a haberdashery store in Mauchline.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVI.-TO MR. JAMES SMITH<a name="FNanchor12"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_12">[12]</a></sup>, SHOPKEEPER, MAUCHLINE.</h4> + +[<i>Spring of</i> 1786.] + +<p>... Against two things I am fixed as fate,—staying at home, +and owning her conjugally. The first, by Heaven, I will not +do!—the last, by Hell, I will never do! A good God bless you, +and make you happy up to the warmest weeping wish of parting +friendship! ... If you see Jean tell her I will meet her, so help +me God in my hour of need! R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor12">[12]</a> The +confidant of his amour with Jean Armour, daughter of James +Armour, mason, Mauchline. Notwithstanding the blustering +threat—for which Smith was probably more than half +responsible—Burns was afterwards content to "own bonny Jean +conjugally."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVII.—TO MR. ROBERT MUIR, WINE MERCHANT, KlLMARNOCK.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 20<i>th March</i>, 1786. + +<p>DEAR SIR,—I am heartily sorry I had not the pleasure of +seeing you as you returned through Mauchline; but as I was +engaged, I could not be in town before the evening.</p> + +<p>I here inclose you my "Scotch Drink," and "may the deil follow +with a blessing for your edification." I hope, sometime before we +hear the gowk, to have the pleasure of seeing you at Kilmarnock, +when I intend we shall have a gill between us, in a +mutchkin-stoup; which will be a great comfort and consolation to, +dear Sir, your humble servant, ROBERT BURNESS.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVIII.—To MR. JOHN BALLANTINE, BANKER, AYR. (?)</h4> + +[<i>April</i> 1786.] + +<p>HONOURED SIR,—My proposals<a name="FNanchor12A"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_12A">[12a]</a></sup> came to hand last night, +and, knowing that you would wish to have it in your power to do +me a service as early as any body, I enclose you half a sheet of +them. I must consult you, first opportunity, on the propriety of +sending my <i>quondam</i> friend, Mr. Aiken, a copy. If he is +now reconciled to my character as an honest man, I would do it +with all my soul; but I would not be beholden to the noblest +being ever God created if he imagined me to be a rascal. +<i>Apropos</i>, old Mr. Armour prevailed with him to mutilate +that unlucky paper<a name="FNanchor12B"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_12B">[12c]</a></sup> yesterday. Would you believe it? +though I had not a hope, nor even a wish to make her mine after +her conduct, yet when he told me the names were cut out of the +paper, my heart died within me, and he cut my veins with the +news. Perdition seize her falsehood! ROBERT BURNS.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_12A"></a><a href="#FNanchor12A">[12a]</a> +Proposals for publishing his Scottish Poems by subscription.</p> + +<p><a name="t12c"></a><a href="#12c">[12b]</a>Writer in Ayr.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_12B"></a><a href="#FNanchor12B">[12c]</a> +The written acknowledgment of his marriage which Burns gave to +Jean. She, influenced by her father, consented to destroy it.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIX.—TO MR. M'WHINNIE, WRITER, AYR.</h4> + +[MOSSGIEL, 17<i>th April</i> 1786.] + +<p>IT is injuring some hearts, those hearts that elegantly bear +the impression of the good Creator, to say to them you give them +the trouble of obliging a friend; for this reason, I only tell +you that I gratify my own feelings in requesting your friendly +offices with respect to the enclosed, because I know it will +gratify yours to assist me in it to the utmost of your power.</p> + +<p>I have sent you four copies, as I have no less than eight +dozen, which is a great deal more than I shall ever need.</p> + +<p>Be sure to remember a poor poet militant in your prayers He +looks forward with fear<a name="FNanchor13"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_13">[13]</a></sup> and trembling to that, to him, +important moment which stamps the die with—with—with, perhaps, +the eternal disgrace of, my dear Sir, your humble, afflicted, +tormented, ROBERT BURNS.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor13">[13]</a> Cp. +"Something cries <i>Hoolie! I rede ye, honest man, tak tent, +ye'll show your folly!</i>"</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XX.—TO JOHN ARNOT, ESQUIRE, OF DALQUATSWOOD.</h4> + +[<i>April</i> 1786.] + +<p>SIR,—I have long wished for some kind of claim to the honour +of your acquaintance, and since it is out of my power to make +that claim by the least service of mine to you, I shall do it by +asking a friendly office of you to me.—I should be much hurt, +Sir, if any one should view my poor Parnassian Pegasus in the +light of a spur-galled Hack, and think that I wish to make a +shilling or two by him. I spurn the thought.</p> + +<blockquote>It may do, maun do, Sir, wi' them who<br> +Maun please the great-folk for a wame-fou;<br> +For me, sae laigh I needna boo<br> +For, Lord be thankit! I can ploo;<br> +And, when I downa yoke a naig,<br> +Then, Lord be thankit! I can beg.</blockquote> + +You will then, I hope, Sir, forgive my troubling you with the +enclosed,<a name="FNanchor14"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_14">[14]</a></sup> and spare a poor heart-crushed +devil a world of apologies—a business he is very unfit for at +any time, but at present, widowed as he is of every woman-giving +comfort, he is utterly incapable of. Sad and grievous of late, +Sir, has been my tribulation, and many and piercing my sorrows; +and, had it not been for the loss the world would have sustained +in losing so great a poet, I had ere now done as a much wiser +man, the famous Achitophel of long-headed memory, did before me, +when he "went home and set his house in order." I have lost, Sir, +that dearest earthly treasure, that greatest blessing here below, +that last, best gift which completed Adam's happiness in the +garden of bliss; I have lost, I have lost—my trembling hand +refuses its office, the frighted ink recoils up the quill,—I +have lost a, a, a wife. <br> +Fairest of God's creation, last and best, <br> +Now art thou lost! + +<p>You have doubtless, Sir, heard my story, heard it with all its +exaggerations; but as my actions, and my motives for action, are +peculiarly like myself and that is peculiarly like nobody else, I +shall just beg a leisure moment and a spare tear of you until I +tell my own story my own way.</p> + +<p>I have been all my life, Sir, one of the rueful-looking, +long-visaged sons of disappointment. A damned star has always +kept my zenith, and shed its hateful influence in the emphatic +curse of the prophet—"And behold whatsoever he doth, it shall +not prosper!" I rarely hit where I aim, and if I want anything, I +am almost sure never to find it where I seek it. For instance, if +my penknife is needed, I pull out twenty things—a plough-wedge, +a horse nail, an old letter, or a tattered rhyme, in short, +everything but my penknife; and that, at last, after a painful, +fruitless search, will be found in the unsuspected corner of an +unsuspected pocket, as if on purpose thrust out of the way. +Still, Sir, I long had a wishing eye to that inestimable +blessing, a wife.</p> + +<p>... A young fellow, after a few idle commonplace stories from +a gentleman in black ... no one durst say black was his eye; +while I ... only wanting that ceremony, am made a Sunday's +laughing-stock, and abused like a pickpocket. I was well aware, +though, that if my ill-starred fortune got the least hint of my +connubial wish, my scheme would go to nothing. To prevent this I +determined to take my measures with such thought and +fore-thought, such cautions and precautions, that all the +malignant planets in the hemisphere should be unable to blight my +designs .... Heaven and Earth! must I remember? my damned star +wheeled about to the zenith, by whose baleful rays Fortune took +the alarm.<a name="FNanchor15A"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_15A">[15a]</a></sup> ... In short, Pharaoh at the Red +Sea, Darius at Arbela, Pompey at Pharsalia, Edward at +Bannockburn, Charles at Pultoway, Burgoyne at Saratoga—no +prince, potentate, or commander of ancient or modern unfortunate +memory ever got a more shameful or more total defeat. How I bore +this can only be conceived. All powers of recital labour far, far +behind. There is a pretty large portion of Bedlam in the +composition of a poet at any time; but on this occasion I was +nine parts and nine tenths, out of ten, stark staring mad. At +first I was fixed in stuporific insensibility, silent, sullen, +staring like Lot's wife besaltified in the plains of Gomorrha. +But my second paroxysm chiefly beggars description. The rifted +northern ocean, when returning suns dissolve the chains of +winter, and loosening precipices of long-accumulated ice tempest +with hideous crash the foaming deep,—images like these may give +some faint shadow of what was the situation of my bosom. My +chained faculties broke loose; my maddening passions, roused to +tenfold fury, bore over their banks with impetuous, resistless +force, carrying every check and principle before them. Counsel +was an unheeded call to the passing hurricane; Reason a screaming +elk in the vortex of Malstrom; and Religion a feebly-struggling +beaver down the roarings of Niagara. I reprobated the first +moment of my existence; execrated Adam's folly-infatuated wish +for that goodly-looking but poison-breathing gift which had +ruined him and undone me; and called on the womb of uncreated +night to close over me and all my sorrows.</p> + +<p>A storm naturally overblows itself. My spent passions +gradually sunk into a lurid calm; and by degrees I have subsided +into the time-settled sorrow of the sable-widower, who, wiping +away the decent tear, lifts up his grief-worn eye to look-for +another wife.</p> + +<blockquote>Such is the state of man; to-day he buds<br> +His tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms<br> +And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;<br> +The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,<br> +And nips his root, and then he falls as I do.<a name= +"FNanchor15"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_15">[15]</a></sup></blockquote> + +Such, Sir, has been the fatal era of my life. And it came to pass +that when I looked for sweet, behold bitter; and for light, +behold darkness. + +<p>But this is not all: already the holy beagles begin to snuff +the scent, and I expect every moment to see them cast off, and +hear them after me in full cry; but as I am an old fox, I shall +give them dodging and doubling for it, and by and by I intend to +earth among the mountains of Jamaica.</p> + +<p>I am so struck, on a review, with the impertinent length of +this letter, that I shall not increase it with one single word of +apology, but abruptly conclude with assuring you that I am, Sir, +yours and misery's most humble servant.<br> + ROBERT BURNS.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor14">[14]</a> +Proposals for publishing.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor15">[15]</a> +Misquoted from Shakspeare's <i>Henry VIII</i>.</p> + + + +<hr> +<h4>XXI.—To MR. DAVID BRICE, SHOEMAKER, GLASGOW.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, <i>June</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1786. + +<p>DEAR BRICE,—I received your message by G. Paterson, and as I +am not very <i>throng</i> at present, I just write to let you +know that there is such a worthless, rhyming reprobate as your +humble servant still in the land of the living, though I can +scarcely say in the place of hope. I have no news to tell you +that will give me any pleasure to mention, or you to hear.</p> + +<p>Poor, ill-advised, ungrateful Armour came home on Friday last. +You have heard all the particulars of that affair, and a black +affair it is. What she thinks of her conduct now I don't know; +one thing I do know—she has made me completely miserable. Never +man loved, or rather adored a woman more than I did her; and, to +confess a truth between you and me, I do still love her to +distraction after all, though I won't tell her so if I were to +see her, which I don't want to do. My poor dear unfortunate Jean! +how happy have I been in thy arms! It is not the losing her that +makes me so unhappy, but for her sake I feel most severely: I +foresee she is in the road to, I am afraid, eternal ruin.</p> + +<p>May Almighty God forgive her ingratitude and perjury to me, as +I from my very soul forgive her; and may His grace be with her +and bless her in all her future life! I can have no nearer idea +of the place of eternal punishment than what I have felt in my +own breast on her account. I have tried often to forget her; I +have run into all kinds of dissipation and riots, mason-meetings, +drinking-matches, and other mischief, to drive her out of my +head, but all in vain. And now for a grand cure; the ship is on +her way home that is to take me out to Jamaica; and then, +farewell, dear old Scotland! and farewell, dear ungrateful Jean! +for never, never will I see you more.</p> + +<p>You will have heard that I am going to commence poet in print; +and to-morrow my work goes to the press. I expect it will be a +volume of about two hundred pages—it is just the last foolish +action I intend to do, and then turn a wise man as fast as +possible.—Believe me to be, dear Brice, your friend and +well-wisher. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXII.—To MR. JOHN RICHMOND, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 9<i>th July</i> 1786. + +<p>With the sincerest grief I read your letter. You are truly a +son of misfortune. I shall be extremely anxious to hear from you +how your health goes on; if it is in any way re-establishing, or +if Leith promises well; in short, how you feel in the inner +man.</p> + +<p>No news worth anything; only godly Bryan was in the +inquisition yesterday, and half the countryside as witnesses +against him. He still stands out steady and denying; but proof +was led yesternight of circumstances highly suspicious, almost +<i>de facto</i>; one of the servant girls made oath that she upon +a time rashly entered into the house, to speak in your cant, "in +the hour of cause."</p> + +<p>I have waited on Armour since her return home; not from the +least view of reconciliation, but merely to ask for her health, +and to you I will confess it, from a foolish hankering fondness, +very ill placed indeed. The mother forbade me the house, nor did +Jean show that penitence that might have been expected. However, +the priest,<a name="FNanchor15A"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_15A">[15a]</a></sup> I am informed, will give me a +certificate as a single man, if I comply with the rules of the +church, which for that very reason I intend to do.<a name= +"FNanchor16"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_16">[16]</a></sup></p> + +<p>I am going to put on sackcloth and ashes this day. I am +indulged so far as to appear in my own seat. <i>Peccavi, pater, +miserere mei</i>. My book will be ready in a fortnight. If you +have any subscribers, return them by Connell. The Lord stand with +the righteous; amen, amen. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_15A"></a><a href="#FNanchor15A">[15a]</a> +Rev. Mr. Auld—Daddie Auld.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor16">[16]</a> This +accordingly he did.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIII—To MR. JOHN RICHMOND.</h4> + +OLD ROME FOREST,<a name="FNanchor17"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_17">[17]</a></sup> 30<i>th July</i> 1786. + +<p>MY DEAR RICHMOND,—My hour is now come—you and I will never +meet in Britain more. I have orders, within three weeks at +farthest, to repair aboard the <i>Nancy</i>, Captain Smith, from +Clyde to Jamaica, and to call at Antigua. This, except to our +friend Smith, whom God long preserve, is a secret about +Mauchline. Would you believe it? Armour has got a warrant to +throw me in jail till I find security for an enormous sum. This +they keep an entire secret, but I got it by a channel they little +dream of; and I am wandering from one friend's house to another, +and, like a true son of the Gospel, "have nowhere to lay my +head." I know you will pour an execration on her head, but spare +the poor, ill-advised girl, for my sake; though may all the +furies that rend the injured, enraged lover's bosom await her +mother until her latest hour! I write in a moment of rage, +reflecting on my miserable situation—exiled, abandoned, forlorn. +I can write no more—let me hear from you by the return of the +coach. I will write you ere I go.—I am, dear Sir, yours, here +and hereafter, R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor17">[17]</a> In +the neighbourhood of Kilmarnock. Here he had deposited his +travelling chest in the house of a relative.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIV.-To MR. JOHN KENNEDY.</h4> + +KILMARNOCK, <i>August</i> 1786. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR—Your truly facetious epistle of the 3rd instant +gave me much entertainment. I was only sorry I had not the +pleasure of seeing you as I passed your way; but we shall bring +up all our lee way on Wednesday, the 16th current, when I hope to +have it in my power to call on you, and take a kind, very +probably a last adieu, before I go for Jamaica; and I expect +orders to repair to Greenock every day. I have at last made my +public appearance, and am solemnly inaugurated into the numerous +class.<a name="FNanchor18"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_18">[18]</a></sup> Could I have got a carrier, you +should have got a score of vouchers for my authorship; but, now +you have them, let them speak for themselves.—</p> + +<blockquote>Farewell, dear friend! may guid luck hit you,<br> +And 'mang her favourites admit you,<br> +If e'er Detraction shore to smit you,<br> +May nane believe him,<br> +And ony Deil that thinks to get you,<br> +Good LORD, deceive him,</blockquote> + +R.B. + +<p><a name="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor18">[18]</a> The +Kilmarnock Edition of his poems was published on 31st July.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXV.—To HIS COUSIN, MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, +MONTROSE.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, <i>Tuesday Noon</i>, 26<i>th Sept.</i> 1786. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I this moment receive yours—receive it with the +honest hospitable warmth of a friend's welcome. Whatever comes +from you always wakens up the better blood about my heart, which +your kind little recollections of my parental friend carries as +far as it will go. 'Tis there that man is blest! 'Tis there, my +friend, man feels a consciousness of something within him above +the trodden clod! The grateful reverence to the hoary earthly +authors of his being, the burning glow when he clasps the woman +of his soul to his bosom, the tender yearnings of heart for the +little angels to whom he has given existence—these Nature has +poured in milky streams about the human heart; and the man who +never rouses them to action by the inspiring influences of their +proper objects loses by far the most pleasurable part of his +existence.</p> + +<p>My departure is uncertain, but I do not think it will be till +after harvest. I will be on very short allowance of time indeed, +if I do not comply with your friendly invitation. When it will be +I don't know, but if I can make my wish good I will endeavour to +drop you a line some time before. My best compliments to Mrs. +Burness; I should be equally mortified should I drop in when she +is abroad, but of that, I suppose, there is little chance. What I +have wrote, heaven knows. I have not time to review it, so accept +of it in the beaten way of friendship. With the ordinary phrase, +and perhaps rather more than the ordinary sincerity, I am, dear +Sir, ever yours, R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVI.-To MRS. STEWART, OF STAIR.<a name= +"FNanchor19"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_19">[19]</a></sup></h4> + +[<i>Oct</i>. 1786.?] + +<p>MADAM,—The hurry of my preparations for going abroad has +hindered me from performing my promise so soon as I intended. I +have here sent you a parcel of songs, etc., which never made +their appearance, except to a friend or two at most. Perhaps some +of them may be no great entertainment to you, but of that I am +far from being an adequate judge. The song to the time of +"Ettrick Banks"<a name="FNanchor20"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_20">[20]</a></sup> you will easily see the impropriety +of exposing much even in manuscript. I think, myself, it has some +merit, both as a tolerable description of one of nature's +sweetest scenes, a July evening, and as one of the finest pieces +of nature's workmanship, the finest indeed we know anything of, +an amiable, beautiful young woman; but I have no common friend to +procure me that permission, without which I would not dare to +spread the copy.</p> + +<p>I am quite aware, Madam, what task the world would assign me +in this letter. The obscure bard, when any of the great +condescend to take notice of him, should heap the altar with the +incense of flattery. Their high ancestry, their own great and +godlike qualities and actions, should be recounted with the most +exaggerated description. This, Madam, is a task for which I am +altogether unfit. Besides a certain disqualifying pride of heart, +I know nothing of your connections in life, and have no access to +where your real character is to be found—the company of your +compeers: and more, I am afraid that even the most refined +adulation is by no means the road to your good opinion.</p> + +<p>One feature of your character I shall ever with grateful +pleasure remember—the reception I got when I had the honour of +waiting on you at Stair. I am little acquainted with politeness, +but I know a good deal of benevolence of temper and goodness of +heart. Surely did those in exalted stations know how happy they +could make some classes of their inferiors by condescension and +affability, they would never stand so high, measuring out with +every look the height of their elevation, but condescend as +sweetly as did Mrs. Stewart of Stair. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor19">[19]</a> Mrs. +Stewart, of Stair, was the first person of note to discover in +the Ayrshire ploughman a genius of the first order.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor20">[20]</a> The +Bonnie Lass of Ballochmyle</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVII.—TO MR. ROBERT AIKIN, WRITER, AYR.</h4> + +[<i>Oct</i>. 1786.?] + +<p>SIR,—I was with Wilson, my printer, t'other day, and settled +all our by-gone matters between us. After I had paid him all +demands, I made him the offer of the second edition, on the +hazard of being paid out of the first and readiest, which he +declines. By his account, the paper of a thousand copies would +cost about twenty-seven pounds, and the printing about fifteen or +sixteen: he offers to agree to this for the printing, if I will +advance for the paper, but this, you know, is out of my power; so +farewell hopes of a second edition 'till I grow richer! an epocha +which, I think, will arrive at the payment of the British +national debt.</p> + +<p>There is scarcely anything hurts me so much in being +disappointed of my second edition, as not having it in my power +to show my gratitude to Mr. Ballantine, by publishing my poem of +"The Brigs of Ayr." I would detest myself as a wretch, if I +thought I were capable in a very long life of forgetting the +honest, warm, and tender delicacy with which he enters into my +interests. I am sometimes pleased with myself in my grateful +sensations; but I believe, on the whole, I have very little merit +in it, as my gratitude is not a virtue, the consequence of +reflection, but sheerly the instinctive emotion of my heart, too +inattentive to allow worldly maxims and views to settle into +selfish habits.</p> + +<p>I have been feeling all the various rotations and movements +within, respecting the Excise. There are many things plead +strongly against it; the uncertainty of getting soon into +business; the consequences of my follies, which may perhaps make +it impracticable for me to stay at home; and, besides, I have for +some time been pining under secret wretchedness, from causes +which you pretty well know—the pang of disappointment, the sting +of pride, with some wandering stabs of remorse, which never fail +to settle on my vitals like vultures, when attention is not +called away by the calls of society, or the vagaries of the muse. +Even in the hour of social mirth, my gaiety is the madness of an +intoxicated criminal under the hands of the executioner. All +these reasons urge me to go abroad, and to all these reasons I +have only one answer—the feelings of a father. This, in the +present mood I am in, overbalances everything that can be laid in +the scale against it.</p> + +<p>You may perhaps think it an extravagant fancy, but it is a +sentiment which strikes home to my very soul: though sceptical in +some points of our current belief, yet, I think, I have every +evidence for the reality of a life beyond the stinted bourne of +our present existence; if so, then, how should I, in the presence +of that tremendous Being, the Author of existence, how should I +meet the reproaches of those who stand to me in the dear relation +of children, whom I deserted in the smiling innocency of helpless +infancy? O, thou great unknown Power!—thou Almighty God! who has +lighted up reason in my breast, and blessed me with +immortality!—I have frequently wandered from that order and +regularity necessary for the perfection of Thy works, yet Thou +hast never left me nor forsaken me!</p> + +<p>Since I wrote the foregoing sheet, I have seen something of +the storm of mischief thickening over my folly-devoted head. +Should you, my friends, my benefactors, be successful in your +applications for me, perhaps it may not be in my power, in that +way, to reap the fruit of your friendly efforts. What I have +written in the preceding pages, is the settled tenor of my +present resolution; but should inimical circumstances forbid me +closing with your kind offer, or enjoying it only threaten to +entail farther misery—-</p> + +<p>To tell the truth, I have little reason for this last +complaint; as the world, in general, has been kind to me fully up +to my deserts. I was, for some time past, fast getting into the +pining, distrustful snarl of the misanthrope. I saw myself alone, +unfit for the struggle of life, shrinking at every rising cloud +in the chance-directed atmosphere of fortune, while, all +defenceless, I looked about in vain for a cover. It never +occurred to me, at least never with the force it deserved, that +this world is a busy scene, and man, a creature destined for a +progressive struggle; and that, however I might possess a warm +heart and inoffensive manners (which last, by the by, was rather +more than I could well boast) still, more than these passive +qualities, there was something to be done. When all my +school-fellows and youthful compeers (those misguided few +excepted who joined, to use a Gentoo phrase, the "hallachores" of +the human race) were striking off with eager hope and earnest +intent, in some one or other of the many paths of busy life, I +was "standing idle in the market-place," or only left the chase +of the butterfly from flower to flower, to hunt fancy from whim +to whim.</p> + +<p>You see, Sir, that if to know one's errors were a probability +of mending them, I stand a fair chance: but, according to the +reverend Westminster divines, though conviction must precede +conversion, it is very far from always implying it.</p> + +<hr width="100%"> +<h4>XXVIII.—TO DR. MACKENZIE, MAUCHLINE; INCLOSING HIM VERSES ON +DINING WITH LORD DAER.</h4> + +<i>Wednesday Morning</i> [1<i>st Nov</i>. 1786]. + +<p>DEAR SIR,—I never spent an afternoon among great folks with +half that pleasure as when, in company with you, I had the honour +of paying my devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, the +professor<a name="FNanchor21"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_21">[21]</a></sup> I would be delighted to see him +perform acts of kindness and friendship, though I were not the +object; he does it with such a grace. I think his character, +divided into ten parts, stands thus,—four parts Socrates—four +parts Nathaniel—and two parts Shakespeare's Brutus.</p> + +<p>The following verses were really extempore, but a little +corrected since. They may entertain you a little with the help of +that partiality with which you are so good as to favour the +performances of, dear Sir, your very humble servant, R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor21">[21]</a> +Dugald Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University +of Edinburgh.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIX.—TO MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP.</h4> + +<i>Nov</i>. 1786. + +<p>MADAM,—I am truly sorry I was not at home yesterday, when I +was so much honoured with your order for my copies, and +incomparably more by the handsome compliments you are pleased to +pay my poetic abilities. I am fully persuaded that there is not +any class of mankind so feelingly alive to the titillations of +applause as the sons of Parnassus; nor is it easy to conceive how +the heart of the poor bard dances with rapture, when those, whose +character in life gives them a right to be polite judges, honour +him with their approbation. Had you been thoroughly acquainted +with me, Madam, you could not have touched my darling heart-chord +more sweetly, than by noticing my attempts to celebrate your +illustrious ancestor, the saviour of his country.<br> + Great patriot hero! ill-requited chief!<br> + </p> + +<p>The first book I met with in my early years which I perused +with pleasure was <i>The Life of Hannibal</i>; the next was +<i>The History of Sir William Wallace</i>: for several of my +early years I had few other authors; and many a solitary hour +have I stole out, after the laborious vocations of the day, to +shed a tear over their glorious, but unfortunate stories. In +those boyish days I remember, in particular, being struck with +that part of Wallace's story, where these lines occur—<br> +"Syne to the Leglen wood, when it was late,<br> +To make a silent and a safe retreat."</p> + +<p>I chose a fine summer Sunday, the only day my line of life +allowed, and walked half-a-dozen of miles to pay my respects to +the Leglen wood, with as much devout enthusiasm as ever pilgrim +did to Loretto; and as I explored every den and dell where I +could suppose my heroic countryman to have lodged, I recollect +(for even then I was a rhymer) that my heart glowed with a wish +to be able to make a song on him in some measure equal to his +merits. R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXX.—TO MISS ALEXANDER.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 18<i>th Nov</i>. 1786. + +<p>MADAM,—Poets are such <i>outré</i> beings, so much the +children of wayward fancy and capricious whim, that I believe the +world generally allows them a larger latitude in the laws of +propriety than the sober sons of judgment and prudence. I mention +this as an apology for the liberties that a nameless stranger has +taken with you in the inclosed poem, which he begs leave to +present you with. Whether it has poetical merit any way worthy of +the theme, I am not the proper judge: but it is the best my +abilities can produce; and what to a good heart will, perhaps, be +a superior grace, it is equally sincere as fervent.</p> + +<p>The scenery was nearly taken from real life, though I dare +say, Madam, you do not recollect it, as I believe you scarcely +noticed the poetic <i>reveur</i> as he wandered by you. I had +roved out as chance directed, in the favourite haunts of my muse, +on the banks of the Ayr, to view nature in all the gaiety of the +vernal year. The evening sun was flaming over the distant western +hills; not a breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the +verdant-spreading leaf. It was a golden moment for a poetic +heart. I listened to the feathered warblers, pouring their +harmony on every hand, with a congenial kindred regard, and +frequently turned out of my path, lest I should disturb their +little songs, or frighten them to another station. Surely, said I +to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who, regardless of your +harmonious endeavour to please him, can eye your elusive flights +to discover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all the +property nature gives you—your dearest comforts, your helpless +nestlings. Even the hoary hawthorn twig that shot across the way, +what heart at such a time but must have been interested in its +welfare, and wished it preserved from the rudely-browsing cattle, +or the withering eastern blast? Such was the scene, and such the +hour, when, in a corner of my prospect, I spied one of the +fairest pieces of nature's workmanship that ever crowned a poetic +landscape, or met a poet's eye, those visionary bards excepted, +who hold commerce with aerial beings! Had Calumny and Villainy +taken my walk, they had at that moment sworn eternal peace with +such an object.</p> + +<p>What an hour of inspiration for a poet! It would have raised +plain dull historic prose into metaphor and measure.</p> + +<p>The inclosed song was the work of my return; and perhaps it +but poorly answers what might have been expected from such a +scene.—I have the honour to be, Madam, your most obedient and +very humble servant,</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p>P.S.—Well, Mr. Burns, and <i>did</i> the lady give you the +desired permission? No; she was too fine a lady to <i>notice</i> +so plain a compliment. As to her great brothers, whom I have +since met in life on more equal terms<a name= +"FNanchor22"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_22">[22]</a></sup> of +respectability—why should I quarrel with their want of attention +to me? When fate swore that their purses should be full, nature +was equally positive that their heads should be empty. Men of +their fashion were surely incapable of being unpolite? Ye canna +mak a silk-purse o' a sow's lug.</p> + +<p>R. B., 1792.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor22">[22]</a> As +Depute Master of St. James's Lodge, Burns admitted Claude +Alexander, Esq., of Ballochmyle, an honorary member, in July +1789.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXI.—IN THE NAME OF THE NINE.</h4> + +<i>Amen</i>. + +<p>WE, Robert Burns, by virtue of a warrant from Nature, bearing +date the twenty-fifth day of January, Anno Domini one thousand +seven hundred and fifty-nine,<a name="FNanchor23"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_23">[23]</a></sup> Poet Laureat, and +Bard-in-Chief, in and over the districts and countries of Kyle, +Cunningham, and Carrick, of old extent,—To our trusty and +well-beloved William Chalmers and John M'Adam, students and +practitioners in the ancient and mysterious science of +confounding right and wrong.</p> + +<p>RIGHT TRUSTY,—Be it known unto you, That whereas in the +course of our care and watchings over the order and police of all +and sundry the manufacturers, retainers, and vendors of poesy; +bards, poets, poetasters, rhymers, jinglers, songsters, +ballad-singers, etc., etc., etc., etc., male and female—We have +discovered a certain nefarious, abominable, and wicked song or +ballad, a copy whereof we have here inclosed; Our Will therefore +is, that Ye pitch upon and appoint the most execrable individual +of that most execrable species known by the appellation, phrase, +and nickname of The Deil's Yell Nowte,<a name= +"FNanchor24"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_24">[24]</a></sup> and +after having caused him to kindle a fire at the Cross of Ayr, ye +shall, at noontide of the day, put into the said wretch's +merciless hands the said copy of the said nefarious and wicked +song, to be consumed by fire in presence of all beholders, in +abhorrence of, and terrorem to, all such compositions and +composers. And this in no wise leave ye undone, but have it +executed in every point as this our mandate bears, before the +twenty-fourth current, when in person We hope to applaud your +faithfulness and zeal.</p> + +<p>Given at Mauchline this twentieth day of November, Anno Domini +one thousand seven hundred and eighty-six. God save the Bard!</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor23">[23]</a> His +birthday.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor24">[24]</a> Old +bachelors</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXII.—TO JAMES DALRYMPLE, ESQ., ORANGEFIELD.</h4> + +[30<i>th Nov</i>. 1786.] + +<p>DEAR SIR,—I suppose the devil is so elated with his success +with you, that he is determined by a <i>coup de main</i> to +complete his purposes on you all at once, in making you a poet. I +broke open the letter you sent me; hummed over the rhymes; and as +I saw they were extempore, said to myself, they were very well; +but when I saw at the bottom a name that I shall ever value with +grateful respect, "I gapit wide, but naething spak." I was nearly +as much struck as the friends of Job, of affliction-bearing +memory, when they sat down with him seven days and seven nights, +and spake not a word.</p> + +<p>I am naturally of a superstitious cast, and as soon as my +wonder-scared imagination regained its consciousness, and resumed +its functions, I cast about what this mania of yours might +portend. My foreboding ideas had the wide stretch of possibility; +and several events, great in their magnitude, and important in +their consequences, occurred to my fancy. The downfall of the +conclave, or the crushing of the Cork rumps; a ducal coronet to +Lord George Gordon, and the protestant interest; or St Peter's +keys to .....</p> + +<p>You want to know how I come on. I am just in <i>statu quo</i>, +or, not to insult a gentleman with my Latin, in "auld use and +wont." The noble Earl of Glencairn took me by the hand to-day, +and interested himself in my concerns, with a goodness like that +benevolent Being whose image he so richly bears. He is a stronger +proof of the immortality of the soul than any that philosophy +ever produced. A mind like his can never die. Let the worshipful +squire H. L., or the reverend Mass J. M. go into their primitive +nothing. At best, they are but ill-digested lumps of chaos, only +one of them strongly tinged with bituminous particles and +sulphureous effluvia. But my noble patron, eternal as the heroic +swell of magnanimity, and the generous throb of benevolence, +shall look on with princely eye at "the war of elements, the +wreck of matter, and the crash of worlds." R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXIII.-To SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 1<i>st Dec</i>. 1786. + +<p>SIR,—Mr. McKenzie in Mauchline, my very warm and worthy +friend, has informed me how much you are pleased to interest +yourself in my fate as a man, and—what to me is incomparably +dearer-my fame as a poet. I have, Sir, in one or two instances, +been patronised by those of your character in life, when I was +introduced to their notice by social friends to them, and +honoured acquaintances to me; but you are the first gentleman in +the country whose benevolence and goodness of heart has +interested him for me, unsolicited and unknown. I am not master +enough of the etiquette of these matters to know, nor did I stay +to inquire, whether formal duty bade or cold propriety disallowed +my thanking you in this manner, as I am convinced, from the light +in which you kindly view me, that you will do me the justice to +believe this letter is not the manoeuvre of the needy sharping +author, fastening on those in upper life who honour him with a +little notice of him or his works. Indeed, the situation of poets +is generally such, to a proverb, as may, in some measure, +palliate that prostitution of heart and talents they have at +times been guilty of. I do not think that prodigality is, by any +means, a necessary concomitant of a poetic turn, but I believe a +careless, indolent inattention to economy is almost inseparable +from it; then there must be in the heart of every bard of +nature's making a certain modest sensibility, mixed with a kind +of pride, which will ever keep him out of the way of those +windfalls of fortune, which frequently light on hardy impudence +and foot-licking servility. It is not easy to imagine a more +helpless state than his whose poetic fancy unfits him for the +world, and whose character as a scholar gives him some +pretensions to the <i>politesse</i> of life, yet is as poor as I +am. For my part, I thank heaven my star has been kinder: learning +never elevated my ideas above the peasant's shed, and I have an +independent fortune at the plough-tail.</p> + +<p>I was surprised to hear<a name="FNanchor25"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_25">[25]</a></sup> that any one who pretended in the +least to the manners of the gentleman should be so foolish, or +worse, as to stoop to traduce the morals of such a one as I am, +and so inhumanly cruel, too, as to meddle with that late most +unfortunate, unhappy part of my story. With a tear of gratitude I +thank you, Sir, for the warmth with which you interposd in behalf +of my conduct. I am, I acknowledge, too frequently the sport of +whim, caprice, and passion; but reverence to God, and integrity +to my fellow-creatures, I hope I shall ever preserve. I have no +return, Sir, to make you for your goodness, but one—a return +which I am persuaded will not be unacceptable—the honest warm +wishes of a grateful heart for your happiness, and every one of +that lovely flock who stand to you in a filial relation. If ever +Calumny aims the poisoned shaft at them, may friendship be by to +ward the blow! R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor25">[25]</a> From +Dr. Mackenzie, Burns's friend, and medical attendant of the +family of Sir John.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXIV.—To MR, GAVIN HAMILTON, MAUCHLINE.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>Dec</i>. 7<i>th</i>, 1786, + +<p>HONOURED SIR,—I have paid every attention to your commands, +but can only say what perhaps you will have heard before this +reach you, that Muirkirklands were bought by a John Gordon, W.S., +but for whom I know not; Mauchlands, Haugh Miln, etc., by a +Frederick Fotheringham, supposed to be for Ballochmyle Laird, and +Adam-hill and Shawood were bought for Oswald's folks. This is so +imperfect an account, and will be so late ere it reach you, that +were it not to discharge my conscience I would not trouble you +with it; but after all my diligence I could make it no sooner nor +better.</p> + +<p>For my own affairs, I am in a fair way of becoming as eminent +as Thomas à Kempis or John Bunyan; and you may expect +henceforth to see my birthday inserted among the wonderful events +in the poor Robin's and Aberdeen Almanacks, along with the black +Monday and the battle of Bothwell Bridge. My Lord Glencairn and +the Dean of Faculty, Mr. H. Erskine, have taken me under their +wing; and by all probability I shall soon be the tenth worthy, +and the eighth wise man of the world. Through my lord's +influence, it is inserted in the records of the Caledonian Hunt, +that they universally, one and all, subscribe for the second +edition. My subscription bills come out to-morrow, and you shall +have some of them next post. I have met in Mr. Dalrymple, of +Orangefield, what Solomon emphatically calls, "a friend that +sticketh closer than a brother." The warmth with which he +interests himself in my affairs is of the same enthusiastic kind +which you, Mr. Aikin, and the few patrons that took notice of my +earlier poetic days, showed for the poor unlucky devil of a +poet.</p> + +<p>I always remember Mrs. Hamilton and Miss Kennedy in my poetic +prayers, but you both in prose and verse.</p> + +<blockquote>May cauld ne'er catch you, but a hap,<br> +Nor hunger but in plenty's lap!</blockquote> + +Amen! + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXV.—To MR. JOHN BALLANTINE, BANKER, AT ONE TIME PROVOST OF +AYR.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 13<i>th December</i> 1786. + +<p>MY HONOURED FRIEND,—I would not write you till I could have +it in my power to give you some account of myself and my matters, +which, by the by, is often no easy task. I arrived here on +Tuesday was se'nnight<a name="FNanchor26"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_26">[26]</a></sup>, and have suffered ever since I +came to town with a miserable headache and stomach complaint, but +am now a good deal better. I have found a worthy warm friend in +Mr. Dalrymple, of Orangefield, who introduced me to Lord +Glencairn, a man whose worth and brotherly kindness to me I shall +remember when time shall be no more. By his interest it is passed +in the "Caledonian Hunt," and entered in their books, that they +are to take each a copy of the second edition, for which they are +to pay one guinea. I have been introduced to a good many of the +<i>noblesse</i>, but my avowed patrons and patrones es are, the +Duchess of Gordon—the Countess of Glencairn, with my Lord and +Lady Betty<a name="FNanchor27"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_27">[27]</a></sup>—the Dean of Faculty—Sir John +Whitefoord. I have likewise warm friends among the literati; +Professors Stewart, Blair, and Mr. Mackenzie—the Man of Feeling. +An unknown hand left ten guineas for the Ayrshire bard with Mr. +Sibbald, which I got. I since have discovered my generous unknown +friend to be Patrick Miller, Esq., brother to the Justice Clerk; +and drank a glass of claret with him, by invitation, at his own +house yesternight. I am nearly agreed with Creech to print my +book, and I suppose I will begin on Monday. I will send a +subscription bill or two, next post; when I intend writing my +first kind patron, Mr. Aikin. I saw his son to-day, and he is +very well.</p> + +<p>Dugald Stewart, and some of my learned friends, put me in the +periodical paper called the <i>Lounger</i>,<a name= +"FNanchor28"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_28">[28]</a></sup> a +copy of which I here enclose you. I was, Sir, when I was first +honoured with your notice, too obscure; now I tremble lest I +should be ruined by being dragged too suddenly into the glare of +polite and learned observation.</p> + +<p>I shall certainly, my ever honoured patron, write you an +account of my every step; and better health and more spirits may +enable me to make it something better than this stupid +matter-of-fact epistle.—I have the honour to be, good Sir, your +ever grateful humble servant, R. B.</p> + +<p>If any of my friends write me, my direction is care of Mr. +Creech, Bookseller.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor26">[26]</a> A +mistake for "a fortnight."</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor27">[27]</a> +Cunningham</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor28">[28]</a> The +paper here alluded to was written by Mackenzie, the celebrated +author of <i>The Man of Feeling</i>.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXVI.—TO MR. ROBERT MUIR.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>Dec</i>. 20<i>th</i>, 1786. + +<p>MY DEAR FRIEND,—I have just time for the carrier, to tell you +that I received your letter, of which I shall say no more but +what a lass of my acquaintance said of her bastard wean; she said +she "didna ken wha was the father exactly, but she suspected it +was some o' thae bonny blackguard smugglers, for it was like +them." So I only say, your obliging epistle was like you. I +enclose you a parcel of subscription bills. Your affair of sixty +copies is also like you; but it would not be like me to +comply.</p> + +<p>Your friend's notion of my life has put a crotchet in my head +of sketching it in some future epistle to you. My compliments to +Charles and Mr. Parker. R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXVII.—TO MR. WILLIAM CHALMERS, WRITER, AYR.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>Dec</i>. 27<i>th</i>, 1786. + +<p>MY DEAR FRIEND,—I confess I have sinned the sin for which +there is hardly any forgiveness—ingratitude to friendship, in +not writing you sooner; but of all men living, I had intended to +have sent you an entertaining letter; and by all the plodding, +stupid powers, that in nodding conceited majesty preside over the +dull routine of business—a heavily-solemn oath this!—I am and +have been, ever since I came to Edinburgh, as unfit to write a +letter of humour, as to write a commentary on the Revelation of +St. John the Divine, who was banished to the Isle of Patmos by +the cruel and bloody Domitian, son to Vespasian and brother to +Titus, both emperors of Rome, and who was himself an emperor, and +raised the second or third persecution, I forget which, against +the Christians, and after throwing the said apostle John, brother +to the apostle James, commonly called James the Greater, to +distinguish him from another James, who was on some account or +other known by the name of James the Less—after throwing him +into a cauldron of boiling oil from which he was miraculously +preserved, he banished the poor son of Zebedee to a desert island +in the Archipelago where he was gifted with the second sight, and +saw as many wild beasts as I have seen since I came to Edinburgh; +which, a circumstance not uncommon in story-telling, brings me +back to where I set out.</p> + +<p>To make you some amends for what, before you reach this +paragraph, you will have suffered, I enclose you two poems I have +carded and spun since I passed Glenbuck.</p> + +<p>One blank in the address to Edinburgh—"Fair B——," is +heavenly Miss Burnet, daughter to Lord Monboddo, at whose house I +have had the honour to be more than once. There has not been +anything nearly like her in all the combinations of beauty, +grace, and goodness the great Creator has formed, since Milton's +Eve on the first day of her existence.</p> + +<p>My direction is—care of Andrew Bruce, merchant, Bridge +Street. R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXVIII.—To THE EARL OF EGLINGTON.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>January</i> 1787. + +<p>MY LORD,—As I have but slender pretensions to philosophy, I +cannot rise to the exalted ideas of a citizen of the world, but +have all those national prejudices, which I believe glow +peculiarly strong in the breast of a Scotchman. There is scarcely +anything to which I am so fully alive as the honour and welfare +of my country; and as a poet, I have no higher enjoyment than +singing her sons and daughters. Fate had cast my station in the +veriest shades of life; but never did a heart pant more ardently +than mine to be distinguished; though till very lately I looked +in vain on every side for a ray of light. It is easy then to +guess how much I was gratified with the countenance and +approbation of one of my country's most illustrious sons, when +Mr. Wauchope called on me yesterday on the part of your lordship. +Your munificence, my lord, certainly deserves my very grateful +acknowledgments; but your patronage is a bounty peculiarly suited +to my feelings. I am not master enough of the etiquette of life +to know, whether there be not some impropriety in troubling your +lordship with my thanks, but my heart whispered me to do it. From +the emotions of my inmost soul I do it. Selfish ingratitude I +hope I am incapable of; and mercenary servility, I trust, I shall +ever have so much honest pride as to detest. R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXIX.—TO MR. JOHN BALLANTINE.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>Jan</i>. 14<i>th</i> 1787. + +<p>MY HONOURED FRIEND,—It gives me a secret comfort to observe +in myself that I am not yet so far gone as Willie Gaw's Skate, +"past redemption;" for I have still this favourable symptom of +grace, that when my conscience, as in the case of this letter, +tells me I am leaving something undone that I ought to do, it +teases me eternally till I do it.</p> + +<p>I am still "dark as was Chaos" in respect to futurity. My +generous friend, Mr. Patrick Miller, has been talking with me +about a lease of some farm or other in an estate called +Dalswinton, which he has lately bought near Dumfries. Some +life-rented embittering recollections whisper me that I will be +happier anywhere than in my old neighbourhood, but Mr. Miller is +no judge of land; and though I daresay he means to favour me, yet +he may give me, in his opinion, an advantageous bargain that may +ruin me. I am to take a tour by Dumfries as I return, and have +promised to meet Mr. Miller on his lands some time in May.</p> + +<p>I went to a mason-lodge yesternight, where the Most Worshipful +Grand Master Chartres, and all the Grand Lodge of Scotland +visited. The meeting was numerous and elegant; all the different +lodges about town were present, in all their pomp. The Grand +Master, who presided with great solemnity and honour to himself +as a gentleman and mason, among other general toasts gave +"Caledonia, and Caledonia's Bard, Brother Burns," which rung +through the whole assembly with multiplied honours and repeated +acclamations. As I had no idea such a thing would happen, I was +downright thunderstruck, and, trembling in every nerve, made the +best return in my power. Just as I had finished, some of the +grand officers said so loud that I could hear with a most +comforting accent, "Very well, indeed!" which set me something to +rights again.</p> + +<p>I have just now had a visit from my landlady,<a name= +"FNanchor29"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_29">[29]</a></sup> who +is a staid, sober, piously-disposed, vice-abhorring widow, coming +on her climacteric; she is at present in great tribulation +respecting some daughters of Belial who are on the floor +immediately above. My landlady, who, as I have said, is a +flesh-disciplining godly matron, firmly believes her husband is +in heaven; and, having been very happy with him on earth, she +vigorously and perseveringly practises such of the most +distinguished Christian virtues as attending church, railing +against vice, etc., that she may be qualified to meet him in that +happy place where the ungodly shall never enter. This, no doubt, +requires some strong exertions of self-denial in a hale, +well-kept widow of forty-five; and as our floors are low and +ill-plastered, we can easily distinguish our laughter-loving, +night-rejoicing neighbours when they are eating, drinking, +singing, etc. My worthy landlady tosses sleepless and unquiet, +"looking for rest and finding none," the whole night. Just now +she told me—though by-the-by she is sometimes dubious that I +am, in her own phrase, "but a rough an' roun' Christian,"—that +"we should not be uneasy or envious because the wicked enjoy the +good things of this life, for the jades would one day lie in +hell," etc., etc.</p> + +<p>I have to-day corrected my 152nd page. My best good wishes to +Mr. Aikin.—I am ever, dear Sir, your much indebted humble +servant, R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor29">[29]</a> Mrs. +Carfrae, Baxter's Close, Lawnmarket, Edinburgh, according to John +Richmond, law clerk.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XL.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 15<i>th January</i> 1787. + +<p>MADAM,—Yours of the 9th current, which I am this moment +honoured with, is a deep reproach to me for ungrateful neglect. I +will tell you the real truth, for I am miserably awkward at a +fib—I wished to have written to Dr. Moore before I wrote to you; +but, though every day since I received yours of December 30th, +the idea, the wish to write to him has constantly pressed on my +thoughts, yet I could not for my soul set about it. I know his +fame and character, and I am one of "the sons of little men." To +write him a mere matter-of-fact affair, like a merchant's order, +would be disgracing the little character I have; and to write the +author of <i>The View of Society and Manners</i> a letter of +sentiment—I declare every artery runs cold at the thought. I +shall try, however, to write to him to-morrow or next day. His +kind interposition on my behalf I have already experienced, as a +gentleman waited on me the other day, on the part of Lord +Eglinton, with ten guineas, by way of subscription, for two +copies of my next edition.</p> + +<p>The word you object to in the mention I have made of my +glorious countryman and your immortal ancestor, is indeed +borrowed from Thomson; but it does not strike me as an improper +epithet. I distrusted my own judgment on your finding fault with +it, and applied for the opinion of some of the literati here, who +honour me with their critical strictures, and they all allowed it +to be proper. The song you ask I cannot recollect, and I have not +a copy of it. I have not composed anything on the great Wallace, +except what you have seen in print; and the inclosed, which I +will print in this edition.<a name="FNanchor30"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_30">[30]</a></sup> You will see I have mentioned some +others of the name. When I composed my "Vision," long ago, I had +attempted a description of Kyle, of which the additional stanzas +are a part as it originally stood. My heart glows with a wish to +be able to do justice to the merits of the "saviour of his +country," which sooner or later I shall at least attempt.</p> + +<p>You are afraid I shall grow intoxicated with my prosperity as +a poet; alas! Madam, I know myself and the world too well. I do +not mean any airs of affected modesty; I am willing to believe +that my abilities deserve some notice; but in a most enlightened, +informed age and nation, when poetry is and has been the study of +men of the first natural genius, aided with all the powers of +polite learning, polite books, and polite company—to be dragged +forth to the full glare of learned and polite observation, with +all my imperfections of awkward rusticity and crude unpolished +ideas on my head—I assure you, Madam, I do not dissemble when I +tell you I tremble for the consequences. The novelty of a poet in +my obscure situation, without any of those advantages which are +reckoned necessary for that character, at least at this time of +day, has raised a partial tide of public notice which has borne +me to a height, where I am absolutely, feelingly certain, my +abilities are inadequate to support me; and too surely do I see +that time when the same tide will leave me, and recede, perhaps, +as far below the mark of truth. I do not say this in the +ridiculous affectation of self-abasement and modesty. I have +studied myself, and know what ground I occupy; and however a +friend or the world may differ from me in that particular, I +stand for my own opinion, in silent resolve, with all the +tenaciousness of property. I mention this to you once for all to +disburthen my mind, and I do not wish to hear or say more about +it. But<br> + When proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,<br> + </p> + +<p>you will bear me witness, that when my bubble of fame was at +the highest I stood unintoxicated, with the inebriating cup in my +hand, looking forward with rueful resolve to the hastening time, +when the blow of Calumny should dash it to the ground, with all +the eagerness of vengeful triumph.</p> + +<p>Your patronising me and interesting yourself in my fame and +character as a poet, I rejoice in; it exalts me in my own idea; +and whether you can or cannot aid me in my subscription is a +trifle. Has a paltry subscription-bill any charms to the heart of +a bard, compared with the patronage of the descendant of the +immortal Wallace? R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor30">[30]</a> +Stanza in the "Vision," beginning, "By stately tower or palace +fair," and ending with the first Duan.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLI—TO DR. MOORE.<a name="FNanchor31"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_31">[31]</a></sup></h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>Jan.</i> 1787. + +<p>SIR,—Mrs. Dunlop has been so kind as to send me extracts of +letters she has had from you, where you do the rustic bard the +honour of noticing him and his works. Those who have felt the +anxieties and solicitudes of authorship, can only know what +pleasure it gives to be noticed in such a manner, by judges of +the first character. Your criticisms, Sir, I receive with +reverence: only I am sorry they mostly came too late: a peccant +passage or two that I would certainly have altered, were gone to +the press.</p> + +<p>The hope to be admired for ages is, in by far the greater part +of those even who are authors of repute, an unsubstantial dream. +For my part, my first ambition was, and still my strongest wish +is, to please my compeers, the inmates of the hamlet, while +ever-changing language and manners shall allow me to be relished +and understood. I am very willing to admit that I have some +poetical abilities; and as few, if any, writers, either moral or +poetical, are intimately acquainted with the classes of mankind +among whom I have chiefly mingled, I may have seen men and +manners in a different phasis from what is common, which may +assist originality of thought. Still I know very well the novelty +of my character has by far the greatest share in the learned and +polite notice I have lately had; and in a language where Pope and +Churchill have raised the laugh, and Shenstone and Gray drawn the +tear; where Thomson and Beattie have painted the landscape, and +Lyttelton and Collins described the heart, I am not vain enough +to hope for distinguished poetic fame. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor31">[31]</a> +Father of the hero of Coruña, and author of <i>Zeluco</i>, +etc.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLII.—To THE REV. G. LAWRIE, NEWMILNS, NEAR KILMARNOCK.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>Feb</i>. 5<i>th</i>, 1787. + +<p>REVEREND AND DEAR SIR,—When I look at the date of your kind +letter, my heart reproaches me severely with ingratitude in +neglecting so long to answer it. I will not trouble you with any +account, by way of apology, of my hurried life and distracted +attention: do me the justice to believe that my delay by no means +proceeded from want of respect. I feel, and ever shall feel for +you, the mingled sentiments of esteem for a friend and reverence +for a father.</p> + +<p>I thank you, Sir, with all my soul, for your friendly hints, +though I do not need them so much as my friends are apt to +imagine. You are dazzled with newspaper accounts and distant +reports; but, in reality, I have no great temptation to be +intoxicated with the cup of prosperity. Novelty may attract the +attention of mankind awhile; to it I owe my present <i>eclat</i>; +but I see the time not far distant when the popular tide which +has borne me to a height of which I am, perhaps, unworthy, shall +recede with silent celerity, and leave me a barren waste of sand, +to descend at my leisure to my former station. I do not say this +in the affectation of modesty; I see the consequence is +unavoidable, and am prepared for it. I had been at a good deal of +pains to form a just, impartial estimate of my intellectual +powers before I came here: I have not added, since I came to +Edinburgh, anything to the account; and I trust I shall take +every atom of it back to my shades, the coverts of my unnoticed +early years.</p> + +<p>In Dr. Blacklock, whom I see very often, I have found what I +would have expected in our friend, a clear head and an excellent +heart.</p> + +<p>By far the most agreeable hours I spend in Edinburgh must be +placed to the account of Miss Lawrie and her pianoforte. I cannot +help repeating to you and Mrs. Lawrie a compliment that Mr. +Mackenzie, the celebrated "Man of Feeling," paid to Miss Lawrie, +the other night, at the concert. I had come in at the interlude, +and sat down by him till I saw Miss Lawrie in a seat not very far +distant, and went up to pay my respects to her. On my return to +Mr. Mackenzie he asked me who she was; I told him 'twas the +daughter of a reverend friend of mine in the west country. He +returned, there were something very striking, to his idea, in her +appearance. On my desiring to know what it was, he was pleased to +say, "She has a great deal of the elegance of a well-bred lady +about her, with all the sweet simplicity of a country girl."</p> + +<p>My compliments to all the happy inmates of St. Margaret's.—I +am, my dear Sir, yours, most gratefully,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLIII.-To THE EARL OF BUCHAN.<a name="FNanchor32"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_32">[32]</a></sup></h4> + +MY LORD,—The honour your lordship has done me, by your notice +and advice in yours of the 1st instant, I shall ever gratefully +remember:—<br> +Praise from thy lips 'tis mine with joy to boast, <br> +They best can give it who deserve it most. + +<p>Your lordship touches the darling chord of my heart, when you +advise me to fire my muse at Scottish story and Scottish scenes. +I wish for nothing more than to make a leisurely pilgrimage +through my native country; to sit and muse on those once +hard-contended fields, where Caledonia, rejoicing, saw her bloody +lion borne through broken ranks to victory and fame; and, +catching the inspiration, to pour the deathless names in song. +But, my lord, in the midst of these enthusiastic reveries, a +long-visaged, dry moral-looking phantom strides across my +imagination, and pronounces these emphatic words:—</p> + +<blockquote>"I, Wisdom, dwell with Prudence. Friend, I do not +come to open the ill-closed wounds of your follies and +misfortunes, merely to give you pain: I wish through these wounds +to imprint a lasting lesson on your heart. I will not mention how +many of my salutary advices you have despised: I have given you +line upon line and precept upon precept; and while I was chalking +out to you the straight way to wealth and character, with +audacious effrontery you have zigzagged across the path, +contemning me to my face; you know the consequences. It is not +yet three months since home was so hot for you, that you were on +the wing for the western shore of the Atlantic, not to make a +fortune, but to hide your misfortune. + +<p>"Now that your dear-loved Scotia puts it in your power to +return to the situation of your forefathers, will you follow +these will-o'-wisp meteors of fancy and whim, till they bring you +once more to the brink of ruin? I grant that the utmost ground +you can occupy is but half a step from the veriest poverty; but +still it is half a step from it. If all that I can urge be +ineffectual, let her who seldom calls to you in vain, let the +call of pride prevail with you. You know how you feel at the iron +gripe of ruthless oppression: you know how you bear the galling +sneer of contumelious greatness. I hold you out the conveniences, +the comforts of life, independence and character, on the one +hand; I tender you servility, dependence, and wretchedness on the +other. I will not insult your understanding by bidding you make a +choice."</p> +</blockquote> + +This, my lord, is unanswerable. I must return to my humble +station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way at the +plough-tail. Still, my lord, while the drops of life warm my +heart, gratitude to that dear-loved country in which I boast my +birth, and gratitude to those her distinguished sons, who have +honoured me so much with their patronage and approbation, shall, +while stealing through my humble shades, ever distend my bosom, +and at times, as now, draw forth the swelling tear. + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor32">[32]</a> The +Earl of Buchan was the very pink of parsimonious +patrons.—MOTHERWELL.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLIV.—TO MR. JAMES CANDLISH,<a name="FNanchor33"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_33">[33]</a></sup>STUDENT IN PHYSIC, GLASGOW +COLLEGE.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>March</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1787. + +<p>MY EVER DEAR OLD ACQUAINTANCE,—I was equally surprised and +pleased at your letter, though I dare say you will think, by my +delaying so long to write to you, that I am so drowned in the +intovirarion of good fortune as to be indifferent to old, and +once dear connections. The truth is, I was determined to write a +good letter, full of argument, amplification, erudition, and, as +Bayes says, <i>all that</i>. I thought of it, and thought of it, +and, by my soul, I could not; and, lest you should mistake the +cause of my silence, I just sit down to tell you so. Don't give +yourself credit, though, that the strength of your logic scares +me; the truth is, I never mean to meet you on that ground at all. +You have shown me one thing which was to be demonstrated: that +strong pride of reasoning, with a little affectation of +singularity, may mislead the best of hearts. I likewise, since +you and I were first acquainted, in the pride of despising old +women's stories, ventured in "the daring path Spinosa trod;" but +experience of the weakness, not the strength of human powers, +made me glad to grasp at revealed religion.</p> + +<p>I am still, in the Apostle Paul's phrase, "the old man with +his deeds," as when we were sporting about the "Lady Thorn." I +shall be four weeks here yet at least: and so I shall expect to +hear from you; welcome sense, welcome nonsense.—I am, with the +warmest sincerity, R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor33">[33]</a> Mr. +Candlish married Miss Smith, one of the six <i>belles</i> of +Mauchline. Their son was the Rev. Dr. Candlish, of Free St. +George's Church, Edinburgh.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLV.—TO MR. PETER STUART, EDITOR OF "THE STAR," LONDON.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—You may think, and too justly, that I am a +selfish, ungrateful fellow, having received so many repeated +instances of kindness from you, and yet never putting pen to +paper to say thank you; but if you knew what a devil of a life my +conscience has led me on that account, your good heart would +think yourself too much avenged. By the by, there is nothing in +the whole frame of man which seems to be so unaccountable as that +thing called conscience. Had the troublesome yelping cur powers +efficient to prevent a mischief, he might be of use; out at the +beginning of the business, his feeble efforts are, to the +workings of passion, as the infant frosts of an autumnal morning +to the unclouded fervour of the rising sun; and no sooner are the +tumultuous doings of the wicked deed over, than amidst the bitter +native consequences of folly in the very vortex of our horrors, +up starts conscience, and harrows us with the feelings of the +damned.</p> + +<p>I have inclosed you, by way of expiation, some verse and +prose, that, if they merit a place in your truly entertaining +miscellany, you are welcome to. The prose extract is literally as +Mr. Sprott sent it me.</p> + +<p>The inscription on the stone is as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote>"HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET,<br> +Born, September 5th, 1751—Died, 16th October 1774. + +<p>No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay,<br> +'No storied urn nor animated bust;'<br> +This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way<br> +To pour her sorrows o'er her poet's dust."</p> +</blockquote> + +On the other side of the stone is as follows:— + +<blockquote> "By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, +who erected this stone, this burial place is to remain for ever +sacred to the memory of Robert Fergusson."</blockquote> + +<hr> +<h4>XLVI—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>March</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1787. + +<p>MADAM,—I read your letter with watery eyes. A little, very +little while ago, I had scarce a friend but the stubborn pride of +my own bosom; now I am distinguished, patronised, befriended by +you. Your friendly advices—I will not give them the cold name of +criticisms—I receive with reverence. I have made some small +alterations in what I before had printed. I have the advice of +some very judicious friends among the literati here, but with +them I sometimes find it necessary to claim the privilege of +thinking for myself. The noble Earl of Glencairn, to whom I owe +more than to any man, does me the honour of giving me his +strictures; his hints, with respect to impropriety or indelicacy, +I follow implicitly.</p> + +<p>You kindly interest yourself in my future views and prospects; +there I can give you no light. It is all</p> + +<blockquote>Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun<br> +Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams<br> +Athwart the gloom profound.</blockquote> + +The appellation of a Scottish bard is by far my highest pride; to +continue to deserve it is my most exalted ambition. Scottish +scenes and Scottish story are the themes I could wish to sing. I +have no dearer aim than to have it in my power, unplagued with +the routine of business, for which Heaven knows I am unfit +enough, to make leisurely pilgrimages through Caledonia; to sit +on the fields of her battles; to wander on the romantic banks of +her rivers; and to muse by the stately towers or venerable ruins, +once the honoured abodes of her heroes. + +<p>But these are all Utopian thoughts: I have dallied long enough +with life; 'tis time to be in earnest. I have a fond, an aged +mother to care for: and some other bosom ties perhaps equally +tender. Where the individual only suffers by the consequences of +his own thoughtlessness, indolence, or folly, he may be +excusable; nay, shining abilities, and some of the nobler +virtues, may half sanctify a heedless character; but where God +and nature have intrusted the welfare of others to his care; +where the trust is sacred, and the ties are dear, that man must +be far gone in selfishness, or strangely lost to reflection, whom +these connections will not rouse to exertion.</p> + +<p>I guess that I shall clear between two and three hundred +pounds by my authorship;<a name="FNanchor34"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_34">[34]</a></sup> with that sum I intend, so far as I +may be said to have any intention, to return to my old +acquaintance, the plough; and, if I can meet with a lease by +which I can live, to commence farmer. I do not intend to give up +poetry; being bred to labour, secures me independence, and the +muses are my chief, sometimes have been my only enjoyment. If my +practice second my resolution, I shall have principally at heart +the serious business of life; but while following my plough, or +building up my shocks, I shall cast a leisure glance to that +dear, that only feature of my character, which gave me the notice +of my country, and the patronage of a Wallace.</p> + +<p>Thus, honoured Madam, I have given you the bard, his +situation, and his views, native as they are in his own bosom. R. +B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor34">[34]</a> The +proceeds amounted to more—some £500 or so.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLVII—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 15<i>th April</i> 1787. + +<p>MADAM,—There is an affectation of gratitude which I dislike. +The periods of Johnson and the pauses of Sterne may hide a +selfish heart. For my part, Madam, I trust I have too much pride +for servility, and too little prudence for selfishness. I have +this moment broken open your letter, but</p> + +<blockquote>Rude am I in speech,<br> +And therefore little can I grace my cause<br> +In speaking for myself—</blockquote> + +so I shall not trouble you with any fine speeches and hunted +figures. I shall just lay my hand on my heart and say, I hope I +shall ever have the truest, the warmest sense of your goodness. + +<p>I come abroad, in print, for certain on Wednesday. Your orders +I shall punctually attend to; only, by the way, I must tell you +that I was paid before for Dr. Moore's and Miss Williams's +copies, through the medium of Commissioner Cochrane in this +place, but that we can settle when I have the honour of waiting +on you.</p> + +<p>Dr. Smith<a name="FNanchor35"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_35">[35]</a></sup> was just gone to London the morning +before I received your letter to him. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor35">[35]</a> Adam +Smith, the celebrated author of <i>The Wealth of Nations</i>.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLVIII.—TO DR. MOORE.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 23<i>rd April</i> 1787. + +<p>I received the books, and sent the one you mentioned to Mrs. +Dunlop. I am ill skilled in beating the coverts of imagination +for metaphors of gratitude. I thank you, Sir, for the honour you +have done me and to my latest hour will warmly remember it. To be +highly pleased with your book, is what I have in common with the +world; but to regard these volumes as a mark of the author's +friendly esteem, is a still more supreme gratification.</p> + +<p>I leave Edinburgh in the course of ten days or a fortnight, +and after a few pilgrimages over some of the classic ground of +Caledonia, Cowden Knowes, Banks of Yarrow, Tweed, etc., I shall +return to my rural shades, in all likelihood never more to quit +them. I have formed many intimacies and friendships here, but I +am afraid they are all of too tender a construction to bear +carriage a hundred and fifty miles. To the rich, the great, the +fashionable, the polite, I have no equivalent to offer; and I am +afraid my meteor appearance will by no means entitle me to a +settled correspondence with any of you, who are the permanent +lights of genius and literature.</p> + +<p>My most respectful compliments to Miss Williams. If once this +tangent flight of mine were over, and I were returned to my +wonted leisurely motion in my old circle, I may probably +endeavour to return her poetic compliment in kind. R. B.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XLIX.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 30<i>th April</i> 1787. + +<p>—Your criticisms, Madam, I understand very well, and could +have wished to have pleased you better. You are right in your +guess that I am not very amenable to counsel. Poets, much my +superiors, have so flattered those who possessed the adventitious +qualities of wealth and power, that I am determined to flatter no +created being, either in prose or verse.</p> + +<p>I set as little by princes, lords, clergy, critics, etc., as, +all these respective gentry do by my bardship. I know what I may +expect from the world, by-and-bye—illiberal abuse, and perhaps +contemptuous neglect.</p> + +<p>I am happy, Madam, that some of my own favourite pieces are +distinguished by your particular approbation. For my "dream,"<a +name="FNanchor36"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_36">[36]</a></sup> +which has unfortunately incurred your loyal displeasure, I hope, +in four weeks, or less, to have the honour of appearing, at +Dunlop, in its defence in person. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor36">[36]</a> The +well-known poem, beginning, "Guid morning to your Majesty." Mrs. +Dunlop had recommended its omission, in the second edition, on +the score of prudence.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>L—To MR. WILLIAM NICOL, CLASSICAL MASTER, HIGH SCHOOL, +EDINBURGH.</h4> + +CARLISLE, <i>June</i> 1, 1787. + +<p>KIND, HONEST-HEARTED WILLIE.—I'm sitten down here, after +seven-and-forty miles' ridin', e'en as forjesket and forniaw'd as +a forfoughten cock, to gie ye some notion o' my land lowper-like +stravaguin sin the sorrowfu' hour that I sheuk hands and parted +wi' auld Reekie.</p> + +<p>My auld, ga'd gleyde o' a meere has huchyall'd up hill and +down brae, in Scotland and England, as teugh and birnie as a very +deil wi' me. It's true, she's as poor's a sang-maker and as +hard's a kirk, and tipper-taipers when she taks the gate, first +like a lady's gentlewoman in a minuwae, or a hen on a het girdle; +but she's a yauld, poutherie Girran for a' that, and has a +stomack like Willie Stalker's meere that wad hae disgeested +tumbler-wheels, for she'll whip me aff her five stimparts o' the +best aits at a down-sittin and ne'er fash her thumb. When ance +her ring-banes and spavies, her crucks and cramps, are fairly +soupl'd, she beets to, beets to, and aye the hindmost hour the +tightest. I could wager her price to a thretty pennies, that for +twa or three wooks ridin' at fifty miles a day, the deil-stickit +a five gallopers acqueesh Clyde and Whithorn could cast saut on +her tail.</p> + +<p>I hae dander'd owre a' the kintra frae Dunbar to Selcraig, and +hae forgather'd wi' mony a guid fallow, and mony a weelfar'd +hizzie. I met wi' twa dink quines in particlar, ane o' them a +sonsie, fine, fodgel lass, baith braw and bonnie; the tither was +a clean-shankit, straught, tight, weel-far'd winch, as blythe's a +lintwhite on a flowerie thorn, and as sweet and modest's a new +blawn plumrose in a hazle shaw. They were baith bred to mainers +by the beuk, and onie ane o' them had as muckle smeddum and +rumblegumtion as the half o' some presbyteries that you and I +baith ken.<br> +</p> + +<hr width="35%"> +<p>I was gaun to write ye a lang pystle, but, Gude forgie me, I +gat mysel sae notouriously fou the day after kail-time that I can +hardly stoiter but and ben.</p> + +<p>My best respecks to the guidwife and a' our common friens, +especiall Mr. and Mrs. Cruikshank, and the honest guidman o' +Jock's Lodge.<a name="FNanchor37"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_37">[37]</a></sup></p> + +<p>I'll be in Dumfries the morn gif the beast be to the fore, and +the branks bide hale.</p> + +<p>Gude be wi' you, Willie! Amen!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor37">[37]</a> Louis +Cauvin, teacher of French.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LI.-To MR. WILLIAM NICOL.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>June</i> l8, 1787. + +<p>My dear friend,—I am now arrived safe in my native country, +after a very agreeable jaunt, and have the pleasure to find all +my friends well. I breakfasted with your greyheaded, reverend +friend, Mr. Smith; and was highly pleased, both with the cordial +welcome he gave me, and his most excellent appearance and +sterling good sense.</p> + +<p>I have been with Mr. Miller at Dalswinton, and am to meet him +again in August. From my view of the lands, and his reception of +my bardship, my hopes in that business are rather mended; but +still they are but slender.</p> + +<p>I am quite charmed with Dumfries folks—Mr. Burnside, the +clergyman, in particular, is a man whom I shall ever gratefully +remember; and his wife, Gude forgie me! I had almost broke the +tenth commandment on her account. Simplicity, elegance, good +sense, sweetness of disposition, good humour, kind hospitality, +are the constituents of her manner and heart; in short—but if I +say one word more about her, I shall be directly in love with +her.</p> + +<p>I never, my friend, thought mankind very capable of anything +generous; but the stateliness of the patricians in Edinburgh, and +the servility of my plebeian brethren (who, perhaps, formerly +eyed me askance) since I returned home, have nearly put me out of +conceit altogether with my species. I have bought a pocket Milton +which I carry perpetually about with me, in order to study the +sentiments—the dauntless magnanimity, the intrepid, unyielding +independence, the desperate daring, and noble defiance of +hardship in that great personage, SATAN. 'Tis true, I have just +now a little cash; but I am afraid the star that hitherto has +shed its malignant, purpose-blasting rays full in my zenith; that +noxious planet, so baneful in its influence to the rhyming +tribe—I much dread it is not yet beneath my horizon. Misfortune +dodges the path of human life; the poetic mind finds itself +miserably deranged in, and unfit for the walks of business; add +to all, that thoughtless follies and hare-brained whims, like so +many <i>ignes fatui</i>, eternally diverging from the right line +of sober discretion, sparkle with step-bewitching blaze in the +idly-gazing eyes of the poor heedless Bard, till, pop, "he falls +like Lucifer, never to hope again." God grant this may be an +unreal picture with respect to me! but should it not, I have very +little dependence on mankind. I will close my letter with this +tribute my heart bids me pay you—the many ties of acquaintance +and friendship which I have, or think I have in life, I have felt +along the lines, and damn them, they are almost all of them of +such frail contexture, that I am sure they would not stand the +breath of the least adverse breeze of fortune; but from you, my +ever dear Sir, I look with confidence for the Apostolic love that +shall wait on me "through good report and bad report"—the love +which Solomon emphatically says "is strong as death." My +compliments to Mrs. Nicol and all the circle of our common +friends.</p> + +<p>P.S.—I shall be in Edinburgh about the latter end of +July.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LII.-To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE</h4> + +.<a name="FNanchor38"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_38">[38]</a></sup> + +<p>ARROCHAR, 28<i>th June</i> 1787.</p> + +<p>My dear sir,—I write this on my tour through a country where +savage streams tumble over savage mountains, thinly overspread +with savage flocks, which sparingly support as savage +inhabitants. My last stage was Inverary—to-morrow night's stage +Dumbarton. I ought sooner to have answered your kind letter, but +you know I am a man of many sins. R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor38">[38]</a> A young +writer in Edinburgh.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LIII.—TO MR. JAMES SMITH, LINLITHGOW, FORMERLY OF +MAUCHLINE</h4> + +<i>June 30th</i>, 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR FRIEND,—On our return, at a Highland gentleman's +hospitable mansion, we fell in with a merry party, and danced +till the ladies left us, at three in the morning. Our dancing was +none of the French or English insipid formal movements; the +ladies sung Scotch songs like angels, at intervals; then we flew +at <i>Bab at the Bowster</i>, <i>Tullochgorum</i>, <i>Loch Erroch +Side</i>,<a name="FNanchor39"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_39">[39]</a></sup> etc., like midges sporting in the +mottie sun, or craws prognosticating a storm in a hairst day. +When the dear lasses left us, we ranged round the bowl till the +good-fellow hour of six; except a few minutes that we went out to +pay our devotions to the glorious lamp of day peering over the +towering top of Benlomond. We all kneeled; our worthy landlord's +son held the bowl; each man a full glass in his hand; and I, as +priest, repeated some rhyming nonsense, like Thomas-a-Rhymer's +prophecies, I suppose. After a small refreshment of the gifts of +Somnus, we proceeded to spend the day on Lochlomond, and reached +Dumbarton in the evening. We dined at another good fellow's +house, and, consequently, pushed the bottle; when we went out to +mount our horses we found ourselves "No vera fou but gaylie yet." +My two friends and I rode soberly down the Loch side, till by +came a Highlandman at the gallop, on a tolerably good horse, but +which had never known the ornaments of iron or leather. We +scorned to be out-galloped by a Highlandman, so off we started, +whip and spur. My companions, though seemingly gaily mounted, +fell sadly astern; but my old mare, Jenny Geddes, one of the +Rosinante family, she strained past the Highlandman in spite of +all his efforts with the hair halter: just as I was passing him, +Donald wheeled his horse, as if to cross before me to mar my +progress, when down came his horse, and threw his rider's +breekless a—— in a clipt hedge; and down came Jenny Geddes over +all, and my hardship between her and the Highlandman's horse. +Jenny Geddes trode over me with such cautious reverence, that +matters were not so bad as might well have been expected; so I +came off with a few cuts and bruises, and a thorough resolution +to be a pattern of sobriety for the future.</p> + +<p>I have yet fixed on nothing with respect to the serious +business of life. I am, just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making, +raking, aimless, idle fellow. However, I shall somewhere have a +farm soon. I was going to say, a wife too; but that must never be +my blessed lot. I am but a younger son of the house of Parnassus, +and like other younger sons of great families, I may intrigue, if +I choose to run all risks, but must not marry.</p> + +<p>I am afraid I have almost ruined one source, the principal one +indeed, of my former happiness; that eternal propensity I always +had to fall in love. My heart no more glows with feverish +rapture. I have no paradisiacal evening interviews, stolen from +the restless cares and prying inhabitants of this weary world. I +have only ——. This last is one of your distant acquaintances, +has a fine figure, and elegant manners; and in the train of some +great folks whom you know, has seen the politest quarters in +Europe. I do like her a deal; but what piques me is her conduct +at the commencement of our acquaintance. I frequently visited her +when I was in ——, and after passing regularly the intermediate +degrees between the distant formal bow and the familiar grasp +round the waist, I ventured, in my careless way, to talk of +friendship in rather ambiguous terms; and after her return to +——, I wrote to her in the same style. Miss, construing my words +farther, I suppose, than even I intended, flew off in a tangent +of female dignity and reserve, like a mounting lark in an April +morning; and wrote me an answer which measured me out very +completely what an immense way I had to travel before I could +reach the climate of her favour. But I am an old hawk at the +sport, and wrote her such a cool, deliberate, prudent reply, as +brought my bird from her aerial towerings, pop down at my foot, +like Corporal Trim's hat.</p> + +<p>As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, and all my wise +sayings, and why my mare was called Jenny Geddes, they shall be +recorded in a few weeks hence at Linlithgow, in the chronicles of +your memory, by</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor39">[39]</a> Scotch +tunes.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LIV.-To MR. JOHN RICHMOND.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 7th <i>July</i> 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR RICHMOND,-I am all impatience to hear of your fate +since the old confounder of right and wrong has turned you out of +place, by his journey to answer his indictment at the bar of the +other world. He will find the practice of the court so different +from the practice in which he has for so many years been +thoroughly hackneyed, that his friends, if he had any connections +truly of that kind, which I rather doubt, may well tremble for +his sake. His chicane, his left-handed wisdom, which stood so +firmly by him, to such good purpose, here, like other accomplices +in robbery and plunder, will, now the piratical business is +blown, in all probability turn king's evidences, and then the +devil's bagpiper will touch him off "Bundle and go!"</p> + +<p>If he has left you any legacy, I beg your pardon for all this; +if not, I know you will swear to every word I said about him.</p> + +<p>I have lately been rambling over by Dumbarton and Inverary, +and running a drunken race on the side of Loch Lomond with a wild +Highlandman; his horse, which had never known the ornaments of +iron or leather, zig-zagged across before my old spavin'd hunter, +whose name is Jenny Geddes, and down came the Highlandman, horse +and all, and down came Jenny and my bardship; so I have got such +a skinful of bruises and wounds, that I shall be at least four +weeks before I dare venture on my journey to Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>Not one new thing under the sun has happened in Mauchline +since you left it. I hope this will find you as comfortably +situated as formerly, or, if heaven pleases, more so; but, at all +events, I trust you will let me know of course how matters stand +with you, well or ill. 'Tis but poor consolation to tell the +world when matters go wrong; but you know very well your +connection and mine stands on a different footing.—I am ever, my +dear friend, yours,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LV.—TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>23rd July</i> 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR AINSLIE,-There is one thing for which I set great +store by you as a friend, and it is this, that I have not a +friend upon earth, besides yourself, to whom I can talk nonsense +without forfeiting some degree of his esteem. Now, to one like +me, who never cares for speaking anything else but nonsense, such +a friend as you is an invaluable treasure. I was never a rogue, +but have been a fool all my life; and, in spite of all my +endeavours, I see now plainly that I shall never be wise. Now it +rejoices my heart to have met with such a fellow as you, who, +though you are not just such a hopeless fool as I, yet I trust +you will never listen so much to temptation as to grow so very +wise that you will in the least disrespect an honest fellow +because he is a fool. In short, I have set you down as the staff +of my old age, when the whole list of my friends will, after a +decent share of pity, have forgot me.<br> +Though in the morn comes sturt and strife,<br> +Yet joy may come at noon;<br> +And I hope to live a merry, merry life<br> +When a' thir days are done.</p> + +<p>Write me soon, were it but a few lines, just to tell me how +that good, sagacious man your father is,—that kind, dainty body +your mother,—that strapping chiel your brother Douglas-and my +friend Rachel, who is as far before Rachel of old, as she was +before her blear-eyed sister Leah.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LVI-To DR. MOORE.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 2nd August 1787. + +<p>SIR,-For some months past I have been rambling over the +country, but I am now confined with some lingering complaints, +originating, as I take it, in the stomach. To divert my spirits a +little in this miserable fog of ennui, I have taken a whim to +give you a history of myself. My name has made some little noise +in this country; you have done me the honour to interest yourself +very warmly in my behalf; and I think a faithful account of what +character of a man I am, and how I came by that character, may +perhaps amuse you in an idle moment. I will give you an honest +narrative, though I know it will be often at my own expense; for +I assure you, Sir, I have, like Solomon, whose character, +excepting in the trifling affair of wisdom, I sometimes think I +resemble,—I have, I say, like him, turned my eyes to behold +madness and folly, and like him, too, frequently shaken hands +with their intoxicating friendship. After you have perused these +pages, should you think them trifling and impertinent, I only beg +leave to tell you, that the poor author wrote them under some +twitching qualms of conscience, arising from a suspicion that he +was doing what he ought not to do: a predicament he has more than +once been in before.</p> + +<p>I have not the most distant pretensions to assume that +character which the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a +gentleman. When at Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted in the +herald's office; and, looking through that granary of honours, I +there found almost every name in the kingdom; but for me,<br> +My ancient but ignoble blood<br> +Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood.</p> + +<p>Gules, purpure, argent, etc., quite disowned me.</p> + +<p>My father was in the north of Scotland the son of a farmer, +and was thrown by early misfortunes on the world at large, where, +afier many years' wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a +pretty large quantity of observation and experience, to which I +am indebted for most of my little pretensions to wisdom. I have +met with few who understood men, their manners, and their ways, +equal to him; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, +ungovernable irascibility are disqualifying circumstances; +consequently, I was born a very poor man's son. For the first six +or seven years of my life, my father was gardener to a worthy +gentleman of small estate in the neighbourhood of Ayr. Had he +continued in that station, I must have marched off to be one of +the little underlings about a farm house; but it was his dearest +wish and prayer to have it in his power to keep his children +under his own eye, till they could discern between good and evil; +so, with the assistance of his generous master, my father +ventured on a small farm on his estate. At those years, I was by +no means a favourite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a +retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my disposition, +and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, because I was +then but a child. Though it cost the schoolmaster some +thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar; and by the time +I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, +verbs, and particles. In my infant and boyish days, too, I owed +much to an old woman who resided in the family, remarkable for +her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I suppose, +the largest collection in the country of tales and songs +concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, +spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, wraiths, +apparitions, cantraips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and +other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry, but +had so strong an effect on my imagination, that to this hour, in +my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look out in +suspicious places; and though nobody can be more sceptical than I +am in such matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy to +shake off these idle terrors. The earliest composition that I +recollect taking pleasure in was "The Vision of Mirza," and a +hymn of Addison's, beginning, "How are thy servants blest, O +Lord!" I particularly remember one half-stanza which was music to +my boyish ear—<br> +"For though on dreadful whirls we hung<br> +High on the broken wave—"</p> + +<p>I met with these pieces in Manson's English Collection, one of +my school-books. The first two books I ever read in private, and +which gave me more pleasure than any two books I ever read since, +were the <i>Life of Hannibal</i>, and the <i>History of Sir +William Wallace</i>. Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn, +that I used to strut in rapture up and down after the recruiting +drum and bag-pipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a soldier; +while the story of Wallace poured a Scottish prejudice into my +veins which will boil along there, till the flood-gates of life +shut in eternal rest.</p> + +<p>Polemical divinity about this time was putting the country +half mad, and I, ambitious of shining in conversation parties on +Sundays, between sermons, at funerals, etc., used a few years +afterwards to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and +indiscretion, that I raised a hue and cry of heresy against me, +which has not ceased to this hour.</p> + +<p>My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social +disposition, when not checked by some modifications of spirited +pride, was like our catechism definition of infinitude, without +bounds or limits. I formed several connections with other +younkers, who possessed superior advantages; the youngling actors +who were busy in the rehearsal of parts, in which they were +shortly to appear on the stage of life, where, alas! I was +destined to drudge behind the scenes. It is not commonly at this +green stage that our young gentry have a just sense of the +immense distance between them and their ragged play-fellows. It +takes a few dashes into the world, to give the young great man +that proper, decent, unnoticing disregard for the poor, +insignificant, stupid devils, the mechanics and peasantry around +him, who were, perhaps, born in the same village. My young +superiors never insulted the clouterly appearance of my +plough-boy carcase, the two extremes of which were often exposed +to all the inclemencies of all the seasons. They would give me +stray volumes of books; among them, even then, I could pick up +some observations; and one, whose heart, I am sure, not even the +"Munny Begum" scenes have tainted, helped me to a little French. +Parting with these my young friends and benefactors, as they +occasionally went off for the East or West Indies, was often to +me a sore affliction; but I was soon called to more serious +evils. My father's generous master died; the farm proved a +ruinous bargain; and to clench the misfortune, we fell into the +hands of a factor, who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in +my tale of "Twa Dogs." My father was advanced in life when he +married; I was the eldest of seven children, and he, worn out by +early hardships, was unfit for labour. My father's spirit was +soon irritated, but not easily broken. There was a freedom in his +lease in two years more, and to weather these two years, we +retrenched our expenses. We lived very poorly: I was a dexterous +ploughman for my age; and the next eldest to me was a brother +(Gilbert), who could drive a plough very well, and help me to +thrash the corn. A novel-writer might, perhaps, have viewed these +scenes with some satisfaction, but so did not I; my indignation +yet boils at the recollection of the scoundrel factor's insolent +threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears.</p> + +<p>This kind of life—the cheerless gloom of a hermit with the +unceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought me to my sixteenth +year; a little before which period I first committed the sin of +rhyme. You know our country custom of coupling a man and woman +together as partners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth +autumn, my partner was a bewitching creature, a year younger than +myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her +justice in that language, but you know the Scottish idiom: she +was a "bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass." In short, she, altogether +unwittingly to herself, initiated me in that delicious passion, +which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence, and +book-worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of human joys, our +dearest blessing here below! How she caught the contagion I +cannot tell; you medical people talk much of infection from +breathing the same air, the touch, etc.; but I never expressly +said I loved her. Indeed, I did not know myself why I liked so +much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the evening +from our labours; why the tones of her voice made my +heart-strings thrill like an Aeolian harp; and particularly why +my pulse beat such a furious ratan, when I looked and fingered +over her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and +thistles. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung +sweetly; and it was her favourite reel to which I attempted +giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as +to imagine that I could make verses like printed ones, composed +by men who had Greek and Latin; but my girl sung a song which was +said to be composed by a small country laird's son, on one of his +father's maids, with whom he was in love; and I saw no reason why +I might not rhyme as well as he; for, excepting that he could +smear sheep, and cast peats, his father living in the moorlands, +he had no more scholar-craft than myself.</p> + +<p>Thus with me began love and poetry; which at times have been +my only, and till within the last twelve months, have been my +highest enjoyment. My father struggled on till he reached the +freedom in his lease, when he entered on a larger farm, about ten +miles farther in the country. The nature of the bargain he made +was such as to throw a little ready money into his hands at the +commencement of his lease, otherwise the affair would have been +impracticable. For four years we lived comfortably here, but a +difference commencing between him and his landlord as to terms, +after three years tossing and whirling in the vortex of +litigation, my father was just saved from the horrors of a jail, +by a consumption, which, after two years' promises, kindly +stepped in, and carried him away, to where the wicked cease from +troubling, and where the weary are at rest!</p> + +<p>It is during the time that we lived on this farm that my +little story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning of this +period, perhaps the most ungainly awkward boy in the parish—no +<i>solitaire</i> was less acquainted with the ways of the world. +What I knew of ancient story was gathered from Salmon's and +Guthrie's Geographical Grammars; and the ideas I had formed of +modern manners, of literature, and criticism, I got from the +<i>Spectator</i>. These, with Pope's Works, some Plays of +Shakespeare, Tull and Dickson on Agriculture, <i>The +Pantheon</i>, Locke's <i>Essay on the Human Understanding</i>, +Stackhouse's <i>History of the Bible</i>, Justice's <i>British +Gardener's Directory</i>, Boyle's <i>Lectures</i>, Allan +Ramsays's Works, Taylor's <i>Scripture Doctrine of Original +Sin</i>, <i>A Select Collection of English Songs</i>, and +Hervey's <i>Meditations</i>, had formed the whole of my reading. +The collection of songs was my <i>vade mecum</i>. I pored over +them, driving my cart, or walking to labour, song by song, verse +by verse; carefully noting the true tender, or sublime, from +affectation and fustian. I am convinced I owe to this practice +much of my critic-craft, such as it is.</p> + +<p>In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, I went to +a country dancing-school. My father had an unaccountable +antipathy against these meetings, and my going was, what to this +moment I repent, in opposition to his wishes. My father, as I +said before, was subject to strong passions; from that instance +of disobedience in me, he took a sort of dislike to me, which, I +believe, was one cause of the dissipation which marked my +succeeding years. I say dissipation, comparatively with the +strictness, and sobriety, and regularity of presbyterian country +life; for though the will-o'-wisp meteors of thoughtless whim +were almost the sole lights of my path, yet early ingrained piety +and virtue kept me for several years afterwards within the line +of innocence. The great misfortune of my life was to want an aim. +I had felt early some stirrings of ambition, but they were the +blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the walls of his cave. I +saw my father's situation entailed on me perpetual labour. The +only two openings by which I could enter the temple of fortune +were the gate of niggardly economy, or the path of little +chicaning bargain-making. The first is so contracted an aperture +I never could squeeze myself into it—the last I always +hated—there was contamination in the very entrance! Thus +abandoned of aim or view in life, with a strong appetite for +sociability, as well from native hilarity as from a pride of +observation and remark; a constitutional melancholy or +hypochondriasm that made me fly solitude; add to these incentives +to social life, my reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain +wild logical talent, and a strength of thought something like the +rudiments of good sense; and it will not seem surprising that I +was generally a welcome guest where I visited, or any great +wonder that always, where two or three met together, there was I +among them. But far beyond all other impulses of my heart, was +<i>un penchant à l'adorable moitié du genre +humain</i>. My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally +lighted up by some goddess or other; and, as in every other +warfare in this world, my fortune was various; sometimes I was +received with favour, and sometimes I was mortified with a +repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared no +competitor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance; and as I +never cared further for my labours than while I was in actual +exercise, I spent the evenings in the way after my own heart. A +country lad seldom carries on a love adventure without an +assisting confidant. I possessed a curiosity, zeal, and intrepid +dexterity that recommended me as a proper second on these +occasions; and I dare say I felt as much pleasure in being in the +secret of half the loves of the parish of Tarbolton, as ever did +statesman in knowing the intrigues of half the courts of Europe. +The very goose-feather in my hand seems to know instinctively the +well-worn path of my imagination, the favourite theme of my song, +and is with difficulty restrained from giving you a couple of +paragraphs on the love-adventures of my compeers, the humble +inmates of the farm-house and cottage; but the grave sons of +science, ambition, or avarice, baptise these things by the name +of follies. To the sons and daughters of labour and poverty they +are matters of the most serious nature: to them the ardent hope, +the stolen interview, the tender farewell, are the greatest and +most delicious parts of their enjoyments.</p> + +<p>Another circumstance in my life which made some alteration in +my mind and manners, was, that I spent my nineteenth summer on a +smuggling coast, a good distance from home, at a noted school, to +learn mensuration, surveying, dialling, etc., in which I made a +pretty good progress. But I made a greater progress in the +knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at that time very +successful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those +who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and roaring +dissipation were, till this time, new to me: but I was no enemy +to social life. Here, though I learned to fill my glass, and to +mix without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I went on with a high +hand with my geometry, till the sun entered Virgo, a month which +is always a carnival in my bosom, when a charming fillette, who +lived next door to the school, overset my trigonometry, and set +me off at a tangent from the spheres of my studies. I, however, +struggled on with my sines and cosines for a few days more; but +stepping into the garden one charming noon, to take the sun's +altitude, there I met my angel,<br> +Like Proserpine gathering flowers,<br> +Herself a fairer flower.</p> + +<p>It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school.</p> + +<p>The remaining week I staid I did nothing but craze the +faculties of my soul about her, or steal out to meet her; and the +two last nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been a +mortal sin, the image of this modest and innocent girl had kept +me guiltless.</p> + +<p>I returned home very considerably improved. My reading was +enlarged with the very important edition of Thomson's and +Shenstone's Works; I had seen human nature in a new phasis; and I +engaged several of my schoolfellows to keep up a literary +correspondence with me. This improved me in composition. I had +met with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's +reign, and I pored over them most devoutly. I kept copies of any +of my own letters that pleased me, and a comparison between them +and the composition of most of my correspondents flattered my +vanity. I carried this whim so far, that though I had not +three-farthings' worth of business in the world, yet almost every +post brought me as many letters as if I had been a broad plodding +son of day-book and ledger.</p> + +<p>My life flowed on much in the same course till my twenty-third +year. <i>Vive l'amour, et vive la bagatelle</i>, were my sole +principles of action. The addition of two more authors to my +library gave me great pleasure; Sterne and Mackenzie—<i>Tristram +Shandy</i> and the <i>Man of Feeling</i> were my bosom +favourites. Poesy was still a darling walk for my mind, but it +was only indulged in according to the humour of the hour. I had +usually half-a-dozen or more pieces on hand: I took up one or +other, as it suited the momentary tone of the mind, and dismissed +the work as it bordered on fatigue. My passions, when once +lighted up, raged like so many devils, till they got vent in +rhyme; and then the conning over my verses, like a spell, soothed +all into quiet! None of the rhymes of those days are in print, +except "Winter, a Dirge," the eldest of my printed pieces; "The +Death of Poor Maillie," "John Barleycorn," and songs first, +second, and third. Song second was the ebullition of that passion +which ended the forementioned school business.</p> + +<p>My twenty-third year was to me an important era. Partly +through whim, and partly that I wished to set about doing +something in life, I joined a flax-dresser in a neighbouring town +(Irvine), to learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair. My +partner was a scoundrel of the first water; and to finish the +whole, as we were giving a welcome carousal to the New Year, the +shop took fire and burnt to ashes, and I was left, like a true +poet, not worth a sixpence.</p> + +<p>I was obliged to give up this scheme; the clouds of misfortune +were gathering thick round my father's head; and, what was worst +of all, he was visibly far gone in a consumption; and, to crown +my distresses, a <i>belle fille</i>, whom I adored, and who had +pledged her soul to meet me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, +with peculiar circumstances of mortification. The finishing evil +that brought up the rear of this infernal file, was my +constitutional melancholy being increased to such a degree that +for three months I was in a state of mind scarcely to be envied +by the hopeless wretches who have got their mittimus—"Depart +from me, ye cursed."</p> + +<p>From this adventure I learned something of a town life; but +the principal thing which gave my mind a turn was a friendship I +formed with a young fellow, a very noble character, but a hapless +son of misfortune.<a name="FNanchor40"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_40">[40]</a></sup> He was the son of a simple +mechanic; but a great man in the neighbourhood taking him under +his patronage, gave him a genteel education, with a view of +bettering his situation in life. The patron dying just as he was +ready to launch out into the world, the poor fellow, in despair, +went to sea; where, after a variety of good and ill fortune, a +little before I was acquainted with him he had been sent on shore +by an American privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught, +stripped of everything. I cannot quit this poor fellow's story +without adding, that he is at this time master of a large +West-India-man belonging to the Thames.</p> + +<p>His mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and every +manly virtue. I loved and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, +and of course strove to imitate him.</p> + +<p>In some measure I succeeded; I had pride before, but he taught +it to flow in proper channels. His knowledge of the world was +vastly superior to mine, and I was all attention to learn. He was +the only man I ever saw who was a greater fool than myself where +woman was the presiding star; but he spoke of illicit love with +the levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with +horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, and the +consequence was, that soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote +the "Poet's Welcome." My reading only increased while in this +town by two stray volumes of <i>Pamela</i>, and one of +<i>Ferdinand Count Fathom</i>, which gave me some idea of novels. +Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are in print, I had +given up; but meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I strung +anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When my +father died, his all went among the hell-hounds that prowl in the +kennel of justice; but we made a shift to collect a little money +in the family amongst us, with which, to keep us together, my +brother and I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my +hair-brained imagination, as well as my social and amorous +madness; but in good sense, and every sober qualification, he was +far my superior.</p> + +<p>I entered on this farm with a full resolution, "Come, go to, I +will be wise!" I read farming books; I calculated crops; I +attended markets; and, in short, in spite of the devil, and the +world, and the flesh, I believe I should have been a wise man; +but the first year, from unfortunately buying bad seed, the +second from a late harvest, we lost half our crops. This overset +all my wisdom, and I returned "like the dog to his vomit, and the +sow that was washed, to her wallowing in the mire."</p> + +<p>I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of +rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring that saw the light was a +burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend +Calvinists, both of them <i>dramatis personæ</i> in my +"Holy Fair". I had a notion myself that the piece had some merit; +but, to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to a friend, who +was very fond of such things, and told him that I could not guess +who was the author of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. +With a certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, it +met with a roar of applause. "Holy Willie's Prayer" next made its +appearance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held +several meetings to look over their spiritual artillery, if haply +any of it might be pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily for +me, my wanderings led me on another side, within point-blank shot +of their heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate story that gave +rise to my printed poem, "The Lament." This was a most melancholy +affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very +nearly given me one or two of the principal qualifications for a +place among those who have lost the chart, and mistaken the +reckoning of rationality. I gave up my part of the farm to my +brother; in truth it was only nominally mine; and made what +little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But before +leaving my native country for ever, I resolved to publish my +poems. I weighed my productions as impartially as was in my +power; I thought they had merit; and it was a delicious idea that +I should be called a clever fellow, even though it should never +reach my ears—a poor negro-driver—or perhaps a victim to that +inhospitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits! I can truly +say, that, <i>pauvre inconnu</i> as I then was, I had pretty +nearly as high an idea of myself and of my works as I have at +this moment, when the public has decided in their favour. It ever +was my opinion that the mistakes and blunders, both in a rational +and religious point of view, of which we see thousands daily +guilty, are owing to their ignorance of themselves. To know +myself, had been all along my constant study. I weighed myself +alone; I balanced myself with others; I watched every means of +information, to see how much ground I occupied as a man, and as a +poet; I studied assiduously Nature's design in my +formation—where the lights and shades in my character were +intended. I was pretty confident my poems would meet with some +applause; but at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen +the voice of censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes make +me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of which I had +got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty. My vanity +was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the public; +and besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty +pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I was thinking of +indenting myself, for want of money to procure my passage. As +soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of wafting me to +the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the first ship that +was to sail from the Clyde, for</p> + +<p>Hungry ruin had me in the wind.</p> + +<p>I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under +all the terrors of a jail; as some ill-advised people had +uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had taken +the last farewell of my few friends; my chest was on the road to +Greenock; I had composed the last song I should ever measure in +Caledonia—"The gloomy night is gathering fast," when a letter +from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine overthrew all my schemes, +by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. The doctor +belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause I had not dared +to hope. His opinion, that I would meet with encouragement in +Edinburgh for a second edition, fired me so much, that away I +posted for that city, without a single acquaintance or a single +letter of introduction. The baneful star that had so long shed +its blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a revolution +to the nadir; and a kind Providence placed me under the patronage +of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. <i>Oubliez +moi, grand Dieu, si jamais je l'oublie</i>!</p> + +<p>I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I was in a new world; I +mingled among many classes of men, but all of them new to me, and +I was all attention to "catch" the characters, and "the manners +living as they rise."</p> + +<p>You can now, Sir, form a pretty near guess of what sort of a +wight he is whom for some time you have honoured with your +correspondence. That whim and fancy, keen sensibility and riotous +passions, may still make him zigzag in his future path of life is +very probable; but come what will, I shall answer for him the +most determinate integrity and honour. And though his evil star +should again blaze in his meridian with tenfold more direful +influence, he may reluctantly tax friendship with pity, but with +no more.</p> + +<p>My most respectful compliments to Miss Williams.<a name= +"FNanchor41"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_41">[41]</a></sup> The +very elegant and friendly letter she honoured me with a few days +ago I cannot answer at present, as my presence is required at +Edinburgh for a week or so, and I set off to-morrow.</p> + +<p>I enclose you <i>Holy Willie</i> for the sake of giving you a +little further information of the affair than Mr. Creech<a name= +"FNanchor42"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_42">[42]</a></sup> could +do. An elegy I composed the other day on Sir James H. Blair, if +time allow, I will transcribe. The merit is just mediocre.</p> + +<p>If you will oblige me so highly, and do me so much honour as +now and then to drop me a line, please direct to me at Mauchline. +With the most grateful respect, I have the honour to be, Sir, +your very humble servant, ROBERT BURNS.<a name= +"FNanchor43"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_43">[43]</a></sup></p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor40">[40]</a> +Richard Brown.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor41">[41]</a> A +young poetical lady, though not a poetess.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor42">[42]</a> His +Edinburgh publisher; a bookseller, afterwards Lord Provost of the +city.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor43">[43]</a> The +foregoing biographical letter brings us down to Burns's 29th +year.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LVIL.—To MR. ARCHIBALD LAWRIE.<a name= +"FNanchor44"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_44">[44]</a></sup></h4> + +EDINBURGH, 14<i>th August</i> 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—Here am I. That is all I can tell you of that +unaccountable being, myself. What I am doing no mortal can tell; +what I am thinking, I myself cannot tell; what I am usually +saying is not worth telling. The clock is just striking—one, +two, three, four...twelve, forenoon; and here I sit in the attic +storey, the garret, with a friend on the right hand of my +standish, a friend whose kindness I shall largely experience at +the close of this line—there, thank you!—a friend, my dear +Lawrie, whose kindness often makes me blush—a friend who has +more of the milk of human kindness than all the human race put +together, and what is highly to his honour, peculiarly a friend +to the friendless as often as they come his way; in short, Sir, +he is wthout the least alloy a universal philanthropist, and his +much-beloved name is a bottle of good old Port!</p> + +<p>In a week, if whim and weather serve, I set out for the north, +a tour to the Highlands.</p> + +<p>I ate some Newhaven broth—in other words, boiled +mussels—with Mr. Farquharson's family t'other day. Now I see you +prick up your ears. They are all well, and mademoiselle is +particularly well. She begs her respects to you all—along with +which please present those of your humble servant. I can no more. +I have so high a veneration, or rather idolatrization, for the +clerical character, that even a little <i>futurum esse</i> +priestling, with his <i>penna pennæ</i>, throws an awe over +my mind in his presence, and shortens my sentences into single +ideas.</p> + +<p>Farewell, and believe me to be ever, my dear Sir, yours,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor44">[44]</a> Son, and +successor, to the minister of Loudon.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LVIII.—To MR. ROBERT MUIR, KILMARNOCK.</h4> + +STIRLING, 26<i>th August</i> 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I intended to have written you from Edinburgh, +and now write you from Stirling to make an excuse. Here am I, on +my way to Inverness, with a truly original, but very worthy man, +a Mr. Nicol, one of the masters of the High-school in Edinburgh. +I left Auld Reekie yesterday morning, and have passed, besides +by-excursions, Linlithgow, Borrowstounness, Falkirk, and here am +I undoubtedly. This morning I knelt at the tomb of Sir John the +Graham, the gallant friend of the immortal Wallace; and two hours +ago I said a fervent prayer for old Caledonia over the hole in a +blue whinstone, where Robert de Bruce fixed his royal standard on +the banks of Bannockburn and just now, from Stirling Castle, I +have seen by the setting sun the glorious prospect of the +windings of Forth through the rich carse of Stirling, and +skirting the equally rich carse of Falkirk. The crops are very +strong, but so very late that there is no harvest except a ridge +or two perhaps in ten miles, all the way I have travelled from +Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>I left Andrew Bruce<a name="FNanchor45"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_45">[45]</a></sup> and family all well. I will be at +least three weeks in making my tour, as I shall return by the +coast, and have many people to call for.</p> + +<p>My best compliments to Charles, our dear kinsman and +fellow-saint; and Messrs. W. and H. Parkers. I hope Hughoc<a +name="FNanchor46"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_46">[46]</a></sup> +is going on and prospering with God and Miss M'Causlin.</p> + +<p>If I could think on anything sprightly, I should let you hear +every other post; but a dull, matter-of-fact business like this +scrawl, the less and seldomer one writes the better.</p> + +<p>Among other matters-of-fact I shall add this, that I am and +ever shall be, my dear Sir, your obliged,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor45">[45]</a> A +shopkeeper on the North Bridge, Edinburgh.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor46">[46]</a> The +wee Hughoc mentioned in "Poor Maillie."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LIX.—TO MR. GAVIN HAMILTON.</h4> + +STIRLING, <i>28th August</i> 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—Here am I on my way to Inverness. I have rambled +over the rich, fertile carses of Falkirk and Stirling, and am +delighted with their appearance: richly waving crops of wheat, +barley, etc., but no harvest at all yet, except, in one or two +places, an old-wife's ridge. Yesterday morning I rode from this +town up the meandering Devon's banks, to pay my respects to some +Ayrshire folks at Harvieston. After breakfast, we made a party to +go and see the famous Caudron-linn, a remarkable cascade in the +Devon, about five miles above Harvieston; and after spending one +of the most pleasant days I ever had in my life, I returned to +Stirling in the evening. They are a family, Sir, though I had not +had any prior tie, though they had not been the brother and +sisters of a certain generous friend of mine, I would never +forget them. I am told you have not seen them these several +years, so you can have very little idea of what these young folks +are now. Your brother<a name="FNanchor47"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_47">[47]</a></sup> is as tall as you are, but slender +rather than otherwise; and I have the satisfaction to inform you +that he is getting the better of those consumptive symptoms which +I suppose you know were threatening him. His make, and +particularly his manner, resemble you, but he will have a still +finer face. (I put in the word still, to please Mrs. Hamilton.) +Good sense, modesty, and at the same time a just idea of that +respect that man owes to man, and has a right in his turn to +exact, are striking features in his character; and, what with me +is the Alpha and the Omega, he has a heart that might adorn the +breast of a poet! Grace has a good figure, and the look of health +and cheerfulness, but nothing else remarkable in her person. I +scarcely ever saw so striking a likeness as is between her and +your little Beenie; the mouth and chin particularly. She is +reserved at first; but as we grew better acquainted, I was +delighted with the native frankness of her manner, and the +sterling sense of her observation. Of Charlotte I cannot speak in +common terms of admiration: she is not only beautiful but lovely. +Her form is elegant; her features not regular, but they have the +smile of sweetness, and the settled complacency of good nature in +the highest degree; and her complexion, now that she has happily +recovered her wonted health, is equal to Miss Burnet's. After the +exercises of our riding to the Falls, Charlotte was exactly Dr. +Donne's mistress:—<br> +Her pure and eloquent blood<br> +Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,<br> +That one would almost say her body thought.</p> + +<p>Her eyes are fascinating; at once expressive of good sense, +tenderness, and a noble mind.</p> + +<p>I do not give you all this account, my good Sir, to flatter +you. I mean it to reproach you. Such relations the first peer in +the realm might own with pride; then why do you not keep up more +correspondence with these so amiable young folks? I had a +thousand questions to answer about you. I had to describe the +little ones with the minuteness of anatomy. They were highly +delighted when I told them that John<a name= +"FNanchor48"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_48">[48]</a></sup> was +so good a boy, and so fine a scholar, and that Willie was going +on still very pretty; but I have it in commission to tell her +from them, that beauty is a poor silly bauble without she be +good. Miss Chalmers I had left in Edinburgh, but I had the +pleasure of meeting with Mrs. Chalmers, only Lady Mackenzie being +rather a little alarmingly ill of a sore throat somewhat marred +our enjoyment.</p> + +<p>I shall not be in Ayrshire for four weeks. My most respectful +compliments to Mrs. Hamilton, Miss Kennedy, and Doctor Mackenzie. +I shall probably write him from some stage or other.—I am ever; +Sir, yours most gratefully,</p> + +<p>ROBT. BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor47">[47]</a> +Step-brother, more correctly.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor48">[48]</a> This +is the "Wee Curlie Johnnie" mentioned in Burns's <i>Dedication to +Gavin Hamilton, Esq.</i></p> + +<hr> +<h4>LX.—To MR. WALKER, BLAIR OF ATHOLE.<a name= +"FNanchor49"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_49">[49]</a></sup></h4> + +INVERNESS, <i>5th September</i> 1787. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I have just time to write the foregoing,<a name= +"FNanchor50"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_50">[50]</a></sup> and +to tell you that it was (at least most part of it) the effusion +of an half-hour I spent at Bruar. I do not mean it was extempore, +for I have endeavoured to brush it up as well as Mr. Nicol's +chat, and the jogging of the chaise, would allow. It eases my +heart a good deal, as rhyme is the coin with which a poet pays +his debts of honour or gratitude. What I owe to the noble family +of Athole, of the first kind, I shall ever proudly boast; what I +owe of the last, so help me God in my hour of need! I shall never +forget.</p> + +<p>The "little angel-band!" I declare I prayed for them very +sincerely today at the Fall of Fyers. I shall never forget the +fine family-piece I saw at Blair; the amiable, the truly noble +duchess, with her smiling little seraph in her lap, at the head +of the table; the lovely "olive plants," as the Hebrew bard +finely says, round the happy mother; the beautiful Mrs. G—-; the +lovely, sweet Miss C., etc. I wish I had the powers of Guido to +do them justice! My Lord Duke's kind hospitality—markedly kind +indeed; Mr. Graham of Fintry's charms of conversation; Sir W. +Murray's friendship. In short, the recollection of all that +polite, agreeable company raises an honest glow in my bosom.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor49">[49]</a> Mr. +Walker was tutor to the children of the Duke of Athole. He +afterwards became Professor of Humanity in the University of +Glasgow.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor50">[50]</a> The +Humble Petition of Bruar Water.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXI.—To His BROTHER, MR. GILBERT BURNS, MOSSGIEL.</h4> + +EDINBERG, 17<i>th September</i> 1787. + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I arrived here safe yesterday evening after a +tour of twenty-two days, and travelling near six hundred miles, +windings included. My farthest stretch was about ten miles beyond +Inverness. I went through the heart of the Highlands by Crieff, +Taymouth, the famous seat of Lord Breadalbane, down the Tay, +among cascades and druidical circles of stones, to Dunkeld, a +seat of the Duke of Athole; thence across Tay, and up one of his +tributary streams to Blair of Athole, another of the duke's +seats, where I had the honour of spending nearly two days with +his grace and family; thence many miles through a wild country +among cliffs grey with eternal snows, and gloomy savage glens, +till I crossed Spey and went down the stream through Strathspey, +so famous in Scottish music; Badenoch, etc., till I reached Grant +Castle, where I spent half a day with Sir James Grant and family; +and then crossed the country for Fort George, but called by the +way at Cawdor, the ancient seat of Macbeth; there I saw the +identical bed in which tradition says king Duncan was murdered: +lastly, from Fort George to Inverness.</p> + +<p>I returned by the coast through Nairn, Forres, and so on, to +Aberdeen, thence to Stonehive, where James Burness, from +Montrose, met me by appointment. I spent two days among our +relations, and found our aunts, Jean and Isabel, still alive, and +hale old women. John Cairn, though born the same year with our +father, walks as vigorously as I can: they have had several +letters from his son in New York. William Brand is likewise a +stout old fellow; but further particulars I delay till I see you, +which will be in two or three weeks. The rest of my stages are +not worth rehearsing; warm as I was for Ossian's country, where I +had seen his very grave, what cared I for fishing-towns or +fertile carses? I slept at the famous Brodie of Brodie's one +night, and dined at Gordon Castle next day, with the Duke, +Duchess, and family. I am thinking to cause my old mare to meet +me, by means of John Ronald, at Glasgow; but you shall hear +farther from me before I leave Edinburgh. My duty and many +compliments from the north to my mother; and my brotherly +compliments to the rest. I have been trying for a berth for +William,<a name="FNanchor51"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_51">[51]</a></sup> but am not likely to be successful. +Farewell. R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor51">[51]</a> Their +youngest brother, afterwards a journeyman saddler.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXII.—TO MR. PATRICK MILLER,<a name="FNanchor52"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_52">[52]</a></sup>DALSWINTON.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 20<i>th Oct</i>., 1787. + +<p>SIR,—I was spending a few days at Sir William Murray's, +Ochtertyre, and did not get your obliging letter till to-day I +came to town. I was still more unlucky in catching a miserable +cold, for which the medical gentlemen have ordered me into close +confinement under pain of death—the severest of penalties. In +two or three days, if I get better, and if I hear at your +lodgings that you are still at Dalswinton, I will take a ride to +Dumfries directly. From something in your last, I would wish to +explain my idea of being your tenant. I want to be a farmer in a +small farm, about a plough-gang, in a pleasant country, under the +auspices of a good landlord. I have no foolish notion of being a +tenant on easier terms than another. To find a farm where one can +live at all is not easy—I only mean living soberly, like an +old-style farmer, and joining personal industry. The banks of the +Nith are as sweet poetic ground as any I ever saw; and besides, +Sir, 'tis but justice to the feelings of my own heart and the +opinion of my best friends, to say that I would wish to call you +landlord sooner than any landed gentleman I know. These are my +views and wishes; and in whatever way you think best to lay out +your farms I shall be happy to rent one of them. I shall +certainly be able to ride to Dalswinton about the middle of next +week, if I hear that you are not gone.—I have the honour to be, +Sir, your obliged humble servant,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor52">[52]</a> His +future landlord, at Ellisland.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXIII.-To REV. JOHN SKINNER.</h4> + +Edinburgh, <i>October</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1787. + +<p>Reverend and Venerable Sir,—Accept, in plain, dull prose, my +most sincere thanks for the best poetical compliment I ever +received. I assure you, Sir, as a poet, you have conjured up an +airy demon of vanity in my fancy, which the best abilities in +your other capacity would be ill able to lay. I regret, and while +I live I shall regret, that when I was in the north I had not the +pleasure of paying a younger brother's dutiful respect to the +author of the best Scotch song ever Scotland saw—"Tullochgorum's +my delight!" The world may think slightingly of the craft of +song-making if they please; but, as Job says—"O that mine +adversary had written a book!"—let them try. There is a certain +something in the old Scotch songs, a wild happiness of thought +and expression, which peculiarly marks them, not only from +English songs, but also from the modern efforts of song-wrights, +in our native manner and language. The only remains of this +enchantment, these spells of the imagination, rest with you. Our +true brother, Ross of Lochlee, was likewise "owre cannie"—a +"wild warlock"—but now he sings among the "sons of the +morning."</p> + +<p>I have often wished, and will certainly endeavour, to form a +kind of common acquaintance among all the genuine sons of +Caledonian song. The world, busy in low prosaic pursuits, may +overlook most of us; but "reverence thyself." The world is not +our <i>peers</i> so we challenge the jury. We can lash that +world, and find ourselves a very great source of amusement and +happiness independent of that world.</p> + +<p>There is a work<a name="FNanchor53"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_53">[53]</a></sup> going on in Edinburgh, just now, +which claims your best assistance. An engraver in this town has +set about collecting and publishing all the Scotch songs, with +the music, that can be found. Songs in the English language, if +by Scotchmen, are admitted, but the music must all be Scotch. +Drs. Beattie and Blacklock are lending a hand, and the first +musician in town presides over that department. I have been +absolutely crazed about it, collecting old stanzas, and every +information remaining respecting their origin, authors, etc., +etc. This last is but a very fragment business; but at the end of +his second number—the first is already published—a small +account will be given of the authors, particularly to preserve +those of latter times. Your three songs, "Tullochgorum," "John of +Badenyon," and "Ewie wi' the crookit Horn," go in this second +number. I was determined, before I got your letter, to write you, +begging that you would let me know where the editions of these +pieces may be found as you would wish them to continue in future +times: and if you would be so kind to this undertaking as send +any songs, of your own or others, that you would think proper to +publish, your name will be inserted among the other authors. +"Nill ye, will ye," one-half of Scotland already give your songs +to other authors. Paper is done. I beg to hear from you; the +sooner the better, as I leave Edinburgh in a fortnight or three +weeks.—I am, with the warmest sincerity, Sir, your obliged +humble Servant, R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor53">[53]</a> +Johnson's <i>Musical Museum</i>.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXIV.—To Miss MARGARET CHALMERS, HARVIESTON. (AFTERWARDS +MRS. HAY, OF EDINBURGH.)</h4> + +<i>Oct</i>. 26, 1787. + +<p>I send Charlotte the first number of the songs; I would not +wait for the second number; I hate delays in little marks of +friendship, as I hate dissimulation in the language of the heart. +I am determined to pay Charlotte a poetic compliment, if I could +hit on some glorious old Scotch air, in number second.<a name= +"FNanchor54"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_54">[54]</a></sup> You +will see a small attempt on a shred of paper in the book; but +though Dr. Blacklock commended it very highly, I am not just +satisfied with it myself. I intend to make it a description of +some kind: the whining cant of love, except in real passion, and +by a masterly hand, is to me as insufferable as the preaching +cant of old Father Smeaton, whig-minister at Kilmaurs. Darts, +flames, cupids, loves, graces, and all that farrago, are just a +Mauchline—a senseless rabble.</p> + +<p>I got an excellent poetic epistle yesternight from the old, +venerable author of "Tullochgorum," "John of Badenyon," etc. I +suppose you know he is a clergyman. It is by far the finest +poetic compliment I ever got. I will send you a copy of it.</p> + +<p>I go on Thursday or Friday to Dumfries, to wait on Mr. Miller +about his farms. Do tell that to Lady Mackenzie, that she may +give me credit for a little wisdom. "I, Wisdom, dwell with +Prudence." What a blessed fireside! How happy should I be to pass +a winter evening under their venerable roof! and smoke a pipe of +tobacco, or drink water-gruel with them! What solemn, lengthened, +laughter-quashing gravity of phiz! What sage remarks on the +good-for-nothing sons and daughters of indiscretion and folly! +And what frugal lessons, as we straitened the fireside circle, on +the uses of the poker and tongs!</p> + +<p>Miss N. is very well, and begs to be remembered in the old way +to you. I used all my eloquence, all the persuasive flourishes of +the hand, and heart-melting modulation of periods in my power, to +urge her out to Harvieston, but all in vain. My rhetoric seems +quite to have lost its effect on the lovely half of mankind. I +have seen the day—but this is "a tale of other years." In my +conscience I believe that my heart has been so oft on fire that +it is absolutely vitrified. I look on the sex with something like +the admiration with which I regard the starry sky in a frosty +December night. I admire the beauty of the Creator's workmanship; +I am charmed with the wild but graceful eccentricity of their +motions, and—wish them good-night. I mean this with respect to a +certain passion <i>dont j'at eu l'honneur d'etre un miserable +esclave</i>. As for friendship, you and Charlotte have given me +pleasure, permanent pleasure, "which the world cannot give, nor +take away," I hope, and which will outlast the heavens and the +earth.</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor54">[54]</a> Of +the Scots <i>Musical Museum</i>.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXV.—To MRS. DUNLOP OF DUNLOP HOUSE, STEWARTON.</h4> + +Edin., 4<i>th Nov</i>. 1787. + +<p>Madam,— ... When you talk of correspondence and friendship to +me, you do me too much honour; but, as I shall soon be at my +wonted leisure and rural occupation, if any remark on what I have +read or seen, or any new rhyme that I may twist, be worth the +while ... you shall have it with all my heart and soul. It +requires no common exertion of good sense and philosophy in +persons of elevated rank to keep a friendship properly alive with +one much their inferior. Externals, things wholly extraneous of +the man, steal upon the hearts and judgments of almost, if not +altogether, all mankind; nor do I know more than one instance of +a man who fully regards all the world as a stage and all the men +and women merely players, and who (the dancing-school bow +excepted) only values these players, the <i>dramatis +personæ</i> who build cities and who rear hedges, who +govern provinces or superintend flocks, <i>merely as they act +their parts</i>. For the honour of Ayrshire this man is Professor +Dugald Stewart of Catrine. To him I might perhaps add another +instance, a Popish bishop, Geddes of Edinburgh.... I ever could +ill endure those ... beasts of prey who foul the hallowed ground +of religion with their nocturnal prowlings; and if the +prosecution against my worthy friend, Dr. McGill, goes on, I +shall keep no measure with the savages, but fly at them with the +<i>faucons</i> of ridicule, or run them down with the bloodhounds +of satire as lawful game wherever I start them.</p> + +<p>I expect to leave Edinburgh in eight or ten days, and shall +certainly do myself the honour of calling at Dunlop House as I +return to Ayrshire.—I have the honour to be, Madam, your obliged +humble Servant,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXVI.—To MR. JAMES HOY,<a name="FNanchor55"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_55">[55]</a></sup>GORDON CASTLE.</h4> + +Edinburg, 6<i>th November</i> 1787. + +<p>Dear Sir,—I would have wrote you immediately on receipt of +your kind letter, but a mixed impulse of gratitude and esteem +whispered to me that I ought to send you something by way of +return. When a poet owes anything, particularly when he is +indebted for good offices, the payment that usually recurs to +him—the only coin, indeed, in which he is probably +conversant—is rhyme. Johnson sends the books by the fly, as +directed, and begs me to inclose his most grateful thanks: my +return I intended should have been one or two poetic bagatelles +which the world have not seen, or, perhaps, for obvious seasons, +cannot see. These I shall send you before I leave Edinburgh. They +may make you laugh a little, which, on the whole, is no bad way +of spending one's precious hours and still more precious breath. +At any rate, they will be, though a small, yet a very sincere +mark of my respectful esteem for a gentleman whose farther +acquaintance I should look upon as a peculiar obligation.</p> + +<p>The Duke's song, independent totally of his dukeship, charms +me. There is I know not what of wild happiness of thought and +expression peculiarly beautiful in the old Scottish song style, +of which his Grace, old venerable Skinner, the author of +"Tullochgorum," etc., and the late Ross, at Lochlee, of true +Scottish poetic memory, are the only modern instances that I +recollect, since Ramsay, with his contemporaries, and poor Bob +Fergusson, went to the world of deathless existence and truly +immortal song. The mob of mankind, that many-headed beast, would +laugh at so serious a speech about an old song; but, as Job says, +"O that mine adversary had written a book!" Those who think that +composing a Scotch song is a trifling business—let them +try.</p> + +<p>I wish my Lord Duke would pay a proper attention to the +Christian admonition, "Hide not your candle under a bushel," but +"let your light shine before men." I could name half-a-dozen +Dukes that I guess are a deal worse employed; nay, I question if +there are half-a-dozen better: perhaps there are not half that +scanty number whom Heaven has favoured with the tuneful, happy, +and, I will say, glorious gift.—I am, dear Sir, your obliged +humble servant, R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor55">[55]</a> +Librarian to the Duke of Gordon.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXVII.-To THE EARL OF GLENCAIRN.</h4> + +Edinburg, (<i>End of</i> 1787.) + +<p>My Lord,—I know your lordship will disapprove of my ideas in +a request I am going to make to you; but I have weighed, long and +seriously weighed, my situation, my hopes, and turn of mind, and +am fully fixed to my scheme, if I can possibly effectuate it. I +wish to get into the Excise: I am told that your lordship's +interest will easily procure me the grant from the commissioners; +and your lordship's patronage and goodness, which have already +rescued me from obscurity, wretchedness, and exile, embolden me +to ask that interest. You have likewise put it in my power to +save the little tie of home that sheltered an aged mother, two +brothers, and three sisters from destruction. There, my lord, you +have bound me over to the highest gratitude.</p> + +<p>My brother's farm is but a wretched lease, but I think he will +probably weather out the remaining seven years of it; and after +the assistance which I have given, and will give him, to keep the +family together, I think, by my guess, I shall have rather better +than two hundred pounds, and instead of seeking, what is almost +impossible at present to find, a farm that I can certainly live +by, with so small a stock, I shall lodge this sum in a +banking-house, a sacred deposit, excepting only the calls of +uncommon distress or necessitous old age.</p> + +<p>These, my lord, are my views: I have resolved from the +maturest deliberation; and now I am fixed, I shall leave no stone +unturned to carry my resolve into execution. Your lordship's +patronage is the strength of my hopes; nor have I yet applied to +anybody else. Indeed my heart sinks within me at the idea of +applying to any other of the great who have honoured me with +their countenance. I am ill-qualified to dog the heels of +greatness with the impertinence of solicitation, and tremble +nearly as much at the thought of the cold promise as the cold +denial; but to your lordship I have not only the honour, the +comfort, but the pleasure of being your lordship's much obliged +and deeply indebted humble servant,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXVIII—To Miss CHALMERS.</h4> + +Edinburgh, <i>Nov</i>. 21, 1787. + +<p>I have one vexatious fault to the kindly, welcome, well-filled +sheet which I owe to your and Charlotte's goodness—it contains +too much sense, sentiment, and good spelling. It is impossible +that even you two, whom, I declare to my God, I will give credit +for any degree of excellence the sex are capable of attaining-it +is impossible you can go on to correspond at that rate; so, like +those who, Shenstone says, retire because they have made a good +speech, I shall, after a few letters, hear no more of you. I +insist that you shall write whatever comes first—what you see, +what you read, what you hear, what you admire, what you dislike, +trifles, bagatelles, nonsense; or, to fill up a corner, e'en put +down a laugh at full length. Now, none of your polite hints about +flattery; I leave that to your lovers, if you have or shall have +any; though, thank heaven, I have found at last two girls who can +be luxuriantly happy in their own minds and with one another, +without that commonly necessary appendage to female bliss—A +LOVER.</p> + +<p>Charlotte and you are just two favourite resting-places for my +soul in her wanderings through the weary, thorny wilderness of +this world. God knows, I am ill-fitted for the struggle: I glory +in being a poet, and I want to be thought a wise man—I would +fondly be generous, and I wish to be rich. After all, I am afraid +I am a lost subject. "Some folk hae a hantle o' faults, and I'm +but a ne'er-do-well".</p> + +<p><i>Afternoon</i>.—To close the melancholy reflections at the +end of last sheet, I shall just add a piece of devotion, commonly +known in Carrick by the title of the "Wabster's grace":—<br> +Some say we're thieves, and e'en sae are we,<br> +Some say we lie, and e'en sae do we!<br> +Gude forgie us, and I hope sae will he!<br> +Up and to your looms, lads.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXIX.—TO MISS CHALMERS.</h4> + +Edinburgh, <i>Dec</i>. 12, 1787. + +<p>I am here under the care of a surgeon, with a bruised limb +extended on a cushion, and the tints of my mind vieing with the +livid horror preceding a midnight thunderstorm. A drunken +coachman was the cause of the first, and incomparably the +lightest evil; misfortune, bodily constitution, hell, and myself +have formed a "quadruple alliance" to guarantee the other. I got +my fall on Saturday, and am getting slowly better.</p> + +<p>I have taken tooth and nail to the Bible, and am got through +the five books of Moses, and half way in Joshua. It is really a +glorious book. I sent for my bookbinder today, and ordered him to +get me an octavo Bible in sheets, the best paper and print in +town, and bind it with all the elegance of his craft.</p> + +<p>I would give my best song to my worst enemy—I mean the merit +of making it—to have you and Charlotte by me. You are angelic +creatures, and would pour oil and wine into my wounded +spirit.</p> + +<p>I inclose you a proof copy of the "Banks of the Devon", which +present with my best wishes to Charlotte. The "Ochil Hills"<a +name="FNanchor56"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_56">[56]</a></sup> +you shall probably have next week for yourself. None of your fine +speeches!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor56">[56]</a> The song +in honour of Miss Chalmers, beginning, "Where, braving angry +winter's storms".</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXX.—TO MISS CHALMERS.</h4> + +Edinburgh, 19<i>th Dec</i>. 1787. + +<p>I begin this letter in answer to yours of the 17th current, +which is not yet cold since I read it. The atmosphere of my soul +is vastly clearer than when I wrote you last. For the first time, +yesterday I crossed the room on crutches. It would do your heart +good to see my hardship, not on my poetic, but on my oaken +stilts; throwing my best leg with an air! and with as much +hilarity in my gait and countenance, as a May frog leaping across +the newly-harrowed ridge, enjoying the fragrance of the refreshed +earth, after the long-expected shower!</p> + +<p>I can't say I am altogether at my ease when I see anywhere in +my path that meagre, squalid, famine-faced spectre, poverty; +attended as he always is, by iron-fisted oppression, and leering +contempt; but I have sturdily withstood his buffetings many a +hard-laboured day already, and still my motto is—I DARE! My +worst enemy is <i>moi même</i>. I lie so miserably open to +the inroads and incursions of a mischievous, light-armed, +well-mounted banditti, under the banners of imagination, whim, +caprice, and passion; and the heavy-armed veteran regulars of +wisdom, prudence, and forethought move so very, very slow, that I +am almost in a state of perpetual warfare, and, alas! frequent +defeat. There are just two creatures I would envy, a horse in his +wild state traversing the forests of Asia, or an oyster on some +of the desert shores of Europe. The one has not a wish without +enjoyment, the other has neither wish nor fear.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXI.—TO MR. RICHARD BROWN, IRVINE.</h4> + +Edinburgh, 30<i>th Dec</i>. 1787. + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I have met with few things in life which have +given me more pleasure, than Fortune's kindness to you since +those days in which we met in the vale of misery; as I can +honestly say, that I never knew a man who more truly deserved it, +or to whom my heart more truly wished it. I have been much +indebted, since that time, to your story and sentiments for +steeling my mind against evils, of which I have had a pretty +decent share. My will-o'-wisp fate you know: do you recollect a +Sunday we spent together in Eglinton woods? You told me, on my +repeating some verses to you, that you wondered I could resist +the temptation of sending verses of such merit to a magazine. It +was from this remark I derived that idea of my own pieces, which +encouraged me to endeavour at the character of a poet. I am happy +to hear that you will be two or three months at home. As soon as +a bruised limb will permit me I shall return to Ayrshire, and we +shall meet; "and faith, I hope we'll not sit dumb, nor yet cast +out!"</p> + +<p>I have much to tell you "of men, their manners, and their +ways," perhaps a little of the other sex. Apropos, I beg to be +remembered to Mrs. Brown. There, I doubt not, my dear friend, but +you have found substantial happiness. I expect to find you +something of an altered but not a different man; the wild, bold, +generous young fellow composed into the steady affectionate +husband, and the fond careful parent. For me, I am just the same +will-o'-wisp being I used to be. About the first and fourth +quarters of the moon, I generally set in for the trade wind of +wisdom; but about the full and change, I am the luckless victim +of mad tornadoes, which blow me into chaos. Almighty love still +reigns and revels in my bosom; and I am at this moment ready to +hang myself for a young Edinburgh widow,<a name= +"FNanchor57"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_57">[57]</a></sup>who +has wit and wisdom more murderously fatal than the assassinating +stiletto of the Sicilian bandit, or the poisoned arrow of the +savage African. My Highland dirk, that used to hang beside my +crutches, I have gravely removed into a neighbouring closet, the +key of which I cannot command, in case of spring-tide paroxysms. +My best compliments to our friend Allan. Adieu!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor57">[57]</a> The +earliest allusion to Clarinda (Mrs. M'Lehose). Her husband was +alive, in the West Indies.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXII—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +Edinburg, <i>January</i> 21, 1788. + +<p>After six weeks' confinement, I am beginning to walk across +the room. They have been six horrible weeks; anguish and low +spirits made me unfit to read, write, or think.</p> + +<p>I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an +officer resigns a commission; for I would not take in any poor, +ignorant wretch by selling out. Lately I was a sixpenny private, +and, God knows, a miserable soldier enough; now I march to the +campaign, a starving cadet; a little more conspicuously +wretched.</p> + +<p>I am ashamed of all this; for though I do want bravery for the +warfare of life, I could wish, like some other soldiers, to have +as much fortitude or cunning as to dissemble or conceal my +cowardice.</p> + +<p>As soon as I can bear the journey, which will be, I suppose, +about the middle of next week, I leave Edinburgh; and soon after +I shall pay my grateful duty at Dunlop House. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXIII.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>February</i> 12, 1788. + +<p>Some things in your late letters hurt me—not that <i>you say +them</i>, but that <i>you mistake me</i>. Religion, my honoured +Madam, has not only been all my life my chief dependance, but my +dearest enjoyment. I have, indeed, been the luckless victim of +wayward follies; but, alas! I have ever been "more fool than +knave." A mathematician without religion is a probable character; +an irreligious poet is a monster.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXIV.—TO THE REV. JOHN SKINNER.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 14<i>th February</i> 1788. + +<p>Reverend and Dear Sir,—I have been a cripple now near three +months, though I am getting vastly better, and have been very +much hurried beside, or else I would have wrote you sooner. I +must beg your pardon for the epistle you sent me appearing in the +Magazine. I had given a copy or two to some of my intimate +friends, but did not know of the printing of it till the +publication of the Magazine. However, as it does great honour to +us both, you will forgive it.</p> + +<p>The second volume of the songs I mentioned to you in my last +is published to-day. I send you a copy, which I beg you will +accept as a mark of the veneration I have long had, and shall +ever have, for your character, and of the claim I make to your +continued acquaintance. Your songs appear in the third volume, +with your name in the index; as I assure you, Sir, I have heard +your "Tullochgorum," particularly among our west-country folks, +given to many different names, and most commonly to the immortal +author of "The Minstrel," who, indeed, never wrote any thing +superior to "Gie's a sang, Montgomery cried." Your brother<a +name="FNanchor58"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_58">[58]</a></sup> +has promised me your verses to the Marquis of Huntley's reel, +which certainly deserve a place in the collection. My kind host, +Mr. Cruikshank, of the High School here, and said to be one of +the best Latins in this age, begs me to make you his grateful +acknowledgments for the entertainment he has got in a Latin +publication of yours, that I borrowed for him from your +acquaintance and much-respected friend in this place, the Rev. +Dr. Webster. Mr. Cruikshank maintains that you write the best +Latin since Buchanan. I leave Edinburgh to-morrow, but shall +return in three weeks. Your song you mentioned in your last, to +the tune of "Dumbarton Drums," and the other, which you say was +done by a brother in trade of mine, a ploughman, I shall thank +you for a copy of each. I am ever, Reverend Sir, with the most +respectful esteem and sincere veneration, yours, R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor58">[58]</a> +Half-brother, James, a writer to the Signet.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXV.—TO MRS. ROSE, OF KILRAVOCK.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>February</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>MADAM,—You are much indebted to some indispensable business I +have had on my hands, otherwise my gratitude threatened such a +return for your obliging favour, as would have tired your +patience. It but poorly expresses my feelings to say, that I am +sensible of your kindness: it may be said of hearts such as yours +is, and such, I hope, mine is, much more justly than Addison +applies it,—</p> + +<p>Some souls by instinct to each other turn.</p> + +<p>There was something in my reception at Kilravock so different +from the cold, obsequious, dancing-school bow of politeness, that +it almost got into my head that friendship had occupied her +ground without the intermediate march of acquaintance. I wish I +could transcribe, or rather transfuse into language, the glow of +my heart when I read your letter. My ready fancy, with colours +more mellow than life itself, painted the beautifully wild +scenery of Kilravock—the venerable grandeur of the castle—the +spreading woods—the winding river, gladly leaving his unsightly, +heathy source, and lingering with apparent delight as he passes +the fairy walk at the bottom of the garden;—your late +distressful anxieties—your present enjoyments—your dear little +angel, the pride of your hopes;—my aged friend, venerable in +worth and years, whose loyalty and other virtues will strongly +entitle her to the support of the Almighty Spirit here, and His +peculiar favour in a happier state of existence. You cannot +imagine, Madam, how much such feelings delight me; they are my +dearest proofs of my own immortality. Should I never revisit the +north, as probably I never will, nor again see your hospitable +mansion, were I, some twenty years hence, to see your little +fellow's name making a proper figure in a newspaper paragraph, my +heart would bound with pleasure.</p> + +<p>I am assisting a friend in a collection of Scottish songs, set +to their proper tunes; every air worth preserving is to be +included; among others I have given "Morag," and some few +Highland airs which pleased me most, a dress which will be more +generally known, though far, far inferior in real merit. As a +small mark of my grateful esteem, I beg leave to present you with +a copy of the work, as far as it is printed; the Man of Feeling, +that first of men, has promised to transmit it by the first +opportunity.</p> + +<p>I beg to be remembered most respectfully to my venerable +friend, and to your little Highland chieftain. When you see the +"two fair spirits of the hill," at Kildrummie, tell them that I +have done myself the honour of setting myself down as one of +their admirers for at least twenty years to come, consequently +they must look upon me as an acquaintance for the same period; +but, as the Apostle Paul says, "this I ask of grace, not of +debt."—I have the honour to be, Madam, etc., ROBERT BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXVI-To RICHARD BROWN, GREENOCK.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 24<i>th February</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I cannot get the proper direction for my friend +in Jamaica, but the following will do:—To Mr, Jo. Hutchinson, at +Jo. Brownrigg's, Esq., care of Mr. Benjamin Henriquez, merchant, +Orange Street, Kingston. I arrived here, at my brother's, only +yesterday, after fighting my way through Paisley and Kilmarnock, +against those old powerful foes of mine, the devil, the world, +and the flesh—so terrible in the fields of dissipation. I have +met with few incidents in my life which gave me so much pleasure +as meeting you in Glasgow. There is a time of life beyond which +we cannot form a tie worth the name of friendship, "O youth! +enchanting stage, profusely blest." Life is a fairy scene: almost +all that deserves the name of enjoyment or pleasure is only a +charming delusion; and in comes repining age, in all the gravity +of hoary wisdom, and wretchedly chases away the bewitching +phantom. When I think of life, I resolve to keep a strict +look-out in the course of economy, for the sake of worldly +convenience and independence of mind; to cultivate intimacy with +a few of the companions of youth, that they may be the friends of +age; never to refuse my liquorish humour a handful of the +sweetmeats of life, when they come not too dear; and, for +futurity,—<br> +The present moment is our ain,<br> +The neist we never saw!</p> + +<p>How like you my philosophy? Give my best compliments to Mrs. +B., and believe me to be, my dear Sir, yours most truly, ROBERT +BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXVII.—To MR. WILLIAM CRUIKSHANK.<a name= +"FNanchor59"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_59">[59]</a></sup></h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>March</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1788. + +<p>My dear Sir,—Apologies for not writing are frequently like +apologies for not singing—the apology better than the song. I +have fought my way severely through the savage hospitality of +this country, the object of all hosts being to send every guest +drunk to bed if they can.</p> + +<p>I executed your commission in Glasgow, and I hope the cocoa +came safe. 'Twas the same price and the very same kind as your +former parcel, for the gentleman recollected your buying there +perfectly well.</p> + +<p>I Should return my thanks for your hospitality (I leave a +blank for the epithet, as I know none can do it justice) to a +poor, wayfaring bard, who was spent and almost overpowered +fighting with prosaic wickedness in high places; but I am afraid +lest you should burn the letter whenever you come to the passage, +so I pass over it in silence. I am just returned from visiting +Mr. Miller's farm. The friend whom I told you I would take with +me was highly pleased with the farm; and as he is, without +exception, the most intelligent farmer in the country, he has +staggered me a good deal. I have the two plans of life before me; +I shall balance them to the best of my judgment; and fix on the +most eligible. I have written Mr. Miller, and shall wait on him +when I come to town, which shall be the beginning or middle of +next week: I would be in sooner, but my unlucky knee is rather +worse, and I fear for some time will scarcely stand the fatigue +of my Excise instructions. I only mention these ideas to you, +and, indeed, except Mr. Ainslie, whom I intend writing to +tomorrow, I will not write at all to Edinburgh till I return to +it. I would send my compliments to Mr. Nicol, but he would be +hurt if he knew I wrote to anybody and not to him; so I shall +only beg my best, kindest, kindest compliments to my worthy +hostess, and the sweet little rose-bud.</p> + +<p>So soon as I am settled in the routine of life, either as an +Excise-officer, or as a farmer, I propose myself great pleasure +from a regular correspondence with the only man almost I ever +saw, who joined the most attentive prudence with the warmest +generosity.</p> + +<p>I am much interested for that best of men, Mr. Wood; I hope he +is in better health and spirits than when I saw him last.—I am +ever, my dearest friend, your obliged, humble servant, R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor59">[59]</a> One of +the masters of the High School of Edinburgh.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXVIII.—To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 3<i>rd March</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR FRIEND,—I am just returned from Mr. Miller's farm. My +old friend whom I took with me was highly pleased with the +bargain, and advised me to accept of it. He is the most +intelligent sensible farmer in the county, and his advice has +staggered me a good deal. I have the two plans before me; I shall +endeavour to balance them to the best of my judgment, and fix on +the most eligible. On the whole, if I find Mr. Miller in the same +favourable disposition as when I saw him last, I shall, in all +probability, turn farmer.</p> + +<p>I have been through sore tribulation and under much buffetting +of the wicked one, since I came to this country. Jean I found +banished, forlorn, destitute, and friendless; I have reconciled +her to her fate, and I have reconciled her to her mother.... I +swore her privately and solemnly never to attempt any claim on me +as a husband, even though anybody should persuade her she had +such a claim....</p> + +<p>I shall be in Edinburgh middle of next week. My farming ideas +I shall keep private till I see. I got a letter from Clarinda +yesterday, and she tells me she has got no letter of mine but +one. Tell her that I wrote to her from Glasgow, from Kilmarnock, +from Mauchline, and yesterday from Cumnock as I returned from +Dumfries. Indeed she is the only person in Edinburgh I have +written to till this day. How are your soul and body putting +up?—a little like man and wife I suppose.—Your faithful +friend,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXIX.—To MR. RICHARD BROWN.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 7<i>th March</i> 1788. + +<p>I have been out of the country, my dear friend, and have not +had an opportunity of writing till now, when, I am afraid, you +will be gone out of the country too. I have been looking at +farms, and, after all, perhaps I may settle in the character of a +farmer. I have got so vicious a bent to idleness, and have ever +been so little a man of business, that it will take no ordinary +effort to bring my mind properly into the routine: but you will +say a "great effort is worthy of you." I say so myself; and +butter up my vanity with all the stimulating compliments I can +think of. Men of grave, geometrical minds, the sons of "which was +to be demonstrated," may cry up reason as much as they please; +but I have always found an honest passion, or native instinct, +the truest auxiliary in the warfare of this world. Reason almost +always comes to me like an unlucky wife to a poor devil of a +husband, just in sufficient time to add her reproaches to his +other grievances.</p> + +<p>I am gratified with your kind inquiries after Jean; as, after +all, I may say with Othello—<br> +Excellent wretch!<br> +Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee!</p> + +<p>I go for Edinburgh on Monday.—Yours,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXX.—TO MR. ROBERT MUIR.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 7<i>th March</i> 1788. + +<p>DEAR SIR,—I have partly changed my ideas, my dear friend, +since I saw you. I took old Glenconner with me to Mr. Miller's +farm, and he was so pleased with it, that I have wrote an offer +to Mr. Miller, which, if he accepts, I shall sit down a plain +farmer, the happiest of lives when a man can live by it. In this +case I shall not stay in Edinburgh above a week. I set out on +Monday, and would have come by Kilmarnock; but there are several +small sums owing me for my first edition about Galston and +Newmilns, and I shall set off so early as to despatch my business +and reach Glasgow by night. When I return, I shall devote a +forenoon or two to make some kind of acknowledgment for all the +kindness I owe your friendship. Now that I hope to settle with +some credit and comfort at home, there was not any friendship or +friendly correspondence that promised me more pleasure than +yours; I hope I will not be disappointed. I trust the spring will +renew your shattered frame, and make your friends happy. You and +I have often agreed that life is no great blessing on the whole. +The close of life, indeed, to a reasoning age, is<br> +Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun<br> +Was roll'd together, or had tried his beams<br> +Athwart the gloom profound.</p> + +<p>But an honest man has nothing to fear. If we lie down in the +grave, the whole man a piece of broken machinery, to moulder with +the clods of the valley, be it so; at least there is an end of +pain, care, woes, and wants. If that part of us called mind does +survive the apparent destruction of the man—away with old-wife +prejudices and tales. Every age and every nation has had a +different set of stories; and as the many are always weak, of +consequence they have often, perhaps always, been deceived. A man +conscious of having acted an honest part among his +fellow-creatures—even granting that he may have been the sport +at times of passions and instincts—he goes to a great unknown +Being, who could have no other end in giving him existence but to +make him happy, who gave him those passions and instincts, and +well knows their force.</p> + +<p>These, my worthy friend, are my ideas; and I know they are not +far different from yours. It becomes a man of sense to think for +himself, particularly in a case where all men are equally +interested, and where, indeed, all men are equally in the +dark.</p> + +<p>Adieu, my dear Sir; God send us a cheerful meeting!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXI—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 7<i>th March</i> 1788. + +<p>MADAM,—The last paragraph in yours of the 30th February +affected me most; so I shall begin my answer where you ended your +letter. That I am often a sinner with any little wit I have, I do +confess; but I have taxed my recollection to no purpose to find +out when it was employed against you. I hate an ungenerous +sarcasm a great deal worse than I do the devil—at least as +Milton describes him; and though I may be rascally enough to be +sometimes guilty of it myself, I cannot endure it in others. You, +my honoured friend, who cannot appear in any light but you are +sure of being respectable—you can afford to pass by an occasion +to display your wit, because you may depend for fame on your +sense; or, if you choose to be silent, you know you can rely on +the gratitude of many, and the esteem of all; but, God help us, +who are wits or witlings by profession, if we stand not for fame +there, we sink unsupported!</p> + +<p>I am highly flattered by the news you tell me of Coila. I may +say to the fair painter<a name="FNanchor60"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_60">[60]</a></sup> who does me so much honour, as Dr. +Beattie says to Ross, the poet of his muse Scota, from which, by +the by, I took the idea of Coila: ('tis a poem of Beattie's in +the Scottish dialect, which, perhaps, you have never seen):—</p> + +<blockquote>Ye shak your head, but o' my fegs,<br> +Ye've set auld Scota on her legs;<br> +Lang had she lien wi' beffs and flegs,<br> +Bumbaz'd and dizzie,<br> +Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs,<br> +Wae's me, poor hizzie.</blockquote> + +R.B. <br> +<a name="Footnote_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor60">[60]</a> One of +Mrs. Dunlop's daughters was painting a sketch from the "Coila of +the Vision". + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXII—TO MR. WM. NICOL (PERHAPS).</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 7<i>th March</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—My life, since I saw you last, has been one +continued hurry; that savage hospitality which knocks a man down +with strong liquors, is the devil. I have a sore warfare in this +world; the devil, the world, and the flesh, are three formidable +foes. The first I generally try to fly from; the second, alas! +generally flies from me; but the third is my plague, worse than +the ten plagues of Egypt.</p> + +<p>I have been looking over several farms in this country; one in +particular, in Nithsdale, pleased me so well, that if my offer to +the proprietor is accepted, I shall commence farmer at +Whit-Sunday. If farming do not appear eligible, I shall have +recourse to any other shift; but this to a friend.</p> + +<p>I set out for Edinburgh on Monday morning; how long I stay +there is uncertain, but you will know so soon as I can inform you +myself. However I determine, poesy must be laid aside for some +time; my mind has been vitiated with idleness, and it will take a +good deal of effort to habituate it to the routine of +business.—I am, my dear Sir, yours sincerely, R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXIII.—TO MISS CHALMERS.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, <i>March</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>I know, my ever dear friend, that you will be pleased with the +news when I tell you I have at last taken a lease of a farm. +Yesternight I completed a bargain with Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton, +for the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the Nith, between five +and six miles above Dumfries. I begin at Whit-Sunday to build a +house, drive lime, etc., and Heaven be my help! for it will take +a strong effort to bring my mind into the routine of business. I +have discharged all the army of my former pursuits, fancies, and +pleasures—a motley host! and have literally and strictly +retained only the ideas of a few friends, which I have +incorporated into a life-guard. I trust in Dr. Johnson's +observation, "Where much is attempted, something is done." +Firmness, both in sufferance and exertion, is a character I would +wish to be thought to possess: and have always despised the +whining yelp of complaint, and the cowardly, feeble resolve.</p> + +<p>Poor Miss K.<a name="FNanchor61"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_61">[61]</a></sup> is ailing a good deal this winter, +and begged me to remember her to you the first time I wrote to +you. Surely woman, amiable woman, is often made in vain. Too +delicately formed for the rougher pursuits of ambition; too noble +for the dirt of avarice, and even too gentle for the rage of +pleasure; formed, indeed, for, and highly susceptible of +enjoyment and rapture; but that enjoyment, alas! almost wholly at +the mercy of the caprice, malevolence, stupidity, or wickedness +of an animal at all times comparatively unfeeling, and often +brutal. R.B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor61">[61]</a> Miss +Kennedy, sister of Gavin Hamilton. She lived nearly half a +century after this.</p> + +<hr> +<h2><a name="clarinda"></a><a href="#tclar">THE CLARINDA +LETTERS.</a></h2> + +<h3>NOTE PREFATORY TO THE LETTERS TO CLARINDA</h3> + +We have now arrived, in the history of Burns, as his general +correspondence reveals it, at the middle of March 1788. Before +the end of the month he had broken off from Clarinda, and shortly +afterwards he married Jean Armour. The correspondence with +Clarinda began in the last month of 1787, and ran its course in +three months. It is now necessary to go back to the commencement +of this correspondence, and to follow it down to its first +conclusion at the point to which his general correspondence has +brought us. It has been thought preferable to take it by itself. + +<p>Clarinda's maiden name was Agnes Craig. She was the daughter +of Mr. Andrew Craig, who had been a surgeon in Glasgow. Lord +Craig of the Court of Session was her cousin. She was born in the +same year as Burns, but three months later. At the age of +seventeen she was married to Mr. James M'Lehose, a law agent in +Glasgow. Incompatibility of temper resulted in a separation of +the unhappy pair five years after their marriage. The lady went +home to her father, and on his death in 1782 removed to +Edinburgh, where she lived independently on a small annuity. Her +two sons lived with her. Her husband meanwhile went out to the +West Indies to push his fortune.</p> + +<h3>LETTERS TO CLARINDA.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +<i>Thursday Evening</i> [<i>Dec</i>. 6<i>th</i>, 1787]. + +<p>MADAM,—I had set no small store by my tea-drinking tonight, +and have not often been so disappointed. Saturday evening I shall +embrace the opportunity with the greatest pleasure. I leave this +town this day se'ennight, and, probably, for a couple of +twelvemonths; but must ever regret that I so lately got an +acquaintance I shall ever highly esteem, and in whose welfare I +shall ever be warmly interested.</p> + +<p>Our worthy common friend, in her usual pleasant way, rallied +me a good deal on my new acquaintance, and in the humour of her +ideas I wrote some lines, which I inclose you, as I think they +have a good deal of poetic merit: and Miss Nimmo tells me you are +not only a critic, but a poetess. Fiction, you know, is the +native region of poetry; and I hope you will pardon my vanity in +sending you the bagatelle as a tolerably off-hand +<i>jeu-d'esprit</i>. I have several poetic trifles, which I shall +gladly leave with Miss Nimmo, or you, if they were worth house +room; as there are scarcely two people on earth by whom it would +mortify me more to be forgotten, though at the distance of +ninescore miles.—I am, Madam, with the highest respect, your +very humble servant,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>II.</h4> + +<i>Saturday Evening, Dec</i>. 8<i>th</i>, 1787. + +<p>I can say with truth, Madam, that I never met with a person in +my life whom I more anxiously wished to meet again than yourself. +To-night I was to have had that very great pleasure; I was +intoxicated with the idea, but an unlucky fall from a coach has +so bruised one of my knees, that I can't stir my leg; so if I +don't see you again, I shall not rest in my grave for chagrin. I +was vexed to the soul I had not seen you sooner; I determined to +cultivate your friendship with the enthusiasm of religion; but +thus has Fortune ever served me. I cannot bear the idea of +leaving Edinburgh without seeing you. I know not how to account +for it—I am strangely taken with some people, nor am I often +mistaken. You are a stranger to me; but I am an odd being: some +yet unnamed feelings, things, not principles, but better than +whims, carry me farther than boasted reason ever did a +philosopher. Farewell! every happiness be yours! ROBERT +BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>III.</h4> + +<i>Dec</i>. 12, 1787. + +<p>I stretch a point indeed, my dearest Madam, when I answer your +card on the rack of my present agony. Your friendship, Madam! By +heavens, I was never proud before. Your lines, I maintain it, are +poetry, and good poetry; mine were indeed partly fiction and +partly a friendship, which, had I been so blest as to have met +with you in time, might have led me—god of love only knows +where. Time is too short for ceremonies. I swear solemnly, in all +the tenor of my former oath, to remember you in all the pride and +warmth of friendship until I cease to be! To-morrow, and every +day till I see you, you shall hear from me. Farewell! May you +enjoy a better night's repose than I am likely to have. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>IV.</h4> + +<i>Thursday, Dec</i>. 20, 1787. + +<p>Your last, my dear Madam, had the effect on me that Job's +situation had on his friends when they sat down seven days and +seven nights astonished and spake not a word. "Pay my addresses +to a married woman!" I started as if I had seen the ghost of him +I had injured. I recollected my expressions; some of them were +indeed in the law phrase "habit and repute," which is being half +guilty. I cannot possibly say, Madam, whether my heart might not +have gone astray a little; but I can declare upon the honour of a +poet that the vagrant has wandered unknown to me. I have a pretty +handsome troop of follies of my own, and, like some other +people's, they are but undisciplined blackguards; but the +luckless rascals have something like honour in them—they would +not do a dishonest thing.</p> + +<p>To meet with an unfortunate woman, amiable and young, deserted +and widowed by those who were bound by every tie of duty, nature, +and gratitude to protect, comfort and cherish her; add to all, +when she is perhaps one of the first of lovely forms and noble +minds—the mind, too, that hits one's taste as the joys of Heaven +do a saint—should a faint idea, the natural child of +imagination, thoughtfully peep over the fence—were you, my +friend, to sit in judgment, and the poor, airy straggler brought +before you, trembling, self-condemned, with artless eyes, brimful +of contrition, looking wistfully on its judge—you could not, my +dear Madam, condemn the hapless wretch to death without benefit +of clergy? I won't tell you what reply my heart made to your +raillery of seven years, but I will give you what a brother of my +trade says on the same allusion:—</p> + +<blockquote>The patriarch to gain a wife,<br> +Chaste, beautiful, and young,<br> +Served fourteen years a painful life,<br> +And never thought it long. + +<p>O were you to reward such cares,<br> +And life so long would stay,<br> +Not fourteen but four hundred years<br> +Would seem but as a day.<a name="FNanchor62"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_62">[62]</a></sup></p> +</blockquote> + +I have written you this scrawl because I have nothing else to do, +and you may sit down and find fault with it, if you have no +better way of consuming your time. But finding fault with the +vagaries of a poet's fancy is much such another business as +Xerxes chastising the waves of Hellespont. + +<p>My limb now allows me to sit in some peace: to walk I have yet +no prospect of, as I can't mark it to the ground.</p> + +<p>I have just now looked over what I have written, and it is +such a chaos of nonsense that I daresay you will throw it into +the fire and call me an idle, stupid fellow; but, whatever you +may think of my brains, believe me to be, with the most sacred +respect and heart-felt esteem, my dear Madam, your humble +Servant, ROBT. BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor62">[62]</a> Tom +D'Urfey's Songs.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>V.</h4> + +<i>Friday Evening</i>, 28<i>th December</i> 1787. + +<p>I beg your pardon, my dear "Clarinda," for the fragment scrawl +I sent you yesterday. I really do not know what I wrote. A +gentleman, for whose character, abilities, and critical knowledge +I have the highest veneration, called in just as I had begun the +second sentence, and I would not make the porter wait. I read to +my much-respected friend several of my own bagatelles, and, among +others, your lines, which I had copied out. He began some +criticisms on them as on the other pieces, when I informed him +they were the work of a young lady in this town, which, I assure +you, made him stare. My learned friend seriously protested that +he did not believe any young woman in Edinburgh was capable of +such lines; and if you know anything of Professor Gregory, you +will neither doubt of his abilities nor his sincerity. I do love +you, if possible, still better for having so fine a taste and +turn for poesy. I have again gone wrong in my usual unguarded +way, but you may erase the word, and put esteem, respect, or any +other tame Dutch expression you please in its place. I believe +there is no holding converse, or carrying on correspondence, with +an amiable woman, much less a <i>gloriously amiable fine +woman</i>, without some mixture of that delicious passion, whose +most devoted slave I have more than once had the honour of being. +But why be hurt or offended on that account? Can no honest man +have a prepossession for a fine woman, but he must run his head +against an intrigue? Take a little of the tender witchcraft of +love, and add to it the generous, the honourable sentiments of +manly friendship, and I know but <i>one</i> more delightful +morsel, which few, few in any rank ever taste. Such a composition +is like adding cream to strawberries; it not only gives the fruit +a more elegant richness, but has a deliciousness of its own.</p> + +<p>I inclose you a few lines I composed on a late melancholy +occasion. I will not give above five or six copies of it in all, +and I should be hurt if any friend should give any copies without +my consent.</p> + +<p>You cannot imagine, Clarinda (I like the idea of Arcadian +names in a commerce of this kind), how much store I have set by +the hopes of your future friendship. I do not know if you have a +just idea of my character, but I wish you to see me as <i>I +am</i>. I am, as most people of my trade are, a strange +Will-o'-Wisp being: the victim, too frequently, of much +imprudence and many follies. My great constituent elements are +<i>pride</i> and <i>passion</i>. The first I have endeavoured to +humanise into integrity and honour; the last makes me a devotee +to the warmest degree of enthusiasm, in love, religion, or +friendship—either of them, or all together, as I happen to be +inspired. 'Tis true, I never saw you but once; but how much +acquaintance did I form with you in that once? Do not think I +flatter you, or have a design upon you, Clarinda; I have too much +pride for the one, and too little cold contrivance for the other; +but of all God's creatures I ever could approach in the beaten +way of my acquaintance, you struck me with the deepest, the +strongest, the most permanent impression. I say the most +permanent, because I know myself well, and how far I can promise +either on my prepossessions or powers. Why are you unhappy? And +why are so many of our fellow-creatures, unworthy to belong to +the same species with you, blest with all they can wish? You have +a hand all benevolent to give-why were you denied the pleasure? +You have a heart formed—gloriously formed—for all the most +refined luxuries of love:-why was that heart ever wrung? O +Clarinda! shall we not meet in a state, some yet unknown state of +being, where the lavish hand of plenty shall minister to the +highest wish of benevolence; and where the chill north-wind of +prudence shall never blow over the flowery fields of enjoyment? +If we do not, man was made in vain! I deserved most of the +unhappy hours that have lingered over my head; they were the +wages of my labour: but what unprovoked demon, malignant as hell, +stole upon the confidence of unmistrusting busy Fate, and dashed +your cup of life with undeserved sorrow?</p> + +<p>Let me know how long your stay will be out of town; I shall +count the hours till you inform me of your return. Cursed +<i>etiquette</i> forbids your seeing me just now; and so soon as +I can walk I must bid Edinburgh adieu. Lord! why was I born to +see misery which I cannot relieve, and to meet with friends whom +I cannot enjoy? I look back with the pang of unavailing avarice +on my loss in not knowing you sooner: all last winter, these +three months past, what luxury of intercourse have I not lost! +Perhaps, though,'twas better for my peace. You see I am either +above, or incapable of dissimulation. I believe it is want of +that particular genius. I despise design, because I want either +coolness or wisdom to be capable of it. I am interrupted. Adieu! +my dear Clarinda!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<i>Thursday, Jan</i>. 3, 1788. + +<p>You are right, my dear Clarinda: a friendly correspondence +goes for nothing, except one writes his or her undisguised +sentiments. Yours please me for their instrinsic merit, as well +as because they are <i>yours</i>, which I assure you, is to me a +high recommendation. Your religious sentiments, Madam, I revere. +If you have, on some suspicious evidence, from some lying oracle, +learned that I despise or ridicule so sacredly important a matter +as real religion, you have, my Clarinda, much misconstrued your +friend. "I am not mad, most noble Festus!" Have you ever met a +perfect character? Do we not sometimes rather exchange faults, +than get rid of them? For instance, I am perhaps tired with, and +shocked at a life too much the prey of giddy inconsistencies and +thoughtless follies; by degrees I grow sober, prudent, and +statedly pious—I say statedly, because the most unaffected +devotion is not at all inconsistent with my first character—I +join the world in congratulating myself on the happy change. But +let me pry more narrowly into this affair. Have I, at bottom, any +thing of a sacred pride in these endowments and emendations? Have +I nothing of a presbyterian sourness, an hypocritical severity, +when I survey my less regular neighbours? In a word, have I +missed all those nameless and numberless modifications of +indistinct selfishness, which are so near our own eyes, that we +can scarcely bring them within the sphere of our vision, and +which the known spotless cambric of our character hides from the +ordinary observer?</p> + +<p>My definition of worth is short; truth and humanity respecting +our fellow-creatures; reverence and humility in the presence of +that Being, my Creator and Preserver, and who, I have every +reason to believe, will one day be my Judge. The first part of my +definition is the creature of unbiassed instinct; the last is the +child of after reflection. Where I found these two essentials I +would gently note and slightly mention any attendant +flaws—flaws, the marks, the consequences of human nature.</p> + +<p>I can easily enter into the sublime pleasures that your strong +imagination and keen sensibility must derive from religion, +particularly if a little in the shade of misfortune; but I own I +cannot, without a marked grudge, see Heaven totally engross so +amiable, so charming a woman, as my friend Clarinda; and should +be very well pleased at <i>a circumstance</i> that would put it +in the power of somebody (happy somebody!) to divide her +attention, with all the delicacy and tenderness of an earthly +attachment.</p> + +<p>You will not easily persuade me that you have not a +grammatical knowledge of the English language. So far from being +inaccurate, you are elegant beyond any woman of my acquaintance, +except one,—whom I wish you knew.</p> + +<p>Your last verses to me have so delighted me, that I have got +an excellent old Scots air that suits the measure, and you shall +see them in print in the Scots <i>Musical Museum</i>, a work +publishing by a friend of mine in this town. I want four stanzas, +you gave me but three, and one of them alluded to an expression +in my former letter; so I have taken your two first verses, with +a slight alteration in the second, and have added a third, but +you must help me to a fourth. Here they are; the latter half of +the first stanza would have been worthy of Sappho; I am in +raptures with it.</p> + +<blockquote>Talk not of Love, it gives me pain,<br> +For Love has been my foe:<br> +He bound me with an iron chain,<br> +And sunk me deep in woe. + +<p>But Friendship's pure and lasting joys<br> +My heart was formed to prove:<br> +There welcome, win and wear the prize,<br> +But never talk of Love.</p> + +<p>Your friendship much can make me blest,<br> +O why that bliss destroy!<br> +[only]<br> +Why urge the odious one request,<br> +[will]<br> +You know I must deny.</p> +</blockquote> + +The alteration in the second stanza is no improvement, but there +was a slight inaccuracy in your rhyme. The third I only offer to +your choice, and have left two words for your determination. The +air is "The banks of Spey," and is most beautiful. + +<p>To-morrow evening I intend taking a chair, and paying a visit +at Park Place to a much-valued old friend.<a name= +"FNanchor63"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_63">[63]</a></sup> If I +could be sure of finding you at home (and I will send one of the +chairmen to call), I would spend from five to six o'clock with +you, as I go past. I cannot do more at this time, as I have +something on my hand that hurries me much. I propose giving you +the first call, my old friend the second, and Miss Nimmo as I +return home. Do not break any engagement for me, as I will spend +another evening with you at any rate before I leave town.</p> + +<p>Do not tell me that you are pleased, when your friends inform +you of your faults. I am ignorant what they are; but I am sure +they must be such evanescent trifles, compared with your personal +and mental accomplishments, that I would despise the ungenerous +narrow soul, who would notice any shadow of imperfections you may +seem to have, any other way than in the most delicate agreeable +raillery. Coarse minds are not aware how much they injure the +keenly feeling tie of bosom friendship, when, in their foolish +officiousness, they mention what nobody cares for recollecting. +People of nice sensibility, and generous minds, have a certain +intrinsic dignity, that fires at being trifled with, or lowered, +or even too nearly approached.</p> + +<p>You need make no apology for long letters; I am even with you. +Many happy new years to you, charming Clarinda! I can't +dissemble, were it to shun perdition. He who sees you as I have +done, and does not love you, deserves to be damn'd for his +stupidity! He who loves you, and would injure you, deserves to be +doubly damn'd for his villany! Adieu.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.</p> + +<p>P.S. What would you think of this for a fourth stanza?</p> + +<blockquote>Your thought, if love must harbour there,<br> +Conceal it in that thought,<br> +Nor cause me from my bosom tear<br> +The very friend I sought.</blockquote> + +<a name="Footnote_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor63">[63]</a> Probably +Mr. Nicol, who lived in Buccleuch Pend, a short distance from +Clarinda's residence. + +<hr> +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<i>Saturday Noon</i> [<i>5th January</i>]. + +<p>Some days, some nights, nay, some <i>hours</i>, like the "ten +righteous persons in Sodom," save the rest of the vapid, +tiresome, miserable months and years of life. One of these hours +my dear Clarinda blest me with yesternight.<br> +One well-spent hour,<br> +In such a tender circumstance for friends,<br> +Is better than an age of common time!<br> +THOMSON.</p> + +<p>My favourite feature in Milton's Satan is his manly fortitude +in supporting what cannot be remedied—in short, the wild broken +fragments of a noble exalted mind in ruins. I meant no more by +saying he was a favourite hero of mine.</p> + +<p>I mentioned to you my letter to Dr. Moore, giving an account +of my life: it is truth, every word of it; and will give you a +just idea of the man whom you have honoured with your friendship. +I am afraid you will hardly be able to make sense of so torn a +piece. Your verses I shall muse on, deliciously, as I gaze on +your image in my mind's eye, in my heart's core: they will be in +time enough for a week to come. I am truly happy your headache is +better. O, how can pain or evil be so daringly unfeeling, cruelly +savage, as to wound so noble a mind, so lovely a form!</p> + +<p>My little fellow is all my namesake. Write me soon. My every, +strongest good wishes attend you, Clarinda!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.</p> + +<p>I know not what I have written—I am pestered with people +around me.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<i>Jan. 8, 1788, Tuesday Night.</i> + +<p>I am delighted, charming Clarinda, with your honest enthusiasm +for religion. Those of either sex, but particularly the female, +who are lukewarm in that most important of all things, "O my +soul, come not thou into their secrets!" I feel myself deeply +interested in your good opinion, and will lay before you the +outlines of my belief. He who is our Author and Preserver, and +will one day be our Judge, must be (not for his sake in the way +of duty, but from the native impulse of our hearts), the object +of our reverential awe and grateful adoration: He is Almighty and +all-bounteous, we are weak and dependent; hence prayer and every +other sort of devotion. "He is not willing that any should +perish, but that all should come to everlasting life;" +consequently it must be in every one's power to embrace his offer +of "everlasting life;" otherwise he could not, in justice, +condemn those who did not. A mind pervaded, actuated, and +governed by purity, truth, and charity, though it does not merit +heaven, yet is an absolute necessary prerequisite, without which +heaven can neither be obtained nor enjoyed; and, by divine +promise, such a mind shall never fail of attaining "everlasting +life;" hence the impure, the deceiving, and the uncharitable +extrude themselves from eternal bliss, by their unfitness for +enjoying it. The Supreme Being has put the immediate +administration of all this, for wise and good ends known to +himself, into the hands of Jesus Christ, a great personage, whose +relation to him we cannot comprehend, but whose relation to us is +a guide and Saviour; and who, except for our own obstinacy and +misconduct, will bring us all, through various ways, and by +various means, to bliss at last.</p> + +<p>These are my tenets, my lovely friend; and which I think +cannot well be disputed. My creed is pretty nearly expressed in +the last clause of Jamie Dean's grace, an honest weaver in +Ayrshire,—"Lord, grant that we may lead a gude life; for a gude +life maks a gude end, at least it helps weel!"</p> + +<p>I am flattered by the entertainment you tell me you have found +in my packet. You see me as I have been, you know me as I am, and +may guess at what I am likely to be. I too may say, "Talk not of +love," etc., for indeed he has "plunged me deep in woe!" Not that +I ever saw a woman who pleased unexceptionably, as my Clarinda +elegantly says, "in the companion, the friend, and the mistress." +<i>One</i> indeed I could except—<i>One</i>, before passion +threw its mists over my discernment, I knew—<i>the</i> first of +women! Her name is indelibly written in my heart's core—but I +dare not look in on it—a degree of agony would be the +consequence. Oh! thou perfidious, cruel, mischief-making demon, +who presidest over that frantic passion—thou mayest, thou dost +poison my peace, but thou shalt not taint my honour. I would not, +for a single moment, give an asylum to the most distant +imagination, that would shadow the faintest outline of a selfish +gratification, at the expense of her whose happiness is twisted +with the threads of my existence.—May she be as happy as she +deserves! and if my tenderest, faithfullest friendship, can add +to her bliss, I shall at least have one solid mine of enjoyment +in my bosom! <i>Don't guess at these ravings</i>!</p> + +<p>I watched at our front window to-day, but was disappointed. It +has been a day of disappointments. I am just risen from a two +hours' bout after supper, with silly or sordid souls, who could +relish nothing in common with me but the Port.—<i>One!</i>—Tis +now "witching time of night;" and whatever is out of joint in the +foregoing scrawl, impute it to enchantments and spells; for I +can't look over it, but will seal it up directly, as I don't care +for to-morrow's criticisms on it.</p> + +<p>You are by this time fast asleep, Clarinda; may good angels +attend and guard you as constantly and faithfully as my good +wishes do.<br> +Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,<br> +Shot forth peculiar graces.</p> + +<p>John Milton, I wish thy soul better rest than I expect on my +own pillow to-night! O for a little of the cart-horse part of +human nature! Good night, my dearest Clarinda!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>IX</h4> + +<i>Thursday Noon</i>, 10<i>th January</i> 1788. + +<p>I am certain I saw you, Clarinda; but you don't look to the +proper storey for a poet's lodging—<br> + Where speculation roosted near the sky.</p> + +<p>I could almost have thrown myself over for vexation. Why +didn't you look higher? It has spoiled my peace for this day. To +be so near my charming Clarinda; to miss her look while it was +searching for me—I am sure the soul is capable of disease, for +mine has convulsed itself into an inflammatory fever.</p> + +<p>You have converted me, Clarinda. (I shall love that name while +I live: there is heavenly music in it.) Booth and Amelia I know +well.<a name="FNanchor64"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_64">[64]</a></sup> Your sentiments on that subject, as +they are on every subject, are just and noble. "To be feelingly +alive to kindness, and to unkindness," is a charming female +character.</p> + +<p>What I said in my last letter, the powers of fuddling +sociality only know for me. By yours, I understand my good star +has been partly in my horizon, when I got wild in my reveries. +Had that evil planet, which has almost all my life shed its +baleful rays on my devoted head, been, as usual, in my zenith, I +had certainly blabbed something that would have pointed out to +you the dear object of my tenderest friendship, and, in spite of +me, something more. Had that fatal information escaped me, and it +was merely chance, or kind stars, that it did not, I had been +undone!</p> + +<p>You would never have written me, except perhaps <i>once</i> +more! O, I could curse circumstances, and the coarse tie of human +laws, which keeps fast what common sense would loose, and which +bars that happiness itself cannot give—happiness which +otherwise Love and Honour would warrant! But hold—I shall make +no more "hair-breadth 'scapes."</p> + +<p>My friendship, Clarinda, is a life-rent business. My likings +are both strong and eternal. I told you I had but one male +friend: I have but two female. I should have a third, but she is +surrounded by the blandishments of flattery and courtship. The +name I register in my heart's core is <i>Peggy Chalmers</i>. Miss +Nimmo can tell you how divine she is. She is worthy of a place in +the same bosom with my Clarinda. That is the highest compliment I +can pay her.</p> + +<p>Farewell, Clarinda! Remember</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor64">[64]</a> See +Fielding's <i>Amelia</i>.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>X.</h4> + +<i>Saturday Morning</i>, 12<i>th January</i>. + +<p>Your thoughts on religion, Clarinda, shall be welcome. You may +perhaps distrust me, when I say 'tis also my favourite topic; but +mine is the religion of the bosom. I hate the very idea of a +controversial divinity; as I firmly believe, that every honest +upright man, of whatever sect, will be accepted of the Deity. If +your verses, as you seem to hint, contain censure, except you +want an occasion to break with me, don't send them. I have a +little infirmity in my disposition, that where I fondly love, or +highly esteem, I cannot bear reproach.</p> + +<p>"Reverence thyself" is a sacred maxim, and I wish to cherish +it. I think I told you Lord Bolingbroke's saying to +Swift—"Adieu, dear Swift, with all thy faults I love thee +entirely; make an effort to love me with all mine." A glorious +sentiment, and without which there can be no friendship! I do +highly, very highly, esteem you indeed, Clarinda—you merit it +all! Perhaps, too, I scorn dissimulation! I could fondly love +you: judge then what a maddening sting your reproach would be. +"O! I have sins to <i>Heaven</i> but none to <i>you!</i>" With +what pleasure would I meet you to-day, but I cannot walk to meet +the fly. I hope to be able to see you on <i>foot</i> about the +middle of next week.</p> + +<p>I am interrupted—perhaps you are not sorry for it, you will +tell me—but I won't anticipate blame. O Clarinda! did you know +how dear to me is your look of kindness, your smile of +approbation! you would not, either in prose or verse, risk a +censorious remark.<br> +Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,<br> +That tends to make one worthy man my foe!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<i>Saturday</i>, <i>Jan</i>. 12, 1788. + +<p>You talk of weeping, Clarinda! Some involuntary drops wet your +lines as I read them. <i>Offend me</i>, my dearest angel! You +cannot offend me, you never offended me! If you had ever given me +the least shadow of offence so pardon me, God, as I forgive +Clarinda! I have read yours again; it has blotted my paper. +Though I find your letter has agitated me into a violent +headache, I shall take a chair and be with you about eight. A +friend is to be with us to tea on my account, which hinders me +from coming sooner. Forgive, my dearest Clarinda, my unguarded +expressions. For Heaven's sake, forgive me, or I shall never be +able to bear my own mind. Your unhappy Sylvander.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<i>Monday Evening</i>, 11 <i>o'clock</i>, 14<i>th January</i>. + +<p>Why have I not heard from you, Clarinda? To-day I expected it; +and before supper when a letter to me was announced, my heart +danced with rapture: but behold, 'twas some fool, who had taken +it into his head to turn poet, and made me an offering of the +first-fruits of his nonsense. "It is not poetry, but prose run +mad." Did I ever repeat to you an epigram I made on a Mr. +Elphinstone,<a name="FNanchor65"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_65">[65]</a></sup> who has given a translation of +Martial, a famous Latin poet? The poetry of Elphinstone can only +equal his prose notes. I was sitting in a merchant's shop of my +acquaintance, waiting somebody; he put Elphinstone into my hand, +and asked my opinion of it; I begged leave to write it on a blank +leaf, which I did,—</p> + +<blockquote> TO MR. ELPHINSTONE.<br> +O thou, whom poesy abhors!<br> +Whom prose has turned out of doors!<br> +Heardst thou yon groan? proceed no further!<br> +'Twas laurel'd Martial calling murther!</blockquote> + +I am determined to see you, if at all possible, on Saturday +evening. Next week I must sing— + +<blockquote>The night is my departing night,<br> +The morn's the day I maun awa;<br> +There's neither friend nor foe o' mine<br> +But wishes that I were awa!<br> +What I hae done for lack o' wit,<br> +I never, never can reca';<br> +I hope ye're a' my friends as yet,<br> +Gude night, and joy be wi' you a'!</blockquote> + +If I could see you sooner, I would be so much the happier; but I +would not purchase the <i>dearest gratification</i> on earth, if +it must be at your expense in worldly censure, far less inward +peace! + +<p>I shall certainly be ashamed of thus scrawling whole sheets of +incoherence. The only <i>unity</i> (a sad word with poets and +critics!) in my ideas, is CLARINDA. There my heart "reigns and +revels."</p> + +<blockquote>What art thou, Love? whence are those charms,<br> +That thus thou bear'st an universal rule?<br> +For thee the soldier quits his arms,<br> +The king turns slave, the wise man fool.<br> +In vain we chase thee from the field,<br> +And with cool thoughts resist thy yoke:<br> +Next tide of blood, alas! we yield;<br> +And all those high resolves are broke!</blockquote> + +I like to have quotations for every occasion They give one's +ideas so pat, and save one the trouble of finding expression +adequate to one's feelings. I think it is one of the greatest +pleasures attending a poetic genius, that we can give our woes, +cares, joys, loves, etc., an embodied form in verse, which, to +me, is ever immediate ease. Goldsmith says finely of his Muse— + +<blockquote>Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe;<br> +Thou foundst me poor at first, and keep'st me so.</blockquote> + +My limb has been so well to-day, that I have gone up and down +stairs often without my staff. To-morrow I hope to walk once +again on my own legs to dinner. It is only next street.—Adieu. +Sylvander. + +<p><a name="Footnote_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor65">[65]</a> A +native of Edinburgh, and a schoolmaster in London. He was a +friend of Samuel Johnson</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<i>Tuesday Evening</i>, <i>Jan</i>. 15. + +<p>That you have faults, my Clarinda, I never doubted; but I knew +not where they existed, and Saturday night made me more in the +dark than ever. O Clarinda! why will you wound my soul, by +hinting that last night must have lessened my opinion of you? +True, I was "behind the scenes with you;" but what did I see? A +bosom glowing with honour and benevolence; a mind ennobled by +genius, informed and refined by education and reflection, and +exalted by native religion, genuine as in the climes of heaven: a +heart formed for all the glorious meltings of friendship, love, +and pity. These I saw—I saw the noblest immortal soul creation +ever showed me.</p> + +<p>I looked long, my dear Clarinda, for your letter; and am vexed +that you are complaining. I have not caught you so far wrong as +in your idea, that the commerce you have with <i>one</i> friend +hurts you, if you cannot tell every tittle of it to +<i>another</i>. Why have so injurious a suspicion of a good God, +Clarinda, as to think that Friendship and Love, on the sacred +inviolate principles of Truth, Honour, and Religion! can be +anything else than an object of His divine approbation.</p> + +<p>I have mentioned in some of my former scrawls, Saturday +evening next. Do allow me to wait on you that evening. Oh, my +angel! how soon must we part! and when can we meet again! I look +forward on the horrid interval with tearful eyes! What have I +lost by not knowing you sooner. I fear, I fear my acquaintance +with you is too short, to make that <i>lasting</i> impression on +your heart I could wish.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<i>Saturday Morning</i>, 19<i>th Jan</i> + +<p>There is no time, my Clarinda, when the conscious thrilling +chords of Love and Friendship give such delight, as in the +pensive hours of what our favourite Thomson calls, "philosophic +melancholy." The sportive insects, who bask in the sunshine of +prosperity; or the worms that luxuriantly crawl amid their ample +wealth of earth, they need no Clarinda: they would despise +Sylvander—if they durst. The family of Misfortune, a numerous +group of brothers and sisters! they need a resting place to their +souls: unnoticed, often condemned by the world—in some degree, +perhaps, condemned by themselves, they feel the full enjoyment of +ardent love, delicate tender endearments, mutual esteem and +mutual reliance.</p> + +<p>In this light I have often admired religion. In proportion as +we are wrung with grief, or distracted with anxiety, the ideas of +a compassionate Deity, an Almighty Protector, are doubly +dear.</p> + +<blockquote> '<i>Tis this</i>, my friend, that streaks our +morning bright;<br> + '<i>Tis this</i> that gilds the horrors of our +night.'</blockquote> + +I have been this morning taking a peep through, as Young finely +says, "the dark postern of time long elaps'd;" and, you will +easily guess,'twas a rueful prospect. What a tissue of +thoughtlessness, weakness, and folly! My life reminded me of a +ruined temple; what strength, what proportion in some parts! what +unsightly gaps, what prostrate ruin in others! I kneeled down +before the Father of mercies, and said, "Father, I have sinned +against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be +called thy son!" I rose, eased and strengthened. I despise the +superstition of a fanatic, but I love the religion of a man. "The +future," said I to myself, "is still before me;" there let me + +<blockquote>on reason build resolve,<br> +That column of true majesty in man!</blockquote> + +"I have difficulties many to encounter," said I; "but they are +not absolutely insuperable; and where is firmness of mind shown +but in exertion? mere declamation is bombast rant." Besides, +wherever I am, or in whatever situation I may be— + +<blockquote>'Tis nought to me:<br> +Since God is ever present, ever felt,<br> +In the void waste as in the city full;<br> +And where He vital breathes, there must be joy!</blockquote> + +<i>Saturday night—half after Ten</i>. + +<p>What luxury of bliss I was enjoying this time yesternight! My +ever dearest Clarinda, you have stolen away my soul; but you have +refined, you have exalted it; you have given it a stronger sense +for virtue, and a stronger relish for piety. Clarinda, first of +your sex, if ever I am the veriest wretch on earth to forget you, +if ever your lovely image is effaced from my soul,</p> + +<blockquote>May I be lost, no eye to weep my end;<br> +And find no earth that's base enough to bury me!</blockquote> + +What trifling silliness is the childish fondness of the every-day +children of the world! 'tis the unmeaning toying of the +younglings of the fields and forests; but where Sentiment and +Fancy unite their sweets, where Taste and Delicacy refine, where +Wit adds the flavour, and Good Sense gives strength and spirit to +all, what a delicious draught is the hour of tender endearment! +Beauty and Grace, in the arms of Truth and Honour, in all the +luxury of mutual love. + +<p>Clarinda, have you ever seen the picture realised? Not in all +its very richest colouring.</p> + +<p>Last night, Clarinda, but for one slight shade, was the +glorious picture.</p> + +<blockquote>Innocence<br> +Look'd gaily smiling on; while rosy Pleasure<br> +Hid young Desire amid her flowery wreath,<br> +And pour'd her cup luxuriant; mantling high,<br> +The sparkling heavenly vintage, Love and Bliss!</blockquote> + +Clarinda, when a poet and poetess of Nature's making, two of +Nature's noblest productions! when they drink together of the +same cup of Love and Bliss—attempt not, ye coarser stuff of +human nature, profanely to measure enjoyment ye never can know! +Good night, my dear Clarinda! + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XV</h4> + +<i>Sunday Night</i>, 20<i>th January</i>. + +<p>The impertinence of fools has joined with a return of an old +indisposition, to make me good for nothing to-day. The paper has +lain before me all this evening, to write to my dear Clarinda, +but—</p> + +<blockquote> Fools rush'd on fools, as waves succeed to +waves.</blockquote> + +I cursed them in my soul; they sacrilegiously disturbed my +meditations on her who holds my heart. What a creature is man! A +little alarm last night and to-day, that I am mortal, has made +such a revolution on my spirits! There is no philosophy, no +divinity, comes half so home to the mind. I have no idea of +courage that braves heaven. 'Tis the wild ravings of an imaginary +hero in bedlam. I can no more, Clarinda; I can scarcely hold up +my head; but I am happy you do not know it, you would be so +uneasy. + +<p>SYLVANDER.</p> + +<p><i>Monday Morning</i>.</p> + +<p>I am, my lovely friend, much better this morning on the whole; +but I have a horrid languor on my spirits.</p> + +<blockquote>Sick of the world, and all its joys,<br> +My soul in pining sadness mourns;<br> +Dark scenes of woe my mind employs,<br> +The past and present in their turns.</blockquote> + +Have you ever met with a saying of the great, and like wise good +Mr. Locke, author of the famous <i>Essay on the Human +Understanding</i>? He wrote a letter to a friend, directing it, +"not to be delivered till after my decease;" it ended thus—"I +know you loved me when living, and will preserve my memory now I +am dead. All the use to be made of it is, that this life affords +no solid satisfaction, but in the consciousness of having done +well, and the hopes of another life. Adieu! I leave my best +wishes with you. J. LOCKE." + +<p>Clarinda, may I reckon on your friendship for life? I think I +may. Thou Almighty Preserver of men! thy friendship, which +hitherto I have too much neglected, to secure it shall, all the +future days and nights of my life, be my steady care! The idea of +my Clarinda follows—</p> + +<blockquote>Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,<br> +Where, mix'd with God's, her lov'd idea lies.</blockquote> + +But I fear that inconstancy, the consequent imperfection of human +weakness. Shall I meet with a friendship that defies years of +absence, and the chances and changes of fortune? Perhaps "such +things are;" <i>one honest</i> man<a name= +"FNanchor65A"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_65A">[65a]</a></sup> I +have great hopes from that way: but who, except a romance writer, +would think on a <i>love</i> that could promise for life, in +spite of distance, absence, chance, and change; and that, too, +with slender hopes of fruition? For my own part, I can say to +myself in both requisitions, "Thou art the man!" I dare, in cool +resolve I dare, declare myself that friend, and that lover. If +womankind is capable of such things, Clarinda is. I trust that +she is; and I feel I shall be miserable if she is not. There is +not one virtue which gives worth, or one sentiment which does +honour to the sex, that she does not possess superior to any +woman I ever saw; her exalted mind, aided a little perhaps by her +situation, is, I think, capable of that nobly-romantic +love-enthusiasm. + +<p>May I see you on Wednesday evening, my dear angel? The next +Wednesday again will, I conjecture, be a hated day to us both. I +tremble for censorious remark, for your sake, but, in +extraordinary cases, may not usual and useful precaution be a +little dispensed with? Three evenings, three swift-winged +evenings, with pinions of down, are all the past; I dare not +calculate the future. I shall call at Miss Nimmo's to-morrow +evening;'twill be a farewell call.</p> + +<p>I have wrote out my last sheet of paper, so I am reduced to my +last half-sheet. What a strange mysterious faculty is that thing +called imagination! We have no ideas almost at all of another +world; but I have often amused myself with visionary schemes of +what happiness might be enjoyed by small alterations—alterations +that we can fully enter into, in this present state of existence. +For instance, suppose you and I, just as we are at present; the +same reasoning powers, sentiments, and even desires; the same +fond curiosity for knowledge and remarking observation in our +minds; and imagine our bodies free from pain, and the necessary +supplies for the wants of nature at all times, and easily, within +our reach: imagine further, that we were set free from the laws +of gravitation, which bind us to this globe, and could at +pleasure fly, without inconvenience, through all the yet +unconjectured bounds of creation, what a life of bliss would we +lead, in our mutual pursuit of virtue and knowledge, and our +mutual enjoyment of friendship and love!</p> + +<p>I see you laughing at my fairy fancies, and calling me a +voluptuous Mahometan; but I am certain I would be a happy +creature, beyond anything we call bliss here below; nay, it would +be a paradise congenial to you too. Don't you see us, hand in +hand, or rather, my arm about your lovely waist, making our +remarks on Sirius, the nearest of the fixed stars; or surveying a +comet, flaming innoxious by us, as we just now would mark the +passing pomp of a travelling monarch; or in a shady bower of +Mercury or Venus, dedicating the hour to love, in mutual +converse, relying honour, and revelling endearment, whilst the +most exalted strains of poesy and harmony would be the ready +spontaneous language of our souls! Devotion is the favourite +employment of your heart; so it is of mine: what incentives then +to, and powers for reverence, 'gratitude, faith, and hope, in all +the fervours of adoration and praise to that Being, whose +unsearchable wisdom, power, and goodness, so pervaded, so +inspired every sense and feeling! By this time, I daresay, you +will be blessing the neglect of the maid that leaves me destitute +of paper!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_65A"></a><a href="#FNanchor65A">[65a]</a> +Alluding to Captain Brown.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +[<i>Monday</i>, 21<i>st Jan</i>. 1788.] + +<p>... I am a discontented ghost, a perturbed spirit. Clarinda, +if ever you forget Sylvander, may you be happy, but he will be +miserable. O what a fool I am in love! What an extraordinary +prodigal of affection! Why are your sex called the tender sex, +when I have never met with one who can repay me in passion? They +are either not so rich in love as I am, or they are niggards +where I am lavish.</p> + +<p>O Thou, whose I am, and whose are all my ways! Thou seest me +here, the hapless wreck of tides and tempests in my own bosom: do +Thou direct to Thyself that ardent love for which I have so often +sought a return in vain from my fellow-creatures! If Thy goodness +has yet such a gift in store for me as an equal return of +affection from her who, Thou knowest, is dearer to me than life, +do Thou bless and hallow our bond of love and friendship; watch +over us in all our outgoings and incomings for good: and may the +tie that unites our hearts be strong and indissoluble as the +thread of man's immortal life!...</p> + +<p>I am just going to take your "Blackbird,"<a name= +"FNanchor66"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_66">[66]</a></sup> the +sweetest, I am sure, that ever sung, and prune its wings a +little.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor66">[66]</a> Her +verses, "To a Blackbird Singing."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<i>Thursday Morning</i>, 24<i>th January.</i> + +<p>Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain.</p> + +<p>I have been tasking my reason, Clarinda, why a woman, who, for +native genius, poignant wit, strength of mind, generous sincerity +of soul, and the sweetest female tenderness, is without a peer, +and whose personal charms have few, very very few parallels, +among her sex; why, or how she should fall to the blessed lot of +a poor <i>hairum scairum</i> poet, whom Fortune had kept for her +particular use, to wreak her temper on whenever she was in ill +humour. One time I conjectured, that as Fortune is the most +capricious jade ever known, she may have taken, not a fit of +remorse, but a paroxysm of whim, to raise the poor devil out of +the mire, where he had so often and so conveniently served her as +a stepping stone, and given him the most glorious boon she ever +had in her gift, merely for the maggot's sake, to see how his +fool head and his fool heart will bear it. At other times I was +vain enough to think, that Nature, who has a great deal to say +with Fortune, had given the coquettish goddess some such hint as, +"Here is a paragon of female excellence, whose equal, in all my +former compositions, I never was lucky enough to hit on, and +despair of ever doing so again; you have cast her rather in the +shades of life; there is a certain Poet of my making; among your +frolics it would not be amiss to attach him to this masterpiece +of my hand, to give her that immortality among mankind, which no +woman, of any age, ever more deserved, and which few rhymsters of +this age are better able to confer."</p> + +<p><i>Evening</i>, 9 <i>o'clock.</i></p> + +<p>I am here, absolutely unfit to finish my letter—pretty hearty +after a bowl, which has been constantly plied since dinner till +this moment. I have been with Mr. Schetki, the musician, and he +has set it <a name="t66a"></a><a href="#66a">[66a]</a>—See +Poems. finely.——I have no distinct ideas of anything, but that +I have drunk your health twice to-night, and that you are all my +soul holds dear in this world.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.</p> + +<p> <a name="66a"></a><a href="#t66a">[66a]</a> "Clarinda, +Mistress of my Soul, etc."—See Poems.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +[<i>Friday, Jan</i>. 25.] + +<p>Clarinda, my life, you have wounded my soul. Can I think of +your being unhappy, even though it be not described in your +pathetic elegance of language, without being miserable? Clarinda, +can I bear to be told from you that you "will not see me +to-morrow night"—that you "wish the hour of parting were come?" +Do not let us impose on ourselves by sounds. If in the moment of +tender endearment I perhaps trespassed against the letter of +decorum's law I appeal even to you whether I ever sinned in the +very least degree against the spirit of her strictest statute. +But why, my love, talk to me in such strong terms?—every word of +which cuts me to the very soul. You know a hint, the slightest +signification of your wish is to me a sacred command. Be +reconciled, my angel, to your God, yourself, and me: and I pledge +you Sylvander's honour—an oath I daresay you will trust without +reserve—that you shall never more have reason to complain of his +conduct. Now, my love, do not wound our next meeting with any +averted looks or restrained caresses. I have marked the line of +conduct, a line I know exactly to your taste, and which I will +inviolably keep; but do not you shew the least inclination to +make boundaries. Seeming distrust where you know you may confide +is a cruel sin against sensibility. "Delicacy, you know, it was, +which won me to you at once—take care you do not loosen the +dearest, most sacred tie that unites us." Clarinda, I would not +have stung <i>your</i> soul, I would not have bruised <i>your</i> +spirit, as that harsh, crucifying <i>"Take Care"</i> did +mine—no, not to have gained Heaven! Let me again appeal to your +dear self, if Sylvander, even when he seemingly half-transgressed +the laws of decorum, if he did not shew more chastened trembling, +faltering delicacy than the many of the world do in keeping these +laws?</p> + +<p>O Love and Sensibility, ye have conspired against my peace! I +love to madness and I feel to torture! Clarinda, how can I +forgive myself that I have ever touched a single chord in your +bosom with pain! Would I do it willingly? Would any +consideration, any gratification make me do so? Oh, did you love +like me, you would not, you could not, deny or put off a meeting +with the man who adores you—who would die a thousand deaths +before he would injure you; and who must soon bid you a long +farewell!</p> + +<p>I had proposed bringing my bosom friend, Mr. Ainslie, +to-morrow evening at his strong request to see you, as he has +only time to stay with us about ten minutes for an engagement. +But I shall hear from you—this afternoon, for mercy's sake! for +till I hear from you I am wretched. O Clarinda, the tie that +binds me to thee is intwisted, incorporated with my dearest +threads of life!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +[<i>Sat</i>., 26 <i>Jan</i>.] + +<p>I was on the way, <i>my Love</i>, to meet you (I never do +things by halves), when I got your card. Mr. Ainslie goes out of +town to-morrow morning, to see a brother of his who is newly +arrived from France. I am determined that he and I shall call on +you together; so, look you, lest I should never see to-morrow, we +will call on you to-night; Mary and you may put off tea till +about seven; at which time, in the Galloway phrase, "an the beast +be to the fore, and the branks bide hale," expect the humblest of +your humble servants, and his dearest friend. We propose staying +only half-an-hour, "for ought we ken." I could suffer the lash of +misery eleven months in the year, were the twelfth to be composed +of hours like yesternight. You are the soul of my enjoyment: all +else is of the stuff of stocks and stones.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XX.</h4> + +<i>Sunday Noon, Jan</i>. 27<i>th</i>. + +<p>I have almost given up the excise idea. I have been just now +to wait on a great person, Miss——'s friend, ——. Why will +great people not only deafen us with the din of their equipage, +and dazzle us with their fastidious pomp, but they must also be +so very dictatorially wise? I have been questioned like a child +about my matters, and blamed and schooled for my inscription on +Stirling window. Come Clarinda-Come! curse me Jacob, and come +defy me Israel!</p> + +<p><i>Sunday Night</i>.</p> + +<p>I have been with Miss Nimmo; she is indeed a good soul, as my +Clarinda finely says. She has reconciled me in a good measure to +the world with her friendly prattle.</p> + +<p>Schetki has sent me the song set to a fine air of his +composing. I have called the song "Clarinda." I have carried it +about in my pocket and hummed it over all day.</p> + +<p><i>Monday Morning</i>.</p> + +<p>If my prayers have any weight in heaven, this morning looks in +on you and finds you in the arms of Peace, except where it is +charmingly interrupted by the ardours of devotion. I find so much +serenity of soul, so much positive pleasure, so much fearless +daring toward the world when I warm in devotion, or feel the +glorious sensation of a consciousness of Almighty friendship, +that I am sure I shall soon be an honest enthusiast.<br> +How are Thy Servants blest, O Lord,<br> +How sure is their defence!</p> + +<p>I am, my dear madam, yours, SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +<i>Tuesday Morning</i>, 29<i>th January</i>. + +<p>I cannot go out to-day, my dearest love, without sending you +half a line, by way of a sin-offering; but, believe me, 'twas the +sin of ignorance. Could you think that I <i>intended</i> to hurt +you by any thing I said yesternight? Nature has been too kind to +you for your happiness, your delicacy, your sensibility. O why +should such glorious qualifications be the fruitful source of +woe! You have "murdered sleep" to me last night. I went to bed, +impressed with an idea that you were unhappy; and every start I +closed my eyes, busy Fancy painted you in such scenes of romantic +misery, that I would almost be persuaded you were not well this +morning.<br> +If I unweeting have offended,<br> +Impute it not.<br> +But while we live<br> +But one short hour perhaps, between us two,<br> +Let there be peace.</p> + +<p>If Mary is not gone by this reaches you, give her my best +compliments. She is a charming girl, and highly worthy of the +noblest love.</p> + +<p>I send you a poem to read, till I call on you this night, +which will be about nine. I wish I could procure some potent +spell, some fairy charm, that would protect from injury, or +restore to rest that bosom-chord, "tremblingly alive all o'er," +on which hangs your peace of mind. I thought, vainly, I fear, +thought that the devotion of love—love strong as even you can +feel—love guarded, invulnerably guarded, by all the purity of +virtue, and all the pride of honour; I thought such a love would +make you happy—shall I be mistaken? I can no more for +hurry.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<i>Sunday Morning</i>, 3<i>rd February</i>. + +<p>I have just been before the throne of my God, Clarinda; +according to my association of ideas, my sentiments of love and +friendship, I next devote myself to you. Yesternight I was +happy—happiness "that the world cannot give." I kindle at the +recollection; but it is a flame where innocence looks smiling on, +and honour stands by, a sacred guard. Your heart, your fondest +wishes, your dearest thoughts, these are yours to bestow; your +person is unapproachable by the laws of your country; and he +loves not as I do, who would make you miserable.</p> + +<p>You are an angel, Clarinda; you are surely no mortal that "the +earth owns." To kiss your hand, to live on your smile, is to me +far more exquisite bliss than the dearest favours that the +fairest of the sex, yourself excepted, can bestow.</p> + +<p><i>Sunday Evening</i>.</p> + +<p>You are the constant companion of my thoughts. How wretched is +the condition of one who is haunted with conscious guilt, and +trembling under the idea of dreaded vengeance! and what a placid +calm, what a charming secret enjoyment it gives, to bosom the +kind feelings of friendship and the fond throes of love! Out upon +the tempest of anger, the acrimonious gall of fretful impatience, +the sullen frost of louring resentment, or the corroding poison +of withered envy! They eat up the immortal part of man! If they +spent their fury only on the unfortunate objects of them, it +would be something in their favour; but these miserable passions, +like traitor Iscariot, betray their lord and master.</p> + +<p>Thou Almighty Author of peace, and goodness, and love! do thou +give me the social heart that kindly tastes of every man's cup! +Is it a draught of joy?—warm and open my heart to share it with +cordial unenvying rejoicing! Is it the bitter potion of +sorrow?—melt my heart with sincerely sympathetic woe! Above all, +do thou give me the manly mind that resolutely exemplifies, in +life and manners, those sentiments which I would wish to be +thought to possess! The friend of my soul—there may I never +deviate from the firmest fidelity and most active kindness! +Clarinda, the dear object of my fondest love; there may the most +sacred inviolate honour, the most faithful kindling constancy, +ever watch and animate my every thought and imagination!</p> + +<p>Did you ever meet with the following lines spoken of Religion, +your darling topic?—</p> + +<blockquote><i>'Tis this</i>, my friend, that streaks our morning +bright;<br> +<i>'Tis this</i> that gilds the horrors of our night;<br> +When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few,<br> +When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue;<br> +'Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,<br> +Disarms affliction, or repels its dart:<br> +Within the breast bids purest rapture rise,<br> +Bids smiling Conscience spread her cloudless skies.<a name= +"FNanchor67"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_67">[67]</a></sup></blockquote> + +I met with these verses very early in life, and was so delighted +with them that I have them by me, copied at school. + +<p>Good night and sound rest, my dearest Clarinda!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor67">[67]</a> From +Hervey's <i>Meditations</i>.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIII.</h4> + +<i>Thursday Night, Feb</i>. 7, 1788. + +<p>It is perhaps rather wrong to speak highly to a friend of his +letter; it is apt to lay one under a little restraint in their +future letters, and restraint is the death of a friendly epistle. +But there is one passage in your last charming letter, Thomson or +Shenstone never exceeded nor often came up to. I shall certainly +steal it, and set it in some future poetic production, and get +immortal fame by it. 'Tis when you bid the Scenes of Nature +remind me of Clarinda. Can I forget you, Clarinda? I would detest +myself as a tasteless, unfeeling, insipid, infamous blockhead! I +have loved women of ordinary merit whom I could have loved for +ever. You are the first, the only unexceptionable individual of +the beauteous sex that I ever met with: and never woman more +entirely possessed my soul. I know myself, and how far I can +depend on passions, well. It has been my peculiar study.</p> + +<p>I thank you for going to Myers.<a name= +"FNanchor68"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_68">[68]</a></sup> Urge +him, for necessity calls, to have it done by the middle of next +week, Wednesday at latest. I want it for a breast-pin, to wear +next my heart. I propose to keep sacred set times, to wander in +the woods and wilds for meditation on you. Then, and only then, +your lovely image shall be produced to the day, with a reverence +akin to devotion....</p> + +<p>To-morrow night shall not be the last. Good-night! I am +perfectly stupid, as I supped late yesternight.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor68">[68]</a> +Miniature painter.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIV.</h4> + +<i>Wednesday, 13th February</i>. + +<p>My ever dearest Clarinda,—I make a numerous dinner party wait +me, while I read yours and write this. Do not require that I +should cease to love you, to adore you in my soul—'tis to me +impossible—your peace and happiness are to me dearer than my +soul: name the terms on which you wish to see me, to correspond +with me, and you have them—I must love, pine, mourn, and adore +in secret—this you must not deny me; you will ever be to me<br> +Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,<br> +Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart!</p> + +<p>I have not patience to read the puritanic scrawl. Damn'd +sophistry! Ye heavens! thou God of nature! thou Redeemer of +mankind! ye look down with approving eyes on a passion inspired +by the purest flame, and guarded by truth, delicacy, and honour; +but the half-inch soul of an unfeeling, cold-blooded, pitiful +presbyterian bigot,<a name="FNanchor69"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_69">[69]</a></sup> cannot forgive anything above his +dungeon bosom and foggy head.</p> + +<p>Farewell; I'll be with you to-morrow evening—and be at rest +in your mind—I will be yours in the way you think most to your +happiness! I dare not proceed—I love, and will love you, and +will with joyous confidence approach the throne of the Almighty +Judge of men, with your dear idea, and will despise the scum of +sentiment, and the mist of sophistry. SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor69">[69]</a> Rev. Mr. +Kemp, Clarinda's spiritual adviser.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXV.</h4> + +<i>Wednesday Midnight [Feb. 13].</i> + +<p>MADAM,-After a wretched day I am preparing for a sleepless +night. I am going to address myself to the Almighty Witness of my +actions, some time, perhaps very soon, my Almighty Judge. I am +not going to be the advocate of passion: be Thou my inspirer and +testimony, O God, as I plead the cause of truth!</p> + +<p>I have read over your friend's<a name="FNanchor70"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_70">[70]</a></sup> haughty dictatorial letter: +you are answerable only to your God in such a matter. Who gave +any fellow-creature of yours (one incapable of being your judge +because not your peer) a right to catechise, scold, undervalue, +abuse, and insult—wantonly and inhumanly to insult you thus? I +do not even <i>wish</i> to deceive you, Madam. The Searcher of +hearts is my witness how dear you are to me; but though it were +possible you could be still dearer to me, I would not even kiss +your hand at the expense of your conscience. Away with +declamation! let us appeal to the bar of commonsense. It is not +mouthing everything sacred; it is not vague ranting assertions; +it is not assuming, haughtily and insultingly, the dictatorial +language of a Roman pontiff, that must dissolve a union like +ours. Tell me, Madam—Are you under the least shadow of an +obligation to bestow your love, tenderness, caresses, affections, +heart and soul, on Mr. M'Lehose, the man who has repeatedly, +habitually, and barbarously broken through every tie of duty, +nature, and gratitude to you? The laws of your country, indeed, +for the most useful reasons of policy and sound government, have +made your person inviolate; but, are your heart and affections +bound to one who gives not the least return of either to you? You +cannot do it: it is not in the nature of things: the common +feelings of humanity forbid it. Have you then a heart and +affections which are no man's right? You have. It would be absurd +to suppose the contrary. Tell me then, in the name of +common-sense, can it be wrong, is such a supposition compatible +with the plainest ideas of right and wrong, that it is improper +to bestow the heart and these affections on another—while that +bestowing is not in the smallest degree hurtful to your duty to +God, to your children, to yourself, or to society at large?</p> + +<p>This is the great test; the consequences: let us see them. In +a widowed, forlorn, lonely condition, with a bosom glowing with +love and tenderness, yet so delicately situated that you cannot +indulge these nobler feelings.... [<i>cetera desunt</i>.]</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor70">[70]</a> Rev. +Mr. Kemp.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVI.</h4> + +<i>Thurs., 14 Feb</i>. + +<p>"I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan!" I have +suffered, Clarinda, from your letter. My soul was in arms at the +sad perusal; I dreaded that I had acted wrong. If I have robbed +you of a friend,<a name="FNanchor71"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_71">[71]</a></sup> God forgive me!</p> + +<p>But, Clarinda, be comforted: let me raise the tone of our +feelings a little higher and bolder. A fellow-creature who leaves +us, who spurns us without a just cause, though once our bosom +friend—up with a little honest pride—let them go! How shall I +comfort you, who am the cause of the injury? Can I wish that I +had never seen you, that we had never met? No! I never will. But +have I thrown you friendless? There is almost distraction in that +thought.</p> + +<p>Father of mercies! against Thee often have I sinned: through +Thy grace I will endeavour to do so no more! She who, Thou +knowest, is dearer to me than myself, pour Thou the balm of peace +into her past wounds, and hedge her about with Thy peculiar care, +all her future days and nights. Strengthen her tender noble mind, +firmly to suffer, and magnanimously to bear! Make me worthy of +that friendship she honours me with. May my attachment to her be +pure as devotion, and lasting as immortal life! O Almighty +Goodness, hear me! Be to her at all times, particularly in the +hour of distress or trial, a Friend and Comforter, a Guide and +Guard.</p> + +<blockquote>How are Thy servants blest, O Lord,<br> +How sure is their defence!<br> +Eternal Wisdom is their guide,<br> +Their help, Omnipotence!</blockquote> + +Forgive me, Clarinda, the injury I have done you! Tonight I shall +be with you; as indeed I shall be ill at ease till I see you. + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor71">[71]</a> Her +minister.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVII.</h4> + +<i>Thursday, 14th Feb., Two o'clock</i>. + +<p>I just now received your first letter of yesterday, by the +careless negligence of the penny-post. Clarinda, matters are +grown very serious with us; then seriously hear me, and hear me, +Heaven—I met you, my dear Nancy, by far the first of womankind, +at least to me; I esteemed, I loved you at first sight; the +longer I am acquainted with you the more innate amiableness and +worth I discover in you. You have suffered a loss, I confess, for +my sake: but if the firmest, steadiest, warmest friendship; if +every endeavour to be worthy of your friendship; if a love, +strong as the ties of nature, and holy as the duties of +religion—if all these can make anything like a compensation for +the evil I have occasioned you, if they be worth your acceptance, +or can in the least add to your enjoyment—so help Sylvander, ye +Powers above, in his hour of need, as he freely gives these all +to Clarinda!</p> + +<p>I esteem you, I love you as a friend; I admire you, I love you +as a woman, beyond any one in all the circle of creation; I know +I shall continue to esteem you, to love you, to pray for you, +nay, to pray for myself for your sake.</p> + +<p>Expect me at eight. And believe me to be ever, my dearest +Madam, yours most entirely, SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVIII.</h4> + +<i>February 15th, 1788</i>. + +<p>When matters, my love, are desperate, we must put on a +desperate face—</p> + +<blockquote>On reason build resolve,<br> +That column of true majesty in man.</blockquote> + +Or, as the same author finely says in another place— + +<blockquote>Let thy soul spring up,<br> +And lay strong hold for help on Him that made thee.</blockquote> + +I am yours, Clarinda, for life. Never be discouraged at all this. +Look forward; in a few weeks I shall be somewhere or other out of +the possibility of seeing you: till then I shall write you often, +but visit you seldom. Your fame, your welfare, your happiness are +dearer to me than any gratification whatever. Be comforted, my +love! the present moment is the worst; the lenient hand of Time +is daily and hourly either lightening the burden, or making us +insensible to the weight. None of these friends, I mean Mr.—— +and the other gentleman, can hurt your worldly support; and for +their friendship, in a little time you will learn to be easy, +and, by and by, to be happy without it. A decent means of +livelihood in the world, an approving God, a peaceful conscience, +and one firm, trusty friend—can anybody that has these be said +to be unhappy? These are yours. + +<p>To-morrow evening I shall be with you about eight; probably +for the last time till I return to Edinburgh. In the meantime, +should any of these two unlucky friends question you respecting +me, whether I am the man, I do not think they are entitled to any +information. As to their jealousy and spying, I despise them. +—Adieu, my dearest Madam!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIX.</h4> + +GLASGOW, <i>Monday Evening, 9 o'clock, 18th Feb. 1788.</i> + +<p>The attraction of love, I find, is in an inverse proportion to +the attraction of the Newtonian philosophy. In the system of Sir +Isaac, the nearer objects are to one another, the stronger is the +attractive force; in my system, every mile-stone that marked my +progress from Clarinda, awakened a keener pang of attachment to +her. How do you feel, my love? Is your heart ill at ease? I fear +it.—God forbid that these persecutors should harass that peace, +which is more precious to me than my own. Be assured I shall ever +think of you, muse on you, and, in my moments of devotion, pray +for you. The hour that you are not in all my thoughts—"be that +hour darkness! let the shadows of death cover it! let it not be +numbered in the hours of the day!"<br> +When I forget the darling theme,<br> +Be my tongue mute! my fancy paint no more!<br> +And, dead to joy, forget, my heart, to beat!</p> + +<p>I have just met with my old friend, the ship captain;<a name= +"FNanchor72"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_72">[72]</a></sup> guess +my pleasure—to meet you could alone have given me more. My +brother William, too, the young saddler, has come to Glasgow to +meet me; and here are we three spending the evening.</p> + +<p>I arrived here too late to write by post; but I'll wrap half a +dozen sheets of blank paper together, and send it by the fly, +under the name of a parcel. You shall hear from me next post +town. I would write you a long letter, but for the present +circumstance of my friend.</p> + +<p>Adieu, my Clarinda! I am just going to propose your health by +way of grace-drink. SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor72">[72]</a> Richard +Brown, whom he first knew at Irvine.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXX.</h4> + +CUMNOCK, <i>2nd March</i> 1788. + +<p>I hope, and am certain, that my generous Clarinda<a name= +"FNanchor73"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_73">[73]</a></sup> will +not think my silence, for now a long week, has been in any decree +owing to my forgetfulness. I have been tossed about through the +country ever since I wrote you; and am here, returning from +Dumfries-shire, at an inn, the post office of the place, with +just so long time as my horse eats his corn, to write you. I have +been hurried with business and dissipation almost equal to the +insidious decree of the Persian monarch's mandate, when he +forbade asking petition of God or man for forty days. Had the +venerable prophet been as throng as I, he had not broken the +decree, at least not thrice a day.</p> + +<p>I am thinking my farming scheme will yet hold. A worthy +intelligent farmer, my father's friend and my own, has been with +me on the spot: he thinks the bargain practicable. I am myself, +on a more serious review of the lands, much better pleased with +them. I won't mention this in writing to any body but you and +Ainslie. Don't accuse me of being fickle: I have the two plans of +life before me, and I wish to adopt the one most likely to +procure me independence. I shall be in Edinburgh next week. I +long to see you: your image is omnipresent to me; nay, I am +convinced I would soon idolatrise it most seriously; so much do +absence and memory improve the medium through which one sees the +much-loved object. To-night, at the sacred hour of eight, I +expect to meet you—at the Throne of Grace. I hope, as I go home +tonight, to find a letter from you at the post office in +Mauchline. I have just once seen that dear hand since I left +Edinburgh—a letter indeed which much affected me. Tell me, first +of womankind! will my warmest attachment, my sincerest +friendship, my correspondence, will they be any compensation for +the sacrifices you make for my sake! If they will, they are +yours. If I settle on the farm I propose, I am just a day and a +half's ride from Edinburgh. We will meet—don't you say, +"perhaps too often!"</p> + +<p>Farewell, my fair, my charming Poetess! May all good things +ever attend you! I am ever, my dearest Madam, yours, +SYLVANDER.<br> +<a name="Footnote_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor73">[73]</a> The +letter about the 23rd of February seems to be wanting.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXI.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 6 <i>Mar</i>. + +<p>I own myself guilty, Clarinda; I should have written you last +week; but when you recollect, my dearest Madam, that yours of +this night's post is only the third I have got from you, and that +this is the fifth or sixth I have sent to you, you will not +reproach me, with a good grace, for unkindness. I have always +some kind of idea, not to sit down to write a letter except I +have time and possession of my faculties, so as to do some +justice to my letter; which at present is rarely my situation. +For instance, yesterday I dined at a friend's at some distance; +the savage hospitality of this country spent me the most part of +the night over the nauseous potion in the bowl: this +day—sick—headache—low spirits—miserable—fasting, except for +a draught of water or small beer: now eight o'clock at +night—only able to crawl ten minutes walk into Mauchline to wait +the post, in the pleasurable hope of hearing from the mistress of +my soul.</p> + +<p>But, truce with all this! When I sit down to write to you, all +is harmony and peace. A hundred times a day do I figure you, +before your taper, your book, or work laid aside, as I get within +the room. How happy have I been! and how little of that scantling +portion of time, called the life of man, is sacred to happiness! +much less transport!</p> + +<blockquote>I could moralise to-night like a death's head.<br> +O what is life, that thoughtless wish of all!<br> +A drop of honey in a draught of gall.</blockquote> + +Nothing astonishes me more, when a little sickness clogs the +wheels of life, than the thoughtless career we run in the hour of +health. "None saith, where is God, my Maker, that giveth songs in +the night; who teacheth us more knowledge than the beasts of the +field, and more understanding than the fowls of the air." + +<p>Give me, my Maker, to remember thee! Give me to act up to the +dignity of my nature! Give me to feel "another's woe;" and +continue with me that dear-loved friend that feels with mine!</p> + +<p>The dignified and dignifying consciousness of an honest man, +and the well-grounded trust in approving Heaven, are two most +substantial foundations of happiness.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXII</h4> + +.MOSSGIEL, <i>7th March</i> 1788. + +<p>Clarinda, I have been so stung with your reproach for +unkindness, a sin so unlike me, a sin I detest more than a breach +of the whole Decalogue, fifth, sixth, seventh and ninth articles +excepted, that I believe I shall not rest in my grave about it, +if I die before I see you. You have often allowed me the head to +judge, and the heart to feel, the influence of female +excellence.</p> + +<p>Was it not blasphemy, then, against your own charms, and +against my feelings, to suppose that a short fortnight could +abate my passion? You, my love, may have your cares and anxieties +to disturb you, but they are the usual recurrences of life; your +future views are fixed, and your mind in a settled routine. Could +not you, my ever dearest Madam, make a little allowance for a +man, after long absence, paying a short visit to a country full +of friends, relations, and early intimates? Cannot you guess, my +Clarinda, what thoughts, what cares, what anxious forebodings, +hopes and fears, must crowd the breast of the man of keen +sensibility, when no less is on the tapis than his aim, his +employment, his very existence, through future life!</p> + +<p>Now that, not my apology, but my defence is made, I feel my +soul respire more easily. I know you will go along with me in my +justification—would to Heaven you could in my adoption too! I +mean an adoption beneath the stars—an adoption where I might +revel in the immediate beams of</p> + +<blockquote>Her, the bright sun of all her sex.</blockquote> + +I would not have you, my dear Madam, so much hurt at Miss Nimmo's +coldness. 'Tis placing yourself below her, an honour she by no +means deserves. We ought, when we wish to be economists in +happiness—we ought, in the first place, to fix the standard of +our own character; and when, on full examination, we know where +we stand, and how much ground we occupy, let us contend for it as +property; and those who seem to doubt, or deny us what is justly +ours, let us either pity their prejudices, or despise their +judgment. I know, my dear, you will say this is self-conceit; but +I call it self-knowledge. The one is theoverweening opinion of a +fool, who fancies himself to be what he wishes himself to be +thought; the other is the honest justice that a man of sense, who +has thoroughly examined the subject, owes to himself. Without +this standard, this column in our own mind, we are perpetually at +the mercy of the petulance, the mistakes, the prejudices, nay, +the very weakness and wickedness of our fellow-creatures. + +<p>I urge this, my dear, both to confirm myself in the doctrine, +which, I assure you, I sometimes need; and because I know that +this causes you often much disquiet. To return to Miss Nimmo: she +is most certainly a worthy soul, and equalled by very, very few, +in goodness of heart. But can she boast more goodness of heart +than Clarinda? Not even prejudice will dare to say so. For +penetration and discernment, Clarinda sees far beyond her: to +wit, Miss Nimmo dare make no pretence; to Clarinda's wit, +scarcely any of her sex dare make pretence. Personal charms, it +would be ridiculous to run the parallel. And for conduct in life, +Miss Nimmo was never called out, either much to do or to suffer; +Clarinda has been both; and has performed her part, where Miss +Nimmo would have sunk at the bare idea.</p> + +<p>Away, then, with these disquietudes! Let us pray with the +honest weaver of Kilbarchan—"Lord, send us a gude conceit o' +oursel!" Or, in the words of the auld sang,</p> + +<blockquote>Who does me disdain, I can scorn them again,<br> +And I'll never mind any such foes. + +<p>There is an error in the commerce of intimacy<a name= +"FNanchor74"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_74">[74]</a></sup> +...</p> +</blockquote> + +way of exchange, have not an equivalent to give us; and, what is +still worse, have no idea of the value of our goods. Happy is our +lot indeed, when we meet with an honest merchant, who is +qualified to deal with us on our own terms; but that is a rarity. +With almost everybody we must pocket our pearls, less or more, +and learn in the old Scotch phrase—"To gie sic like as we get." +For this reason one should try to erect a kind of bank or +store-house in one's own mind; or, as the Psalmist says, "We +should commune with our own hearts, and be still." This is +exactly [MS. dilapidated.] <br> +<a name="Footnote_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor74">[74]</a> The MS. +is so worn as to be indecipherable. + +<hr> +<h4>XXXIII.</h4> + +EDINBURGH, 18<i>th March</i> 1788. + +<p>I am just hurrying away to wait on the great man, Clarinda; +but I have more respect on my own peace and happiness than to set +out without waiting on you; for my imagination, like a child's +favourite bird, will fondly flutter along with this scrawl till +it perch on your bosom I thank you for all the happiness of +yesterday—the walk delightful, the evening rapture. Do not be +uneasy today, Clarinda. I am in rather better spirits today, +though I had but an indifferent night. Care, anxiety, sat on my +spirits. All the cheerfulness of this morning is the fruit of +some serious, important ideas that lie, in their realities, +beyond the dark and narrow house. The Father of mercies be with +you, Clarinda. Every good thing attend you!</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXXIV.</h4> + +<i>Friday</i> 9 [<i>p.m</i>., 21<i>st March</i> 1788]. + +<p>I am just now come in, and have read your letters. The first +thing I did was to thank the Divine Disposer of events that he +has had such happiness in store for me as the connexion I have +with you. Life, my Clarinda, is a weary, barren path; and woe be +to him or her that ventures on it alone! For me, I have my +dearest partner of my soul. Clarinda and I will make out our +pilgrimage together. Wherever I am, I shall constantly let her +know how I go on, what I observe in the world around me, and what +adventures I meet with. Would it please you, my love, to get +every week, or every fortnight at least, a packet of two or three +sheets of remarks, nonsense, news, rhymes and old songs? Will you +open with satisfaction and delight a letter from a man who loves +you, who has loved you, and who will love you to death, through +death, and for ever? O Clarinda! what do I owe to heaven for +blessing me with such a piece of exalted excellence as you! I +call over your idea, as a miser counts over his treasure. Tell +me, were you studious to please me last night? I am sure you did +it to transport.</p> + +<p>How rich am I who have such a treasure as you! You know me; +you know how to make me happy, and you do it most effectually. +God bless you with "long life, long youth, long pleasure, and a +friend!" Tomorrow night, according to your own direction, I shall +watch the window—'tis the star that guides me to Paradise. The +great relish to all is that honour, that innocence, that Religion +are the witnesses and guarantees of our affection, Adieu, +Clarinda! I am going to remember you in my prayers.</p> + +<p>SYLVANDER.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h2><a name="gen2"></a><a href="#tgen2">GENERAL +CORRESPONDENCE</a>.</h2> + +<h3>LETTERS</h3> + +. <br> +(<i>General Correspondence Resumed</i>.) <br> +<hr> +<h4>LXXXIV.—To MR. GAVIN HAMILTON.</h4> + +[<i>April</i> 1788] MOSSGIEL, <i>Friday Morning</i>. + +<p>The language of refusal is to me the most difficult language +on earth, and you are the man in the world, excepting one of +Right Hon. designation, to whom it gives me the greatest pain to +hold such language. My brother has already got money,<a name= +"FNanchor75"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_75">[75]</a></sup> and +shall want nothing in my power to enable him to fulfil his +engagement with you; but to be security on so large a scale, even +for a brother, is what I dare not do, except I were in such +circumstances of life as that the worst that might happen could +not greatly injure me.</p> + +<p>I never wrote a letter which gave me so much pain in my life, +as I know the unhappy consequences:—I shall incur the +displeasure of a gentleman for whom I have the highest respect +and to whom I am deeply obliged.—I am etc.</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor75">[75]</a> +Altogether £180. Gilbert is meant, and the business +referred to was renewal of lease of Mossgiel, the poet to be +cautioner.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXV.—To MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S., EDINBURGH.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 7<i>th April</i> 1788. + +<p>I have not delayed so long to write you, my much respected +friend, because I thought no further of my promise. I have long +since given up that formal kind of correspondence where one sits +down irksomely to write a letter, because he is in duty bound to +do so.</p> + +<p>I have been roving over the country, as the farm<a name= +"FNanchor76"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_76">[76]</a></sup> I +have taken is forty miles from this place, hiring servants and +preparing matters; but most of all, I am earnestly busy to bring +about a revolution in my own mind. As, till within these eighteen +months, I never was the wealthy master of ten guineas, my +knowledge of business is to learn. Add to this, my late scenes of +idleness and dissipation have enervated my mind to an alarming +degree. Skill in the sober science of life is my most serious, +and hourly study. I have dropped all conversation and all reading +(prose reading) but what tends in some way or other to my serious +aim. Except one worthy young fellow<a name= +"FNanchor77"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_77">[77]</a></sup> I +have not a single correspondent in Edinburgh. You have indeed +kindly made me an offer of that kind. The world of wits, the +<i>gens comme-il-faut</i>, which I lately left, and in which I +never again will intimately mix—from that port, Sir, I expect +your gazette, what the <i>beaux esprits</i> are saying, what they +are doing, and what they are singing. Any sober intelligence from +my sequestered life is all you have to expect from me. I have +scarcely made a single distich since I saw you. When I meet with +an old Scots air that has any facetious idea in its name, I have +a peculiar pleasure in following out that idea for a verse or +two.</p> + +<p>I trust this will find you in better health than I did the +last time I called for you. A few lines from you, directed to me, +at Mauchline, were it but to let me know how you are, will settle +my mind a good deal. Now, never shun the idea of writing me +because, perhaps, you may be out of humour or spirits. I could +give you a hundred good consequences attending a dull letter; +one, for example, and the remaining ninety-nine some other +time—it will always serve to keep in countenance, my much +respected Sir, your obliged friend and humble servant, R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor76">[76]</a> +Ellisland, near Dumfries.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor77">[77]</a> +Robert Ainslie, W.S.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXVI.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 28<i>th April</i> 1788. + +<p>MADAM,—Your powers of reprehension must be great indeed, as I +assure you they make my heart ache with penitential pangs, even +though I was really not guilty. As I commence farming at +Whitsunday, you will easily guess I must be pretty busy; but that +is not all. As I got the offer of the Excise business without +solicitation, and as it costs me only six months' attendance for +instructions, to entitle me to a commission—which commission +lies by me, and at any future period, on my simple petition, can +be resumed—I thought five-and-thirty pounds a-year was no bad +<i>dernier ressort</i> for a poor poet, if Fortune in her jade +tricks should kick him down from the little eminence to which she +has lately helped him up.</p> + +<p>For this reason, I am at present attending these instructions, +to have them completed before Whitsunday. Still, Madam, I +prepared with the sincerest pleasure to meet you at the Mount, +and came to my brother's on Saturday night, to set out on Sunday; +but for some nights preceding I had slept in an apartment, where +the force of the winds and rains was only mitigated by being +sifted through numberless apertures in the windows, walls, etc. +In consequence I was on Sunday, Monday, and part of Tuesday, +unable to stir out of bed, with all the miserable effects of a +violent cold.</p> + +<p>You see, Madam, the truth of the French maxim, <i>le vrai +n'est pas toujours le vrai-semblable;</i> your last was so full +of expostulation, and was something so like the language of an +offended friend, that I began to tremble for a correspondence, +which I had with grateful pleasure set down as one of the +greatest enjoyments of my future life.</p> + +<p>Your books have delighted me; Virgil, Dryden, and Tasso were +all equally strangers to me; but of this more at large in my +next. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXVII.—To MR. JAMES SMITH, AVON PRINTFIELD, +LINLITHGOW.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>April</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>Beware of your Strasburgh, my good Sir! Look on this as the +opening of a correspondence, like the opening of a twenty-four +gun battery!</p> + +<p>There is no understanding a man properly, without knowing +something of his previous ideas; that is to say, if the man has +any ideas; for I know many who, in the animal-muster, pass for +men, that are the scanty masters of only one idea on any given +subject, and by far the greatest part of your acquaintances and +mine can barely boast of ideas, 1.25—1.5—1.75 (or some such +fractional matter); so to let you a little into the secrets of my +pericranium, there is, you must know, a certain clean-limbed, +handsome, bewitching young hussy of your acquaintance, to whom I +have lately and privately given a matrimonial title to my +corpus.<br> +Bode a robe and wear it,<br> +Bode a pock and bear it,</p> + +<p>says the wise old Scots adage! I hate to presage ill-luck; and +as my girl has been doubly kinder to me than even the best of +women usually are to their partners of our sex, in similar +circumstances, I reckon on twelve times a brace of children +against I celebrate my twelfth wedding-day: these twenty-four +will give me twenty-four gossipings, twenty-four christenings (I +mean one equal to two), and I hope, by the blessing of the God of +my fathers, to make them twenty-four dutiful children to their +parents, twenty-four useful members of society, and twenty-four +approved servants of their God....</p> + +<p>"Light's heartsome," quo' the wife when she was stealing +sheep. You see what a lamp I have hung up to lighten your paths, +when you are idle enough to explore the combinations and +relations of my ideas. 'Tis now as plain as a pike-staff, why a +twenty-four gun battery was a metaphor I could readily +employ.</p> + +<p>Now for business. I intend to present Mrs. Burns with a +printed shawl, an article of which I dare say you have variety: +'tis my first present to her since I have irrevocably called her +mine, and I have a kind of whimsical wish to get her the first +said present from an old and much-valued friend of hers and mine, +a trusty Trojan, on whose friendship I count myself possessed of +as a life-rent lease.</p> + +<p>Look on this letter as a "beginning of sorrows;" I will write +you till your eyes ache reading nonsense.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burns ('tis only her private designation) begs her best +compliments to you. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXVIII—To PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 3<i>rd May</i> 1788. + +<p>SIR,—I enclose you one or two more of my bagatelles. If the +fervent wishes of honest gratitude have any influence with that +great unknown Being who frames the chain of causes and events, +prosperity and happiness will attend your visit to the Continent, +and return you safe to your native shore.</p> + +<p>Wherever I am, allow me, Sir, to claim it as my privilege to +acquaint you with my progress in my trade of rhymes; as I am sure +I could say it with truth, that, next to my little fame, and the +having it in my power to make life more comfortable to those whom +nature has made dear to me, I shall ever regard your countenance, +your patronage, your friendly good offices, as the most valued +consequence of my late success in life. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>LXXXIX.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 4<i>th May</i> 1788. + +<p>MADAM,—Dryden's Virgil has delighted me. I do not know +whether the critics will agree with me, but the Georgics are to +me by far the best of Virgil. It is indeed a species of writing +entirely new to me, and has filled my head with a thousand +fancies of emulation; but, alas! when I read the Georgics, and +then survey my own powers, 'tis like the idea of a Shetland pony, +drawn up by the side of a thorough-bred hunter, to start for the +plate. I own I am disappointed in the AEneid. Faultless +correctness may please, and does highly please, the lettered +critic; but to that awful character T have not the most distant +pretensions. I do not know whether I do not hazard my pretensions +to be a critic of any kind, when I say that I think Virgil, in +many instances, a servile copier of Homer. If I had the Odyssey +by me, I could parallel many passages where Virgil has evidently +copied, but by no means improved, Homer. Nor can I think there is +anything of this owing to the translators; for, from everything I +have seen of Dryden, I think him, in genius and fluency of +language, Pope's master. I have not perused Tasso enough to form +an opinion: in some future letter you shall have my ideas of him; +though I am conscious my criticisms must be very inaccurate and +imperfect, as there I have ever felt and lamented my want of +learning most. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XC.—To MR. SAMUEL BROWN, KIRKOSWALD.</h4> + +MOSSGIEL, 4<i>th May</i> 1788. + +<p>DEAR UNCLE,—This, I hope, will find you and your conjugal +yoke-fellow in your good old way. I am impatient to know if the +Ailsa<a name="FNanchor78"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_78">[78]</a></sup> fowling be commenced for this +season yet, as I want three or four stones of feathers, and I +hope you will bespeak them for me. It would be a vain attempt for +me to enumerate the various transactions I have been engaged in +since I saw you last; but this know—I engaged in a smuggling +trade, and no poor man ever experienced better returns, two for +one: but as freight and delivery have turned out so dear, I am +thinking of taking out a license and beginning in fair trade. I +have taken a farm, on the borders of the Nith, and in imitation +of the old patriarchs, get men-servants and maid-servants, and +flocks and herds, and beget sons and daughters.—Your obedient +nephew,</p> + +<p>ROBERT BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor78">[78]</a> A +well-known rock in the Firth of Clyde, frequented by innumerable +sea-fowl.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCI.—To MR. JAMES JOHNSON, ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 25<i>th May</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I am really uneasy about that money which Mr. +Creech owes me per note in your hand, and I want it much at +present, as I am engaging in business pretty deeply both for +myself and my brother. A hundred guineas can be but a trifling +affair to him, and'tis a matter of most serious importance to +me.<a name="FNanchor79"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_79">[79]</a></sup> To-morrow I begin my operations as +a farmer, and so God speed the plough!</p> + +<p>I am so enamoured of a certain girl.... To be serious, I found +I had a long and much-loved fellow-creature's happiness or misery +in my hands; and though pride and seeming justice were murderous +king's advocates on the one side, yet humanity, generosity, and +forgiveness were such powerful, such irresistible counsel on the +other, that a jury of all endearments and new attachments brought +in a unanimous verdict of <i>not guilty</i>. And the panel, be it +known unto all whom it concerns, is installed and instated into +all the rights, privileges, etc., that belong to the name, title, +and designation of wife.<br> +<a name="Footnote_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor79">[79]</a> Creech +paid the amount five days after the date of this letter.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCII.—To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>May</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR FRIEND,—I am two kind letters in your debt; but I +have been from home, and horridly busy, buying and preparing for +my farming business, over and above the plague of my Excise +instructions, which this week will finish.</p> + +<p>As I flatter my wishes that I foresee many future years' +correspondence between us, 'tis foolish to talk of excusing dull +epistles! a dull letter may be a very kind one. I have the +pleasure to tell you that I have been extremely fortunate in all +my buyings and bargainings hitherto, Mrs. Burns not excepted; +which title I now avow to the world. I am truly pleased with this +last affair. It has indeed added to my anxieties for futurity, +but it has given a stability to my mind and resolutions unknown +before; and the poor girl has the most sacred enthusiasm of +attachment to me, and has not a wish but to gratify my every idea +of her deportment. I am interrupted. Farewell! my dear Sir. R. +B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCIII.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +27<i>th</i> <i>May</i> 1788. + +<p>MADAM,—I have been torturing my philosophy to no purpose to +account for that kind partiality of yours, which has followed me, +in my return to the shade of life, with assiduous benevolence. +Often did I regret, in the fleeting hours of my late will-o'-wisp +appearance, that "here I had no continuing city;" and, but for +the consolation of a few solid guineas, could almost lament the +time that a momentary acquaintance with wealth and splendour put +me so much out of conceit with the sworn companions of my road +through life—insignificance and poverty.</p> + +<p>There are few circumstances relating to the unequal +distribution of the good things of this life that give me more +vexation (I mean in what I see around me) than the importance the +opulent bestow on their trifling family affairs, compared with +the very same things on the contracted scale of a cottage. Last +afternoon I had the honour to spend an hour or two at a good +woman's fireside, where the planks that composed the floor were +decorated with a splendid carpet, and the gay table sparkled with +silver and china. 'Tis now about term-day, and there has been a +revolution among those creatures who, though in appearance +partakers, and equally noble partakers, of the same nature with +Madame, are from time to time—their nerves, their sinews, their +health, strength, wisdom, experience, genius, time, nay, a good +part of their very thoughts—sold for months and years, not only +to the necessities, the conveniences, but the caprices of the +important few. We talked of the insignificant creatures; nay, +notwithstanding their general stupidity and rascality, did some +of the poor devils the honour to commend them. But light be the +turf upon his breast who taught "Reverence thyself!" We looked +down on the unpolished wretches, their impertinent wives, and +clouterly brats, as the lordly bull does on the little dirty +ant-hill, whose puny inhabitants he crushes in the carelessness +of his ramble, or tosses in the air in the wantonness of his +pride.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCIV.—TO MRS. DUNLOP, AT MR. DUNLOP'S, HADDINGTON.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 13<i>th June</i> 1788. + +<blockquote>Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see,<br> +My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee;<br> +Still to my friend it turns with ceaseless pain,<br> +And drags, at each remove, a lengthen'd chain.<br> +GOLDSMITH.</blockquote> + +This is the second day, my honoured friend, that I have been on +my farm. A solitary inmate of an old smoky spence; far from every +object I love, or by whom I am beloved; nor any acquaintance +older than yesterday, except Jenny Geddes, the old mare I ride +on; while uncouth cares and novel plans hourly insult my awkward +ignorance and bashful inexperience. There is a foggy atmosphere +native to my soul in the hour of care; consequently the dreary +objects seem larger than the life. Extreme sensibility, irritated +and prejudiced on the gloomy side by a series of misfortunes and +disappointments, at that period of my existence when the soul is +laying in her cargo of ideas for the voyage of life, is, I +believe, the principal cause of this unhappy frame of mind. + +<blockquote>The valiant, in himself, what can he suffer?<br> +Or what need he regard his <i>single</i> woes?</blockquote> + +Your surmise, Madam, is just: I am indeed a husband. + +<p>I found a once much-loved and still much-loved female, +literally and truly cast out to the mercy of the naked +elements—but there is no sporting with a fellow-creature's +happiness or misery.... The most placid good-nature and sweetness +of disposition; a warm heart, gratefully devoted with all its +powers to love me; vigorous health and sprightly cheerfulness, +set off to the best advantage by a more than common handsome +figure—these, I think, in a woman may make a good wife though +she should never have read a page but the Scriptures of the Old +and New Testaments, nor have danced in a brighter assembly than a +penny pay wedding.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCV.-TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>June 14th</i>, 1788. + +<p>This is now the third day, my dearest Sir, that I have +sojourned in these regions; and during these three days you have +occupied more of my thoughts than in three weeks preceding: in +Ayrshire I have several variations of friendship's compass, here +it points invariably to the pole. My farm gives me a good many +uncouth cares and anxieties, but I hate the language of +complaint. Job, or some one of his friends, says well—"Why +should a living man complain?"</p> + +<p>I have lately been much mortified with contemplating an +unlucky imperfection in the very framing and construction of my +soul; namely, a blundering inaccuracy of her olfactory organs in +hitting the scent of craft or design in my fellow-creatures. I do +not mean any compliment to my ingenuousness, or to hint that the +defect is in consequence of the unsuspicious simplicity of +conscious truth and honour: I take it to be, in some way or +other, an imperfection in the mental sight; or, metaphor apart, +some modification of dulness. In two or three instances lately, I +have been most shamefully out.</p> + +<p>I have all along, hitherto, in the warfare of life, been bred +to arms among the light horse—the piquet-guards of fancy; a kind +of hussars and Highlanders of the brain; but I am firmly resolved +to sell out of these giddy battalions, who have no ideas of a +battle but fighting the foe, or of a siege but storming the town. +Cost what it will, I am determined to buy in among the grave +squadrons of heavy-armed thought, or the artillery corps of +plodding contrivance.</p> + +<p>What books are you reading, or what is the subject of your +thoughts, besides the great studies of your profession? You said +something about religion in your last. I don't exactly remember +what it was, as the letter is in Ayrshire; but I thought it not +only prettily said, but nobly thought. You will make a noble +fellow if once you were married. I make no reservation of your +being well-married; you have so much sense, and knowledge of +human nature, that though you may not realise perhaps the ideas +of romance, yet you will never be ill-married.</p> + +<p>Were it not for the terrors of my ticklish situation +respecting provision for a family of children, I am decidedly of +opinion that the step I have taken is vastly for my happiness.<a +name="FNanchor80"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_80">[80]</a></sup> +As it is, I look to the Excise scheme as a certainty of +maintenance; a maintenance!—luxury to what either Mrs. Burns or +I were born to. Adieu.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor80">[80]</a> This +alludes to his marriage.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCVI.-TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>30th June</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—I just now received your brief epistle; and, to +take vengeance on your laziness, I have, you see, taken a long +sheet of writing-paper, and have begun at the top of the page, +intending to scribble on to the very last corner.</p> + +<p>I am vexed at that affair of the ..., but dare not enlarge on +the subject until you send me your direction, as I suppose that +will be altered on your late master and friend's death.<a name= +"FNanchor81"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_81">[81]</a></sup> I am +concerned for the old fellow's exit, only as I fear it may be to +your disadvantage in any respect—for an old man's dying, except +he have been a very benevolent character, or in some particular +situation of life that the welfare of the poor or the helpless +depended on him, I think it an event of the most trifling moment +to the world. Man is naturally a kind, benevolent animal, but he +is dropped into such a needy situation here in this vexatious +world, and has such a hungry, growling, multiplying pack of +necessities, appetites, passions, and desires about him, ready to +devour him for want of other food, that in fact he must lay aside +his cares for others that he may look properly to himself. You +have been imposed upon in paying Mr. Miers for the profile of a +Mr. H. I did not mention it in my letter to you, nor did I ever +give Mr. Miers any such order. I have no objection to lose the +money, but I will not have any such profile in my possession.</p> + +<p>I desired the carrier to pay you, but as I mentioned only 15s. +to him, I will rather inclose you a guinea-note. I have it not, +indeed, to spare here, as I am only a sojourner in a strange land +in this place; but in a day or two I return to Mauchline, and +there I have the bank-notes through the house like salt +permits.</p> + +<p>There is a great degree of folly in talking unnecessarily of +one's private affairs. I have just now been interrupted by one of +my new neighbours, who has made himself absolutely contemptible +in my eyes, by his silly, garrulous pruriency. I know it has been +a fault of my own, too; but from this moment I abjure it as I +would the service of hell! Your poets, spendthrifts, and other +fools of that kidney, pretend, forsooth, to crack their jokes on +prudence; but'tis a squalid vagabond glorying in his rags. Still, +imprudence respecting money matters is much more pardonable than +imprudence respecting character, I have no objection to prefer +prodigality to avarice, in some few instances; but I appeal to +your observation if you have not met, and often met, with the +same disingenuousness, the same hollow-hearted insincerity, and +disintegritive depravity of principle, in the hackneyed victims +of profusion, as in the unfeeling children of parsimony. I have +every possible reverence for the much talked-of world beyond the +grave, and I wish that which piety believes, and virtue deserves, +may be all matter of fact. But in things belonging to, and +terminating in this present scene of existence, man has serious +and interesting business on hand. Whether a man shall shake hands +with welcome in the distinguished elevation of respect, or shrink +from contempt in the abject corner of insignificance: whether he +shall wanton under the tropic of plenty, at least enjoy himself +in the comfortable latitude of easy convenience, or starve in the +arctic circle of dreary poverty; whether he shall rise in the +manly consciousness of a self-approving mind, or sink beneath a +galling load of regret and remorse—these are alternatives of +the last moment.</p> + +<p>You see how I preach. You used occasionally to sermonise too; +I wish you would, in charity, favour me with a sheet full in your +own way. I admire the close of a letter Lord Bolingbroke writes +to Dean Swift:—"Adieu, dear Swift! with all thy faults I love +thee entirely: make an effort to love me with all mine!" Humble +servant, and all that trumpery, is now such a prostituted +business, that honest friendship, in her sincere way, must have +recourse to her primitive, simple—farewell!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor81">[81]</a> Samuel +Mitchelson, W.S., with whom young Ainslie served his +apprenticeship.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCVII—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>July</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>MY MUCH HONOURED FRIEND,—Yours of the 24th June is before me. +I found it, as well as another valued friend—my wife, waiting to +welcome me to Ayrshire: I met both with the sincerest +pleasure.</p> + +<p>When I write you, Madam, I do not sit down to answer every +paragraph of yours, by echoing every sentiment, like the faithful +Commons of Great Britain in Parliament assembled, answering a +speech from the best of kings! I express myself in the fulness of +my heart, and may, perhaps, be guilty of neglecting some of your +kind inquiries; but not from your very odd reason, that I do not +read your letters. All your epistles, for several months, have +cost me nothing except a swelling throb of gratitude, or a +deep-felt sentiment of veneration.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Burns, Madam, first found herself "as women wish to +be who love their lords," as I loved her nearly to distraction, +we took steps for a private marriage. Her parents got the hint; +and not only forbade me her company and their house, but, on my +rumoured West Indian voyage, got a warrant to put me in jail, +till I should find security in my about-to-be paternal relation. +You know my lucky reverse of fortune. On my +<i>éclatant</i> return to Mauchline, I was made very +welcome to visit my girl. The usual consequences began to betray +her; and, as I was at that time laid up a cripple in Edinburgh, +she was turned, literally turned, out of doors, and I wrote to a +friend to shelter her till my return, when our marriage was +declared. Her happiness or misery were in my hands, and who could +trifle with such a deposit?</p> + +<p>To jealousy or infidelity I am an equal stranger. My +preservative against the first is the most thorough consciousness +of her sentiments of honour and her attachment to me; my antidote +against the last is my long and deep-rooted affection for her. I +can easily <i>fancy</i> a more agreeable companion for my journey +of life; but, upon my honour, I have never <i>seen</i> the +individual instance.</p> + +<p>In household matters, of aptness to learn and activity to +execute, she is eminently mistress; and during my absence in +Nithsdale, she is regularly and constantly apprentice to my +mother and sisters in their dairy, and other rural business.</p> + +<p>The muses must not be offended when I tell them, the concerns +of my wife and family will, in my mind, always take the +<i>pas</i>; but I assure them their ladyships will ever come next +in place.</p> + +<p>You are right that a bachelor state would have insured me more +friends; but, from a cause you will easily guess, conscious peace +in the enjoyment of my own mind, and unmistrusting confidence in +approaching my God, would seldom have been of the number.</p> + +<p>Circumstanced as I am, I could never have got a female partner +for life who could have entered into my favourite studies, +relished my favourite authors, etc., without probably entailing +on me at the same time expensive living, fantastic caprice, +perhaps apish affectation, with all the other blessed +boarding-school acquirements, which (<i>pardonnez moi</i>, +<i>Madame</i>) are sometimes to be found among females of the +upper ranks, but almost universally pervade the misses of the +would-be gentry.<a name="FNanchor82"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_82">[82]</a></sup></p> + +<p>I like your way in your churchyard lucubrations. Thoughts that +are the spontaneous result of accidental situations, either +respecting health, place, or company, have often a strength, and +always an originality, that would in vain be looked for in +fancied circumstances, and studied paragraphs. For me, I have +often thought of keeping a letter, in progression by me, to send +you when the sheet was written out. Now I talk of sheets, I must +tell you, my reason for writing to you on paper of this kind is +my pruriency of writing to you at large. A page of post is on +such a dis-social, narrow-minded scale, that I cannot abide it; +and double letters, at least in my miscellaneous reverie manner, +are a monstrous tax in a close correspondence. R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor82">[82]</a> In +Burns's private memoranda are these words:—"I am more and more +pleased with the step I took respecting my Jean. A wife's head is +immaterial compared with her heart; and Virtue's (for wisdom, +what poet pretends to it?) 'ways are ways of pleasantness, and +all her paths are peace.'"</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCVIII.—To MR. PETER HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +MY DEAR HILL,—I shall say nothing to your mad present—you have +so long and often been of important service to me, and I suppose +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 Roger +de Coverley, because it happened to be a cold day in which he +made his will, ordered his servants great-coats for mourning, so, +because I have been this week plagued with an indigestion, I have +sent you by the carrier a fine old ewe-milk cheese.<a name= +"FNanchor83"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_83">[83]</a></sup> + +<p>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 +the sight of successful knavery, and sicken to loathing at the +noise and nonsense of self-important folly. When the +hollow-hearted wretch takes me by the hand, the feeling spoils my +dinner; the proud man's wine so offends my palate that it chokes +me in the gullet; and the <i>pulvilised</i>, feathered, pert +coxcomb, is so disgustful in my nostril that my stomach +turns.</p> + +<p>If ever you have any of these disagreeable sensations, let me +prescribe for you patience, and a bit of my cheese. I know that +you are no niggard of your good things among your friends, and +some of them are in much need of a slice. There, in my eye, is +our friend Smellie; a man positively of the first abilities and +greatest strength of mind, as well as one of the best hearts and +keenest wits that I have ever met with; when you see him, as, +alas! he too is smarting at the pinch of distressful +circumstances, aggravated by the sneer of contumelious +greatness—a bit of my cheese alone will not cure him, but if you +add a tankard of brown stout, and superadd a magnum of bright +Oporto, you will see his sorrows vanish like the morning mist +before the summer sun.</p> + +<p>Candlish, the earliest friend, except my only brother, that I +have on earth, and one of the worthiest fellows that ever any man +called by the name of friend, if a luncheon of my cheese would +help to rid him of some of his superabundant modesty, you would +do well to give it him.</p> + +<p>David,<a name="FNanchor84"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_84">[84]</a></sup> with his <i>Courant</i>, comes, +too, across my recollection, and I beg you will help him largely +from the said ewe-milk cheese, to enable him to digest those +bedaubing paragraphs with which he is eternally larding the lean +characters of certain great men in a certain great town. I grant +you the periods are very well turned; so, a fresh egg is a very +good thing, but when thrown at a man in a pillory, it does not at +all improve his figure, not to mention the irreparable loss of +the egg.</p> + +<p>My facetious friend Dunbar, I would wish also to be a +partaker: not to digest his spleen, for that he laughs off, but +to digest his last night's wine at the last field-day of the +Crochallan corps.<a name="FNanchor85"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_85">[85]</a></sup></p> + +<p>Among our common friends I must not forget one of the dearest +of them—Cunningham. The brutality, insolence, and selfishness of +a world unworthy of having such a fellow as he is in it, I know +sticks in his stomach, and if you can help him to anything that +will make him a little easier on that score, it will be very +obliging.</p> + +<p>As to honest John Sommerville, he is such a contented, happy +man, that I know not what can annoy him, except, perhaps, he may +not have got the better of a parcel oif modest anecdotes which a +certain poet gave him one night at supper, the last time the said +poet was in town.</p> + +<p>Though I have mentioned so many men of law, I shall have +nothing to do with them professedly—the faculty are beyond my +prescription. As to their clients, that is another thing; God +knows they have much to digest!</p> + +<p>The clergy I pass by; their profundity of erudition, and their +liberality of sentiment, their total want of pride, and their +detestation of hypocrisy, are so proverbially notorious as to +place them far, far above either my praise or censure.</p> + +<p>I was going to mention a man of worth, whom I have the honour +to call friend—the Laird of Craigdarroch; but I have spoken to +the landlord of the King's Arms Inn here, to have at the next +county meeting a large ewe-milk cheese on the table, for the +benefit of the Dumfriesshire Whigs, to enable them to digest the +Duke of Queensberry's late political conduct.</p> + +<p>I have just this moment an opportunity of a private hand to +Edinburgh, as perhaps you would not digest double postage.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor83">[83]</a> In +return for some valuable books.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor84">[84]</a> +Printer of the <i>Edinburgh Evening Courant</i>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor85">[85]</a> A +club of boon companions.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XCIX.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>August</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1788. + +<p>HONOURED MADAM,—Your kind letter welcomed me, yesternight, to +Ayrshire. I am, indeed, seriously angry with you at the quantum +of your luckpenny; but, vexed and hurt as I was, I could not help +laughing very heartily at the noble lord's apology for the missed +napkin.</p> + +<p>I would write you from Nithsdale, and give you my direction +there, but I have scarce an opportunity of calling at a +post-office once in a fortnight. I am six miles from Dumfries, am +scarcely ever in it myself, and, as yet, have little acquaintance +in the neighbourhood. Besides, I am now very busy on my farm, +building a dwelling-house; as at present I am almost an +evangelical man in Nithsdale, for I have scarce "where to lay my +head."</p> + +<p>There are some passages in your last that brought tears in my +eyes. "The heart knoweth its own sorrows, and a stranger +intermeddleth not therewith." The repository of these "sorrows of +the heart" is a kind of <i>sanctum sanctorum</i>: and'tis only a +chosen friend, and that, too, at particular, sacred times, who +dares enter into them:—<br> +Heaven oft tears the bosom-chords<br> +That nature finest strung.</p> + +<p>You will excuse this quotation for the sake of the author. +Instead of entering on this subject farther, I shall transcribe +you a few lines I wrote in a hermitage, belonging to a gentleman +in my Nithsdale neighbourhood. They are almost the only favour +the muses have conferred on me in that country.<a name= +"FNanchor86"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_86">[86]</a></sup></p> + +<p>Since I am in the way of transcribing, the following were the +production of yesterday as I jogged through the wild hills of New +Cumnock. I intend inserting them, or something like them, in an +epistle I am going to write to the gentleman on whose friendship +my Excise hopes depend, Mr. Graham of Fintray, one of the +worthiest and most accomplished gentlemen, not only of this +country, but, I will dare to say it, of this age. The following +are just the first crude thoughts "unhousel'd, unanointed, +unanneal'd:"<a name="FNanchor87"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_87">[87]</a></sup>—</p> + +<p>Here the muse left me. I am astonished at what you tell me of +Anthony's writing me. I never received it. Poor fellow I you vex +me much by telling me that he is unfortunate. I shall be in +Ayrshire ten days from this date. I have just room for an old +Roman FAREWELL.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor86">[86]</a> Lines +written in Friar's Carse Hermitage.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor87">[87]</a> First +Epistle to Robert Graham.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>C.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 16<i>th August</i> 1788. + +<p>I am in a fine disposition, my honoured friend, to send you an +elegiac epistle; and want only genius to make it quite +Shenstonian:—</p> + +<blockquote>Why droops my heart with fancied woes forlorn?<br> +Why sinks my soul beneath each wintry sky?</blockquote> + +My increasing cares in this, as yet, strange country—gloomy +conjectures in the dark vista of futurity—consciousness of my +own inability for the struggle of the world—my broadened mark to +misfortune in a wife and children;—I could indulge these +reflections, till my humour should ferment into the most acid +chagrin, that would corrode the very thread of life. + +<p>To counterwork these baneful feelings, I have sat down to +write to you; as I declare upon my soul I always find that the +most sovereign balm for my wounded spirit.</p> + +<p>I was yesterday at Mr. Miller's to dinner, for the first time. +My reception was quite to my mind: from the lady of the house +quite flattering. She sometimes hits on a couplet or two, +<i>impromptu</i>. She repeated one or two to the admiration of +all present. My suffrage as a professional man was expected: I +for once went agonising over the belly of my conscience. Pardon +me, ye, my adored household gods, independence of spirit, and +integrity of soul! In the course of conversation, <i>Johnsorfs +Musical Museum</i>, a collection of Scottish songs with the +music, was talked of. We got a song on the harpsichord, +beginning</p> + +<blockquote>Raving winds around her blowing.</blockquote> + +The air was much admired: the lady of the house asked me whose +were the words. "Mine, Madam—they are indeed my very best +verses;" she took not the smallest notice of them! The old +Scottish proverb says well, "King's caff is better than ither +folks' corn." I was going to make a New Testament quotation about +"casting pearls," but that would be too virulent, for the lady is +actually a woman of sense and taste. + +<p>After all that has been said on the other side of the +question, man is by no means a happy creature. I do not speak of +the selected few, favoured by partial heaven, whose souls are +tuned to gladness amidst riches and honours, and prudence and +wisdom. I speak of the neglected many, whose nerves, whose +sinews, whose days are sold to the minions of fortune.</p> + +<p>If I thought you had never seen it, I would transcribe for you +a stanza of an old Scottish ballad, called "The Life and Age of +Man;" beginning thus:—</p> + +<blockquote>'Twas in the sixteenth hundred year<br> +Of God and fifty-three<br> +Frae Christ was born, that bought us dear,<br> +As writings testifie.</blockquote> + +I had an old grand-uncle, with whom my mother lived a while in +her girlish years; the good old man, for such he was, was long +blind ere he died, during which time his highest enjoyment was to +sit down and cry, while my mother would sing the simple old song +of "The Life and Age of Man." + +<p>It is this way of thinking; it is these melancholy truths, +that make religion so precious to the poor, miserable children of +men. If it is a mere phantom, existing only in the heated +imagination of enthusiasm,</p> + +<p>What truth on earth so precious as the lie?</p> + +<p>My idle reasonings sometimes make me a little sceptical, but +the necessities of my heart always give the cold philosophisings +the lie. Who looks for the heart weaned from earth; the soul +affianced to her God; the correspondence fixed with heaven; the +pious supplication and devout thanksgiving, constant as the +vicissitudes of even and morn; who thinks to meet with these in +the court, the palace, in the glare of public life? No; to find +them in their precious importance and divine efficacy, we must +search among the obscure recesses of disappointment, affliction, +poverty, and distress.</p> + +<p>I am sure, dear Madam, you are now more than pleased with the +length of my letters. I return to Ayrshire middle of next week: +and it quickens my pace to think that there will be a letter from +you waiting me there. I must be here again very soon for my +harvest.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CI.—To MR. BEUGO, ENGRAVER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 9<i>th Sept.</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—There is not in Edinburgh above the number of +the graces whose letters would have given so much pleasure as +yours of the 3rd instant, which only reached me yesternight.</p> + +<p>I am here on my farm, busy with my harvest; but for all that +most pleasurable part of life called SOCIAL COMMUNICATION, I am +here at the very elbow of existence. The only things that are to +be found in this country, in any degree of perfection, are +stupidity and canting. Prose they only know in graces, prayers, +etc., and the value of these they estimate, as they do their +plaiding webs, by the ell! As for the muses, they have as much an +idea of a rhinoceros as of a poet. For my old, capricious, but +good-natured hussy of a muse,</p> + +<blockquote>By banks of Nith I sat and wept<br> +When Coila I thought on,<br> +In midst thereof I hung my harp<br> +The willow trees upon.</blockquote> + +I am generally about half my time in Ayrshire with my "darling +Jean," and then I, at lucid intervals, throw my horny fist across +my becobwebbed lyre, much in the same manner as an old wife +throws her hand across the spokes of her spinning-wheel. + +<p>I will send you the "Fortunate Shepherdess" as soon as I +return to Ayrshire, for there I keep it with other precious +treasure. I shall send it by a careful hand, as I would not for +anything it should be mislaid or lost. I do not wish to serve you +from any benevolence, or other grave Christian virtue; 'tis +purely a selfish gratification of my own feelings whenever I +think of you.</p> + +<p>If your better functions would give you leisure to write me, I +should be extremely happy; that is to say, if you neither keep +nor look for a regular correspondence. I hate the idea of being +obliged to write a letter. I sometimes write a friend twice a +week; at other times once a quarter.</p> + +<p>I am exceedingly pleased with your fancy in making the author +you mention place a map of Iceland, instead of his portrait, +before his works; 'twas a glorious idea.</p> + +<p>Could you conveniently do me one thing?—whenever you finish +any head, I should like to have a proof copy of it. I might tell +you a long story about your fine genius; but, as what everybody +knows cannot have escaped you, I shall not say one syllable about +it.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CII.—To MR. ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRAY.</h4> + +SIR,—When I had the honour of being introduced to you at Athole +House, I did not think so soon of asking a favour of you. When +Lear, in Shakespeare, asked Old Kent why he wished to be in his +service, he answers, "Because you have that in your face which I +would fain call master." For some such reason, Sir, do I now +solicit your patronage. You know, I dare say, of an application I +lately made to your Board to be admitted an officer of the +Excise. I have, according to form, been examined by a supervisor, +and today I gave in his certificate, with a request for an order +for instructions. In this affair, if I succeed, I am afraid I +shall but too much need a patronising friend. Propriety of +conduct as a man, and fidelity and attention as an officer, I +dare engage for; but with anything like business, except manual +labour, I am totally unacquainted. + +<p>I had intended to have closed my late appearance on the stage +of life in the character of a country farmer; but, after +discharging some filial and fraternal claims, I find I could only +fight for existence in that miserable manner, which I have lived +to see throw a venerable parent into the jaws of a jail, whence +death, the poor man's last and often best friend, rescued +him.</p> + +<p>I know, Sir, that to need your goodness, is to have a claim on +it; may I, therefore, beg your patronage to forward me in this +affair, till I be appointed to a division, where, by the help of +rigid economy, I will try to support that independence so dear to +my soul, but which has been too often so distant from my +situation.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CII.—To His WIFE, AT MAUCHLINE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>Friday</i>, 12<i>th Sep.</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR LOVE,—I received your kind letter with a pleasure +which no letter but one from you could have given me. I dreamed +of you the whole night last; but alas! I fear it will be three +weeks yet ere I can hope for the happiness of seeing you. My +harvest is going on. I have some to cut down still, but I put in +two stacks to-day, so I'm as tired as a dog.</p> + +<p>You might get one of Gilbert's sweet-milk cheeses, and send it +to.... On second thoughts I believe you had best get the half of +Gilbert's web of table linen and make it up; though I think it +damnable dear, but it is no outlaid money to us, you know. I have +just now consulted my old landlady about table linen, and she +thinks I may have the best for two shillings a yard; so, after +all, let it alone till I return; and some day soon I will be in +Dumfries and ask the price there. I expect your new gowns will be +very forward or ready to make, against I be home to get the +<i>baiveridge.<a name="FNanchor88"></a></i><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_88">[88]</a></sup></p> + +<p>I have written my long-thought-on letter to Mr. Graham, the +Commissioner of Excise; and have sent a sheetful of poetry +besides.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor88">[88]</a> On +her first appearance in public in a new dress a young woman was +subject to this tax, if claimed by the young man who happened +first to meet her.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CIV.—To Miss CHALMERS, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, NEAR DUMFRIES, <i>Sept</i>. 16<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>Where are you? and how are you? and is Lady Mackenzie +recovering her health? for I have had but one solitary letter +from you. I will not think you have forgot me, Madam and, for my +part,</p> + +<blockquote>When thee, Jerusalem, I forget,<br> +Skill part from my right hand!</blockquote> + +"My heart is not of that rock, nor my soul careless as that sea." +I do not make my progress among mankind as a bowl does among its +fellows-rolling through the crowd without bearing away any mark +or impression, except where they hit in hostile collision. + +<p>I am here, driven in with my harvest-folks by bad weather; and +as you and your sister once did me the honour of interesting +yourselves much <i>à l' egard de moi</i>, I sit down to +beg the continuation of your goodness. I can truly say that, all +the exterior of life apart, I never saw two whose esteem +flattered the nobler feelings of my soul—I will not say more, +but so much, as Lady Mackenzie and Miss Chalmers. When I think of +you—hearts the best, minds the noblest of human +kind—unfortunate even in the shades of life—when I think I have +met with you, and have lived more of real life with you in eight +days than I can do with almost anybody I meet with in eight +years—when I think on the improbability of meeting you in this +world again—I could sit down and cry like a child! If ever you +honoured me with a place in your esteem, I trust I can now plead +more desert. I am secure against that crushing grip of iron +poverty, which, alas! is less or more fatal to the native worth +and purity of, I fear, the noblest souls; and a late important +step in my life has kindly taken me out of the way of those +ungrateful iniquities, which, however overlooked in fashionable +licence, or varnished in fashionable phrase, are indeed but +lighter and deeper shades of villainy.</p> + +<p>Shortly after my last return to Ayrshire, I married "my Jean." +This was not in consequence of the attachment of romance, +perhaps; but I had a long and much-loved fellow-creature's +happiness or misery in my determination, and I durst not trifle +with so important a deposit. Nor have I any cause to repent it. +If I have not got polite tattle, modish manners, and fashionable +dress, I am not sickened and disgusted with the multiform curse +of boarding-school affectation; and I have got the handsomest +figure, the sweetest temper, the soundest constitution, and the +kindest heart in the county. Mrs. Burns believes, as firmly as +her creed, that I am <i>le plus bel esprit, et le plus +honnête homme</i> in the universe; although she scarcely +ever in her life, except the Scriptures of the old and New +Testament, and the Psalms of David in metre, spent five minutes +together on either prose or verse. I must except also from this +last a certain late publication of Scots poems, which she has +perused very devoutly; and all the ballads in the country, as she +has (O the partial lover! you will cry) the finest "wood note +wild" I ever heard. I am the more particular in this lady's +character, as I know she will henceforth have the honour of a +share in your best wishes. She is still at Mauchline, as I am +building my house; for this hovel that I shelter in, while +occasionally here, is pervious to every blast that blows, and +every shower that falls; and I am only preserved from being +chilled to death, by being suffocated with smoke. I do not find +my farm that pennyworth I was taught to expect, but I believe, in +time, it may be a saving bargain. You will be pleased to hear +that I have laid aside the idle <i>éclat</i>, and bind +every day after my reapers.</p> + +<p>To save me from that horrid situation of at any time going +down, in a losing bargain of a farm, to misery, I have taken my +Excise instructions, and have my commission in my pocket for any +emergency of fortune. If I could set all before your view, +whatever disrespect you, in common with the world, have for this +business, I know you would approve of my idea.</p> + +<p>I will make no apology, dear Madam, for this egotistic detail; +I know you and your sister will be interested in every +circumstance of it. What signify the silly, idle gew-gaws of +wealth, or the ideal trumpery of greatness! When fellow-partakers +of the same nature fear the same God, have the same benevolence +of heart, the same nobleness of soul, the same detestation at +everything dishonest, and the same scorn at everything +unworthy—if they are not in the dependence of absolute beggary, +in the name of common sense, are they not equals? And if the +bias, the instinctive bias of their souls run the same way, why +may they not be friends?</p> + +<p>When I may have an opportunity of sending you this, Heaven +only knows. Shenstone says, "When one is confined idle within +doors by bad weather, the best antidote against <i>ennui</i> is +to read the letters of, or write to, one's friends;" in that case +then, if the weather continues thus, I may scrawl you half a +quire.</p> + +<p>I very lately—to wit, since harvest began—wrote a poem, not +in imitation, but in the manner of Pope's Moral Epistles. It is +only a short essay, just to try the strength of my Muse's pinion +in that way. I will send you a copy of it, when once I have heard +from you. I have likewise been laying the foundation of some +pretty large poetic works; how the superstructure will come on, I +leave to that great maker and marrer of projects, time. Johnson's +collection of Scots songs is going on in the third volume; and, +of consequence, finds me a consumpt for a great deal of idle +metre. One of the most tolerable things I have done in that way, +is two stanzas I made to an air a musical gentleman of my +acquaintance composed for the anniversary of his wedding-day, +which happens on the seventh of November. Take it as +follows:—</p> + +<blockquote>The day returns—my bosom burns—<br> +The blissful day we twa did meet, etc.</blockquote> + +I shall give over this letter for shame. If I should be seized +with a scribbling fit, before this goes away, I shall make it +another letter; and then you may allow your patience a week's +respite between the two. I have not room for more than the old, +kind, hearty farewell! <br> +<hr> +<p>To make some amends, <i>mes chères Mesdames</i>, for +dragging you on to this second sheet; and to relieve a little the +tiresomeness of my unstudied and uncorrectible prose, I shall +transcribe you some of my late poetic bagatelles; though I have, +these eight or ten months, done very little that way. One day, in +a hermitage on the banks of Nith, belonging to a gentleman in my +neighbourhood, who is so good as give me a key at pleasure, I +wrote as follows; supposing myself the sequestered, venerable +inhabitant of the lonely mansion.</p> + +<blockquote>LINES WRITTEN IN FRIARS-CARSE HERMITAGE. + +<p>Thou whom chance may hither lead,<br> +Be thou clad in russet weed, etc.</p> +</blockquote> + +R. B. <br> +<hr> +<h4>CV.—To MR. MORISON, WRIGHT, MAUCHLINE.</h4> + +Ellisland, <i>September</i> 22<i>nd</i> 1788. + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—Necessity obliges me to go into my new house, +even before it be plastered. I will inhabit the one end until the +other is finished. About three weeks more, I think, will at +farthest be my time, beyond which I cannot stay in this present +house. If ever you wish to deserve the blessing of him that was +ready to perish; if ever you were in a situation that a little +kindness would have rescued you from many evils; if ever you hope +to find rest in future states of untried being-get these matters +of mine ready.<a name="FNanchor89"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_89">[89]</a></sup> My servant will be out in the +beginning of next week for the clock. My compliments to Mrs. +Morison. —I am, after all my tribulation, Dear Sir, yours,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor89">[89]</a> The +letter refers to chairs and other articles of furniture which the +Poet had ordered.</p> + +<hr size="0" width="100%"> +<h4>CVI.—To MRS. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOP.</h4> + +Mauchline, 27<i>th Sept</i>. 1788. + +<p>I have received twins, dear Madam, more than once; but +scarcely ever with more pleasure than when I received yours of +the 12th instant. To make myself understood; I had wrote to Mr. +Graham, enclosing my poem addressed to him, and the same post +which favoured me with yours brought me an answer from him. It +was dated the very day he had received mine; and I am quite at a +loss to say whether it was most polite or kind.</p> + +<p>Your criticisms, my honoured benefactress, are truly the work +of a friend. They are not the blasting depredations of a +canker-toothed, caterpillar critic; nor are they the fair +statement of cold impartiality, balancing with unfeeling +exactitude the <i>pro</i> and <i>con</i> of an author's merits; +they are the judicious observations of animated friendship, +selecting the beauties of the piece. I am just arrived from +Nithsdale, and will be here a fortnight. I was on horseback this +morning by three o'clock; for between my wife and my farm is just +forty-six miles. As I jogged on in the dark, I was taken with a +poetic fit, as follows:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Ferguson of Craigdarroch's lamentation for the death of +her son; an uncommonly promising youth of eighteen or nineteen +years of age:—<br> +Fate gave the word—the arrow sped,<br> +And pierced my darling's heart,"(i>etc.)</p> + +<p>You will not send me your poetic rambles, but, you see, I am +no niggard of mine. I am sure your impromptus give me double +pleasure; what falls from your pen can neither be unentertaining +in itself, nor indifferent to me.</p> + +<p>The one fault you found is just: but I cannot please myself in +an emendation.</p> + +<p>What a life of solicitude is the life of a parent! You +interested me much in your young couple.</p> + +<p>I would not take my folio paper for this epistle, and now I +repent it. I am so jaded with my dirty long journey, that I was +afraid to drawl into the essence of dulness with anything larger +than a quarto, and so I must leave out another rhyme of this +morning's manufacture.</p> + +<p>I will pay the sapientipotent George most cheerfully, to hear +from you ere I leave Ayrshire. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CVII—To MR. PETER HILL.</h4> + +Mauchline, 1<i>st October</i> 1788. + +<p>I have been here in this country about three days, and all +that time my chief reading has been the "Address to Lochlomond" +you were so obliging as to send to me. Were I impanneled one of +the author's jury, to determine his criminality respecting the +sin of poesy, my verdict should be "Guilty! A poet of nature's +making!" It is an excellent method for improvement, and what I +believe every poet does, to place some favourite classic author +in his walks of study and composition before him as a model. +Though your author had not mentioned the name, I could have, at +half a glance, guessed his model to be Thomson. Will my +brother-poet forgive me if I venture to hint that his imitation +of that immortal bard is, in two or three places, rather more +servile than such a genius as his required:—<i>e.g.</i><br> +To soothe the maddening passions all to peace.<br> +ADDRESS.<br> +To soothe the throbbing passions into peace.<br> +THOMSON.</p> + +<p>I think the "Address" is in simplicity, harmony, and elegance +of versification, fully equal to the "Seasons." Like Thomson, +too, he has looked into nature for himself: you meet with no +copied description. One particular criticism I made at first +reading; in no one instance has he said too much. He never flags +in his progress, but, like a true poet of nature's making, +kindles in his course. His beginning is simple and modest, as if +distrustful of the strength of his passion; only, I do not +altogether like—<br> +Truth,<br> +The soul of every song that's nobly great.</p> + +<p>Fiction is the soul of many a song that is nobly great. +Perhaps I am wrong: this may be but a prose criticism. Is not the +phrase, in line 7, page 6, "Great lake," too much vulgarised by +every-day language for so sublime a poem?</p> + +<p>Great mass of waters, theme for nobler song,</p> + +<p>is perhaps no emendation. His enumeration of a comparison with +other lakes is at once harmonious and poetic. Every reader's +ideas must sweep the</p> + +<p>Winding margin of a hundred miles.</p> + +<p>The perspective that follows mountains blue—the imprisoned +billows beating in vain—the wooded isles—the digression on the +yew-tree—"Benlomond's lofty, cloud-envelop'd head," etc., are +beautiful. A thunder-storm is a subject which has been often +tried, yet our poet, in his grand picture, has interjected a +circumstance, so far as I know, entirely original in<br> +the gloom<br> +Deep seam'd with frequent streaks of moving fire.</p> + +<p>In his preface to the Storm, "the glens how dark between," is +noble highland landscape! The "rain ploughing the red mould," +too, is beautifully fancied. "Benlomond's lofty, pathless top," +is a good expression; and the surrounding view from it is truly +great: the<br> +silver mist,<br> +Beneath the beaming sun,</p> + +<p>is well described; and here he has contrived to enliven his +poem with a little of that passion which bids fair, I think, to +usurp the modern muses altogether. I know not how far this +episode is a beauty on the whole, but the swain's wish to carry +"some faint idea of the vision bright," to entertain her "partial +listening ear," is a pretty thought. But, in my opinion, the most +beautiful passages in the whole poem are the fowls crowding, in +wintry frosts, to Lochlomond's "hospitable flood;" their wheeling +round; their lighting, mixing, diving, etc.; and the glorious +description of the sportsman. This last is equal to anything in +the "Seasons." The idea of "the floating tribes distant seen, far +glistering to the moon," provoking his eye as he is obliged to +leave them, is a noble ray of poetic genius.</p> + +<p>The "howling winds," the "hideous roar" of "the white +cascades," are all in the same style.</p> + +<p>I forget that while I am thus holding forth, with the heedless +warmth of an enthusiast, I am perhaps tiring you with nonsense. I +must, however, mention that the last verse of the sixteenth page +is one of the most elegant compliments I have ever seen. I must +likewise notice that beautiful paragraph beginning "The gleaming +lake," etc. I dare not go into the particular beauties of the +last two paragraphs, but they are admirably fine, and truly +Ossianic. I must beg your pardon for this lengthened scrawl. I +had no idea of it when I began—I should like to know who the +author is; but, whoever he be, please present him with my +grateful thanks for the entertainment he has afforded me.<a name= +"FNanchor90"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_90">[90]</a></sup></p> + +<p>A friend of mine desired me to commission for him two books, +<i>Letters on the Religion essential to Man</i>, a book you sent +me before; and <i>The World Unmasked, or the Philosopher the +greatest Cheat</i>. Send me them by the first opportunity. The +Bible you sent me is truly elegant; I only wish it had been in +two volumes. R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor90">[90]</a> The +poem, entitled "An Address to Lochlomond," is said to have been +written by one of the masters of the High School of +Edinburgh.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CVIIL—To THE EDITOR OF THE "STAR".</h4> + +<i>November</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>Sir,—Notwithstanding the opprobrious epithets with which some +of our philosophers and gloomy sectarians have branded our +nature—the principle of universal selfishness, the proneness to +all evil, they have given us—still, the detestation in which +inhumanity to the distressed, or insolence to the fallen, are +held by all mankind, shows that they are not natives of the human +heart. Even the unhappy partner of our kind who is undone, the +bitter consequence of his follies or his crimes—who but +sympathises with the miseries of this ruined profligate brother? +We forget the injuries, and feel for the man.</p> + +<p>I went, last Wednesday, to my parish church, most cordially to +join in grateful acknowledgment to the AUTHOR OF ALL GOOD for the +consequent blessings of the glorious Revolution. To that +auspicious event we owe no less than our liberties, civil and +religious; to it we are likewise indebted for the present Royal +Family, the ruling features of whose administration have ever +been mildness to the subject, and tenderness of his rights.</p> + +<p>Bred and educated in revolution principles, the principles of +reason and common sense, it could not be any silly political +prejudice which made my heart revolt at the harsh, abusive manner +in which the reverend gentleman mentioned the House of Stuart, +and which, I am afraid, was too much the language of the day. We +may rejoice sufficiently in our deliverance from past evils, +without cruelly raking up the ashes of those whose misfortune it +was, perhaps as much as their crime, to be the authors of those +evils; and we may bless GOD for all His goodness to us as a +nation, without, at the same time, cursing a few ruined, +powerless exiles, who only harboured ideas, and made attempts, +that most of us would have done, had we been in their +situation.</p> + +<p>"The bloody and tyrannical House of Stuart" may be said with +propriety and justice, when compared with the present Royal +Family, and the sentiments of our days; but is there no allowance +to be made for the manners of the times? Were the royal +contemporaries of the Stuarts more attentive to their subjects' +rights? Might not the epithets of "bloody and tyrannical" be, +with at least equal justice, applied to the House of Tudor, of +York, or any other of their predecessors?</p> + +<p>The simple state of the case, Sir, seems to be this:—At that +period, the science of government, the knowledge of the true +relation between king and subject, was, like other sciences and +other knowledge, just in its infancy, emerging from dark ages of +ignorance and barbarity.</p> + +<p>The Stuarts only contended for prerogatives which they knew +their predecessors enjoyed, and which they saw their +contemporaries enjoying; but these prerogatives were inimical to +the happiness of a nation and the rights of subjects.</p> + +<p>In this contest between prince and people, the consequence of +that light of science which had lately dawned over Europe, the +monarch of France, for example, was victorious over the +struggling liberties of his people: with us, luckily, the monarch +failed, and his unwarrantable pretensions fell a sacrifice to our +rights and happiness. Whether it was owing to the wisdom of +leading individuals, or to the justling of parties, I cannot +pretend to determine; but, likewise, happily for us, the kingly +power was shifted into another branch of the family, who, as they +owed the throne solely to the call of a free people, could claim +nothing inconsistent with the covenanted terms which placed them +there.</p> + +<p>The Stuarts have been condemned and laughed at, for the folly +and impracticability of their attempts in 1715, and 1745. That +they failed, I bless GOD; but cannot join in the ridicule against +them. Who does not know that the abilities or defects of leaders +and commanders are often hidden, until put to the touchstone of +exigency; and that there is a caprice of fortune, an omnipotence +in particular accidents and conjunctures of circumstances, which +exalt us as heroes, or brand us as madmen, just as they are for +or against us?</p> + +<p>Man, Mr. Publisher, is a strange, weak, inconsistent being: +who would believe, Sir, that in this our Augustan age of +liberality and refinement, while we seem so justly sensible and +jealous of our rights and liberties, and animated with such +indignation against the very memory of those who would have +subverted them—that a certain people under our national +protection should complain, not against our monarch and a few +favourite advisers, but against our WHOLE LEGISLATIVE BODY, for +similar oppression, and almost in the very same terms, as our +forefathers did of the House of Stuart! I will not, I cannot, +enter into the merits of the cause; but I dare say the American +Congress, in 1776, will be allowed to be as able and enlightened +as the English Convention was in 1688; and that their posterity +will celebrate the centenary of their deliverance from us, as +duly and sincerely, as we do ours from the oppressive measures of +the wrong-headed House of Stuart.</p> + +<p>To conclude, Sir; let every man who has a tear for the many +miseries incident to humanity, feel for a family illustrious as +any in Europe, and unfortunate beyond historic precedent; and let +every Briton (and particularly every Scotsman) who ever looked +with reverential pity on the dotage of a parent, cast a veil over +the fatal mistake of the Kings of his forefathers.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CIX.—TO MRS. DUNLOP, AT MOREHAM MAINS.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, 13<i>th November</i> 1788. + +<p>Madam,—I had the very great pleasure of dining at Dunlop +yesterday. Men are said to flatter women because they are weak, +if it is so, poets must be weaker still; for Misses R. and K. and +Miss G. M'K., with their flattering attentions, and artful +compliments, absolutely turned my head. I own they did not lard +me over as many a poet does his patron, but they so intoxicated +me with their sly insinuations and delicate innuendos of +compliment, that if it had not been for a lucky recollection, how +much additional weight and lustre your good opinion and +friendship must give me in that circle, I had certainly looked +upon myself as a person of no small consequence. I dare not say +one word how much I was charmed with the Major's friendly +welcome, elegant manner, and acute remark, lest I should be +thought to balance my orientalisms of applause over-against the +finest heifer in Ayrshire, which he made me a present of to help +and adorn my farm-stock. As it was on hallow-day, I am determined +annually as that day returns, to decorate her horns with an ode +of gratitude to the family of Dunlop.</p> + +<p>So soon as I know of your arrival at Dunlop, I will take the +first conveniency to dedicate a day, or perhaps two, to you and +friendship, under the guarantee of the Major's hospitality. There +will soon be three score and ten miles of permanent distance +between us; and now that your friendship and friendly +correspondence is entwisted with the heart-strings of my +enjoyment of life, I must indulge myself in a happy day of "the +feast of reason and the flow of soul."</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CX.—TO DR. BLACKLOCK.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>November</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1788. + +<p>Reverend and dear Sir,—As I hear nothing of your motions, but +that you are, or were, out of town, I do not know where this may +find you, or whether it will find you at all. I wrote you a long +letter, dated from the land of matrimony, in June; but either it +had not found you, or, what I dread more, it found you or Mrs. +Blacklock in too precarious a state of health and spirits to take +notice of an idle packet.</p> + +<p>I have done many little things for Johnson since I had the +pleasure of seeing you; and I have finished one piece, in the way +of Pope's "Moral Epistles;" but, from your silence, I have +everything to fear, so I have only sent you two melancholy +things, which I tremble to fear may too well suit the tone of +your present feelings.</p> + +<p>In a fortnight I move, bag and baggage, to Nithsdale; till +then, my direction is at this place; after that period, it will +be at Ellisland, near Dumfries. It would extremely oblige me, +were it but half a line, to let me know how you are, and where +you are. Can I be indifferent to the fate of a man to whom I owe +so much—a man whom I not only esteem, but venerate?</p> + +<p>My warmest good wishes and most respectful compliments to Mrs. +Blacklock, and Miss Johnson, if she is with you.</p> + +<p>I cannot conclude without telling you that I am more and more +pleased with the step I took respecting "my Jean." Two things, +from my happy experience, I set down as apophthegms in life,—a +wife's head is immaterial, compared with her heart; and "Virtue's +(for wisdom, what poet pretends to it?) ways are ways of +pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." Adieu!</p> + +<p>R. B.<a name="FNanchor91"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_91">[91]</a></sup><br> +<a name="Footnote_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor91">[91]</a> Here +follow "The mother's lament for the loss of her son," and the +song beginning "The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the +hill."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXI.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 17<i>th December</i> 1788. + +<p>My dear honoured friend,—Yours, dated Edinburgh, which I have +just read, makes me very unhappy. "Almost blind and wholly deaf" +are melancholy news of human nature; but when told of a +much-loved and honoured friend, they carry misery in the sound. +Goodness on your part, and gratitude on mine, began a tie which +has gradually entwisted itself among the dearest chords of my +bosom, and I tremble at the omens of your late and present ailing +habit and shattered health. You miscalculate matters widely, when +you forbid my waiting on you, lest it should hurt my worldly +concerns. My small scale of farming is exceedingly more simple +and easy than what you have lately seen at Moreham Mains. But, be +that as it may, the heart of the man and the fancy of the poet +are the two grand considerations for which I live: if miry ridges +and dirty dunghills are to engross the best part of the functions +of my soul immortal, I had better been a rook or a magpie at +once, and then I should not have been plagued with any ideas +superior to breaking of clods and picking up grubs; not to +mention barn-door cocks of mallards, creatures with which I could +almost exchange lives at any time. If you continue so deaf, I am +afraid a visit will be no great pleasure to either of us; but if +I hear you are got so well again as to be able to relish +conversation, look you to it, Madam, for I will make my +threatenings good. I am to be at the New-year-day fair of Ayr, +and, by all that is sacred in the world, friend, I will come and +see you.</p> + +<p>Your meeting, which you so well describe, with your old +schoolfellow and friend, was truly interesting. Out upon the ways +of the world! They spoil these "social offsprings of the heart." +Two veterans of the "men of the world" would have met with little +more heart-workings than two old hacks worn out on the road. +Apropos, is not the Scotch phrase, "Auld lang syne," exceedingly +expressive? There is an old song and tune which has often +thrilled through my soul. You know I am an enthusiast in old +Scotch song. I shall give you the verses on the other sheet, as I +suppose Mr. Kerr<a name="FNanchor92"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_92">[92]</a></sup> will save you the postage.</p> + +<p>Should auld acquaintance be forgot?</p> + +<p>Light be the turf on the breast of the Heaven-inspired poet +who composed this glorious fragment! There is more of the fire of +native genius in it than in half a dozen of modern English +Bacchanalians! Now I am on my hobbyhorse, I cannot help inserting +two other old stanzas, which please me mightily:—</p> + +<p>Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor92">[92]</a> +Postmaster in Edinburgh.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXII.—TO MR. JOHN TENNANT.</h4> + +<i>December</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1788. + +<p>I yesterday tried my cask of whisky for the first time, and I +assure you it does you great credit. It will bear five waters, +strong: or six ordinary toddy. The whisky of this country is a +most rascally liquor; and, by consequence, only drunk by the most +rascally part of the inhabitants. I am persuaded, if you once get +a footing here, you might do a great deal of business, in the way +of consumpt; and should you commence distiller again, this is the +native barley country. I am ignorant if, in your present way of +dealing, you would think it worth your while to extend your +business so far as this country-side. I write you this on the +account of an accident, which I must take the merit of having +partly designed too. A neighbour of mine, a John Currie, miller, +in Carse Mill—a man who is, in a word, a very good man, even for +a £500 bargain—he and his wife were in my house the time I +broke open the cask. They keep a country public-house and sell a +great deal of foreign spirits, but all along thought that whisky +would have degraded their house. They were perfectly astonished +at my whisky, both for its taste and strength; and, by their +desire, I write you to know if you could supply them with liquor +of an equal quality, and what price. Please write me by first +post, and direct to me at Ellisland, near Dumfries. If you could +take a jaunt this way yourself, I have a spare spoon, knife, and +fork, very much at your service. My compliments to Mrs. Tennant, +and all the good folks in Glenconnel and Barguharrie.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXIII.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>New-year-day Morning</i>, 1789. + +<p>This, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, and would to God +that I came under the Apostle James's description!—<i>the prayer +of a righteous man availeth much</i>. In that case, Madam, you +should welcome in a year full of blessings: everything that +obstructs or disturbs tranquillity and self-enjoyment should be +removed, and every pleasure that frail humanity can taste, should +be yours. I own myself so little a Presbyterian, that I approve +of set times and seasons of more than ordinary acts of devotion, +for breaking in on that habituated routine of life and thought, +which is so apt to reduce our existence to a kind of instinct, or +even sometimes, and with some minds, to a state very little +superior to mere machinery.</p> + +<p>This day; the first Sunday of May; a breezy blue-skyed noon +some time about the beginning, and a hoary morning and calm sunny +day about the end of autumn; these, time out of mind, have been +with me a kind of holiday.</p> + +<p>I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in the +<i>Spectator</i> "The Vision of Mirza," a piece that struck my +young fancy before I was capable of fixing an idea to a word of +three syllables: "On the fifth day of the moon, which, according +to the custom of my forefathers, I always <i>keep holy</i>, after +having washed myself, and offered up my morning devotions, I +ascended the high hill of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of +the day in meditation and prayer."</p> + +<p>We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance or +structure of our souls, so cannot account for those seeming +caprices in them, that one should be particularly pleased with +this thing, or struck with that, which, on minds of a different +cast, makes no extraordinary impression. I have some favourite +flowers in spring, among which are the mountain-daisy, the +hare-bell, the fox-glove, the wild brier-rose, the budding birch, +and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular +delight. I never hear the loud, solitary whistle of the curlew in +a summer noon, or the wild mixing cadence of a troop of grey +plovers, in an autumnal morning, without feeling an elevation of +soul like the enthusiasm of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear +friend, to what can this be owing? Are we a piece of machinery, +which, like the Æolian harp, passive, takes the impression +of the passing accident? Or do these workings argue something +within us above the trodden clod? I own myself partial to such +proofs of those awful and important realities—a God that made +all things—man's immaterial and immortal nature—and a world of +weal or woe beyond death and the grave.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXIV.-TO DR. MOORE, LONDON.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 4<i>th Jan.</i> 1789. + +<p>Sir,—As often as I think of writing to you, which has been +three or four times every week these six months, it gives me +something so like the idea of an ordinary-sized statue offering +at a conversation with the Rhodian Colossus, that my mind +misgives me, and the affair always miscarries somewhere between +purpose and resolve. I have at last got some business with you, +and business letters are written by the style-book. I say my +business is with you, Sir, for you never had any with me, except +the business that benevolence has in the mansion of poverty.</p> + +<p>The character and employment of a poet were formerly my +pleasure, but are now my pride. I know that a very great deal of +my late éclat was owing to the singularity of my +situation, and the honest prejudice of Scotsmen; but still, as I +said in the preface to my first edition, I do look upon myself as +having some pretensions from nature to the poetic character. I +have not a doubt but the knack, the aptitude, to learn the Muses' +trade, is a gift bestowed by Him "who forms the secret bias of +the soul;" but I as firmly believe that <i>excellence</i> in the +profession is the fruit of industry, labour, attention, and +pains. At least I am resolved to try my doctrine by the test of +experience. Another appearance from the press I put off to a very +distant day, a day that may never arrive—but poesy I am +determined to prosecute with all my vigour. Nature has given very +few, if any, of the profession, the talents of shining in every +species of composition. I shall try (for until trial it is +impossible to know) whether she has qualified me to shine in any +one. The worst of it is, by the time one has finished a piece, it +has been so often viewed and reviewed before the mental eye, that +one loses in a good measure the powers of critical +discrimination. Here the best criterion I know is a friend—not +only of abilities to judge, but with good-nature enough, like a +prudent teacher with a young learner, to praise perhaps a little +more than is exactly just, lest the thin-skinned animal fall into +that most deplorable of all poetic diseases—heart-breaking +despondency of himself. Dare I, Sir, already immensely indebted +to your goodness, ask the additional obligation of your being +that friend to me? I inclose you an essay of mine in a walk of +poesy to me entirely new; I mean the epistle addressed to R. G., +Esq., or Robert Graham, of Fintry, Esq., a gentleman of uncommon +worth, to whom I lie under very great obligations. The story of +the poem, like most of my poems, is connected with my own story, +and to give you the one, I must give you something of the other. +I cannot boast of Mr. Creech's ingenuous fair dealing to me. He +kept me hanging about Edinburgh from the 7th August 1787 until +the 13th April 1788 before he would condescend to give a +statement of affairs; nor had I got it even then, but for an +angry letter I wrote him, which irritated his pride. "I could" +not a "tale," but a detail "unfold"; but what am I that should +speak against the Lord's anointed Bailie of Edinburgh?<a name= +"FNanchor93"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_93">[93]</a></sup></p> + +<p>I believe I shall, in whole, £100 copyright included, +clear about £400, some little odds; and even part of this +depends upon what the gentleman has yet to settle with me. I give +you this information, because you did me the honour to interest +yourself much in my welfare. I give you this information, but I +give it to yourself only, for I am still much in the gentleman's +mercy. Perhaps I injure the man in the idea I am sometimes +tempted to have of him—God forbid I should. A little time will +try, for in a month I shall go to town to wind up the business, +if possible.</p> + +<p>To give the rest of my story in brief, I have married "my +Jean," and taken a farm; with the first step I have every day +more and more reason to be satisfied; with the last, it is rather +the reverse. I have a younger brother, who supports my aged +mother, another still younger brother, and three sisters, in a +farm. On my last return from Edinburgh it cost me about +£180 to save them from ruin.</p> + +<p>Not that I have lost so much—I only interposed between my +brother and his impending fate by the loan of so much. I give +myself no airs on this, for it was mere selfishness on my part; I +was conscious that the wrong scale of the balance was pretty +heavily charged, and I thought that throwing a little filial +piety and fraternal affection into the scale in my favour, might +help to smooth matters at the <i>grand reckoning</i>. There is +still one thing would make my circumstances quite easy—I have an +excise officer's commission, and I live in the midst of a country +division. My request to Mr. Graham, who is one of the +commissioners of excise, was, if in his power, to procure me that +division. If I were very sanguine, I might hope that some of my +great patrons might procure me a treasury warrant for supervisor, +surveyor-general, etc.</p> + +<p>Thus, secure of a livelihood, "to thee, sweet poetry, +delightful maid,"<a name="FNanchor94"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_94">[94]</a></sup> I would consecrate my future +days.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor93">[93]</a> Creech; +remarkable for his reluctance to settle accounts.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor94">[94]</a> +Goldsmith's "Deserted Village."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXV.—TO MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>January</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1789. + +<p>Many happy returns of the season to you, my dear Sir! May you +be comparatively happy, up to your comparative worth among the +sons of men; which wish would, I am sure, make you one of the +most blessed of the human race.</p> + +<p>I do not know if passing a "Writer to the Signet" be a trial +of scientific merit, or a mere business of friends and interest. +However it be, let me quote you my two favourite passages, which, +though I have repeated them ten thousand times, still they rouse +my manhood and steel my resolution like inspiration.</p> + +<blockquote>On Reason build resolve.<br> +That column of true majesty in man. + +<p>YOUNG.</p> + +<p>Hear, Alfred, hero of the slate,<br> +Thy genius heaven's high will declare;<br> +The triumph of the truly great,<br> +Is never, never to despair!<br> +Is never to despair!</p> + +<p>MASQUE OF ALFRED.</p> +</blockquote> + +I grant you enter the lists of life, to struggle for bread, +business, notice, and distinction, in common with hundreds. But +who are they? Men like yourself, and of that aggregate body your +compeers, seven-tenths of them come short of your advantages, +natural and accidental; while two of those that remain, either +neglect their parts, as flowers blooming in a desert, or misspend +their strength like a bull goring a bramble bush. + +<p>But to change the theme: I am still catering for Johnson's +publication; and among others, I have brushed up the following +old favourite song a little, with a view to your worship. I have +only altered a word here and there; but if you like the humour of +it, we shall think of a stanza or two to add to it. R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXVI.—TO PROFESSOR DUGALD STEWART.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 20<i>th Jan</i>. 1789. + +<p>Sir,—The inclosed 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 productions, those for which I am indebted to the Nithsdale +Muses. The piece inscribed to R. 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, but I do not intend it shall be my last +essay of the kind, as you will see by the "Poet's 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," +etc., I have not shown to man living, till I now send it you. It +forms the postulata, the axioms, the definition of a character, +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.</p> + +<p>Need I make any apology for this trouble, to a gentleman who +has treated me with such marked benevolence and peculiar +kindness; 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 be ever ambitious of +being known. The native genius and accurate discernment in Mr. +Stewart's critical strictures; the justness (iron justice, for he +has no bowels of compassion for a poor poetic sinner) of Dr. +Gregory's remarks, and the delicacy of Professor Dalzel's taste, +I shall ever revere.</p> + +<p>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.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXVII.—TO MR. ROBERT CLEGHORN, SAUGHTON MILLS.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 23<i>rd Jan</i>. 1789. + +<p>I must take shame and confusion of face to myself, my dear +friend and brother Farmer, that I have not written you much +sooner. The truth is I have been so tossed about between Ayrshire +and Nithsdale that, till now I have got my family here, I have +had time to think of nothing except now and then a stanza or so +as I rode along. Were it not for our gracious monarch's cursed +tax of postage I had sent you one or two pieces of some length +that I have lately done. I have no idea of the <i>Press</i>. I am +more able to support myself and family, though in a humble, yet +an independent way; and I mean, just at my leisure, to pay court +to the tuneful sisters in the hope that they may one day enable +me to carry on a work of some importance. The following are a few +verses which I wrote in a neighbouring gentleman's +<i>hermitage</i> to which he is so good as let me have a key.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXVIII.—To BISHOP GEDDES, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>3rd Feb</i>. 1789. + +<p>VENERABLE FATHER,—As I am conscious that wherever I am, you +do me the honour to interest yourself in my welfare, it gives me +pleasure to inform you, that I am here at last, stationary in the +serious business of life, and have now not only the retired +leisure, but the hearty inclination, to attend to those great and +important questions,—what I am? where I am? and for what I am +destined.</p> + +<p>In that first concern, the conduct of the man, there was ever +but one side on which I was habitually blameable, and there I +have secured myself in the 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 incumbrances, which a species of +prudence would bid him shun; but when the alternative was, being +at eternal warfare with myself, on account of habitual follies, +to give them no worse name, which 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?</p> + +<p>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 though the salary be +comparatively small, it is luxury to anything that the first +twenty-five years of my life taught me to expect.</p> + +<p>Thus, with a rational aim and method in life, you may easily +guess, my reverend and much-honoured friend, that my +characteristical trade is not forgotten. I am, if possible, more +than ever an enthusiast to the Muses. 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 worth preserving.</p> + +<p>You will see in your book, which I beg your pardon for +detaining so long, that I have been tuning my lyre on the banks +of Nith. Some large poetic plans that are floating in my +imagination, or partly put in execution, I shall impart to you +when I have the pleasure of meeting with you; which, if you are +then in Edinburgh, I shall have about the beginning of March.</p> + +<p>That acquaintance, worthy 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.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXIX.—TO MR. JAMES BURNESS.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>9th Feb</i>. 1789. + +<p>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, entering on untried scenes of life, all combined, you +will save me the trouble of a blushing 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.</p> + +<p>After I parted from you, for many months my life was one +continued scene of dissipation. Here at last I am become +stationary, and have taken a farm and—a wife.</p> + +<p>The farm is beautifully situated on the Nith, 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 please; but how it may +turn out is just a guess, and it is yet to improve and inclose, +etc.; however, I have good hopes of my bargain on the whole.</p> + +<p>My wife is my Jean, with whose story you are partly +acquainted. I found I had a much-loved fellow-creature's +happiness or misery among 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 every bad failing.</p> + +<p>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 hey-day of my +fame, a gentleman, whose name at least I daresay you know, as his +estate lies somewhere 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 duty, or be a penny the better for it, +is what I do not know; but I have the comfortable assurance that, +come whatever ill fate will, I can, on my simple petition to the +Excise Board, get into employ.</p> + +<p>We have lost poor uncle Robert this winter. He has long been +very weak, and with very little alteration on him; he expired 3rd +January.</p> + +<p>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 me 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 she is woman grown, and fit for +better service. She is one of the cleverest girls, and has one of +the most amiable dispositions I have ever seen.</p> + +<p>All friends in this country and Ayrshire are well. Remember me +to all friends in the north. My wife joins me in compliments to +Mrs. B. and family.—I am ever, my dear cousin, yours +sincerely,</p> + +<p>R. B.<a name="FNanchor95"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_95">[95]</a></sup><br> +<a name="Footnote_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor95">[95]</a> "Fanny +Burns, the Poet's relation, merited all the commendations he has +here bestowed. I remember her while she lived at Ellisland, and +better still as the wife of Adam Armour, the brother of bonnie +Jean."—CUNNINGHAM.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXX.-To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 4<i>th March</i> 1789. + +<p>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.</p> + +<blockquote> Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate +you!</blockquote> + +When I must skulk into 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 what demerit have I had, +in some state of pre-existence, that he is ushered into this +state of being with the sceptre of rule, and the key of riches in +his puny fist, and I am kicked into the world, the sport of +folly, or the victim of pride?" I have read somewhere of a +monarch (in Spain I think it was) who was so out of humour with +the Ptolemean system of astronomy, that he said, had he been of +the Creator's council, he could have saved him a great deal of +labour and absurdity. I will not defend this blasphemous speech; +but often, as I have glided with humble stealth through the pomp +of Princes Street, it has suggested itself to me, as an +improvement on the present human figure, that a man, in +proportion to his own conceit of his consequence in the world, +could have pushed out the longitude of his common size, as a +snail pushes out his horns, or as we draw out a perspective. This +trifling alteration, not to mention the prodigious saving it +would be in the tear and wear of the neck and limb-sinews of many +of his majesty's liege-subjects, in the way of tossing the head +and tip-toe strutting, would evidently turn out a vast advantage, +in enabling us at once to adjust the ceremonials in making a bow, +or making way to a great man, and that too within a second of the +precise spherical angle of reverence, or an inch of the +particular point of respectful distance, which the important +creature itself requires, as a measuring-glance at its towering +altitude would determine the affair like instinct. + +<p>You are right, Madam, in your idea of poor Mylne's poem, which +he has addressed to me. The piece has a good deal of merit, but +it has one great fault—it is, by far, too long. Besides, my +success has encouraged such 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 try 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 +Mylne'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 meantime, allow me to +close this epistle with a few lines done by a friend of mine.... +I give you them, that, as you have seen the original, you may +guess whether one or two alterations I have ventured to make in +them, be any real improvement.</p> + +<blockquote>Like the fair plant that from our touch +withdraws,<br> +Shrink, mildly fearful, even from applause,<br> +Be all a mother's fondest hope can dream,<br> +And all you are, my charming Rachel, seem.<br> +Straight as the fox-glove, ere her bells disclose,<br> +Mild as the maiden-blushing hawthorn blows,<br> +Fair as the fairest of each lovely kind,<br> +Your form shall be the image of your mind;<br> +Your manners shall so true your soul express,<br> +That all shall long to know the worth they guess;<br> +Congenial hearts shall greet with kindred love,<br> +And even sick'ning envy must approve.<a name= +"FNanchor96"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_96">[96]</a></sup></blockquote> + +<p><br> +R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor96">[96]</a> These +lines are Mrs. Dunlop's own, addressed to her daughter.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXI.—TO MRS. M'LEHOSE (FORMERLY CLARINDA).</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>Mar. 9th</i>, 1789. + +<p>Madam,—The letter you wrote me to Heron's carried its own +answer. You forbade me to write you unless I was willing to plead +guilty to a certain indictment you were pleased to bring against +me. As I am convinced of my own innocence, and, though conscious +of high imprudence and egregious folly, can lay my hand on my +breast and attest the rectitude of my heart, you will pardon me, +Madam, if I do not carry my complaisance so far as humbly to +acquiesce in the name of "Villain" merely out of compliment to +your opinion, much as I esteem your judgment and warmly as I +regard your worth.</p> + +<p>I have already told you, and I again aver it, that, at the +time alluded to, I was not under the smallest moral tie to Mrs. +Burns; nor did I, nor could I, then know all the powerful +circumstances that omnipotent necessity was busy laying in wait +for me. When you call over the scenes that have passed between +us, you will survey the conduct of an honest man struggling +successfully with temptations the most powerful that ever beset +humanity, and preserving untainted honour in situations where 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 sensibility and passion, could have encountered +without ruin; and I leave you, Madam, to guess how such a man is +likely to digest an accusation of "perfidious treachery."<br> +</p> + +<hr width="35%"> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>ROBT. BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXIL—TO DR. MOORE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>23rd March</i> 1789. + +<p>Sir,—The gentleman who will deliver you this is a Mr. +Nielson, a worthy clergyman in my neighbourhood, and a very +particular acquaintance of mine. As I have troubled him with this +packet, I must turn him over to your goodness, to recompense him +for it in a way in which he much needs your assistance, and where +you can effectually serve him. Mr. Nielson is on his way for +France, to wait on his Grace of Queensberry, on some little +business of a good deal of importance to him, and he wishes for +your instructions respecting the most eligible mode of +travelling, etc., for him, when he has crossed the channel. I +should not have dared to take this liberty with you, but that I +am told, by those who have the honour of your personal +acquaintance, that to be a poor honest Scotsman is a letter of +recommendation to you, and that to have it in your power to serve +such a character, gives you much pleasure.</p> + +<p>The inclosed ode is a compliment to the memory of the late +Mrs. Oswald of Auchencruive. You probably knew her personally, an +honour of which I cannot boast; but I spent my early years in the +neighbourhood, and among her servants and tenants. I know that +she was detested with the most heartfelt cordiality. However, in +the particular part of her conduct which roused my poetic wrath, +she was much less blameable. In January last, on my road to +Ayrshire, I had put up at Bailie Whigham'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 great Mrs. Oswald, and poor I am forced to +brave all the horrors of the tempestuous night, and jade my +horse, my young favourite horse, whom I had just christened +Pegasus, twelve miles farther on, through the wildest moors and +hills of Ayrshire, to New Cumnock, the next inn. The powers of +poesy 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 down and wrote the inclosed +ode.</p> + +<p>I was at Edinburgh lately, and settled finally with Mr. +Creech; and I must own, that at last, he has been amicable and +fair with me.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXIII.—To HIS BROTHER, MR. WILLIAM BURNS.</h4> + +ISLE, March 25th 1789. + +<p>I have stolen from my corn-sowing this minute to write a line +to accompany your shirt and hat, for I can no more. Your sister +Nannie arrived yesternight, and begs to be remembered to you. +Write me every opportunity—never mind postage. My head, too, is +as addle as an egg this morning, with dining abroad yesterday. I +received yours by the mason. Forgive me this foolish looking +scrawl of an epistle.—I am ever, my dear William, yours,</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p>P.S.—If you are not then gone from Longtown, I'll write you a +long letter by this day se'ennight. If you should not succeed in +your tramps, don't be dejected, or take any rash step—return to +us in that case, and we will court Fortune's better humour. +Remember this, I charge you.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXIV.—To MR. HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>2nd April</i> 1789. + +<p>I will make no excuse, my dear Bibliopolus (God forgive me for +murdering language!) that I have sat down to write you on this +vile paper.</p> + +<p>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<a name= +"FNanchor97"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_97">[97]</a></sup> ... +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.</p> + +<p>O Frugality! thou mother of ten thousand blessings—thou cook +of fat beef and dainty greens!—thou manufacturer of warm +Shetland hose, and comfortable surtouts!—thou old housewife, +darning thy decayed stockings with 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 hungry 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 his immediate court of joy and +pleasures; where the sunny exposure of plenty, and the hot walls +of profusion, produce those blissful fruits 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 protection! He daily bestows his great kindness +on the undeserving and the worthless—assure him that I bring +ample documents of meritorious demerits! Pledge 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!</p> + +<p>But to descend from heroics.</p> + +<p>I want a Shakespeare; I want likewise an English +dictionary,—Johnson's, I suppose, is best. In these and all my +prose commissions, the cheapest is always the best for me. There +is a small debt of honour that I owe Mr. Robert 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.</p> + +<p>The library scheme that I mentioned to you is already begun +under the direction of Captain Riddel. There is another in +emulation of it going on at Closeburn, under the auspices of Mr. +Monteith of Closeburn, which will be on a greater scale than +ours. 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 <i>The Spectator</i>, +<i>Mirror</i>, and <i>Lounger</i>, <i>Man of Feeling</i>, <i>Man +of the World</i>, <i>Guthrie's Geographical Grammar</i>, with +some religious pieces, will likely be our first order.</p> + +<p>When I 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,</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor97">[97]</a> +Creech? or Ramsay of <i>The Courant?</i><br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXV.—TO MRS. M'MURDO, DRUMLANRIG.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>2nd May</i> 1789. + +<p>Madam,—I have finished the piece which had the happy fortune +to be honoured with your approbation; and never did little Miss, +with more sparkling pleasure, show her applauded sampler to +partial Mamma, than I now send my poem to you and Mr. M'Murdo,<a +name="FNanchor98"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_98">[98]</a></sup> +if he is returned to Drumlanrig. You cannot easily imagine what +thin-skinned animals—what sensitive plants poor poets are. How +do we shrink into the imbittered corner of self-abasement, when +neglected or condemned by those to whom we look up! and how do +we, in erect importance, add another cubit to our stature on +being noticed and applauded by those whom we honour and respect! +My late visit to Drumlanrig has, I can tell you, Madam, given me +a balloon waft up Parnassus, where, on my fancied elevation, I +regard my poetic self with no small degree of complacency. Surely +with all their sins, the rhyming tribe are not ungrateful +creatures—I recollect your goodness to your humble guest—I see +Mr. M'Murdo adding to the politeness of the gentleman, the +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 worthless creature, that we cannot see real goodness and +native worth, without feeling the bosom glow with sympathetic +approbation. With every sentiment of grateful respect, I have the +honour to be, Madam, your obliged and grateful humble +servant,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor98">[98]</a> The +piece beginning—There was a lass and she was fair.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXVI.—TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.</h4> + +ELL ISLAND, 4<i>th May</i> 1789. + +<p>My dear Sir,—Your <i>duty-free</i> favour of the 25th 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 satisfaction;—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.</p> + +<p>I have just put the last hand to a little poem, which I think +will be something to your taste.<a name="FNanchor99"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_99">[99]</a></sup> 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.</p> + +<p>Let me know how you like my poem. I am doubtful whether it +would not be an improvement to keep out the last stanza but one +altogether.</p> + +<p>Cruikshank is a glorious production of the author of man. You, +he, and the noble Colonel<a name="FNanchor100"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_100">[100]</a></sup> of the Crochallan Fencibles are +to me<br> + Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my heart.</p> + +<p>I have got a good mind to make verses on you all, to the tune +of "<i>Three guid fellows ayont the glen</i>"</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor99">[99]</a> See the +poem on the "Wounded Hare."</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor100">[100]</a> +That is, William Dunbar, W.S.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXVIL—TO MR. RICHARD BROWN.</h4> + +MAUCHLINE, <i>21st May</i> 1789. + +<p>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 that you would always set me down +as your bosom friend—wishing you long life and prosperity, and +that every good thing may attend you—wishing Mrs. Brown 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 you at present; +and, finally, wishing that if there is to be another state of +existence, Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Burns, our little ones of both +families, and you and I, in some snug retreat, may make a jovial +party to all eternity!</p> + +<p>My direction is at Ellisland, near Dumfries.—Yours,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXVIIL—To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>8th June</i> 1789. + +<p>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 task, +with sowing corn with my own hand, a parcel of masons, wrights, +plasterers, etc., to attend to, roaming on business through +Ayrshire—all this was against me, and the very first dreadful +article was of itself too much for me.</p> + +<p>13th. I have not had a moment to spare from incessant toil +since the 8th. Life, my dear Sir, is a serious matter. You know +by experience that a man's individual self is a good deal, but +believe me, a wife and family of children, whenever you have the +honour to be a husband and a father, will show you that your +present and most anxious hours of solitude are spent on trifles. +The welfare of those who are very dear to us, whose only support, +hope, and stay we are—this, to a generous mind, is another sort +of more important object of care than any concerns whatever which +centre merely in the individual. On the other hand, let no young, +rakehelly dog among you, make a song of his pretended liberty and +freedom from care. If the relations we stand in to king, country, +kindred, and friends, be anything but the visionary fancies of +dreaming metaphysicians; if religion, virtue, magnanimity, +generosity, humanity and justice, be ought but empty sounds; then +the man who may be said to live only for others, for the beloved, +honourable female, whose tender faithful embrace endears life, +and for the helpless little innocents who are to be the men and +women, the worshippers of his God, the subjects of his king, and +the support, nay the very vital existence of his COUNTRY, in the +ensuing age;—compare such a man with any fellow whatever, who, +whether he bustle and push in business among labourers, clerks, +statesmen; or whether he roar and rant, and drink and sing in +taverns—a fellow over whose grave no one will breathe a single +heigh-ho, except from the cobweb-tie of what is called good +fellowship—who has no view nor aim but what terminates in +himself—if there be any grovelling earth-born wretch of our +species, a renegade to common sense, who would fain believe that +the noble creature, man, is no better than a sort of fungus, +generated out of nothing, nobody knows how, and soon dissipating +in nothing, nobody knows where; such a stupid beast, such a +crawling reptile, might balance the foregoing unexaggerated +comparison, but no one else would have the patience.</p> + +<p>Forgive me, my dear Sir, for this long silence. <i>To make you +amends</i>, I shall send you soon, and more encouraging still, +without any postage, one or two rhymes of my later +manufacture.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXIX.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 21<i>st June</i> 1789. + +<p>Dear Madam,—Will you take the effusions, the miserable +effusions of low spirits, just as they flow from their bitter +spring? I know not of any particular cause for this worst of all +my foes besetting me; but for some time my soul has been +beclouded with a thickening atmosphere of evil imaginations and +gloomy presages.</p> + +<p><i>Monday Evening.</i></p> + +<p>I have just heard Mr. Kilpatrick preach a sermon. He is a man +famous for his benevolence, and I revere him; but from such ideas +of my Creator, good Lord, deliver me! Religion, my honoured +friend, is surely a simple business, as it equally concerns the +ignorant and the learned, the poor and the rich. That there is an +incomprehensible Great Being, to whom I owe my existence, and +that He must be intimately acquainted with the operations and +progress of the internal machinery, and consequent outward +deportment of this creature which He has made; these are, I +think, self-evident propositions. That there is a real and +eternal distinction between virtue and vice, and consequently, +that I am an accountable creature; that from the seeming nature +of the human mind, as well as from the evident imperfection, nay, +positive injustice, in the administration of affairs, both in the +natural and moral worlds, there must be a retributive scene of +existence beyond the grave; must, I think, be allowed by every +one who will give himself a moment's reflection. I will go +farther, and affirm, that from the sublimity, excellence, and +purity of his doctrine and precepts, unparalleled by all the +aggregated wisdom and learning of many preceding ages, though, to +<i>appearance</i> he, himself, was the obscurest and most +illiterate of our species; therefore Jesus Christ was from +God.</p> + +<p>Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of +others, this is my criterion of goodness; and whatever injures +society at large, or any individual in it, this is my measure of +iniquity.</p> + +<p>What think you, Madam, of my creed? I trust that I have said +nothing that will lessen me in the eye of one, whose good opinion +I value almost next to the approbation of my own mind.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXX.—TO MISS HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 1789. + +<p>Madam,—Of the many problems in the nature of that wonderful +creature, man, this is one of the most extraordinary—that he +shall go on from day to day, from week to week, from month to +month, or perhaps from year to year, suffering a hundred times +more in an hour from the impotent consciousness of neglecting +what he ought to do, than the very doing of it would cost him. I +am deeply indebted to you, first, for a most elegant poetic +compliment; then for a polite, obliging letter; and, lastly, for +your excellent poem on the Slave Trade; and yet, wretch that I +am! though the debts were debts of honour, and the creditor a +lady, I have put off and put off even the very acknowledgment of +the obligation, until you must indeed be the very angel I take +you for, if you can forgive me.</p> + +<p>Your poem I have read with the highest pleasure. I have a way +whenever I read a book—I mean a book in our own trade, Madam, a +poetic one, and when it is my own property—that I take a pencil +and mark at the ends of verses, or note on margins and odd paper, +little criticisms of approbation or disapprobation as I peruse +along. I will make no apology for presenting you with a few +unconnected thoughts that occurred to me in my repeated perusals +of your poem. I want to show you that I have honesty enough to +tell you what I take to be truths, even when they are not quite +on the side of approbation; and I do it in the firm faith that +you have equal greatness of mind to hear them with pleasure. +[Here follows a list of strictures.]</p> + +<p>I had lately the honour of a letter from Dr. Moore, where he +tells me that he has sent me some books; they are not yet come to +hand, but I hear they are on the way.</p> + +<p>Wishing you all success in your progress in the path of fame, +and that you may equally escape the danger of stumbling through +incautious speed, or losing ground through loitering neglect, I +am, etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXI.—To MR. ROBERT GRAHAM, OF FINTRY.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 31st <i>july</i> 1789. + +<p>Sir,—The language of gratitude has been so prostituted by +servile adulation and designing flattery that I know not how to +express myself when I would acknowledge receipt of your last +letter. I beg and hope, ever-honoured "Friend of my life and +patron of my rhymes," that you will always give me credit for the +sincerest, chastest gratitude. I dare call the Searcher of hearts +and Author of all Goodness to witness how truly grateful I +am.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mitchell<a name="FNanchor101"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_101">[101]</a></sup> did not wait my calling on him, +but sent me a kind letter, giving me a hint of the business; and +yesterday he entered with the most friendly ardour into my views +and interests. He seems to think, and from my private knowledge I +am certain he is right, that removing the officer who now does, +and for these many years has done, duty in the Division in the +middle of which I live, will be productive of at least no +disadvantage to the revenue, and may likewise be done without any +detriment to him. Should the Honourable Board [of Excise] think +so, and should they deem it eligible to appoint me to officiate +in his present place, I am then at the top of my wishes. The +emoluments in my office will enable me to carry on, and enjoy +those improvements on my farm, which but for this additional +assistance, I might in a year or two have abandoned. Should it be +judged improper to place me in this Division, I am deliberating +whether I had not better give up my farming altogether, and go +into the Excise whenever I can find employment. Now that the +salary is £50 per annum, the Excise is surely a much +superior object to a farm, which, without some foreign +assistance, must for half a lease be a losing bargain. The worst +of it is—I know there are some respectable characters who do me +the honour to interest themselves in my welfare and behaviour, +and, as leaving the farm so soon may have an unsteady, +giddy-headed appearance, I had better perhaps lose a little money +than hazard their esteem.</p> + +<p>You see, Sir, with what freedom I lay before you all my little +matters—little indeed to the world, but of the most important +magnitude to me.... Were it not for a very few of our kind, the +very existence of magnanimity, generosity, and all their kindred +virtues, would be as much a question with metaphysicians as the +existence of witchcraft. Perhaps the nature of man is not so much +to blame for this, as the situation in which by some miscarriage +or other he is placed in this world. The poor, naked, helpless +wretch, with such voracious appetites and such a famine of +provision for them, is under a cursed necessity of turning +selfish in his own defence. Except a few instances of original +scoundrelism, thorough-paced selfishness is always the work of +time. Indeed, in a little time, we generally grow so attentive to +ourselves and so regardless of others that I have often in poetic +frenzy looked on this world as one vast ocean, occupied and +commoved by innumerable vortices, each whirling round its centre. +These vortices are the children of men. The great design and, if +I may say so, merit of each particular vortex consists in how +widely it can extend the influence of its circle, and how much +floating trash it can suck in and absorb.</p> + +<p>I know not why I have got into this preaching vein, except it +be to show you that it is not my ignorance but my knowledge of +mankind which makes me so much admire your goodness to me.</p> + +<p>I shall return your books very soon. I only wish to give Dr. +Adam Smith one other perusal, which I will do in one or two +days.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor101">[101]</a> A +collector in the Excise.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXIL—TO DAVID SILLAR, MERCHANT, IRVINE.<a name= +"FNanchor102"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_102">[102]</a></sup></h4> + +ELLISLAND, 5 <i>Aug</i>. 1789. + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I was half in thoughts not to have written to +you at all, by way of revenge for the two damn'd business letters +you sent me. I wanted to know all about your publications—your +news, your hopes, fears, etc., in commencing poet in print. In +short, I wanted you to write to Robin like his old acquaintance +Davie, and not in the style of Mr. Tare to Mr. Tret, as +thus:—</p> + +<p>"Mr. Tret.—Sir,—This comes to advise you that fifteen +barrels of herrings were, by the blessing of God, shipped safe on +board the <i>Lovely Janet</i>, Q.D.C., Duncan Mac-Leerie, master, +etc."</p> + +<p>I hear you have commenced married man—so much the better. I +know not whether the nine gipsies are jealous of my lucky, but +they are a good deal shyer since I could boast the important +relation of husband.</p> + +<p>I have got about eleven subscribers for your book.... My best +compliments to Mrs. Sillar, and believe me to be, dear Davie, +ever yours,</p> + +<p>ROBT. BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor102">[102]</a> This +letter was first published in 1879. The original is probably +lost, but a copy is to be found in the minute-book of the Irvine +Burns Club. Sillar was "Davie, a brother poet."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXIII.—TO MR. JOHN LOGAN, OF KNOCK SHINNOCK.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, NEAR DUMFRIES, 7<i>th Aug</i>. 1789. + +<p>Dear Sir,—I intended to have written you long ere now, and, +as I told you, I had gotten three stanzas on my way in a poetic +epistle to you; but that old enemy of all <i>good works</i>, the +Devil, threw me into a prosaic mire, and for the soul of me I +cannot get out of it. I dare not write you a long letter, as I am +going to intrude on your time with a long ballad. I have, as you +will shortly see, finished "The Kirk's Alarm;" but now that it is +done, and that I have laughed once or twice at the conceits in +some of the stanzas, I am determined not to let it get into the +public; so I send you this copy, the first that I have sent to +Ayrshire, except some few of the stanzas, which I wrote off in +embryo for Gavin Hamilton, under the express provision and +request that you will only read it to a few of us, and do not on +any account give, or permit to be taken, any copy of the ballad. +If I could be of any service to Dr. M'Gill, I would do it, though +it should be at a much greater expense than irritating a few +bigoted priests, but I am afraid serving him in his present +<i>embarras</i> is a task too hard for me. I have enemies enow, +God knows, though I do not wantonly add to the number. Still, as +I think there is some merit in two or three of the thoughts, I +send it to you as a small, but sincere testimony how much, and +with what respectful esteem, I am, dear Sir, your obliged humble +servant</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXIV.—TO MR. PETER STUART, EDITOR, LONDON.</h4> + +<i>End of Aug</i>. 1789. + +<p>My dear Sir,—The hurry of a farmer in this particular season, +and the indolence of a poet at all seasons, will, I hope, plead +my excuse for neglecting so long to answer your obliging letter +of the 5th August.</p> + +<p>... When I received your letter I was transcribing for <i>The +Star</i> my letter to the magistrates of the Canongate of +Edinburgh, begging their permission to place a tombstone over +poor Fergusson. <a name="t112a"></a><sup><a href= +"#112a">[112a].</a></sup> Poor Fergusson! if there be a life +beyond the grave, which I trust there is; and if there be a good +God presiding over all nature, which I am sure there is, thou art +now enjoying existence in a glorious world where worth of heart +alone is distinction in the man; where riches, deprived of 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, will be thrown into equal oblivion as if they +had never been!</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="112a"></a><a href="#t112a">[112a]:</a> A young +Scottish poet of undoubted ability who perished miserably in +Edinburgh at the age of twenty-four. He was the senior of Burns, +who greatly admired and mourned him, by about eight year<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXV.—To HIS BROTHER, WILLIAM BURNS, SADDLER, +NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 14<i>th Aug</i>. 1789. + +<p>My Dear William,—I received your letter, and am very happy to +hear that you have got settled for the winter. I enclose you the +two guinea-notes of the Bank of Scotland, which I hope will serve +your need. It is, indeed, not quite so convenient for me to spare +money as it once was, but I know your situation, and, I will say +it, in some respects your worth. I have no time to write at +present, but I beg you will endeavour to pluck up a <i>little</i> +more of the Man than you used to have. Remember my favourite +quotations:</p> + +<blockquote> On reason build resolve,<br> + That pillar of true majesty in man.<a name= +"FNanchor103"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_103">[103]</a></sup></blockquote> + +and + +<blockquote>What proves the hero truly great,<br> +Is never, never to despair!<a name="FNanchor103A"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_103A">[103a]</a></sup></blockquote> + +Your mother and sisters desire their compliments. A Dieu je vous +commende, + +<p>ROBT. BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor103">[103]</a> From +Young.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_103A"></a><a href="#FNanchor103A">[103a]</a> +From Thomson.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXVL—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>6th Sept</i>. 1789. + +<p>Dear Madam,—I have mentioned, in my last, my appointment to +the Excise, and the birth of little Frank; who, by the bye, 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 liltle 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.</p> + +<p>I had some time ago an epistle, part poetic, and part prosaic, +from your poetess Miss. J. Little,<a name= +"FNanchor104"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_104">[104]</a></sup> 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 +knew 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.</p> + +<p>Some parts of your letter of the 2oth August struck me with +the most melancholy concern for the state of your mind at +present.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Iliad!</i> Religion, +my dear friend, is the true comfort. A strong persuasion in a +future state of existence; 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 all human belief, in all ages, I was +shocked at my own conduct.</p> + +<p>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, which I keep constantly by me in my progress through +life, in the language of the book of Job,</p> + +<p>Against the day of battle and of war—</p> + +<p>spoken of religion:</p> + +<blockquote>'Tis <i>this</i>, my friend, that streaks our morning +bright,<br> +'Tis <i>this</i> that gilds the horror of our night,<br> +When wealth forsakes us, and when friends are few;<br> +When friends are faithless, or when foes pursue;<br> +Tis this that wards the blow, or stills the smart,<br> +Disarms affliction, or repels his dart;<br> +Within the breast bids purest raptures rise,<br> +Bids smiling conscience spread her cloudless skies.</blockquote> + +I have been busy with <i>Zeluco</i>. The Doctor is so obliging as +to request my opinion of it; and I have been revolving in my mind +some kind of criticisms 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. <i>Zeluco</i> is a most sterling +performance. + +<p>Farewell! <i>A Dieu, le bon Dieu, je vous commende!</i><br> +<a name="Footnote_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor104">[104]</a> A +maid servant at Loudon house.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXVIL—To CAPTAIN RIDDEL, FRIARS CARSE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>16th October</i> 1789. + +<p>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 startled heavens, rapid as the +ragged lightning, and horrid as those convulsions of nature that +bury nations.</p> + +<p>The elements, however, seem to take the matter very quietly; +they did not even usher in this morning with triple suns and a +shower of blood, symbolical of the three potent heroes<a name= +"FNanchor105"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_105">[105]</a></sup> +and the mighty claret-shed of the day. For me—as Thomson in his +Winter says of the storm—I shall "hear astonished, and +astonished sing"<br> +The WHISTLE and the man I sing,<br> +The man that won the whistle, etc.</p> + +<p>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 Robert Lawrie, to frank +the two inclosed covers for me, the one of them to Sir William +Cunningham, of Robertland, Bart., at Kilmarnock,—the other, to +Mr. Allan Masterton, Writing-Master, Edinburgh. The first has a +kindred claim on Sir Robert, as being a brother Baronet, and +likewise a keen Foxite; 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,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor105">[105]</a> Sir +Robert Lawrie of Maxwellton, the holder of the Whistle, Alexander +Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and Captain Riddel. <i>See</i> the +Poem. Burns was apparently absent.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXVIII—To MR. ROBERT AINSLIE, W.S.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 1<i>st Nov</i>. 1789. + +<p>My Dear Friend,—I had written you ere now, could I have +guessed where to find you, for I am sure you have more good sense +than to waste the precious days of vacation time in the dirt of +business and Edinburgh. Wherever you are, God bless you, and lead +you not into temptation, but deliver you from evil!</p> + +<p>I do not know if I have informed you that I am now appointed +to an Excise division, in the middle of which my house and farm +lie. In this I was extremely lucky. Without ever having been an +expectant, as they call their journeymen excisemen, I was +directly planted down to all intents and purposes an officer of +Excise; there to flourish and bring forth fruits—worthy of +repentance.</p> + +<p>You need not doubt that I find several very unpleasant and +disagreeable circumstances in my business; but I am tired with +and disgusted at the language of complaint against the evils of +life. Human existence in the most favourable situations does not +abound with pleasures, and has its inconveniences and ills: +capricious foolish man mistakes these inconveniences and ills as +if they were the peculiar property of his particular situation; +and hence that eternal fickleness, that love of change, which has +ruined, and daily does ruin many a fine fellow, as well as many a +blockhead, and is almost, without exception, a constant source of +disappointment and misery.</p> + +<p>I long to hear from you how you go on-not so much in business +as in life. Are you pretty well satisfied with your own +exertions, and tolerably at ease in your internal reflections? +'Tis much to be a great character as a lawyer, but beyond +comparison more to be a great character as a man. That you may be +both the one and the other is the earnest wish, and that you +<i>will</i> be both is the firm persuasion of, my dear Sir, +etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXXXIX.—To MR. RICHARD BROWN, PORT-GLASGOW.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>4th November</i> 1789. + +<p>I have been so hurried, my ever dear friend, that though I got +both your letters, I have not been able to command an hour to +answer them as I wished; and even now, you are to look on this as +merely confessing debt, and craving days. Few things could have +given me so much pleasure as the news that you were once more +safe and sound on terra firma, and happy in that place where +happiness is alone to be found, in the fireside circle. May the +benevolent Director of all things peculiarly bless you in all +those endearing connections consequent on the tender and +venerable names of husband and father! I have indeed been +extremely lucky in getting an additional income of £50 +a-year, while, at the same time, the appointment will not cost me +above £10 or £12 per annum of expenses more than I +must have inevitably incurred. The worst circumstance is, that +the Excise division which I have got is so extensive, no less +than ten parishes to ride over; and it abounds besides with so +much business, that I can scarcely steal a spare moment. However, +labour endears rest, and both together are absolutely necessary +for the proper enjoyment of human existence. I cannot meet you +anywhere.</p> + +<p>No less than an order from the Board of Excise, at Edinburgh, +is necessary before I can have so much time as to meet you in +Ayrshire. But do you come, and see me. We must have a social day, +and perhaps lengthen it out with half the night, before you go +again to sea. You are the earliest friend I now have on earth, my +brothers excepted; and is not that an endearing circumstance? +When you and I first met, we were at the green period of human +life. The twig would easily take a bent, but would as easily +return to its former state. You and I not only took a mutual +bent, but, by the melancholy, though strong influence of being +both of the family of the unfortunate, we were entwined with one +another in our growth towards advanced age; and blasted be the +sacrilegious hand that shall attempt to undo the union! You and I +must have one bumper to my favourite toast, "May the companions +of our youth be the friends of our old age!" Come and see me one +year; I shall see you at Port-Glasgow the next, and if we can +contrive to have a gossiping between our two bed-fellows, it will +be so much additional pleasure. Mrs. Burns joins me in kind +compliments to you and Mrs. Brown. Adieu!—I am ever, my dear +Sir, yours,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXL.—To MR. R. GRAHAM, OF FINTRY.</h4> + +<i>9th December</i> 1789. + +<p>Sir,—I have a good while had a wish to trouble you with a +letter, and had certainly done it long ere now, but for a +humiliating something that throws cold water on the resolution, +as if one should say, "You have found Mr. Graham a very powerful +and kind friend indeed, and that interest he is so kindly taking +in your concerns, you ought by everything in your power to keep +alive and cherish." Now, though since God has thought proper to +make one powerful and another helpless, the connection of obliger +and obliged is all fair; and though my being under your patronage +is to me highly honourable, yet, Sir, allow me to flatter myself +that,—as a poet and an honest man you first interested yourself +in my welfare, and principally as such still, you permit me to +approach you.</p> + +<p>I have found the Excise business go on a great deal smoother +with me than I expected; owing a good deal to the generous +friendship of Mr. Mitchell, my collector, and the kind assistance +of Mr. Findlater, my supervisor. I dare to be honest, and I fear +no labour. Nor do I find my hurried life greatly inimical to my +correspondence with the Muses. Their visits to me, indeed, and I +believe to most of their acquaintance, like the visits of good +angels, are short and far between; but I meet them now and then +as I jog through the hills of Nithsdale, just as I used to do on +the banks of Ayr. I take the liberty to inclose you a few +bagatelles, all of them the productions of my leisure thoughts in +my excise rides.</p> + +<p>If you know or have ever seen Captain Grose, the antiquarian, +you will enter into any humour that is in the verses on him. +Perhaps you have seen them before, as I sent them to a London +newspaper. Though, I dare say, you have none of the +solemn-league-and-covenant fire, which shone so conspicuous in +Lord George Gordon, and the Kilmarnock weavers, yet I think you +must have heard of Dr. M'Gill, one of the clergymen of Ayr, and +his heretical book. God help him, poor man! Though he is one of +the worthiest, as well as one of the ablest of the whole +priesthood of the Kirk of Scotland, in every sense of that +ambiguous term, yet the poor Doctor and his numerous family are +in imminent danger of being thrown out to the mercy of the +winter-winds. The inclosed ballad on that business is, I confess, +too local, but I laughed myself at some conceits in it, though I +am convinced in my conscience that there are a good many heavy +stanzas in it too.<a name="FNanchor106"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_106">[106]</a></sup></p> + +<p>The election ballad,<a name="FNanchor107"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_107">[107]</a></sup> as you will see, alludes to the +present canvass in our string of boroughs. I do not believe there +will be such a hard run match in the whole general election.</p> + +<p>I am too little a man to have any political attachments; I am +deeply indebted to, and have the warmest veneration for, +individuals of both parties; but a man<a name= +"FNanchor108"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_108">[108]</a></sup> +who has it in his power to be the father of a country, and who is +only known to that country by the mischiefs he does in it, is a +character that one cannot speak of with patience.</p> + +<p>Sir J. J. does "what man can do," but yet I doubt his +fate.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor106">[106]</a> The +Kirk's Alarm.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor107">[107]</a> +<i>The Five Carlines.</i></p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor108">[108]</a> +Duke of Queensbury.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLL—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>13th December</i> 1789. + +<p>Many thanks, dear Madam, for your sheetful of rhymes. Though +at present I am below the veriest prose, yet from you everything +pleases. I am groaning under the miseries of a diseased nervous +system; a system, the state of which is most conducive to our +happiness—or the most productive of our misery. For now near +three weeks I have been so ill with a nervous headache, that I +have been obliged for a time to give up my excise-books, being +scare able to lift my head, much less to ride once a week over +ten muir parishes. What is man? To-day, in the luxuriance of +health, exulting in the enjoyment of existence; in a few days, +perhaps in a few hours, loaded with conscious painful being, +counting the tardy pace of the lingering moments by the +repercussions of anguish, and refusing or denied a comforter. Day +follows night, and night comes after day, only to curse him with +life which gives him no pleasure; and yet the awful, dark +termination of that life, is something at which he recoils.</p> + +<blockquote>Tell us, ye dead; will none of you in pity<br> +Disclose the secret<br> +<i>What'tis you are, and we must shortly be?</i><br> +'Tis no matter:<br> +A little time will make us learn'd as you are.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Can it be possible, that when I resign this frail, feverish +being, I shall still find myself in conscious existence? When the +last gasp of agony has announced that I am no more to those that +knew me, and the few who loved me; when the cold, stiffened, +unconscious, ghastly corse is resigned into the earth, to be the +prey of unsightly reptiles, and to become in time a trodden clod, +shall I be yet warm in life, seeing and seen, enjoying and +enjoyed? Ye venerable sages, and holy flamens, is there +probability in your conjectures, truth in your stories, of +another world beyond death; or are they all alike, baseless +visions, and fabricated fables? If there is another life, it must +be only for the just, the benevolent, the amiable, and the +humane; what a flattering idea, then, is a world to come! Would +to God I as firmly believed it, as I ardently wish it! There I +should meet an aged parent, now at rest from the many buffetings +of an evil world, against which he so long and so bravely +struggled. There should I meet the friend, the disinterested +friend of my early life; the man who rejoiced to see me, because +he loved me and could serve me. Muir, thy weaknesses were the +aberrations of human nature, but thy heart glowed with everything +generous, manly, and noble; and if ever emanation from the +All-good Being animated a human form, it was thine! There should +I, with speechless agony of rapture, again recognise my lost, my +ever dear Mary! whose bosom was fraught with truth, honour, +constancy, and love.</p> + +<blockquote>My Mary, dear departed shade!<br> +Where is thy place of heavenly rest?<br> +Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?<br> +Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Jesus Christ, thou amiablest of characters! I trust thou art no +impostor, and that thy revelation of blissful scenes of existence +beyond death and the grave, is not one of the many impositions +which time after time have been palmed on credulous mankind. I +trust that in thee "shall all the families of the earth be +blessed," by being yet connected together in a better world, +where every tie that bound heart to heart, in this state of +existence, shall be, far beyond our present conceptions, more +endearing.</p> + +<p>I am a good deal inclined to think with those who maintain, +that what are called nervous affections are in fact diseases of +the mind. I cannot reason, I cannot think; and but to you I would +not venture to write anything above an order to a cobbler. You +have felt too much of the ills of life not to sympathise with a +diseased wretch, who has impaired more than half of any faculties +he possessed. Your goodness will excuse this distracted scrawl, +which the writer dare scarcely read, and which he would throw +into the fire, were he able to write anything better, or indeed +anything at all.</p> + +<p>Rumour told me something of a son of yours, who was returned +from the East or West Indies. If you have gotten news from James +or Anthony, it was cruel in you not to let me know; as I promise +you, on the sincerity of a man, who is weary of one world, and +anxious about another, that scarce anything could give me so much +pleasure as to hear of any good thing befalling my honoured +friend.</p> + +<p>If you have a minute's leisure, take up your pen in pity to LE +PAUVRE MISERABLE.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLII.—To LADY WINIFRED M. CONSTABLE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 16th DECEMBER 1789. + +<p>My Lady,—In vain have I from day to day expected to hear from +Mis. Young, as she promised me at Dalswinton that she would do me +the honour to introduce me at Tinwald; and it was impossible, not +from your Ladyship's accessibility, but from my own feelings, +that I could go alone. Lately, indeed, Mr. Maxwell, of Currachan, +in his usual goodness, offered to accompany me, when an unlucky +indisposition on my part hindered my embracing the opportunity. +To court the notice or the tables of the great, except where I +sometimes have had a little matter to ask of them, or more often +the pleasanter task of witnessing my gratitude to them, is what I +never have done, and I trust never shall do. But with your +Ladyship I have the honour to be connected by one of the +strongest and most endearing ties in the whole moral world. +Common sufferings, in a cause where even to be unfortunate is +glorious—the cause of heroic loyalty! Though my fathers had not +illustrious honours and vast properties to hazard in the contest, +though they left their humble cottages only to add so many units +more to the unnoted crowd that followed their leaders, yet what +they could they did, and what they had they lost; with unshaken +firmness and unconcealed political attachments, they shook hands +with Ruin for what they esteemed the cause of their king and +their country. This language and the inclosed verses are for your +Ladyship's eye alone. Poets are not very famous for their +prudence; but as I can do nothing for a cause which is now nearly +no more, I do not wish to hurt myself.—I have the honour to be, +my lady, your Ladyship's obliged and obedient humble servant.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLIII.—To MR. CHARLES K. SHARPE, OF HODDAM.</h4> + +<i>Under a fictitious Signature, inclosing a Ballad, 1790 or +1791.<a name="FNanchor109"></a></i><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_109">[109]</a></sup> + +<p>It is true, Sir, you are a gentleman of rank and fortune, and +I am a poor devil; you are a feather in the cap of society, and I +am a very hobnail in his shoes; 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 honourable house of Kirkpatrick. No, no, Sir. I +cannot indeed be properly said to belong to any house, or even +any province or kingdom; as my mother, who for many years was +spouse to a marching regiment, gave me into this bad world, +aboard the packet-boat, somewhere between Donaghadee and +Portpatrick. By our common family, I mean, Sir, the family of the +Muses. I am a fiddler and a poet; and you, I am told, play an +exquisite violin, and have a standard taste in the belles +lettres. 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 inclosed. Will you +allow me, Sir, to present you them, as the dearest offering 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 human +nature, amid an age when frivolity and avarice have, between +them, debased us below the brutes that perish!" But, alas, Sir! +to me you are unapproachable. It is true, the Muses baptised me +in Castalian 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-hearted turnpikes too, are not what even +the hide of Job's behemoth could bear. The coat on my back is no +more: I shall not speak evil of the dead. It would be equally +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 in +Britain. I was, during several years, a kind of fac-totum servant +to a country clergyman, where I picked up a good many scraps of +learning, particularly—in some branches of the mathematics. +Whenever I feel inclined to rest myself on my way, I take my seat +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 let me +mislead you, as if I would interest your pity. Fortune has so +much forsaken me, that she has taught me 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, simply as they act their parts. I can look on a +worthless fellow of a duke with unqualified contempt, and can +regard an honest scavenger with sincere respect. As you, Sir, go +through your role with such distinguished merit, permit me to +make one in the chorus of universal applause, and assure you that +with the highest respect, I have the honour to be, etc.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor109">[109]</a> +"Here Burns plays high Jacobite to that singular old curmudgeon, +Lady Constable. I imagine his Jacobitism, like my own, belonged +to the fancy rather than the reason."—Scott.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLIV.—To HIS BROTHER, GILBERT BURNS, MOSSGIEL.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>11th January 1790</i>. + +<p>Dear Brother,—I mean to take advantage of the frank, though I +have not in my present frame of mind much appetite for exertion +in writing. My nerves are in a cursed state. I feel that horrid +hypochondria pervading every atom of both body and soul. This +farm has undone my enjoyment of myself. It is a ruinous affair on +all hands. But let it go to hell! I'll fight it out and be off +with it.</p> + +<p>We have gotten a set of very decent players here just now. I +have seen them an evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr, wrote +to me by the manager of the company, a Mr. Sutherland, who is a +man of apparent worth. On New-year-day evening I gave him the +following prologue, which he spouted to his audience with +applause:—</p> + +<blockquote> No song nor dance I bring from yon great city, +etc.</blockquote> + +I can no more. If once I was clear of this curst farm, I should +respire more at ease. <br> +<hr> +<h4>CXLV.—To MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 14th Jan. 1790. + +<p>Since we are here creatures of a day, since "a few summer +days, 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 nothing worse, step in between us and +bar the enjoyment of a mutual correspondence? We are not shapen +out of the common, heavy, 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 the 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.</p> + +<p>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 mortifying circumstances in it that I was led to fear.</p> + +<p><i>Feb. 2nd.</i>—I have not for sheer hurry of business been +able to spare five minutes to finish my letter. Besides my farm +business, I ride on my Excise matters at least two hundred miles +every week. I have not by any means given up the Muses. You will +see in the third volume of Johnson's Scots songs that I have +contributed my mite there.</p> + +<p>But, my dear Sir, little ones that look up to you for paternal +protection are 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 an 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 independent line of life. What a chaos of hurry, chance, +and changes is this world, when one sits soberly down to reflect +on it! To a father, who himself knows the world, the thought that +he shall have sons to usher into it, must fill him with dread; +but if he have daughters, the prospect in a thoughtful moment is +apt to shock him.</p> + +<p>I hope Mrs. Fordyce and the two young ladies are well. Do let +me forget that they are nieces of yours, and let me say that I +never saw 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, <a name= +"t109a"></a><sup><a href="#109a">[109a]</a></sup>. and think over +the social scenes we have had together. God grant that there may +be another world more congenial for honest fellows beyond this; a +world where these rubs and plagues of absence, distance, +misfortunes, ill-health, etc., 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,</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="109a"></a><a href="#t109a">[109a]</a> Mr. Dunbar had +made him a present of a Spenser's Poems<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLVL.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>25th January 1790.</i> + +<p>It has been owing to unremitting hurry of business that I have +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 with the rest of my fellow-creatures.</p> + +<p>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? When 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 you have done me in making me +your compeer in friendship and friendly correspondence, that I +cannot without pain, and a degree of mortification, be reminded +of the real inequality between our situations.</p> + +<p>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 his acquaintance, has interested me deeply in his +fortunes.</p> + +<p>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 hard gales of fortune, he went to the bottom with +the <i>Aurora</i> frigate!</p> + +<p>I forget what part of Scotland had the honour of giving him +birth; but he was the son of obscurity and mis'ortune.<a name= +"FNanchor110"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_110">[110]</a></sup> He +was one of those daring, adventurous spirits, which Scotland, +beyond any other country, is remarkable for producing. Little +does the fond mother think, as she hangs delighted over the sweet +little leech at her bosom, where the poor fellow may hereafter +wander, or what may be his fate. I remember a stanza in an old +Scottish ballad, which, notwithstanding its rude simplicity, +speaks feelingly to the heart:—</p> + +<blockquote>Little did my mother think,<br> +That day she cradled me,<br> +What land I was to travel in,<br> +Or what death I should dee!</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Old Scottish songs are, you know, a favourite study and pursuit +of mine, and now I 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 her fate, She concludes with this pathetic wish:—</p> + +<blockquote>O that my father had ne'er on me smil'd;<br> +O that my mother had ne'er to me sung!<br> +O that my cradle had never been rock'd;<br> +But that I had died when I was young! + +<p>O that the grave it were my bed;<br> +My blankets were my winding sheet;<br> +The clocks and the worms my bedfellows a';<br> +And O sad sound as I should sleep!</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><br> +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. Misery is like love; to speak its language truly, the +author must have felt it.</p> + +<p>I am every day expecting the doctor to give your little godson +the small-pox. They are <i>rife</i> in the country, 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.</p> + +<p>I thought to have sent you some rhymes, but time forbids. I +promise you poetry until you are tired of it, next time I have +the honour of assuring you how truly I am, etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor110">[110]</a> He +was of poor parentage, and a native of Edinburgh.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLVII.—To MR. PETER HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>2nd Feb. 1790.</i> + +<p>No! I will not say one word about apologies or excuses for not +writing—I am a poor, rascally gauger, condemned to gallop at +least 200 miles every week to inspect dirty ponds and yeasty +barrels, and where can I find time to write to, or importance to +interest anybody? The upbraidings of my conscience, nay, the +upbraidings of my wife, have persecuted me on your account these +two or three months past. I wish to God I was a great man, that +my correspondence might throw light upon you, to let the world +see what you really are: and then I would make your fortune, +without putting my hand in my pocket for you, which, like all +other great men, I suppose I would avoid as much as possible. +What are you doing, and how are you doing? Have you lately seen +any of my few friends? What has become of the borough reform, or +how is the fate of my poor namesake Mademoiselle Burns decided? O +man! but for thee and thy selfish appetites, and dishonest +artifices, that beauteous form, and that once innocent and still +ingenuous mind, might have shone conspicuous and lovely in the +faithful wife, and the affectionate mother; and shall the +unfortunate sacrifice to thy pleasures have no claim on thy +humanity!</p> + +<p>I saw lately, in a review, some extracts from a new poem, +called the "Village Curate;" send it me. I want likewise a cheap +copy of <i>The World</i>. Mr. Armstrong, the young poet, who does +me the honour to mention me so kindly in his works, please give +him my best thanks for the copy of his book.<a name= +"FNanchor111"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_111">[111]</a></sup>—I +shall write him, my first leisure hour. I like his poetry much, +but I think his style in prose quite astonishing.</p> + +<p>Your book came safe, and I am going to trouble you with +farther commissions. I call it troubling you, because I want only +books; the cheapest way, the best; so you may have to hunt for +them in the evening auctions. I want Smollett's Works, for the +sake of his incomparable humour. I have already <i>Roderick +Random</i> and <i>Humphrey Clinker</i>;—<i>Peregrine +Pickle</i>, <i>Launcelot Greaves</i>, and <i>Ferdinand</i>, +<i>Count Fathom</i>, I still want; but, as I said, the veriest +ordinary copies will serve me. I am nice only in the appearance +of my poets. I forget the price of Cowper's <i>Poems</i>, but, I +believe, I must have them. I saw the other day, proposals for a +publication, entitled <i>Banks's New and Complete Christian +Family Bible</i>, printed for C. Cooke, Paternoster Row, London. +He promises at least to give in the work, I think it is three +hundred and odd engravings, to which he has put the names of the +first artists in London. You will know the character of the +performance, as some numbers of it are published, and if it is +really what it pretends to be, set me down as a subscriber, and +send me the published numbers.</p> + +<p>Let me hear from you, your first leisure minute, and trust me, +you shall in future have no reason to complain of my silence. The +dazzling perplexity of novelty will dissipate, and leave me to +pursue my course in the quiet path of methodical routine.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor111">[111]</a> John +Armstrong, student in the University of Edinburgh, who had +recently published a volume of Juvenile Poems.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLVIIL.—To MR. W. NICOL.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>Feb. 9th, 1790.</i> + +<p>My Dear Sir,—That damn'd mare of yours is dead. I would +freely have given her price to have saved her; she has vexed me +beyond description. Indebted as I was to your goodness beyond +what I can ever repay, I eagerly grasped at your offer to have +the mare with me. That I might at least show my readiness in +wishing to be grateful, I took every care of her in my power. She +was never crossed for riding above half a score of times by me or +in my keeping. I drew her in the plough, one of three, for one +poor week. I refused fifty-five shillings for her, which was the +highest bode I could squeeze for her. I fed her up and had her in +fine order for Dumfries fair, when, four or five days before the +fair, she was seized with an unaccountable disorder in the +sinews, or somewhere in the bones of the neck—with a weakness or +total want of power in her fillets; and, in short, the whole +vertebrae of her spine seemed to be diseased and unhinged, and in +eight and forty hours, in spite of the two best farriers in the +country, she died and be damn'd to her! 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, everything 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.</p> + +<p>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 +encouragement 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 thirty +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 Rev. Mr. Lawson of Kirkmahoe, seconded by the Rev. Mr. +Kirkpatrick of Dunscore, and the rest of that faction, have +accused, in formal process, the unfortunate and Rev. Mr. Heron of +Kirkgunzeon, that in ordaining Mr. Nielson to the cure of souls +in Kirkbean, he, the said Heron, feloniously and treasonably +bound the said Nielson to the confession of faith, <i>so far as +it was agreeable to reason and the word of God!</i></p> + +<p>Mrs. B. begs to be remembered most gratefully to you. 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 two hundred miles per week. I have +done little in the poetic way. I have given Mr. Sutherland two +Prologues, one of which was delivered last week. I have likewise +strung four or five barbarous stanzas, to the tune of Chevy +Chase, by way of Elegy on your poor unfortunate mare, beginning +(the name she got here was Peg Nicholson),—</p> + +<blockquote>Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare,<br> +As ever trod on airn;<br> +But now she's floating down the Nith,<br> +And past the mouth o' Cairn.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +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.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXLIX.—To MR. CUNNINGHAM, WRITER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>13th February 1790.</i> + +<p>I beg your pardon, my dear and much valued friend, for writing +to you on this very unfashionable, unsightly sheet—<br> + My poverty but not my will consents.</p> + +<p>But to make amends, since of modish post I have none, except +one poor widowed half-sheet of gilt, which lies in my drawer, +among my plebeian foolscap pages, like the widow of a man of +fashion, whom that unpolite scoundrel, Necessity, has driven from +Burgundy and Pineapple to a dish of Bohea, with the +scandal-bearing help-mate of a village-priest; or a glass of +whisky-toddy with a ruby-nosed yokefellow of a foot-padding +exciseman—I make a vow to inclose this sheet-full of epistolary +fragments in that my only scrap of gilt paper.</p> + +<p>I am, indeed, your unworthy debtor for three friendly letters. +I ought to have written to you long ere now, but it is a literal +fact, I have scarcely a spare moment. It is not that I <i>will +not</i> write to you: Miss Burnet is not more dear to her +guardian angel, nor his grace the Duke of Queensberry to the +powers of darkness, than my friend Cunningham to me. It is not +that I cannot write to you; should you doubt it, take the +following fragment, which was intended for you some time ago, and +be convinced that I can antithesize sentiment, and circumvolute +periods, as well as any coiner of phrase in the regions of +philology.</p> + +<p><i>December 1789.</i></p> + +<p>My Dear Cunningham,—Where are you? And what are you doing? +Can you be that son of levity, who takes up a friendship as he +takes up a fashion; or are you, like some other of the worthiest +fellows in the world, the victim of indolence, laden with fetters +of ever-increasing weight?</p> + +<p>What strange beings we are! Since we have a portion of +conscious existence, equally capable of enjoying pleasure, +happiness, and rapture, or of suffering pain, wretchedness, and +misery, it is surely worthy of an inquiry, whether there be not +such a thing as a science of life; whether method, economy, and +fertility of expedients, be not applicable to enjoyment; and +whether there be not a want of dexterity in pleasure, which +renders our little scantling of happiness still less; and a +profuseness, an intoxication in bliss, which leads to satiety, +disgust, and self-abhorrence. There is not a doubt but that +health, talents, character, decent competency, respectable +friends, are real substantial blessings; and yet do we not daily +see those who enjoy many or all of these good things, contrive, +notwithstanding, to be as unhappy as others to whose lot few of +them have fallen? I believe one great source of this mistake or +misconduct is owing to a certain stimulus, with us called +ambition, which goads us up the hill of life, not as we ascend +other eminences; for the laudable curiosity of viewing an +extended landscape, but rather for the dishonest pride of looking +down on others of our fellow-creatures, seemingly diminutive in +humbler stations, etc., etc.</p> + +<p><i>Sunday, 14th February 1790.</i></p> + +<blockquote>God help me! I am now obliged to join<br> + Night to day, and Sunday to the week.</blockquote> + +If there be any truth in the orthodox faith of these churches, I +am damn'd past redemption, and what is worse, damn'd to all +eternity. I am deeply read in Boston's <i>Four-fold State</i>, +Marshal <i>On Sanctification</i>, Guthrie's <i>Trial of a Saving +Interest</i>, etc., but "there is no balm in Gilead, there is no +physician there," for me; so I shall e'en turn Arminian, and +trust to "Sincere though imperfect obedience." + +<p><i>Tuesday, 16th.</i></p> + +<p>Luckily for me, I was prevented from the discussion of the +knotty point at which I had just made a full stop. All my fears +and cares are of this world; if there is another, an honest man +has nothing to fear from it. I hate a man that wishes to be a +deist; but I fear, every fair, unprejudiced inquirer must in some +degree be a sceptic. It is not that there are any very staggering +arguments against the immortality of man; but, like electricity, +phlogiston, etc., the subject is so involved in darkness, that we +want data to go upon. One thing frightens me much: that we are to +live for ever seems <i>too good news to be true</i>. That we are +to enter into a new scene of existence, where, exempt from want +and pain, we shall enjoy ourselves and our friends without +satiety or separation—how much should I be indebted to any one +who could fully assure me that this was certain!</p> + +<p>My time is once more expired. I will write to Mr. Cleghorn +soon. God bless him and all his concerns! And may all the powers +that preside over conviviality and friendship, be present with +all their kindest influence, when the bearer of this, Mr. Syme, +and you meet! I wish I could also make one.</p> + +<p>Finally, brethren, farewell! Whatsoever things are lovely, +whatsoever things are gentle, whatsoever things are charitable, +whatsoever things are kind, think on these things, and think +on</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CL.—To MR. HILL, BOOKSELLER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>2nd March 1790.</i> + +<p>At a late meeting of the Monkland Friendly Society, it was +resolved to augment their library by the following books, which +you are to send us as soon as possible:—<i>The Mirror, The +Lounger, Man of Feeling, Man of the World,</i> (these, for my own +sake, I wish to have by the first carrier), Knox's <i>History of +the Reformation</i>, Rae's <i>History of the Rebellion in +1715</i>, any good History of the Rebellion in 1745, <i>A Display +of the Secession Act and Testimony</i>, by Mr. Gib, Hervey's +<i>Meditations</i>, Beveridge's <i>Thoughts</i>, and another copy +of Watson's <i>Body of Divinity</i>.</p> + +<p>I wrote to Mr. A. Masterton three or four months ago, to pay +some money he owed me into your hands, and lately I wrote to you +to the same purpose, but I have heard from neither one nor other +of you.</p> + +<p>In addition to the books I commissioned in my last, I want +very much, an Index to the Excise Laws, or an Abridgment of all +the statutes now in force, relative to the Excise, by Jellinger +Symons; I want three copies of this book: if it is now to be had, +cheap or dear, get it for me. An honest country neighbour of mine +wants too a Family Bible, the larger the better, but +second-handed, for he does not choose to give above ten shillings +for the book. I want likewise for myself, as you can pick them +up, second-handed or cheap, copies of Otway's Dramatic Works, Ben +Jonson's, Dryden's, Congreve's, Wycherley's, Vanbrugh's, +Gibber's, or any Dramatic Works of the more modern Macklin, +Garrick, Foote, Colman, or Sheridan. A good copy too of Moliere, +in French, I much want. Any other good dramatic authors in that +language I want also; but comic authors chiefly, though I should +wish to have Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire too. I am in no +hurry for all, or any of these, but if you accidentally meet with +them very-cheap, get them for me.</p> + +<p>And now, to quit the dry walk of business, how do you do, my +dear friend? and how is Mrs. Hill? I trust, if now and then not +so <i>elegantly</i> handsome, at least as amiable, and sings as +divinely as ever. My good wife too has a charming "wood-note +wild;" now could we four get together, etc.</p> + +<p>I am out of all patience with this vile world, for one thing. +Mankind are by nature benevolent creatures, except in a few +scoundrelly instances. I do not think that avarice of the good +things we chance to have, is born with us; but we are placed here +amid so much nakedness, and hunger, and poverty, and want, that +we are under a cursed necessity 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. Adieu!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLI.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>10th April 1790.</i> + +<p>I have just now, my ever honoured friend, enjoyed a very high +luxury, in reading a paper of the <i>Lounger</i>. You know my +national prejudices. I had often read and admired the +<i>Spectator</i>, <i>Adventurer</i>, <i>Rambler</i>, and +<i>World</i>, 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 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—<br> +States of native liberty possest,<br> +Tho' very poor, may yet be very blest.</p> + +<p>Nothing can reconcile me to the common terms, "English +ambassador," "English court," etc., and I am out of all patience +to see that equivocal character, Hastings, impeached by "the +Commons of England." Tell me, 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," etc.—I believe these, among your +<i>men of the world</i>, men who, in fact, guide for the most +part and govern our world, are looked on as so many modifications +of wrong-headedness. 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 <i>able statesmen</i> 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 +ought, but what they dare. For the truth of this I shall not +ransack the history 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 <i>perfect +man</i>; 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 staunch opinion of <i>men +of the world</i>; 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 grave, <i>then</i>, the true measure of human conduct +is, <i>proper</i> and <i>improper</i>: 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 ear for music, though it may sometimes give +the possessor an ecstacy unknown to the coarser organs of the +herd, yet, considering the harsh gratings, and inharmonic jars, +in this ill-tuned state of being, it is odds but the individual +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.</p> + +<p>You must know I have just met with the <i>Mirror</i> and +<i>Lounger</i> for the first time, and I am quite in raptures +with them; I should be glad to have your opinion of some of the +papers. The one I have just read, <i>Lounger</i>, No. 61, has +cost me more honest tears than anything I have read for a long +time. Mackenzie has been called the Addison of the Scots, and in +my opinion, Addison would not be hurt at the comparison. If he +has not Addison's exquisite humour, he as certainly outdoes him +in the tender and the pathetic. His <i>Man of Feeling</i> (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 others—than from the simple affecting +tale of poor Harley?</p> + +<p>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 +you not think, Madam, that among the few favoured of Heaven in +the structure of their minds (for such there certainly are) there +may be a purity, a tenderness, a dignity, an elegance of soul, +which are of no use, nay, in some degree, absolutely +disqualifying for the truly important business of making a man's +way into life? If I am not much mistaken, my gallant young +friend, Antony, 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, an humble friend, have often trembled for +a turn of mind which may render them eminently happy—or +peculiarly miserable!</p> + +<p>I have been manufacturing some verses lately; but as I have +got the most hurried season of Excise business over, I hope to +have more leisure to transcribe any thing that may show how much +I have the honour to be, Madam, yours, etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLII.—To DR. JOHN MOORE, LONDON.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>Excise-Office, 14th July 1790.</i> + +<p>Sir,—Coming into town this morning to attend my duty in this +office, it being collection-day, I met with 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 hungry +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-Mucker'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.</p> + +<p>I am sadly ungrateful in not returning you my thanks for your +most valuable present, <i>Zeluco</i>. In fact, you are in some +degree blameable for my neglect. You were pleased to express a +wish for my opinion of the work, which so flattered me, that +nothing less would serve my over-weening fancy, than a formal +criticism on the book. In fact, I have gravely planned a +comparative view of you, Fielding, Richardson, 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 Elihu +shows 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, etc., +wherever I meet with an original thought, a nervous remark on +life and manners, a remarkably well-turned period, or a character +sketched with uncommon precision.</p> + +<p>Though I should hardly think of fairly writing out my +"Comparative View," I shall certainly trouble you with my +remarks, such as they are.</p> + +<p>I have just received from my gentleman that horrid summons in +the Book of Revelation—"that time shall be no more."</p> + +<p>The little collection of sonnets have some charming poetry in +them. If <i>indeed</i> I am indebted to the fair author for the +book, and not, as I rather suspect, to a celebrated author of the +other sex, I should certainly have written to the lady, with my +grateful acknowledgments, and my own idea of the comparative +excellence of her pieces.<a name="FNanchor112"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_112">[112]</a></sup> 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.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor112">[112]</a> +Sonnets of Charlotte Smith.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLIII.—To MR. MURDOCH,<a name="FNanchor113"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_113">[113]</a></sup> TEACHER OF FRENCH, +LONDON.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>July</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1790. + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I received a letter from you a long time ago, +but unfortunately, as it was in the time of my peregrinations and +journeyings through Scotland, I mislaid or lost it, and by +consequence your direction 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.</p> + +<p>His last address he sent 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.</p> + +<p>The next letter I write you shall be a long one. I have much +to tell you of "hair-breadth 'scapes in th' imminent deadly +breach," with all the eventful history of a life, the early years +of which 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,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor113">[113]</a> He +had been Burns's schoolmaster at Mount Oliphant.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLIV.—To MR. CUNNINGHAM.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>8th August 1790.</i> + +<p>Forgive me, my once dear, and ever dear friend, my seeming +negligence. You cannot sit down and fancy the busy life I +lead.</p> + +<p>I laid down my goose feather to beat my brains for an apt +simile, and had some thoughts of a country grannum at a family +christening; a bride on the market-day before her marriage; or a +tavern-keeper at an election dinner; but the resemblance that +hits my fancy best is, that blackguard miscreant, Satan, who +roams about like a roaring lion, seeking, searching, whom he may +devour. However, tossed about as I am, if I choose (and who would +not choose) to bind down with the crampets of attention the +brazen foundation of integrity, I may rear up the superstructure +of Independence, and from its daring turrets bid defiance to the +storms of fate. And is not this a "consummation devoutly to be +wished?"</p> + +<blockquote>Thy spirit, Independence, let me share;<br> +Lord of the lion-heart, and eagle-eye!<br> +Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,<br> +Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky!</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Are not these noble verses? They are the introduction of +Smollett's Ode to Independence: if you have not seen the poem, I +will send it to you. How wretched is the man that hangs on by the +favours of the great! To shrink from every dignity of man, at the +approach of a lordly piece of self-consequence, who, amid all his +tinsel glitter, and stately hauteur, is but a creature formed as +thou art—and perhaps not so well formed as thou art—came into +the world a puling infant as thou didst, and must go out of it as +all men must, a naked corse...</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLV.—To MR. CRAUFORD TAIT,<a name="FNanchor114"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_114">[114]</a></sup> W.S., EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 15th <i>October</i> 1790. + +<p>Dear Sir,—Allow me to introduce to your acquaintance the +bearer, Mr. Wm. Duncan, a friend of mine, whom I have long known +and long loved. His father, whose only son he is, has a decent +little property in Ayrshire, and has bred the young man to the +law, in which department he comes up an adventurer to your good +town. I shall give you my friend's character in two words: as to +his head, he has talents enough, and more than enough for common +life; as to his heart, when nature had kneaded the kindly clay +that composes it, she said, "I can no more."</p> + +<p>You, my good Sir, were born under kinder stars; but your +fraternal sympathy, I well know, can enter into the feelings of +the young man who goes into life with the laudable ambition to do +something, and to be something among his fellow-creatures; but +whom the consciousness of friendless obscurity presses to the +earth and wounds to the soul!</p> + +<p>Even the fairest of his virtues are against him. That +independent spirit, and that ingenuous modesty, qualities +inseparable from a noble mind, are, with the million, +circumstances not a little disqualifying. What pleasure is in the +power of the fortunate and the happy, by their notice and +patronage, to brighten the countenance and glad the heart of such +depressed youth! I am not so angry with mankind for their deaf +economy of the purse—the goods of this world cannot be divided +without being lessened—but why be a niggard of that which +bestows bliss on a fellow-creature, yet takes nothing from our +own means of enjoyment? We wrap ourselves up in the cloak of our +own better fortune, and turn away our eyes, lest the wants and +woes of our brother-mortals should disturb the selfish apathy of +our souls!</p> + +<p>I am the worst hand in the world at asking a favour. That +indirect address, that insinuating implication, which, without +any positive request, plainly expresses your wish, is a talent +not to be acquired at a plough-tail. Tell me, then, for you can, +in what periphrasis of language, in what circumvolution of +phrase, I shall envelope, yet not conceal, the plain story. "My +dear Mr, Tait, my friend, Mr. Duncan, whom I have the pleasure of +introducing to you, is a young lad of your own profession, and a +gentleman of much modesty and great worth. Perhaps it may be in +your power to assist him in the, to him, important consideration +of getting a place; but, at all events, your notice and +acquaintance will be a very great acquisition to him; and I dare +pledge myself that he will never disgrace your favour."</p> + +<p>You may possibly be surprised, Sir, at such a letter from me; +'tis, I own, in the usual way of calculating these matters, more +than our acquaintance entitles me to; but my answer is short: Of +all the men at your time of life whom I knew in Edinburgh, you +are the most accessible on the side on which I have assailed you. +You are very much altered indeed from what you were when I knew +you, if generosity point the path you will not tread, or humanity +call to you in vain.</p> + +<p>As to myself, a being to whose interest I believe you are +still a well-wisher; I am here, breathing at all times, thinking +sometimes, and rhyming now and then. Every situation has its +share of the cares and pains of life, and my situation I am +persuaded has a full ordinary allowance of its pleasures and +enjoyments.</p> + +<p>My best compliments to your father and Miss Tait. If you have +an opportunity, please remember me in the solemn league and +covenant of friendship to Mrs. Lewis Hay.<a name= +"FNanchor115"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_115">[115]</a></sup> I +am a wretch for not writing her; but I am so hackneyed with +self-accusation in that way, that my conscience lies in my bosom +with scarce the sensibility of an oyster in its shell. Where is +Lady M'Kenzie? wherever she is, God bless her! I likewise beg +leave to trouble you with compliments to Mr. Wm. Hamilton; Mrs. +Hamilton and family; and Mrs. Chalmers, when you are in that +country. Should you meet with Miss Nimmo, please remember me +kindly to her.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor114">[114]</a> Son +of Mr. Tait of Harviestoun, where Burns was a happy guest in the +Autumn of 1787. He was also father of the late Archbishop +Tait.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor115">[115]</a> +Miss Peggy Chalmers.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLVL.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>November</i> 1790. + +<p>"As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far +country."</p> + +<p>Fate has long owed me a letter of good news from you, in +return for the many tidings of sorrow which I have received. In +this instance I most cordially obey the apostle—"Rejoice with +them that do rejoice;" for me, to sing for joy, is no new thing; +but to preach for joy, as I have done in the commencement of this +epistle, is a pitch of extravagant rapture to which I never rose +before.</p> + +<p>I read your letter—I literally jumped for joy. How could such +a mercurial creature as a poet lumpishly keep his seat on the +receipt of the best news from his best friend. I seized my +gilt-headed Wangee rod, an instrument indispensably necessary in +the moment of inspiration and rapture; and stride, stride-quick +and quicker-out skipt I among the broomy banks of Nith to muse +over my joy by retail. To keep within the bounds of prose was +impossible. Mrs. Little's is a more elegant, but not a more +sincere compliment to the sweet little fellow, than I, extempore +almost, poured out to him in the following verses:—<br> + Sweet flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, etc.<a name= +"FNanchor116"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_116">[116]</a></sup></p> + +<p>I am much flattered by your approbation of my "Tam o' +Shanter," which you express in your former letter; though, +by-the-bye, you load me in that said letter with accusations +heavy and many; to all which I plead, <i>not guilty!</i> Your +book is, I hear, on the road to reach me. As to printing of +poetry, when you prepare it for the press, you have only to spell +it right, and place the capital letters properly: as to the +punctuation, the printers do that themselves.</p> + +<p>I have a copy of "Tam o' Shanter" ready to send you by the +first opportunity: it is too heavy to send by post.</p> + +<p>I heard of Mr. Corbet lately. <a name="116a"></a><sup><a +href="#116a">[116a]</a></sup> He, in consequence of your +recommendation, is most zealous to serve me. Please favour me +soon with an account of your good folks; if Mrs. H. is +recovering, and the young gentleman doing well.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor116">[116]</a> See +Poems.<br> +<a name="[116a]"></a><a href="#116a">[116a]</a> A Supervisor of +Excise.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLVIL.—To MR. WILLIAM DUNBAR, W.S.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 17<i>th January</i> 1791. + +<p>I am not gone to Elysium, most noble Colonel,<a name= +"FNanchor117"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_117">[117]</a></sup> +but am still here in this sublunary world, serving my God by +propagating His image, and honouring my king by begetting him +loyal subjects.</p> + +<p>Many happy returns of the 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 +blood-hounds of misfortune never track his steps, 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 be he that curseth +thee!!!"</p> + +<p>As a farther 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 wishing you only to show 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,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor117">[117]</a> +Colonel of Volunteers.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLVIIL.—To MR. PETER HILL.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 17<i>th January</i> 1791. + +<p>Take these two guineas, and place them over against that +damn'd account of yours which has gagged my mouth these five or +six months. I can as little write good things as apologies to the +man I owe money to. O the supreme misery of making three guineas +do the business of five! Not all the labours of Hercules not all +the Hebrews' three centuries of Egyptian bondage, were such an +insuperable business, such an infernal task! Poverty, thou +half-sister of death, thou cousin-german of hell! where shall I +find force or execration equal to the amplitude of thy demerits? +Oppressed by thee, the venerable ancient, grown hoary in the +practice of every virtue, laden with years and wretchedness, +implores a little, little aid to support his existence, from a +stony-hearted son of Mammon, whose sun of prosperity never knew a +cloud; and is by him denied and insulted. Oppressed by thee, the +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 contamely of arrogant unfeeling +wealth. Oppressed by thee, the son of genius, whose ill-starred +ambition plants him 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 have reason to complain of thee; the +children of folly and vice, though in common with thee the +offspring 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. But far otherwise is the lot of the man +of family and fortune. <i>His</i> early follies and extravagance +are spirit and fire; <i>his</i> consequent wants are the +embarrassments of an honest fellow; and when, to remedy the +matter, he has gained a legal commission to plunder distant +provinces, or massacre peaceful nations, he returns, perhaps, +laden with the spoils of rapine and murder; lives wicked and +respected; and dies a scoundrel and a lord. Nay, worst of all, +alas for helpless woman!...<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<p>Well! divines may say of it what they please; but execration +is to the mind, what phlebotomy is to the body; the overloaded +sluices of both are wonderfully relieved by their respective +evacuations.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLIX.—To DR. MOORE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 28<i>th January</i> 1791. + +<p>I do not know, Sir, whether you are a subscriber to Grose's +<i>Antiquities of Scotland</i>. If you are, the inclosed poem +will not be altogether new to you. Captain Grose did me the +favour to send me a dozen copies of the proof sheet, of which +this is one. Should you have read the piece before, still this +will answer the principal end I have in view: it will give me +another opportunity of thanking you for all your goodness to the +rustic bard; and also of showing you, that the abilities you have +been pleased to commend and patronise, are still employed in the +way you wish.</p> + +<p>The <i>Elegy on Captain Henderson</i> is a tribute to the +memory of the man I loved much. Poets have in this the same +advantage as Roman Catholics; they can be of service to their +friends after they have passed that bourne where all other +kindness ceases to be of avail. Whether, after all, either the +one or the other be of any real service to the dead, is, I fear, +very problematical; but I am sure they are highly gratifying to +the living: and as a very orthodox text, I forget where in +Scripture, says, "whatsoever is not of faith is sin;" so say I, +whatsoever is not detrimental to society, and is of positive +enjoyment, is of God, the giver of all good things, and ought to +be received and enjoyed by His creatures with thankful delight. +As almost all my religious tenets originate from my heart, I am +wonderfully pleased with the idea, that I can still keep up a +tender intercourse with the dearly beloved friend, or still more +dearly beloved mistress, who is gone to the world of spirits.</p> + +<p>The ballad on Queen Mary was begun while I was busy with +<i>Percy's Reliques of English Poetry</i>. By the way, how much +is every honest heart, which has a tincture of Caledonian +prejudice, obliged to you for your glorious story of Buchanan and +Targe! 'Twas an unequivocal proof of your loyal gallantry of soul +giving Targe the victory. I should have been mortified to the +ground if you had not.</p> + +<p>I have just read over, once more of many times, your +<i>Zeluco</i>. I marked with my pencil as I went along, every +passage that pleased me above the rest; and one or two, which, +with humble deference, I am disposed to think unequal to the +merits of the book. I have sometimes thought to transcribe these +marked passages, or at least so much of them as to point where +they are, and send them to you. Original strokes that strongly +depict the human heart, is your and Fielding's province, beyond +any other novelist I have ever perused. Richardson, indeed, +might, perhaps, be excepted; but unhappily, his <i>dramatis +personæ</i> are beings of another world; and however they +may captivate the unexperienced romantic fancy of a boy or a +girl, they will ever, in proportion as we have made human nature +our study, dissatisfy our riper years.</p> + +<p>As to my private concerns, I am going on, a mighty +tax-gatherer before the Lord, and have lately had the interest to +get myself ranked on the list of excise as a supervisor. T am not +yet employed as such, but in a few years I shall fall into the +file of supervisorship by seniority. I have had an immense loss +in the death of the Earl of Glencairn—the patron from whom all +my fame and fortune took its rise. Independent of my grateful +attachment to him, which was indeed so strong that it pervaded my +very soul, and was entwined with the thread of my existence; so +soon as the prince's friends had got in, (and every dog, you +know, has his day) my getting forward in the excise would have +been an easier business than otherwise it will be. Though this +was a consummation devoutly to be wished, yet, thank Heaven, I +can live and rhyme as I am; and as to my boys, poor little +fellows! if I cannot place them on as high an elevation in life +as I could wish, I shall, if I am favoured so much of the +Disposer of events as to see that period, fix them on as broad +and independent a basis as possible. Among the many wise adages +which have been treasured up by our Scottish ancestors, this is +one of the best—<i>Better be the head o' the commonalty than the +tail o' the gentry</i>.</p> + +<p>But I am got on a subject which, however interesting to me, is +of no manner of consequence to you; so I shall give you a short +poem on the other page, and close this with assuring you how +sincerely I have the honour to be, yours, etc.,</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p>Written on the blank leaf of a book which I presented to a +very young lady, whom I had formerly characterised under the +denomination of <i>The Rose Bud.<a name= +"FNanchor118"></a></i><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_118">[118]</a></sup><br> +<a name="Footnote_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor118">[118]</a> See +Poems—-"Lines to Miss Cruikshank."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLX.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>7th Feb. 1791.</i> + +<p>When I tell you, Madam, that by a fall, not from my horse, but +with my horse, I have been a cripple some time, and that this is +the first day my arm and hand have been able to serve me in +writing,—you will allow that it is too good an apology for my +seemingly ungrateful silence. I am now getting better, and am +able to rhyme a little, which implies some tolerable ease; as I +cannot think that the most poetic genius is able to compose on +the rack.</p> + +<p>I do not remember if ever I mentioned to you my having an idea +of composing an elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo. I had +the honour of being pretty well acquainted with her, and have +seldom felt so much at the loss of an acquaintance, as when I +heard that so amiable and accomplished a piece of God's work was +no more. I have, as yet, gone no farther than the following +fragment, of which please let me have your opinion. You know that +elegy is a subject so much exhausted, that any new idea on the +business is not to be expected: 'tis well if we can place an old +idea in a new light. How far I have succeeded as to this last, +you will judge from what follows. I have proceeded no +further.</p> + +<p>Your kind letter, with your kind <i>remembrance</i> of your +godson, came safe. This last, Madam, is scarcely what my pride +can bear. As to the little fellow,<a name= +"FNanchor118A"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_118A">[118a]</a></sup> +he is, partiality apart, the finest boy I have of a long time +seen. He is now seventeen months old, has the small-pox and +measles over, has cut several teeth, and never had a grain of +doctor's drugs in his bowels.</p> + +<p>I am truly happy to hear that the "little floweret" is +blooming so fresh and fair, and that the "mother plant" is rather +recovering her drooping head. Soon and well may her "cruel +wounds" be healed! I have written thus far with a good deal of +difficulty. When I get a little abler you shall hear farther +from, Madam, yours,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_118A"></a><a href="#FNanchor118A">[118a]</a> +The infant was Francis Wallace, the Poet's second son.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXI.—To THE REV. ARCH. ALISON.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, <i>near Dumfries 14th Feb. 1791.</i> + +<p>Sir,—You must by this time have set me down as one of the +most ungrateful of men. You did me the honour to present me with +a book, which does honour to science and the intellectual powers +of man, and I have not even so much as acknowledged the receipt +of it. The fact is, you yourself are to blame for it. Flattered +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 of the sins that most easily beset me, 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 first principles. I own, Sir, that +at first glance, several of your propositions startled me as +paradoxical. That the martial clangour of a trumpet had something +in it vastly more grand, heroic, and sublime, than the twingle +twangle of a Jews-harp; that the delicate flexure of a rose-twig, +when the half-blown flower is heavy with the tears of the dawn, +was infinitely more beautiful and elegant than the upright 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 shook my faith. In +short, Sir, except Euclid's Elements of Geometry, which I made a +shift to unravel by my father's fire-side, in the winter evening +of the first season I held the plough, I never read a book which +gave me such a quantum of information, and added so much to my +stock of ideas, as your <i>Essays on the Principles of Taste</i>. +One thing, Sir, you must forgive my mentioning as an uncommon +merit in the work, I mean the language. To clothe abstract +philosophy in elegance of style, sounds something like a +contradiction in terms; but you have convinced me that they are +quite compatible.</p> + +<p>I inclose you some poetic bagatelles of my late composition. +The one in print is my first essay in the way of telling a +tale.—I am, Sir, etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXII.—TO THE REV. G. BAIRD.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 1791. + +<p>Reverend Sir,—Why did you, my dear Sir, write to me in such a +hesitating style on the business of poor Bruce?<a name= +"FNanchor119"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_119">[119]</a></sup> +Don't I know, and have I not felt, the many ills, the peculiar +ills, that poetic flesh is heir to? You shall have your choice of +all the unpublished poems<a name="FNanchor120"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_120">[120]</a></sup> I have; and had your letter had +my direction so as to have reached me sooner (it only came to my +hand this moment) I should have directly put you out of suspense +on the subject. I only ask, that some prefatory advertisement in +the book, as well as the subscription bills, may bear, that the +publication is solely for the benefit of Bruce's mother. I would +not put it in the power of ignorance to surmise, or malice to +insinuate, that I clubbed a share in the work from mercenary +motives. Nor need you give me credit for any remarkable +generosity in my part of the business. I have such a host of +peccadilloes, failings, follies, and backslidings (anybody but +myself might perhaps give some of them a worse appellation), that +by way of some balance, however trifling, in the account, I am +fain to do any good that occurs in my very limited power to a +fellow-creature, just for the selfish purpose of clearing a +little the vista of retrospection.</p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor119">[119]</a> +Michael Bruce, a young poet of Kinross-Shire.<br> +<a name="Footnote_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor120">[120]</a> +<i>Tam o' Shanter</i> included! It was refused!!<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXIII.—TO MR. CUNNINGHAM, WRITER, EDINBURGH.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 2<i>th March</i> 1791. + +<p>If the foregoing piece be worth your strictures, let me have +them. For my own part, a thing I have just composed always +appears through a double portion of that partial medium in which +an author will ever view his own works. I believe, in general, +novelty has something in it that inebriates the fancy, and not +unfrequently dissipates and fumes away like other intoxication, +and leaves the poor patient, as usual, with an aching heart. A +striking instance of this might be adduced, in the revolution of +many a hymeneal honeymoon. But lest I sink into stupid prose, and +so sacrilegiously intrude on the office of my parish priest, I +shall fill up the page in my own way, and give you another song +of my late composition, which will appear perhaps in Johnson's +work, as well as the former.</p> + +<p>You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, <i>There'll never be +peace till Jamie comes hame</i>. When political combustion ceases +to be the object of princes and patriots, it then, you know, +becomes the lawful prey of historians and poets.</p> + +<blockquote>By yon castle wa' at the close of the day,<br> +I heard a man sing, tho' his head it was grey;<br> +And as he was singing, the tears fast down came—<br> +There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +If you like the air, and if the stanzas hit your fancy, you +cannot imagine, my dear friend, how much you would oblige me, if, +by the charms of your delightful voice, you would give my honest +effusion, to "the memory of joys that are past," to the few +friends whom you indulge in that pleasure. But I have scribbled +on till I hear the clock has intimated the near approach of</p> + +<blockquote> That hour, o' night's black arch the +key-stane.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +So good night to you! Sound be your sleep, and delectable your +dreams! Apropos, how do you like this thought in a ballad I have +just now on the tapis?—</p> + +<blockquote>I look to the west when I gae to my rest,<br> +That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;<br> +Far, far in the west is he I lo'e best,<br> +The lad that is dear to my babie and me!</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Good night once more, and God bless you!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXIV.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 11<i>th April</i> 1791. + +<p>I am once more able, my honoured friend, to return you, with +my own hand, thanks for the many instances of your friendship, +and particularly for your kind anxiety in this last disaster that +my evil genius had in store for me. However, life is +chequered—joy and sorrow—for on Saturday morning last, Mrs. +Burns made me a present of a fine boy; rather stouter, but not so +handsome as your godson was at his time of life. Indeed, I look +on your little namesake to be my <i>chef d'oeuvre</i> in that +species of manufacture, as I look on "Tam o' Shanter" to be my +standard performance in the poetical line. 'Tis true, both the +one and the other discover a spice of roguish waggery, that might +perhaps be as well spared; but then they also show, in my +opinion, a force of genius, and a finishing polish, that I +despair of ever excelling. Mrs. Burns is getting stout again, and +laid as lustily about her to-day at breakfast, as a reaper from +the corn-ridge. That is the peculiar privilege and blessing of +our hale sprightly damsels, that are bred among the <i>hayand +heather</i>. We cannot hope for that highly polished mind, that +charming delicacy of soul, which is found among the female world +in the more elevated stations of life, and which is certainly by +far the most bewitching charm in the famous cestus of Venus, It +is indeed such an inestimable treasure, that where it can be had +in its native heavenly purity, unstained by some one or other of +the many shades of affectation, and unalloyed by some one or +other of the many species of caprice, I declare to Heaven I +should think it cheaply purchased at the expense of every other +earthly good! But as this angelic creature is, I am afraid, +extremely rare in any station and rank of life, and totally +denied to such an humble one as mine, we meaner mortals must put +up with the next rank of female excellence. As fine a figure and +face we can produce as any rank of life whatever; rustic, native +grace; unaffected modesty and unsullied purity; nature's +mother-wit and the rudiments of taste, a simplicity of soul, +unsuspicious of, because unacquainted with, the crooked ways of a +selfish, interested, disingenuous world; and the dearest charm of +all the rest, a yielding sweetness of disposition, and a generous +warmth of heart, grateful for love on our part, and ardently +glowing with a more than equal return; these, with a healthy +frame, a sound, vigorous constitution, which your higher ranks +can scarcely ever hope to enjoy, are the charms of lovely woman +in my humble walk of life.</p> + +<p>This is the greatest effort my broken arm has yet made. Do let +me hear, by first post, how <i>cher petit Monsieur</i> comes on +with his small-pox. May Almighty goodness preserve and restore +him!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXV.—TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.</h4> + +11<i>th June</i> 1791. + +<p>Let me interest you, my dear Cunningham, in behalf of the +gentleman who waits on you with this. He is a Mr. Clarke, of +Moffat, principal schoolmaster there, and is at present suffering +severely under the persecution of one or two powerful individuals +of his employers. He is accused of harshness to boys that were +placed under his care. God help the teacher, if a man of +sensibility and genius, and such is my friend Clarke, when a +booby father presents him with his booby son, and insists on +lighting up the rays of science in a fellow's head whose skull is +impervious and inaccessible by any other way than a positive +fracture with a cudgel: a fellow whom in fact it savours of +impiety to attempt making a scholar of, as he has been marked a +blockhead in the book of fate, at the almighty fiat of his +Creator.</p> + +<p>The patrons of Moffat school are the ministers, magistrates, +and town council of Edinburgh; and as the business comes now +before them, let me beg my dearest friend to do every thing in +his power to serve the interests of a man of genius and worth, +and a man whom I particularly respect and esteem. You know some +good fellows among the magistracy and council, but particularly +you have much to say with a reverend gentleman to whom you have +the honour of being very nearly related, and whom this country +and age have had the honour to produce. I need not name the +historian of Charles V.<a name="FNanchor121"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_121">[121]</a></sup> I tell him through the medium of +his nephew's influence, that Mr. Clarke is a gentleman who will +not disgrace even his patronage. I know the merits of the cause +thoroughly, and say it, that my friend is falling a sacrifice to +prejudiced ignorance.</p> + +<p>God help the children of dependence! Hated and persecuted by +their enemies, and too often, alas! almost unexceptionally +always, received by their friends with disrespect and reproach, +under the thin disguise of cold civility and humiliating advice. +O! to be a sturdy savage, stalking in the pride of his +independence, amid the solitary wilds of his deserts, rather than +in civilised life, helplessly to tremble for a subsistence +precarious as the caprice of a fellow-creature! Every man has his +virtues, and no man is without his failings; and plague on that +privileged plain-dealing of friendship, which, in the hour of my +calamity, cannot reach forth the helping hand without at the same +time pointing out those failings, and apportioning them their +share in procuring my present distress. My friends, for such the +world calls ye, and such ye think yourselves to be, pass by my +virtues if you please, but do, also, spare my follies; the first +will witness in my breast for themselves, and the last will give +pain enough to the ingenuous mind without you. And since +deviating more or less from the paths of propriety and rectitude +must be incident to human nature, do thou, Fortune, put it in my +power, always from myself, and of myself, to bear the consequence +of those errors! I do not want to be independent that I may sin, +but I want to be independent in my sinning.</p> + +<p>To return in this rambling letter to the subject I set out +with, let me recommend my friend, Mr. Clarice, to your +acquaintance and good offices; his worth entitles him to the one, +and his gratitude will merit the other. I long much to hear from +you. Adieu!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor121">[121]</a> Dr. +Robertson, uncle to Mr. Alexander Cunningham.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXVL—To MR. THOMAS SLOAN</h4> + +.<a name="FNanchor122"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_122">[122]</a></sup> + +<p>ELLISLAND, <i>Sept. 1st</i>, 1791.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>However, you know equally well my hurried life, indolent +temper, and strength of attachment. 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.</p> + +<p>I can easily enter into the <i>embarras</i> of your present +situation. You know my favourite quotation from Young—</p> + +<blockquote>On Reason build RESOLVE!<br> +That column of true majesty in man,—</blockquote> + +<p><br> +and that other favourite one from Thomson's "Alfred"—</p> + +<blockquote>What proves the hero truly GREAT,<br> +Is, never, never to despair.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Or, shall I quote you an author of your acquaintance?—</p> + +<blockquote>Whether DOING, SUFFERING, or FORBEARING,<br> +You may do miracles by—PERSEVERING.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +I have nothing new to tell you. The few friends we have are going +on in the old way. I sold my crop on this day se'ennight, and +sold it very well. A guinea an acre, on an average, above value. +But such a scene of drunkenness was hardly ever seen in this +country. After the roup was over, about thirty people engaged in +a battle, every man for his own hand, and fought it out for three +hours. Nor was the scene much better in the house. 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.</p> + +<p>Mrs. B. and family have been in Ayrshire these many weeks.</p> + +<p>Farewell! and God bless you, my dear Friend! R.B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor122">[122]</a> Of +Wanlockhead. Burns got to know him during his frequent journeys +between Ellisland and Mauchline in 1788-9.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXVII—TO MR. AINSLIE.</h4> + +ELLISLAND, 1791. + +<p>My Dear Ainslie,—Can you minister to a mind diseased? can +you, amid the horrors of penitence, regret, remorse, head-ache, +nausea, and all the rest of the damn'd 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?</p> + +<p><i>Miserable perdu</i> that I am, I have tried every thing +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 click of the clock as it slowly, slowly numbers over these +lazy scoundrels of hours, who, damn them, are ranked up before +me, every one at his neighbour's backside, and every one with a +burthen 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 staring me in the face, every one telling a +more bitter tale than his fellow.—When I tell you even —— has +lost its power to please, you will guess something of my hell +within, and all around me.—I began <i>Elibanks and Elibraes</i>, +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 bookcase, 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 correction's sake do not address to me supervisor, +for that is an honour 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, tho' t'other day +I got an appointment to an excise division of £25 <i>per +annum</i> better than the rest. My present income, down money, is +£70 <i>per annum</i>.</p> + +<p>I have one or two good fellows here whom you would be glad to +know.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXVIII.—TO MISS DAVIES.</h4> + +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 ire +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 impertinent jest to a dying friend. + +<p>Gracious Heaven! why this disparity between our wishes and our +powers? Why is the most generous wish to make others blest +impotent and ineffectual as the idle breeze that crosses the +pathless desert? In my walks of life I have met with 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 has 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 pleasure to bestow."</p> + +<p>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 affairs 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 skulk, 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.</p> + +<p>But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill: and I +would pour delight on the heart that could kindly forgive, and +generously love.</p> + +<p>Still the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively +tolerable; 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.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXIX.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +<i>5th January</i> 1792. + +<p>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 +sheet, the political blast that threatened my welfare is +overblown. I have corresponded with Commissioner Graham, for the +Board had made me the subject of their animadversions; and now I +have the pleasure of informing you that all is set to rights in +that quarter. Now as to these informers, may the devil be let +loose to—but, hold! I was praying most fervently in my last +sheet, and I must not so soon fall a swearing in this.</p> + +<p>Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly officious think what +mischief they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect +impertinence, or thoughtless babblings. 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!</p> + +<p>For instance, the amiable circle I so lately mixed with in the +hospitable hall of Dunlop, their generous hearts—their +uncontaminated dignified minds—their informed and polished +understandings—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 unfortunate +being, his faithful wife, and prattling innocents, turned over to +beggary and ruin!</p> + +<p>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 whigmeleerie cup, and told them that it +had been a family-piece among the descendants of William Wallace, +This roused such an enthusiasm, that they insisted on bumpering +the punch round in it; and by-and-by, never did your great +ancestor lay a <i>Southron</i> 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 +returns of the season! May all good things attend you and yours +wherever they are scattered over the earth!</p> + +<p>R.B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXX.—TO MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, PRINTER.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>22nd January</i> 1792. + +<p>I sit down, my dear Sir, to introduce a young lady<a name= +"FNanchor123"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_123">[123]</a></sup> 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 are too +often thrown in the dimmest shades. Mrs. Riddell, 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 of 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 <i>lady +poetesses</i> of the day. She is a great admirer of your book; +and, hearing me say that I was acquainted with you, she 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 relation, and your intimate friend, Craigdarroch, +to have you at his house while she was there; 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 unlucky failing—a +failing which you will easily discover, as she seems rather +pleased with indulging in it; and a failing that you will easily +pardon, as it is a sin which very much besets yourself;—where +she dislikes, or despises, she is apt to make no more a secret of +it, than where she esteems and respects.</p> + +<p>I will not present you with the unmeaning <i>compliments of +the season</i>, 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 +fool; 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.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor123">[123]</a> Maria +Riddell, a gay, clever, young Creole, wife of Walter, brother of +Captain Riddell.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXL—TO MR. WILLIAM NICOL.</h4> + +20<i>th February</i> 1792. + +<p>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, rattleheaded, wrong-headed, round-headed +slave indebted to thy super-eminent 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 proverbs and master of maxims, that +antipode of folly, and magnet among the sages, the wise and witty +Willie Nicol! Amen! Amen! Yea, so be it!</p> + +<p>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 lucarne 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 my countenance be the delight of the godly, like +the illustrious lord of Laggan's many hills?<a name= +"FNanchor124"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_124">[124]</a></sup> As +for him, his works are perfect: never did the pen of calumny blur +the fair page of his reputation, nor the bolt of hatred fly at +his dwelling.</p> + +<p>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 intellectual 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 heaven-bound desires: never did the vapours of +impurity stain the unclouded serene of thy cerulean imagination. +O that like thine 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, O thou lamp of wisdom and mirror of morality! thy +devoted slave,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_124"></a><a href="#FNanchor124">[124]</a> Mr. +Nicol had purchased a small piece of ground called Laggan, on the +Nith. There took place the Bacchanalian scene which called forth +"Willie brew'd a peck o' Maat."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXIL.—TO MR. FRANCIS GROSE, F.S A.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, 1792. + +<p>Among the many witch stories I have heard, relating to Alloway +Kirk, I distinctly remember only two or three.</p> + +<p>Upon a stormy night, amid whistling squalls of wind, and +bitter blasts of hail; in short, on such a night as the devil +would choose to take the air in; a farmer or farmer's servant was +plodding and plashing homeward with his plough-irons on his +shoulder, having been getting some repairs on them at a +neighbouring smithy. His way lay by the kirk of Alloway, and +being rather on the anxious look out in approaching a place so +well known to be a favourite haunt of the devil and the devil's +friends and emissaries, he was struck aghast by discovering +through the horrors of the storm and stormy night, a light, which +on his nearer approach plainly showed itself to proceed from the +haunted edifice. Whether he had been fortified from above on his +devout supplication, as is customary with people when they +suspect the immediate presence of Satan; or whether, according to +another custom, he got courageously drunk at the smithy, I will +not pretend to determine; but so it was that he ventured to go up +to, nay, into the very kirk. As luck would have it his temerity +came off unpunished.</p> + +<p>The members of the infernal junto were all out on some +midnight business or other, and he saw nothing but a kind of +kettle or caldron, depending from the roof, over the fire, +simmering some heads of unchristened children, limbs of executed +malefactors, etc., for the business of the night. It was in for a +penny, in for a pound, with the honest ploughman: so without +ceremony he unhooked the caldron from off the fire, and, pouring +out the damn'd ingredients, inverted it on his head, and carried +it fairly home, where it remained long in the family, a living +evidence of the truth of the story.</p> + +<p>Another story, which I can prove to be equally authentic, is +as follows:</p> + +<p>On a market day in the town of Ayr a farmer from Carrick, and +consequently whose way lay by the very gate of Alloway kirk-yard, +in order to cross the river Doon at the old Bridge, which is +about two or three hundred yards farther on than the said gate, +had been detained by his business, till by the time he reached +Alloway it was the wizard hour, between night and morning.</p> + +<p>Though he was terrified with a blaze streaming from the kirk, +yet as it is a well-known fact that to turn back on these +occasions is running by far the greatest risk of mischief, he +prudently advanced on his road. When he had reached the gate of +the kirk-yard, he was surprised and entertained, through the ribs +and arches of an old gothic window, which still faces the +highway, to see a dance of witches merrily footing it round their +old sooty blackguard master, who was keeping them all alive with +the power of his bagpipe. The farmer stopping his horse to +observe them a little, could plainly descry the faces of many old +women of his acquaintance and neighbourhood. How the gentleman +was dressed tradition does not say; but that the ladies were all +in their smocks: and one of them happening unluckily to have a +smock which was considerably too short to answer all the purpose +of that piece of dress, our farmer was so tickled that he +involuntarily burst out with a loud laugh, "Weel luppen, Maggy +wi' the short sark!" and recollecting himself, instantly spurred +his horse to the top of his speed. I need not mention the +universally known fact, that no diabolical power can pursue you +beyond the middle of a running stream. Lucky it was for the poor +farmer that the river Doon was so near, for, notwithstanding the +speed of his horse, which was a good one, against he reached the +middle of the arch of the bridge, and consequently the middle of +the stream, the pursuing, vengeful hags were so close at his +heels, that one of them actually sprung to seize him; but it was +too late; nothing was on her side of the stream but the horse's +tail, which immediately gave way at her infernal grip, as if +blasted by a stroke of lightning; but the farmer was beyond her +reach. However, the unsightly, tail-less condition of the +vigorous steed was to the last hour of the noble creature's life, +an awful warning to the Carrick farmers, not to stay too late in +Ayr markets.</p> + +<p>The last relation I shall give, though equally true, is not so +well identified as the two former, with regard to the scene; but +as the best authorities give it for Alloway, I shall relate +it.</p> + +<p>On a summer's evening, about the time nature puts on her +sables to mourn the expiry of the cheerful day, a shepherd boy, +belonging to a farmer in the immediate neighbourhood of Alloway +kirk, had just folded his charge, and was returning home. As he +passed the kirk, in the adjoining field he fell in with a crew of +men and women, who were busy pulling stems of the plant ragwort. +He observed that as each person pulled a ragwort, he or she got +astride of it, and called out, "Up, horsie!" on which the ragwort +flew off, like Pegasus, through the air with its rider. The +foolish boy likewise pulled his ragwort, and cried with the rest, +"Up, horsie!" and, strange to tell, away he flew with the +company. The first stage at which the cavalcade stopt was a +merchant's wine-cellar in Bourdeaux, where, without saying "By +your leave," they quaffed away at the best the cellar could +afford, until the morning, foe to the imps and works of darkness, +threatened to throw light on the matter, and frightened them from +their carousals.</p> + +<p>The poor shepherd lad, being equally a stranger to the scene +and the liquor, heedlessly got himself drunk; and when the rest +took horse, he fell asleep, and was found so next day by some of +the people belonging to the merchant. Somebody that understood +Scotch, asking him what he was, he said such a-one's herd in +Alloway, and by some means or other getting home again, he lived +long to tell the world the wondrous tale.<a name= +"FNanchor125"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_125">[125]</a></sup></p> + +<p>R. B.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_125"></a><a href="#FNanchor125">[125]</a> +<i>Cp.Hogg's Witch of Fife.</i><br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXIIL.—TO MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +ANNAN WATER FOOT, 22<i>nd August</i> 1792. + +<p>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, etc., has continued to punish me +sufficiently.</p> + +<p>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 worth; and to the honest, kind, pleasurable tie of, now old +acquaintance, and I hope and am sure of progressive, increasing +friendship—as, for a single day, not to think of you nor to ask +the Fates what they are doing and about to do with my much loved +friend and her wide scattered connections, and to beg of them to +be as kind to you and yours as they possibly can?</p> + +<p>Apropos! (though how it is apropos I have not leisure to +explain) do you know that I am almost in love with an +acquaintance of yours?—Almost! said I—I <i>am</i> in love, +souse! over head and ears, deep as the most unfathomable abyss of +the boundless ocean; but the word Love, owing to the +<i>intermingledoms</i> 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 Messenger of +Heaven, appearing 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 +their imaginations soar in transport—such, so delighting and so +pure, were the emotions of my soul on meeting the other day with +Miss Lesley Baillie, your neighbour at Mayfield. Mr. B., with his +two daughters, accompanied by Mr. H. of G., passing through +Dumfries a few days ago, on their way to England, did me the +honour of calling on me; on which I took my horse (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 ballad beginning +with—</p> + +<blockquote>My bonnie Lizzie Bailie,<br> +I'll lowe thee in my plaidie, (etc,)</blockquote> + +<p><br> +So I parodied it as follows, which is literally the first copy, +"unanointed, unanneal'd," as Hamlet says,—</p> + +<blockquote>O saw ye bonny Lesley<br> +As she gaed o'er the border?<br> +She's gane, like Alexander,<br> +To spread her conquests farther, (etc.)</blockquote> + +<p><br> +So much for ballads. I regret that you are gone to the east +country, as I am to be in Ayrshire in about a fortnight. This +world of ours, notwithstanding it has many good things in it, yet +it has ever had this curse, that two or three people, who would +be the happier the oftener they met together, are, almost without +exception, always so placed as never to meet but once or twice +a-year, which, considering 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 the worthy of this life will renew their former +intimacies, with this endearing addition, that "we meet to part +no more"</p> + +<blockquote>Tell us, ye dead,<br> +Will none of you in pity disclose the secret<br> +What 'tis you are, and we must shortly be!</blockquote> + +<p><br> +A thousand times have I made this apostrophe to the departed sons +of men, but not one of them 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, must make the experiment by +ourselves, and for ourselves. However, I am so convinced that an +unskaken faith in the doctrines of religion is not only +necessary, by making us better men, but also by making us happier +men, that I shall take every care that your little godson, and +every little creature that shall call me father, shall be taught +them. So ends this heterogeneous letter, written at this wild +place of the world, in the intervals of my labour of discharging +a vessel of rum from Antigua.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXIV.—TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, 10<i>th September</i> 1792. + +<p>No! I will 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 +correcting the press-work of two different 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 (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 meikle horned deil, or any of his +subaltern imps who may be on their nightly rounds.</p> + +<p>But what shall I write to you?—"The voice said, cry," and I +said, "What shall I cry?"—O, thou spirit! whatever thou 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, without 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 advocate, or the tête of a +tea-sipping gossip, while their tongues run at the 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.</p> + +<p>I feel, I feel the presence of supernatural assistance! +Circled in the embrace of my elbow-chair, my breast labours, +liked the bloated Sibyl on her three-footed stool, and like her +too, labours with Nonsense. Nonsense, auspicious name! Tutor, +friend, and finger-post in the mystic mazes of law; the +cadaverous paths of physic: and particularly in the sightless +soarings of SCHOOL DIVINITY, who, leaving Common Sense confounded +at the strength of his pinion; Reason delirious with eyeing his +giddy flight; and Truth creeping back into the bottom of her +well, cursing the hour that ever she offered her scorned alliance +to the wizard power of Theologic Vision-raves abroad on all the +winds:— "On earth discord! a gloomy Heaven above, opening her +jealous gates to the nineteen-thousandth part of the tithe of +mankind! and below, an inescapable and inexorable hell, expanding +its leviathan jaws for the vast residue of mortals!!! "—O +doctrine! comfortable and healing to the weary wounded soul of +man! Ye sons and daughters of affliction, ye <i>pauvres +miserables,</i> to whom day brings no pleasure, and night yields +no rest, be comforted! 'Tis but <i>one</i> to nineteen hundred +thousand that your situation will mend in this world; so, alas, +the experience of the poor and needy too often affirms; and 'tis +nineteen hundred thousand to <i>one,</i> by the dogmas of +Theology, that you will be condemned eternally in the world to +come!</p> + +<p>But of all Nonsense, Religious Nonsense is the most +nonsensical; so enough, and more than enough, of it. Only, +by-the-bye, will you, or can you tell me, my dear Cunningham, why +a sectarian turn of mind has always a tendency to narrow and +illiberalise the heart? They are orderly; they may be just; nay, +I have known them merciful: but still your children of sanctity +move among their fellow-creatures with a nostril snuffing +putrescence, and a foot spurning filth—in short, with a +conceited dignity that your titled Douglases, or any other of +your Scottish lordlings of seven centuries standing, display when +they accidentally mix among the many-aproned sons of mechanical +life. I remember, in my plough-boy days, I could not conceive it +possible that a noble lord could be a fool, or a godly man could +be a knave. How ignorant are plough-boys!—Nay, I have since +discovered that a <i>godly woman</i> may be a—!—But +hold—here's t'ye again—this rum is generous Antigua, so a very +unfit menstruum for scandal.</p> + +<p>Apropos, how do you like, I mean <i>really</i> 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, (<i>en passant</i>—you know I am no Latinist-is not +<i>conjugal</i> derived from <i>jugum</i>, a yoke?) Well, then, +the scale of good wifeship I divide into ten parts. Good-nature, +four; Good Sense, two; Wit, one; Personal Charms, viz., a sweet +face, eloquent eyes, fine limbs, graceful carriage (I would add a +fine waist too, but that is so 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, etc., divide the two remaining +degrees among them as you please; only, remember that all these +minor properties must be expressed by <i>fractions,</i> for there +is not any one of them, in the aforesaid scale, entitled to the +dignity of an <i>integer</i>.</p> + +<p>As for the rest of my fancies and reveries—how I lately met +with 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 +which these two stanzas make a part—</p> + +<blockquote>Thou, bonnie Lesley, art a queen,<br> +Thy subjects we before thee;<br> +Thou, bonnie Lesley, art divine,<br> +The hearts o' men adore thee.<br> +The very deil he could na scathe<br> +Whatever wad belang thee!<br> +He'd look into thy bonnie face<br> +And say, "I canna wrang thee"—</blockquote> + +<p><br> +behold all these things are written in the chronicles of my +imagination, and shall be read by thee, my dear friend, and by +thy beloved spouse, my other dear friend, at a more convenient +season.</p> + +<p>Now to thee and thy wife [<i>etc.</i>—a mock +benediction.]</p> + +<p>R.B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXV.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>24th September 1792</i>. + +<p>I have this moment, my dear Madam, yours of the twenty-third. +All your other kind reproaches, your news, etc., are out of my +head when I read and think of Mrs. Henri's<a name= +"FNanchor126"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_126">[126]</a></sup> +situation. Good God! a heart-wounded helpless young woman—in a +strange, foreign land, and that land convulsed with 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!</p> + +<p>I wish the farmer great joy of his new acquisition to his +family.... I cannot say that I give Him joy of his life as a +farmer. 'Tis, as a farmer paying a dear, unconscionable rent, a +<i>cursed life!</i> 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 his herds; shearing his flocks; rejoicing +at Christmas; and begetting sons and daughters, until he be the +venerated, grey-haired leader of a little tribe—'tis a heavenly +life! but devil take the life of reaping the fruits that another +must eat!</p> + +<p>Well, your kind wishes will be gratified, as to seeing me when +I make my Ayrshire visit. I cannot leave Mrs. Burns until her +nine months' race is run, which may perhaps be in three or four +weeks. 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 be so much the more pleased. I hope, if I am spared with +them, to show 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 charmingly, but is a very deil. 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.</p> + +<p>You know how readily we get into prattle upon a subject dear +to our heart: you can excuse it. God bless you and yours!<br> +<a name="Footnote_126"></a><a href="#FNanchor126">[126]</a> Her +daughter, ill in France.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXVI.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +<i>Supposed to have been written on the Death of Mirs. Henri, her +daughter, at Muges.</i> + +<p>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 +much-valued, much-afflicted friend! I can but grieve with you; +consolation I have none to offer, except that which religion +holds out to the children of affliction—<i>children of +affliction!</i>—how just the expression! 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.</p> + +<p>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 +night of misery: like the gloom which blots out the stars, one by +one, from the face of night, and leaves us, without a ray of +comfort, in the howling waste!</p> + +<p>I am interrupted, and must leave off. You shall soon hear from +me again.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXVII.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>6th December 1792.</i> + +<p>I shall be in Ayrshire, I think, next week; and, if at all +possible, I shall certainly, my much esteemed friend, have the +pleasure of visiting at Dunlop House.</p> + +<p>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 +acquaintances little thought to meet with there so soon. Every +other instance of the mortality of our kind makes us cast an +anxious look into the dreadful abyss of uncertainty, and shudder +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 ago 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 "staff and shield." By the way, these helpless ones have +lately got an addition—Mrs. B. having given me a fine girl since +I wrote you. There is a charming passage in Thomson's" Edward and +Eleanora:"<br> +The valiant, <i>in himself</i> what can he suffer?<br> +Or what need he regard his <i>single</i> woes? (etc.)</p> + +<p>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, from +his "Alfred:"<br> +Attach thee firmly to the virtuous deeds<br> +And offices of life; to life itself,<br> +With all its vain and transient joys, sit loose.</p> + +<p>Probably I have quoted these to you formerly, as indeed, when +I write from the heart, I am apt to be guilty of repetitions. The +compass of the heart, in the musical style of expression, is much +more bounded than that of the imagination; so the notes of the +former are extremely apt to run into one another; but in return +for the paucity of its compass, its few notes are much more +sweet....</p> + +<p>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 the republican spirit, of your part of +the kingdom. Indeed, we are a good deal in commotion ourselves. +For me, I am a placeman, you know; a very humble one indeed, +Heaven knows, but still so much as to gag me. What my private +sentiments are, you will find out without an interpreter.</p> + +<p>I have taken up the subject, and the other day, for a pretty +actress's benefit night, I wrote an address, which I will give on +the other page, called "The Rights of Woman." I shall have the +honour of receiving your criticisms in person at Dunlop.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXVIII.—To MR. R. GRAHAM, FINTRY.</h4> + +<i>December 1792.</i> + +<p>Sir,—I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted, by +Mr. Mitchel, the collector, telling me that he has received an +order from your Board to inquire into my political conduct, and +blaming me as a person disaffected to government.</p> + +<p>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 disgraced from a situation in which they had been +respectable and respected, and left almost without the necessary +support of a miserable existence. Alas, Sir! must I think that +such, soon, will be my lot! and from the damn'd, dark +insinuations of hellish, groundless envy too! I believe, Sir, I +may aver it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not +tell a deliberate falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, +if worse can be, than those I have mentioned, hung over my head; +and I say, that the allegation, whatever villain has made it, is +a lie! To the British Constitution, on revolution principles, +next after my God, I am most devoutly attached. You, Sir, have +been much and generously my friend: Heaven knows how warmly I +have felt the obligation, and how gratefully I have thanked you. +Fortune, Sir, has made you powerful, and me impotent; has given +you patronage, and me dependence. I would not for my single self +call on your humanity; were such my insular, unconnected +situation, I would 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 Courage, and +wither Resolution! To your patronage, as a man of some genius, +you have allowed me a claim; and your esteem, as an honest man, I +know is my due: to these, Sir, permit me to appeal; by these may +I adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to +overwhelm me, and which, with my latest breath I will say it, I +have not deserved.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXIX.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>31st December 1792.</i> + +<p>Dear Madam,—A hurry of business, thrown in heaps by my +absence, has until now prevented my returning my grateful +acknowledgments 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 pleasantest I +ever enjoyed. Alas, my dearest friend! how few and fleeting are +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!</p> + +<p><i>Jan. 2nd, 1793.</i></p> + +<p>I have just received yours of the 30th, and feel much for your +situation. However, I heartily rejoice in your 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 insinuate, that in my way of life I want exercise. Of +that I have enough; but occasional hard drinking is the devil to +me. Against this I 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, that do me the mischief—but even this +I have more than half given over.</p> + +<p>Mr. Corbet can be of little service to me at present; at least +I should be shy of applying. I cannot possibly be settled as a +supervisor 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 +wish to let that matter settle before I offer myself too much in +the 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 show the +undisguised emotions of my soul. War I deprecate: misery and ruin +to thousands are in the blast that announces the destructive +demon. But....</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXX.—To MR. ROBERT GRAHAM OF FINTRY.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>Morning of 5th Jan.</i> 1793. + +<p>Sir,—I am this moment honoured with your letter. With what +feelings I received this other instance of your goodness I shall +not pretend to describe.</p> + +<p>Now to the charges which malice and misrepresentation have +brought against me.<a name="FNanchor127"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_127">[127]</a></sup> It has been said, it seems, that +I not only belong to, but head a disaffected party in this town. +I know of no party here, republican or reform, except an old +Burgh-Reform party, with which I never had anything to do. +Individuals, both republican and reform, we have, though not many +of either; but if they have associated, it is more than I have +the least knowledge of, and if such an association exist it must +consist of such obscure, nameless beings as precludes any +possibility of my being known to them, or they to me.</p> + +<p>I was in the playhouse one night when <i>Cà Ira</i> was +called for. I was in the middle of the pit, and from the pit the +clamour arose. One or two persons, with whom I occasionally +associate, were of the party, but I neither knew of, nor joined +in the plot, nor at all opened my lips to hiss or huzza that, or +any other political tune whatever. I looked on myself as far too +obscure a man to have any weight in quelling a riot, and at the +same time as a person of higher respectability than to yell to +the howlings of a rabble. I never uttered any invectives against +the king. His private worth it is altogether impossible that such +a man as I can appreciate; but in his public capacity I always +revered, and always will with the soundest loyalty revere the +monarch of Great Britain as—to speak in masonic—the sacred +keystone of our royal arch constitution. As to Reform principles, +I look upon the British Constitution, as settled at the +Revolution, to be the most glorious on earth, or that perhaps the +wit of man can frame; at the same time I think, not alone, that +we have a good deal deviated from the original principles of that +Constitution,—particularly, that an alarming system of +corruption has pervaded the connection between the Executive and +the House of Commons. This is the whole truth of my Reform +opinions, which, before I knew the complexion of these innovating +times, I too unguardedly as I now see sported with: henceforth I +seal up my lips. But I never dictated to, corresponded with, or +had the least connection with any political association whatever. +Of Johnstone, the publisher of the <i>Edinburgh Gazetteer</i>, I +know nothing. One evening, in company with four or five friends, +we met with his prospectus, which we thought manly and +independent; and I wrote to him, ordering his paper for us. If +you think I act improperly in allowing his paper to come +addressed to me, I shall immediately countermand it. I never +wrote a line of prose to <i>The Gazetteer</i> in my life. An +address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle on her benefit night, and +which I called "The Rights of Woman," I sent to <i>The +Gazetteer</i>, as also some stanzas on the Commemoration of the +poet Thomson: both of these I will subjoin for your perusal. You +will see they have nothing whatever to do with politics.</p> + +<p>As to France, I was her enthusiastic votary in the beginning +of the business. When she came to shew her old avidity for +conquest by annexing Savoy and invading the rights of Holland, I +altered my sentiments.</p> + +<p>This, my honoured patron, is all. To this statement I +challenge disquisition. Mistaken prejudice or unguarded passion +may mislead, have often misled me; but when called on to answer +for my mistakes, though no man can feel keener compunction for +them, yet no man can be more superior to evasion or disguise.—I +have the honour to be, Sir, your ever grateful, etc.,</p> + +<p>ROBT. BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_127"></a><a href="#FNanchor127">[127]</a> +Because of what Burns elsewhere called "Some temeraire conduct of +mine, in the political opinions of the day."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXI.—TO MR. ALEX. CUNNINGHAM, W.S., EDINBURGH.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>20th Feb</i>. 1793. + +<p>What are you doing? What hurry have you got on your head, my +dear Cunningham, that I have not heard from you? Are you deeply +engaged in the mazes of the Jaw, the mysteries of love, or the +profound wisdom of <i>politics</i>? Curse on the word!</p> + +<p><i>Q</i>. What is Politics?</p> + +<p><i>A</i>. It is a science wherewith, by means of nefarious +cunning and hypocritical pretence, we govern civil politics (sic) +for the emolument of ourselves and adherents.</p> + +<p>Q. What is a minister?</p> + +<p>A. An unprincipled fellow who, by the influence of hereditary +or acquired wealth, by superior abilities or by a lucky +conjuncture of circumstances, obtains a principal place in the +administration of the affairs of government.</p> + +<p>Q. What is a patriot?</p> + +<p>A. An individual exactly of the same description as a +minister, only out of place.</p> + +<p>I was interrupted in my Catechism, and am returned at a late +hour just to subscribe my name, and to put you in mind of the +forgotten friend of that name who is still in the land of the +living, though I can hardly say in the place of hope.</p> + +<p>I made the enclosed sonnet<a name="FNanchor128"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_128">[128]</a></sup> the other day. Adieu!</p> + +<p>ROBT. BURNS.<br> +<a name="Footnote_128"></a><a href="#FNanchor128">[128]</a> "On +Hearing a Thrush Sing."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXIL—To MR. CUNNINGHAM.</h4> + +3rd March 1793. + +<p>Since I wrote to you the last lugubrious sheet, I have not had +time to write to you farther. When I say that I had not time, +that, as usual, means that the three demons, indolence, business, +and ennui, have so completely shared my hours among them, as not +to leave me a five minutes' fragment to take up a pen in.</p> + +<p>Thank Heaven, I feel my spirits buoying upwards with the +renovating year. Now I shall in good earnest take up Thomson's +songs. I dare say he thinks I have used him unkindly, and I must +own with too much appearance of truth...</p> + +<p>There is one commission that I must trouble you with. I lately +lost a valuable seal, a present from a departed friend, which +vexes me much. I have gotten one of your Highland pebbles, which +I fancy would make a very decent one; and I want to cut my +armorial bearing on it; will you be so obliging as inquire what +will be the expense of such a business? I do not know that my +name is matriculated, as the heralds call it, at all; but I have +invented arms for myself, so you know I shall be chief of the +name; and, by courtesy of Scotland, will likewise be entitled to +supporters. These, however, I do not intend having on my seal. I +am a bit of a herald, and shall give you, <i>secundum artem</i>, +my arms. On a field, azure, a holly bush, seeded, proper, in +base; a shepherd's pipe and crook, saltier-wise, also proper, in +chief. On a wreath of the colours, a wood-lark perching on a +sprig of bay-tree, proper, for crest. Two mottoes; round the top +of the crest, <i>Wood notes wild</i>; at the bottom of the +shield, in the usual place, <i>Better a wee bush than nae +bield</i>. By the shepherd's pipe and crook I do not mean the +nonsense of painters of Arcadia, but a <i>Stock and Horn</i>, and +a <i>Club</i> such as you see at the head of Allan Ramsay, in +Allan's quarto edition of the "Gentle Shepherd." By-the-bye, do +you know Allan? He must be a man of very great genius—Why is he +not more known?—Has he no patrons? or do "Poverty's cold wind +and crushing rain beat keen and heavy" on him? I once, and but +once, got a glance of that noble edition of the noblest pastoral +in the world: and dear as it was, I mean dear as to my pocket, I +would have bought it; but I was told that it was printed and +engraved for subscribers only. He is the <i>only</i> artist who +has hit <i>genuine</i> pastoral <i>costume</i>. What, my dear +Cunningham, is there in riches, that they narrow and harden the +heart so? I think, that were I as rich as the sun, I should be as +generous as the day: but as I have no reason to imagine my soul a +nobler one than any other man's, I must conclude that wealth +imparts a bird-lime quality to the possessor, at which the man, +in his native poverty, would have revolted. What has led me to +this, is the idea of such merit as Mr. Allan possesses, and such +riches as a nabob or government contractor possesses, and why +they do not form a mutual league. Let wealth shelter and cherish +unprotected merit, and the gratitude and celebrity of that merit +will richly repay it.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXIII.—To Miss BENSON, YORK, AFTERWARDS MRS. BASIL +MONTAGU.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>21st March 1793.</i> + +<p>Madam,—Among many things for which I envy those hale, +long-lived old fellows before the flood, is this in particular, +that when they met with anybody after their own heart, they had a +charming long prospect of many, many happy meetings with them in +after-life.</p> + +<p>Now, in this short, stormy, winter day of our fleeting +existence, when you now and then, in the Chapter of Accidents, +meet an individual whose acquaintance is a real acquisition, +there are all the probabilities against you, that you shall never +meet with that valued character more. On the other hand, brief as +this miserable being is, it is none of the least of the miseries +belonging to it, that if there is any miscreant whom you hate, or +creature whom you despise, the ill-run of the chances shall be so +against you, that in the over takings, turnings, and jostlings of +life, pop! at some unlucky corner, eternally comes the wretch +upon you, and will not allow your indignation or contempt a +moment's repose. As I am a sturdy believer in the powers of +darkness, I take these to be the doings of that old author of +mischief, the devil. It is well known that he has some kind of +short-hand way of taking down our thoughts, and I make no doubt +that he is perfectly acquainted with my sentiments respecting +Miss Benson; how much I admired her abilities and valued her +worth, and how very fortunate I thought myself in her +acquaintance. For this last reason, my dear Madam, I must +entertain no hopes of the very great pleasure of meeting with you +again.—I am, etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXIV.-To MR. JOHN FRANCIS ERSKINE, OF MAR.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, 13th <i>April 1793</i>. + +<p>Sir,—Degenerate as human nature is said to be—and in many +instances worthless and unprincipled it is—still there are +bright examples to the contrary: examples that, even in the eyes +of superior beings, must shed a lustre on the name of Man.</p> + +<p>Such an example have I now before me, when you, Sir, came +forward to patronise and befriend a distant and obscure stranger, +merely because poverty had made him helpless, and his British +hardihood of mind had provoked the arbitrary of wantonness and +power. My much esteemed friend, Mr, Riddel of Glenriddel, has +just read me a paragraph of a letter he had from you. Accept, +Sir, of the silent throb of gratitude, for words would but mock +the emotions of my soul.</p> + +<p>You have been misinformed as to my final dismissal from the +Excise; I am still in the service. Indeed, but for the exertions +of a gentleman who must be known to you, Mr. Graham of Fintry, a +gentleman who has ever been my warm and generous friend, I had, +without so much as a hearing, or the slightest previous +intimation, been turned adrift, with my helpless family, to all +the horrors of want. Had I had any other resource, probably I +might have saved them the trouble of a dismissal; but the little +money I gained by my publication is almost every guinea embarked +to save from ruin an only brother, who, though one of the +worthiest, is by no means one of the most fortunate of men.</p> + +<p>In my defence to their accusations, I said, that whatever +might be my sentiments of republics, ancient or modern, as to +Britain, I abjured the idea: That a constitution, which, in its +original principles, experience had proved to be every way fitted +for our happiness in society, it would be insanity to sacrifice +to an untried visionary theory: That, in consideration of my +being situated in a department, however humble, immediately in +the hands of people in power, I had forborne taking any active +part, either personally, or as an author, in the present business +of Reform: but that, where I must declare my sentiments, I would +say there existed a system of corruption between the executive +power and the representative part of the legislature, which boded +no good to our glorious constitution, and which every patriotic +Briton must wish to see amended. Some such sentiments as these I +stated in a letter to my generous patron, Mr. Graham, which he +laid before the Board at large; where, it seems, my last remark +gave great offence: and one of our supervisors-general, a Mr. +Corbet, was instructed to inquire on the spot, and to document +me—"that my business was to act, <i>not to think</i>; and that +whatever might be men or measures, it was for me to be +<i>silent</i> and <i>obedient</i>".</p> + +<p>Mr. Corbet was likewise my steady friend; so between Mr. +Graham and him I have been partly forgiven; only I understand +that all hopes of my getting officially forward are blasted.</p> + +<p>Now, Sir, to the business in which I would more immediately +interest you. The partiality of my countrymen has brought me +forward as a man of genius, and has given me a character to +support. In the Poet I have avowed manly and independent +sentiments, which I trust will be found in the man. Reasons of no +less weight than the support of a wife and family, have pointed +out as the eligible, and situated as I was, the only eligible +line of life for me, my present occupation. Still my honest fame +is my dearest concern; and a thousand times have I trembled at +the idea of those <i>degrading</i> epithets that malice or +misrepresentation may affix to my name. I have often, in blasting +anticipation, listened to some future hackney scribbler, with the +heavy malice of savage stupidity, exulting in his hireling +paragraphs—"Burns, notwithstanding the <i>fanfaronade</i> of +independence to be found in his works, and after having been held +forth to public view and to public estimation as a man of some +genius, yet, quite destitute of resources within himself to +support his borrowed dignity, he dwindled into a paltry +exciseman, and slunk out the rest of his insignificant existence +in the meanest of pursuits, and among the vilest of mankind."</p> + +<p>In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me to lodge my +disavowal and defiance of these slanderous falsehoods. Burns was +a poor man from birth, and an exciseman by necessity; but—I will +say it! the sterling of his honest worth no poverty could debase, +and his independent British mind, oppression might bend, but +could not subdue. Have not I, to me a more precious stake in my +country's welfare, than the richest dukedom in it?—I have a +large family of children, and the prospect of more. I have three +sons, who, I see already, have brought into the world souls ill +qualified to inhabit the bodies of slaves.—Can I look tamely on, +and see any machinations to wrest from them the birthright of my +boys,—the little independent Britons, in whose veins runs my own +blood?—No! I will not! should my heart's blood stream around my +attempt to defend it!</p> + +<p>Does any man tell me that my full efforts can be of no +service; and that it does not belong to my humble station to +meddle with the concerns of a nation?</p> + +<p>I can tell him that it is on such individuals as I that a +nation has to rest, both for the hand of support and the eye of +intelligence. The uninformed mob may swell a nation's bulk; and +the titled, tinsel, courtly throng may be its feathered ornament; +but the number of those who are elevated enough in life to reason +and to reflect, yet low enough to keep clear of the venal +contagion of a court!—these are a nation's strength.</p> + +<p>I know not how to apologise for the impertinent length of this +epistle; but one small request I must ask of you farther—When +you have honoured this letter with a perusal, please to commit it +to the flames. Burns, in whose behalf you have so generously +interested yourself, I have here, in his native colours, drawn as +he is; but should any of the people in whose hands is the very +bread he eats, get the least knowledge of the picture, it would +ruin the poor bard for ever!</p> + +<p>My poems having just come out in another edition, I beg leave +to present you with a copy as a small mark of that high esteem +and ardent gratitude with which I have the honour to be, Sir, +your deeply indebted, and ever devoted, humble servant,</p> + +<p>R. B.<a name="FNanchor129"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_129">[129]</a></sup><br> +<a name="Footnote_129"></a><a href="#FNanchor129">[129]</a> This +letter was penned in response to the sympathy which Mr. Erskine +had expressed for Burns in a letter to Captain Riddell of Carse, +when Burns was taken to task by the Board of Excise for his +political opinions.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXV.—To MISS M'MORDO, DRUMLANRIG.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>Juy 1793.</i> + +<p>... Now let me add a few wishes which every man, who has +himself the honour of being a father, must breathe when he sees +female youth, beauty, and innocence about to enter into this +chequered and very precarious world. May you, my young madam, +escape that frivolity which threatens universally to pervade the +minds and manners of fashionable life, The mob of fashionable +female youth—what are they? Are they anything? They prattle, +laugh, sing, dance, finger a lesson, or perhaps turn the pages of +a fashionable novel; but are their minds stored with any +information worthy of the noble powers of reason and judgment? +and do their hearts glow with sentiment, ardent, generous, or +humane? Were I to poetize on the subject I would call them the +butterflies of the human kind, remarkable only for the idle +variety of their ordinary glare, sillily straying from one +blossoming weed to another, without a meaning or an aim, the +idiot prey of every pirate of the skies who thinks them worth his +while as he wings his way by them, and speedily by wintry time +swept to that oblivion whence they might as well never have +appeared. Amid this crowd of nothings may you be something, +etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXVI.—To JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ., DRUMLANRIG.</h4> + +This is a painful, disagreeable letter, and the first of the kind +I ever wrote. I am truly in serious distress for three or four +guineas: can you, my dear sir, accommodate me? These accursed +times by tripping up importation have, for this year at least, +lopped off a full third of my income;<a name= +"FNanchor130"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_130">[130]</a></sup> +and with my large family this is to me a distressing matter. + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_130"></a><a href="#FNanchor130">[130]</a> Never +more than 70 UK pounds.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXVII.—To MRS. RIDDEL.</h4> + +Dear Madam,—I meant to have called on you yesternight, but as I +edged up to your box-door, the first object which greeted my +view, was one of those lobster-coated puppies<a name= +"FNanchor131"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_131">[131]</a></sup> +sitting like another dragon, guarding the Hesperian fruit. On the +conditions and capitulations you so obligingly offer, I shall +certainly make my weather-beaten rustic phiz a part of your +box-furniture on Tuesday; when we may arrange the business of the +visit. + +<p>Among the profusion of idle compliments, which insidious +craft, or unmeaning folly, incessantly offer at your shrine—a +shrine, how far exalted above such adoration—permit me, were it +but for rarity's sake, to pay you the honest tribute of a warm +heart and an independent mind; and to assure you that I am, thou +most amiable, and most accomplished of thy sex, with the most +respectful esteem, and fervent regard, thine, etc.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor131">[131]</a> +Military officers.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXVIII.—To MRS. RIDDEL.</h4> + +I will wait on you, my ever valued friend, but whether in the +morning I am not sure. Sunday closes a period of our curst +revenue business, and may probably keep me employed with my pen +until noon. Fine employment for a poet's pen! There is a species +of human genus that I call <i>the gin-horse class</i>: what +enviable dogs they are! Round, and round, and round they +go,—Mundell's ox, that drives his cotton mill, is their exact +prototype—without an idea or wish beyond their circle; fat, +sleek, stupid, patient, quiet, and contented; while here I sit, +altogether Novemberish, a damn'd melange of fretfulness and +melancholy; not enough of the one to rouse me to passion, nor of +the other to repose me in torpor; my soul flouncing and +fluttering round her tenement, like a wild finch, caught amid the +horrors of winter, and newly thrust into a cage. Well, I am +persuaded that it was of me the Hebrew sage prophesied, when he +foretold— "And behold, on whatsoever this man doth set his +heart, it shall not prosper!" If my resentment is awaked, it is +sure to be where it dare not squeak; and if—.... + +<p>Pray that wisdom and bliss be more frequent visitors of</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CLXXXIX.—To MRS. RIDDEL.</h4> + +I have often told you, my dear friend, that you had a spice of +caprice in your composition, and you have as often disavowed it; +even perhaps while your opinions were, at the moment, +irrefragably proving it. Could any thing estrange me from a +friend such as you?—No! To-morrow I shall have the honour of +waiting on you. + +<p>Farewell, thou first of friends, and most accomplished of +women I even with all thy little caprices!</p> + +<p>R B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXC.—To MRS. RIDDEL.</h4> + +Madam,—I return your commonplace book. I have perused it with +much pleasure, and would have continued my criticisms, but as it +seems the critic has forfeited your esteem, his strictures must +lose their value. + +<p>If it is true that "offences come only from the heart," before +you I am guiltless. To admire, esteem, and prize you as the most +accomplished of women, and the first of friends—if these are +crimes, I am the most offending thing alive.</p> + +<p>In a face where I used to meet the kind complacency of +friendly confidence, <i>now</i> to find cold neglect and +contemptuous scorn—is a wrench that my heart can ill bear. It +is, however, some kind of miserable good luck, that while +<i>de-haut-en-bas</i> rigour may depress an unoffending wretch to +the ground, it has a tendency to rouse a stubborn something in +his bosom, which, though it cannot heal the wounds of his soul, +is at least an opiate to blunt their poignancy.</p> + +<p>With the profoundest respect for your abilities, the most +sincere esteem and ardent regard for your gentle heart and +amiable manners, and the most fervent wish and prayer for your +welfare, peace, and bliss, I have the honour to be, Madam, your +most devoted humble servant.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCI.—TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.</h4> + +25<i>th February</i> 1794. + +<p>Canst thou minister to a mind diseased? Canst thou speak peace +and rest to a soul tost on a sea of troubles, without one +friendly star to guide her course, and dreading that the next +surge may overwhelm her? Canst thou give to a frame, tremblingly +alive to the tortures of suspense, the stability and hardihood of +the rock that braves the blast? If thou canst not do the least of +these, why wouldst thou disturb me in my miseries, with thy +inquiries after me?</p> + +<p>For these two months I have not been able to lift a pen. My +constitution and frame were, <i>ab origine</i>, blasted with a +deep incurable taint of hypochondria, which poisons my existence. +Of late a number of domestic vexations, and some pecuniary share +in the ruin of these cursed times; losses which, though trifling, +were yet what I could ill bear, have so irritated me, that my +feelings at times could only be envied by a reprobate spirit +listening to the sentence that dooms it to perdition.</p> + +<p>Are you deep in the language of consolation? I have exhausted +in reflection every topic of comfort. <i>A heart at ease</i> +would have been charmed with my sentiments and reasonings; but as +to myself, I was like Judas Iscariot preaching the gospel; he +might melt and mould the hearts of those around him, but his own +kept its native incorrigibility.</p> + +<p>Still there are two great pillars that bear us up, amid the +wreck of misfortune and misery. The ONE is composed of the +different modifications of a certain noble, stubborn something in +a man, known by the names of courage, fortitude, magnanimity. The +OTHER is made up of those feelings and sentiments, which, however +the sceptic may deny them, or the enthusiast disfigure them, are +yet, I am convinced, original and component parts of the human +soul; those <i>senses of the mind</i> if I may be allowed the +expression, which connect us with, and link us to, those awful +obscure realities—an all-powerful, and equally beneficent God; +and a world to come, beyond death and the grave. The first gives +the nerve of combat, while a ray of hope beams on the field: the +last pours the balm of comfort into the wounds which time can +never cure.</p> + +<p>I do not remember, my dear Cunningham, that you and I ever +talked on the subject of religion at all. I know some who laugh +at it, as the trick of the crafty FEW, to lead the undiscerning +MANY; or at most, as an uncertain obscurity which mankind can +never know anything of, and with which they are fools if they +give themselves much to do. Nor would I quarrel with a man for +his irreligion, any more than I would for his want of a musical +ear, I would regret that he was shut out from what, to me and to +others, were such superlative sources of enjoyment. It is in this +point of a view, and for this reason, that I will deeply imbue +the mind of every child of mine with religion. If my son should +happen to be a man of feeling, sentiment, and taste, I shall thus +add largely to his enjoyments. Let me flatter myself that this +sweet little fellow, who is just now running about my desk, will +be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing heart; and an imagination, +delighted with the painter, and rapt with the poet. Let me figure +him wandering out in a sweet evening, to inhale the balmy gales, +and enjoy the glowing luxuriance of the spring; himself the while +in the blooming youth of life. He looks abroad on all nature, and +through nature up to nature's God. His soul, by swift delighting +degrees, is rapt above this sublunary sphere until he can be +silent no longer, and bursts out into the glorious enthusiasm of +Thomson,<br> +These, as they change, Almighty Father, these<br> +Are but the varied God. The rolling year<br> +Is full of thee.</p> + +<p>And so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that charming hymn. +These are no ideal pleasures, they are real delights; and I ask, +what of the delights among the sons of men are superior, not to +say equal to them? And they have this precious, vast addition, +that conscious virtue stamps them for her own; and lays hold on +them to bring herself into the presence of a witnessing, judging, +and approving God.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCII.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +CASTLE DOUGLAS, <i>25th June 1794.</i> + +<p>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 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 health 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.</p> + +<p>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 theme is to me. I design it an irregular ode for +General Washington's birth-day. After having mentioned the +degeneracy of other kingdoms I come to Scotland thus:</p> + +<blockquote>Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among,<br> +Thee, famed for martial deed and sacred song,<br> +To thee I turn with swimming eyes;<br> +Where is that soul of freedom fled?<br> +Immingled with the mighty dead!<br> +Beneath the hallowed turf where Wallace lies!<br> +Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of death;<br> +Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep,<br> +Disturb ye not the hero's sleep.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +You will probably have another scrawl from me in a stage or +two.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCIII.—To MR. JAMES JOHNSON.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, 1794. + +<p>My Dear Friend,—You should have heard from me long ago; but +over and above some vexatious share in the pecuniary losses of +these accursed times, I have all this winter been plagued with +low spirits and blue devils, so that <i>I have almost hung my +harp on the willow trees</i>.</p> + +<p>I am just now busy correcting a new edition of my poems, and +this, with my ordinary business, finds me in full employment.</p> + +<p>I send you by my friend, Mr. Wallace, forty-one songs for your +fifth volume; if we cannot finish it any other way, what would +you think of Scotch words to some beautiful Irish airs? In the +meantime, at your leisure, give a copy of the <i>Museum</i> to my +worthy friend, Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, to bind for me, +interleaved with blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird of +Glenriddel's, that I may insert every anecdote I can learn, +together with my own criticisms and remarks on the songs. A copy +of this kind I shall leave with you, the editor, to publish at +some after period, by way of making the <i>Museum</i> a book +famous to the end of time, and you renowned for ever.</p> + +<p>I have got a highland dirk, for which I have great veneration, +as it once was the dirk of <i>Lord Balmerino</i>. It fell into +bad hands, who stripped it of the silver mounting, as well as the +knife and fork. I have some thoughts of sending it to your care, +to get it mounted anew.—Yours, etc.,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCIV.—To MR. PETER MILLER, JUN., OF DALSWINION.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, Nov. 1794. + +<p>Dear Sir,—Your offer is indeed truly generous, and sincerely +do I thank you for it; but in my present situation, I find that I +dare not accept it. You well know my political sentiments; and +were I an insular individual, unconnected with a wife and a +family of children, with the most fervid enthusiasm I would have +volunteered my services; I then could and would have despised all +consequences that might have ensued.</p> + +<p>My prospect in the Excise is something; at least, it is— +encumbered as I am with the welfare, the very existence, of near +half-a-score of helpless individuals—what I dare not sport +with.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, they are most welcome to my Ode; only, let +them insert it as a thing they have met with by accident and +unknown to me. Nay, if Mr. Perry, whose honour, after your +character of him, I cannot doubt, if he will give me an address +and channel by which anything will come safe from those spies +with which he may be certain that his correspondence is beset, I +will now and then send him any bagatelle that I may write. In the +present hurry of Europe, nothing but news and politics will be +regarded; but against the days of peace, which Heaven send soon, +my little assistance may perhaps fill up an idle column of a +newspaper. I have long had it in my head to try my hand in the +way of little prose essays, which I propose sending into the +world through the medium of some newspaper; and should these be +worth his while, to these Mr. Perry shall be welcome; and all my +reward shall be, his treating me with his paper, which, +by-the-by, to anybody who has the least relish for wit, is a high +treat indeed.</p> + +<p>With the most grateful esteem, I am ever, Dear Sir,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor131">[131]</a> He +had offered Burns a post on the staff of <i>The Morning +Chronicle</i>, of which newspaper Mr. Perry was proprietor.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCV.—To MRS, RIDDEL</h4> + +Madam,—I dare say that this is the first epistle you ever +received from this nether world. I write you from the regions of +hell, amid the horrors of the damn'd. The time and manner of my +leaving your earth I do not exactly know, as I took my departure +in the heat of a fever of intoxication, contracted at your too +hospitable mansion; but, on my arrival here, I was fairly tried, +and sentenced to endure the purgatorial tortures of this infernal +confine for the space of ninety-nine years, eleven months, and +twenty-nine days, and all on account of the impropriety of my +conduct yesternight under your roof. Here am I, laid on a bed of +pitiless furze, with my aching head reclined on a pillow of +ever-piercing thorn, while an infernal tormentor, wrinkled, and +old, and cruel—his name I think is <i>Recollection</i>—with a +whip of scorpions, forbids peace or rest to approach me, and +keeps anguish eternally awake. Still, Madam, if I could in any +measure be reinstated in the good opinion of the fair circle whom +my conduct last night so much injured, I think it would be an +alleviation to my torments. For this reason I trouble you with +this letter. To the men of the company I will make no +apology.—Your husband, who insisted on my drinking more than I +chose, has no right to blame me, and the other gentlemen were +partakers of my guilt. But to you, Madam, I have much to +apologise. Your good opinion I valued as one of the greatest +acquisitions I had made on earth, and I was truly a beast to +forfeit it. There was a Miss I—-too, a woman of fine sense, +gentle and unassuming manners—do make, on my part, a miserable +damn'd wretch's best apology to her. A Mrs. G—, a charming +woman, did me the honour to be prejudiced in my favour; this +makes me hope that I have not outraged her beyond all +forgiveness.—To all the other ladies please present my humblest +contrition for my conduct, and my petition for their gracious +pardon. O all ye powers of decency and decorum! whisper to them +that my errors, though great, were involuntary—that an +intoxicated man is the vilest of beasts—that it was not in my +nature to be brutal to any one—that to be rude to a woman, when +in my senses, was impossible with me—but— + +<p>Regret! Remorse! Shame! ye three hell hounds that ever dog my +steps and bay at my heels, spare me! spare me!</p> + +<p>Forgive the offences, and pity the perdition of, Madam, your +humble slave,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCVI.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +<i>15th December 1795.</i> + +<p>My Dear Friend,—As I am in a complete Decemberish humour, +gloomy, sullen, stupid, as even the Deity of Dulness herself +could wish, I shall not drawl out a heavy letter with a number of +heavier apologies for my late silence. Only one I shall mention, +because I know you will sympathise with it: these four months, a +sweet little girl, my youngest child, has been so ill, that every +day a week or less threatened to terminate her existence. There +had much need be many pleasures annexed to the states of husband +and father, for, God knows, they have many peculiar cares. I +cannot describe to you the anxious, sleepless hours these ties +frequently give me. I see a train of helpless little folks; me +and my exertions all their stay: and on what a brittle thread +does the life of man hang! If I am nipt off at the command of +fate! even in all the vigour of manhood as I am—such things +happen every day—Gracious God! what would become of my little +flock! 'Tis here that I envy your people of fortune. A father on +his deathbed, taking an everlasting leave of his children, has +indeed woe enough; but the man of competent fortune leaves his +sons and daughters independency and friends; while I—but I shall +run distracted if I think any longer on the subject!</p> + +<p>To leave talking of the matter so gravely, I shall sing with +the old Scots ballad—</p> + +<blockquote>O that I had ne'er been married,<br> +I would never had nae care;<br> +Now I've gotten wife and bairns,<br> +They cry crowdie evermair. + +<p>Crowdie ance, crowdie twice:<br> +Crowdie three times in a day:<br> +An ye crowdie ony mair,<br> +Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.<br> +<i>25th, Christmas Morning.</i></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><br> +This, my much-loved friend, is a morning of wishes; accept +mine—so Heaven hear me as they are sincere! that blessings may +attend your steps, and affliction know you not! In the charming +words of my favourite author— "The Man of Feeling," "May the +Great Spirit bear up the weight of thy grey hairs, and blunt the +arrow that brings them rest!"</p> + +<p>Now that I talk of authors, how do you like Cowper? Is not the +"Task" a glorious poem? The religion of the "Task," bating a few +scraps of Calvinistic divinity, is the religion of God and +Nature; the religion that exalts, that ennobles man. Were not you +to send me your <i>Zeluco</i> in return for mine? Tell me how you +like my marks and notes through the book. I would not give a +farthing for a book, unless I were at liberty to blot it with my +criticisms.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCVII.—To MRS. DUNLOP, IN LONDON.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>2Oth December 1795.</i> + +<p>I have been prodigiously disappointed in this London journey +of yours.... Do let me hear from you the soonest possible. As I +hope to get a frank from my friend Captain Miller, I shall, every +leisure hour, take up the pen and gossip away whatever comes +first, prose or poetry, sermon or song. In this last article I +have abounded of late. I have often mentioned to you a superb +publication of Scottish songs, which is making its appearance in +our great metropolis, and where I have the honour to preside over +the Scottish verse, as no less a personage than Peter Pindar does +over the English.</p> + +<p><i>December 29th.</i></p> + +<p>Since I began this letter, I have been appointed to act in the +capacity of supervisor here, and I assure you, what with the load +of business, and what with that business being new to me, I could +scarcely have commanded ten minutes to have spoken to you, had +you been in town, much less to have written you an epistle. This +appointment is only temporary, and during the illness of the +present incumbent; but I look forward to an early period when I +shall be appointed in full form: a consummation devoutly to be +wished! My political sins seem to be forgiven me.</p> + +<p>This is the season (New Year's day is now my date) of wishing, +and mine are most fervently offered up for you! May life to you +be a positive blessing while it lasts, for your own sake; and +that it may yet be greatly prolonged is my wish for my own sake, +and for the sake of the rest of your friends! What a transient +business is life! Very lately I was a boy; but t'other day I was +a young man; and I already begin to feel the rigid fibre and +stiffening joints of old age coming fast o'er my frame. With all +my follies of youth, and, I fear, a few vices of manhood, still I +congratulate myself on having had in early days religion strongly +impressed on my mind. I have nothing to say to any one as to +which sect he belongs to, or what creed he believes: but I look +on the man who is firmly persuaded of infinite Wisdom and +Goodness superintending and directing every circumstance that can +happen in his lot—I felicitate such a man for having a solid +foundation for his mental enjoyment; a firm prop and sure stay, +in the hour of difficulty, trouble, and distress; and a +never-failing anchor of hope when he looks beyond the grave.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXVIII.—To THE HON, THE PROVOST, ETC., OF DUMFRIES.</h4> + +Gentlemen,—The literary taste, and liberal spirit, of your good +town has so ably filled the various departments of your schools, +as to make it a very great object for a parent to have his +children educated in them. Still, to me, a stranger, with my +large family, and very stinted income, to give my young ones the +education I wish, at the high-school fees which a stranger pays, +will bear hard upon me. + +<p>Some years ago, your good town did me the honour of making me +an honorary Burgess. Will you allow me to request that this mark +of distinction may extend so far, as to put me on a footing of a +real freeman of the town, in the schools?</p> + +<p>If you are so very kind as to grant my request, it will +certainly be a constant incentive to me to strain every nerve +where I can officially serve you; and will, if possible, increase +that grateful respect with which I have the honour to be, +Gentlemen, your devoted humble servant,</p> + +<p>R. B.<a name="FNanchor132"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_132">[132]</a></sup><br> +<a name="Footnote_132"></a><a href="#FNanchor132">[132]</a> With +the Poet's request the Magistiates of Dumfries very handsomely +complied. He was induced to make the request through the +persuasions of Mr. James Gray and Mr. Thomas White, Masters of +the Grammar School, Dumfries whose memories are still green on +the banks of the Nith.—CUNNINGHAM.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CXCIX.—To MRS. DUNLOP.<a name="FNanchor133"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_133">[133]</a></sup></h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>3lst January 1796.</i> + +<p>These many months you have been two packets in my debt—what +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 +afford, at this time, to be deprived of any of the small remnant +of my pleasures. I have lately drunk deep of the cup of +affliction. The autumn robbed me of my only daughter and darling +child, and that at a distance too, and so rapidly, as to put it +out of my power to pay the last duties to her. <a name= +"t[133a]"></a><sup><a href="#[133a]">[133a]</a></sup> I had +scarcely begun to recover from that shock, when I became myself +the victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and long the die +spun doubtful; until after many weeks of a sick bed, it seems to +have turned up life, and I am beginning to crawl across my room, +and once indeed have been before my own door in the street.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_133"></a><a href="#FNanchor133">[133]</a> +Cunningham says—"It seems all but certain that Mrs. Dunlop +regarded the Poet with some little displeasure during the evening +of his days."<br> +<a name="[133a]"></a><a href="#t[133a]">[133a]</a>This child died +at Mauchline.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CC.—To MR. JAMES JOHNSON.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>4th July 1796.</i> + +<p>How are you, my dear friend, and how comes on your fifth +volume?<a name="FNanchor134"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_134">[134]</a></sup> You may probably think that for +some time past I have neglected you and your work; but, alas! the +hand of pain, and sorrow, and care has these many months lain +heavy on me! Personal and domestic affliction have almost +entirely banished that alacrity and life with which I used to woo +the rural muse of Scotia.</p> + +<p>You are a good, worthy, honest fellow, and have a good right +to live in this world—because you deserve it. Many a merry +meeting this publication has given us, and possibly it may give +us more, though, alas! I fear it. This protracting, slow, +consuming illness which hangs over me will, I doubt much, my dear +friend, arrest my sun before he has well reached his middle +career, and will turn over the poet to far more important +concerns than studying the brilliancy of wit, or the pathos of +sentiment! However, hope is the cordial of the human heart, and I +endeavour to cherish it as well as I can.</p> + +<p>I am ashamed to ask another favour of you, because you have +been so very good already; but my wife has a very particular +friend, a young lady who sings well, to whom she wishes to +present the <i>Scots Musical Museum</i>. If you have a spare +copy, will you be so obliging as to send it by the very first +fly, as I am anxious to have it soon.—Yours ever,</p> + +<p>R. B.<a name="FNanchor135"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_135">[135]</a></sup><br> +<a name="Footnote_134"></a><a href="#FNanchor134">[134]</a> Of +the <i>Musical Museum</i>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_135"></a><a href="#FNanchor135">[135]</a> +"In this humble manner did poor Burns ask for a copy of a work to +which he had contributed, gratuitously, not less than 184 +original, altered, and collected songs!"—CROMEK.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CCI—TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.</h4> + +BROW, <i>Sea-bathing quarters, 7th July</i> 1796. + +<p>My Dear Cunningham,—I received yours here this moment, and am +indeed highly flattered with the approbation of the literary +circle you mention; a literary circle inferior to none in the two +kingdoms. Alas! my friend, I fear the voice of the bard will soon +be heard among you no more! For these eight or ten months I have +been ailing, sometimes bedfast and sometimes not; but these last +three months I have been tortured with an excruciating +rheumatism, which has reduced me to nearly the last stage. You +actually would not know me if you saw me. Pale, emaciated, and so +feeble, as occasionally to need help from my chair—my spirits +fled! fled!—but I can no more on the subject—only the medical +folks tell me that my last and only chance is bathing and country +quarters, and riding. The deuce of the matter is this—when an +exciseman is off duty, his salary is reduced to £35 instead +of £50. What way, in the name of thrift, shall I maintain +myself, and keep a horse in country quarters, with a wife and +five children at home, on 35 pounds? I mention this, because I +had intended to beg your utmost interest, and that of all the +friends you can muster, to move our Commissioners of Excise to +grant me the full salary; I dare say you know them all +personally. If they do not grant it me, I must lay my account +with an exit truly <i>en poete</i>; if I die not of disease, I +must perish with hunger.<a name="FNanchor136"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_136">[136]</a></sup></p> + +<p>I have sent you one of the songs; the other my memory does not +serve me with, and I have no copy here, but I shall be at home +soon, when I will send it you. Apropos to being at home, Mrs. +Burns threatens in a week or two to add one more to my paternal +charge, which, if of the right gender, I intend shall be +introduced to the world by the respectable designation of +<i>Alexander Cunningham Burns</i>. My last was <i>James +Glencairn</i>, so you can have no objection to the company of +nobility. Farewell.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_136"></a><a href="#FNanchor136">[136]</a> +<i>Not</i> granted.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CCII.—To MR. GILBERT BURNS.</h4> + +<i>10th July 1795.</i> + +<p>Dear Brother,—It will be no very pleasing news to you to be +told that I am dangerously ill, and not likely to get better. An +inveterate rheumatism has reduced me to such a state of debility, +and my appetite is so totally gone, that I can scarcely stand on +my legs. I have been a week at sea-bathing, and will continue +there, or in a friend's house in the country, all the summer. God +keep my wife and children; if I am taken from their head, they +will be poor indeed. I have contracted one or two serious debts, +partly from my illness these many months, partly from too much +thoughtlessness as to expense when I came to town, that will cut +in too much on the little I leave them in your hands. Remember me +to my mother.—Yours,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CCIII.—To MRS. BURNS.<a name="FNanchor137"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_137">[137]</a></sup></h4> + +<p><br> +BROW, <i>Thursday.</i></p> + +<p>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 think has +strengthened me; but my appetite is still extremely bad. No flesh +nor fish can I swallow: porridge and milk are the only things I +can taste. I am very happy to hear, by Miss Jess Lewars, that you +are all well. My very best and kindest compliments to her, and to +all the children. I will see you on Sunday.—Your affectionate +husband,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_137"></a><a href="#FNanchor137">[137]</a> One +evening, while at the Brow, Burns was visited by two young +ladies. The sun, setting on the western hills, threw a strong +light upon him through the window. One of them perceiving this, +proceeded to draw the curtain; "Let me look at the sun, my dear," +said the sinking poet, "he will not long shine on me."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CCIV.—To MRS. DUNLOP.</h4> + +BROW, <i>Saturday, 12th July 1796.</i> + +<p>Madam,—I have written you so often, without receiving any +answer, that I would not trouble you again, but for the +circumstances in which I am. An illness which has long hung about +me, in all probability will speedily send me beyond that bourne +whence no traveller returns. Your friendship, with which for many +years you honoured me, was a friendship dearest to my soul. Your +conversation, and especially your correspondence, were at once +highly entertaining and instructive. With what pleasure did I use +to break up the seal! The remembrance yet adds one pulse more to +my poor palpitating heart. Farewell!!!</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CCV.—To MR. JAMES BURNESS, WRITER, MONTROSE.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>12th July.</i> + +<p>MY DEAR COUSIN,—When you offered me money assistance, little +did I think I should want it so soon. A rascal of a haberdasher, +to whom I owe a considerable bill, taking it into his head that I +am dying, has commenced a process against me, and will infallibly +put my emaciated body into jail. Will you be so good as to +accommodate me, and that by return of post, with ten pounds? O +James, did you know the pride of my heart, you would feel doubly +for me! Alas! I am not used to beg! The worst of it is, my health +was coming about finely. Melancholy and low spirits are half my +disease. If I had it settled, I would be, I think, quite well in +a manner.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>CCVI.—To HIS FATHER-IN-LAW, JAMES ARMOUR, MASON, +MAUCHLINE.<a name="FNanchor138"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_138">[138]</a></sup></h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>18th July 1799.</i> + +<p>MY DEAR SIR,—Do, for heaven's sake, send Mrs. Armour here +immediately. My wife is hourly expecting to be put to bed. Good +God! what a situation for her to be in, poor girl, without a +friend! I returned from sea-bathing quarters to-day, and my +medical friends would almost persuade me that I am better, but I +think and feel that my strength is so gone that the disorder will +prove fatal to me.—Your son-in-law,</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_138"></a><a href="#FNanchor138">[138]</a> Mrs. +Burns's father. This is the very last of Burns's compositions, +being written only three days before his death.</p> + +<hr> +<h2><a name="thoms"></a><a href="#tthom">THE THOMSON +LETTERS.</a></h2> + +<h3>PREFATORY NOTE.</h3> + +This correspondence began in September 1792, when Burns had +already been domiciled nine months in the town of Dumfries, and +ended only with his death in July 1796. It originated in the +request of a stranger for a series of songs to suit a projected +collection of the best Scottish airs. The stranger was George +Thomson, a young man of about Burns's own age, and head clerk in +the office of the Board of Manufactures in Edinburgh. Thomson +outlived his great correspondent by more than half a century. He +died so recently as 1851, at the advanced age of ninety-two. +Robert Chambers has described him as a most honourable man, of +singularly amiable character and cheerful manners. It may +interest some people to know that his granddaughter was the wife +of Dickens, the famous novelist. + +<h3>THE THOMSON LETTER.</h3> + +<h4>I.</h4> + +DUMFRIES, <i>16th September 1792.</i> + +<p>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 all the 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 <i>crie de guerre</i> of my muse. +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,<a name="FNanchor139"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_139">[139]</a></sup> the undoubted rights of +publishers, to approve or reject at your pleasure, for your own +publication. <i>Apropos</i> if you are for <i>English</i> verses, +there is, on my part, an end of the matter. Whether in the +simplicity of the ballad, or the pathos of the song, I can only +hope to please myself in being allowed at least a sprinkling of +our native tongue. English verses, particularly the works of +Scotsmen, that have merit, are certainly very eligible. +"Tweedside;" "Ah! the Poor Shepherd's Mournful Fate;" "Ah! +Chloris, could I now but sit," etc., you cannot mend; but such +insipid stuff as "To Fanny fair, could I impart," etc., usually +set to "The Mill, Mill, O," 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 +to be called on for my strictures and amendments—I say, +amendments; for I will not alter, accept where I myself, at +least, think that I amend.</p> + +<p>As to any renumeration, 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, etc., would be downright +sodomy of soul! A proof of each of the songs that I compose or +amend I shall receive as a favour. In the rustic phrase of the +season, "Gude speed the wark!"—I am, Sir, your very humble +servant,</p> + +<p>R. BURNS.</p> + +<p>P.S.—I have some particular reasons for wishing my +interference to be known as little as possible.<br> +<a name="Footnote_139"></a><a href="#FNanchor139">[139]</a> +Thomson in his letter spoke of coadjutors, but in less than a +year he became sole editor of the collection.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>II.</h4> + +My 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, <i>all but one</i>, the +faults you remark in them; but how shall we mend the matter? Who +shall rise up and say—Go to, I will make a better? For +instance, on reading over "The 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:— + +<blockquote>When o'er the hill the eastern star<br> +Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo, (etc.)</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Your observation as to the aptitude of Dr. Percy's ballad to the +air, "Nannie O," 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 simplicity, a something that one may call the Doric +style and dialect of vocal 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, O", 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 half 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.</p> + +<p>In the printed copy of my "Nannie, O", the name of the river +is horridly prosaic. I will alter it,</p> + +<p>Behind yon hills where <i>Lugar</i> flows.</p> + +<p>Girvan is the name of the river that suits the idea of the +stanza best, but Lugar is the most agreeable modulation of +syllables.</p> + +<p>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; so, with my best compliments to honest Allan,<a name= +"FNanchor140"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_140">[140]</a></sup> +goodbye to ye.</p> + +<p><i>Friday night.</i><br> +<i>Saturday morning.</i></p> + +<p>As I find I have still an hour to spare this morning before my +conveyance goes away, I will give you "Nannie, O", at length.</p> + +<p>Your remarks on "Ewe-bughts, Marion", are 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.</p> + +<p>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 "Ewe-bughts", +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 +might 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, would have defaced the legend of my heart, which +was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity +was, as they say of wines, their <i>race</i>.</p> + +<p>Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, (etc.)</p> + +<p>"Gala Water," and "Auld Rob Morris," I think, will most +probably be the next subject of my musings. However, even on +<i>my verses</i>, speak out your criticisms with equal frankness. +My wish is, not to stand aloof, the uncomplying bigot of +<i>opiniâtretè</i>, but cordially to join issue with +you in the furtherance of the work. Gude speed the wark!</p> + +<p>Amen.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_140"></a><a href="#FNanchor140">[140]</a> +David Allan, the artist.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>III.</h4> + +<i>November</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1792, + +<p>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 than you are aware +of. There is a peculiar rhythmus in many of our airs, and a +necessity of adapting syllables to the emphasis, or what I would +call the <i>feature-notes</i> of the tune, that cramp the poet, +and lay him under almost insuperable difficulties. For instance, +in the air, "My Wife's a wanton wee Thing", if a few lines, +smooth and pretty, can be adapted to it, it is all you can +expect. The enclosed were made extempore to it; and though, on +farther study, I might give you something more profound, yet it +might not suit the light-horse gallop of the air so well as this +random clink.</p> + +<p>I have just been looking over the "Collier's bonny Dochter", +and if the enclosed rhapsody which I composed the day, on a +charming Ayrshire girl, Miss Baillie, as she passed through this +place to England, will suit your taste better than the "Collier +Lassie", fall on and welcome.</p> + +<p>I have hitherto deferred the sublimer, more pathetic airs +until more leisure, as they will take, and deserve a greater +effort. However, they are all put into your hands, as clay into +the hands of the potter, to make one vessel to honour, and +another to dishonour. Farewell, etc.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>IV.</h4> + +Inclosing "Highland Mary".—Tune—<i>Katharine Ogie</i>. + +<p>Ye banks, and braes, and streams around, (etc.)</p> + +<p>14<i>th November</i> 1792.</p> + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I agree with you, that the song "Katharine +Ogie", is very poor stuff, and unworthy, altogether unworthy, of +so beautiful an air. I tried to mend it; but the awkward sound +"Ogie," recurring in the rhyme, spoils every attempt at +introducing sentiment into the piece. The foregoing song pleases +myself; I think it is in my happiest manner; you will see at the +first glance that it suits the air. The subject of the song is +one of the most interesting passages of my youthful days; and I +own that I should be much flattered to see the verses set to an +air which would ensure celebrity. Perhaps, after all,'tis the +still glowing prejudice of my heart that throws a borrowed lustre +over the merits of the composition.</p> + +<p>I have partly taken your idea of "Auld Rob Morris". I have +adopted the two first verses, and am going on with the song on a +new plan, which promises pretty well. I take up one or another, +just as the bee of the moment buzzes in my bonnet-lug; and do +you, <i>sans ceremonie</i>, make what use you choose of the +productions. Adieu! etc.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>V.</h4> + +26<i>th January</i> 1793. + +<p>I approve greatly, my dear Sir, of your plans. Dr. Beattie's +essay will of itself be a treasure. On my part, I mean to draw up +an appendix to the Doctor's essay, containing my stock of +anecdotes, etc., of our Scots songs. All the late Mr. Tytler's +anecdotes I have by me, taken down in the course of my +acquaintance with him, from his own mouth. I am such an +enthusiast, that in the course of my several peregrinations +through Scotland, I made a pilgrimage to the individual spot from +which every song took its rise, Lochaber and the Braes of +Ballendean excepted. So far as locality, either from the title of +the air, or the tenor of the song, could be ascertained, I have +paid my devotions at the particular shrine of every Scots +Muse.</p> + +<p>I do not doubt but you might make a very valuable collection +of Jacobite songs—but would it give no offence? In the meantime, +do not you think that some of them, particularly "The Sow's Tail +to Geordie", as an air, with other words, might be well worth a +place in your collection of lively songs?</p> + +<p>If it were possible to procure songs of merit, it would be +proper to have one set of Scots words to every air, and that the +set of words to which the notes ought to be set. There is a +<i>naïvetè</i>, a pastoral simplicity, in a slight +intermixture of Scots words and phraseology, which is more in +unison (at least to my taste, and, I will add, to every genuine +Caledonian taste), with the simple pathos or rustic sprightliness +of our native music, than any English verses whatever.</p> + +<p>The very name of Peter Pindar is an acquisition to your work. +His "Gregory" is beautiful. I have tried to give you a set of +stanzas in Scots, on the same subject, which are at your service. +Not that I intend to enter the lists with Peter; that would be +presumption indeed. My song, though much inferior in poetic +merit, has, I think, more of the ballad simplicity in it.<br> +LORD GREGORY.<br> +O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour, (etc.)</p> + +<p>Your remark on the first stanza of my "Highland Mary" is just, +but I cannot alter it, without injuring the poetry.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VI.</h4> + +<i>20th March 1793.</i> + +<p>My Dear Sir,—The song prefixed ("Mary Morison") is one of my +juvenile works. I leave it in your hands. I do not think it very +remarkable, either for its merits or demerits. It is impossible +(at least I feel it so in my stinted powers) to be always +original, entertaining, and witty.</p> + +<p>What is become of the list, etc., of your songs? I shall be +out of all temper with you by and by. I have always looked on +myself as the prince of indolent correspondents, and valued +myself accordingly; and I will not, cannot bear rivalship from +you, nor anybody else.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VII.</h4> + +<i>7th April 1793.</i> + +<p>Thank you, my dear Sir, for your packet. You cannot imagine +how much this business of composing for your publication has +added to my enjoyments. What, with my early attachment to +ballads, your book, etc., ballad-making is now as completely my +hobby-horse as ever fortification was Uncle Toby's; so I'll e'en +canter it away till I come to the limit of my race (God grant +that I may take the right side of the winning-post!) and then +cheerfully looking back on the honest folks with whom I have been +happy, I shall say, or sing, "Sae merry as we a' hae been" and +raising my last looks to the whole human race, the last words of +the voice of Coila shall be, "Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!" +So much for my last words; now for a few present remarks as they +have occurred at random, on looking over your list.</p> + +<p>The first lines of "The last time I came o'er the Moor", and +several other lines in it, are beautiful; but in my +opinion—pardon me, revered shade of Ramsay!—the song is +unworthy of the divine air. I shall try to <i>make</i> or +<i>mend</i>. "For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove," is a charming +song; but "Logan Burn and Logan Braes" are sweetly susceptible of +rural imagery; I'll try that likewise, and if I succeed, the +other song may class among the English ones. I remember the two +last lines of a verse in some of the old songs of "Logan Water" +(for I know a good many different ones), which I think +pretty—</p> + +<blockquote>Now my dear lad maun face his faes,<br> +Far, far frae me, and Logan braes.</blockquote> + +<p><br> +"My Patie is a lover gay", is unequal. "His mind is never muddy," +is a muddy expression indeed.</p> + +<blockquote>Then I'll resign and marry Pate,<br> +And syne my cockernony—</blockquote> + +<p><br> +This is surely far unworthy of Ramsay, or your book. My song, +"Rigs of Barley", to the same tune, does not altogether please +me; but if I can mend it, and thresh a few loose sentiments out +of it, I will submit it to your consideration. The "Lass o' +Patie's Mill" is one of Ramsay's best songs; but there is one +loose sentiment in it, which my much-valued friend, Mr. Erskine, +will take into his critical consideration. In Sir J. Sinclair's +statistical volumes are two claims, one I think, from +Aberdeenshire, and the other from Ayrshire, for the honour of +this song. The following anecdote, which I had from the present +Sir William Cunningham, of Robertland, who had it of the late +John, Earl of Loudon, I can on such authorities believe.</p> + +<p>Allan Ramsay was residing at Loudon Castle with the then Earl, +father to Earl John; and one forenoon, riding or walking out +together, his lordship and Allan passed a sweet romantic spot on +Irwine water, still called "Patie's Mill," where a bonnie lass +was "tedding hay, bareheaded on the green." My lord observed to +Allan, that it would be a fine theme for a song, Ramsay took the +hint, and lingering behind, he composed the first sketch of it, +which he produced at dinner.</p> + +<p>"One day I heard Mary say," is a fine song; but for +consistency's sake, alter the name "Adonis." Was there ever such +banns published, as a purpose of marriage between Adonis and +Mary? I agree with you that my song, "There's nought but care on +every hand," is much superior to "Poortith Cauld." The original +song, "The Mill, Mill, O," though excellent, is, on account of +delicacy, inadmissible; still I like the title, and think a +Scottish song would suit the notes best; and let your chosen +song, which is very pretty, follow, as an English set. The "Banks +of Dee" is, you know, literally "Langolee" to slow time. The song +is well enough, but has some false imagery in it, for +instance,</p> + +<p>And sweetly the nightingale sung from the <i>tree</i>.</p> + +<p>In the first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush, but +never from a tree; and in the second place, there never was a +nightingale seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on the +banks of any other river in Scotland. Exotic rural imagery is +always comparatively flat. If I could hit on another stanza equal +to "The small birds rejoice," etc., I do myself honestly avow +that I think it a superior song. "John Anderson, my jo"—the song +to this tune in Johnson's <i>Museum</i> is my composition, and I +think it not my worst: if it suit you, take it and welcome. Your +collection of sentimental and pathetic songs is, in my opinion, +very complete; but not so your comic ones. Where are +"Tullochgorum," "Lumps o' Puddin'," "Tibbie Fowler," and several +others, which, in my humble judgment, are well worthy of +preservation? There is also one sentimental song of mine in the +<i>Museum</i>, which never was known out of the immediate +neighbourhood, until I got it taken down from a country girl's +singing. It is called "Craigie-burn Wood;" and in the opinion of +Mr. Clarke is one of our sweetest Scottish songs. He is quite an +enthusiast about it; and I would take his taste in Scottish music +against the taste of most connoisseurs.</p> + +<p>You are quite right in inserting the last five in your list, +though they are certainly Irish. "Shepherds, I have lost my +love," is to me a heavenly air—what would you think of a set of +Scottish verses to it? I have made one a good while ago, which I +think is the best love song<a name="FNanchor141"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_141">[141]</a></sup> I ever composed in my life; +but in its original state it is not quite a lady's song. I +enclose an altered, not amended copy for you, if you choose to +set the tune to it, and let the Irish verses follow.</p> + +<p>Mr. Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his "Lone Vale" is +divine.—Yours, etc.</p> + +<p>Let me know just how you like these random hints.<br> +<a name="Footnote_141"></a><a href="#FNanchor141">[141]</a> +"Yestreen I had a pint o' wine."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>VIII.</h4> + +<i>April 1793.</i> + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I own my vanity is flattered when you give my +songs a place in your elegant and superb work; but to be of +service to the work is my first wish. As I have often told you, I +do not in a single instance wish you, out of compliment to me, to +insert anything of mine. One hint let me give you—whatever Mr. +Peyel does, let him not alter one <i>iota</i> of the original +Scottish airs; I mean in the song department; but let our +national music preserve its native features. They are, I own, +frequently wild, and irreducible to the more modern rules; but on +that very eccentricity, perhaps, depends a great part of their +effect.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>IX.</h4> + +<i>June</i> 1793. + +<p>When I tell you, my dear Sir, that a friend of mine, in whom I +am much interested, has fallen a sacrifice to these accursed +times, you will easily allow that it might unhinge me for doing +any good among ballads. My own loss, as to pecuniary matters, is +trifling; but the total ruin of a much-loved friend is a loss +indeed. Pardon my seeming inattention to your last commands.</p> + +<p>I cannot alter the disputed lines in the "Mill, Mill, O."<a +name="FNanchor142"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_142">[142]</a></sup> What you think a defect I esteem +as a positive beauty; so you see how doctors differ. I shall now, +with as much alacrity as I can muster, go on with your +commands.</p> + +<p>You know Frazer, the hautboy player in Edinburgh—he is here +instructing a band of music for a fencible corps quartered in +this country. Among many of the airs that please me, there is one +well known as a reel, by the name of "The Quaker's Wife"; and +which I remember a grand-aunt of mine used to sing, by the name +of "Liggeram Cosh, my bonnie wee lass". Mr. Frazer plays it slow, +and with an expression that quite charms me. I became such an +enthusiast about it that I made a song for it, which I here +subjoin, and inclose Frazer's set of the tune. If they hit your +fancy, they are at your service; if not, return me the tune, and +I will put it in Johnson's <i>Museum</i>. I think the song is not +in my worst manner.</p> + +<p>Blithe hae I been on yon hill, (etc.)</p> + +<p>I should wish to hear how this pleases you.<br> +<a name="Footnote_142"></a><a href="#FNanchor142">[142]</a> The +lines were the third and fourth—</p> + +<blockquote>Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,<br> +And mony a widow mourning.</blockquote> + +<hr> +<h4>X.</h4> + +June 25th 1793. + +<p>Have you ever, my dear Sir, felt your bosom ready to burst +with indignation on reading of those mighty villains who divide +kingdom against kingdom, desolate provinces, and lay nations +waste, out of the wantonness of ambition, or often from still +more ignoble passions? In a mood of this kind to-day I +recollected the air of "Logan Water;" and it occurred to me that +its querulous melody probably had its origin from the plaintive +indignation of some swelling, suffering heart, fired at the +tyrannic strides of some public destroyer, and overwhelmed with +private distress, the consequence of a country's ruin. If I have +done anything at all like justice to my feelings, the following +song, composed in three quarters of an hour's meditation in my +elbow-chair, ought to have some merit.</p> + +<p>[Here follows "Logan Water."]</p> + +<p>Do you know the following beautiful little fragment in +Witherspoon's <i>Collection of Scots Songs</i>?</p> + +<blockquote>Air—<i>Hughie Graham.</i><br> +O gin my love were yon red rose,<br> +That grows upon the castle wa',<br> +And I mysel' a drap o' dew<br> +Into her bonnie breast to fa'! + +<p>Oh, there beyond expression blest,<br> +I'd feast on beauty a' the night;<br> +Seal'd on her silk saft faulds to rest,<br> +Till fley'd awa by Phoebus light.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><br> +This thought is inexpressibly beautiful; and quite, so far as I +know, original. It is too short for a song, else I would forswear +you altogether, unless you gave it a place. I have often tried to +eke a stanza to it, but in vain. After balancing myself for a +musing five minutes, on the hind legs of my elbow-chair, I +produced the following. The verses are far inferior to the +foregoing, I frankly confess; but if worthy of insertion at all, +they might be first in place; as every poet, who knows anything +of his trade, will husband his best thoughts for a concluding +stroke.</p> + +<blockquote>O were my love yon lilac fair,<br> +Wi' purple blossoms to the spring;<br> +And I a bird to shelter there,<br> +When wearied on my little wing; + +<p>How I wad mourn, when it was torn<br> +By autumn wild, and winter rude!<br> +But I wad sing on wanton wing,<br> +When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.</p> +</blockquote> + +<hr> +<h4>XI.</h4> + +<i>July</i> 1793. + +<p>I assure you, my dear Sir, that you truly hurt me with your +pecuniary parcel. It degrades me in my own eyes. However, to +return it would savour of affectation; but as to any more traffic +of that debtor or creditor kind, I swear by that HONOUR which +crowns the upright statue of ROBERT BURNS'S INTEGRITY—on the +least motion of it, I will indignantly spurn the by—past +transaction, and from that moment commence entire stranger to +you! BURNS'S character for generosity of sentiment and +independence of mind will, I trust, long outlive any of his +wants, which the cold, unfeeling ore can supply: at least, I will +take care that such a character he shall deserve.</p> + +<p>Thank you for my copy of your publication. Never did my eyes +behold, in any musical work, such elegance and correctness. Your +preface, too, is admirably written; only, your partiality to me +has made you say too much: however, it will bind me down to +double every eifort in the future progress of the work. The +following are a few remarks on the songs in the list you sent me. +I never copy what I write to you, so I may be often tautological, +or perhaps contradictory.</p> + +<p>"The Flowers of the Forest" is charming as a poem; and should +be, and must be, set to the notes; but, though out of your rule, +the three stanzas, beginning,<br> +I hae seen the smiling o' fortune beguiling,</p> + +<p>are worthy of a place, were it but to immortalise the author +of them, who is an old lady[143] of my acquaintance, and at this +moment living in Edinburgh. She is a Mrs. Cockburn; I forget of +what place; but from Roxburghshire. What a charming apostrophe +is</p> + +<blockquote>O fickle Fortune, why this cruel sporting,<br> +Why, why torment us—<i>poor sons of a day</i>!</blockquote> + +<p><br> +The old ballad, "I wish I were where Helen lies," is silly, to +contemptibility. My alteration of it, in Johnson's, is not much +better.</p> + +<p> +<i>Nee</i> Rutherford, of Selkirkshire. She was then 81 years +old.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XII.</h4> + +<i>August</i> 1793. + +<p>That tune, "Cauld Kail," is such a favourite of yours, that I +once more roved out yesterday for a gloamin-shot at the muses; +when the muse that presides o'er the shores of Nith, or rather my +old inspiring dearest nymph, Coila, whispered me the following. I +have two reasons for thinking that it was my early, sweet, simple +inspirer 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 haunts, not a fragment of a poet has arisen to cheer +her solitary musings, by catching inspiration from her; so I more +than suspect she has followed me hither, or at least makes me +occasional 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 Johnson's <i>Museum</i>.</p> + +<p>Autumn is my propitious season. I make more verses in it than +in all the year else. God bless you.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIII.</h4> + +<i>Sept</i>. 1793. + +<p>You may readily trust, my dear Sir, that any exertion in my +power is heartily at your service. But one thing I must hint to +you; the very name of Peter Finder is of great service to your +publication, so get a verse from him now and then; though I have +no objection, as well as I can, to bear the burden of the +business.</p> + +<p>You know that my pretensions to musical taste are merely a few +of nature's instincts, untaught and untutored by art. For this +reason, many musical compositions, particularly where much of the +merit lies in counterpoint, however they may transport and ravish +the ears of your 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 "Hey tuttie taittie" may rank among this +number; but well I know that, with Frazer's hautboy, it has often +filled my eyes with tears. There is a tradition, which I have met +with in many places of Scotland, that it was Robert Bruce's march +at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary +wanderings, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on the 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.<br> +BRUCE TO HIS TROOPS,<br> +On the Eve of the Battle of Bannockburn.<br> +<i>Hey tuttie taittie</i>.<br> +Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, (etc.)</p> + +<p>So may God ever defend the cause of Truth and Liberty, as He +did that day!—Amen.</p> + +<p>P.S.—I showed the air to Urbani, who was highly pleased with +it, and begged me to make soft verses for it; but I had no idea +of giving myself any trouble on the subject, till the accidental +recollection of that glorious struggle for freedom, associated +with the glowing ideas of some other struggles of the same +nature, not quite so ancient, roused my rhyming mania. Clarke's +set of the tune, with his bass, you will find in the +<i>Museum</i>; though I am afraid that the air is not what will +entitle it to a place in your elegant selection.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIV.</h4> + +<i>September 1793</i>. + +<p>I have received your list, my dear Sir, and here go my +observations on it.<a name="FNanchor143"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_143">[143]</a></sup></p> + +<p>"Down the burn, Davie." I have this moment tried an +alteration, leaving out the last half of the third stanza, and +the first half of the last stanza, thus:—</p> + +<blockquote>As down the burn they took their way,<br> +And thro' the flowery dale,<br> +His cheek to hers he aft did lay,<br> +And love was aye the tale. + +<p>With "Mary, when shall we return,<br> +Sic pleasure to renew?"<br> +Quoth Mary, "Love, I like the burn,<br> +And aye shall follow you."</p> +</blockquote> + +<p><br> +"Thro' the wood, laddie." I am decidedly of opinion that both in +this and "There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame," 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.</p> + +<p>"Cowden-knowes." Remember in your index that the song in pure +English, to this tune, beginning</p> + +<p>When summer comes, the swains on Tweed,</p> + +<p>is the production of Crawford; Robert was his Christian +name.</p> + +<p>"Laddie lie near me," must <i>lie by me</i> for some time. I +do not know the air; and until I am complete master of a tune in +my own singing (such as it is), I never can compose for it. My +way is: I consider the poetic sentiment correspondent to my idea +of the musical expression, then choose my theme, begin one +stanza; when that is composed, which is generally the most +difficult part of the business, I walk out, sit down now and +then, look out for objects in nature around me that are in unison +or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy, and workings of my +bosom; humming every now and then the air, with the verses I have +framed. When I feel my muse beginning to jade, I retire to the +solitary fireside of my study, and there commit my effusions to +paper; swinging at intervals on the hind legs of my elbow chair, +by way of calling forth my own critical strictures, as my pen +goes on. Seriously, this, at home, is almost invariably my way. +What cursed egotism!</p> + +<p>"Gil Morice" I am for leaving out. It is a plaguy length; the +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, "Craigieburn-wood" and "Roy's Wife". The first, besides +its intrinsic merit, has novelty; and the last has high merit, as +well as great celebrity. I have the original words of a song for +the last air in the handwriting of the lady who composed it, and +they are superior to any edition of the song which the public has +yet seen.</p> + +<p>"Highland Laddie". The 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 Highland Laddie", which pleases we more +than either of them. It is sometimes called "Jinglan Johnnie", it +being the air of an old humorous tawdry song of that name. You +will find it in the Museum, "I hae been at Crookie-den," etc. I +would advise you in this musical quandary, to offer 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 hit on a judicious +choice. <i>Probatum est</i>.</p> + +<p>"Auld Sir Simon," I must beg you to leave out, and put in its +place "The Quaker's Wife".</p> + +<p>"Blythe hae I been on yon 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 +purpose 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 <i>the bonniest lass in +a' the warld</i> in your collection.</p> + +<p>"Daintie Davie" I have heard sung nineteen thousand, nine +hundred, and ninety-nine times, and always with 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 propose, we will lay two +of the stanzas together, and then make the chorus follow.</p> + +<p>"Fee him, Father". I enclose you Frazer'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 Frazer gives it in +playing, it would make an admirable pathetic song. I do not give +these verses for any merit they have. I composed them at the time +at which <i>Patie Allan's mither died</i>; that was <i>the back +o' midnight</i>; and by the lee-side of a bowl of punch, which +had overset every mortal in the company, except the hautbois and +the muse.</p> + +<p>Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, (etc.)</p> + +<p>"Jockie and Jenny" I would discard, and in its place would put +"There's nae luck about the house", which has a very pleasant +air; and which is positively the finest love-ballad in that style +in the Scottish, or perhaps in any other language. "When she came +ben she bobbet", as an air, is more beautiful than either, and in +the <i>andante</i> way would unite with a charming sentimental +ballad.</p> + +<p>"Saw ye my father" is one of my greatest favourites. The +evening before last I wandered out, and began a tender song, in +what I think its native style. I must premise that the old way, +and the way 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 ye my father", etc.</p> + +<p>My song is just begun; and I should like, before I proceed, to +know your opinion of it. I have sprinkled it with the Scottish +dialect, but it may be easily turned into correct English.</p> + +<blockquote>Fragment.—Tune—"<i>Saw ye my Father</i>"<br> +Where are the joys I hae met in the morning, (etc.)</blockquote> + +<p><br> +"Todlin hame": Urbani mentioned an idea of his, which has long +been mine; and 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 <i>Museum</i>—"Ye banks and braes o' bonnie +Doon". One song more and I have done: "Auld lang syne". The air +is but <i>mediocre</i>; but the following song, the old song of +the olden times, and which has 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.<a name="FNanchor144"></a><sup><a +href="#Footnote_144">[144]</a></sup></p> + +<blockquote>AULD LANG SYNE.<br> +Should auld acquaintance be forgot, (etc.)</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Now, I suppose I have tired your patience fairly. You must, after +all is over, have a number of ballads, properly so called, "Gil +Morice", "Tranent Muir", "M'Pherson's Farewell", "Battle of +Sheriff-Muir", or "We ran and they ran" (I know the author of +this charming ballad, and his history); "Hardiknute", "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 <i>Scotland's Complaint</i>, +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 <i>History of Scottish +Music</i>. 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.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_143"></a><a href="#FNanchor143">[143]</a> +Songs for his publication. Burns goes through the whole; but only +his remarks of any importance are presented here.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_144"></a><a href="#FNanchor144">[144]</a> It +is believed to have been his own composition.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XV.</h4> + +<i>September</i> 1793. + +<p>"Who shall decide when doctors disagree?" My ode<a name= +"FNanchor145"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_145">[145]</a></sup> +pleases me so much that I cannot alter it. Your proposed +alterations would, in my opinion, make it tame. I am exceedingly +obliged to you for putting me on reconsidering it; as I think I +have much improved it. Instead of "sodger! hero!" I will have it +"Caledonian! on wi' me!"</p> + +<p>I have scrutinised it over and over; and to the world some way +or other it shall go as it is. At the same time it will not in +the least hurt me, should you leave it out altogether, and adhere +to your first intention of adopting Logan's verses.</p> + +<p>I have finished my song to "Saw ye my Father;" and in English, +as you will see. That there is a syllable too much for the +<i>expression</i> of the air, is true; but allow me to say, that +the mere dividing of a dotted crotchet into a crotchet and a +quaver is not a great matter; however, in that, I have no +pretensions to cope in judgment with you. Of the poetry I speak +with confidence; but the music is a business where I hint my +ideas with the utmost diffidence.<br> +<a name="Footnote_145"></a><a href="#FNanchor145">[145]</a> Scots +wha hae.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVI.</h4> + +<i>May</i> 1794. + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I return you the plates, with which I am highly +pleased. I would humbly propose, instead of the younker knitting +stockings, to put a stock and horn into his hands. A friend of +mine, who is positively the ablest judge on the subject I have +ever met with, and though an unknown, is yet a superior artist +with the <i>burin</i>, is quite charmed with Allan's manner. I +got him a peep of the "Gentle Shepherd", and he pronounces Allan +a most original artist of great excellence.</p> + +<p>For my part, I look on Mr. Allan's choosing my favourite poem +for his subject to be one of the highest compliments I have ever +received.</p> + +<p>I am quite vexed at Pleyel's being cooped up in France, as it +will put an entire stop to our work. Now, and for six or seven +months, I shall be quite in song, as you shall see by-and-by. I +got an air, pretty enough, composed by Lady Elizabeth Heron, of +Heron, which she calls "The Banks of Cree." Cree is a beautiful +romantic stream, and, as her ladyship is a particular friend of +mine, I have written the following song to it:—<br> + Here is the glen, and here the bower, (etc.)<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVII.</h4> + +<i>Sept</i>. 1794. + +<p>I shall withdraw my "On the seas and far away" altogether; it +is unequal, and unworthy of the work. Making 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 and try him.</p> + +<p>For that reason I have sent you the offspring of my brain, +abortions and all; and as such, pray look over them, and forgive +them, and burn them. I am flattered at your adopting "Ca' the +yowes to the knowes", as it was owing to me that it ever saw the +light. About seven years ago I was well acquainted with a worthy +little fellow of a clergyman, a Mr. Clunie, who sung it +charmingly: and, at my request, Mr. Clarke 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 took to-day, I tried my hand on a few +pastoral lines, following up the idea of the chorus, which I +would preserve. Here it is, with all its crudities and +imperfections on its head.</p> + +<p>Ca' the yowes, (etc.)</p> + +<p>I shall give you my opinion of your other newly adopted songs, +my first scribbling fit.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XVIII.</h4> + +19<i>th October</i> 1794. + +<p>My Dear Friend,—By this morning's post I have your list, and, +in general, I highly approve of it. I shall, at more leisure, +give you a critique on the whole. Clarke goes to your town by +to-day's fly, and I wish you would call on him and take his +opinion in general; you know his taste is a standard. He will +return here again in a week or two, so please do not miss asking +for him. One thing I hope he will do—persuade you to adopt my +favourite, "Craigie-burn wood", 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 (<i>entre +nous</i>), is in a manner to me what Sterne's Eliza was to him—a +mistress, a friend, or what you will, in the guileless simplicity +of Platonic love. (Now, don't put any of your squinting +constructions on this, or have any clishmaclaiver about it among +our acquaintances.) 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 inspire a man with +life, and love, and joy—could fire him with enthusiasm, or melt +him with pathos, equal to the genius of your book? No! no! +Whenever I want to be more than ordinary <i>in song</i>—to be in +some degree equal to your diviner airs—do you imagine I fast and +pray for the divine emanation? <i>Tout au contraire</i>! I have a +glorious recipe—the very one that for his own use was invented +by the divinity of healing and poetry, when erst he piped to the +flocks of Admetus. I put myself on a regimen of admiring a fine +woman; 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!</p> + +<p>To descend to business; if you like my idea of "When she cam +ben she bobbit", the enclosed stanzas of mine, altered a little +from what they were formerly when set to another air, may perhaps +do instead of worse stanzas.</p> + +<p>Now for a few miscellaneous remarks. "The Posie" (in the +<i>Museum</i>) is my composition; the air was taken down from +Mrs. Burns's voice. It is well known in the West Country, but the +old words are trash. By-the-bye, 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. "Donocht head" is +not mine; I would give ten pounds if it were. It appeared first +in the <i>Edinburgh Herald</i>; and came to the editor of that +paper with the Newcastle post-mark on it<a name= +"FNanchor146"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_146">[146]</a></sup></p> + +<p>"Whistle o'er the lave o't" is mine; the music is said to be +by a John Bruce, a celebrated violin player in Dumfries, about +the beginning of this century. This I know, Bruce, who was an +honest man, though a redwud Highlandman, constantly claimed it; +and by all the old musical people here is believed to be the +author of it.</p> + +<p>"Andrew and his cutty gun". The song to which this is set in +the <i>Museum</i> is mine; and was composed on Miss Euphemia +Murray, of Lintrose, commonly and deservedly called the "Flower +of Strathmore."</p> + +<p>"How lang and dreary is the night." I 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 the room, and have arranged it anew, as you +will find on the other page.</p> + +<blockquote>Tune—<i>Cauld Kail in Aberdeen</i>.<br> +How lang and dreary is the night, (etc.)</blockquote> + +<p><br> +Tell me how you like this. I differ from your idea of the +expression of the tune. There is, to me, a great deal of +tenderness in it.</p> + +<p>I would be obliged to you if you would procure me a sight of +Ritson's <i>Collection of English Songs</i>, 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 tired you of my +correspondence.</p> + +<blockquote><a name="Footnote_146"></a><a href= +"#FNanchor146">[146]</a>"Keen blaws the wind o'er Donocht +head,<br> +The snaw drives snelly thro' the dale,<br> +The Gaberlunzie tirls my sneck,<br> +And, shivering, tells his waefu' tale.<br> +"Cauld is the night, O let me in,<br> +And dinna let your minstrel fa',<br> +And dinna let his winding-sheet<br> +Be naething but a wreath o' snaw."(etc.)</blockquote> + +<p><br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XIX.</h4> + +<i>November</i> 1794. + +<p>Many thanks to you, my dear sir, for your present: it is a +book of the utmost importance to me. I have yesterday begun my +anecdotes, etc., for your work. I intend drawing it up in 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, scraps of old songs, +etc., 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 lodging is on the cold ground". On +my visit the other day to my fair Chloris (that is the poetic +name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration), she suggested an +idea, which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the +following song:—</p> + +<p>My Chloris, mark how green the groves, (etc,)</p> + +<p>How do you like the simplicity and tenderness of this +pastoral? I think it pretty well.</p> + +<p>I like you for entering so candidly and so kindly into the +story of <i>ma chlre amie</i>. I assure you, I was never more in +earnest in my life than in the account of that affair 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,</p> + +<p>Where Love is liberty, and Nature law,</p> + +<p>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 sentiment that pervades +my soul; and whatever pleasures I might wish for, or whatever +might be the 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!<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XX.</h4> + +I am out of temper that you should set so sweet, so tender an +air, as "Deil tak the wars," to the foolish old verses. You talk +of the silliness of "Saw ye my father:" by heavens, the odds is +gold to brass! Besides, the old song, though now pretty well +modernised into the Scottish language, is, originally, and in the +early editions, a bungling low imitation of the Scottish manner, +by that genius, Tom D'Urfey; so has no pretensions to be a +Scottish production. There is a pretty English song by Sheridan +in the "Duenna," to this air, which is out of sight superior to +D'Urfey's. It begins, + +<p>When sable night each drooping plant restoring.</p> + +<p>The air, if I understand the expression of it properly, is the +very native language of simplicity, tenderness, and love. I have +again gone over my song to the tune as follows.<a name= +"FNanchor147"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_147">[147]</a></sup></p> + +<p>There is an air, "The Caledonian Hunt's delight", to which I +wrote a song that you will find in Johnson. "Ye banks and braes +o' bonnie Doon"; this air, I think, might find a place among your +hundred, as Lear says of his knights. Do you know the history of +the air? It is curious enough. A good many years ago, Mr. James +Miller, writer in your good town, a gentleman whom possibly you +know, was in company with our friend Clarke; and talking of +Scottish music, Miller expressed an ardent ambition to be able to +compose a Scots air. Mr. Clarke, partly by way of joke, told him +to keep to the black keys of the harpsichord, and preserve some +kind of rhythm, and he would infallibly compose a Scots air. +Certain it is, that in a few days, Mr. Miller produced the +rudiments of an air, which Mr. Clarke, with some touches and +corrections, fashioned into the tune in question. Ritson, you +know, has the same story of the "Black keys;" but this account +which I have just given you, Mr. Clarke informed me of several +years ago. Now, to shew you how difficult it is to trace the +origin of our airs, I have heard it repeatedly asserted that this +was an Irish air nay, I met with an Irish gentleman who affirmed +he had heard it in Ireland among the old women; while, on the +other hand, a countess informed me, that the first person who +introduced the air into this country was a baronet's lady of her +acquaintance, who took down the notes from an itinerant piper in +the Isle of Man. How difficult then to ascertain the truth +respecting our poesy and music! I, myself, have lately seen a +couple of ballads sung through the streets of Dumfries, with my +name at the head of them as the author, though it was the first +time I had ever seen them.</p> + +<p>I am ashamed, my dear fellow, to make the request; 'tis +dunning your generosity; but in a moment when I had forgotten +whether I was rich or poor, I promised Chloris a copy of your +songs. It wrings my honest pride to write you this; but an +ungracious request is doubly so, by a tedious apology. To make +you some amends, as soon as I have extracted the necessary +information out of them, I will return you Ritson's volumes.</p> + +<p>The lady is not a little proud that she is to make so +distinguished a figure in your collection, and I am not a little +proud that I have it in my power to please her so much. Lucky it +is for your patience that my paper is done, for when I am in a +scribbling humour, I know not when to give over.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_147"></a><a href="#FNanchor147">[147]</a> +Our Bard remarks upon it, "I could easily throw this into an +English mould; but, to my taste, in the simple and the tender of +the pastoral song, a sprinkling of the old Scottish has an +inimitable effect."</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXI.</h4> + +19<i>th Nov</i>. 1794. + +<p>Tell my friend Allan (for I am sure that we only want the +trifling circumstance of being known to one another to be the +best friends on earth) that I much suspect he has, in his plates, +mistaken the figure of the stock and horn. I have, at last, +gotten one; but it is a very rude instrument. It is composed of +three parts; the stock, which is the hinder thigh-bone of a +sheep, such as you see in a mutton-ham, the horn, which is a +common Highland cow's horn, cut off at the smaller end, until the +aperture be large enough to admit the stock to be pushed up +through the horn, until it be held by the thicker end of the +thigh-bone; and, lastly, an oaten reed exactly cut and notched +like that which you see every shepherd boy have, when the corn +stems are green and full-grown. The reed is not made fast in the +bone, but is held up by the lips, and plays loose in the smaller +end of the stock; while the stock, with the horn hanging on its +larger end, is held by the hands in playing. The stock has six or +seven ventiges on the upper side, and one back ventige, like the +common flute. This of mine was made by a man from the Braes of +Athole, and is exactly what the shepherds wont to use in that +country.</p> + +<p>However, either it is not quite properly bored in the holes, +or else we have not the art of blowing it rightly; for we can +make little of it. If Mr. Allan chooses, I will send him a sight +of mine; as I look on myself to be a kind of brother-brush with +him. "Pride in poets is nae sin", and I will say it, that I look +on Mr. Allan and Mr. Burns to be the only genuine and real +painters of Scottish costume in the world.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXII.</h4> + +<i>January</i> 1795. + +<p>I fear 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 altogether. 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, etc., of these said rhyming +folks.</p> + +<p>A great critic, Aikin on Songs, says that love and wine are +the exclusive themes for song-writing. The following is on +neither subject, and consequently is no song; but will be +allowed, I think, to be two or three pretty good prose thoughts, +inverted into rhyme.<br> +FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.<br> +Is there for honest poverty, (etc.)<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIII.</h4> + +Ecclefechan,<a name="FNanchor148"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_148">[148]</a></sup> 7<i>th Feb</i>. 1795. + +<p>My Dear Thomson,—You cannot have any idea of the predicament +in which I write to you. In the course of my duty as supervisor +(in which capacity I have 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 +"gae back the gate I cam again," but the same obstacle has shut +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 himself, on that very account, exceeding good +company. In fact, I have been in a dilemma, either 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!</p> + +<p>I wrote you yesterday from Dumfries. I had not time then to +tell you all I wanted to say; and Heaven knows, at present I have +not capacity.</p> + +<p>Do you know an air—I am sure you must know it, "We'll gang +nae mair to yon town?" I think, in slowish time, it would make an +excellent song. I am highly delighted with it; and if you should +think it worthy of your attention, I have a fair dame in my eye +to whom I would consecrate it.</p> + +<p>As I am just going to bed, I wish you a good night.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_148"></a><a href="#FNanchor148">[148]</a> +The birthplace of Carlyle.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXIV.</h4> + +You see how I answer your orders; your tailor could not be more +punctual. I am just now in a high fit of 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 intoxicating 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 throw away on such a prosaic +dog as you are. <br> +<hr> +<h4>XXV.</h4> + +<i>April</i> 1796. + +<p>Alas, my dear Thomson, I fear it will be 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 counted time by +the repercussions of pain! Rheumatism, 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 Fergusson—<br> +Say, wherefore has an all indulgent Heaven<br> +Light to the comfortless and wretched given?</p> + +<p>This will be delivered to you by a Mrs. Hyslop, landlady of +the Globe Tavern here, which for these many years has been my +<i>howff</i>, and where our friend Clarke and I have had many a +merry squeeze. I am highly delighted with Mr. Allan's etchings. +"Woo'd and married and a'", is admirable! The <i>grouping</i> is +beyond all praise. The expression of the figures, conformable to +the story in the ballad, is absolutely faultless perfection. I +next admire "Turnim-spike". What I like least is, "Jenny said to +Jockey". Besides the female being in her appearance quite a +virago, if you take her stooping into the account, she is at +least two inches taller than her lover. Poor Cleghorn! I +sincerely sympathise with him! Happy am I 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!<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVI.</h4> + +[<i>Probably May</i> 1796.] + +<p>My Dear Sir,—Inclosed is a certificate which (although little +different from the model) I suppose will amply answer the +purpose, and I beg you will prosecute the miscreants<a name= +"FNanchor149"></a><sup><a href="#Footnote_149">[149]</a></sup> +without mercy. When your publication is finished, I intend +publishing a collection, on a cheap plan, of all the songs I have +written for you, The Museum, and others—at least, all the songs +of which I wish to be called the author. I do not propose this so +much in the way of emolument as to do justice to my muse, lest I +should be blamed for trash I never saw, or be defrauded by false +claimants of what is justly my own. The post is going.—I will +write you again to-morrow. Many thanks for the beautiful +seal.</p> + +<p>R. B.<br> +<a name="Footnote_149"></a><a href="#FNanchor149">[149]</a> For +infringement of copyright.</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVII.</h4> + +BROW-ON-SOLWAY, 4<i>th July</i> 1796. + +<p>My Dear Sir,—I received your songs; but my health is so +precarious, nay, dangerously situated, that, as a last effort, I +am here at sea-bathing quarters. Besides an inveterate +rheumatism, my appetite is quite gone, and I am so emaciated as +to be scarce able to support myself on my own legs. Alas! Is this +a time for me to woo the muses? However, I am still anxiously +willing to serve your work, and if possible shall try. I would +not like to see another employed—unless you could lay your hand +upon a poet whose productions would be equal to the rest. +Farewell, and God bless you.</p> + +<p>R. BURNS.<br> +</p> + +<hr> +<h4>XXVIII.</h4> + +BROW, on the Solway Firth, 12<i>th July</i> 1796. + +<p>After all my boasted independence, curst necessity compels me +to implore you for five pounds. A cruel wretch of a haberdasher, +to whom I owe an account, taking it into his head that I am +dying, has commenced a process, and will infallibly put me into +jail.</p> + +<p>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 "Rothiemurchie" 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!<a name= +"FNanchor150"></a><sup><a href= +"#Footnote_150">[150]</a></sup></p> + +<blockquote>Fairest maid on Devon banks,<br> +Crystal Devon, winding Devon,<br> +Wilt thou lay that frown aside,<br> +And smile as thou wert wont to do? (etc.)</blockquote> + +<a name="Footnote_150"></a><a href="#FNanchor150">[150]</a> These +verses, and the letter inclosing them, are written in a character +that marks the very feeble state of their author. + +<hr> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Letters of Robert Burns, by Robert Burns + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LETTERS OF ROBERT BURNS *** + +***** This file should be named 9863-h.htm or 9863-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/8/6/9863/ + +Produced by Charles Franks, Debra Storr and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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