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1 2 3

32X

THE WOPwKS

ROBERT BURNS.

■3^

f..

'X- "^^ Tf, 'iCP ',t -■>*i *"■■■*■,- -X— ■.

''■'^K-" »• '■ U:i,u ';i.,»i ,w * tdM J, .11

2>U\

THE WORKS

EGBERT BUENS.

WITH

A SKI! IKS OK ArTIIKNTIC

PICTORIAL ILLUSTRATIONS,

MAlUilNAL (iLOSSAUV. NIMKUOUS NUTK.S, ANIJ AI'PKNDIXKS:

ALHIJ

THE I.IKF, <»I' III HNS. IIV r. (;. U>fKH.\llT:

AM) ESSAYS ON TIIK (iEMl S, ( IIAK.U TKIt, AM* WUITIN<is UK IHKNS,

HY TIIUMAS <AKIAI,K ANU I'KOKESSUl! WlLSl'V

EDITED liY

CHARLES ANNANDALE, m.a., ll.d.,

KOITOIl OK lUK "IMI'KKIAI. DK.TKINAIIV," KTC.

VOL. L

TOllONTO:

J. E. BllYANT & CO.

hONDON, GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN'

BLACKIE & SON.

1889.

U ^ / r Z

1934

PHEFACE.

Tlio lir.st editiDii of nmiis's potiins a[iiit'ari'(l in IJ.-i >, or just u littlo over uiio
liiiiKlrt'd years ii^^o. It was priiitctl i\i Kiluuiniock, to bo Huld by subsfriiition
for tho modest .sum of three shilliiij^s, and formed a small volumo entitled,
" I'ooms, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, by Robert liurns." The author was
then a young man of twenty-seven, ami known only in his own immediate
neighbourhood; but this unpretentling little book, and tho somewhat larger
Kdiidiurgh edition which soon followed it, were enough to make his name a
liousehold word among Scotchmen, and to show that Scotlaml had given birth
to a great national poet. Since tlu-n IJurns's fame has gone on increasing,
tMlitioii after edition of his writings has been published, and copies have been
Bold by the hundred thousand.

Among the chief of the larger editions of l)urns'.s works was one brought
out, about forty years ago, by the i)ublishers of the pi'esent edition. It had a
long lease of public favotir, and was generally regarded as not unworthy of the
poet. Since its publication, however, much fresh matter that should bo incor-
porateil in any comprehensive edition of liurns has been accumulated; additional
poems and letters of his have been made public, and a consideraljlc number of
new facts rcdating to his life have become known. This result has been brought
about chietly by the labours of such painstaking editors as Kobert Chambers,
llately A\'addell, (Jeorgc Gilfillan, and especially W. Scott Douglas, the first
and last of whom in particular have added in a surprising manner to the bulk
of IJtirns's published wiitings and to the known facts of his life. With these
additions to our knowledge of IJurns's life and writings the demand among
readers for copies of his works has more than kept pace, and, indeed, seems to
be without limit. For as the population of the British islands continues to
increase, as the English speaking communities throughout the world continue
to multiply, so also do the admirers of Scotland's National Bard, by whom his
works and life are more and more studied. Hence tho issue of the present

VOL. I. 1

TKEFACE.

edition, in which the most recent avaihiblc niattor has been incorporated, and
which, it is helioved, will better than any other eiial)le readers to form a com-
plete and just estimate both of the man and of his wiitings.
Among the chief features of tliis edition arc tlie following:—
The writings of Burns are here presented in two sections, of which the one
contains the poetry, the other the prose. Both sections are arranged chrono-
logically, the pieces following each other according to their dates, so that the
development of the poet's genius and his hterary career may be readily studied
and placed in connection with all the facts of his life. With the same object in
view the year of the poet's age to which each poem belongs is inserted at the
top of the page Avhere the piece occurs. Numerous notes are appended to the
author's text, giving the reader a v,"st amount of useful, and indeed indispensable,
information in regard to persons, places, occurrences, local usages, *Vc., connects 1
Avith or referred to by Burns, Without such a commentary many references
and allusions would not be understood, nor would the poems and letters possess
anything like the same interest. A certain number of the notes are critical
in their character — they may point out special beauties, or may indicate where
the poet has been less happy in his eflbrts. These latter notes are chiefly
selected from writers of eminence who have had Burns for their theme.

The poems are treated on the self-interpreting plan, that is, the Scottisli
words and expressions, such as occur especially in the best and most charac-
teristic of Burns's poems, are rendered intelligible to all by means of marginal
explanations accompanying each piece that requires such aid. To those unac
quainted with the dialect that Burns often used this must prove a most valuable
feature, as it will enable any one readily to api)rehend the riieaning of even
the most difficult passr.ges, while the troublesome necessity of consulting a
glossary is entirely avoided. Parallel with each line will be found the necessary
interpretation, so that the reader carries the sense along with him without
stopping, and only very rarely does a more detailed explanation require to be
furnished in a note. But it is well to rememl)er that the difficulty of under-
standing Burns is opt to be exaggerated, and that many of his poems present
few and trifling peculiarities of dialect and others none at all.

The Life of the poet given in this edition, that namely written by -lohn
Gibson Lockhart, the son-in-law and biographer of Sir Walter Scott, is the
only one that has acquired the character of a classic. It forms an eminentlv

I I

PSEFACE.

Vll

iucoiporated, ami
ii's to form a coiii-

of whicli tlie one

ainuiged chroiio-
ilates, so that the
be readily studioil
he same object in
s inserted at the

appended to the
3ed indis])ensablc,
;es, Ac., connected

many references
nd letters possess
notes are critical
ly indicate where
notes arc chiefly
ir theme.

b is, the Scottish
md most charac-
eans of marginal
To those unac-
3 a most valuable
aeaning of even
of consulting a
nd the necessary
ith him without
r>n require to be
liculty of under-
s poems present

vritten by John
er Scott, is the
IS an eminently

readable and extremely fair-minded account of Burns's life, one in which the
poet's greatness is fully recognized, and his defects and failings treated with
gentleness and charity. The Life is supplemented by notes and an extensive
appendix, adding very considerably to the information supplied by Lockhart,
and giving results obtained by the most recent investigations and discoveries.
But the most valuable supplement to the Life w^ill be found in the letters and
the notes accompanying them, taken in conjunction with the poems belonging
to corresi)onding periods.

The two Essays included in this edition are studies on the poet and his
writings that all readers must be glad to possess. Carlyle's essay has been
universally recognized as one of the best and most sympathetic estimates of
Burns ever written, and one of the ablest of its author's contributions to the
department of literature to w^liich it belongs. The eloquent and enthusiastic
tribute of the renowned " Christopher North " to his fellow-poet and fellow-
countryman, if a less celebrated composition, will be found to have merits of
its own fully entitling it to the place here assigned it.

Among other features of the present edition attention may be drawn to the
account which it contains of the great centenary celebration of the poet's
birthday held in 1859 (with quotations from the chief addresses delivered on
the occasion); the description of mouumeiits erected to him, and of the por-
traits of him that exist; the selection of poems in his honour by well-known
writers ; the account of the chief editions of his works that have been published,
and of the translations of his poems into foreign languages, A'c.

Altogether, it may safely be said that in no other edition is there n ('cumulated
such a quantity of valuable matter calculated to throw light, from all points
of view, upon Burns the poet and Burns the man. Readers Avill here possess
]5urns's works complete, in the best sense of the word, only a few trifling
pieces unworthy of the poet being omitted and a few rather coarse passages
suppressed.

The Pictorial Illustrations Avill no doubt be regarded as worthy of the text
they accompany. The Landscapes embrace tin principal scenes identified with
the Life and Writings of the Poet, and thereby include views of much of the
most attractive scenery of Scotland and of many localities rendered interesthig
by historical as Avell as by poetical associations. They are from finished pictures,
by D. O. Hill, K.S.A., an artist fully accjuainted with the scenes, alive to the

VIU

PEEFACE.

iwt'tical and other associations connected Avith them, and wliose faithful
representations are rcndei'ed in a itoctic spirit. Tlie portraits arc all from
authentic originals. Besides two portraits of the Poet liiinself — the one from
Xasm3th's well-known picture, the other from the remarkable drawing by
Skirving — they present the likenesses of persons intimately connected with
Burns by friendship or by association with In's Muse.

i 13

Glasgow, December, 1SS7

I I

wliosc faithful
lits arc all from
If — the one from
ihlc drawing by

connoctcd M'ith

CONTENTS

AND LIST OF THE ENGEAVINGS.

ENGRAVINGS.

Portrait of Burns, from the remarkable drawing by Archibald Skirving,*

Cottage in which Burns was born,

Tho Banks of Doon, Burns's Monument, and Bridge of Doon

Kirkoswakl and Tani o' Slianter's Grave

jMossgiul Farm-house, near Mauchlinc,

EUisland, the Poet's Residence on the Nith,

Dumfries, the Kiver Nith, and Old Bridge

Portrait of Mrs. Burns (Jejin Armour) and one of her Grandchildren. From the picture

by S. M'Kenzio, S.A.,

Jedburgh and the Kiver tied

Portrait of Mrs. Bruce of t'lackniannan. From the picture by G. Chalmers, .

Scene on tlie Lugar near Auchinleck House,

f ' Soe account of the orighinl drawing hi Appendix to Vol. V.

Page
Front is.
. 16

18
24
32

84
132

166
176
184
216

LIFE OF THE POET BY J. G. LOCKIIART,

13-141

CllAl'TKi; I. HirtIi;-tIio poet's father and family:
—their iillei-'cil .laLdliitisiii : — Williiim Huiiies
settles ill Ayishire:— iiiania^'u:- eliiiiacter;- -
the pciet s nicitliei"— fiiniily removes to Mount
Oliplmiit: -deatli of tlieir laiidlonl ami removal
to hoehleii:— ili'iitliof tJK' poet's father:— t'diieu-
tinii (it the liiinies family:- life at .Mount Oli-
phaiit;- Itoliert and fiillieit at seliool at Diil-
rymiile:— Kohert studies French with Murdoch
at .\yr:—readinK:— friends in Ayr: — liiirns's
llrst love and song,

Chai'TKR II. Roliert and Gilhert as farm-labour-
ers: Kdhert's suprcniaey as a farm-worker:—
goes to dancing-school:— the rural lieauties of
TaHiolton :— early prodiietions :— rural eourt-
sliip :— Kirkoswald :— early literary corrcspon-
deneo :— poems written at Loehlea : — life at
Irvine:- Alison liegbie :— letter to his father :—
fiieiidsliip with Richard Hrown:— t)ecomcs a
freemason : — Hachclor's Club :— diseussioiis: —
eluli bull:— David Killar:— eorresiiondence with
James liurnes:— liirtl; of an illegitimate child,

ClIAl>TKl{ III. Removal toSlossgiel:— theidogical
diseussioiis:— ('lunch iinrties- the New-Lights
and Auld-Lights:— Gavin Haniilton— his feud

Page

with Mr. Aidd:— Dr. Macgill's case:— the "Twa
Herds:"— "Holy Willie's Prayer:"— the "Ordi-
nation," "Kirk"s Alarm, " and "Holy Fair:'" —
"Epistle to Davit," and first idea of liecoming
an author; (iilbert"s account of this period's
poems: — "Dr. Hornbook: "-the ineciuality of
human condition: — " Life and Age of Man:" —
the "Cotter"s Saturday N'ight " and "Holy
Fair:" — West Indian project:— Highland Mary:
—.lean Armour:— aeknowledgment of marriage:
—birth of twins:- legal steps taken to secure
his children's maintenance, ....

ClIAl'TKn IV. Jamaica engagement:— resolution
to publish his poems: — publication of first edi-
tion:— preparations for sailing: — growing fame:
— Dugald Stewart, Dr. Blair, Mrs. Dunlop:—
"Lass of Ballochniyle '':— hopes of an excise ap-
pointment:— visit to Dr. L.aurie:— Dr. Black-
lock's letter:— Burns resolves to visit Edinburgh,

Chai'Tkr V. Arrival in Edinburgh:— introduction
to the gentry and literati of the capital:— Mac-
kenzie's notice of Burns's poems:— masonry: —
notes on Burns in Edinliurgh, by Dugald Stewart,
Prof. Walker, and Sir Walter Scott:— Scottisli
literature:— Burns and the Edinburgli philoso-

Page

•^

CONTENTS.

pliers:— (linry:— new conncetiniis formeil in
Ediiilimtih: — convi'isiitiiiiial imiwits:- I'.unis
iiiul Dr. liliiii:- saicastic- iiiiil iiiiilaiiioiMis re-
marks:- IMiiilniryli lawyers: — tavern -life: —

William Nh(.l;— lettei\s:-iiiililieati(inofsei d

etlitiiiii I'f iRnMiis:-ereels tuiiibsloiie tui'erj;iis
son: -leaves Kdinliiuyli,

CiiA1'Ti;k VI. I'.iinUr tour:— eiiisde Id Creueli:—
return tii Maneliline:— faviMir;ilpl,v reeeived l>.v
the Armours:— returns to i;dinlinri;li: -West
nit'ldand timi:— llarviestcui jnurne.v:— Stirlin;,'
epi).'ram:— unmoved liy ;;ran(l( iir of scenery,
ite.:— visit to Jtamsay of (Iclitertyre:— visit to
.Mrs. Bruce of Claekmannan:— nortJKru tour:—
Taynujutli : — IJlair- Atliole :— [nveriiess :— (ior-
don t'astle:— .\l)erdeen :- Stonehaven, iVe. :— de-
cides on taking the farm of i;ilisland:—('Iariuda:
— Johnsons .l/».''V'»/«.'— ode to Prince rjiarles:—
overturned in a coach and contiued to his room
forsixweeks:— low spirits:— Jean .Vrnionra^iaiii
exposed to the rejiroaches of her fannly, and
turned out of doors:— I'.unis secures shelter for
lier:— applies for a post on tlie excise, and is
appointi.d:— settlement with Creech:— loan to
Gilljcrt,

C'HAPTKli VII. Marriage:— takes EUislaiuI, and
enters on possession:— excuses for his nniiriagc:
— builds a house, and lirings his wife home:—
company courted by neighlionrs and visitors:—
contributions to Johnson's .l/n.'-n/i/i.—cxtensive
correspondence:— farniing a failure:— ol it an is
actual employment as an exciseman:— Allan

I'ilKf

V&fte

Cunningham's recollections:— perils and temp-
tations of Ills new vocation:- the " wliistle con-
n,.st:"_t'aptain (iiose:— '•'I'ani »' Shaiitei" — •
legeml:- i:ilisland anecdotes :- leaves Kllis-
land:— last visit to IMinburHh:— convivial con-
versation, ''S

CilAl'TDl! VIII. Dumfries: — iuteniperanee: —
hopes of promotion :— Jacoliitism :- W Idggisli
favour for the French ilevolntion: r.iuns sns-
]iected:- indiscretions:— story of the captured
guns :—r.'ieise- board's investigation :— linrns
joins the Dumfries vidnnteers:— I'.leetion Hal-
lads:— (.rayanil rindlatcron Hnrnsin Dumfries:
Tliomson s .l/c^/i/Zcs;— eorresjiondenee :— Chlo-
I'ig:—" Scots wha hae":-l.'owiicr, . . . lui

I'llAl'Tl'r. IX. IhuiL-s irritable and nervous bodily
constitution inherited:— the "rhyming tribe:"
— lettei'toCunninghani:- pecuniaiydilliculties:
— corresponilenee with 'i'lionison :— 'rhomsoii'.s
treatment of linrns:— acting s\iiiervisor:—deii^
of his daughter:- illness: — imprudent eximsure
and chill:— racked with rheumatism:— removal
to r.row:-.Mrs. Kitldell:— letter to his cousin
at Montrose:— icturn to Dumfries:— death : —
funeral:— birtli of a son:— niausolenm erected:
—subscription for the benellt of his family:
— Curries edition: sons of liurns:— (iilliert
llurns:— IJurns negleited:— poverty:- letter to
I'eter Hill:— Uurns's Inmesty and charity:- his
religious prineiides: — value of Hnrns's history
and poetry, ll'.>

APPENDIX TO LOCKIIArT'S LIFE OF BURXS,

142-1S(;

Burns's Autobiogi-aphical Letter to Dr. Moore,
liurns's Early Life, by his Brother Gilbert,
Burns and his Father's liousehokl, by John

Murdoch, i;

Burns, as sketched by Professor Dup-ild Stewart, 1.'

IMu'ns's Last Veais, by .Tames (fray, .

Burns as an Excise ( illleial, by ( 'oUector Findlatcr

Dr. Currie's Description of Burns,

Estimate of Burns's Character, by Maria

Riddell,

142
14^

ir.7
i(;i)

101

1G:2

Pjiograjihic Notes on tiie Family of Burns, and

on his Brothers and Sisters 10,')

Exlinmation of the Poet's Kenniins, . . . Ids

The Paternal .Vneestry of I!\nns, . . . 1711

Highland Mary, 173

Urief .Notes by Burns of a I'order Tour, . . 1711

lirief Notes liy liurns of a Highland Tour, . ISO
Visit by linrns to ('lacknuinnanshire, iVe., by Dr.

Adair, 1^3

•Syme's Narrative of a Tour with linrns, . . 184

Library 'f llurns , 185

POEMS AND SOXGS-Eauliest to 178.-.,

187-2fiO

Song — HaniJsome Nell, . . . .189
Song — Tibbie, I hae seen the tin V. . . 1!)U
Song — I dream'd I lay, . . . .191

Tragic Fragment 192

The Tarbolton I.as.sos ];i:5

Ah, woo is me, my Mother dear, . . lOo
Song — Montgomery's Peggy, . . . 194
The Ronalds of the Bennals, . . .195
Song — On Cessnock Banks, . . . 196

Song — Hero's to thy health, my bcinnie lass, 198
Song — Bonny Peggy Alison, . .199

Song— Mary Movison, .... 200
A Prayer nnder the jiressure of violent

Anguish, 201

Winter— A Dirge, -JO]

A Prayer in the i)roRi)ect of Death, . 202

Stanzas on the same Occasion, . . 2(i3
Paraphrase of the First P.salm, . . 203

CONTENTS.

I)oriIs .111(1 tt'iiii).
Iif '■ wliirttlu con-
I o SliiintiT; ' —
-Icitvcs i;iiis-
:— convivial cou-

rage

Mti'iiiiifrjiiice : —
:iMM:- \\lii;.'jrisli
iiiii: -Kuins .siis-
iif till' ciiiJlinvil
iili.iii:- lliii'iis
-KliTtldii r.iil-
iiiislii Diiiafrii's:
iimU'iici':— I'lilo-
ler, . . . im

1 iiervdiislxjilily
liyiiiiiiL.' trilie:"
iiiiiij (lilliciiltios:
ion :~Tlii)in.s()ii's
IH'i'visor:— (liii^
nidiiit ixiiii.vmo
iitisiii:— roiiiipviil
ur to his cousin
fries:— (lentil : —
solemn eiLcteil:
; of his family:
Hiiins: (iilhert
leity:- letter to
ml charity:— his
Hmiis's history

. 11'.)

Thu first six Verses of the Ninetietli

Psalm paraiihrased,
Sony— liay:iiiy Fortune, ....
Sdiij,', in the cliaracter ( if a ruined I'arnier,
Bonn— M}- Fatlier was a Fanner, .
Exteniiiore Verses — "I'll y" and be a

Si)ili,'er,"

Song — The Cure for all Care,

John Harleycorii

The Dentil and Dyiny; Words i>i jxjor

:\railie

I'oor ^[ailie's Elegy, ....

Song — The Itigs (j' Barley,

Song— Peggy, .....

Song—^My Nannie, O, .

Song — Wlia is tluit at my bower door? .

Song — Green grow the lla.shes,

llenwrse — .\ Fragment,

Epitaiih — For the Author's Father,

Ejiitaph — On a Friend, ....

Epitaph — On a celebr.-itcd Ruling Elder,

Ballad on the American War,

Sony — The ranting Dog the Daddio o't, .

Pnae

204
•J(i.'.

•2(1.".
'2U(J

207
208
209

210
212
211
215
21tJ
217
218
210
220
220
221
221
223

The Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate
Child,

Epistle to John Kankinc,

Song — leave Novels, .

Sung — The Belles of Mauchlinc, .

gong — When first; I came to Stewart
Kyle

Epitaph— On a noisy Polemic,

Epitaph — On a henpecked Country Squire,

Kpigram — On the said Occasion, .

Another,

On Tam the Chapman, .

Epigrammatic Lines to J. llaukine,

Tjncs to John Itankine,

Man was made to mourn.

The Twa Herds, or the Holy Tuilzie,

Holy Willie's Pr.ayer,

E])itaph on Holy Willie,

]';pistle to ],)avie, ....

Death and Dr. Hornbook,

Epistle to John Lapraik, • ' .

Second Epistle to John Lapraik,

To William Simson,

I'agu

223
224

227

228
223
228
228
229
221)
229
230
2:50
233
23G
238
239
243
249
2r.3
250

INDEX TO FIRST LINES OF POEMS AND SONGS IX THIS VOLUME.

. 142-lSfi

of Iluni.s, ami

. Kir.

IIS. . • . Kis

. 1711

. 173

'I'oiir, . . i7i;

11(1 'rmii-, . ][.(i

iif. iVc, liy Dr.

. 1S3

liiiins, . . im

. 185

. 187-2f)()

ybonniela.-^.s, 19S

. 199

. 200
of violent

. 20]

eath, . 202

. 203

Ao day, as Death, that gruesome carl, . 229

Ah, woe is nic, my mother dear! . . 193

All villain as I am — a damned wretch, . 192

Altlio' my bed were in yon niuir, . . 194

An holiest man hero lies at rest, . . 220

As father Adam first was fool'd, . . 22S

As .Mailie, an' her lambs thegither, . . 210

As Tam the Chapman on a day, . . 229

Beliiiul yon hills, where Lugar tlows, . . 2U)

]5elo\v tliir stanes lie Jamie's banes, . . 228

Green grow the rashes, 1 . . . . 218

He who of Kaiikino sang, lies stiff and dead, 230

Hero Holy Willie's .sair worn clay, . . 238

Here soiiter Hood in death does sleep, . 221

Here's to thy health, my bonnie lass, . 198

I dream'd I lay where flowers were springing, 191

F gat your letter, winsome Willie, . . 2>")H

if ye gae up to yon liiU-tai). • • • l''<^

I'll kiss thee yet, yet 199

In Mauehline there dwells six proper }-oung

belles, .227

In 'I'arbolton ye ken, thero.'.re lU'opor }'oung

men, 19.")

It was upon a Lammas night, . . . 214

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose,

212

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick

border, 206

No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 208

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns, 215

a' ye pious godly flocks, ...

O death, liadst thou but .spared his life,

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace

Oh, Tibbie, I hae seen the day, .

O leave novijls, ye Mauehline belles, .

O Mary, at thy window be,

On Cessiioek banks a la.ssie dwells.

One Queen Artemi.sia, as old stories tell,

O, once [ lov'd a bonnie lass,

( ) ragiiii;- Fortune's withering blast, .

O i-ougli, rude, ready-witted Rankine,

O Thou Great Being! what Thou art,

Thou, the fir.st, the greatest friend,

Thou unknown, Almighty Cause, .

Thou, wha ill the heavens does dwell,

wha my babio clouts will buy (

O why ilie deuce should I repine,

ye whoso cheek the tear of pit}' stains.

Some books are lies frae end to end, .

233
228
219
190
227
2(i0
19(5
229
189
205
224
201
204
202
236
223
207
220

243

Tho man, in lifo wherever plac'd.
The sun ho i.s stink in tho west, .
Tlio wintry west extends liis blast,
There wiw tlirce kin;,''s into tlio east, .
Tliou's welcome, wean ! misliantor fa' me,

Wha is that at my bower Joor ? .

CONTENTS.

20;")
201
20!»
223

217

When chill November's surly blast, .
When first 1 came to Stewart Kylo, .
When (iuilforcl f^oo'l our i)ilot stood, .
While briei-s an' woodbines buddinj,' f,'rcen.
While new-cii'd kyo rowte at the stake.
While winds frao aff J3en Loniond blaw, .
Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene?

PnKo
230
22S
221
211)
2r.:!

2;i;t

203

--^

■f

"^A

IP.hth:

marriajte

mid rem

Oliiiliant
reading :

My 1.1
Ami c

T)(.15l

It .1:1

PttKO

blast, .

230

Kylo, . .

228

stood, .

221

il'liiifTKrocn,

21l»

lio st.'iko.

2i".;!

"iiil blaw, .

2;{!t

irthiy scene?

2(«

THE

WOBKS OF PvOBEET BUENS.

LIFE OF THE POET

BY J. G. LOCKHAET.

CHATTER I.

inirth:— the poet's father anil family :— their alU-Kod Jacnhitism : -William Biirnes settles in Ayrshire:—
marriage: -eharaeter-.—tlie poet's mother :— family removes to .Mount Oliphant:— death of tlieir landlord
and removal to Loehlea;— deatli of tlie poet's fatlier:— education of the ISurnes family :- life at .Mount
Olipliant:— lloliert and Gm)ert at scliool at Ualrymple:— Roljert studies Kreneh with Murdoch at Ayr:-
readini,' :— friends in Ayr:— Burns' tlrst love and song.) '

My fiitlitr was a farmer upim llie C'arrick liorilcr,
And liirefully lie bivuglit iiiu up iii ili'ctucy ami order.

I)0B1:RT nrUNS was bom on tlie 25th of
1 January, 17f)l>, in a clay-built cottag'?,
about two miles to tlic south of the town of
Ayr, and in the immediate vicinity of tlie Kirk
of Alloway, and the " Auld IJrig o' Doon."
About a week afterwards, part of tlie frail
dwellinir, which his fatlier had constructed
with his own hands, irave way at midniglit;
and the infant ;7oet and his mother were carried
throu!j;]i the storm, to the shelter of a ncigh-
bouriiig hovel.

The father, William Bimies or Buniens (for
.so he spelt his name), was the son of a farmer
in Kincardinesiiire, whence he removed at nine-
teen years of age,'- in consequence of domestic
embarrassments. The farm on which the
family lived formed part of the estate forfeited,
after the liebellion of 1715, 1)y the noble liousc
of Keitli-Marischal; and the poet took pleasure
in believing that his humble ancestors shared

' [ rassa){i!s that do not belong to the Life as written by
Loeliliart, but are now inserted to supplement or cor-
rect his text or notes, are inclosed in s(iuare brackets.]

• I An error. A letter of recommendation given to
William liurnes l)y three Kincardineshire gentlemen,
dated i)tli ilay, 1748, sliows that he was at least twenty-
seven years of age when he left his father's house.]

the principles and the fall of their chiefs.
"Though iny fathers" (.said he after his fame
was established) "had not illustrious honours
and vast properties to hazard in the contest —
though they left their cottages only to add so
many units more to the unnoted crowd tjiat
followed their leaders, yet what they could
they did, and what they had they lost. . . .
They shook hands with ruin, for what they
esteemed the cause of their king and their
country. "•■' Indeed, after William liurnci
settled in the west of Scotland, there prevailed
a vague notion that he himself had liccti out
in the insurrection of 1745-6; but *iiougli
I'obert would fain have interpreted his father's
silence in favour of a talc which flattered his
imagination, his brother (iilbcrt always treated
it as a mere fiction; and such it was. It is
easy to suppose, that when any obscure north-
ern stranger fixed him.sclf in those days in the
Low Country, such rumours were likely enough
to be circulated concerning him. [It is not
improbable that some members of the family
had gone "out" with the young Earl Marischal
in 1715, but it is tolerably certain that none
of the poet's more immediate ancestors, at lea.st

3 Letter to Lady Winifred Jlaxwell Constable, lOtli
December, 1789. [The letter will lie found In its
proper place in the poet's Correspondence.]

LIFE OF JtOlJEHT IIURNS.

on the father's side, ".sliook liiiiiil.s witli ruin,"
on iiwounl of any connection tlioy had with
tiiat rising-. His f;randfathcr sol I led on iiis
farm of Cid.linaliill aliniit liiat lime, and re-
mainid tiicre till 1748. wliile his (jrreai-f?rand-
lather and .-everal of his ^land-uiu'lcs were for
lon.i,' tlirivinu- rarnier.-- in llic ncifilihourhood,
Konie of thcni or tinir raniilies lill after Hurns'>
own deaih.]'

William linrncs laboured for some years in
the iieiL;lilioiirliiiod of IMinlmri:!' as a gardener,
iinil then found his way into Ayr.-hire. [ In
174!t lie was employed in lay in; out the
Meadow-;, or lloii; i'ark, on the soi.ih side of
i;dinl)uri;li, i,'roun(l which was formerly covered
'ill a lake called the Uorough l.och.] At
i';c time when liohert was horn, lie was gardener
and overseer to a uentleman of small estate,
Jlr. Ferjriison of Doonholm : but resided on a
few acres of land, which he had on lease from
another proiirietor, and where lie had m-iuiiially
intended to establish himself as a Jiurseryman.
He married \,u:nes lirown in JJeccniber, l?;')?,
and the poet was their first-born.

William IJurncs seems to liavo been, in his
humble station, a man eminently entitled to
respect. He had received the ordinary learn-
inir of a Scottish parish school, and i)rofited
larjiely, both by that, and by his own e.\]icri-
encc in the world. "I have met with lew"
(said the poet,- after he himself had seen a
good deal of inankinil) "who understood men,
their manners, and their ways, cr|U!il to my
father." He was a strictly religious man.
There exists in hishandwritiiiua little maniiid
of tlieoloiry, in the form of a dialogue, which
he drew up for the use of his children, and
from which it appears that he had adopted
more of the Arminian than of the Calvinistic
'loctriiit ; a circumstance not to be wondered
at, when wc consider that he had been edu-
cated in a district wliicli was never numbered
amom;- the strongholds of the Presbyterian
church.'' The afrectioiiatc reverence with
which liis children ever regarded him, is at-

' (Sec Al'i'ENliiX— " Pateinal Ancestry of Hums."]
- Letter (if IJunis to Dr. Mixne, 2il Au^'ust, 17s".
[This auti)lii()t:iui)liical letter will he fduiul complete
ill the jircseiit vciliiiiie fDlluwiii}.' the Life.]

3 1 Tills niiuuial as it exists is in the liaiiilwritiiit; (jf
^ruiilocli, the teacher, who had either cxtemleil it
from notes, or written it from the dictation of William
ruinies at Jlount Oliphaiit. See vol v.|

tested by all w ho have described him as he np-
]iearcd in his doineslic cinde; but there needs
no evidence, besiile that u( the poet ]iini.><elf,
who has painted, in colours that will never
fade, "the saint, the father, and the husband,"
of the "Cottar's ."iaturdtiy Night."

.\gnes Brown, the wife (d' this good man, is
dc-crilicd as "a very >agacions w(nn!iii. with-
out any ajipcarance id' forwardness, orawkward-
ness (d'manncr ;" ' and it seems that, in features,
and, as he grew up. in general tiddress, the
[loct resembled her more than his father.'' She
had an inexhaustible store of ballads ami
traditionary tales, ,'ind appears to Inive nour-
ished his infant imagination iiy tliis mean.-,
while her husband paid more attention to
" the weii:lilier matters (d' the law."

These w<u'iliy jicople laboured hard for the
support of an incrctising family. William
was occu]derl with Mr. Ferguson's service,
anil Agnes, like tiic Wyfe of Auchtermuclitic,
who ruled

r.iiith calvis and kyc.
And i\ the house liaith in ami out, —

contrived to niaiiiiiie a small ,lairy as well as
her children. i5ut thou-h their honesty and
diligence merited better things, their condition
continued to be very uncomfortable; and our
poet (in his letter to i)r. .Moore) accounts dis-
tinctly for his beini;' born and bred "a very
poorman'sson," by the remark, that "stubborn
ungainly intciirity, and headlong, ungovern-
able irasciliilily, are disijualifying circum-
stances."

These defects of temper did not, however,
obscure the sterling worth of William Unriies
in the eyes of Mr. Ferguson; wlio, when the
gardener cxjiresscd a wish to try his fortune
on a farm of his then vacant, ami confessed at
the same time his inaliility to meet the charges
of slocking it, at once advanced flOO towards
the removal of the dillicully. liurnes accor-
dingly removed to this farm (that of Mount
Oliphant, in the ])arish of Ayr) at Whitsuntide,
irt)!"), when his eldest son was between six and
seven years of ago. IJut tiic soil proved to be

< Letter of Mr. Mackenzie, surtreon at Irvine.

.Morisoii, vol. ii. \i. ici. ( Moiison s editi f liiiriis

was imlilished at F.dinliur-li in Isll in two v<diiiiies.l

•' Moiisoii, vol. ii. ji. 2(V2. |She lived till 14tli
.tamiaiy, l.siio, thus surviving' her distinguished son
nearly a quarter of a century.]

lied hini as lie np.
: l>nt iliiTc mx;U
(lie jMH'i liiniseir,
•liat will never
.iimI (lie liusl)!iii(| '■
iuhi."

this ijood man, i,
>iis woman, wiih.
iit'ss, draw k ward-
I'lal, in leiUnrcs,
iral address, die
Ills fat iier.'' Sho
I'l' liaiiads and
'■■•< t(i have nrnir-
i.v tliis means,
'■•L' attention t„

htw."

•cd hard for the

""'l.v. William

-.iriison's serviee,

Aiieliterniuehtie,

k.ve,

ami (Hit, —

dairy as well as
leir honesty and
". their condition
ortaMe; and our
Te) aecoiml.s dis-
id hred "a very
;, that "stuhhorn
loiitr, uiiy-overn-
'ifviiig I'iivum.

I not, however,
iVilliam Miirnes
"ho, when the
<iy his fortune
iid ennfcssed at
leet (he eharge.s

I XI 00 towards
I'uriies aei'or-

that of .Mount
t Whitsuntide,
?tween six and
il l)rove(I to lie

'I'on at Iiviiio.
•ilitioii ,,f jjuiiis

II twip vdliinies.]
lived till 14th
stiiiguislied son

lill'K (JF JiUliEKT JilliNS.

oF a most un'.'ratcful deseription; and Mr.
Ftrirusnii dyiiis;, and his alliiirs falliii.tC into
the hands of a liarsii ,/;((•/<(/• (wlio ai'lerwanis
Bat for lii!<l>ii'lure in the "Twii Doi^s"), IJunies
vas Iliad to uive u\< ids bariiuiii a., the em! of
Bi.\ vears.' Ho tiicn removed alpoiil ten miles
to a laru;er and better farm, lluii of Locldea,
in the i>arish of Tarlmlion. liui here, after a
plioit interval of iiro>iPirily, .some tini'oriuiiate

riisunderstanilin.i; took iihne as tolliei ii-

tioiis of the lease; the di>i)iile was referred to
arliitiaiioii; and, after three years of suspense,
tiie result involved liiirnes in ruin. The
worthy man lived to know this decision ; hut
death saved him froiv vitiu'ssini;- its necessary
conseiiuences. lie died of consumiition on the
13th February, 1781, Severe labour, and
hopes only renewed to be ballled, had at last
exhausted a robust but irritalile structure and
temperament of body anil of mind.

In the midst of the harassing strua'slcs
which found this termination, William liurnes
iippears to have used his utmost exertions for
lironiotinu; the mental improvement of his
children— a duty rarely neglected by Scottish
jiarents, however humlile their station and
scanty tiieir means, llobert was sent, in his
sixth year, to a small school at Alloway .Mill,
about a mile from the house in which he was
born. Hilt Camiibell, the te;iciier, lieiiin' in
the course of a few months removed to another
situation, lUirncs and four or five neiu'hbours
enna^ed ^Ir. .lohn .Murdoch to supply his
jilacc, lodiiing him by turns in their own
houses, and insuriui;' to him a small payment
of money (piarterly. liobert Burns, and tiil-
bert his next brother, were the aptest and
l.ivourite pupils of this worthy man, who ha.s,
in a letter published at Icntcth by C'urrie, de-
tailed, with honest pride, the part which he
had in the early education of our poet. He
became the freiiuent inmate and confidential
frieii'l of the family, and s]icaks with enthusi-
asm of the virtues of \Villiam Hunies, and of
the peacelV .md happy life of his humble
abode.

1 I'l'lic'ie is an error here. Uurncs hail an ojitioii of
rciiioviii;,' at the cnil of every sixtli .vear. At tlie eiul
of the llrst six .veais lie atteiii)iti'(l to llx liiiiiself in a
liutter farm, hut failiiij; in that atteniiit, lie hail to
taclvlf a suciiml .six, ami renmiiu'il in all tli'ven years
at Jtouiit Oliphaut, viz. from Whitsumlay, 17ii(J, to
Whitsunday, 1777.]

"He was," says Jlurdoch,'-' "a tender and
aU'ectionate father; he took pleasure in leiuiing
his cliililreii i tlie path of virtue; not, in driv-
iii'j; liieiii, as >omu parents do, to the perfor-
mance of duties ' I which I hey iheniselves are
averse. He look care lo liiid fault but very
seldom; and therelore, when lie did reluike,
he was listened to wiili a kind of revei'eiilial
awe. .V look oi' disaiiprobatioii was fell ; a
reproof was severely so; and a slri[ie with the
/iiir.<, even on the skirt ol' the coat, iiiive heart-
felt jiain, produceil a loud lamentation, and
brouL;hl forth a Hood of tears.

" He had the art of uaining the esteem and
ffood-will of those that were labourers under
him. I think I irjver saw him aimry Init

I twice; the one time it was with the foreman
of the band, for not reapinu; tlie field as he was
desired; and the other time, it was with an

[ old man, for usinjj; siniitt_.- innuendoes and
i/oiili/i' ciiti'udri It. . . .

" In this mean cottage, of which 1 myself
was at times an inhabitant, I really believe
there dwelt a larger portion of content than in
any palace in Kurope. The 'Cottar's Satur-
day Night' will give some idea of the temper
and manners that jire vailed there."-'

• IMiuiloili was aliout ei};hteen years of ajic wlien,
ill May, ITIi.'i, he took iiossession of the scliool, a small
thutchi'd liuiUliiif;- iliivetly o]iiiosite I'.iiiiis's ('otta>:e.
lie ultimately went to London, where he jni' lished
several educational works. In his latter lUiys he
sank into jioverty, and a fund was raised for his
relief. He died, April '20, 1^*24, af-ed seventy-seven;
and from tlie ohiliiary notice ]iiililished in the London
IniiHis we Uani that the eelehiati"' Talleyrand was
one of several distint;iiislied foreif,'iiers w ho leaiiied
Kiii;lisli from lUuns's schoolmaster. His account of
the r.iiins household will lie found complete in the
ajipemlix to Lockliart's Life, as here imlilished.]

1 •"[I'.unis's liiithiilaee, or as it is now ccmnioiily
called " r.unis's ('ottaj;e," is a low-roofed, one-storied
stnictiiie if a very humhle order on the highroad
from Ayr to Mayhole, and at a little distance from
Alloway Kirk and the Auld Jiris; o' Doon. The road,
when r.unis's father built his liouse, ran in a more
westerly direction than the inesent hij;liway, the

I whole of his };arden-,nrouncl lyiiii;' between the two.
The cotta;::e consisted of a "but" or kitchen end to
the left of the doorway, a "ben" or room end to the
ri^'ht, with an "awmrie" or partition press between,
faeiiiK the door. At the back of this ])ress and facing
the kitchen llieiilace was the recess which contained
the bed in which the poet was born. On the family's
rciuovin;; to Mount Olipliant the cnttaire, with its
siuioiindiiifijiardeii-acres, wassohl to tlie Corporation

I of Shoemakers in Ayr, for .£120. About the beginning

1 1

]0 LIFE OF J{OBi:UT liUUNS.

The boys un.lcr the joint tuition of Mur.lo.h another. IJoherfn countcnnnee wan Konemlly
luul liieir lather, n.i. le rai-id proRress in rea.l- urave, an.l expressive of a .scrio..., eonlenipia.
InK spellinir and writinir; ihev .•..nimitted live, and tiiont,'litl'ul mind. (iill.erl s Ilia-
psaluLs and h'vn.ns lo n.en.,.ry with exlra..rdi. said, 'Mirth, with thee I mean to live;' un.l
nary ea«c-lheteaeiiertaliin- rare ("^'-■iL'll'' '•I'rtainly, it any j-erson who knew the two
us) that tliey siiould understand tiie exaet lioys iiad I.een aslved wlmdi (d tliem was tlic
meaning ol' eaeli won! in the sentenee ere they most likely to eourt tiie .Muscm, ho would never
tried to get it hy iieart. "As soon," says liave guessed that Holiert hail a propensity of
ho, " as they wereeai'al)le of it, I tan. lit lliem tlial kind."

to turn verse into its natural prose or.ler; ".Vt those years," says the poet himself, in
sometimes to suhslitute synonynujus expres- 1787, "I was hy no means a favourite with
sions for poetieal words; ami to supply ail the anybody. I was a good deal m)ted for u re-
ellipses. Hobcrt and Ciilbert were generally tentive memory, a stubborn sturdy somelhim,'
at the upper end of tiic elass, even when in my disposition, and an enthusiastie idio!
ranged with boys by far their seniors. Tho ; piety. I say i<l!o/ ]w\y, be.'ause 1 was then
books most commonly used in the school were but a child. ThouJi it cost the s.hoolmastc;
the Sjiiiniiu liouk, the New Testament, the some thrashings, 1 made an excellent Knglisli
Bible, Mason's Vollidlon of Prosr ninl IV/w, i .scholar; and by the time I was ten or eleven
Fisher's A«;//'W(r,V((Hini«r."—"Oilbert always years of age, 1 was a critic in substantives,
appeared to me to possess a more lively verbs, and particles. In my infant and boyish
imagination, and to i)e more of the wit, than days, too, 1 owed much to an old wonnin who
Robert. I attempted to teach them a little resided in the family, remarkable for hci'
church-music. Here they were left far lie- ignorance, credulity, and snperstilion. She
hind by all the rest of the school. Robert's had, 1 suppose, tho largest collection in the
ear, in particular, was remarkably dull, and country of tales and soiius con.'erniiig devils,
his voice untuiiable. It was Imig belorc 1 ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks,
could get them to distinguish one tuno from spunkios, kelpies, elf-candles, dead -lights,

wraiths, apiiaritions, cantraiiis, giants, en-
oftheccntur.v,aiiiillfnianie(l(iiiiiclie,wliii,inail(litiiin chanted towers, dragons, and other Ininipery.
to IiiH ..nlina.y .ailing, kept a .snull |MiMie.|i.,iise rpi,;^ cultivated the latent .seeds of poetrv; but
near tlie ".Viilcl liriK !>' DiiDii," ciiiiieived tlie idea (it , , , ,,, . . . " .

,■e,l.„viM^' Ids Imsiness tn llurns s rMu^. lie Imd '""' ^'^ '^"•""■'^' "" '^•'^'^■'' "" "'>' '>"!'^'""Vt>on,
some leeolieeti.uis (if liiiiMs, whetlier leal (ir iiiiiim- that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I
factiiied: and retailed tlieiiKiver a dram fn uiiwiirds sometimes keep a sharp look-out in suspicions

places; and tlKumh nobody can be more
sceptical than 1 am in such matters, yet it
often lakes an eH'ort df philosoidiy 'o shake oil"
these idle terrors. The earliest composition
that I recollect taking pleasure in, was Tin'
Vi.fUiii of Mhfii, and a hymn of Addison's,
beginning, 'How are thy servants blest, '>
l/ordi' 1 particularly remember one lialf-
stanza, which was music to my boyish ear :

l''(ir tli(iii;.'li on dreadful wliiils we hung
lli^li on the broken wave

of forty veiirs, miieli to tlie .seaiidal of all lovers of
the poets memory, and tlie assoeiatioiis eoimeeted
with his father s dwelliiii;' The aecoiiimodiit ions have
been extended since the poet s time, by additions iit
iKitli jtaldes, and by the erection of a liamlsome hall,
in 1S4!». In it have been held niiineidMs .social ({atlier-
ings and liinns's festivals, the most iiotalile of wlneli,
perhaps, is the centenary festival jiresided over by
Dr. Hately Waddell. Tlie tliit meeting,' eeleliratinj;
the anniversary of the poet s birth was held in the
cottaKO on the iM\ .laniiaiy, ISDl, wlieii Mr. Ciawford
of Uuonsidc, .biliu Itallantine, to whom Itnrns ad-
dressed the "Twa J)ri;;s;" Uobert Aiken, to whom he }
dedicated the "Cottar's .Saturday Ni^tlit," and other
friends and admirers of the jioet, met under the ]
presidency of the J!ev. Hamilton I'aul. After Miller j ^^^ ^^ith these pieecs in Mason's EmilM,.
Ooudies death, the liiisiness earned oil in tlie cottage ^, ,, . , i , < n,i

diaii(;ed hands several times, and ultimately the Collcrtion, one of my school-b„ . .s. The two
selliiiffofdrink was banished from tlie cottage proper first books I ever read ill ju-ivate, and which
and eoiiHiied to tiie adjoinini,' hall. ThisairaiiKement jrave me more pleasure than any two books !
continae,! till 18«. when the " 1-unis Monnment ,,.,, ^cad since, were, the Uf<' of Il,nn,ibal,
Irustees purcha.sed the property from the Avr Cor- ,,. , .,. „;.„. „,

poratum of Shoemakers tor ,t4000, and converted It ""'' "'^ '''"'O'll OJ ''"' II '"""» nallace.
into a kind of I3urns niuseuui.] | Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn,

innee w:\a ffciierally
NcrioiiM, cdiUenipla.
III. (iilliiTl's fai'o
nicaii to livL-;' ami
lio know the two
li of tlifiii uan (lie
■<i'.-«, liu would iievrr
liml a propensity of

10 pout hiniHoIf, in
s a favourite with
al noted for a w-

sturdy sonietliini,'

I'litliu^iasiic idi,,;
eouuso I was then
t the whoolniiiste.'

exoellciit, Knj,'lisli
was ton or eleven
i" in sulistantives,

infant ami lioyisli
n old woman wlm
narkahio for her
uporstiiioii. Slic

oolloolion in tlio
•on^-erniui,' devils,
itolies, warlooks,
los, doad-liuhts,
lijis, giants, on-
1 other trnniiiery.
ds of poetry; l)ut
niy iniauination,
furnal raniMes, |
out in siispioi((ns
y can ho more

matters, yet it
iiphy to shake oil'
iest comiJOsitioii
lire in, was 77i<-
m of Addison's,
.rvants blest, '»
mhor one lialf-
y hoyish ear :

iris we liung

Mason's Eiiijl'ts!,
>^ '::s. Tiio two
Nate, and which
iiy two books :
^<' of Jlitiini/xif,
Itunn Wallace.
as such a turn.

t-«

«•

;i)

>»'

»■!

sl^

•

;;

I I

that I "
after tl
wish 1",
the storx

there ti

rest-

Ami
to -Mr>.
earlier
many
the lal
tear ov
In tho;
cuhir.
Btorv N\

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

Uuit I u^cd to strut in raptures up and down
alter the recruiting drum and l)a,i,q>ipe, and
wish myseir tall enou,i?h to he a soldier; wiiile
the story of Wallace poured a tide of Scottish
prejudiee into my veins, wliich will lioil aloni:
I here till the flood.i;ates of life shut in eternal

rest.'"

An<l speaking of the same period and hooks
lo Mrs. Dunlop, he says, 'For several of my
earlier years I had few other authors; and
niaiiv a solitary hour have 1 stole out, after
the lal)orious vocations of the day, to shed a
tear over their glorious but unfortunate .stories.
In those hoyish days, I reniemlier, in parti-
cular, hcing struck with that part of Wallace's
story where these lines occur —

iS.viif to tiie Leftlen wnoil, when it was lute, tlun
i'o make a silent and a .sate retreat.

" I chose a line summer Sunday, the only
(lay my line of life allowed, and walked luilf a
dozen miles to pay my respects to the Leglea
Wood,- with as much devout enthusiasm as
ever piliirim did to I.oretto; and explored
every den and dell where 1 could suppose my
heroic countrynum to have lodged.''

^[urdoch continued his instructions until
the family had heen about two years at Mount
(Hiph.iut, when he left for a time that part of
the country. " There being no .school near
us," says (iilberl IJurns, "and our little
.--ervices lieiiig already useful on the farm, my
father undertook to teach us arithmetic in the
winter evenings by candle-light — and iii this
way my two elder sisters received uil the
education they ever received."

' .\utiiliioj,'rn|)liical letter to Dr. Moore, 17s7. — [Tlie
'Il.iniiilpal" nuiitiiiniil alinve was lent liy Mr. Mnr-
(Icidi; the " Wallaci'," liy Kirlvimtricic, a lihuk.sniitli in
the vicinity of .Mount Olipliant, tlie fatlier of '• IJaml-
Bunie Nell," the heroine of the poet's first soii^'.
The olil woman of whom he speaks was a ISetty
Davidson, the wiihiw of a cousin of Mrs. Ihuiies.
William linrnes used to invite lier to speml a few
niujitlis at a time with his family, whii h kindness
she rei|uited liy pivint; what assistance she could in
the househiild work. Her cheery disposition and Iier
stiiek of eery lore made her a ureat favourite with
the clnldren.]

- (The l.eulen Wood is situated in a peninsula formed
liy a remarkalde heiul in the river .Vyr on the tstate
('f Auehencruive, i)arisli of St. tJnivo.\, ahout three
nnles from the mouth of the river, and ne.'oly six
from Mount (tliiihant. Acconlluf,' to lUlnd Harry it
was a favourite hiding-place of Wallace.]

Gilbert tells an anecdote which must not be
omitted here, since it furnislies an early in-
stance of the liveliness of his brother's imagina-
tion. Murdoch, being on a visit to , ':e family,
read aloud one evening part of the tragedy of
"Titus Andronicus;" the circle listened with
the deepest interest until he came to act ii. sc. 5,
where Lavinia is introduced "with lier handis
cut oil" and her tongue cut out." At this the
children entreated, with one voice, in an agony
of distress, that their friend should read no
more. "If you will not hear the play out,"
.said William IJurnes, "it need not be left
with you."—" If it be left," cries Robert, " i
will burn it." His father was about to chide
him for this return to IFurdoeli's kindness, but
the good youni;- man interfered, .<aying he
liked to see so much sensibility, and left the
"School for Love,' in place of his truculent
tra'.:edy. At this time Kobert was nine years
of age.

"Nothing,"continues (lilbert Burns, "could
be more retired than our general manner of
living at Mount Oliphant; we rarely saw any-
body but themembersof ourown family. There
were no boys of our own age, or near it, in the
neighbourhood. Indeed, the greatest part of
the land in the vicinity was at that time pos-
sessed by shopkeepers, and pcopleof that stamp,
who had retired from business, or who kept
their farm, in the country, at the .same time
that they followed business in town. My
father was for some time almost the only com-
jianion we had. lie conversed familiarly on
all subjects with us, as if we had been men;
and was at great pain.s, while we accompanied
him in the labours of the farm, to lead the
conversation to such subjects as miglit tend
to increase our knowledge, or confirm us in
virtuous habits. He borrowed Salmon's Geo-
iini/i/iii'dl (Innnmnr for us, and endeavoured
to make us acquainted Avith the situation and
history of the difl'erent countries in the world;
while, from a book society in Ayr, he procured
for us the reading of Derham's Phi/s!co- and
Astro- T/ii'olo;/!/, and Kay's Wiidom of God
III till' Creation, to give u.s some idea of
astronomy and natural history. Eobert read
all these books with an avidity and industry
scarcely to be equalled. Jly father had been
a sub.seril)er to Stackhouse's Hidorij of the
Bible. From this Robert collected a com-

LIFE OF ROBEET BURNS.

potent knowledge of ancient history ; for no
hook was so voluminous nt to slacken his in-
dustry, or so Kiiti'/udtcil as to damp /li-^
rcsmrches. " A eoilection of Icttcr.s, by eminent
I'^ngiisli authors, is mentioned as liavini;- fallen
into Burns's hands mui'li about the same time,
and greatly delighted liini.

When he was about thirteen or fourteen
years old, his father sent him and tiilbert
"week about, during the summer quarter,"
to the parish school of Dalrymplc, two or three
miles distant from .Mount Oliphant,' for the
improvement of their penmanship. The good
man could not pay two fees; or liis two boys
could not be spared at the same time from the
hibour of the farm !

" We lived very poorly," says the poet. "I
was a dexterous ploughman for my age ; and
the next eldest to me ((iilbert) could lirive the
plough very well, and help mc to thrash the
corn. A novel-writer might perhaps have
viewed these scenes with some satisfaction, liut
so did not I. My indignation yet boils at the
recollection of the scoundrel factor's insolent
letters, whicli used to set us all in tears."

Gilbert Burns gives his brother's situation
at this period in greater detail — "To the
bnffetings of misfortune," says lie, "we could
only oppose hard labour and the most rigid
economy. We lived very sparingly. For
several years butcher's meat was a stranger in
the house,'- while all the members of the family
exerted themselves to the utmost of their
strength, and rather beyond it, in tlie labours

1 [The fanii of Jlnunt Oliphant is situated on a sI(ii)l'
whicli rises to tlie cast of Dooiilioliii House, tlic
steaUiuf! Ijcing about two inilus fnjiii tlic J'.iiilw of
Dooii. Tlie liiiililiii^rs which constitute the steading
have lieen renewed in reeeiit times, and now tlceic
is iiruhahly not a siiijjle stone standiiif,' that was
there in Kiirns's father'.-, time. It coiiiinand.s an
extensive and most interesting; iirosjieet, Iniviii},' the
banks and liraes of Doon iinmediatel.v heneatli, the
spires of Ayr on the one hand, and the hoary riiin.--
of tireeiian and Newark Castles on the other, while
the Firtli of Clyde opens its vast e.vpan.se in tin
distanee, backed by the ever-impressive Anan moun-
tains, and IcadiiiK the eye away towards the noi-tli
to the far promontories of Cnnnin^'liam and Itenfiew-
shire, and the dim blue of the Aigyleshiie lli-li-
laiids.]

- [This was no rare thiiiK anion;; the rural popula-
tion of Scotland then, and till miieh later. J.ivinu
on a farm the linnis family would have milk, butter,
cheese, eggs, and an occasional fowl at least. I

of the farm. 3Iy brother, at the age of thirteen,
assisted in t rushing the crop of corn, and m
fil'leen was the principal labourer on the farm,
for we had no hired servant, male or fenuile.
The anguish of mind we felt at our tender
years, under these straits aiul ditlicultics, was
very great. To think of our father growing
old (lor he was now above fifty), broken down
\vith the long-continued fatigues of his life,
with a wife and five other children, and in a
declining slate of circumstances, these rellcc-
tions produced in my brother's mind an<l mine
sen.sations of the deepest distress. 1 doubt
not but the hard labour ai 1 sorrow of this
period of iiis life, was in a great measure the
cause of that depression of .spirits with whicli
liobert was so often atllicted through his wliolc
life afterwards. At this time he was almo>i
constantly alllictcd in iUc e\ enings with a dull
headache, which, at a future iieriod of his life,
was exchanged for a palpitation of tlie lieart,
and a threatening of fainting and sniioeation
in his bed, in the night-time."

The year after this, IJtirns was able to gain
three weeks of respite, one before, and two
after the iiarvest, from the labours which were
thus straining his youthful strength. His
tutor Murdoch was now established in the
town of Ayr, and the boy spent one of those
weeks in revising the English .grammar wit !i
liim; the other two were given to Froneli.
He laboured ei.'.liusiustically in the new
jiursuit, and came home at the end of a fort-
night with a dictionary and a 'IVli'maijui',
of which he made such use in his leisure hours,
by himself, that in a short time (if we may
lielicve (iilbert) he was able to understand any
ordinary book of French prose. His ]irogress,
whatever it really amounted to, was looked on
as something of a ])rodigy; and a writing-
master in Ayr, a friend of Jlurdoch, insisted
that Hobert Burns iniist next attemiit the
rudiments of the Latin tongue. He did so,
but with little pcseveranec, we may be sure,
since the results were of no sort of value,
liurns's Latin consi.-,tcd of a few scrajis of
hackneyed (luotations, such as many that
never looked into Ituddiniaii's HinHiiietds can
apply on occasion, (juite as skilfully as he ever
appears to have done. The mailer is one of
no importance; we might iierliaps .safely dis-
miss it with parodying what Ben Jonson said

at the age of thin con,

crop of corn, and at

abourcr on tlie farm,

ant, male or female.

3 felt at our tender

and difficulties, was

our father growing

fifty), broken down

fatigues of his life,

r children, and in a

stances, these rellcc-

lier's mind and niinc

distress. 1 doulu

and sorrow of this

I great measure the

P spirits with which

I through his whole
inie he was almost
^\enings with a dull
■0 period of liis life,
Sat ion of the heart,
ing and suffocation
le."

US was able to gain
ic before, and two
labours which were
ul strength. J lis
Dstablished in the
siient one of those
lish grammar widi

given to French,
illy in the new

the end of a fort-
nd a 'IVIi'duiiiui',

II his leisure hours,
t time (if we may
to understand any
se. Ills jinigress,

to, was looked on

; and a writing-
iMurdoch, insi.sted
lext attempt the
S^XK. lie did so,
, we may be sure,
10 sort of value.

a 'iiiw scnijis of
1 as numy that
I's ItndimevtH can
;ilfully as lie ever

matter is one of
erhaiis safely dis-

i5en Jon.son said

h
ia
tl
ei
bi

oi
tb
di
ta
to
Bh

tl(
on
oh

IM— »™^pw

1 1

'. H

*. '

' ?

:a ■

! li

M ■

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

«f Sliakt'spciiro ; lie had little Frcneli, and no
Latin ; and yet it i.s proper to mention, that
he i.-i I'ound, years after lie left Ayrsliire,
viitinu- to Ivlinburgii in some anxiety almut a
copy of Moliere.

i He ha<l read, however, and read well, ere
his sixteenth year elapsed, no eontemptiblc
amount of the literature of his own eountry.
In addition to tiie i)ooks which have already
licen mentioned, he tells us liiat, before the
fan'.ily <iuitted Alount Oliphant, ho had read
"the Sjitr/tilor, some plays of Shakespeare,
I'ope (the //oilier included), Tull and
Dickson on Aiji'icullinr, Locke on the Human
UiKlir-stiiiiiHiKj, Justice's Br'itUh ihinlciwr'n
Dircrtonj, \\o};\c't>. Lccliircx, Taylor's Scri/iUtrc
Doctrine of Ori'ijliiiil Hin, A Select Collection of
ICiiijIitili Son'i^, liervey's MeiUlnlionn " (a book
wiiidi has ever been very popular among the
Scottish peasantry), "and the Works of Allan
I'amsay;" and tiili)ertadds to this list, I'mnrhi
(the first novel either of the brothers read),
two stray volumes of /'ereijrin'' I'icl-lc, two
of Count Fiil/ioin, and a single volume of
"some Knglish historian," containing tlic
reign of James I. and his son. The Co/lec-
tion of SoiKj.'f, says Burns,' "was my nulc
mecuin. I pored over them, di'iving my cart,
or walking to labour, so)ig liy song, verse by
verse; carefully noticing the true tender or
sublime, from atl'ectation or fustian; and I am
c<invinced 1 owe to this practice much of my
critic-craft, such as it is."

He derived, during this period, considerable
advantages from the vicinity of Jiount Oli-
phant to the town of Ayr — a place then, and
still distinguished by the residence of many
respectable gentlemen's families, and a eon-
seiiuent elegance of society and manners, not
common in remote i)rovinciai situations. To i
his friend, Mr. Murdoch, he no doubt owed, !
in the first instance, whatever attentions he
received there from iieople older as well as ,
higher than himself: some such persons appear
to have taken a pleasure in lending- him books,
and surely no kindness could have been more
useful to him than this. As for his coevals,
he himself says, very justly, "It is not com- i
monly at that green age tiiat our young gentry
have a due sense of the distance between them
and their ragged play-fellows. My young |
> Autobiographical letter to Dr. Moore, 1787. 1

superiors," he proceeds, "never insidted the
cloiiter/i/ appearance of my plough-boy carcass,
the two extremes of which were often exposed
to all the inclemencies of all the seasons.
They would give me stray volumes of books;
among them, even then, I could pick up sonic
observation: and one- who.se heart 1 am sure
not even the Alunny Hegum scenes have
tainted, helped me (o a little French. I'art-
ing with these, my young friends and bene-
factors, as they occasionally went off for the
Kast or West Indies, was often to me a sore
atlliction — but I was soon called to more seri-
ous evils. " The condition of the family during
the last two years of their residence at Blount
Olipliant, when the struggle which ended in
their removal was rapidly approaching itr,
crisis, has been already described; nor need
we dwell again on the untimely burden of
sorrow, as well as toil, which fell to the share
of the youthful poet, and which would have
broken altogether any mind wherein feelings
like his had existed, without strength like his
to control them.

The removal of the family to hochlea, in
the parish of Tarbolton, took place when
Burns was in his sixteenth year.-^ He had
some time before this made his first attempt
in verse, and the occasion is thus described by
himself in his letter to iloorc : —

"This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of
a hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galley-

- Tlie alliisidii liere is to one of tlie sons of Dr. .lolm
iriilciiliii, afterwards Iii},'lily ili.stinguislieil in the ser-
vice iif tlie East Iiiilia Conipaiiy.

^ I'l'liis is a niistalve; tlie poet had completed his
eighteenth year when the Humes family removed to
Loelilcii ill IV77. The farm of Loehleii, to which the
Jinnies family removed on leaviiij^ .Mount Oliphant,
is situated aliout three miles from 'ruilioltoii, and
occupies a fic'itle slope vei'niiif; on a low-lying tract
of land which at one time formed the lied "f the
loch from which the jilace takes its name. During
draiiiiiii; o])ciatioiis in lt?78 the remains of a very
eiimplete craiiiiog or lake-dwelling were discovered
in the lied of the loch. In the jioet's time the
steading consisted of a one-storied thatched dwelling-
house, with a liarn on the <ine side and a stable and
liyie on the other. The oM dwelling-house has now
lieeii converted into a stalde, and a coinmodioiis
residence has lieeii erected in its stead. The barn,
which the ]ioct is said to have roofed with his own
hand, has j;iveii jilace to a more modern erection
which, at least, contains one stone of the old fabric,
and which hears the inseription "The Lintel of the
i'oet's Barn. Kebuilt 1870. "J

**%

•20

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

(», oiicu I Itivcil ft lioniiiu Inss,

Ay, iiiid I liiVf lu'i- SI ill,
And «lilU' tliiit liipniiiii' Hiinim my bruiist,

1 II liivi' my liiuiiUiniiL' Ntll, iSu.

Hiavc, brotijrlit mo to my sixiofiilli year; a

little bei'oiv wliieli jicriod i lirst cdiiiiiiittcil

the sin of Jiliyiuf. Vmi know our country

custom of eoiiiilinn- ii niiin and woman lowllior

as partners in the labours of harvest. In my ISnni _

liftcenth autumn my partner was a l.ewi.ehin- puerile an.l s.lly perlornianee ; yet it contauis

creature, a year younger than myself. My

himself eliaraeleri/cs it us "u v

erv

scarcity of Hnirlish denies me the power of
doin.n- her justice in that htnsua.ne ; Iml you
know the .Scottish idiom— she was ii lioiinic,
Hirct, Koiis'ii- liisx. In short, she, altoi;ether
unwittingly to lier.-elf, initiated me in that
delicious passion, which, in spite of acid dis-
aiiiiointment, i;in-horse prudence, and hook-
worm philosophy, I hold (o l)e the first of hu-
man joys, our dearest hlcssini;- here lielow !
Mow she caught the conta,nio-.i I ca!iiu)t tell:

hero and there lines of which he need lianlly
have been ashamed at any period of his life;—

.She dresses iiyc sac clean and neat, alunj,

JSaitli decent and j;cii(eel, i„,||,

And llii'ii tliiiv's miiiiithiiiij ill luiijait

(lui'n oiiij (IrcfS hiok ifii'l. iiiiKii

"Silly and puerile as it is," .said the jioet,
lonu: afterwards, "1 am always pleased with
this SOU!.', as it recalls touiy mind those hapiiy
(! 'v> when my heart was yet honest, and my

you medical pco)do talk much of infecli(m ; tongue Mneerc. ... 1 composed it in a
from breathing the same air, the touch, &e.; wild enthusiasm of passion, and to this lioiir
but I never expressly said I loved her. In- I "ever recollect it but my heart melts, my
deed, 1 did not know myself why I liked so blood sallies, at the remembrance." (M.S.
much to loiter behind with her, when return- .Memorandum-book, .\ugiist, 17-S;i.)

In his lir.-t epistle to l.apraik (17S.')) ho says,
I

ing in the evening from our labours; why the

tones of licr voice made my licart strings thrill

like an .Kolian haq); and particularly why

my pulse beat such a furious ralan, when I

looked and fingered over her little hand, to

pick out the erucl nettle-stings and thistles.

Among her other love-inspiring (lualities, she

sang .sweetly; and it was her favourite reel, ].\^j.iy J)ayH," we have the following pass;]

to which I attempted giving an embodied

vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presum|ituoiis

as to imagine that I coidd make verses like

printed one.s, composed l)y men who had (ireek

and Latin ; but my girl sang a .song, which

was .said to be coiui»oseil 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 nnwrlands, he

had no more scholar-craft than myself.

"Thus with me began love and poetry;
which at times have been my only, and till
within the last twelve months, have been
my highest enjoyment."'

The earliest of the poet'si productions is the
little ballad,

1 AutuliioKraphical letter to Dr. Moore. [The pre
viou.s twelve months had seen him emerge from ob-
scurity and become fauanis, this no doubt was one
of his " highest enjojnieuts."]

.•\maist as .soim as T euMld spell, aliii'M

I t(i the eianilMi-jliiuU' fell, rliyiiu'

'i'liii' rude and rnugli;

Yit crociliiiii In a hi'ilii't: xcU ones si If

Dofx tviel cnvvijh. niiiu.ili

And in .some nobler verses, entitled "On my

ige

I nund it wevX In early date, remimiiir

When I was beardless, yimiig and Idate, liasliful

And 1' >t could tbrasli the barn,
Or hai' . .. yokin' "' the pleugh.
All', dm' fiiifiiKijIitfii sail' ciiciiijh,

Yet linen piuint In lettni —
When Ji I ft uiiKiinj llic ijelbnv cmii

A ma II I reeliiiii'il icas.
All »■(" the hire ilk iiieni/ worn

Ciiiiltl riiiik mil riij and lass—
Still shearing ami eh aring

The tithcr stookit raw,
\Vi' chiiTcrs ami haivers

Wearing the day awa-

IimM

exhuUBtnl

very

others cadi
ridye

(itliir row
Rossip anil uousuiisu

E'en then a wish, I mind its jiower,
A wish that t<i my latest liiuir

Shall stniiigly heave my breast.
That I, fur iiimr auld Seotland's sake,
.Simie useful idau or book cuuld make,

Or sing a sang, at least :
The rinnjli hiir-lhixlle spreading wide

Amainj the bearded hear.

remember

BOllR

/ turned the ueeder-elips aside.
And spared the syntbul dear.

barky
wccding-shears

He is hardly to be envied who can contem-

LIFE OF ROBEllT BURNS.

ill.

» 11III18 my brcnst,
u Nell, die.

I'WzcH it us "ji vorv
iK'o;" yet, it conliiin,
iiiili iio iiL'ud lianlly
Iicriod ol'liis life:-!

illld IR'ilt, lllu n,

'■'- li..lli

i<j in Ihi- ijait

nuikw

I is," .Slid tlio iKict,
ihvays iiioiisud with
ly mind tluisc liii]i|iy
yet Inmost, and my
I foniiKised it in a
n, and to tiiis lidiir
\\\ lii'art niuits, my
lemln-ani'c. " (M.S.
St, I7,>;i.)
iraiiv (17»5) he .says,

Mid spull, „lni..M

f''"> rhjiiii.

Hid I'diiKh ;

■'* «''' one's s. If

nvwjh. vu„\vA

)s, entitled "On my
fulloHin!;' l>assai;e :

^'' iviiu-nilitr

IIK mill Idlltc, laslifiil
I' lilllll,

Im.I.I

l-'XllUUStl'il

very

"kIi,

IWIIij/l,

•c ciini

Ollfll

others cadi
ridgo

iitliir row
Kussiji iiiiil uonseiiBu

? Iiower, rememlier

il't'iist ,

lid's sake,

)Uld make, ,

soiii;
ling wide

barky
ae, wccdiug-shears
xr.

I who can contem-

olat" wilitout emotion tliis cxqiilHito pieturo immorlal amiiilion, wiiicii lie has iiimsoit'
"' ^ . • 1^ 1.1 1 ..... 1.... ii... .,.......;r.......i ;.....,,...

of youn.u; nature and younj,' ^cn\w. it was
wn'uist sueh .scones tliat tiiis extraordinary
being' felt those first indefinite stirrings of

sliadowod out under tlie nitiunifieent inia,t;e
of the "idind growings of llomer'.s CyeloiKS,
around the walls of hi.s eave." '

C II A FT Eli II.

IK.ilMit and Cilliiit as fanii-lalMim'crs: Ui.lnif.s supi'i'inac.v as a fiinii-W(.rkcr:-Roes todnnoiufi-sclionl :—
thi' mial iMiiutii s ..f •riirlHiltim : -tarl.\ imMliictinii.s : i uial roiu t.sliip ; Kiiko.swiild :-nul.v lltiiary nim's-
poiid.iirL':- I'"t'Mis wrltt.-ii at I.oi'lil.-i :- life at Irvine :-.\lls,.ii It.Kl-iL' :-KttiT to his fiillicr: -fi'U'iidsliii.
Willi Iticlianl l!i'(iwii;-tit'i;(iiiit's a fiwiiiasdii ;-liailiilnis rluh: -iliseuHsiouai-clul) hull :— JJiivia .Sillai':—
OoircspdiidtiHu with .lauius Uuruus •.—birth of an illegitimate tliild.J

() cnviiilili' e:irl,v itiys,

Wlu-ii (l^uiriiiL; tlic.iiKlittess iilcnHurr's maze.

'I'o i':ui- iiiiii ^juilt imliiii'wii :
Iliiw ill ixiliaii>;iil for ripiT tiiiU'K,
To fi'il till' f..llii'<, or tlu! iriniea
(If olliiis-or in.v own;

As has lieou already monlioiied, William
Buriies now i|uitted Mount (tlipliaiit for Lofli-
lea, in llie parisli of Tarlioltoii, where, for
sonic little space, fortune ai>iieared to smile
OU Ills industry and frugality.- llohort and
Gilbert wore oiiiiiloyed hy their father as reg-
ular laliourcrs — ho allowin.g tliem Xl of wages
eacli /" /• iniiiHiii ; from which sum, however

town of Ayr, and iirohaMy missed not only
tlie stimulus of their conversation, hut the
kindness that had furnished him Avith his
supply, such as it was, of liooks. Jkit tlio
main source of his chan.iAO of liahits about tiiis
jioriod was, it is eonlbssed on till hands, tlie
precocious I'orvour of one of his own turlnilcnt
passions.

"Ill my seventeenth year," says llurns,
"to give my manners a hrusli, I went to a
country daneing-school. My father had an
unaeoountahle antipathy against tlie.se meet-
ings; and my going was, what to this moiuoiit

the value of any home-made clothes received , 1 rcpent, in opi.ositioii to his wishes. .My
by the youths was exactly deducted, liohert
Buriis's person, inured to daily toil, and con-
tinually c.\])osod to all varieties of weather,
presciilcd, hefore the usual time, every charac-
teristic of roluist and vigorous manhood, lie
says liimself, that he never feared a coniiiotitor
in any species of rural o.vortioii; ami (iilliort
Burns, a man of nncommon bodily strengtli,
adds, that neither he, nor any labourer he
ever saw at work, was c(|ual to the youthful
poet, either in the corn-liold, or tlie .severer
tasks of the tlirashing-lloor. tlilbert .says,
that Cohort's literary zeal slackened consider-
ably after their removal to Tarbolton. lie
'was separated from liis acquaintances of the

• Letter to Dr. Moore.

*|Iii hi.s autoliid^Maphical letter to Dr. Moore

father was subject to strong passions; from
that instance of disohedionce in mo, he took
a sort of dislike to me, which I boliovo was
one cause of the dissipation which marked my
succeeding year.s. 3 1 .say dissipation, conipara-

""T wonder," sa.ys tlillicrt, "how Itoliert ciuild
attrlliute to onr fattier that lasting reseiitnieiit of his
goiii^' to a diiiieiii^i-sclioul against lii.s will, of which
he was incapalile. I lielicve tlie truth was, tliat
ahinit this time lie licjiaii to see the dangerous iiiii>et-
uosit.v of mv lirothcr's jiassioiis, as well as his not
lieintj ainenalile to eoimsel, wliicli often irritated my
father, and wliiih he Would iiaturall.v think a daneiii}:-
.sehoiil was not liliely to correct. l!ut he was iiroud
of IJobcrfs irenius, which he bestowed more exjieiise
oil cultivating than on the rest of the famil.v— and be
was eiiually (leli.i;hted with his warmth of heart, and
conversational jiowers. He had indeed that dislike
of danciiisr-sclioids whieli Koliert mentions; tmt so
far overcame it duriii-.' ttobert's first month of atten-

Burns sa.v.s, "Tlie nature of the baroain was sueh as ' dance, that he ]ierinitted the rest of the family that
to throw a little ready money into his (the father's) i were (It for it, to accompany him during the second
hand.i at tlie eoininencement of his lease, otlierwise ; month. Kobert excelled in dancing, and was for
the alt'air wonlil have been impracticable.' I'rolialily some time distiaetedly fond of it." [Gilbert here
the landlord advanced some money in lieu of better , refers to a later period at Tarbolton, during the
house accommodation, or for certain iinprovemeiits , time when the father was laid down in his last illness,
to be effected. 'I'lie rate of wages at which the and when the strictness of his rules would ntvessarily
brothers were paid was tli.it current at the time.] | be relaxed. The "country dimcing-school" of the
VOL. 1. 2

LIFE UF KOJJKUT UUliNS.

tivcly with tho strict iios.i, and wobriety, ami
i-uKularity of I 'realty toriaa rouiitry lilL-; lor
tlioiigli tlio Will-o'-wisp meteors of tlioiitjlitlcsK
wliim wore almost, the sole liiiiits of my path,
yet early iiigniiiied piety ami virtue k.pl me
for several years afterwards within the line of
innoei.'iiee. Tho irreat niisfortuno of my life
was to want an aim. I saw my father's sitna-
tion entailed on me periieliial lahour. The
only two openings by whieh 1 could enter the
temple of fortune, were the uate of iii^wirdly
economy, or the path of little ehii'anin.i; har-
piin-niakin,!,'. Tho first is so contracted an
aperture, I could never squeeze myself into
it;— the last I always hated — there was con-
tamination in the very entrance ! Thus aban-
doned of aim or view in l'*'e, with ii strong
appetite for sociability, as well from native
hilarity, as from a jirido of observation and
remark ; a constitutional melancholy or hyjio-
chondriacism that made mc fly solitude; add
to these incentives to social life, my reputation
for iiookish knowledge, a certain wild loi;ical
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. Hut far
lieyond all other impulses of my heart, Avas
nil jti'iic/ii'iil jioiti' I'liilonihli' vioilif' ilu ijitiri'
hviiKtin. !My heart was completely tinder, and
was eternally lighted n]) by s(une goddess or
other; and, as in every otlier warfare in this
world, my fortune was various, sometimes I
was receivcil with favour, and sometimes 1
was mortified with a repulse. At the plough,
scythe, or rcap-liook, I feared no competitor,
and thus I set alisohite want at defiance; ami
as I never eared further for my labours tjian
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 adven-
ture without an assisting confidant. 1 pos-
sessed a curiosity, zeal, aiul intrepid dcxtcrify,
that recommended me as a proper second on
these occasions, and 1 dare say, I felt as much
pleasure in being in the secret of half the
loves of the parish of Tarbnlton, as ever did

statesman In knowing the intrigiioM of half the
courts of Murojic. "

In regard t(» the same critical periofl of
IJurns's life, his excellent brother writes as

text is one which Burns secretly attended at Dalrym-
ple in 17"o, in absolute dL-flnnce of his fatlier's com-
mands. ]

liollon parish (extending from (he seventeenth
to the twenty-fourth (d" my brother's age)'
were not marked by much literary improve,
incnt ; but, during this lime, the fonndaiioii
was laid of certain habits in my brother's char-
acter, which afterwards became but loojiroinin-
ent, and which malice and envy have lakin
delight to enlarge on. Thonuli, when yonn'j-,
he was bashful and awkward in his intercourse
withwomen, yet when heaiiproached manhood,
his attaclinu'iit to their society became vi'ry
strong, and he was constantly the victim of some
fairenslaver. Thcsymptomsof his passion were
often sindi as nearly to e<|nal lho>e of the ceK'-
brated .'^ap[iho. I never indeed knew that he
I'itiiilcil, ■•>niik\ inid iliiil iiiriii/; Imt the agita-
tions of his mind and body exceeded anylhin;;
of the kind 1 ever knew in real life. lie had
always a jiarticnlar Jcabuisy of people who
were richer tjjan himself, or who hail riore
conscipiencc in life. His love, therefore,
rarely settled on persons of this description.
Wiien he selected any on(> out (d' the sover-
eignty of his good pUasure to whom he should
pay his particular attention, she was instantly
invested with a snflii'ient .-tock of charms, out
of the plentiful stores of his own imauinatiiui ;
and there was often a great ilis.-iniilitmle
between his fair captivator, us she ajipeared to
others, and as she seemed when invested with
the attributes ho gave her. One geriorally
reiiined ])aramount in his aU'ections; but as
Yiu-ick's affections poured out toward Jfadame
do Ii — at the remise dom-, while the etern.d
vows of i;iiza were upon hini, so I!ol)ert was
frequently encouiiterin'^- other attractions,
I whieh formed so niany underjdols i!i the
' drama <if his love."

Thus occupied with labour, love, and danc-
ing, the youth " without an aim" found leisure?
occasionally to clothe the sullicienily variocs
moods of his mind in rhymes. J t was us early
as seventeen, he tells ns.'-' that he wrote some
stanzas which begin beautifully:

1 |l''roni 1777 to 17S4, consciiuently fi'om the nine-
teenth to tliu twenty-sixtli yea;- of liis ap'.]
- CriiMiek'.? ]ii'ti(jiivt! <■/ Robert Iliinis (IbOS), p. i!42.

iitrij;iicK of hnlf tliu

criticiil period of

brother writer as
s we lived in Tiir-
iiii I lie si;vent cell ill
iiy lirol tier's iijie)'

literiirv iiii|>r(ive-
lie, tlie inillidaliiiil

iiiv lirollier's elmr-
iiie liiil (oil ]iri)iniii-
eiivy liiive lakeii
iiiijli. wlieii voniiL',
I ill liis iiileri'miisi!
)roaeiie(l iiiaiiiioiMl,
I'iety liecanie very

tlie victim oi'sdiiie
<otliis|iftHHi()invcro
1 tlidse of tlie eeK;-
leed Iciiew tlial lie
'///; Imt the auita-
exeeoiled aiiylliintc
real life. He had
sy of iieojile who
or who had more
; love, tiierefore,
t' this dcserililioli.

(lilt iif the sover-
Ici wlidiii he shotild
. ,<he was instantly
nek of rharnis, nut

(iwn iiiia;jinati(iii ;
rcat (lis>iniilitii(ie
as she ajipeared tii

hen invested witli
One Lieiierally
afl'eetions; iiiit as
ut toward ^ratlaine
, while the eternal
lin, so Ivoliert was
other attractions,
inderjilots in the

iir, love, and danc-
aini" fdiind leisure
iiiHicieiiily varioi's
}s. J t was as early
hat he wrote .some
ully :

ently from Hie nine-

iif Ills atre.l

Hums (lh08), p. 2i-2.

LIFE OF llOBKUT ni'llNS.

I iiivaiii'd I lay wliciu tliiwers were gprhiging

lliivly ill tlie siiiiiiy lu'iiin ;
LlMtciiiiiK 111 llic Willi liinls KJiiKiiiK,

lly a falling cr.tHtal stream,
.^tiai^'lit the Kky uww lilai U anil ilarliiu,

Tlirii' tlic wihjiIh tlic wliiiiwiiiils lave,
'•'ivcs with aucil ariiiM were waiiiiiK,

O'er the swi'lliiiic ilniiiillc wave. turbid

Siiili was life's ileicitful iiioriiiiin, Ac.

On coni]iariii!,' these verses with those on
" liandsdine Nell," the advance achieved liy
the yoiiiii; hard in the course of two short
years must lie re,u:ariled with admiration; nor
Hhouhl a minor cirenmstiince he entirely over-
looked, that in the jiiece wliicli we have just
heen (luotinj;, there occurs Imt one Scotch
word, [t WiiH uhdut tills time also, tliiit he
wrote a hallail of much less ainhitious vein,
which, years alter, he says, he used to con
over with deli<,dit, hecanse of the lailhfiiliicss
with which it recalled In liiiii llic circuinslaiiees
and fceliiiijs of his (i[ic,iiiin- inaiihiiod.

— My fatlici- was a farmer ii|>i>ii the ('.iriick border,
And can fully lie lii'iai'/ht, iiie ii|) in decency and order.
He liade nie act a iii;iiily piiit, tlio' I Imd iie er a far-

tldn^';
For williiiiit an laaiest ni;inly lieait, no man was

woitli renardin^'.

Tlieii (lilt into the world my coaisc I did determine;
T/ki' Ui he rirli (('».■< iml iiiii ir!.sli, i/el lu he. ijirnt ivii.i

chantiinti ;
VytuV'nlx thvij mir nut the wm-xt, iwr jiel niij nliicn-

tiiin ;
Ecsolvcd was I .It lea>t to Iry t" meiiil in,\ sitiiidion.

•••■•■••....

No help, U(ir lioiie, nor view liad I, nor person to

liefi'ieiid me;
Bo I iinr-l toil, iind sweat, and limil, and tilioiir to

sustain me.
To plough and sow, to rea)! nnd mow, my father hied

me early ;
tov one, he said, to lahoar hi'eil, was a match for

fortaiK- fairly.

Tlnis all ohseure, unkiiowii and poor, thro' life I'm
doom'd to wander;

Till down my weary Imnes I lay in everlastini.!
sliimlier.

No view, nor eare. hat .slmn whate'er nii.^ht hreeil me
pain Of sorrow;

I live to-day, as wells I may, ret,'ardlc.ss of to-mor-
row, Ac.

These are the only two of his very early
produetion.s in which avc have nothins? express-
ly aliout love. The rest were eomiiosod to
celelirafe tlie charms of those rural beauties

who followed each other in the dominion of
his fancy— or Hliiire<l the caiiaeious ihroiio
between them; and we may easily believe that
one who possessed, with other (lualilications,
such powers of thittering, feared eompetitors
as little in tlie (liversions of his evenings us in
the toils of his day.

The rural lover, in those districts, pursues
his tender vocation in a style, the especial
I'ascinalioii of which town-bred swains may
Iind it somewhat dillicult to comprehend.
.\fter the l.ibonrs oi' the day are over, nay,
very often after he is siqiposed by the inmates
of his own fireside to be in his bed, the happy
youth thinks lUtle of walking many long
Scotch miles to the residence of his mistress,
who, u]ion the signal of a tap at her window,
comes forth to spend a, soft hour or two be-
neath the harvest moon, or if the weaihcr bo
severe (a circumstance which never pi'e\cntfl
Ihejoiirney from being accoiniilished), amidst
the sheaves of her father's barn. Tills
"chaiiiiln' oiii,"' as they call it, is a custom
of which p.ircnts eonimonly wink at, If they do
, nol openly apin'ove, the observance; and the
(•onse(|iiciiecs are far, very far, more l'rc(|uently
(|iilie harmless, than persons not familiar with
the peculiar manners and feelings of o.ir peas-
antry may find it easy to believe. Ivxciii'sions
of this diss form the theme of almost all the
songs wlilcli liiinis is known to have produced
about this period, — and such of these jnvciiilo
Iierformances as have Iieen preserved ate,
without exception, beautiful. They show how
liowerfully his boyi.-li fancy had been allectcd
by the old rural minstrelsy of his own country,
and how easily his native taste caught the
secret of itschann. The truth ami slnipliciiy
of nature brcallio in every line — I he images
j are always j'ust, often orluinally happy — and
I the growing relineiiicnt of his ear and judg-
ment, may be traced in the terser laiiun.igo
and more mellow flow of each successive
ballad.

The best of his songs Avritlen at this lime is
that beginning, —

It was upon a I.aniiiias iiiKlit,

When corn rif;s are lionnie, iU\,n's

I'.cneath the moon's unclouded liirht,

I held awa to Annie.

J [That is, "tappiii.u lait," tappinj; or kiioeldng to
make the girl come out.]

Till' tliiK' llc'w liy wl ti'ritlcM lii'oil,

Till, twi'iii lliii latr anil lurly,
\Vr Hiim' ptrMimsluii hIh' a^ivi'il

'I'o Ill'O 1110 flll'OUKll till! lllllU')-, &o

Tlio 111 rolno of this tUtty wax a iliiiiulitiT of
the pool's fneiitl—"niilc, rouu'h, roiidy-witti'il

Kaiikini'."

Wo iiiM.v lot, liini oarry oi> liU own story.
"A oinunistaiiii'," says lie,' "whioh iiiailo
Hoiiie altoniiion on my mind and niaiinors,
was, that i spout my ninotounlli snmmor-' on
a smim%'Iini;'n)a^t,a,u:ood illstanoo from home,
lit. a noloil sohool,-' to h-arn inonsuralion, siir-
voyiiii;, iliallinLT, Ac, in wliicli I niado a n'ood
jironToss. Hut I mado a «roator proj,M-oss in
tiio knowledge of mankind. Tlie oontial)and
trado was at tliat time very sucoessl'iil, and it
Fomotimos iiiip[)onod to mo to fail in witli iIiom'
will) oarriod it on. Hocncn of swa.u.uferinK riot
and roariii'j; dissipation wore till this time now
to mo; hut I was no cnoniy to sooial life.
Here, thouijh I learnt to fill my .iflass, and to
mix Avitliout foar in a drunken s(inal)hlo, yet
1 wont on with a hiuh hand with my f,'('oniotry,
till the sun entered Vir!,'o, a month which is
always a carnival in my hosom, when a oliarm-

' AutiilijiiKraiilikal Itttor to Dr. Mooro.

-|l)r,riinloailniltsli!iviiiKaltero(l"sevoiitoi'Mtli, "as
written liy r.anis, to " nliK'tooiitli," as it stands in the
text; liut lioyiiiKl tlic statonii'iit tliat tlio altoratinn
was niailo at tlio snttiiostiim of (iilliort linnis, im
roasiiM is (jivoii. Cnrriu's oilitinn of liuniss works,
witli lifo, was jiiililislioil in ISlli) ([.ivorpool, I vols.)
for lirliiMpf of the willow and family of tlii' poot.l

^ I'l'lif jiarisli scliool of Kirkoswald, tlio toaclior of
wliiili, Unu'li Uod^jcr, eiijoyod Ki'oat local faiiio as a
noiiniotiiciau and piactical land-surveyor. 'I'lic
jMiot s inollier was a native of tlio jiarisli, and diiriiik'
Iliirns's attendance at tlio Holiool lie lived with his
niatcrnal uncle, Siinmcl lirowii, at Itallochiicil, a
little over a iiiilo fioni Kirkoswald villano, walking
ovi'iy inoiniii',' to the little Honiiiiary and returiiiunat
nlKht. Not far from lialloehncil was the farm of
Slianter, the resideiioo of the immortal "'I'aiu <>'
Sliaiiter," whose real name was I)oiis,'his Graham.
The accoinpanyitif! engraving kivos n view of the
chiiroliyard ami village of Kirkoswald, with the
tomlistouc of Tain in the forc.ijrouiid. The artist,
hnwevor, while Kiviii;; the form of the stone oorrectly,
lias taken the liherty of putting this worthy's fictitious
a]iitcllatioii ou it, and ha.s roprcscuted his tailless
mare droopiu;; her head over the (jrave and his ilo},'
lyin^'oii it, wl lite his w i foKnto sits a "waefii' woman "
on 11 iieiKliliourin^' stone. In reality the inscriptions
on the stone are of the usual typo. In the clinrch-
yard are also the jjravcs of Uiirns's matcrniil Rraiid-
fat'icr and great trrandtather, whose tombstone was
publicly restored in 1883.]

LIFK OF ROBERT UFRNS

ciin'l

Iwjill'/I', "ho lived 110x1 door to the -ohon!,
overset my triuonomotry, and set nie oil' at a
tantteiit from the sphere of niy slndies. I,
however, HtriiKicled on with my Mhii'x and
roihiiM for a few days more; lint sleppint,' into
the fjardon one eharinini,' noon to taku the
sun's altitude, there I mot my aiiKel like

I'roHorpliie, RatlierliiK MowerH,
Herself a fairer llowcr.

" It was in vain to think of doimr any more
e-ood at -school. Tlio lomaininn week I staid,
I did 1101 hing but enizo the I'ueultleM of my
Mill alioul. her, or steal out to meet her; and
the two l.ist ni,i;lils of my slay in this ooiiiitry,
had .sleep lieen a mortal sin, the ima,u;o of thi-

modost and ini I'lit ,!,'irl had kept me ifiiilt-

loss.i

'• I rotiirnod home very eonsidoralily im-
proved. My ro.idiiru; was enl.iri^ed with the
very imjiortant addition of 'riionison's and
Shonstoiio's works; I had hi •' '<nmaii nature
in a now pliasis; and I en.Siij;oii several of my
sehool-follows to keep up a literary eorresiion-
donoo with me. This iinprovei' ine in eom-
position. I had met with ;i eolleolimi of letters
by the wits of Queen .\niio's reifrn, and I pored
over llioin tnost devoutly; I kept eo}iies of
any of my own letters that pleased me; and a
comparison between them ami the eomposllion
of most of my oorres])ondonls llai'ered my
vanity. 1 carried this whim so far, that
thmiifh I had not three farthinijs' worth of
business in the world, yet almost every post
brought mo as many loiters as if I had been
a broad iiloddiii'j; son of day-book and lediror.

"My life llowcd on much in the same eoursc
till tlie twenty-third year. I'lrr I'diiiniii; it
rli'i' Id liiiiiiili'l/i; were my sole jn-iiiciples of
action. The addition of two more authors t<i
my library ,irave me great pleasure: Sterne
and M'Kcn/.ic — Tnsfram S/imiil;/ ami the
Jfnn of I'll I! Ill) — were my bosom favourites.
Poesy was Htlll a darling walk for my miml ;
but it was only indulged in aeeording to the

^ IThis "charming yi7?c(/c," as the poet calls her,
was a I'eirgy Tlionison, and the early attaclinient
sceiiis to have liocn renewed temporarily sonic nliu!
years later. She iiltiniatidy liecaine the wife of .((dm
.Veilsou, an early ac(|uaiiitaiicc of the jioot's. On the
publication of his poems ho presented a copy to ToKKy
accompanied with the linos licginiiiug "Oneo fondly
loved, ami still remeniber'il dear," Ac.]

loor to the whool,
ml Hot 1110 olY ut a
r my ttluilii's. I,
III my ■■^iiirs and
liiit Hli'|i|)iiiK into
llOlltl to Ijiko llio
uy iiiiKL'l liko

; lliPWCIH,

r. - —

iif (loiiiu; liny nutvc
liiiii;' week I sliiiil,
11" tiu'uUicK of my

t(i iiu'el her; aiul
ly in lliis country,

tlio imiiffo of this
ad ki']it me miilt-

considuralily im-
?nlai'Kod witli tlio
f Tliomson's ami
( •> ''iinian natiiru
ij;t'(i several oi' my
literary eorrespoii-
P()Vi'(' me in eoni-
•olK'cliiiM (if K'tters
reifxii, and I jiored

I ke|i! coiiics of
[•leased mc ; and a
1(1 tlieeomiiositioii
cuts llai'ered my
liim so far, that
irthinj^s' worth of
almost, every j)ost
as if I had lieeii
diook and ledger,
in the same eoiirsc

Vli'c ('((niniii; d
sole prini'i])les of

more authors to
pleasure: Sterne
S/hiiiiIi/ and the
bosom favourites,
ilk for my mind ;

1 aeeording to the

i the pnet calls Iicr,
10 curly attiiclimiiit
nipDi'iirily sninc nine
liiiic tlic wife (if .Iciliii
if the poet's. On till!
'iitcil a copy to I'cuKy
inning "Once loiiUly
•," Ac]

■w.

■J:

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H

^^^^H

r*^

^'-i

►«i

fi]

h^ t

the .s;(

1)C(I(I(

with
pci'lial
and ll

«d(Ic(]|
thou
tinio
had III
becaiii

Til

dkl

cc-l

men-ill
Scotc

.^'

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

humour of the hour. 1 had usually half a dozen
or more pieces on hand ; I took up one or
other, as it suited the momentary lone of the
mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered
on fatigue. My passions, once lighted up,
raged like so many devils, till they found vent
in rhyme; and then the conning over my
verses, like a spell, soothed all into quiet."

Of the rhymes of those days, a few, when
he wrote his letter to .Moore, Iiad appeared in
print. " Winter, a Dirge, " an admirably versi-
fied piece, is of their number; the "Death
of I'oor Mailie, Mailie's Elegy," and "John
JJarleyeorn ;" and one cliarming song, inspired
l)y the Nymph of Ivirkos-.vald, whose attractions
put an end to his trigonometry.

N'dw wt'stlin' winds, and slaughtering guns,

liriiig Autumn's i]lc'asiint weather;
The miiurciuk springs, im wliirring wing,

Annnig tlie hlouniing Iieather. . . .
— lVf;;;.v dear, tlie evening's elear,

'I'liiek Hies tlie skimming swaUow;
'J'lie slv.v is l)hie, (lie fiehls in view,

All fueling green and yellow;
('i)iiie lot us stray our gladsunio way, etc.

"John Harleycorn" is a clever old ballad,
very cleverly new-modelled and extended ; but
the "Dcatii and Elegy of Poor Mailie" de-
serve more attention. The expiring animal's
Admonitions touching the education of the
•'poor toop lamb, her >on and heir," and the
"yowie, siilic thing," her daughter, arc from
|he same peculiar vein of sly homely wit, em-
bedded upon fancy, which he afterwards dug
with a bolder hand in the "Twa Dogs," and
perhaps to its utmost deptli, in his "Death
and Doctor Hornbook." It need scarcely be
JMlded, that I'oor .Mailie was a real iicrsonage,
though she did not actually die until some
time after her last words were written. She
had been purchased by lUirns in a frolic, and
became exceedingly attached to his person.

>;i Tlud' all the town she tmtted hy him,
A laiig half-mile she eoiild desery liini ;
\Vi' kindly bleat, when she (!id s]iie Iiini,

She ran wi' speed;
A friend iiiair faithfu' ne'er eame nigh him,

'I'han .Mailie dead.

v^Tliese little pieces are in a much broader
<Eialect than any of their predeees.sors. His
merriment and satire were, from the beginning,
Scotch.

Notwithstanding the luxurious tone of some
of Burns's pieces produced in those times, we
are assured by himself (and his brother unhesi-
tatingly confirms the statement), that no posi-
tive vice min:4led in any of his loves, until
after he reached his twenty-third year. He
has already told us, that his short residence
"away froni home" at Kirkoswald, where
he mixed in the society of seafaring men and
smugglers, produced an unfavourable alteration
on some of his habits; but in 1781-2 he spent
six months at H'vine; and it is from this
period that his brother dates a serious change.
"As his numerous connections," says (lil-
bert, "were governed by the strictest rules of
virtue aiul modesty (from which he never
deviated till his twenty-third year), he became
anxious to be in a situation to marry. This
was not likely to be the case while he remained
a farmer, as the stocking of a farm ret|uired a
sum of money he saw no probability of being
master of for a great Avhilc. He and 1 had for
several years taken land of our father, for the
purpose of raising flax on oiu' own account;
and in the course of selling it, Itobcrt began
to think of turning flax-dresser, both as being
suitable to his grand view of settliu'j; in life,
! and as subservient to the flax-raising. "' liurns,
I accordingly, went to a half-brother of his
i mother's, by name Peacock, a llax-dres.ser in
I Irvine, with the view of learning this new
trade, and for some time he aiijilied himself
diligently; but misfortune after misfortune
attended him. The shop accidentally caught
fire during the carousal of a Xcw-year's-day
morning, and Pobert " was left, like a true
poet, not worth a sixpence. " — "I was obliged,"
says he,- "to give up this scheme; the clouds
of misfortune were gathering thick round my
father's head ; and what was worst of all, he
was visibly far gone in a consumiition ; and to
crown my distresses, a (jelle file whom I
adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet
me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, Avith
peculiar circumstances of mortification. The

1 Mr. Sillar (an early friend of Burns] assured Mr.
Itohert Chambers that this notion originated with
AVilliam Ihuiies, who thought of bceoniing entirely
a lint-farmer; and, liy way of keeiiing as nuieh of the
protlts as he could within his family, of making his
eldest son a tiax-dresser.

• Autobiographical letter to Dr. Jloore.

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

fiiiisliing 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 Avas in a state of mind scarcely to be
envied by the hopeless wretches who have got
their mittimus — 'Depart from me ye cursed !'"

[Shortly before the poet's visit to Irvine, a
young woman named Ellison or Alison Bcgbie
was the subject of his ardent attentions with a
serious view to future marriage. She was the
daughter of a small i'arnicr near Galston, and
was, at tlie time, in service with a family who
lived on the banks of the Cessnock, about two
miles to the east of Lochlea. She is the hero-
ine of the songs the " Lass of Cessnock IJanks,
I'eggy Alison, and JIary Aforison," the two
latter I)eing better-sounding substitutions for
the somewhat unpoetical name Ellison JJegbie.
Four love-letters addressed to her appear in the
Correspondence,' but after some intimacy and
letter writing the poet's suit was rejected, and
the lady married another sweetheart. She is
generally supposed to have been the hellejUh-
referred to, l)ut Dr. Ilately Waddell asserts that
a Jliss Janet Wilson, a native of Irvine or the
neigld)ourhood, and who married Jlr. Hoiiald
of Uennals, has the honour of being the one
who rejected Hums.]

The following letter, addressed by Burns to
his fiither, three days before the unfortunate
fire took place, will show abundantly that the
gloom of his spirits had little need of that ag-
gravation. When we consider by whom, to
whom, and under what circumstances, it wa.s
written, the letter is every way a remarkable
one : —

"Ho\o(;nE» Sir,

"I have purposely delayed writing, in the
hope that I should have the plca.sure of seeing
you on Xew-ycar'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. Jly health is nearly tiie 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

' [.Sec letters to EUi.son Begbie in their proper place
at the beginning of the poet's Correspondence.)

has so debilitated my mind that I dare neither
review past wants, nor look forward into
futurity; for the least anxiety or perturbation
in my breast produces most unhappy ellects
on my whole frame. Sometimes, indeed,
when for an hour or two my .spirits are a little
lightened, I i/limmcra little into futurity; but
my principal, and indeed my only pleasurable
employment, is looking backwards and forwards
in a moral and religious Avay. I am (]uitc
tran.sportcd at the thought, that ere long, per-
haps very .soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to
all the pains and uneasiness, and di.s()uietudes
of this weary life; for I asuii'C you I am
heartily tired of it; and, if I do not very much
deceive my.self, I could contentedly and gladly
resign it.

Tlio soul, uneasy, and confined at home,
Kcsts ami expatiates in a life to come.

"It is for this reas,^n I am more pleased
with the 15th, IGth, and 17lh verses of the
7th chapter of Revelations, than with any ten
times as many verses in the whole IJible, and
would not exchange the 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 bu.sy, nor the
flutter of the gay. I shall never again be
capable of entering into such scenes. Indeed,
1 am altogether unconcerned at the thouglits
of this life. I foresee that povcrtyand obscurity
probably await me, and I am in some measure
prepared, and daily preparing, to meet them.
I have just time and paper to return you my
grateful thanks for the lessons of virtue and
piety you have given me, ^Nliich were so much
neglected at the time of giving thcni, but
which 1 hope have been remembered ere it is
yet too late. Present my dutiful respects to
my mother, and my compliments to ^Ir. and

- The verses of Scripture here nlhidcd to, are a.'*
follows :—

"1,'j. Therefore are thc.v before the throne of Gm],
and serve him da,v and niplit in his temple; and hi'
that sittctli on the throne shall dwell aniouK thini.

"16. They shall hunser no nioro, ntitlier (hir.st
any more ; neithi'r shall tlie sun liyht on them, nor
any heat.

"17. For the Lamb which is in tlie miiKt of the
throne shall feed them, and shall lead tlicm nil i liv-
ing fountains of waters ; and Ged shall wipe away all
tears from tlieir eyes."

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

at I dare neither
ik forward into
• or jierturbiition

unhappy eiluL'ts
ictimCH, iiideeil,
pirits arc a little
ito futurity; but
only pleasurable
irdsand forwards
ly. I am quite
at ere long, pcr-

eternal adieu to
uul dis(]uictudes
iiurc you I am
lo not very nnn-h
itedly and gladly

iii'd at liDUio,
ifu tu cunic.

m more pleased
111 verses of the
lan with any ten
vhole 15ible, and
enthusiasm with

that this world
ivorld, 1 dcspaii'

it. I am not
2 busy, nor the

never again be
icenes. 1 ndced,
at the thouglits
rtyand obscurity
in some measure
, to meet them.
(1 return you my
IS of virtue and

h were so much
viiig them, but
nibcrcd ere it is

liful respects to
ents to Jtr. and
iiUiitleil to, are as

the throne of Cm],
is teiuiik- ; ami lio
'oil aiuoiiK tlR'iii.
IV, neither thirst
iyht on them, nor

tlie miiKI of the
eail thcni unto llv-
iliall wipe away all

Jlrs. Muir;' and, with wishing you a merry
New-year's-day 1 shall conclude.

" I am, honoured Sir, your dutiful son,

KOBKUT Ik'KXKSS."

"P.S. — Jfy meal is nearly out; but I am
going to borrow till I get more."

"This letter," says Dr. Cu-rie, "written
several years hefore the publication of his
I'oems, when his name was as obscure as his
condition was humble, displays the philosophic
melancholy which so generally forms the poet-
ical temperament, and that buoyant and am-
bitious spirit Avhicli indicates a mind conscious
of its strength. At Irvine, IJiirns at this time
possessed a single room for his lodgings, rent-
ed, perhaps, at the rate of a shilling a week,
lie passed his days in constant labour as a flax-
dresser, and his food consisted chiefly of oat-
meal sent to him from his father's family. The
store of this humble, though wholesome nutri-
ment, it appears, was nearly exhausted, and
he was about to borrow till he should obtain a
supply. Yet even in this situation, his active
imagination had formed to itself pictures of
eminence and distinction. His despair of
making a figure in the world, shows how ,
ardently he wished for honourable fame; and '
his contempt of life, founded on this despair,
is the genuine expression of a youthful and
geiu^rous mind. In such a state of reflection,
and of suffering, the imagination of Hums
naturally passed the dark boundaries of our
earthly horizon, and rested on those beautiful
representations of a better world, where there
is neither thirst, nor hunger, nor sorrow, and
where happiness shall be in proportion to the
capacity of happiness." i

I'nhappily for hini.>Lir and for the world, i
it was not always in the recollections of his !
virtuous home and (he study of his Bible, '
that Burns souglit for consolation amidst the
heavy distresses which "his youth was heir
to." Irvine is a small seaport; and here, as
at Ivirkoswald, the adventurous spirits of a
smuggling coast, with all their jovial habits,
were to be met with in abundance. "He
contracted some acquaintance," says Gilbert,
"of a freer manner of thinking and living
than he had been used to, whose society pre-

• [The tenants of TarholtoTi Mill, the "Willie's
Jlill" of " Death ami Dr. Hornbook. 'J

pared him for overleaping the bounds of rigid
virtue, which had hitherto restrained him."

I owe to Jlr. I{obert Chambers, author of
Trailitiona of Edhilmnjli, the following note
of a conversation which he had in June, 1826,
with a respectable old citizen of this town : — •
"Burns was, at the time of his residence
among us, an older-looking man than might
\\a,\M been expected from his age — very darkly
complcxioned, with a strong eye — of a thought-
ful appearance, amounting to what might be
called a gloomy attentivcness ; .so much so,
that when in company which did not call forth
his brilliant powers of conversation, he might
often be seen, for a considerable .space to-
gether, leaning down on his palm, with his
elbow resting on his knee. He Avas in common
silent and reserved ; but when he found a man
to his mind, he constantly made a point of at-
taching himself to his company, and endeav-
ouring to bring out his powers. It was among
women alone that he uniformly exerted him-
self and uniformly .shone. People remarked
even then, that when Robert Burns did speak,
he always spoke to the point, and in general
with a sententious brevity. His moody
thoughtfulne.ss, and laconic style of expression,
were both inherited from his father, who,
for his station iu life, was a very singular
person. "

[ The tissue of Burns's thoughts and habits
was a mixed one. He is found in Irvine, at
one time amusing himself with di.sputes in
churchyards on ])oints of C'alvinistic the logy,
at anotiicr en joying the society of the loo.se char-
acters of a smuggling seaport ; again bewailing
hi.", being jilted by "a hcllc /il/i" whom he
had adored, at another time entering upon a
connection which ended in his enduring public
censure before a congregation, and fiiudly
writing that letter to his father, in which he
expresses himself tired of the world, and
transported at the thought that he shall soon
1)0 in a better. Who could expect, from the
desponding and moralizing tone of that letter
that, four days after, he would be engaged in
the New- Year merry-making, in the cour.se of
which his shop caught fire and was reduced to
ashes !]

Burns himself thus sums up the results of
Ills residence at Irvine : — " From this adven-
ture I learned .something of a town life ; but

LIFE OF EOBEET BUENS,

the principal tiling which gave my ni

ind ii

David Silhir's letter to Mr. Aiken of Ayr

turn, was a
fell

o\v, a vcrv nob

friendship I formed witli a young (part of winch is given further on), proves the
lie character, liiit a hapless liberality of the views held by nurn< prior to

af misfortune. He wa.s the .son o

f a his residence in Irvine;

lie had in iiis

simple

ciumie ;

but a great man in the youth paid considerable attention to the

ts for and against the doctrine of original

the

lakiu:

considerable noise in your

neighbourhood, taking him under his patron- mei
age, gave him a genteel education, with a view sin,
of bettering his situation in life. The patron neighbourhood, and having perused Dr.
dying just as he was ready to launch out into ; Taylor's work on that subject, and Lifl>rs
the world, the poor fellow in despair went to i on IMh/ion EiwiifkU to M<ui,^ when he came
sea; where, altera variety of good and ill to Tarbolton, his ojiiiiions were of c(iiisc(pience
fortune, a little before I was accpiainted with favourable to what you .\yr pcojde call the
him, he had been set ashore by an Ameri- ; moderate side. . . . The slightest insin-

can privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught, nation of Taylor's o]

mad

e Ins neigli-

stripjied of everything. . . . His mind ' bours suspect, and some even avoid him, as
was fraught with independence, magnanimity ! an heretical and dangerous companion."]
and every manly virtue. I loved and admired It Avas during the .same period, that the
him to a degree of enthusiasm, and of course poet was first initiated in the mysteries of
strove to imitate him. In some measure 1 freemasonry, "which was," says his brother,
succeeded; I had pride before, but he taught ! "his lirst introduction to the life of a l)oon
it to flow in proper channels. His knowle<lge coniiianion." He wasintroduceil toSt. David's
of the world was vastly superior to mine; and ; Dodge of Tarbolton by .lolin I'ankine, a very
I Avas all attention to learn. He was the luily ! dissipated man, of considerable talents, to
man I ever saw who was a greater fool than | whom he afterwards indited a jioetical epistle,
myself, where woman was the presiding star; which will be noticed in its place. [.\ (lisrui>-
liut he spoke of illicit love with the levity of tiou took place in the St. David's Lodge in
a sailor — which liithcrto I had regarded with j June, 1782, and the sei)arating body, to which
horror. liar his fritiidili!/) iJ'nl uf a mix- ' Durnsadherctl, reconstituted themselves under
chief." [Tlu' young man here referred to was the old charter, dated 1711, as the St. .lanics's
IJichard Hrown, with whom lJurn.s kept up an ! Tarbolton Lodge, of which he subsccpicntly
after correspondence, and who was one of the i officiated as Depute Master.]
first to discern his latent gcni\is, and to cncour- ' "lihynie," Hums says, "I had given up"
age liim to aspii-e to the character of a jioet. (on going to Irvine); "but meeting with Fer-
AVheu the contents of Hums' Letter to Moore gusson's Scotti.fh Pormn, I strung anew my
were related to hi.n, he exclaimed, "Illicit, wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour. "
love! levity of a sador! When 1 first knew Neither tlax-dressi..g nor the tavern could
Hums he had nothing to learn in thai respect. '] keep him long from his ])roper vocation. Hut
Professor Walker, when preparing to write it was probably this accidental meeting with
liis sketch of the Poet's ^fe, was informed by Fergussoii, that in a great measure finally de-
an aged inhabitant of Irvine, that Hurns's terniined the " Scottish " character of Hurns's
chief delight Avhilc there was in discussing poetry; and, indeed, but for the lasting sense
religious topics, particularly in those circles of this obligation, and some natural symjiathy
which usually gather in a Scotch churchyard with the personal misfortunes of Fergusson's
after service. The senior added that Burns life, it would be difficult to account for the
commonly took the high t'alvinistic side in very hii:h terms in wiiich Burns always men-
such debates; and concluded with a boast, tions his productions,
"that the lad" was indebted to himself in a Shortly before Burns went to Irvine, ho, his

great measure for the gradual adoption of
"more liberal opinions," [a statement that
seems more than doubtful. It is well known
that his early training jiartook little of extreme
Calvinism, and the following extract from

brother (I ilbert, and some seven or eight young

' ("Litters (I iiRLTniiiKtlicKfligion Essential to. Man,
as it i.s clistinct fnim wliat is muifly an atix'ssi(ju
to it. In twi) parts: translatcil from tliu Frcncli.
Glasgow, printed for Uoliert I lie, 1701."]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

Uken of Ayr
n), proves the
IJuriM prior to
c had ill his
II to the iirifii-
iiic of oriuiiial
noise ill your
perused ])r.
, iiiid Litd rn
iViieii he ciiiiie
if coiist'inu'iico
L'0])le eall tiie
i,i;iitest insiii-
de liis iR'ii:li-
avoid liiiii, a.s
)aiiion. "]
iod, that tlic

iiiystorii's of
■* his liroliior,
life of a hooii

to St. David's
Liikiiie, a very
le talents, to
leliial epistle,
?. [A disrti]!-
id's liOdue in
pody, to which
iiiselves under
le St. .Iaiiies'.s

subse(pieii11y

ad given ii])"
iiig with Fer-
inii; anew my
it ill};; vigour."
tavern eould
iieation. 15ut
nieetinj; with
ire finally de-
ler of jjurns's
lasIiiiL;' sense
ral sympathy
r Fergiisson's
.•omit for the
i always inen-

rvine, lie, his
r eight young

ssuiitiallD.Maii,
ly an acrussiou
III the Fit'iicli.
lit."]

men besides, all of the parish of Turlmlton,
had formed themselves into a society, which
they called the bachelor's C'liilt; and which
met one evening in every month for the
purposes of mutual entertainment and im-
pnivement. Tliat their ciqis were hut modest-
ly tilled is evident; for the rules of the chih
did not permit any member to spend more
than threepence at a sitting. A question was
announced for discussion at the close of each
meeting; and at tlic next they eamc prepared
to deliver their sentiments npon the subject-
matter thus jiroposed. 15urns and David
Sillar (to Avhom the " Kpistlc to ])avie, a
]5rother-poct " was afterwards addressed, and
who subse([uently published a volume of verses
not without merit) were emjiloyed by the rest
to draw up the regulations of th.e Society : and
some staii/as prefixed to ,S!li(tr'.i Scroll of I'liles
"first introduced Hums and him to each other
as brother rhymers."' Of the sort of cpieslioiis
discussed, we may form some notion from the
minute of one evening, still extant in Hurns's
hand-writing. — (2LK«riON fou IIali.owk'kx
<Xov. 11, 1780). — "Suppose a young man,
bred a farmer, but without any fortune, has
it ill his i)ower to marry either of two women,
the one a girl of large fortune, but neither
handsome in person nor agreeable in conver-
.satioii, but who can manage the household
afliiirs of a farm Avell enough; the other of
them a girl every Avay agreeable in person,
conversation, and behaviour, but w itliout any
fortune: which of them shall he choose?"
Jiiirns, as may be guessed, took the imprudent
.side in this discussion.

"On one solitary occasion," says he, "we
resolved to meet at Tarbolton in .hily, on the
raee-night and have a dance in honour of our
.society. Accunlingly, we did meet, each one
Avith a partner, and spent the night in such
innocence and merriment, such cheerfulness

1 1 (iiKite froiu a letter of .Mr. Sillar, 2i)tli Xovcnibcr,
18^8, tlie lines—

Of birth au<l MockI we do not lioast,

Xo Ki'iitry does our Club iifTord,
Itiit i<lou;<))nu'n and nu'cbanics we

In nature'H siinide dress record:
Let mine e'er join us wlio refuse

To aid tlie lads tli.it liaud the iilouKhs, hold

To elioose tlieir friends and wale their wives, select
To ease the labours of their lives.

These lines, tlicrefnre (liitlierto ascribed to Pjuiiis),
are in fact the lawful iiropurty of Mr. Sillar.

and good-humour, that every brotlier will long
remember it with delight." There can be no
doubt that Ihirns would not have itatronized
this sober association so long, unless he had
experienced at its assemblies the pleasure of
a stimulated mind; and as little, that to the
habit of arranging his thoughts and expressing
them in somewhat of a formal shape, thus
early cultivated, wc ought to attribute much
of that conversational skill which, when he first
mingled with the upper world, was generally
considered as the most remarkable of all his
personal accomplishments. — Hurns's associates
of the Haehelor's Club, must have been young
men possessed of talents and ac(piirenieiits,
otherwise such minds as his and Gilbert's eould
not have persisted in measuring themselves
against theirs; and wc may believe, that the
jieriodical display of the poet's own vigour
and resources, at these club meetings, and
(more frequently than his brother approved)
at the Freemason l-odges of Irvine and Tar-
bolton, extended his rural reputation; and,
by degrees, prepared persons not immediately
included in his own circle, for the extraor-
dinary impression which his pocLieal cH'orts
were ere long to create all over "the Carriek
border."

Mr. David Sillar'-' gives an account of the
beginning of his own acquaintance with Hums,
and introduction into Ibis Haehelor's Club,
which will always be read with much interest.
— "Jlr. liobert Hums was some time in the
parish of Tarbidton prior to my acquaintance
with him. J lis social disposition easily pro-
cured him ac(juaintance ; but a certain satiri-
cal seasoning with which he and all jioetical
geniuses arc in some degree iiilliieiiced, while
it set the rustic circle in a roar, was not unac-
companied with its kindred attendant, suspi-
cious fear. I recollect hearing his neighbours
oliserve, he had a great deal to say for himself,
and that they .suspected his principles, ilc
wore the only tied hair in the parish; and in
the ehurcli, his plaid, which was of a particu-

- David Sillar, a native of Tailxilton, became in
17S4 a selioulniastor at Irvine ; ami havinj;, in the
ciiuise of a linig life, iealize<l eonsidcralde property,
was ai>pi)iiited chief niayistrate oi that town. [It is
said that as Sillar grew rich he ;.'i'ew penunous, and
that when leiiuested to subserihe to the mausoleum
fund and afterwards to the Ayr moiiumeiit to Burns,
he refused. lie died in 1S30.]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

lar colour, I think fillcmot, he wrapi)e(l in ii
jmrtii'iilar inannrr nmiid iiis siioulders. Tliosu
wunnisos, ami liis exterior, had Hiicha magnot-
ical iiitlueiicu on my eiiriosity, as made me
particnlarly solicitous of his aequaintanec.
Whether my acquaintance with Gilbert was
casual or premeditated, 1 am not now certain.
By him I was introduced, not only to his
brother, but to the whole of that family, wliere
in a short time, I became a frc(iuent, and, 1
believe, not unwelcome visitant. After the
commencement of my acquaintance with the
liard, wc i'rc(|uently met upon Sundays at
church, when, between sermons, instead of
goini; with our friends or lasses to the inn, we
often took a walk in the fields. In these
walks, 1 have froiiuently been struck with his
facility in addrcssini; the fair se.v: and many
time.s, when I have been bashfully anxious
how to express myself, he would have entered
into conversation with them with the greatest
case and freedom; and it was generally a
death-blow to our conversation, however agree-
able, to meet a female acquaintance. Some
of the few opportunities of a noon-tide walk
that a country life allow.s her laborious sons,
he .spent on the banks of the river, or in the
woods in the nei;;hbourhood of Stair, a situa-
tion peculiarly adapted to the genius of a rural
bard. Some book (generally one of those
mentioned in liis letter to ilr. Jlurdoch)' he
always carried and read, when not otherwise
employed. It was likewi.so his custom to read
at table. In one of my visits to Lochlca, in
time of a sowon supper, he was so intent on
reading, I think Tristram Shandy, that his
spoon falling out of his hand, made him ex-
claim, in a tone scarcely imit.ible, ' Alas, poor
Yorick ! ' Such was Burns, and sueh were his
associates, when I was admitted a member of
the Bachelor's („lub." 2

The misfortunes of William Burnes thickened
apace, as has already been seen, and were ap-
proaching their crisis at the time when Kobert
came liome from his flax-dressing experiment
at Irvine. 1 have been favoured with copies
of .some letters addressed by the poet .soon
afterwards to his cousin, "Mr. James Burnes.«,
writer in ^loutrose," which cannot but gratify

1 15th Januciry. ITS."?.

2 Letter to Jlr. .\ikeii of Ayr, in Morison's Burns,
vol. ii. pp. 257-200.

every reader.'' They arc worthy of the strong
understanding and warm heart of Burns; and,
besides opening a pleasing view of the nuuiner
in which domestic aflection was preserved
between his father ami the relations from
whom the accidents of life had siqiarated that
excellent person in boyhood, they ajqiear to
mo — written by a young and unknown peasant
in a wretched hovel, the abode of poverty,
care, aiul disease — to be moilels of native good
taste and politeness.

"Lochlca, 2l8t June, 178U.
"Dkak Sill, — .My father received your
favour of the loth curt.; and as he has been
for some months very poorly in liealth, and
is, in his own opinion, and indeed in almost
every body else'.s, in a dying condition; he
has only, with great dilliculty, written a few
farewell lines to each of his brothers-in-law.
For this melancholy reasoi', 1 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 corrcsjiondence in the
north die with him. iiy brother writes to
.lohn Caird ; and to liir>i 1 must refer you for
the news of our family. 1 shall only trouble
you Avith a few particulars relative to the present
wretched state of this country. Our markets
are exceedingly high; oatmeal !"(/. and 18*/.
l)er peck, and not to be got even at that price.
We have indeed been pretty well supplied with
quantities of white peas from Kngland and
elsewhere; but that resource is likely to fail
us; and what will become of us then, particu-
larly the very poorest sort, Heaven only knows.
This country, till of late, was nourishing in-
credibly ill 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 line trade
in the shoe way, but now entirely ruined, and
hundreds driven to a starving c(uidition on
account of it. Farming is also at a very low ebb
with us. Our lands, generally speaking, are
mountainous and barren ; anil our landholders,
full of ideas of farming gathered from the
English and the Lotliians. and other rich soils
in Scotland, make no allowance for the odds

3 These letters flrat appeared in the 1S20 re-isBUe of
Carrie's edition.

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

Iiy of the strong

I of Hums ; and,

wof tlio manner

was preserved

relations from

I sejiarated thai

tliev appear to

ikiKfwn peasant

kIo of poverty,

s of native good

2l8t June, 1783.

received your
us lie lias been
in health, and
ileed in almost

condition ; he
, written a few
irothers-in-law.

now hold the
nir kind letter,
liiill not be niy
ndcnce in the
)ther writes to
t refer you for
ill only trouble
e tothc present
Our markets

I7i/. and ]8(/.
II iit that price.

I sii))i>Iied with
I'^ngland and

s likely to fail
then, particu-
L'li only knows,
ilouri.-liiiij,' in-
>iik, lawn, and

II carrying on
much ic<Iuced
40 a fine trade
ly milled, and

coiidiiion on
a very low ebb
speaking, are
r landholders,
red from (he
ihcr rich soils
I for tlie odds

1S20 re-issue of

of the (|uality of land, and consequently stretch
us much lieyond what, in the event, we will
be found alile to pay. We are also much at a
loss for want of p'oper methods in our im-
provemcnls of i'arining. Necessity compels
us to leave our old schemes, and few of us
have opportunities of being well informed in
new ones. In short, my ilear sir, since the
uiiforlunatc beginning of this American war,
and its as unfortunate conclusion, this country
has been, and still in, decaying very fast.
Even in higher life, a couple of our Ayrshire
noblemen, and the major part of our knights
011(1 scpiires, arc all insolvent. .V miserable
joi> of a Douglas, Heron & Co.'s Hank, which
no doubt you have heard of, has undone num-
bers of them; and imitating English and
French, and other foreign lii.xuries and fop-
lieries, has ruined as many more. There is a
great trade of smuggling carried on along our
coasts, which, however destructive to <hc
interests of the kingdom at large, certainly
enriches this corner of it; but too often at the
e.\]iense of our morals. However, it enables
individuals to make, at least for a time, a
8j)leiidi(l appearance; but Fortune, as is usual
with her when she is uncommonly lavish of
her favours, is generally even with them at
the last; and liajipy were it for numbers of
them if she would leave them no worse than
when she found thcni.

" .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 corres])ondent in Edinburgh or (ilasgow,
we would send you a pro|)eronc in the season.
Mrs. Black ])roiniscs to take the chce.se under
her care so far, and then to send it to you by
the .'Stirling carrier.

" I shall conclude tiiis long letter with
assuring you, that 1 shall bo very happy to
hear from you. or any of our friends in your
country, when opportunity serves. Jfy father
sends you, probably for the last time in this
world, his warmest wishes for your welfare and
haiijiiness; and my mother and the rest of the
family desire to enclose their compliments to
you, Mrs. Hurnc.ss, and the rest of your family,
alongwith,— near.Sir,yourafrectionateCousin,

"RoiiKKT BuUNEriS."

In the second of these letters, the poet

announces the death of his father.
Eochlea, 17th February, 1784.

It is dated

"Dkau t'orsiN, — I would have returned
you my thanks for your kind favour of the
l.'ith December sooner, had it not been that I
waited togiveyou anaceountof that melancholy
event, which, for Homc time past, wo have
from day to day expected. On the 13th curt.
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 lender en-
dearments and parental lessons of the best of
friends and the alilest of instructors, without
feeling what perhaps the calmer dictates of
reason would partly condemn. I hope my
father's friends in your country will not let
their connection in this place die with him.
For my part, 1 shall ever with i)leasurc — with
pride, acknowledge my connection with those
who were allied by the ties of blood and friend-
ship to a man whoso memory I will ever honour
and revere. I expect, therefore, my dear sir,
you will not neglect any opportunity of letting
me hear from you, which will ever very much
t oblige. — My dear Cousin, yours sincerely,

I "IiOliKUT BuUNE.:i.S."

Among other evils from which the excellent
William Hurncs thus escaped, was an afllic-
tion that would, in his eyes, have been severe.
Our youthful poet had not, as he confesses,
come unscathed out of the society of those per-
sons of " liberal opinions " with whom he con-
sorted ill Irvine; and he ex})rcssly attributes
to their lessons, the scrape into wliich he fell
soon after "he put his hand to tlie plough
again." lie was compelled, according tothc
then all but universal custom of rural parishes
in Scotland, to do penance in church, before
the congregation, in consequence of the birth
of an illegitimate child; and whatever may be
thought of the propriety of such exhibition.'*,
there can be no difference of opinion as to the
culpable levity with A\liich he describes the
nature of his offence, and the still more repre-
hensible bitterness with which, in his Epistle
to Kankinc, he inveighs against the clergymei..
who, in rebuking him, only performed what
was then a regular part of the clerical duty,
and a part of it that could never have been at

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

all au:rccal)Ie to tlic worthy man whom lie
wiitiri/i's uiulcr tlio ai)iii'llatiim of "Daddie
Auhl."' Tlic " I'oct's Welcome to an Illegiti-
mate Cliild" was f()iui)osc(l on the same ocea-
wion — a iiiccc in which some very manly feel-
ing4 arc expressed, alonu; witii others which
it can ^'ive no one jileasure to conteniiilate.
There is a song in honour of the same occasion,
or a similar one ahoiit the same period, the
" Ifantin' Dog the Daddie o't," which cxhihits
the poet as glorying, and only glorying, in his
shame.

When f consider his tender affection for the
surviving mcmliers of his own family, and the
reverence with which he ever reganled the
memory of the falherwhom he had so recently
liuried, I cainiot lielicve that Burns has thought
fit to record in verse all the feelings which
this exposure excited in his bosom. "To
waive (in his own language) thecpiantumof the
.sin," he who, two years afterwards, Avrote the

"Cottar'd Saturday Night," had not, wc may
he sure, hardened his heart to the tli<iught of
bringing additional sorrow and unexpected
shame to the (ireside of a widowed nujther.
Mut his false pride recoiled I'roni letting his
jovial a.ssociates guess ho'v little ho was alilo
to drown the whispers of llir Mill hiikiII roke;
and the fermenting liiltcrness of a mind ill at
ease within itself, escaped (as may lie loooltcn
traced in the history of satirists) in the sha]ie
of angry .sirca.-nis against oIIhts, who, what-
ever their iirivate errors miglil he, had at least
done him no wrong.

It is im[)ossiiile not to smile at one item of
consolation which Murns proposes to hiin.sclf
on this occasion : —

— Tlie iiiiiir tliey talk, I'lit lend the heth'r; known
KVn let llieiii clasli 1 gossip

This is indeed a singular numifestatlon of
"tlie last infirmity of noble minds."

CHAPTER III.

fHemov.iI to Alosssiol :— tlienlojtlcal discassidns;— f'hurcli )iiirtio.s — the N'ew-I,i<;1its aiul Auld-Liijlits: —
Oaviii llainiltim— his feud with Mr. Aiild;— Dr. .\lii(;;iirs case:— the " 'I'wa Jlerds:'— " lli.ly Willie's
J'lajei-:"— tile "Onliiiatiuii," "Klik's Alanii," and " Ilidy I'air;" -" Kiiistle to Davie," and tirst idta «l
lieconiin^- an aatlior; (illhert's account (it tlii.s ii(.Tiiid'.s iicpcnis :— " Dr. Ilcinilionk :"— the inciiuality (if linnniii
condition:— "Life and A^'c of .Man:"— tlie "Cottar's .Saturday Night " and " Il(dy I'air :"— West Indian
project ;—IIii;liland Alary:— Jean Ainiour:— acknowludgnieiit of marriage:— hirtli of twills :-Kj,'al btejis
taken tc secure his children's iiialiitcnaucc]

Tlio star that rules my luckless lot

IIiis fated me the russet coat,

And daniu'd my fortune to the Broat :

I!(it iu n'(iuit,
Has blcss'd me « i' a r iiidoiii. shot

O euuiitiy wit.

Three months before the death of William
Humes, llobert and (iillierfc took the farm of
Jlossgiel, in the neighbouring pari.^h of Jraueh-
line, with the view of providing a shelter
for tlieir parents in the storm, which they
liad seen gradually thickening, and knew
must soon burst ; and to this place the whole
family removed on ^Villiam's death. 2 "It was

1 There is much humour in .some of the verses ; as,

'Twas ae nieht lately in my fun,

I pied a roving wi' my gun, went

An' lirought a paitriek to the gruu', partridge

A honnie hen,
And, as the twilight was liegun,

Thought nano wad ken, Sc.

2 [The farm of Mossgiel (originally Mossgavel),

stocked by the property and individual savings
of the whole family (says Gilbert), and was

which consisted of 118 acres, the rent being i;00, is
situated aliout a mile from .Mauchline, on the road
to Tai liolton and Irvine. Two other farms also hear
the same name, lieini,' distiniriiishcd icsjieelivcly as
West .Moss;;iel and South Mos.«);i(I, while the farm
on which the jioet resided is known as I'ast Mossgiel.
It occupies the fiummit of a lidtje which separates
the valley of the Ayr from that of the (/essnock and
commands views of much .scenic lieauty. The laaise,
in the i)0(,t's day, consisted of a one-storied cotta^te,
and though cal'-cd "the auld day hinKiu," in the
"Visi(jii," was v.ell huilt, having' been erected by
Gavin Hamilton, who was the principal tenant, as a
ph.'asant country retreat f(a- himself and his family. It
was on the usual plan of farm-houses of the day, and
consisted of a " but and ben" (kitclieu and parlour),
with a fjarret above, to wliicli a tiai)-stair ttave access,
in tlie lobby behind the door. The garret was divided
into three small apartments, two of which were used
ns bed-njoms and the third as a lmiibei-i(joni. The
iniddle apartment of the three, lighted by a skylight

;i(l not, \vc may
I lie llioiinht of
ml uiio.\iici'(eiI
idowctl niothcr.
mill K'tliiii; liis
tic liu was ulile
<till miKtll roici';
of a mind ill at
iiav l)i; liio ol'ttii
,») in the sliajie
crs, who, wliat-
lie, had at, least

[> lit one item of
ioscs to hlinsclt'

'ic belter; known
[ clasli ! KOBHlp

nanifestatioa of
iuds."

1(1 AnW-Liulits:—
'— "Jliily WiUie'H
ami liist idta I't
i'i|ii!ility <<{ liiiiriaii
•:" — West Tiiiliiin
viiis :— legal bteps

dividual savings
Ibert), and was

rent lieiii^ COO, is
liliiie, on the roiid
er fnrnis also liear
1(1 iesi)eetively as
■1, wliile the farm
I as Kiist Mdss^'iel.
ii wliiili sejiarates

the ('essiiDek ami
aiity. The house,
le-storied eottajie,
ly liiKgin," in the

been ereeteil liy
leipal tenant, as a

and his family. It
ies of the (lay, and
:heu and jiarlour),
i-stair fjave aecess,
f^arret was divided
f whieli were used
imlier-rooni. The
hted by a skylight

prcc

■sS

LIFE OF EOBEET BURNS.

a joint concern among us.* Every member
of the family waa allowed ordinary wages
for the labour he performed on the farm. JMy
brother's allowance and mine was £7 per
annum each. And during the whole time this
family concern lasted, as well as during the
preceding period at Lochlea, Robert's expenses
never, in any one year, exceeded liis slender
income."

" I entered on this farm," says the poct,^
"with a full resolution. Come, yo to, I ivlK lie
witie. I read farming books, I calculated
crop.!, I attended markets, and, in short, in
f^pite of the (lei'il, and the world, and the flesh,
I believe I should have been a vise 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,
ab l I returned like the do;/ to his romif, and
the S010 that was vmnhed, to her waUowin'j in
the mire."

" At the time that our poet took the icsolu-
tion of becoming irine, he procured," says Gil-
bert, "a little book of blank paper, with the
purpose expressed on the first page, of making
flirmiug memorandums. 'Vhcac fa rtn in;/ memo-
ronduvis are curious enough," Gilbert slyly
.adds, '-'and a specimen may gratify the
reader." 3 — Specimens accordingly he gives,
as follows : —

wimlow placed in tlio sloping roof, formed the bed-
room of tlie two brothers Robert and Gilbert, and con-
tained a small tal)le at whieh the poet wrote many of
his most famous pieces, with a drawer in which his
l)i-oduetio.is were stored. Tlio "ben"end of theliouse
wat- the celelirated "spenee" of the "Vision," the
sec le of " Coda's" inspiratory visit to tlie bard. In
185./ great alterations were made upon the house. It
was completely j^utted, and a story added to it, so
that the present substantial two-storied slated build-
ing bears little ieseni!dance to the dwelling winch
sheltered the poet and his fandly. No portion of tlie
original structure now remains except the shell of
old walla, which reach half-way up the present. The
outhouses which form an ai-de round a paved court
are all modern. Gilbert J5unis continued ou the farm
till 1800, when he removed to Dinning, in Dmnfries-
shire, a farm belonging to Sir C. S. ilentcath of Close-
burn.)

1 IWhcn William Burnes die^ his sons and the two
eldest daughters ranked as creditors of tlieir father
for arrt ius of wages. Tlie farm must have been very
imperfectly stocked if they had no more to start with
than their joint savings.]

- Letter to Dr. Moore.

^ [Thi.? (luotation is in Dr. Cunie's own words, and
not ill these of Gilbert Burns as stated in the text.]

why the deuce should I repine

And 1)0 an ill-foreboder?
I'm twenty-three, and Ave foot nine—

I'll go and be a sodger, &c.

O leave novells, ye Maiichline liclles,
Ye're safer at your spinning wheel ;
Such witching books are baited hooks
For rakish rooks— like Kob Mossgiel.

Your fine Tom .Jones and Grandisons,
They make your youtliful fancies reel.
They heat your veins, aiul fire your brains,
Aiul then ye're prey for Kob Mossgiel, &c. die.

The four yea'N during which IJurns resided
on this cold and ungrateful farm of Mossgiel,
were the most important of his life. It wa.s
then that his genius developed its highest
energies; on the works produced in those
years his fame was first est.'blished, and must
ever continue mainly to rest : it was then also
that his personal character r ame out in all its
brightest lights, and in all but its darkest
shadows; and indeed, from the commence-
ment of this period, the liistory of the man
may be traced, step by step, in liis own im-
mortal writing.s.

Uurns now began to know that Nature had
meant him for a poet ; and diligently, though
as yet in secret, he laboured in Avhat he felt
to be his destined vocation. Gilbert continued
for some time to be his chief, often indeed his
only confidiHit; and anythiuf; more interesting
ami delightful than thisexcell jntman'saccount
jf the manner in which the poems included in
the first of his brother's publications were
composed, is certainly not to bo found in the
annals of literary history.

The reader ha.^ already seen, that long before
the earliest of them avps known beyond the
domestic circle, the strength of Burns's under-
standing, and the keenness of his 'wit, as dis-
played in his ordinary conversation, and more
particularly at masonic meetings and debating
clubs (of which he formod one in irauchlino,
on the Tarbolton model, immediately on his
removal to Jlo.ssgiel), had made his name
known to some considerable extent in the
country about Tarbolton, jNfauchline, and
Irvine; and thus prepared the way for his
poetry. Professor Walker gives an anecdote
on this head, which must not be omitted ;
Hums already numbered several clergymen
among his acquaintances; indeed, we know
from himself, that at this period he was not a

airr'rain»ii'Tr liT-mmn mr n

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

littlo lliif tcrcd. and jiisOy so, no (juostion, with in oonvorsalion-partios on Su.idays, at funerals,

boinjriionnitti'd to mingle oooasionally in thoir ito.. used to nuzzle (.'alviuisin with so nuu'li

soeiety.' One of these centlenien told tl'.e heal and indiseivlion, thai 1 raised the hue

professor, that al'ier enlerinir on the elerieal and ery o( heresy against me, whieh has not

profes.^

eonipany, "where," s;iid he

he had r.^peatedly met Hum;- in < eeaseil to this hour." There are some plain
•the aeuteuess allusions to this matter in Mr. Havid Miliar":

and oriuiuality displayed by him. the de[lh letter, already tiuoted : aiul a friend has told

.Mian (.'uuniniiham "ihat he tirsi saw Hums
siaiid- ' on ilie afiernoou of ilie .Momlav o( ,i Mauehlino

of his diseerument, the I'l.ive i>f his express!
and the autiioriiatiNeriiercv

;s under

injr, Iiad ereated a sense o( his power, of the ! siu'ninienl. lounuinj; on horsebaek at the iloor
extent of wliieh 1 was tiiieouseious. till it was of a luiblie-liouse, holilinir forlli on reliirious
revealed to me by aei'idenl. (Mi the oeeasion to]nes to a whole erowd of eouniry peo|ile. who
of my seeond appeaianee in Ihepulpit. I CMUie jneseiuly beeaine so mtieh slioeked »iih his
with an assured and inimpiil miiul. and ihoimii

a few per-oMs o( eduealion were (uvsenl. ad- ' i"'''''*l'''<l- H is.late.l Mossci.l. August, ir.-;4. -We

1 1 .1 • .1 • • , hiiw lu'iu suriirisi'il with one of the most extra-

vaneed some lenmh 111 uieserviee wit 1 mv eon- ,, , • ., , ,, , , ,

• orilm;ii'v pheiu'MU'ua lu the moral wuiM, «hieh. 1

tidenee and self-possession unimpaired; but ,i:„v sav, lias hai'peiie.I in the eourse of this last

when I >av liiirns, who was of a diirerenl n'utiiiv. We have had a party of the I'lvsbxter.v

parish, unexpeeiedlv enter the ehuivh, 1 was "'''''• •" ""'> '■'" themselves, for soi.ie time in this

,,- . 1 -.1 , " 1 1 e.iimtrv. A ]lrelt^ thriviui; s>Hiit\ of them ha.s heeu

alteeted with a tremor and eml>aiTas>uieii . :„ ,., , „„. i, f i, • t. ., .

in the liuigh of M'vme for some \i'ai-s ]iast, till aliout

whieh suddenly apprised me of the impivssion two years ago. a Mrs. ihuhau'fiom lUasgow eamo

whieh my niiiul. unknown to itself, hail pre- ami began to spreail some fanatieal notions of nligion

amoui;- them, aiiil. in a slunt time, maiie man\ eon-
ViTts among them. ami. among others, tlu ir inviu-lii'v,
one Mr. \\li\te, «lui, ui>on that aeeoniit. has been
>nspcnileil ami fiMinally ihpost.l by his brethren.
Ill' lontinueil. however, to pieakh in private to hi;
pan,\,an.l wassniipinteil. b>ith he. aiiil their spirtual
mother, as they all'eet to rail ol.l Ihuhan. by the
eontrilMitions I'f the rest, several of whom were in
. . gooil liremn^taiut's: till, in spring last, the ]>oiMilaee

tension to undeiMaudini;', is a tlu ilouieal ''"'''•'"''"'•''''"''• the oM leaiUr r.uehan. ami |iut her
eriiie— at least sueh nw the ease- and Burns ""' •"' ""' '"""^ •'" "''''''• "" ''vr i"ollo»,.|-s voluu-

no doubt, had lon^ ere this time dis,in^ui>hed XnuuTtnu.^'lf'!^!^:'''^^^^^^^

,. -1 ,, , , " "P"Ui,>n. tliat man) of them nevir shut then' iloors

himselt eonsi,ler:ibly amoiiu: those hafil-headed boliin>l them: one left n washing on thr green, another

viously reeeived." 'I'lie pr-'essor adds, ili.it
the person who had llnis uneonseiously been
measurinir the stature of the inielleetual eiant.
was not only a man of good talent> and eduea-
tion, but "reiiiark.ihle for a more thao ordi-
nary ]ioriion o\' eonstiiutioiird tirinr.ess."-'
Kvery Seoleh pe.isan' who makes ai y pre-

jrroups that may usually be seen irathered to-
sreiher in the ehurehyard after the .-erviee is
over. 1; m.ay be uue^sed. that from the time
ot his residenee at Irvine, his strietiires were
too ot'ten delivered in no reverent vein.
••IVlemieal divinity." >ays he to Dr. Moore,
in 17Sr. "about this time, was puttimr the
eountry half mad. ''and 1. ambitious of shiniii':

' Letter to l>i-. Mviore. fiib iiiilio.

- Life i>rell\eil to Morisons /Jioii.v. p. xlix.

ITlie

a eow lifllowing at the erib without meat, or any
body to miml lur: ami. aftir several stages, they ni-e
live.l at pivsent in the neighbourhood iif liumfries.
riieir tenets are a strange jumble of enthusiastie
.'argon: among othei-s. she pntduls to giM them the
Holy lihost by breathing on them, whioh .-he does
with postures and i>iaitioes that are siandalously
indeeent ; they have likewise dis|Mised of all their
elliets. and hold a eoiinnuuity of gooils. and live
nearly an idle life, earrxiug on a great faiee of pre-
temled devotion in barns and woods, wlieiv thev
lodg-e and lie all togitlier, and hold likewise a eoni-
nnmity of women, as it is another of their tenets ihat

ele.^:yman here ivferred to is l>r. Alexandor Niv.n. th.y ean eommit no moral sin. I am ina^onallv m

, ' •' •.'""'-: ' ""'^"^ >" '''^""'■^- "'"<>!-' "* tutor in the above m.ntionol aiv fa> ts. '

the Jim. y ot Hannlton of Snndrum. in the parish of |Kls,v.h sim,.sou or l^n.hau was a native of Pantf,

^ The following aooount of the m.,.„u.. . set of "li;;" •'• u^J.^' 'f ' Z\--':T^ '''"T ""T""'

im. n,ui,iu\i was m^t Lneky lUielmn interml with him.]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

i, lit fnnonUs,
ith so niiu'li
isod tlio liuo
liii'li ha^ not
> some plain
bvi(i Sil'ar's
L'lul has told
t s;»\v nurns

a Maiu'liliiio
c at till" iloor

on ivliLTious
■ pooi>lo, who
;o(l with his

ist, 1TS4, "Wo
10 most extra-
mill, wliiiii, 1
SI' of this last
lio I'lvsliNtt'iy
,10 tiiiio in this
tlioin lias boon
I'list. till atiout
(ilasuow oamo
ions of rolicioii
ailo many oon-
tlu ir i>ro:'.oh''v,
>nnt. lias boon

liis tavtlnvn.

privalo to hi;

tlioir spii'tual
juiiiaii, liy tho
Lvliom woro in
\. tho vopulaoe

II. anil put hor
llowois Yoliin-
« ith siioh j>ro-

111 thoir il'iora
i;i'oon, anothor

moat, or any
ta>;os. thoy rtit>

1 ol' Ihiiiifrios.

f iiitliiisiastio

j;i\i thorn the

liii h -ho lioos
soaniialonsly

il of .all thoir
Is. a.ul live
t faiio of jav-
"lioiv thoy

ko«iso a ooni-

I ir tonots ihat
IH'i^onally ao-
aii a.ssnro >ou

itivo of r;iistr,
ol>oit Hiiohan,
ui to pni] liosy
joinoil Wliyfe
ha.l loft tiiat

II CiMobotfonl,
tho bones of

lovitics, that thov fairly hissed hini from the
ground."

To understand liurns's situation at this
time, at oiu'e patronized by a nunilier of elergy-
men, and attended with "a hue and cry of
heresy," we must rememlier iiis own words,
that "polemieal divinity was puttiiiir the
eoiiiitry half mad." Of lioth the parties whieh,
ever siiiee the Itevolulion of lti8S. have pretty
oiiually divided the (.'liuivh of Scotland, it so
hariuMied tiiat some of tlie most zealous and
e.mspiouous leaders and partisans were then
opposed to eaeh other, in eonstant warfare, in
tiiis partieular distriet ; and their feuds heinc:
of eoiirse taken upamonu' ilieir eoiiirreirations.
and spleen and iirejudiee at work, even more
furiously in the eoltauc than in t/ic mttii)<i', he
who, to the annoy anee of the one set of belli-
jrerents, eouUl talk like liuriis. miglit eou it
pretty surely — with whateveralloy iiis wit hap-
pened 10 lie miuuled, in whatever shape the
piYi'ious ••oiivii!atiiiL;nu'diuin"niiL;lit lie east —
oil the applause and eouiueiianoe of ihe enemy.
Aiiil it is needless io add. they were ilie le>s
serupulous seet of the two that enjoyed the
eo-operation, sueli as it was then, and far more
iinpoij.uii. as ill the seijuel it eanie to be. of
(V.ir poet.

Wiliiain Hiinies. as we have already seen.
t]unii;h a '" -'St e.Kemplary and devout man.
oiitertaiiied oiiinions very ditlereni from those
whiili eommonly obtained among the rigid
Calviiiists of his distriet. 'I'lie worthy and
pious old man himself', therefore, lunl not im-
IHMbably iiifiisevl into his son's mind its tiivt
l>roiudiee auainst these iH>rsoiis; iliough. had
he lived to witness the manner in whieh l!obert
;iss;iiled them, there ean be no doubt his sorrow
woulil have eipLiUed his anuer. The jovial
spirits with whoiu Hums a>s,u'iated a; Irvine,
and al'ierwards. were ot'eourse habitual deriders
I't" tlie manners, as well as the tenets of the

Oitlu.iiox. ortlu'ilox, wlia luiiovo in .lolin Knox.

We have already obsorved the etfee; of the
young poet's own first oolli>ion with the ruling
powers of rre>byieriaii di~oipliiie ; but it was
in the very aet of settling at Mossuiel thai
Burns formed the eonneetion. whieh, more
than any eireumstanee besides, intlueneed him
as UI the matter now in question. The farm
belonged to the estate of the Earl of Loudoun,

but the brothers held it on a sub-lease from
Mr. (lavin Hamilton, writer (i.e. attorney),
in Mauehline, a man, by every aeeount, of
engaging manners, open, kind, generous, ami
high-spirited, between whom and IJobert
Hurns, in spite of eonsideralde ineiiuality of
eondition, a elose and intimate friendship was
ere long formed. Just about this time it
happened that Hamilton was at open feud
with ^Ir. Aiild. the minister of Mauihline
(tlie same who luul already rcl'iikid the poet),
and the ruling elders of the parish, in eonse-
iliicnee of eeriain irregularities in his personal
eonduet and deportment, whieh. aeeordinii' to
the usual siriet notions of kirk-diseipline. were
eonsitlered as fairly demanding the viirorous
intert'erenee of these authorities. The noiiee
of this pei-son, his own landlord, and. as it
would seem, one of the prineipal inhabitants
of the village of .Maueliline at the time, must,
of eoiirse, have been very flatiering to our
IHilemieal young farmer. He es]ioused (iavin
Hamilton's tpiarrel warmly. Hamilton was
naturally enough disposed to mix up las personal
affair with the standing eoniroversies whereon
.Vuld was at varianee with a lariie and power-
' fill body of his brother eleryyiiien : and by
I degrees the Maueliline writer'> ariKiit jiroinje
eame to be as vehemently interested in the
' ehtireh-polifies of Avrsliire. as he eould have
been in polities o'i another order, had he liap-
; pened to be a freeman of some ojien borounii,
I and his patron a eaiulidafe for the honour of
I representing it in St. Stephen's.

t'romek has been severely eritieiseil for some

details of (iavin Hamilton's dissensions with

his jiarish minister:' but jHrhaps it might

I have been well to limit the eensure to the

' tone and >i>irit o( the narrative.'-' sin, -e there is

i no doubt that these petty s.]uabbk's had a

j large share in direeting the early energies of

' Ruriis's jHietieal talents. Even in the we>t of

I Seoiland. sueh matters would hardly exei;e

] mueh notiee nowadays, but they were i|uite

enough to produee a world of vexation and

eontroversy forty years ago; and the EngHsh

reader, to whom all saeh details are denied,

, will eeriainly never be able to eomprehend

either the merits or the demerits of many of

I Hurns's most remarkable produitions. Since

1 Filinlniriih licrii'ir, vol. xiii. p. 073.
• Jtt'li'iufs, ji. lt',4. Ac.

LIFE OF EGBERT BUENS.

I have touched on tliia matter at all, I may as
well add, that Hamilton's family, though pro-
fessedly adhering (as, indeed, if they wore to
be Christians at all in that district, they must
needs have done) to the Presbyterian Estab-
lishment, had always lain under a strong sus-
picion of Episeopalianism. Gavin's great
grandfather had been curate of Kirkoswald in
the troubled times tliat preceded the Revolu-
tion, and incurred great and lasting popular
hatred, in consequence of being supposed to
have had a principal hand in bringing a
thousand of the "Highland host" into that
rcoion in 1677-8. The district Avas commonly
said not to have entirely recovered the eflects
of that savage visitation in less than a hundred
years ; and the descendants and representatives
of the Covenanters, wliom the curate of Kirk-
oswalil had the reputation at least of persecut-
ing, were commonly supposed to regard with
anything rather than ready good-will, his
descendant, the witty writer of Jlauchlinc.
A wcll-nursed prejudice of this kind was likely
enough to be met by counter-spleen, and
such seems to have been tlic truth of the case.
The lapse of another generation has suflicod
to wipe out every trace of feuds, that Avcre
still abundantly discernible, in the days when
.■■:shire first began to ring with the equally
y.c.\] (US applause and vituperation of —

Poet Burns,
And his priest-skelpiiiy turns.

It is impossible to look back now to the
civil war, which then raged among the chui'ch-
mcn of the west of Scothmd, without confess-
ing, that on either side there was much to
regret, and not a little to blame. Proud and
hauglity spirits were unfortunately opposed to
each other; and in tlie superabundant display
of zeal as to doctrinal points, neither party
seems to have mingled much of the charity of
the Christian temper. The whole exhibition
was most unlovely — the spec acle of such
indecent violence among the le.i.iing etLlesi-
astics of the district, acted unfavourably on
many men's minds — and no one can doubt,
that in the at best unsettled state of Robert
Burns's principles, the unhappy effect must
have been powerful iiulccd as to him.

Macgill and Dalrymple, the two ministers of
the town of Ayr, had long been suspected of

entertaining heterodo.v opinions on several
points, iiarticularly the doctrine of original
sin aiul tiio Trinity ; and the former at length
published an essaj', which was considered as
demanding the notice of the church courts.
Jlore than a year was spent in the discussions
which arose out of this; and at last Dr. ^Macgill
was fain to acknowledge his errors, and promise
that lie would take an early opportunity of
apologizing for tliem to his own congregation
from the pulpit — vhich promise, however, he
never perfiumed. The gentry of the country
took, for the most part, the side of .Aiacgili,
who was a man of cold unpopular manners,
but of unrcproached moral character, and pos-
sessed of some accomplishments, though cer-
tainly not of distinguished talents. The bulk
of the lower orders espoused, with far nnire
fervid zeal, the cause of those who conducted
the prosecution against this erring doctor.
Gavin Hamilton and all persons of his stamp,
were of course on the side of Macgill ; .Vuld,
and the .Mauchlinc elders, were his enemies.
Mr. Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, a nuui of
remarkable talents, particularly in public
speaking, had the principal niamigement of
ilacgill's cause before the presbytery, and, 1
believe, also before the synod. He was an
intimate friend of Hamilton, and through him
had about this time formed an acquaintance,
which soon ripened into a warm friendship,
with Hums. ]5urns, therefore, was from the
beginning a zealous, as in the end he was per-
haps the most effective, partisan of the side
on which Aiken had staked so much of his
reputation. Macgill, Dalrymple, and their
brethren, suspecte<l, with more or less justice,
of leaning to heterodox opinions, arc the
"New Light" pastors of his earliest satires.

The prominent antagonists of these men,
and chosen champions of (ho "Auld Light" in
Ayrshire, it must now be admitted mi all hands,
presented, in many particulars of personal c(m-
duct and demeanour, as broad a mark as ever
tempted the shafts of a satirist. These men
prided themselves on being the legitimate and
undegenerate descendants and reiircsentatives
of the haughty Puritans, who chiefly conducted
the overthrow of Popery in Scotlaiul, ami who
ruled for a time, and wouM fain have continued
to rule, over both king and people, Avith a more
tyrannical dominion that ever the Catholic

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

ma on several
iiic of oriniiial
jrinci' at leii,!j,tli
^ coiisulereil as
clnirdi court.H,
tlic (lisi'ussions
last ]h: .Macgill
)rs, and i)roniise
opportunity of
i-n congrei;ation
se, however, he
of the eoiiiitry
;i(lc of .MaL-gill,
pillar manners,
racter, and pos-
its, thou!!;li ccr-
;nts. Tlie bulk
with far more
who conducted
erring doctor.
IS of his stamp,
Macgill; .Vuld,
:re his enemies.
1 Ayr, a man of
arly in public
managemoiit of
esbytery, and, 1
1. He was an
lid through him
n acquaintance,
arm friendship,
t!, was from the
end he was per-
an of the side
so much of his
pic, and tlicir
e or less justice,
iiiions, are the
irlicst satires,
of these men,
Anld Light" in
ted on all hands,
of personal con-
a in.irk as ever
st. Tliese men
e legit imiite and

I reiirescntativcs
liclly coniluctcd

01 land, ami who

II have continueil
pie, with a more
er the C'aiholic

priesthood itself had been able to exercise
amidst that hig!\-spirited nation. With the
horrors of the I'apal system for ever in their
moutlis, these men were in fact as bigoted
monks, and almost as relentless inquisitors, in
tlieir hearts, as ever wore cowl and cord —
austere and ungracious of aspect, coarse and
repulsive of address and manners — very Phari-
sees as to the lesser matters of the law, and
many of them, to all outward api."""uin;c at
least, overflowing with jiharisaical self-conceit
as well as monastic bile. That admirable
qualities lay concealed under this ungainlv
exterior, and mingled with and checked the
worst of these gloomy jiassions, no candid man
will permit himself to doubt; and that Burns
has grossly overcharged liis portraits of them,
decpining shadows that were of themselves
sufficiently dark, and e.Kchiding altogether
those brighter, and perhaps softer, traits of
character, which redeemed the originals within
the sympathies of many of iiie worthiest and
best of men, seems eiiually clear. Their bit-
terest enemies dared not at least; to bring
against them, even when the feud was at its
height of fervour, charges of tiiat heinous sort,
which thev fearlessly, and I fear justly, pre-
ferred against their antagonists. No one ever
accused them of signing the article^, adminis-
tering 'lie sacraments, and eating the bread of
a Church whose fundamental doctrines they
disbelieved, and, by insinuation at least, dis-
avowed.

The law of church patronage was another
subject on (vhi'di controversy ran high and
furious in the district at tlie same period; the
actual condition of things on this head being
tqiheld by all the men of the New Light, and
cimdcmncd as equally at variance with the
precepts of the gospel and the rights of free-
men by not a few of the other party, and, in
particular, by certain conspicuons zealots in
the immediate nei,alil)ourhood of Burns. While
this warfare raged, there broke out an intes-
tine discord wiliiin the camp of the faction
wliich lie loved not. Two of the foremost
leaders of the Auld liigiit party quarrelled
about a question of pnrisii boundaries; the
matter was taken up in the Presbytery of
Irvine, and there, in tlie open court, to which
the announcement of the discussion had drawn
a multitude of the country people, and Burns

VOL. I.

among the rest, the reverend divines, hitherto
sworn friends and associates, lost all command
of temper, and abused each other coram populo,
with a fiery virulence of personal invective,
such as has long been banished from all popu-
lar assemblies, wherein the laws of courtesy
are enforced by those of a certain unwritten
code.

"The first of my poetic offspring that saw
the light," says liurn.s, "was a burlesque
lamentation on a quarrel betwecii two reverend
Calvinists, iioth of them dnumtHs iKrHOixc 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
i very fond of such things, and told him I could
not guess who was tlie author of it, but that I
thought it pretty clever. With a certain de-
scription of the clergy, as well as laity, it met
with a roar of applause."
I This was the ' ' I loly Tuilzie, or Twa Herds, "
a piece not given either by Curric or Gilliert
Burns, though printed by Mr. Paul,' and
omitted, certainly for no very intelligible
! reason, in editions where the "Holy Fair,"
i the "Ordination," &c. found admittance. The
two/(f/*rf.'*, orpastors, were A[r. JEoodie, minister
of Hiccartoii, and that favourite victim of
Burns'.s, John Russell, then minister at Kilmar-
nock, and afterwards of Stirling. ^

" From this time," Burns says, "I began to

be known in the country as a maker of rhymes.

I . . . ' 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 artilleiy, and see if any of

j it might be pointed against profane rhymers "

\ — : and to a place among profane rhymers,

; the author of this terrible infliction had un-

: questionably established his right. Sir Walter .

Scott speaks of it as "a piece of satire more

exquisitely severe tlian any which Burns ever

j afterwards wrote — but unfortunately cast in a

] form too daringly profane to be received into

Dr. Currie's collection."'' Biirns's revercnii

I editor ilr. Paul, nevertheless, presents "Holy

I ' [Turrii^'s cditioti, as already nicutioneil, was

pulilisliccl in 1.S00. Tlie oinlith edition of this was

I puiilislifd in Is-JO witli additions by Gilliert Burns.

The Key. Ilainiltcii I'aul's edition came out in 1S19.]

- .See note to the " Twa Herds."

:i Quarterly Review, No. i. p. 22.

LIFE OF EGBERT BUIINS.

Willie's Traycr" iit full length;' and even
calls on the friends of religion to bless the
memory of the poet who took such a judicious
method of " leading the liberal mind to a
rational view of tiie nature of prayer."

"This," says that bold commentator, "was

the world loves the elect, uot from any lovely
(lualities wliicii they possess, for they are hate-
ful in his sight, but 'he loves them because
he loves them, ' Such are tlie sentiments which
arc l)reathed by those who arc denominated
High Calvinists, and from which the soul of

not only the prayer of Holy Willie, but it is I a poet wlio loves mankind, and who has not

merely the metrical version of every jirayer

that is offered up b\ those who call themselves

the pure reformed Church of Scotland. In the

course of his reading and polemical warfare,

Burns embraced and defended the opinions of

Taylor of Norwich, Macgill, and that school

of divines. He could not reconcile his mind

tudied the system in all its bearings, recoils
with horror. . . . The gloomy forbidding
representation which they give of the Supreme
Being, has a tendency to produce in.sanity,
and lead to suicide."- — Lifo o/Iinnis.
i» Mr. Paul may lie considered iis expressing
in the above, and in other i)a.H.sages of a similar

to that picture of the Being, whose very osence .tendency, the sentiments with which even the
is love, which is drawn by the high Calvinists { most audacious of Burns's anti-Calvinistic
or the representatives of the Covenanters— ! satires were received among the Ayrshire

namely, that he is disposed to grant salvation
to none but a few of their sect; that the wiiolc

divines of the New Light. That performances
so blasphemous sliould have been, not only

I'agan world, the disciples of Jlahomet, the | pardoned, i)ut applauded by ministers of re-

Itoman Catholics, the Lutherans, and even the
Calvinists who differ irom them in certain
tenets, must, like Korah, Datlian, and Abiram,
descend to the pit of perdition, man, woman,
and child, without the possibility of escajie;

ligion, is a singular circumstance, which may
go far to make the reader comprehend the
exaggerated state of party feeling in Burns's
native county, at the period when he first
appealed to the public car; nor is it fair to

but such are the identical doctrines of the lU'onounce sentence ujion the young and reck-
Ci.nieronians of the present day, and such was j less satirist, without ticking into consideration
Holy Willie's style of prayer. The hypocrisy ' the undeniabU fact — that in his worst offences
and dishonesty of the man, who was at the of this kind, he was encoura'.ied and abetted
time a reputed .saint, were perceived by the \ by those who, to say nothing more about their
di.scerning penetration of Burns, and fo n-jioxc professional character and authority, were
t/iem he coiinlilord it fiii dtitij. The terrible almost the only ]icrsons of liberal education
view of the Deity exhil)ited in that al)Ie pro- i whose society he bad any oi)port unity of ap-
duction is precisely the .same view which is ' jn-oaching at the period in {juestion. Had

given to Him, in different words, by many
devout preachers at present. They inculcate,

Burns received, at this time, from his clerical
friends and patrons, such advice as was ten-

that the greatest .sinner is the greatest favourite j dered, when rather too late, by a layman who
of Heaven — that a reformed bawd is more ac- I was as far fi'om bigotry on religions subjects
cei)tablc to the Almighty than a pure virgin, as any man in the world, this great genius
who has hardly ever transgressed even in might have made his first ajiproaches to the
thought — that the lost sheep alone will be ' public notice in a very difTerent cliaracter.
saved, and that the ninety-and-nine out of the f- " Let your bright talents" — (thus wrote the

hundred will be left in the wilderness, to
perish without mercy — that the Saviour of

1 1 leave this passage as it stiiod on'irinnlly; liut am
hiipj)}- in liaviiiK it in my iiowci- to add, on Mr. Faul'.s
own autlioiity, tliat lie liad no lianil i itlicr in select-
InK file jiocms for the edition in (juestion, oi' suiierin-
tending tlie iirinting of it. lie meivly eontriliiitea
the brief memoir prefixed, and ei'itieal notes apjiendod
to it; and "considered liis eontrilintions as w jcu-
d'csprit." After this explanation, my text may safely
be left to the interpretat; m of every candid reader.

excellent ,Iolin Ifamsay of Ochtertyre, in
October, 1787)— "let those bright talents
which the Almighty has jiestowed on you, be

2 Aeeording to every aceonnt. Holy Willie «;'i no
very consistent cliaracter I llml it stated, in Ci'oinek's
M.SS. that he met with his death by fallinj;, when
drnnii, into a wet diteli; and indeed this stnry seems
to lie alluded {n in more tlnin one of I'.urnss own
letteis. |Ue was also eonvieted of jiilferin},' money

from "the jilate" used in takin,;,' up the eliureh-d ■

eoUtctiuus for the poor.)

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

>m any lovely
Llicy arc liatc-
Ihem because
iincntH whii'li
(lenoniinated
li the soul of
who lias not
irinfjH, recoils
ny forltiddinjj;
' tiie Supreme
uce insanity,
UuriiK.

as expressing!:
es of a similar
liicli even I lie
iti-L'alvinistic
the Ayrshire
performances
;cn, not only
misters of re-
e, which may
npreliend the
111? in Hurns's
rtiien he lirst
r is it fair to
mif? and reek-
consideration
worst ott'enccs
1 and abetted
re about their
Ihority, were
;ral education
rt unity of ap-
lestion. Had
mi his clerical
IS was tcn-
a layman who
;ious subjects

Ki'cat genius
oaclios to the

haractcr.
hus wrote the

htertyre, in

idit talents
.'(1 on you, be

Willie \v," i nil
til! ill ('riiiiRk's
y fiillinu, wliiii
;lijs Ktory si'ciiis
if I'.iirnss u«ii
lilfii'iii); iiKiiiey
lir cliurcli-diinr

heuceforlh employed to the nobh jiurposc of
supporting the cause of truth and virtue. An
imagination so varied and forcible as yours
may do this in many different modes; nor is
it necessary to be always serious, which you
have been to good purjiose ; good morals may
be recommended in a comedy, or even in a
song, (ireat allowances are due to the heat
and inexperience of youth; — and few poets can
JKiast, lijvc Thomson, of never having written
a line, which, dyin.r, they would wish to blot.
Ill particular, I wish you to keep clear of the
thorny walks of satire, which makes a man an
hundred cneniics for one friend, and is doubly
dangerous Avhen one is sujiposed to extend the
slips and weaknesses of individuals to their sect
or party. About modes of faitii, serious and
excellent men have always differed ; and there
are certain curious questions, which may aHbrd
scope to men of metaphysical heads, but seldom
mend the heart or temper. Wiiilst these
points are beyond human ken, it is sullicicnt
that all our sects concur in their views of
morals. Vou will forgive me for these hints."
Few such hints, it is likely, ever reached his
car* in the days when tiiey might have been
most useful — days of which the jirincipal
lionours and distinctions are thus alluded by
himself; —

I've liecn at ilnuil<eii writers' feasts;

Nay, lieeii liitch-fuu 'nian^' K<«lly priests. ii,..iii.

Iilniiik

It is amusing to observe how soon even
really bucolic bards learn the tricks of their
trade ; Hums knew already what lustre a com-
pliment gains from being set in .sarcasm, when
he made Willie call for special notice to

Gawn Ilamiltiin's ileserts

He drinks, ami swears, and plays at eartes; cards
Vet has sae mimy takin' arts

Wi' jrrit and .sina',
Krae God s ain jiriests tlie peojde s lii arts

He steals awa, Jcc

Nor is his otiier patron, Aiken, introduced
with inferior skill, as having merited Willie's
most fervent execrations by his "glib-tongiied"
defence of llie heterodox doctor of Ayr:

r.Did 1 visit tlieni wlia did eniploy liim,
And fur thy jieoples sake destroy 'em.

Hurns owed a coiiii>liiiieiit 'o this gentle-
man's elocutionary talents. "I never knew

there was any merit in my poem.s," said he,
"until Mr. Aiken rettil them into repute."

Encouraged by the "roar of applause"
which greeted these pieces, thus orally pro-
mulgated and recommended, he produced in
succession various satires, wherein the same
set of persons were lashed; as, the "Ordina-
tion;" the "Kirk's Alarm," &c. &c. ; and
last, and best undoubtedly, the "Holy Fair,"'
in which, unlike the others that have been
mentioned, satire keeps its own place, and is
sub.servient to the poetry of Burns. This
was, indeed, an extraordinary performance ;
no partisan of any sect could whisper that
j malice had formed its principal inspiration,
' or that its chief attraction lay in the boldness
j with which individuals, entitled and accus-
tomed to respect, were held up to ridicule; it
was acknowledged, aniidst the sternest mutter-
ings of wrath, that national manners were
once more in the hands of a national poet;
and hardly denied by those who shook their
heads the most gravely over the indiscretions of
particular pa.ssages, or even by those who justly
regretted a too prevailing tone of levity in the
treatment of a subject essentially solemn, that
the AIu.se of "Christ's Kirk on the Green"
had awakened, after the slumber of ages, witii
1 all the vigour of her regal youth about her, in
I "the auld clay biggin'" of Alo.ssgiel. The'
" Holy Fair" however, created admiration, not
surprise, among the circle of domestic friends
I who had been admitted to watch the steps of
his progress in an art, of which, beyond that
! cin-lo, little or nothing was heard until the
' Nouthful poet produced at length a satirical
I masterpiece. It is not po.ssible to reconcile
i the statements of Gilbert and others, as to
some of the minutiaj of the chronological
history of Hurns's previous performances ; but
there can be no doubt, that although from
choice or accident his first provincial fame
was that of a satirist, he had, .some time before
any of his philippics on the Auld Light di-
vines made their appearance, exhibited to
those ivho enjoyed his personal conlideiicc, a
range of imaginative power hardly inferior to
whai, the "iloly Fair " it.self displays; and,

' I'l'lio " Iloly Kair" was not " the last" of tlie polem-
ical satires ; it was written in August, 178.''), the "Ordi-
nation " in Fehruarv 178(5, and the "Kirk's Alarm"
in August, 178 t.l

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

nt, least, such a rapidly improving slcill in : It was, I think, in summer, 1781,- wlicn, in
l>oc..ci.l language and vxrsiHcution, as must the interval of harder labour, he and 1 were
have prepared them for wimcssing, ivithout i weeding in the gai len (kail-yard ), tiuit lie
wonder, even the most pcifect specimens of | repeated to me the prineipi'l purt of this
|,ijj jjrt. epistle (to Davie). I believe tiie first idea

Gilbert says, "that among the mrlid of of IJolicrt's beeomiii%' an autiior was started on
his Items'' was the "Epistle to Duvic,"and this oceasion. I was much ])lcasod with the
ilr. Walker believes that this wa.j written epistle, and said to him 1 was of oi.injon it
very soon after the death of William IJurncs. | would bear bein,^■ |)riiited, and that it wouid
This piece is in the very intricate and dilU- \ be well received l.v jieople of taste; tliat 1
cult measure of the "Cherry and the Slac;"' I thought it at least ,M,(ia!, if not superior, to
and, on the whole, liic poet moves with ease i m..iiy of Allan Itainsiy's epistles; and that
and grace in his very unnecessary trammels; ' the merit of tiiese, and much other Scotch
but yo.mg pccti;,arc careless lieforehand of poetry, seemed to consist principally in the
difficulties which would startle the experi- ki!'\ik of the expression — but hero, tliere was
enced ; and great poets may overcome any i a strain of interesting sentiment, and the Scot-
diflicultics if they (ince grapple with them; so i ticismof the lanuuage scarcely seemed allected,
that I should rather gror.'ul my distrust of j but api>cared lobe the natural language of the
(iilbert's statement, if it must be literally \ poet; tiiat, besides, there was certainly some
taken, on the celebration of "Jean" with ! novelty in a [loet pointing out the consolations
which the epistle terminates: and after all, i that were in store for him when he should go
she is celebrated in the conchuling stanzas, ' a-begning. I'obcrt seemed very well pleased
which may have been added some time after with my criticism, and we talked of sendin'/
the first draught. The gloomy circumstances , it to some magazine, but as tliis plan allbrded
of the poet's personal condition, as described i no opportunity of knowing how it would lake,
in this piece, were common, it cannot be | the idea was (Irojtped.

doubted, to all the years of his youthful his- i "It was, I think, in the winter following, as
tory; so that no particular date is to be | we were going togcthrr with oarts fV)r coal lo
founded upon these; and if this was tlic first, ' the famil> (and I co.ild ye! point out the ])ar-
certainly it was not the last occasion, on ticular spot), that th author first repeated to
which 13urns exercised his fancy in the col- me tiie '.Vddress to the Deil.' 'I'lie ci.iioiis

idea of such an a(!.lre-s wr.s sugL'csted to liin.,
bj running over in his inii.d the many ludi-
crous accounts and representations we have,
from variov.s quarters, of this lugust personage.
'Death and Doctor Jlornliook.' though not
published in the Kilmarnock etiition, was pro-

ouring of the very worst issue that could at-
tend i* life of unsuccessful toil.

The last o't, the warst ot
Is only just to licg—

I5ut Gilbert's recollections, liowever on trivial

]>oints iniiccurate, will always be more inter- duced early in the year ITS"). The sehool-
esting tlian anything that could bo put in master of Tarboltoii p.uish, to eke up the
their place. scanty subMstence allowe' to that useful class

" Robert, "say.s he, "ofien composed without of men, had set up a shop of grot ery goods,
any regular plan. V.'hen ar.ylliing made a Having accidentally fallen in v, itli some med-
strong impression on liis mind, so as to rouse ical iiooks, and become most hobby-ho-sically
it to poetic oxertion, he would give way to the attached to the study of medicine, he had
impulse, am. embody the thought in rhyme. ! added ihe sale of a few medicines to his l^Mlo
If he hit o;l two or three stanzas ti please him, i ■> jj ,,,,^ ,,„^,„ .,,,.,,.^,,^, „„,„,i,„„,,, ,|,,,, siii,nTeniov. .1
he wouKt then think of proper 'ntroduetory, \ froiuTaiboltDii tolivineiii iTf-l; wliieli eireainstame
connecting, and concluding stanzas ; hence the i '"-''^'"'' '" •"""•''"i il'" account in the ti xt. jThe iioem

!.,;/■ 1,^ «f o »,.^„.« ,.., . „n . c » 1 • hears lite . I. uiui'.'v. ITh,'), but tlie coneludiiiK staiiz:is,

miUi le ot a poem was often first produced, i ,, , • x ^, ,.

' ; as the pireMMiow ai)]iear», I'eferiin^ to tlie jKi. t Hi'on-

I suiniiii; pas.siou for .lean, nuist have lieeii a'h.Jeil after

• lThatisthc"Clicrr.vamltIie.'!Ioe,"a.Scottislipocm that date, iis his niteicoinse witli he' v.ould seem

by Alexaiidei- Montsu"iery, pubUshcd in 159.').) , not to liave lieijuii till .Viiiil of iliat year.l

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

84,- when, In
e unci I were
ml ), tliat lie
purt of tills
the first idcii
van started on
sed nilh the
i)f "iiinion it
I hilt it would
tiisle; that 1
t sui)erior, to
:'s; and that
other Scotch
ijially in the
L'rc, there was
and tlie Seot-
nied aflci^ted,
iiiguaj,'e of the
eriainly some
e conNolations
lie should go
,' well pleased
ed of sendin'j:
■• jilan afr()r(Ic<l
it would take,

!r followiiiir, as
rts for eoal lo
it out the par-
•st repeated to

The ciiiious
LTstcd to hill.,
he many ludi-
ions we have,
:iist personage.
. ' though not
il ion, was pro-

'I'he school-
() eke up the
lat useful chiss
groi rry goods,
iiii sonic iiicd-
)l)liy-lio"sicaIiy
iciiie, he li.id
les lo his I'Mlc

nt SilliiriTniovid
i(ii (•iii'iiiiistiiiicc

Il Xt. I'l'llC |Mll'lll

uliiiiiii};; staiiz:is,
!i) till! Jill' t's oii-
Ipci'II irl'l^il lifter
Iioi would scum
year.]

trade.' He had got u Bhop-hill printed, at the
hottom of whieh, overlooking his own inea-
paeity, he had advertised, that 'Advice would
1)0 given in common di.sordcrs at the shop
grati.s. ' liohert was at a mason-meeting in
Tarholton, when the dominie unfortunately
made too ostentatious a display of his medical
.skill. .\s he parted in the evening from this i
nii.xture of jiedantry ami physic, at the place
where he descrihes his meeting with Death,
one of those float ing ideas of apiiaritions, he
mentions in his letter to J)r. Moore, crossed ,
his mind ; this set him to work for the rest of I
the way home. These circumstances he re-
lated when he repeated the verses to me next .
afternoon, as I was holding the plough, and i
he was letting the water oll'lhe field beside
me. The ' I'^pistle to John Lapraik ' was pro- i
(iueed exactly on the occasion dcscrihed hy ;
the author. lie says in that poem, ' On ■
Fasten-e'en we had a rockin'.' I believe he |
has omitted tlie word riirk'ni'j in the glos- |
.sary. It is a term derived from those |
lirimitive times, when the country-women
omployed their sjiare hours in spinning on the
rock or disiall'. This simple implement is a
very jiortable one, and well (ilted to the social !
iiii-linaiiiin of iiieeting in a neighhour's house; '
111 lice I lie phrase of nviiuj (i-mckiiiti, or n-itlt the

(K'k. .\s the connection the phrase had with '
liie iii,|;lenient was forgotten when the rock j
gave jilace to the spinning-wheel, the plira.se
came to be used by both sexes on social occa-
sions, and men talk of going with their rocks
as well as woiiieii. It was at one of these
rorkliKj.-i at our limise, when we had twelve or
tiftecn young iici.jile with their rorl:», that
l-apiaik's song begiiiniiig, 'When J upon thy
bosom lean,"- was sung, and wo were informed
who wa-i the author. The verses to the

.Mouse' and '.Mountain Dai.sy' were com-
posed on the occasions mentioned, and while

' [Si'iMKitoi iiiiiii'iukMl to "Death iiiid Dii.tor Iloni-
lioot;."!

- limns was never ii fiustiilious eritie; lint it is not
very easy In unilerstiinil liis ailniiratioii of Laprailv'.-i
Iiiietry. I'.iiilicildi'iieil liy Hiiriit ■. suece.ss, lie, too,
imliltslied; liiit tlie (Hily one rt' li 11^111011(^11^ that '
is ever reiiienilw'reil now is tills; ..iid even this sur- '
vives cliielly beeiiiise liiinis has -iraised it. 1 It has
since bieii disciu'eied that Laprai'iv tilched the soii^;
almost in its entirety from Ruddiman's Magazine, '
14th Octolier, l'?."!. liiinis, who pave it hlRli praise, i
touched it iiji, and inserted it in Johnson's Museum.]

the author was holding tho plough; I could
point out the particular spot where each wan
composed. Holding the plough was a favour-
ite situation with liobert for poetic composi-
tions, and some of his best verses were produced
while he was at that exercise. Several of the
poems were produced for the purpose of bring-
ing forward some favourite sentiment of the
author. He u.sed to remark to mc, that he
could not well conceive a more mortifying
picture of human life, than a man .seeking
work. In casting about in his mind how this
sentiment might be brought forward, the
elegy, '.Man was made to .Mourn,' was com-
posed. IJobert had freipiently remarked to
me, that he thought there was something
peculiarly venerable in the phrase, ' l.,et us
worship (jod,' used by a decent sober head of a
family introducing family worship. To this
sentiment of the author I he world is indebted
for the 'Cottar's Saturday Night.' The hint
of tho plan and title of the poem were taken
from Fergiisson's 'Fanner's Ingle.'

" When Iiobert had not some jileasure in
view, in which I was not thought lit to par-
ticipate, we used fre(|iieutly to walk together,
when the weather was favourable, on tho
Sunday afternoons (those precious breathing-
times to the labouring part of the community),
and enjoyed such Sundays as would make one
regret to see their number abridged. It was
in one of these walks that I first had the
pleasure of hearing the author repeat the
' Cottar's Saturday Night. ' I do not recollect
fo have read or heard anything by which I
was more highly chctrifmL The fifth and
si.xth stanzas, and the eighteenth, thrilled
with peculiar ecstasy through my .soul "

The poems mentioned by Gilbert Burns in
the above extract, are among the most popular
of his brother's performances; and there may
boa time for recurring tosomeof their peculiar
merits as works of art. It may be mentioned
here, that John Wilson, alian \)r. Hornbook,
\\as not merely compelled to shut up shop as
an apothecary, or druggist rather, by the satire
which bears his name ; but so irresistible was
the tide of ridicule, that his pupils, one by one,
dcorted him, and he abandoned his .school-
craft also. Removing to Glasgow, and turning
himself successfully to commercial pursuits.
Dr. Hornbook survived the local storm which

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

he could not cfrectimlly withstiuHl, and wiih
often heard in liin latter da.y», when waxing
clieerful and communifulive over ii Itowl of
puni'h "in the Saitinariict," to l)Ies>* the iucity
hour in wiiicii the dominie of Tarboiton pro-
voiied tlie eaHtife'ation of IJohert Hums. in

Tliliik yi', that «iali ns )<m and I,

Willi ili'iiilue and ilrlvu tliroiiKli wut nud lU-y,

Wi iK'U'r-cfUHliiK toll ;
Tllliik yt', 1110 WL' Iran lilcut than tlicy,
Wlia 8iaroely tent ns In tlielr way h |

Ah liardly worth tliL'lr wlillt'.' . . .

" .\hin was made to Mourn," Burns

I'iMdi t/iu sixturiitli hnnilii' year of (l<id, and llfty-

tlnvc,
Frau ('liiiMt was Im.iii, that lioiiKht ns diav as wrltinjis

trstillf ;

those days tlie.Seotcli universities did not tuiii appears to liave taiien many hints from an
outdoetorH of physic l)y the hundred, accord- ] ancient iiallad, entilk'd llie " Lii'e and Age of
Inj; to tlic modern fashion introduced I)y tiic , ilun," whieli hepins thus:—
necessities of tlie Frcncli revolutionary war;
Mr. Wilson's was jirol)al)ly the only medicine-
ehest from which .salts and senna were distri-
buted for the benefit of a considerable circuit
of parishes ; and his advice, to say the least of '''.'•;''""""■>• the Bixtecnth day, as 1 did lie alone,
, ' , ; ,, , \\ itlinianva siKhand sol) did say— All! man Isniade

the matter, was iierliaps as ,u;ood as could he toimian!

had, for love or money, amonir the wise women

who were the oidy rivals for his jiractico. The " I had an old urand-iiiu-le, " .says the poet,
poem which drove him from .\yr.shire was not, in one of his letters to .Mrs. Dunlop, "with
we may believe, either expected or desiuncd whom my mother lived in her ,i;irlisli years;
to produce any such serious cfFeet. I'oor the i^ood old man, for such he was, w;is blind
Hornliookand the poet were old ac(iuaintances, lonu' ere he died; <lurinu' which time his hi,t;h-
and in some sort rival wits at the time in the est en.joyment was to sit down and cry, Avhilo
mason-lodu'e. my mother would sing the simple old Hong of

In "Man was made to .Mourn," wluuever the " Life and .\geofMan."'
might be the casual idea that .set the poet to The "Cottar's Saturday Night" is, perhaps,
work, it is but too evident that he wrote from of all Hurns's pieces, the one whose e.xelusion
the habitual feelings of his own bosom. The from the collection, were such things possible
indignation with which he through life con- nowadays, would be the most inj'iirious, if
tcmplated the inequality of human condition, i not to the genius, at least to the character, of
and particularly, — and who shall .say, with the man. In spite of many feeble lines, and
ab.solute injustice'? — the contrast between his some heavy stanzas, it ap])ears to me, that
own worldly circumstances and intellectual even his genius would suH'er more in estima-
rank, wa.s never more bitterly, nor more loftily i tion, by being conlemjilated in the absence of
expre.ssed, than in some of these stanzas: — | this poem, tlnin of any other single ])crfufm-

ance he has left us. Loftier flights he cer-
tainly has nuide, but in these he remained but
a short while on the wing, and efl'ort is too
often perceptible; here the motion is easy,
gentle, placidly undulating. There is more
of the conscious security of power, than in any
other of his serious pieces of considerable
length; the whole has the appearance of
coming in a full stream from the fountain of
the heart — a stream t'lat soothes the ear, and
has no glare on the surface. It is delightful
to turn from any of the pieces which present
80 great a genius as writhintr under an inevit-
able burden, to this, where his buoj-ant energy
seems not even to feel the pressure. The
miserie.s of toil and penury, who slvll affect

1 This balhid may ha seen in C'romek's Select Scot-
tiiih Sonr/s, preface to vid. i.

Sco yonder poor o'crlatioiu'd wiglit.
So abject, mean, and vile,

Wlio begs a brother of the eaitli
To fiive him leave to toil 1

If I'm deaign'd yon lordlliiKS slave-
By nature's laws deainn'd-

Why was an indei)en(ient wish
E'er planted in my mind'?

The same feeling, strong, but triumphed
over in the moment of inspiration, as it ought
ever to have been in the plain cxerci.se of such
an understanding as his, may be read in every
stanza of the " Epistle to Davie" : —

It's no in titles nor in rank.

It's no in wealth like Lon'on hank,

To purchase peace and rest ;
It's no in books, it's no in lear, lenniiiig

To niak ns truly blest. .

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

vet nml tlry,
tluy,

ini," nuriirt
iito from III)
L> uiul Ago of

ciil, anil llfty-

lar as writilixs

Ik' iiliiiic,
! mull isiimitc

iiys the poet,
iiilop, "witli
liflisli years;
IS, was blind
me his Iii^li-
ui ery, wiiilo
c old song of

" is, perhiips,
ose exclusion
liiiL's possible

injurious, if

cliaraetcr, of
lie lines, ainl

to me, that
ire in estima-
he absence of
mle jierfufm-
i,!;hts he eer-
renuiined but

cll'ort, is too
tion is easy,
lierc is more
•, than in any

eonsideratile
ppearanee of
le fountain of
■1 the ear, and

is delightful
vliieh present
ler an incvit-
loyant energy
rcssure. The
10 sbt'li affcet

ak's Select Scot-

to treat as unreal? Yet they shrink to small
dimcnHJons In the presence of a spirit thuH ex-
alted at once, and softened, l»y the pieties of
virvlu love, filial reverence, and domestic
devotion.

That he who thus enthusiastically appre-
hended, and thus exipiisitely painted, the art-
less beauty and solemnity of the feelings and
thoughts that ennoble the life of the Scottish
peasant, could witness observances in which
the very highest of these redeeming influences
are most powerfully and ,u;racefully displayed,
and yet describe them in a vein of unmixed
merriment — that the same man should have
jirodueed the "Cottar's Saturday Night" and
t'.c "Holy Fair" about the same time — will
ever eontinut; to move wonder and regret.

"The annual eeleliralion of the sacrament
of the [iord's Supper in the rural parishes of
Scotland, has much in it," says the unfortunate
Heron, "of those old I'djiisli festivals, in whicli
superstition, tratlie, and amusement, used to
be strangely intermingled. Ilurns saw and
seized in it one of the happiest of all sub-
jcets to afford scope for the display of that
strong and piercing sagacity, by wliich he could
almost intuitively distinguish the reasonable
fiv.m the absurd, and the becoming from the
ridiculous; of that picturescjue power of fancy
which enables him to represent scenes, and per-
sons, and groups, and looks, and attitudes, and
gestures, in a manner almost as lively and im-
pressive, even in words, as if all the artifices
and energies of the pencil had been employed;
of that knowleilge which he had necessarily
accpiired of the niiinners, passions, and preju-
dices of the rusti^.s anumd him; of whatever
was ridiculous, no less than whatever was
affectingly beautiful in rural life."" This is
very good so far as it goes; Imt who ever dis-
puted the ex(inisife graphic truth, so far as it
noes, of the poem to which the critic refers?
The (luestion remains as it stood; is there
then nothing besides a strange mixture of ;
superstition, traffic, and amusement, in the i
scene which such an annual celebration in a [

' ireron's Meiiwirs of Burns (Edinfmrgh, 171*7), p. I
14. [Koliert Huvoii, a very prolific inisccll'uieous I
writer (liorn 17G4, died 1807), wrote one of tlie earliest !
memoirs of Burns's life, pulilislied in 1797. He was j
a man of decided talent if n.)t nenius, Init his life
was marred by his own unsteadiness and eccentricity.] |

rural parish of Scotland presents? Does
nothing of what is "affectingly beautiful in
rural life" make ii part in the original which
was before the poet's eyes? Were "Sujiersti-
tlon," "Hypocrisy," and "Fun," the only
influences which he might justly have imper-
sonated? it would lie hard, I think, to speak
so even of the old Popish festivals to which
Mr. Heron alludes; it woultl be hard, surely,
to say it of any festival in which, mingled as
they may be with sanctimonious pretenders,
ami surrounded with giddy groups of onlookers,
a mighty multitude of devout men are assem-
bled for the worship of tied, beneath the open
heaven, and above the tombs of their fathers.-
Let us beware, however, of pushing our
censure of a young poet, mad with the inspir-
ation of the moment, from whatever source
derived, too far. It can hardly be doubted
that the author of the "Cottar's Saturday
Night" had felt, in his time, all that a:iy man
can feel in the contemplation of the most
sublime of the religious observances of his
country; and as little, that had he taken up
the sulijeet of this rural sacrament in a solemn
mood he might have produced a piece as
gravely beautiful, as his "Holy Fair" is
quaint, graphic, and picturesque. A scene of
family worship, on the other hand, I can
easily imagine to have come from his hand as
pregnant with the ludicrous as that "Holy
Fair " itself The family prayers of the Satur-
day's night, and the rural celebration of the
eucharist, are jiarts of the same .system — the
.system which has made the people of Scotland
what they are— and what, it is to be hoped,
they will continue to be. And when men ask
of themselves what this great national i)oet
really thought of a system in which minds
immeasuraidy inferior to his can see so much
to venerate, it is sarcly just that they should
pay more attention to what he has delivered
under the gravest sanction. In noble natures,
we may be sure, the source of teai-s lies nearer
the heart than that of smiles.

Mr. Hamilton Paul does not desert his post
on occasion of the "Holy Fair;" he defends

- [It may Iicre be remarlied tliat, as will l)e under-
stood from tlie notes to the poem. Burns in the "Holy
Fair" deals entirely with tlie externals of the celelira-
tion,— the actual dispensation of the sacrament in the
church he does not venture to touch on.]

LIFK OF KOBEUT BUKNS.

that imToaMiimnlullvuM" Holy Willie;" ami, ihcrolncH.i' " Miiry Morison," " Ikhin.i yon
indeed, cxprcHHiy apphuuU HuniK for liiivinff ' IiHIh whore Slinrimr Howm," "On C'oHMnoek
endcuvourcil to explode "abunes dlMcounten- ' banks there lives « Iiimh," belong lo thin period,"
an.'cd by tlic (ieneral AHScmbly." The (ien- and there are three or lour inspired by Mury
era! Assembly would no doubt say, both of the ' Campbell -the object of by far the deepest
poet and the eommpnialor, iioii tall ttiuillo. jiassion that Hums ever knew, and whieh be
"Hallowe'en," a diseriptivc jmem, jjerhaps has aeeordinKly immortalized in tiie noblest of
oven more ex(iuisitely wrouyht than the elegiaes.
"Holy Fair," and eoiitainint; nothini,' that j In 'ntrodueing to Mr. Thomson's notice the

Honj, -

Will ,vc>ii K<> I" tlic IikIIch, lay Mary,
And U'livr aniil Mcitia m HliiiruV—

Will yiw nil t" till' liidliH, uiy Mary,
Across the Atlantic 8 mar'.'

Vc luuiks, ami hracs, ami HlrcaiiiH arnuiiil

The catttic o Miiiit^icaiieiic ;
(iivci] lie yoMr woihIs, anil fair jiair lldwcrs,

VipiU' waters iicvi r druinlic; lurliiil

There Ninnnier llrsi iinfaulil lar mljcs,

And there the laii;;eht tairy,
K(ir theie I tmik the last faicwi II

()' my sweet llinhlanil Maiv,

eould oll'end the fecliiiKs of anybody, was
produced about the same period. Hurns'H art
had now reached its climax; but it is time
that we slioid<l revert more particularly to the
personal history of the poet.

lie seems to have very soon perceived, that I Uurns says, " In my very early years, when I
the farm of Mossgiel eould at the best furnish j was thinking' of piiuLf to the West Indies. I
no more than the bare means of existence to i took this farewell of a dear girl ;" and, uftcr-
so lar;(e a family; arid wearied with the "pro- wards, in a note on
spects drear," from which he oidy escaped in
oceasioiuil intervals of social merriment, or
when Kny flashes of solitary fancy, tor they
were no more, threw sunshine on cverythinj,',
he very naturally took up the iu)tion of (luitting
.Scotlaiul for u time, and tryinj; his fortune in
the West Indies, where, as is well known, the
nianatcers of the jdantations are, in the great
nuijority of eases, Scotchmen of IJurns's own ; he adds, — "After a pretty long tract of the
rank and condition. His letters show that | most ardent reciprocal allection, we met 1
on two or three dirt'crciit occasions, lon^ before l appoinlment on the second Suiulay of May, in
his poetry had excited any attention, he had ! a sequestered spot by the banks of Ayr. where
applied for, and nearly obtained ajipointments we spent a day in taking a farewell before she
of this sort, through the intervention of his sliould embark for the West Highlands, to
ac(iuaintanccs in the scajiort of Irvine.' Petty arrange nuitters among her frieiuls for our
accidents, not worth describing, interfered to projected change of life. At, the clo.se of the
disappoint him from time to time; but at last autumn following, she crossed the sea to meet
a new burst of misfortune rendered him doubly me at IJreenock, where she had scarce landed
anxious to escape from his native land; and when she was seized with a malignant fever,
but for an accident, whieh no one will call whieh hurried my dear girl to her grave in a
l)etty, his arrangement.^ would ecrtaiidy have few day.s, before i eould even hear of her ill-
been eomiilcted. i ness;" and Mr. t'romek, speaking of the same

Hut we must not come quite so rapidly to "day of jiarting love," gives, though without
the last of his Ayrshire love-stories. | mentioning his authority, some further parti-

Ilow many lesser romances of this order eulars which no one would willingly believe to
were evolved and completed during his residence be apocryphal. "This adieu," says that zeal-
at Mossgiel, it is needless to inquire ; that j ous inquirer into the details of IJurns's story,
they wer many, his songs prove, for in those "was performed with all those simple and
days he wrote no love-songs on imaginary striking ceremonials, whieh rustic sentiment

has devised to prolong tender emotions, and

> [There is no autliority for saying that Burns ever
contemplated trying his fortunes in the West Indies
prior to 1780. Though he speaks of " thinking of going
to the West Indies in my very eai'ly years,' he refers
to his 28th year, 178B. See helow.l

to impose awe. The lovers stood on each side

» Letter to Thomson, 20th Oct. 1792.
s [These songs certainly belong to the period before
he took up liis residence at ilossgicl.]

lilKK OF K()lii:UT liUllNS.

< iiutiee the

period before

of II Hiniill piirlini; lirook — they liiveil tlieir
liaiiilK i» t^l'*^ limpid Htreiktii- uml, iioliliiiK a
liil)lo iietwccii tlieiii, pruiiniiiiceil tlieir vowh
to lie ruitiiriil to eiifii other. They purled -
never to iiiei't iigiiin." It in i)r()i)er lo add,
that Mr. I'roiiieiv's Mtory, which even Allan
C'unnin.i,dmni "as ilispo.sed to receive with
sii.^pieioii, has lieen fontirnied very ntronKly
liy (lie aiTideiital di.scovery ot' a Hihle, pre-
.seiiled l)y I5urn.t to "Mary ('anipl)ell," whieii
was tound in the iio.sses.sjon nl' her hi.sier at
Anlro.s.san. I'pon liie i)oard.s of tiic first
volume is in.seril)ed, in liurns'.s hand writ iuu;,
— " .\iiil yc shall not swear Ity my name falsely,
1 am tilt' Lord. I.evit, ehap. .\i.\. v. I'J." On
the second volume, — ^'Thoii Hlmlt not Inr-
.swoar thyself, hut shalt perform unto the Lord
thine oaths.— St. Matth. eha)!. v. :W." Ami,
nil a lilank leaf of either — " liobert Hums,
Moss^iol," with his iinimii-iiiiirk.

How lasting; was the poct'n reniendn'anee of
this pure love, and its trairie termination, will
he seen hereafter.

Ili;:hland .Mary, however, seems lo have
died hoforo her lover had made any more
serious attempts in poetry.' In the Ki)istle to
Mr. Sillar, the very earliest, aeeording to
(iilliert, of these c.s.says, the poet eelehratcs
"his Davie and his Jean."

This was .lean .\rmour, the daui^hter of a
respeciahle man, a mason in the villau:e of
Maiichline, where she was at the time the
reiifniii!; toast,- and who afterwards heeamc
the wife of our jioet. There are nund)erless
allusions to her nuiiden eharms in the best
picees which he ])roduecd at Mossifiel.

The time is not yet come, in which all the
details of this .story can he e.vpct d Jean
Armour found herself "as ladieif w'-li to he
that love their Inn/s." And how slit^htly such
a circumstance miu;ht afl'ect the character and
reputation of a young woman in her sphere of

' ITIic story of lli^jhland XInry, tlic true facts re-

caidiiiK wliicli were unlinowu to Lockhart, i.s niveu

ill Appendix. I

2 III .Maiicliliiic tlicic dwcll.s six proper yoiiiij; liclles,

'i'lu! iniilo o' tile jiliu c and its nciKlilioiiiliood a';

'I'luii- carriage and dicss, a Btraii(jer would guess,

111 Lon'oii or I'aiis they'd gotten it a :

J/i.v.t Miller is fine, Misn Marklatid'a divine,
Mins Sinilli she has wit, and Misx ISetlyh hraw;

Tlierc's beauty and fortune to get wi' J/i'sg Murtun,
Hut Armovr'n the jewel for nic o' them a'.

rural life ut tliut period, every Hcotehman will
understand — to any hutu iSeotchnmn, it nuKht,
perhaps, he ditlieult to explain. The nmnly
readiness with which the young rustics com-
nnuily come forward to avert, liy nuirriage, the
worst eonseciuenees of sueh iiidi.seretions, ean-
nol he denied ; imr, perhajis, is there any class
of society, in any country, in which imitri-
tiioiiitil infidelity is le.ss known than among
the female jieasantry of Scotland.

ISurns's Worldly eircumsianees were in a
most miserable state when he was inlormcd of
Miss Armour'H eondition ; and the first mi-
nouncement of it stau'gered him like a blow.
lie saw notliing for it but to fly the country
at onen; and, in a note to JamcM Smith of
Manchline, the confidant of liin amour, ho
thus wrote: — "Against two things I iini fixed
as fate — stayiii',' at homo, and owning her
conjugally. The first, by Heaven. I will m)t
do 1 —the last, by hell, I will never do! — A
good (iod bless you, and make you iiappy, up
to the warmest weeping wish of parting friend-
ship. ... If you see .lean, tell her 1 will
meet her; so help me, Ood, in my hour of
need."

Tlic lover.s met accordingly ; and tlic result
of the meeting was what was to be anticijiated
from the temlerness and the manliness of
Hnrns'K feelings. ,\11 dread of jiersonal incon-
venience yielded at once to the tears of the
worn .11 he loved, and ere they parted he gave
into her keeping a written acknowledgment
of marriage, which, when produced by a person
in .Miss Armour's condition, is, according to the
Scots law, to be accepted a.s legal evidence of
an innjiiliir marriage having really taken
place ; it being of course understood that the
marriage was to be formally avowed as soon as
the consequences of their imprudence could
no longer be concealed from her family.

The disclosure wa,s deferred to the last
moment, and it was received by the father of
Miss Armour with eipial .surprise and anger.
Hums, confessing himself to be unequal to the
maintenance of a family, ju-ojiosed to go im-
mediately lo Jamaica, where lie hoped to find
belter fortunes, lie offered, if it were re-
jected, to abandon his farm, wliicli was ere now
a hopeless concern, and earn bread at least for
his wife and children as a daily labourer at
home; but nothing could appease the indigna-

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

tion of Armour, who, Professor Walker hints,
had entertained ijreviously a very bad opinion
of Burns'.s wliole cliaracter. By wliat argii-
meutu he prevailed on hin daughter to take so
strange and so painful a step we know not;
but the fact is certain, that, at his entreaty,
she destroyed the document, which must have
been to her the most precioKS of her possessions
—the only evidence of her marriage.'

It waf. under such extraordinary circum-
stances that ^liss Armour became the mother
of twins. ■•^

1 [Another statement regavding the ilestruction of
tlie ilocument is, that Jean's fatlier sniitched it from
Iier in a sudden fit of anger, tlivew it on tlio llie, and
commanded her to tliinlf lierscif no longer tlie wife
of liurns. It may he reinarlved tliat tlio destruction
of tlie jiaper only destroyed evidence; i' could not
annul the marriage.]

- [After the destruction of the iniport.'rni document
Miss Armour wa.» sent off to Paisley, evidently with
the purpose of preventing ennunuidcation hetween
her and her poet lover. On 9tli July Hums writes to
his friend Richmond in Edinburgh that he had called
on Jean after her rctu.n, Dud received a somewhat
chilling reception. " However, ' he adds, "the priest,
I am informed, will give me a certificate as a single
man if I coiiply with the rules of the church, which
for that vei. reason I intend to do. I am going to
I)ut on sackelotli and ashes this day. I am indulged
so far as to appear in my own scat." Delintiuents
like Burns had to do icnauce on three several
Sundays. I!nrns begaii his course of pnl)lic reper.t-
anee on nth July, and should have flnishcl on the
'23d. For some reason or otiier two Sundays were
ondtted, and Buri.s made his last ai)])earance along
with Jean and some other offenders on 0th August,
as Hhown by the following extract from the session
records :—" 17SG, August Cth.— Pobcrt Burns, John
Smith, Mary Lindsay. Jean Armour, and Angus Auld
ap jcared before the congregation professing their
rej ent.uice f(jr the sin of fornicivion, and they,
having each ainvared two sevei al Sa'il; atlis foi'nierly ,
were this day relinked and absohec' from the scandal."

It appears that the Rev. Mr. Auld, bj wli":n these
guilty pai ties were rel)uked, was accustomed to write
down the reb\!k s he administered to offenders in a
small voliune, which is still in existence, and which
shows him to have been a faithful nunister, and, by
no means, p severe or unkindly nmn. The relnike
delivered to Burns and Ids fellow-sinners as noted
down in this crnous vobi.jie is a? follows :—" Vou
appear there to be rebuked, ..iid, at the same lime,
making profession of repentance fcr the sin of forni-
cation. The fre(iuonci' of this sin is just matter of
lamentation among f'hrisiians, and affords just gi. ind
of deep humiliation to the guiltv persons themselvei..
We call jou to reflect «eriousl> in contrition of heart
on all the instances o' r sin aiul guilt, on their
numbers, high aggravntl.m, and unhappy conse-
quence; and say, having dune foolishly, we'll do so

IJurns's Icve and pride, the two most power-
ful feelings of his mind, had been equally
wounded. His anger and grief together drove
him, according to every account, to the verge
of absolute insanity; and some of his letters
on this occasion, both published and unpub-
lished, have certainly all the appearance of
having been written in as deep a concentration
of despair as ever preceded the most awful of
human calamities. His first thought had been,
as we have seen, to fly at once from the scene
of '.lis disgrace and mi.scry; and this course
.seemed now to be absolutely necessary. He
wa» summoned to fnid security for the miiin-
tenance of the children whom he was pre-
vented from legitimating, and such was his
poverty that he could not satisfy the parish
oflicers. I suppose security for some four or
five pounds a year was the utmost that could
have been demanded from a person of his
rank ; but tiie man who had in his desk the
innviortal poems to which we have been refer-
ring above, either disdained to ask, or tried
■n vain to find, pecuniary assistance in his
hour of need ; uiul the only alternative that
presemed itself to his view was .\merica or a
jail.

Who can ever learn without grief and itulig-
iiatioii, that it was the victim of kiicIi miseries
wlio, at this moment, louid pour out such a
strain as the " Lament?"

O thou pale oib, that .siLnt .shines,

While carc-untroiibled mortals .slcejil
Thou seest a wretch that iiil.v pines.

And wanders here to wail and wee]i!
W ith woe I nightly vigils keeji.

Beneath thy wan uiiwarming beam ;
^nd inoiirn, in lamentation deep,

How li,fc and loce are all a dream.

No idly-feigned poetic plaints,

My sad lovelorn 'anieiitings claim ;

No shep'.ienl's pipe— Arcadian strains;
No fabled tortures, (jnaii.'. and tame.

The idighted faith; the mutual flame;
' The oft attested I'ow'is above ;

The jireiiii'.s'ffi Father n tcntler jiaiin' ;
These were the pledges of my love !

no more. Beware of returning again to your sin, as
some of )ou have done, like flic dog to his vomit, or
v:ke the sow that is washeil, to her wallowing In tlie
ir.irc." By the law of Scotland a subsetiuent marriage
between t.ie father and mother legitimates children
born out of wedlock; hence it is, probably, that
antenuptial incontinence is looked upon rather too
leniently among the lower classes.]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

CHAPTER IV.

;.[anmica enKageiiiL'iit:— resolution t<> imblisli his pooiiis:— piililicatiou cif first edition:— preparations for
sai^iiit::-B''"win{; fame :— Dugald Stewiut, Dr. lilair, Mrs. Uiinlop:— " Lass of lialloeliniylo":— lioi)es of an
excise appointment :— visit to Ur. l-aiu'ie:— Ur. Blaeldoeli's letter :—linrna resolves to visit Edinljurgli.]

IIu 811W inisfortunu's caiiUl tmr'-mist
IiiiUK iiuistLTiti^ up 11 bitter 1ila»t;
A lii^M briik his liciirt at last,

III may kIiu bul
So, took a bertli afuru tlie mast .

.famaica was now liis mark; auil after some
little time and trouble, the situation of assis-
tant-overseer on tlie estate of a Dr. Douglas in
that colony, was procured for him by one of
his friends in the town of Irvine. Money to
pay for his passage, however, he had not ; and
it at last occurred to him, that the few pounds
recpiisitc for this purpose migiit be raised by
the publication of some of the finest poems
that ever delightcil mankind.

His landlord (iavin Hamilton, Mr. Aiken,
an<l other friends, encouraged him warmly;
and after some hesitation, he at length re-
solved to hazard an experiment which might
perhaps better his circumstances; and, if any
tolerable number of subscribers were procured,
could not nuike them worse than they werj
already. His rural i)atrons exerted themselvo
with success in the matter; and so many copies
were soon subscribed for, that Hums entered
into terms with a printer ^ in Kilmarnock,
and liegan to copy out his performances for
the press. He carried his MSS. iticcemcal
to the jiriiitcr; and, encouraged by the ray of
light which unexpected patronage had begun
to throw on his afliiirs, composed, while the
jirinting was in progress, some of the best
poems of the collection. The tale of the
"Twa Dogs," for instance, with which the
volume commenced, is known to have been
written in the short interval between the
l)ublication being determined on and the
printing begun. His own accotnit of the
liui^iness to Dr. JFoore is as follows :-^

" I gave up my part of the farm to my
brother; in truth, it was only nominally mine;
and made what little preparation was in my
power for Jamaica." But before leaving my

1 John Wiltion.

- [Wlule his poems were in the press Burns executed
autc'J Estill in existence) formally assiirniiig over to

native land, 1 resolved to publish my poems.
1 weighed my productions as impartially as
was in my power : I thought they had merit ;
and it was a delicious idea that 1 should be
called a clever fellow, even though it .should
never reach my cars — a poor negro-driver —
or, perhaps, a victim to that inhospitable
clime, and gone to the world of spirits. I
can truly say, that, pauvre inconnu as I then
was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of
myself and of my works as I have at this
moment, when the public has decided in
their favour. It ever was my opinion, that
the mistakes and blunder.-;, both in a rational
and religious point of view, of which we .sec
thou.sands daily guilty, are owing to their
ignorance of themselves. To know myself,
had been all along my constant study. I
weighed n.yself aloi.c ; I balanced myself
with others; 1 watched every means of infor-
mation, to sec how much ground 1 occupied
as a man and as a poet : 1 studied assiduously
Nature's design in my formation — where the
lights and shades in character were intended.
I was pretty confident my poems would meet
with some fipplause; but at the worst, the
roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice
of ccnstire, and the novelty of West Indian
scenes make mc forget neglect. I threw off
six hundred copies, for which I got subscrip-
tio.is for about three hundred and fifty.'' — 3Iy

his hrother Gilliert all the goods that he might leave
lieliind liini on his departure for .Taniaiea, as well as
tlie prollts tliat niiglit arise fi'oin tlie puhlieation of
his poems ; Gillicrt on the other hand undertaking to
living u]) and educate the poet's illegitimate child
Klizalietli, daughter of Elizabeth Paton. No mention
is made of .lean Armour or her possible offsjiring.!

"(His " I'l-oposals for publishing by Subscription,
Scottish Pncnis by Robert Burns," were dated April
lltli, 1780. The work was to be "elegantly iirinted,
inonevidnmeoetavo. Tiiee, stitched, Three Shillings."
On .Tuly 'A\, 1780, the vcdnme was issued, and the
whole edition was disposed of as follows : — Mr. Aiken
of Ayr disposed of 1 J.'i copies; Mr. R()l>ert .Muir of Kil-
nnu'iioek, 72 copies; .Tames Smith of Mauchline, 41
copies; Gavin Hamilton, 40 copies; fiilbert Burns, 70
copies; John Kennedy, Dumfries House, 20 copies;

LIFE OF KOBEET BUENS.

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 steer-
age passage in the first ship that was to sail
from the Clyde ; for

Hungry ruin had mo in the wind.

I had been for some days skulking from covert
to covert, under all the terroi-s of a jail ; as
some ill-advised peoi)lo had uncoupled the
merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had
taken the last fiircwell of my few friends; my
chest was on the Avay to Greenock; 1 had
composed the last song I should ever measure
in Caledonia, " The gloomy night is gathering
fast," when a letter from Dr. IJlacklock to a
friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by
opening new prospects to my poetic ambition."

To the above rapid narrative of the poet, we
may annex a few details, gathered from his
various biographers and from his own letters.

While his sheets were in the press (June-
July, 1786) itappears that his friends, Hamilton
and Aiken, revolved various schemes for pro-
curing him the means of remaining in Scotland;
and having .studied some of the practical
branches of mathematics, as we have seen, and
in particular f/au;iui;i, it occurred to himself
that a situation in the excise might be better
suited to him than any other he was at all
likely to obtain by the intervention of such
jiatrons as he possessed.

He appears to have lingered longer after
the publication of the poems than one might
suppose from his own narrative, in the hope
that these gentlemen might at length succeed

.lolin Lofian, of Laijiht, 20 copies; Mr. H'Whiiinic,
Writer, Ayr, 20 copies; David Sillar, Irvine, liiojiies;
Willi.im Xiveii, Maybole, 7 copies; Walter Morton,
Cumnock, (i copies; Jolni Neilson, Kirlioswalil, n
copies. Wilson himself Uisposed of 70 copies, while
copies vere supplied to William Parker, Thomas
Samson, Ralpli Sellars, and John Kankine. On
AuRUSt 28, tmd copies had been disposed of, and
there then remained on hand oidy 13 copies. The
expense of printing and puldishiiiK the whole edition
amounted to £35, 17«., a sum tliat woidd little ]nore
than purchase a single copy now, they have become
so rare.)

in their efforts in his behalf. The poems were
received with favour, even with rapture, in
Ayrshire, and ere long over the adjoining
counties. "Old and young," thus speaks
Robert Heron, "high and low, grave and gay,
learned or ignorant, were alike delighted,
agitated, transported. I was at that time
resident in Galloway, contiguous to Ayrshire,
and I can well remember how even plouahboys
and maid-servants would have gladly bestowed
the wages they earned the most hardly, and.
which they wanted to j)urchase necessary
clothing, if they might but procure the works
of Hums." The poet soon found that his
pcr.-ion also had become an object of general
curiosity, and that a lively interest in his
personal fortunes was excited among some of
the gentry of the district, when the details of
his story reached them, as it was pretty sure
to do, along with his modest and manly pre-
face.' Among others, the celebrated I'rofessor

' I'nface to the First Kdition.

"The following trilles are not Mie production of
the poet, who, with all the advantages of learneil
art, and, ))erhaps, amid the elegancies and idleness
of ui)i)er life, looks down for a rural theme, with an
eye to 'I'heoeritus or Virgil. To tlie author of this,
these, and otlier celebrated names their countiymen
are, at least in tlieir original language, a /(lUiiUiiii
kIiiU up, (iiiil a bonk nfitlcd. Vnaeqnainted with tile
necessary re(|ni.sites for conuneneing jioet by rule, he
sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in
himself and rustic compeers around him, in his and
tlieir native language, Tliongh a rhymer from his
earliest years, at least from the earliest im])ulse of
tlie softer passions, it was not till very lately that
the apjdause, jierhaps the partiality, of friendsliip,
wakened his vanity so far as to nnike him think any
thing of his worth showing; and none of tlie following
works were composed wit! . view to the press. Tc>
amuse himself with the lit;'e cre.itiona of his own
fancy, amid the toil and fa'iguesof a laborious life; to
tran,scribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs,
tlie hopes, tlie fears in his own breast; to find some
kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a world,
always an alien scene, a ta.sk uneonth to the jioetieal
mind,— these were his motives for courting the
Muses, and in these he found jioetry to be its own
reward.

"Now tliat he ajipears in the pnlilic character of
an author, he does it with feai' and trembling. So
dear is fame to the rhyming tiibe, tliat even he, an
oliscure, nameless bard, slirinks aghiUit at the tliought
of being branded as an impertinent bloekhead, oli-
trudiug his nonsense on the world; and, because he
can make a shift to jingle a few doggirel .Scotch
rhymes together, looking ujion himself as a poet of
no small conseciuence, forsooth !

" It is an obseivatiou ol that celebrated i)oet Sbeu-

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

poems were
rapture, in
e adjoining
Lima speaks
ivc and gay,
) delighted,
t that time
to Ayrsliire,
1 pIoui;lil)oy.s
ll.y bestowed
liardly, and
e necessary
re the works
lid that his
of general
;rust in his
ong some of
lie details of
pretty sure
manly pre-
ed I'rofessor

VI.

produttion of
OS of U'anifd
I and idlL'iit'8H
R-iiic, with ail
lutlior of tliiti,
r couiitijiiitn
:t', a fiixintiiin
iitfd with the
)ot hy rule, he
lit and saw in
ini, in his and
niLT from his
■St iniimlsL' of
ly hitcly that
of fricnd^liil),
iini think any
i tlic foUiiwinK
liu press. 'I'd
IS of his own
loiioiis life; to
ts, tlie niiefs,
; to And sonic
i of a woilil,
o the poetical
eourtiiiK the
to be its own

i; character of
reiiihliiiK. So
it even he, an
[it the thouKht
ilockliciid, oh-
id, because he
Ptjerel Scotch
f as a poet of

cd poet SheU"

Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh and liis accom-
plished lady, then resident at their beautiful
seat of Catrine, began to notice him with much
polite and friendly attention. Dr. Hugh Hlair,
who then iield an eminent place in the literary
society of Scotland, happened to be paying
.Mr. Stewart a visit, and on reading the
" Holy i''air,"atonce pronounced it the "work
of a very fine genius;" and Mrs. Stewart,
herself a poetess, flattered him perhaps siill
more higlily Iiy her warm commendations. i
Hut, above all, his little volume happened to
attract the notice of Mrs. Dunlop of JJunlop,-
a laily of high birlh and amjile fortune, en-
thusiastically attached to her country, and
interested in whatever appeared to concern the
honour of Scotland. This excellent woman,
while slowly recovering from the languor of
an illness, laid her hands accidentally on the

stone, whose divine elegies do honour to our language,
our nation, and our species, that 'lliiinilily has de-
pressed many a genius to a hermit, but never iiitscd
one to fame!' If any critic catches at tlie word
ijeiiiitu the author tells him, once for all, that he
certainly looks iiiion himself as possessed of some
jioetie abilities, otherwise his publishing in the
manlier he has done, would be a maiKeuvre lielow
tlie worst character, which, be hopes, his wor.st
enemy will ever give him. lint to the genius of a
Itamsay, or the glorious daw iiiiigs of the ])o(U-, iiiifor-
liniate Kergussoii, he, with c<iiial unalVected sincerity,
ileclaies tliat, even in his higliest pulse of vanity, he
has not the most distant pretensions. Tliese two
justly admired .Scotch poets be has often had in his
eye in tlie following pieces; but rather with a view
to kindle at their llaiiie, than for servile imitaticai.

"To his subscribers, the author returns bis most
sincere thanks. Not the mercenary bow over a
counter, but the heart-throliliiiig gratitude of the
bard, conscious how much be owes to benevolence
and frieiidsliii> for gratifying liiiii, if lie deserves it,
in tliat dearest wish of every poetic bosom - to he
distinguished. Jle licgs his readers, particularly the
leariK'd ami tlie jiolite, who may boiiuur him with a
perusal, tliat tliey will make every allowance for
education and eircumstames of Ife; but if, after a
fair, candid, and impaitlal eiitieism, he shall stand
convicted of iliiluess and nonsense, let him be dune
by as be woulil in that case do by others— let him
be eoinleiiiiicd, without mercy, to contempt and
oblivion.'

' I'l'liiTo is some confusion here; Helen llannatine,
lliigald Stewart's first wife, was al that time snll'ering
frMiu ail illness, of which she died the following year.
Helen l)',\rcy Cranstoun, 'the jioctcss," did not
become Mis. Stewart till IVdIl.l

'-' This lady was the daughter of Sir Thomas Wallace,
Baronet of (,'raigie, supposed to represent the family
of which the great hero of Scotland was a cadet.

j new production of the provincial press, and
opened the volume at the "Cottar's Saturday
Night." "She read it over," says Gilbert,
, "with the greatest pleasure and surprise; the
poet's description of the simple cottagers
operated on her mind like the charm of a
powerful e.xorcist, repelling the demon cDiuii,
and restoring her to lier wonted imvard har-
mony and satisfaction. " iMr.s. Dunlop instantly
sent an express to Mossgiel, distant sixteen
miles from her residence, v.'ith a very kind
letter to IJurns, reciuesting him to supply her,
if he could, with half-a-dozen copies of the
book, and to call at Diiiilo]) as soon as he could
fiod it convenient. IJurns was from home,
but he acknowledged the favour conferred on
him in an interesting letter, si ill extant; and
shortly afterwards commenced a personal ac-
quaintance with one that never after.vards
ceased to befriend him to the utmost of her
power. 11 is letters to Mrs. Dunlop form a
very large proportion of all his sub.sequent
correspondence, and, addressed as they were
to a person whose sex, age, rank, and benevol-
ence inspired at once profound respect and a
graceful confidence, will ever remain the most
pleasing of all the materials of our poo 's
biography.

At the residences of these new acciuaiutancc,
Hums was introduced into society of a class
which he had not before approaclied ; and of
the manner in which he stood tlie trial, Air.
I Stewart thus writes to Dr. Currie :
j " His nianncrs w^crc then, as they continued
ever afterwards, simple, manly, and indepen-
dent ; strongly expressive of conscious genius
! and worth; but witliout anything that iiidi-
[ cated forwardness, arrogance, or vanity. He
j took his share in conver.salion, but not more
than belonged to him ; and listened with ap-
jiarcnt attention and deference, on subjects
where his want of education deprived him of
the means of information. If there had been
a little more of gentleness and accommodation
in Ills temper, lie would, I think, have been
still more interesting; lint he had been accus-
tomed to give law in the circle of liis ordinary
ai'(|uaintance; and his dread of anything ap-
proaching to meanness or servility, rendered
I his maiinor somewhat decided and luird.
Nothing, perhaps, was more remarkable among
his various attainments than the fluency and

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

precision, and originality of his lansuage,
when he spoke iii company, more particularly
as he aimed at purity in his turn of expression,
and avoided, more successfully than most
Scotchmen, the peculiarities of Scottish phrase ■
ology. At this time, Uurns's prospects in life
were so extremely gloomy, that he had seri-
ously formed a plan of going out to Jamaica
in a very huniDlc situation, not, however,

myself alone, unfit for the struggle of life,
.shrinking at every rising cloud in the chance-
directed atmosphere of fortune, while all de-
fenceless, I looked about in vain for a cover.
It never occurred to me, at Icu"* never with
the force it deserved, tliat this world is a bu.sy
scene, and man a croiiture destined for a pro-
gressive struggle ; and that, liowever I might
pos.ses.y a warm heart, and inoflensive manner.-

without lamenting that his want of patronage ■ (which last, by the by, was rather more than
should force him to think of a project .so re- j 1 could well boast), still, more than these pas-
pugnant to his feelings, when his ambition sive qualities, there was something to be (/-///'.
aimed at no higher an object than the station When all my schoolfellows and youthful com-

of an exciseman or ganger in his own country.

The provincial applause of his publication,
and the consequent notice of his supcnoi's,
however ilattering sudi things must have been,
were far from administering any essential
relief to the urgent necessities of IJurns's situ-
ation. Very .shortly after his first visit to
Catrine, where he met with the young and
amiable Basil Lord Pacr, whose condescension
and kindness on the occasion he celebrates in

jjccrs were striking off, with eager hope and
earnest intent, on some one or other of the
many paths of busy life, 1 was 'standing idle
in the market-place,' or only left the chase of
the butterfly from flower to flower, to linnf
fancy from whim to whim. You .sec. sir, that
if to knoic one's errors, were a j)robability of
mcudiim them, 1 stand a fair chance ; but, ac-
cording to the reverend Westminster divines,
though conviction must precede conversion, it

some well-known verses, we find the poet | is very far from always implying it."

writing to his friend, Mr. Aiken of Ayr, in ' In the midst of all the distresses of this

the following sad strain : — "I have been feel- period ofsuspcn.se, 15urns fomd time, as he

ing all the various rotations and movements | tells Jlr. Aiken, for some "vag;'ries of the

witliin respecting tlic excise. There are many ] jMu.se;" and one or two of these may deserve

things plead strongly against it; the unccr- I to be noticed here, as throwing fight on his

tainty of getting soon into busines.s, the con- personal demeanour during this hrst summer

.sequences of mj' follies, which may perhajis of his fame. The poems appeared in .hiiy,

make it impracticable for me to stay at home; ' and one of the first persons of superior ••ondi-

and besides, 1 have for some time been pining tion((iill)ert, indeed, says ///c first) who courted

under secret wretchedness, from causes which his acquaintance in consc<iuencc of having read

you pretty well know — the pang of disappoint- them, was Mrs. Stewart of Stair, a beautiful

ment, the sting of pride, with some wandering and accomplished lady. Hums presented her

sabs of remorse, which never fail to settle on on this occasion with some .MS. songs; and

mj vitals like vultures, when attention is not
called away by the calls of society or the

among the rest, with one in which her own
charms were celebrated, in tliat warm strain of

vagaries of the -Muse, liven in the hour of compliment which our poet seems to have all
social mirth, my gaiety i.; the madness of an along considered the most proper to bo used
intoxicated criminal under the hands of (he whenever fair lady was to be addressed in
executioner. All these reasons urge me to go rhyme,
abroad ; and to all these reasons I have only >
one answer — the feelings of a father. Tliis, in
the ])resent mood 1 am in, overbalances every-
thing that can be laid in the scale against it."
lie proceeds to say that he claims no riglit
to complain. ''The world has in general been
kind to me, fully up to my deserts. I was for
some time past fast getting into the pining
distrustful snarl of the misanthrope. 1 .saw I

Kliiw freiitly, sweet Aftnn, aiiiunii; tli.v \:rw\\ Imu's,
I-'l(iw srontly. Til .siiii,' tlioi- ii x'>\\)i in tliy liVMisc;
My ^laiy ,s il^^ll.■^■|> liy tliy iinuiiiui iiij; .struiuii,
Flow Kcntly, .swLtt Afton, distm'li nut liir (lifaiii.

Mow pliMsiuit thy l)iuiks anil uri'i'U '.illcys lielow,
Wliei'L' Willi in llic Wdoillamls tlic lin 'O'list'S blow -
Tliiio oft, as mild t vcninn swi'i-ps ovrr tlic lea,
The sweet-scented liirk shades my Mary and nie. '

1 [Om tins occasion tlie poet sent n iiarcel of '• .sonts,

fii 1

LTFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

gle of lifo,
the chance -
hile all de-
for a cover,
never with
1(1 is a busy
1 for a pro-
rer 1 mighl
ive manners
■ more than
n those pas-
te be (/')/".
uthful coni-
ir hope anil
)ther of the
anding idle
the chase of
er, to hnni
see, sir, that
rohability of
ice ; bnt, ac-
ster divines,
onvcrsion, it
t."

>sses of tills

time, as he

';rries of the

may deserve

light on his

rst summer

ed in .hiiy,

[lerior i-ondi-

who courted

iiaving read

a bca\itifni

resented her

ongs ; anil

icli her own

irni strain of

s to liave all

r to be used

idilressod in

liy inaist",
strfiuii,

it lll'V (llVillll.

ilk'.vs liclow.

' I ruses liliiw ■
cr tlic U'li,
iiry iitiil iiir. '

ncl (if ■siiii^iS,

It was in the spring of the same year, tiiat
he had happened, in the course of an evening
ramble on the banks of the Ayr, to meet with
ii vonng and lovely unmarried lady, of the
family of Alexander of lialloehmyle ; and now
(Sept. 1786), emboldened, we are to sui)pose,
liv tiie reception his volume iuid met with, he
inclosed to her some verses, wiiich he had
written in commemoration of tliat passing
glimpse of her beauty, and conceived in a
strain of luxurious fervour, which certainly,
coming from a man of Hurns's station and
character, must have sounded very strangely
in a delicate maiden's car.

(»li. liad slic lii't'ii ii cDUiitiy maid.

Ami I tilt' liiippy ciiunlry swain,
TliDiin'i slii'ltered in tlie liiwest shed.

Tliat evor rose on Sentia's plain I
Tliroiiuli weary winters wind and rain.

Witli joy, with raptnie, I would toil,
And niKhtly to niy tiosom straui

The bonny las.s of lialloelmiyle.

Burns is said by Allan Cunningham to have
resented bitterly the silence in which Mi.ss
Alexander received this tribute to her charms.
1 suppo.se we may account for his ovcr-tcn-
dcrnes.s to young ladies in pretty nnich the
.■iame way that Professor Dugald Stewar does,
in (he letter uliove ijuoted, for ''a certain want
of gentleness" in his method of addressing
persons of his own sex. His rustic experience
among the fair could liave had no tendency to
whisper tlie lesson of reserve.

The autumn of tiiis eventful year was
drawing to a close, and !iuri>s, ^vho had al-
ready lingered three months in the hoj)e which
lie now considered vain, of an excise appoint-
ment, ])erceived that anolber year must be
lo.^t altogether, unices he made uj) his mind,
and secured his jiassa'.:e to the West Ind'js.
Tlie Kilmarnock edition of his ])i)cms was,
however, nearly exhausted ; and liis friends
encouraged him to iiroduce anolhcr at the
same place, with the view of e(|uipi)iiig him-
self the better for his i oyagc. I5ut "Wee

<Vi-.," ill all cijilit .sciiaiato )iieces to Mr.s. Stewart, liut
".\fton Water" was not one o theni. 'I'lial soiin
was not written for si veial yeais after, and it was in
IT'.II tliat she received a<'o]iy of it aloii'4 with a dozen
I iliers now dejiosited in the nioiiiinieiit at Allowa\.
-Mrs. .Stewart has as little elaiiii to lie eonsidered the
heriiiiie of the sonu as she had to the hcaiity which
Locihait credits her with.|

Johnnie"' would not undertake the new
impression, unles.s Burns advanced the price
of the paper required for it; and with this
demand the poet had no means of complying.
iMr. Hallantine, the chief magistrate of Ayr
(the same gentleman to whom the poem on
the "Twa IJrigs of Ayr" wa.s af awards in-
.scribed), offered to furnish the money; and
probably his kind offer would have been accep-
ted ; but ere this matter could be arranged,
the prospects of the poet were, in a very unex-
pected manner, altered and improved.

Burns Avent to pay a parting visit to Dr.
Lawrie, minister of Loudoun, a gentleman from
whom and his accomplished family he had
previously received many kind attentions.
.Vfter taking farewell of this benevolent circle,
the jioct jiroceeded, as the night was setting
in, ''to convey his chest," as he says, "so
far on the road to (Jreenock, where he was to
embark in a few day.s for America." And it
was under these circumstances that he com-
posed the song already referred to, which he
meant as his farewell dirge to his native land,
and which ends thus;- —

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales,
tier heathy moors and windinj; vales,
'I'liu seeiii.s where wretched fancy roves,
I'nrsuiiig i)ast iinliappy loves,
rarewell, my friends 1 farewell, my foes I
My peace with tliese- my love with those -
The liurstiii}; tears my heart deelaro,
I'an well, the lioimy hanks of Ayr.

Dr. l/iwrie had given Burns much good
counsel, ar'd what comfort he could, at part-
ing, but prudently .said nothing of an effort
which he had previously made in his behalf.
He had sent a copy of the poems, with a
sketcli of the author's history, to his frieiul
Dr. Tliomas Hlacklock of Edinburgh, with a

■ l.lolm Wilson, the printer, was for loiij; eoiisid-
e'ed tlie siihjeet of the ejiitaph "On Wee .lolmnio,"
Init the real liero was an ill-eonditioned ,.()w-l'eeder
at .\tiiuelilinc, who had fjiven IJurns some umioyaiice. |

- |15nrns ajipears to have siven a slightly dllfeient
versh'li of the ciieiinistaiues under which this iioeni
was 1 imposed to I'lofessor Walker, wlio met liim at
lileakfast 'ii Dr. lllarklocks. Instead oi ;ivoeeedini,r
with his chest ''so far on the road to (Jreenock." lie
left Dr. I.awrie's mi ln'x iniiihimw across a wide stntcli
of solitary moor (dalston M<ior). lie fioes on to de-
sei'ilie liow the weather adiUil diseoiiiforl of h.idy to
checrh'ssness of mind, ami under thi'se liieiiiii-tam-es
tile poi 111 WHS coinpose:!. |

;

LIFE OF SOBERT BURNS.

1 1

rcnucHt that l.c would intro.iu.x- both to the trin.sic merit, and the exertion of the authors
notice of thoHC persons whose litor.ry r.pinions friends, mi.'ht trive it a more un.yersa e.reula-
were at the time most lisfned to in Scotland, lion than anythini,' ot the kind which ha.s been
in the hope that, l.y their intervention, Uurns published in my memory.
miKht yet be n.-scue-l from ti.e necessity of ^Ve have already seen with what surpris,-
oxpatrialint? himself. Dr. l".icklocks answer and dcli.dit Burns read this L-enerous letter,
reached Dr. Lawri.,' a dav or two after Mums .Mihou-ii lie had ere this fOiiver.ed with m..iv
had made his visit, and" composed his dir-e; than one person of e>tablisiied literary repu-
and it wa^ not yet loo late. Lawrie forwarded ; tation, and received from tliem attentions, of
il immediately to (;avin Hamilton, who carried , which he was ever after -ratefu!.— the despon-
it to IJuriiH. " It is as follows :— i dency of his spirits appears to have remained

|i;(liiii)ui-(,'li, Sept. 4, 17«<!.J as dark as ever, up to the very hour when
" I ouffht to have acknowledt?ed your favour his landlord produced Dr. IJIacklocks letter:
l.,n-;u?o; not only as a testimony of your kind and one may be pardoned for fancying, that
rcrm'nd.ran<;e, biit as it -avc mo an opportu- I in his "Vision," he ha-s himself furnished no
niiy of Hharim,' one of the finest, and perhaps ! unfaithful representation of the manner in
one of the most u'enuinc entertainments of : which he wa.s spelldin,^' what he looked on as
which the human mind is susceptible. A : one of the last ni-hts, if not the very la.st, he
number of avocations retarded my pro<rress in : was to pass at .Mossdel, when the friendly
readim; the fioems; at last, however, I have [ Hamilton unexpectedly entere.l the melan-

finished that pleasing perusal. .Many in-
stances liavc F seen of N'ature's force or bene-
ficence exerted under numerous and formid-
al)le disailvantages; but none equal to that
with wliiidi you have been kind enou'-di to
present me. There is a pathos and delicacy
in his Hcrion.s poems, a vein of wit and humour
in those of a more festive turn, which cannot
be too much admired, nor too warmly approved;
and 1 think I shall never open the book witii-
out feeling my astonishment renewed and
increased. It was my wish to have expressed
my approbation in verso ; but whether from
declining life, or a temporary depression of
spirits, it is at present out of my power to ac-
complish that intention.

"Mr. Stewart, I'rofes.sor of Morals in this
University, had formerly read me three of the

choly dwelling.

There, loidy, hy the inple-clipck chimncycorncr
I .sat, anil eyed tlie sin'wini; ritk. nwVe

TliatHU M, wi'lioastprovcikiiisrsmeek, cough- smuli.-

■buililiiiK
rats
rcxif

The iiiilil cliiy-liiv.thr,
And heard the rcstl-ss rattans siiuuak
Aliout the rigKil''.

All in this mottle nilstle tllme, dusty

I t>ackw!inl mused on wasted time,
IIow I had spent my youthfu' iirime.

An' done nac thiiip.
But stringin' lilethers up in rhyme nonHcnsc

For fools to sing.

Had I to gude advice hut harkit,
I ijii;j;lit liy this liae led a market,
Or strutted in a liank an' darkit

My ciisli account.
While here, half-mad, halt-fid, half-sarkit, -Bhirteil

Is a' the amount.

"Dr. Ulacklock," says Burns, "belonged
poems, and I had desired him to got liiv name to a set of critics, for whose npjilan.^p I had
inserted among the suliscribers; but whether not f/aw/ to hopt'. His opinion that I would
this was done, or not, I never coiilil Icarii. I rncct with encouragement in I'.dinburgh, fired
have little intercourse with Dr. Blair, but will ^f. ^o much, that away I posted for that city,
take care to have the poems communicated to without a sin'ilo acquaintance, or a single let-
him by the intorvenlicui of some mutual friend. ■ tcr of introduction. The baneful star that liad
It has been told me by a gentleman, to whom j^o long shed its blasting inlluenec on my
I showeil the iierfonuances, and who soucrht a zenith, for once made a revolution to the
copy with diligence and ardour, that tlic whole u^(jip_" I
impression is already exhausted. It were, i

therefore, much to be wished, for the .sake of ' TiCtter to Afoore. [By this one would naturally

the voung man, that a second edition, more imnginc that Burns set out for Edinhuigli at once ou

■ n it <• II- !• 1 1 i sceiiif; Dr. Blacklnok's letter, but tlie fact is he did

numerous than tlio former, could imme<liatelv ' . , . , . ..„ ' ., , * t*

• I not leave Ayrshire till some two months Inter. It

be limited ; a.s it api)ears certain that its in- i is not (luite correct that he liad no acquaintance in

f the authors
versal ciruula-
Inch has been

what surprisi^
•nerous letter.
seU with more
liieniry repu-
atteiitions. of
— the (lespon-
iiave reniaineil
ry liour when
kloL-k's letter:
fani'vinsr, that
f furnished no
lie manner in
i looked on as
e very last, lie
1 the friendly
•d the melan-

chimncyconier

►moke

t'k, cough- Riimki'

I , buililiiiR

Leak rats

roiif

dusty

lie,

ilf-sarkit, shirtca

n», "belonged
pjilfin.^p I ha<l
in that I would
inburiih, fired
I for that, city,
or a single let-
iil star that had
luent'c on my
olution to the

wdiilil naturally
Inirjili at once on

10 fait is lie iliil
iinntliH Inter. It
I acquaintance In

LIFE OF KUhKKT BlKNsi.

.•>;{

Two of the liiogniidiers of IJurns have had \
the advantage of speaking frum personal know- j
lodire of the excellent man whose interposition i
was thus serviceable. '• It was a fortunato
circuni.-tanee," says Walker, "that the person
whom Dr. Lawrie applied to. merely because
lie was the only one of his literary aeipiaint-
ances with whom he ciiose to use that freedom,
happened also to be the person best ([ualilied
til render the application successful. J)r.
liiacklock was an enthusiast in his admiration
of an art which he had jiraciisetl liim>elf with
apjilause. lie felt tiie claims of a poet with a
paternal sympathy, and he !iad in his consti-
tution a tenderness and scii>ibility that would I
have engageil his beneficence for a youth in
the circumstances of Hums, even though he
had not been indebted to him for the delight
which he received from his works; for if the
young men were enumerated whom he drew
from obscurity, and enabled by education to
advance themselves in life, the catalogue would
naturally excite surprise. . . . He was
not of a disposition to discourage with feeble
praise, and to shift ofl' the trouble of future
patronage, by bidding him relin(]uish jioetry,
ami mind his plough." '

"There was never, iierliaps," thus speaks
the unfortunate Heron, whose own unmerited
.-•orrows and sufl'erings would not have left so
(lark a stain on the literary history of Scot-
land, had the kind spirit of lilacklock been
conimon among his lettered countrymen- —
"There was never, iierhajis, one among all
uiaiikind whom you ntiglit : •)rc truly have
called rni aiKjcl ii/ioii (tirUi, than Dr. Ulaek-
lock. He was guileless and innocent as a
child, yet endowed wilii manly sagacity and
penetration. 1 1 is heart was a jierpetual s})ring
of benignity. His feelings were all tremblingly
alive to the sense of the sublime, the beauti-
ful, the tender, the pious, the virtuous.
I'oetry was to iiim tlie ilcar solace of perpetual
hlindne-is. "

Such was the amiable old man, whose life

Eiliiiluii'sli; lie bail furciic, an intimate friend there,
.loliii llichiii'iiKi, Jill .Ayisliincniiipauion, whose loilg-
injis lie filiarcil in tlie caiiilal.)

1 MoHsmi, vol. i. p. i.\.

• [Soiiie facts as to ncroii arc jrivcii in note, p. ,'il.
He seeiiis to liave liceii cliicllj the author of liis own
iiii.sfortuiic.«.l

VOL. I.

Mackenzie has written, and on «hoiu .iohnson
"looked with reverence."-'' The writings of
niacklock are forgotten (though some of his
sonus in the Mii.«inii deserve another fatcK
but the memory of his virtues will not pass
away until mankind shall have ceased to syiu-
pathi/.e with the fortunes of lienius, and to
appreciate the poetry of Burns.

[All thoughts of the West Indies seem now
to have been given up by Hurns. Indeed, one
cannot help thinking that while talking and
writing of histoming exile he had always hopes
of something turning up to render it unneces-
•siry. (.'ertaiii it is that a place in the excise
had been occupying his thouglits for some
time, and we find that the furtherance of the
excise scheme was a motive perhaps eipially
strong with the jiroposed jmblication of a
second edition of his poems in attracting him
to Kdinburgh. In a letter he received from
Sir .lolin Whitefoord within a week of his
arrival in the capital, occurs the following
pas.sigc : — "1 have been told you wish to be
made a ganger; 1 submit it to your considera-
tion, whether it would not be more desirable,
if a sum could be raised by sub.scription for a
.second edition of your poems, to lay it out in
the stocking of a small farm. 1 am persuaded
it would be a line of life much more agreeable
to your feelings, and in the end more satisfac-
tory. " ]{y (.'urrie it was represented that
Burns trudged to Edinburgh on foot ; but
(iilbert expressly stated tiiat he rode on a pony
borrowed from a friend, and sent back by
another friend returning to .\yrshire. ]

[Oilbert Burns has givc;i llie following
account of friends whom Burns'seharaeterand
genius procred him 'ci'ore he left Ayrshire
or attracted the notice of the world : —

"The farm of ^iossgiel, at the time of our
coming to it (.Martinmas, 1783), was the pro-
jierty of the Karl of J..oudoun, but was held
in tack by ^ir. (iavin ilaniibon, writer in
Mauchline. from whom we had our bargain :
who had thu.s an opportunity of knowing, and
showing u sincere regard for ;uv brotiier,

" '•'I'liis luoniiiiy; I saw at breakfast Dr. Blacklock
the liliiiil lioet, wlio does not iviiienilici' to liave seen

lljlht, ami is iiiid toliy a ) isiliolar in Latin, (iiccli,

ami I'lfiuh. lie wasoiiuiiially a jioor scholar himself.
I lookcil on him with ivvciciice."- lAttcr to .Mr.s.
'I'liiale, Kiliiiliiiigli, Au^ii.st 17, irT;!.

LIFE OF EOBr.PT BURNS.

■■ I

before lie knew iiat li wa>' a Iol. '' ' j
poct'o estimation af him, ami tlie stnin^ out-
lines of his fiiaracler, may lie collectet! from
the (le<lieation to tiiis gentleman. When the
publication was begun, .Mr. ii. entered very
warmly into its interests, and jiromoted the
subscriiition very extensively. 3Ir. liobert
Aiken, writer in .\yr, is a man of worth and
taste, of warm att'ections, and eonneeled with
ii mo.st respeetahle circle of friends and rela-
tions. It is to this g-cntleman the 'Cottar's
Saturday Xidit'is inscribed. The luiems of
my brother, which I have formerly mentioned,
no sooner came into his hands, than they were
(|uickly known, and well received in the ex-
tensive circle of Mr. Aiken's friends, which
gave them a sort of currency, necessary in this
wise world, even for the gi.od reccjition of
things 'iduable in tlicmsclves. Hut .Mr. .Viken
not oidy admired the poet; as soon as he
became acquainted Avith him, he showed the
warmest regard for the man, and did evcry-
tJiing in his jiower to forward his interest and
respectability. The ' Kpistle to a Young
Friend' was addressed to this gent'. 'man's son,
Mr. A. H. Aiken, now of l.iverpcol. He was
the oldest of a young family, who ivere taught
to receive my brother with respect, as a man
of genius and their father's friend.

'•The ' Hrigs of Ayr' is inscribed to .lohn
Hallantine, ICsi]., banker in .\yr; one of those
gentlemen to whom my brother was introduced
by Jlr. Aiken. Tie interested hini.self very
warmly in my brother's concerns, and con-
stantly showed the greatest friendship and at-
tachment to him. AVhcn the Kilmarnock edi-
tion was all sold ofl" and a considerable demand
pointed out the ])ropricty of i»ublisliing a second
edition, .Mr. Wilson, who had printed the first,
was asked if he would print the second, and
take hi.s chance of being paid from the first
.sale. This he declined, and when this came
to .Mr. Hallantinc's knowledge, he generously
offered to accommodate liobert with what
money he might need for that piirposo; but
advised him to go to Edinburgh, ;is the fittest
place for publishing. When he did go to
IMiiiburgh, his friends advised him to publish
again by sub.scription, so that he did not need
to accept this offer. Jlr. William Parker,
mcreliant in Kilmarnock, was a subscriber for
thirty-five copies of the Kilmarnock edition.

Tir ■\i\ ; • I'i' ppcar n ' deservii'g of
n<»r. !'.eirf; i'li; if liie comparati\e obscurity
f thi ;>"<'% 1 !iis period, be taken into con-
siderat.'.'U it app -.si to me a greater effort of
generosity, than ,■; .. things which appear
more brilliant in my brother's future hisliuT.
"Mr. liobert Muir, merchant in Kilmar-
nock, was one of those friends IJubert's ]ioutry
had procured him, aiul one who was dear to
his heart. This gentleman had no very great
fortune, or long line of dignifieil ancestry; but
what Kobert .siys of ('ai)taiii .Matthew Hender-
son, might be said of him with great propriety,
that 'he held the patent of his honours im-
mediately from Almighty (iod.' Nature had
indeed marked him a gentleman in flic nio.st
legible characters, lie died while yet a young
man, soon after the publication of my brolher's
first Edinburgh edition. Sir William Cun-
ningham of liobcrlland paid a very fh'ttering
attention, and showed a good deal of friendship
for (he poet. Before his going to lOdiiiburgh,
as well as after, liobert .■seemed peculiarly
pleased with Profe.<sor Stewart's friend.-hipand
conversation.

"Hut of all the friendships which liobert
ac(|uired in Ayrshire and elsewhere, none
seemed more agreeable to him than that of
Mrs. Dunlop of Dunlup; nor any which has
been more uniformly and constantly exerted
in behalf of him and his family, of which,
were it proper, 1 could give many instances.
Hobert was on the point of setting out for
Edinburgh before Mrs. Dunlop liail heard of
him. About the time of my biollui's imblish-
ing in Kilmarnock, she had been afllicieil with
a long and .severe illness, which hail reduced
her mind to the most dislres>iiig state of
depression. In this situation, a copy of the
printed poems was laid on her table by a
friend; and happening to oi)eii on the 'Cottar's
Saturday Xight,' she read it over with the
greatest pleasure and surprise; the poet's
description of the simjile cottagers oj)erating
on her mind like the charm of a powerful ex-
orcist, expelling the demon < iiiiiii, and restor-
ing her to her wonted inward hannoiiy and
s.afisfaction. — Mrs. Dunlop sent off a person
express to Mossgicl, distant fifteen or sixteen
miles, with a very obliging letter to my brother,
desiring him to send her half a dozen copies
of his poems, if he lia<l them to .spare, and

LIFE OF IV^, liRT BUUXS,

nr.

dcftcrvii .; of
ivc i)l)scurlty
ken into I'on-
.ator efliirt of
vhii'li iiiipeiir
lure liistorv.
L in Kilnmr-
ibort's ]ioL'try
) was ilciir to
no very f,'ri'at
ani'i'slry; but
:iie\v ilender-
ml proiiriety,
lionuurs ini-
Nalnre hail
I in file most
I' yet a yoiinu'
finy l>rollier's
tVilliani C'lui-
ery ll:'lterinu;
! of frieniisliiii

IMinlmririi,
ed ]ioeiiliarly
■rien(l.-liii>an(l

ivliic-li li'oliert
f.\vliero, none
than that of
y whieh has
uitly exerted
ly, of -whieli,
my in-taiices.

{'WI'J nut f(>r
iiad lieard of
iier's i)ulili>h-
alUieled with
liad i-educed
>ini;' stale of

1 ec'iiy of tlie
r table by a
I the MJotlar's
iver wiiii ihe

; tlie jioet's
:ers ojterutinir
iHiuerful ex-
'/. and re.-lnr-
hannony and
oil' a jierson
en or sixteen

my brotlier,

1 dn/en copies
to spare, and

begging ho would do her the pleusnrc of callinir j ended only with the poet's life. The last use
lit Dunlop House as soon as eonveuicnt. This lie made of his ]Kn was wrilinij i; short letter
was tiie beginning of a eorresjiondenee whieh to this lady a few days before his death.")

CHAl'TKR V.

|.\nival in IMinlmrnli : iiitnuliutiDn to tlio m'utry ami litciuti ipf the ciiiiltal :- Maekeiizies iiotiee if
liunis.s ]Hii'Mis: -iiiasciiiiy ; -notes ipu lliniis in r.dinlnnjjh, liy Du^iuld .stewiiit, I'lnf. Wiilkir. ami Sir \\ alter
Scutt :-Seutti«li literature: limns and tlie I'.dinliurKli )pliilnso]pliei.s : diary; new ((inneeliinis formed in
r.iliiilpnr;Ji :"eipnversaliipnal powers:— ISnnis and Dr. I'.lair: sareastie ami malajproipos rennnks : l',dinlpnr,i;li
liiHvers: tavcni-life:- \\ illiain Ninil :- letters :-iPUlpliiation ipf seeond edilicpii cpf poems:— ereets tonilistone
til IVr;.'Ms»(pn:— leaves V Unlpur^li.l

Kiliiiii! Scotiii'iKliirlini,' hmI!

All liiiil tliy I'iiliu'is ami lowers,
AVliiTt* (tiii'L' Itciii'-itli II inonari'ir.s fi't't

Silt IcKislntiiiiiV SH\i'iii|.'ii pnvuTs;
Trom III. irking' wiMl.v-sr.iltirM tlii«"r.<,

\» iin the liiiiiks nf .\yr I >triiy'il,
Aiul siiii^iiiir, l>>hi-, tlh- liiigrriii;^' Ii<iiiri<,

1 >lifltfr'(l ill tliy liiiiiipiir'd Bliailc.

There is an old Seottish ballad wiiieh begins
thus: —

As I eanie in by (Menap,

1 met an a>;ed woman,
.\Md .slie liade me ilieer up iny heart.

For till' lust of my days was eomiiiK.

This stanza Avas one of IJurns's favourite
(|Ui)talioiis ; and he t<ild a friend' many years
afterwards, that he remembered humming it
to liiinself, over and over, on his way from
Mossuiel to Hdiiiburi;h. Perhaps the cxeel-
leiit IJlaekloek might not have been partieu-
larly flattered with the eireiimstanee had it
rcaehed his oars.

.Mthough he repaired to the eapital with
sueh alertness, solely [lus he has represented]
in eimseipieneo of Hlaekloek's letter to Lawrie,
it ap]iears that he alKnved some weeks to pass
ere lie presented himself to the doctor's jier-
.soiial notice.'- Jle found several of his old
.\yrshire ac(iuaint;iuces established in Edin-
burgh, and, I suppo.se, felt himself constrained
to give himself up for a brief space to their
society. He printed, however, without delay,
a prospectus of a second edition of his poems,
and being introduced by Mr. Da1rym]de of
(Irangefield to the Karl of (;lencairii, ihatami-

' Itavid .Maeulloeli. T.si[., Inntlier to the I.aird of
Ardwfll.

- I'.iirns reached Kdinhur;;!'. liefore the end of Xo-
vemlier; and yet Dr. I^awrie's letter admonishing him
to wait (Pii lilaekloek is dated Deeeinlier 2-2.

[ able nobleman easily persuaded Creech, then

I ihe chief bookseller in Edinburgh (who lial

attended his son as travelling-tutor), to under-
I
take the publication. The honourable Henry

Erskinc, Dean of the Faculty of Ailvoeates, ibe

mo.>;t agreeable of companions and the most

benignant of wits, took him also, as tiie poet

j e.xiu-es.ses it, "under his wing." T.ie kind

I IJlaekloek received him with all the warmth

\ of iiaternal aU'eclion when he did wait on him,

, and introdueeil him to Dr. Mlair and other

: eminent literati; his sub.seription lists were

I soon filled; Lord fileneairn made interest with

; the Caledonian Hunt (an association of the

most distinguished members of the northern

ari.stoeraey), to accept the dedication of the

' forthcoming edition, and tosubserilie iiidividu-

' ally for copies.-' Several noblemen, especially

! of the west of .Scotland, came forward with

I sid)scription moneys considerably beyond the

' usual rate. In so small a capital, where every-

j body know.s everybody, that which becomes a

favourite topic in one circle of society, soon

excites an univcr.sd interest; and before Hums

: had been a fortnight in Edinburgh, wo find

him writing to his earliest jiatron, Gavin

Hamilton, in these terms: — "For my own

aflfair.s, I am in a fair way of becoming as

enunent as Thoma.s a Kempi.s or John Hun-

yan ; and you may expect henceforth to sec

I my birthday in.scribcd among the wonderful

; ■' IDnnis wrote to some of his Ayrshire friends to

the elfeet that the Caledonian Hunt had one and all

suliserilied fipr his volume, and that mcpreover they

j were to ]pay one jininea each for it. ^Vllat the Hunt

j did was to ilireet "Mr. Hagart . . . to suliserilie for

I one !. itidred eojiies, in their name, for which he should

Tin-, I Mr. Unrns twenty-five pounds, upon the pub-

; li.. '• of his book."]

' 'I

i^l

fid

LIKK OF I!UIW;KT liCliNf

events in the Poor lloMn and .Mienlcen

All

•ks

\vi

ih llie IJliu'k Monday

uud till' liiittle i)f lidlhwell liriilue.

It will ever In- lenieiiiln'ird

to tl

le honour

ho at tliat jieriod held the hi^licst

of the man w

|i1:ii'e in I lie iniai

that lie was the first who came lorwiin

'inative lileratinv ol'Seotland
I to

avow in jirint his admi

ration of the i;enius

anil

s warm itile

lercst in the fortunes of the

poet. l)istin!,'nishe(l as his own v\ritings are
liy the refinements of elassieal arts, Mr. Henry
Miieken/ie was, fortunately for Uurns, a man
of li' val lienius as well as jiolished taste; and
he, ii "hose own pages some of the best
L'iaborale eleganee will ever he re-

lets

nioi

fou'nized, was amoi

ig the first to feel and the
first to stake his own reputation on the pnlilic
avowal, that the Ayrshire ploughman lielonged
to the order of heings whose ])rivilege it is to
nnateh graees "beyond the reach of art." Ii
is liut 11 melanelioly husi-iess to tnice among
the records of literary history, the manner in
which most great oriuinal geniuses have been
greeted on their fir>i appeals to the world, by
the eontcmjiorary arbiters of taste; coldly and
timidly, indee<l, have the sympathies of ]U'o-
fessional criticism flowed on most such occasions
in past times and in the ju'esent, but the
reception of ]5urns was worthy of the ''Man
of I'eeling. " After alluding to the iirovincial
circulation and reputation ot liis poems,' " [
ho])e," .said the Lounger, " 1 shall not be
thought to assume too much, if 1 eiuleavour to
place him in a higher jioint of \ieH', to call for
u verdict of his country on the merits of his
work.s, and to claim for him those honours
which their e.xcellcnce appetirs to deserve. In
mentioning the circumstance of his humble
stiition, I mean not to rest his pretensions
solely on that title, or to urge the merits of
his poetry, when considered in relation to the
lowncss of his birth, and tlic little opportunity
of improvement wliicli his education eould
afibrd. These particidars, indeed, must excite
oiir wonder at hi.s productions ; bnt his poetry,
considered abstractedly, and without the apolo-
gies ari.sing from his .situation, seems to me
fully entitled to command our feelings, and to
obtain our applause." . . . After quoting
various passages, in some of which his readers
"must discover a high tone of feeling, and
1 The Lounger for Saturday, December 0, 17S0.

power, and energy of expression, particularly

stronalv eharaetcrlsti

>f 1 1

le mini

1 ami

the voice of the poet," and o
•• the power of genius, not 1

ill drawiiiL,' the scenerv of nature,

I others as showing
esH admirable in
tracing the manners, than in iiaintlng the
pas>ioiis, or

and "with what uncoiniiion ])eiu'trati(Ui and
sagacity this Heaven-taught ploughman, from
his humble and unlettered comlilion, lia<l
looked on men and inanners," the critic con-
cluded with an elo(|ucnt appeal in liehalf of

the poet jicrso

lallv

) repair,

d h

the wroiiiis of siiU'ering ov neglected merit;
to call forth genius from the obscurity in which
it ha<l pined indignant, and place it where it
may profit or delight tiie world — tlicsc arc
exertions which give to wealth ''.i enviable
superiority, to greatness and to patronage a
laudable pride."

W.
appe;
meantime, wiiatevei

,' all know iiow the serious ]iart of thi
il was iiltimatelv attended to; but, in tin

gratifications such a mind
as his could derive from the blandishments of
the fair, the condescension cd' the noble, and
the flattery of the learned, were iilentifully
adniiiiistei'cd to " the lion" of the season.

" 1 was, sir," thus wrote Hnrns to one of
his Ayrshire ]iatrons,- a few days after the
Loinii/ir apjieared — " I was, when first hon-
oured with your notice, too obscure; now !
tremble lest I should be ruined by being
dragged too suddenly into the glare of polite
and learned observation;" and he conclude.^
the .same letter with an ominous prayer for
"better health and move spirits."

Two or three weeks later, we find him
writing as follows: — ''(.lanuary II, ITS".) I
went to a Mason Lodge [St. Andrew's] yester-
night, where the M. W. (>rand Master Chartcri.s
and all the Oraiid Lodge of Scotlaml visited.
The meeting was numerous and elegant: all
the ditlerent h)dges about town were present
in all their pomp. The (Jrand .Master, who
presided with great solemnity, among other
general toasts gave 'Caledonia and (.'ale<lonia's

bard, Brother B ,' which I'ung through

the wlude assembly with nml plied honours
and repeated acclamations. As I had no idea
.such a thine: would happen. 1 wa.s downright
thunderstruck; and trembling in every nerve,

2 Letter to .luliii B:\llaiitiiie. L'anl;er, Ayi-, 13th
Dcccmlicr, 17Ni.

LIFE OK JlOliKUT JU'imS.

r)7

iiiiulo (lie lici^t rcluni in iii.V iiowcr. .lust as
I IiikI tinislicd, one of tlic griiiiil otlicurs wiid,
hi) liMul tliiit I I'ouM lioiir, with a most corn-
I'oriiiii,' airuiit, 'Very wi'll. iiKlfuil,' wliirli set
me soniotliium' to rijjriits aiiuiii."

And a lew weeks hilur stiil, lie is thus ad-
(IivsslmI i<y one of his old assoeiatCH wiio was
nicditatins,' a visit to Kdinlmriih : — " Hy all
ii.'.'cinnis, it will he a dillifidt matter to net
a >inht iif you at all, nidess your company is
ln's]i(ike a wi'uk hffoi'cliand. Tlii'iv afc i;reat
rumours here of your inlimaey with the Hucht'ss
of (lordon, and other ladies of tiistinetion. I
;mi really told that

Ciuils til iiiviti', lly liy tliii\i«niiil.s cai'li iil;jht',

and if you had one. there would also. I suiiimse,
]n' •lirilies for your old seerelarv.' I oli:-,erve
vou are resolved to make hay while the sun
shines, and avoid, if possihle, the fate of iioor
l'ei;;iisson. <Jiiii'r< iiihi jiicuiihi iiriiiiinn >:■</ —
Virln^ /iii.-</ iiKiiiiiinx, is a f,^ood maxim to tiirive
liy. You seemed to desjii^e it while in this
country; hut, prol)al)ly. some i)hilosoj)hers in
llilinhurirh have tautrht you lietter sense. '' '

In this iiroud career, however, the jiopular
idol needed lu) slave to whisper whence he
had risen, and whither he was to return in
the cl)l) of the sprinir-tide of fortune. His
••pro]ihelic soul ' was i>rol)ahly furnished with
a sutlicient memento every niirht - wiien, from
the soft humane of jilitteriii,i; saloons, or the
tnmidtuous applause of convivial assemhlies,
he made his retreat to the humlde ,i;arret of a
irrilir's apprentice, a native of .Mauchline, and
as poor as himself, whose only hcd "Caledonia's
liiii'd" was fain to jiartake tlirouyhout this
triumphant winter.-

1 IThisolil nssocuite was Peter .stiinrt, tlic eilitor of
till' Ijiintliiii }•:••(• II iiiij Star, tn which jiaiiir liuins sent
tlic " .\c\v Psalm." He was oiiKiiially fimii Eiliii-
liMr;;li. anil liiulhccn resilient in .A.vrshirc. Uefeninjito
him I'.nrns, wntinjito Mrs. Dniiluii.says:— " Voinnust
l<nuw that the piililisher u( ime nf the most liliis-
lihcmims party Lumlnn ncwspiiijci-s is an aci|uaintaiicc
(if mine, unil, as I am a little tincturcil with the ' llntf
anil nine inyscif, I nowainl thcnhclphimtnastanza.'l

- " Mr. Kiclnniunl of .Mnucliline tnlil me that Harns
spent the first winter nf his resilience in Kilinhurt-'li
in his loilnint;s. They slept in the same lieil, ami
hail only one room, fur which they paiil three shillinfrs
a week. It was in the hunse nf a Mis. Caifiae.
Hiixtcrs Cliiso, I.awnmarket. tirst scale-stair on the
lift haml in (joinj; ilowii, first door in the stair." —
Cioiiieh-n MSS. (What is descrilitd in the text as

He hole all his jionoiirs in a manner worthy
of liimsflf; and of thin the teHtimoiiies are so
numerous, that the only dilliciilty is that of
selection. "The attentions he received, " >ays
.Mr. Dn.nald .Stewart, "from all ranks and
descriptions of persons, were such as would
have turned any head hut his own. I cannot
say that I could perceive any uiifavoiiralde
eU'eet which they left on his mind, lie re-
tained the >anie simidicity o*' manners and
appearance which had struck me .so forcihly
when 1 first .saw liliii in the country; nor did
ho Kcom to feel any adtlitioiml Helf-iinportanee
from the niiniher and rank of his new ae-
(|uaintaiiee. "

l'rofes>i)r Walker, who met him lor the first
time early in the same season, at hreakfast in
l)r. IJIack lock's house, has thus recorded his
impre.ssions: — "1 was not much struck with
his first ajipearance, as I had ))revioiisly heard
it de.-crilied. His person, thminh stroiiu: and
Avell knit, and much superior to what mi^ht
he exiiected in a ]dou,!;liniati, was still rather
coarse ill its outline. His stature, from want
of setting; up, appeared to he only of the
middle size, hut wns rather aliove it. ili.'t
motions were firm and decided; and thoii>,di
witiiout any pretensions to ttraee, were at the
same time so free from clownish restraint, as
to show that he had not always heen confined
to the .society of his jirofession. His eounten-
anee was not of that elejiant east, whiidi is
most frequent amonj; the upper ranks, hut it
was manly and intelliwnt, and marked hy a
thounhtfiil frravity wliiidi shaded at times 'nto
sternness. In his larsje dark eye the most
striking!; index of his ucnius resided. It was
full of mind ; and would have heen sinuularly
expressive, under the nianacement of one who
could cin])loy it with more art, for the luirpose
of expression.

"He wa.s plainly, hut jiroperly dressed, in
a style midway hetwecn the holiday costume
of a farmer, and that of the eom]iany with
which he now assoei 'ted. His hlaek i.air,
without powder, at a time when it was very
generally worn, was tied heliind, and spread

"alinmhlc parret" was not the dinfty apartment
which mi)iht lie iiifeneil ; it wns a larse ai:il well-
pri)poitiimed room, on the flr-st floor of the house,
neatly iianell'd with wood, aecoidiiif; to a fasiiioii
hy no means very antii|iiated then.)

i' If

LIFE <)l' K(»IIKUT IJUIJNH.

u|M>n Ills lorolioml. I'pon the wliole, fnmi
lii« pcrMoii, ]iliysio>fii(>iny, nml drcHH, liiul I
nu't liiiii iR'iir II si'a])ort, itnd Ik'cii n'(|iiiiv(I tn
Ruews \m condition, I hIiohM have iirolmldy
»!onjccturcd liim to ho the nmtter of a mer-
chant, vessel of the most respectalde ehiss.

" In no part of his manner was there the
HliRlitewt (loirroo of uflectation, nor eoiild a
rttraKj,'er liave snspceted, from anytliim,' in liis
behavionr or conversation, tliat lie had i)een
for some niontiis the favourite of all the fa-
Hhionaide circles of a metropolis.

'• In conversation he was imwcrful. His
conceptions and expressions were of corres-
ponding vi,L,'onr, and on idl siily'eets were as
remote ns])ossil)le from eommonplaee. Thoiiuh
Bomewliat authoritative, it was in a way wiiich
gave little oU'ence, and was readily imputed
to his inexperience in those moilcsof sootliinir
dissent and softenin,u; assertion, which are im-
jiortunt characteristics of jiolished manners.
After breakfast I requested him to comnmni-
eiitc some of his unpnl)Iislied i)ieces, and he
recited his farewell sonj; to the ' Haidcs of .\yr,'
introducinu; it with a description of the cir-
cumstances in whidi it was composed, more
striking; than the jioem itself.

" 1 paid particular attention to Ids recitation,
Avliieh was plain, slow, articulate, and forcilile,
hut without any elo(|uence or art. He diil
not always lay tlie enii>liasis with i)ropriety,
nor did he humour the sentiment by the
variations of his voice. lie wa.s standinj;
during the time, with his face towards the
window, to which, and not to his auditors, he
directed his eye — thus deprivintf himself of
any additional etreet which the lan,i;ua'.;e of
his composition might jiavc borrowed fnmi
the language of his countenance. In this he
resembled the generality of singers in ordinary
company, who, to .sliun any charge of ufl'ecta-
tion, witlidrawall meaning from tlieir features,
and lose the advantage by which vocal per-
formers on the stage augment the impres-
Hion, and give energy to the sentiment of the
Kong. . . .

"The day after my first introduction to
Burns, I .^upped in company with 1dm at ])r.
IMair's. The other guests were very few ; and
an each liad been invited chiefly to liave an
opportunity of meeting with the poet, the
doctor endeavoured to <lraw him out, and to

make him (he central flgnre of the group.
Though he therefore furnished the greatest
jiroportiou of the conversation, he did no
more than what he saw e\idenlly was ex-
pected."'

To these remiidscences I shall now add
those of one who is likely to be heard unwil-
lingly on no subject; and -young as he was
in ITNti — <m few subjei'ts, I think, with
greater interest than the jjcrsonal aiipeuram-e
and conversation of Uobert ibuiis. The fol-
lowing is an extract from a letter (d' Sir
Walter Scott :--

''.\sfor IJurns, I nmy truly say, I'irnlliinn
r!ill /iiiifdiii. I was a lad of fifteen in \'S{\ ,',
when he came first to Kdiid)urgh, but had
sense and feeling enough to be much inter-
ested in his ]ioetry, and woidd have given the
world to know him; but I had very little
ac(|uaintance with any literary jieople, and
less with the gentry of the west country, the
two sets that he most fre(|uente<l. .Mr.
Thomas (Irierson was at that time a clerk of
my father's, lie knew Burns, and p 'mised
to ask him to his lodgings to dinner, b. t 'r'd.
no opjiortunity to keep his word, otherwise I
might have seen more of this distinguished
man. .\s it was, 1 .saw him one ilay at the
late venerable I'rofessor Ferguson's, where
there were several gentlemen of literary reim-
tation, among whom I remendier the cele-
brated Mr. Dugald Stewart. Of co\irse we
youngsters sate silent, looked, nn<l listened.
The only thing I remember which was re-
markable in IJurns's numner, was the efl'ect
produced ujjon him by .-i print of Huidjury's,
representing a soldier lying dead on the snow,
his dog sitting in misery on one side-— on the
other, his widow, with a child in her arms.
These lines were written beneath: —

<'(p1(1 oil ('anailinii liills, or Minden's iiliiiii,
I'ciliniis tliat jmreiit weiit her Hulilier slain -
liciit o'er her Italic, her eye dissolved in dew,
'I'he liitJ diojis liiilifilint; with the milk lie drew,
(Jave the sad presnKe of his future years.
The child of misery liaptised in tears.

" Uurns seemed much aflfeetcd by the print,
or rather the ideas which it suggested to his
mind, lie actually shed tears. He asked
who.sc the lines were, and it ohaiice<l that
nobody but myself remembered tliat they
' Morison's liiintii, vol. i. pp. Ixxi. Ixxii.

LIKK or IWBKHT lUrUNS.

fi9

' till' Kriiiip.

tlic groiitcHt

lie (lid no

ill.v was ex-

iiil iiiiw aiiil
ii'ani iiiiwil-

m' a.-i III' was
tliink, with

I aiipcaraiii'O

IS. Tho to).

ottor 1)1' Sir

IV, Virii'iliinn
I in 17S<i-",
gli, liiit. Iiad
nincli inti'i--
ivc nivi'ii till'
I very liltli)
]u'i(jili', anil
I'ounlrv, I lie
nioil. Mr.
10 a rli'rk of
nil )i 'iiiLscd
iicr, 111 t, 'I'vd.
, oti.orwiso I
listininui.sliL'd
e day at the
son's, where
iterar.v rcjm-
lor llie eele-
)}■ I'ourse we
iiid listened,
lii'li was re-
as tlie cfVeet
f Hunlniry's,
on the snow,
side —on the
in licr arms.

plain,
r alaiii -
1 in (li'w,
k lii^ ilit'w,
uais,

by the print,
nested to his
He asked
'hanced that
1 that they
\\. Ixxii.

oi'i'iir in a liaU'-t'orftotten |MU'ni of LaiiKhorne's,
I'lilli'd I'V the iin|iroinisini,' title of the '.luxlli'e
iif IV'ai'c' I wliispcri'd my information to a
friend prt'X'iil, who mentioned it to liiirns,
who ri'wardid me with a look and a word,
whii'h, thoiiuh of mere eivility, I then re-
I'cived, and still reeollect, with very fjreat
pleasure.

•• lliv pirsoii was stnnii;' and rolnist; his
manners rustle, not elownish ; a sort of diffiii-
(ioil plainness and simplieity. wliieh received
part of ii> i'Hi'<'i, perhaps, from one's knowledire
of his I'xirioidinary lalcnt>. His features are
repivscnied in Mr. Nasmyth's pii'tiire, liiit to
me it I'oiiveys the idea that they are diinini>li('il,
ns if seen in perspeetive. I tiiink hiseniinteii-
aiiee was more massivi- than it looks in any of
the i)ortrail>. I would have taken the poi'i,
had I not known what he was, for a very
sagaeioiis eoiintry farmer of the old Scoteh
seliool, /.<•. none of your modern afirienltiirists,
who klip lalioiirers for their driiduery, Init
the (loui-f ijik/i iinni who held his own plonu;li.
Tliere was a siron;? e.xpression of sense ami
shrewdness in all his lineaments; the eye
alone, I think, indieated the poetical eharaeter
and tcm]ierament. It was larne, and of a dark
cast, which flowed (I say literally i/loinil)
wiicn he spoke with feelinn or interest. I
never saw such another eye in a human head
thoiinh I have seen the most ilistiiifiuisheil
men of my time. Ills conv( rsation expressed
|)erfeet self-confidence, without the sli>;litest
presumption. Aiiioiil!: the men who were the
most, learned of their time and country, he
expressed himself with jierfect firnine.s.s, but
without the least intrusive forwardness; and
when hedillered in opinion, he did not hesitate
to express it firmly, yet at the same time with
modesty. I do not rememlier any part of his
conversation distinctly emniuh to he ciuoted,
nor did ! ever sec him ayain, except in the
street, where lie did not reeo!>nizc me, as I
could not expect he should. He was much
caressed in Kdinhurirh, lint (eoiisiderinp what
literary emoluments have been since his day)
the eH'orts made for his relief were extremely
triflini;-.

" I remember on this occasion I mention,
I thought hurns's actiuaintance with Engli.sh
poetry was rather limited, and also, that liavins,'
twenty times the abilities of Allan Ra'nsay

and of FergusKon, he talked of liiem wltii ton
tniieh hiimilily, as his models; there wan,
doubtless, national predilection in hisestimato.

"This is all I can tell you about lliinis. I
have only to add that his dress eorres|ionded
with his manner. He was like a larmer
dressed in his best to dine with the Laird. I
ilo not speak In malum /mrfi m, when I say,
I never saw » man in company with his
superiors in station and information, more
perfectly free from either the reality or the
aO'eetation of embarrassment. I was told, but
did not obiiervc it, that his address to females
was exiicinely deferential, and always with a
turn either to the iiathetie or humorous, wliieh
engaged their attention particularly. I have
lieai'd the late Duchess of (iordoii remark this.
I <lo not know anything I can add to these
recollections of forty yours since. " '

Darkly as the career of Hums was destined
to terminate, there can be no doubt that he
made his first aiipearancc at a period highly
favourable for his reception as a iiritish, and
especially as a Scottish poet. Nearly forty
years had elapsed since the death of Thomson;
Collins, dray, (loldsinith, had successively
disappeared; Dr. .lohnson had belied the rich
promise of his early apjiearanee, and confined
himself to prose, and (,'owper had hardy begun
to be recognized as having any considerable
'I'ctonsions to fill the long-vacant throne in
l.ogland. At home— without derogation from
the merits cither of " J)ouglas" or the " Min-
strei," be it said— men must have gone back
at least three eentiirios to find a Scottish poet
at all entitled to be considered as of that high
order to which the generous criticism of
Mackenzie at once admitted "the Ayrshire
I'loughman. " Of the form and garb of his com-
jiosition, much iiiKpiestionably and avowedly
was derived from his more in mediate pre-
decessors, l?amsay and Fergusson ; but there
was a bold mastery of hand in his picturesque
descriptions, to produce anything equal to

1 [Tliat liuriis's personal appearance was one to
attract attention we Iiave ample record. It is re-
eia'iU'il in ('(ickliiinrs Life of Je/rei/ that "one day,
in the winter of 178(i-87, Jeffrey was .standing on the
Tliph Street, staring at a man whose appearance
struck him; a person standiiiK at a shop dour tapped
him on tlie shoulder, and said, ' Aye, laddie ! ye may
weel look at that man ! That's Roliert Burns." He
never saw Hiirns again."]

I' '

•; i I >

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS,

wliich it WHS necessary to recall the days of
'•''hrist's Kirk on the (ireen," and " I'nchlcs
to th'j I'lay :" and in liis more solemn pieces,
a depth of inspiration, and a massive cnertry of
language, to which the dialect of his country
iiad been a stranger, at least since "Dunbar
tlic Jlackar." The muses of Scotland have
never indeed b;en silent; and the ancient
minstrelsy of the 'and, of winch a slender
portion had as yet been committed to the
safeguard of the press, was handed from gene-
ration to generation, an(' preserved, in many
a fi'agmcnt, liiitliful images ,.f the peculiar !
tenderness, and peculiar humour,of thenational
fancy and character — pre?!'' us representations, I
which Huiiis himself never surpassed in his \
happiest ed'orts. But these were fragments; :
and, with a scanty handful of exceptions, the ]
best of them, at least of the serious kind, were |
very ancient. Among the numberless effusions !
of the Jacobite .Muse, valuable as wo now
consider them for the record of manners and
events, it would be ditlicult to point out half
a dozen strains, worthy, for poetical excellciicc
alone, of a place among the old chivalrous
ballads of the Southern, or even of the High-
land Hordcr. Generations had passed away
since any Scottish poet had appealed to the
sympathies of his countrymen in a lofty Seot-
tisii strain.

The dialect itself had been hardly dealt with.
"It is my opinion," said J)r. (ieddes, "that
those who, for almost a century past, have
written in Scotch, .\llan Itanisay not excepted,
have not duly dis; riminated the genuine idiom
from iis vulgarisms. They seem to have acted
a siinilar part to certain pretended ini'triidis
of Spenser and Jlilton, who fondly ii lagine
that they are ccp.ing from those great models,
when they only mimic their anticjue mode of
spelling, their obsolete term.*, and their ir-
regular constructions." And although 1 cannot
well guess what tiie doctor considered as the
irregular constructions of Milton, there can be
no doubt o" the general justice of his observa-
tion.s. Kainsay and Fergusson Averc both men
of humble condition, the latter of the nieanc; t,
the former of no very eleitant lu.bits; and the
dialect which had once pleased the ears of
kings, who themselves did not disdain fo
display its powers and elegancies in verse, did
not come untarnished ♦hrougii their hands.

Fergusson, who was entirely town-bred, smelhs
more of the Cowgate than of the country ; and
pleasing as l{amsay's rustics are, he a]>i>ears
rather to have observed the surface of rin-al
manners, in casual excursions to I'enycuik
and the Hunter's Try>te. than to have expressed
the results of intinnite knowledge and .sym- '
jiathy. His dialect was a somewhat incon-
gruous mixture of the I'lipcr Ward of I^anark-
sliire and the Luckenbooths; and he could
neither write English verses, nor engraft
Kuglish phraseology on his Scotch, without
betraying a huncntable want of skill in the
use of Ills instruments. It was reserved for
Burns to interpret the imnnst sdul of the Scot-
tish peasant in all its moods, anil in verse
ex(|uisitely and inten>i'ly Scotti>h. without
degrading either his siiiiinients m- his language
with one touch of vulgarity. Such is the
delicacy of native taste, and the power of a
truly nuisculine genius.

This is the more remarkable, when we con-
sider that the ('i ilect of ISiuns's native district
is, in i;ll mouiiis bi'l h\< own, a peculiarly
ottensive one — far removed from that of the
favoured districts in which the ancient min-
strelsy ajipears, with rare exce}ilions, to have
been produced. l^ven in the elder days, it
seems to have been provcrliial for its coarse-
ness:' and the Covenanters were not likely to
mend it. The few poets whom the \\'est of
Scotland had prodiu-cil in the old time, were
all men of high condition; and win", ol' course,
used the language, not of their own villages,
but of Holyrood. 'fheir prod'iclioiis, nntre-
over, in so far as tliev have been juoduced,
had mithing to do with tlie jiei'iiliar character
and feelings of the men of the \\'est.. As
Burns himself has said, — ' It is soniewh.it
singular, that in Lanark, lienfrew, .\yr, Xc. ,
there is scarcely an old ^oiii;- (u- tune, which,
from the title, itc. can be i:uessed to belong
to, or be the production of, those counties."

The history of Scotii.-h literatinv, iiom the

1 Dunbiir, aninim utlicr sarcasms on liis aiilnuoiiist
KciiiiiMly, say.s :- -

I Iiaii on nie ;< p.iir iif l,(rtlii;iirr liipi"'
Salt fninr luylis m:ik. iiiiil iiKiirpcrf.vt ',
Than tliou c;in t.l;ililn.r uitli tlij Curiic k lipi.K.

- .*ucli as Kennedy, Sliaw, Montgomery, ami. inoie
lately, naniiltoii of (iiliieittUld,

Who iiiide the lirakc-^ ■•( Ainlri. lomr nsound

The plaintive dirge i'uut ni.iuru d Ida fiivouiite hound.

LIFE OF ROBEIIT BUENS.

Hiiiou of the fi'Dwiis to that of the kinirdoms,
Jiiis not yet been inacle the subject of iiiiy
Kciiurate work, at uU worthy of its iiniiortunce ;
nay, however iiuieh we are iiulebtoil to the
learned hibour.s of I'inkertoii, Irving, and
ot hers, enough of the iji'iicral obscurity of which
Wurtou comji'iincd still continues, to the no
small discredit of so acconiidished a nation.
Uiit how miserably the lifcnititiv of the coun-
trv was affected by the loss of the court under
whose immediate patronage it, had, in almost
all [(receding times, found a measure of jn-otec-
tion that will over do honour to the memory
of the unfortunate house of Stuart, appears to
be indicated with Mitiicient plainness in the
single fact, thrt no man can point out any
Scottish atithoi f the first rank in all the long
period whicii intervened between Huclianan
and llunie. The renn)val of the chief nobility
and gentry, conseijuent on the legislative
union, apjieared to destroy our last liojies as
■A separate nation, possessing a separate litera-
ture of our own; nay, for a time to have all
but extinguished the flame of intellectual ex-
ertion and ambition. Long torn and harassed
by religious and i)olitical feuds, ibis people
had at last beard, ax, many believed, the sen-
tence of irremediable degiiidalion pronounced
by the lijis of their own pi ince and jiarliann'nt.
The universal si)irit of Scotland was hinnbled;
tiie unhappy insurrections of l"];") and 171."),
revealed the full extent of her intirnal dis-
union; and England took, in some respects,
merciless advantage of the fallen.

Time, however, jiassed on; and Scotland,
reeoxerinir at, last from the blow which hiul
stunned her energies, began to vindicate her
]ireiensions, in the (uily departments which
had been left open to her, with a zeal and a
succ!" vliich will ever distini;uish one of the
lu-igl..ust pages of her history. Deprived of
every nati(uial honour and distinction Avhich
it was possible to remove — all the high
branches of exteriuil amiiiiion lopped oil' —
-link at last, as men thought, effect iially into
a province, willing to take law witli i)assivc
siihmi.ssioii, in letters as well as polity, noni
her jiowerfiil sister — the old kingdom revive'!
suddeiUy !rom her stuiior, and om'c more
Jisseited lur name in reel.: mations, which 1-ng-
land was c(uni)elled not only to hear, but toap-
I'l.iud, and "wl jrev.iih all f^urojie rung from

' side to side," at the moment when a national

poet came forward to profit by the reflux of

] a thou.sand half- forgotten sympathies — amid.st

I the full joy of a national pride, revived and

re-established beyond the dream of hope.

It will always reflect honour on the galaxy
of eminent men of letters, who, in their vari-
ous departments, shed lustre at that i)eriod on
the name of Scotland, that they suffered no
pedantic prejudices to interfere with their re-
ception of Ihirns. Had he not appeared per-
sonally among them, it may be reasonably
doubted whether this would have been so.
They were men, generally speaking, of very
social habits; living together in a small capital,

nav, almost all of them in or about one street;

maintaining friendly intercourse contiinially ;
not a few of them considerably adilicted to the
pleasures which have been called, by way of
I excellence 1 i)resume, convivial. Ikirns's
' poetry might have pro.'ured him access to
. these circles; but it was the extraordinary re-
; sources he displayed in conversation, the
i strong vigorous sauacitv of his observations on
life and maimers, the splendour of his wit, and
the '-;iowing energy of his elotpience when his
feelings were stirred, that made him the oliject
of serious admiration among those jtracti.sed
masters of the art of lnlL: There were several
of them who probably adopted in their hearts
the opinion of Xewton, that '• poetry is ingeni-
ous mulsense. " .\dani Smith, for one, could
: liave had no very ready respect at the service
i of such ail unproductive lai)ouier as a maker
of Scottish ballad.-; but the stateliest of tlie,-e
I)liilosophers hail enough to do to maintain the
attituileof e(|uality when brought into personal
contact with Burns's gigantic understanding;
and every one of them, whos'- imju-essions on
the subject have been recorded, agrees in pro-
nouncing his conver.sation to have been the
^ most remarkable thing about him.
I And yet it is amusing enom;h to trace the
linuering reluctance of some of tho.se polished
scholars, about admitting, even to themselves,
in his absence, what it is certain they all felt
suflicieiitly Avhen they were actually in his
Itrescnce. It is dillicuU, for cxam|ilo, ti, read
•without a smile that letter of ..Mr. Dugald
Stewart, in which he deserilies himself and
]\lr. Alison as being surprised to discover that
]hi s, after reading the latter :aitlior's elegant

LIFE OF EGBERT BUENS.

E^ay on Taste, luid really been able to form | innwHt xoul,. with unreserved conjhlence, to
some Hhrewd enough notion of the general i ((HO^/i^'r, vilhout hazard of loxhm part of that
principles of the association of /(te(.t. \rpxp<'ct which man deserve.^ from man; in;

Burns wouUl jiroijably have been more satis- j from the unavoidable imperfections attcndini;
ficd with himself in these learned societies, hud human nature, of one day repenting his conti-
he been less addicted to giving free uttenince tlcnce.

in conversation to the very feelings which! "For these reasons, I am determined to
formed the noblest inspirations of his poetry, make those pages my coniident. I will sketch
His sensibilily was as tremblingly ex(iuisito j out every character that any way strikes nic,
as his sense was masculine and solid; and he to the best of my power, with unshrinking
seems to have, ere long, suspected that the justice. I will insert anecdotes, and take
professional metaphysicians who applauded his down remarks, in the olil law phrase, without

rajtturous bursts, surveyed them in reality
with something of the same feeling wiiich may

fi'.ud or favour. — Where 1 hit on anything
clever, my own applause will, in some measure,

lie supposed to attend a skilful surgeon's in- j feast my vanity; and, begging Tatrochis'
speetion of a curious specimen of morbid and Achates' pardon, I think a lock ami key
Why should lie lay his inmost

anatomy

heart thus o])en to dissectors, who took s])ecial
care to kecji the knife from their own breasts?
Tl;e secret blush that overspread his haughty
countenai.jo when such su'jgestions occurred

a security, at least ecpial to the bosum of any
friend whatever."

And the .sime luiking thorn of suspici<in
peeps out elsewhere in this complaint: "I
know not how it is; 1 find 1 can win likimj —

ti> him in his solitary luuirs. may be traced in but not rciiwct ." ^

the opening lines of a diary which he began " Burns." says a great living jioet, in coin-
to keep ere he had been long in Edinburgh. nicnling im the free style in which Dr. Curric
"Ajiril 9, 17>S7. .\s [ have .seen a good did not hesitate to expose some of the weaker
deal of human life in Kdinburgh, a great jiarts of his behaviour, very soon alter the
many characters which are new to one bred grave hail closed on him. — " Burns was a

up in the shades of life as I have been. I
am determined to take down my remarks on
the spot. Gray observes, in a letter to Mr
I'algrave, that, half a word fi.xcd, upon or
near tlie spot, is worth a cartload of recollec-
tion.' I don't know how it is with the world
in general, but with me, making my remarks
is by no means a solitary pleasure. I want
some one to laugh with me, some one to bo

man of extraordinary genius, whose birth,
education, and employments had placed and
kejit him in a situation far below that in which
the writers and readers of expensive volumes
arc usually found. Critics upon works of
fiction have laid it down as a rule, that re-
moteness of place, in fi.xing the choice of a
subject, and in prescribing the mode of treat-
ing it, is eipial in effect to distance of time;

grave with me, some one to please me and : restraints may be thrown ofl' accordingly,
help my discrimination, with his or her own | .ludgo then of the delusions wliici artificial
emark, and at times, no doubt, to admire my ! distinctions iini)ose, when to a man like Dr.

acutene.ss and penetration. The Avorld is so
busied with selfish pursuits, ambition, vanity,

Carrie, writing with views so honourable, the
sorial condition of the individual of whom he

mony might be discarded with him, and his
memory sacrificed, as it were, almost without

le cfushid

interest, or pleasure, that very few tliink it , was treating, could seem to jilace him at such

worth tlicir while to make any ob.servation on a distance from the exalted reader, that cere-

wliat passes around them, except where that

observation is a sucker, or branch of the

darling plant they ar rearing in their fancy. ' compunciiim. This is indeed to

Koram I .sure, notwi"- '•inding all ihcscuti. Ixnimth the furrow's wciiiht."'-

}vci>tal jUi/hlsofuor 'cru and the so ijc p/,;. '

lowphij of iuor(di.tt.'<, hrr we arc capable of M«uni9'.s exact words arc: •■ I .Ion t well kima

or, >•■>♦;.„..(„ ..,1 .„..!• i-i- !■ r • 1 wlint istlu! reasdii of it, liiit si'iMcliiiWnidtlicr tlioi:;;li

Ro intimate and cordiai a coalition ot fricm - , „ , t i ■ i .. n ■ > i

, . I am, wlicn I have a ninid, jFictty ficucralh licloveil ;

Hhip, ff.s that one man ma;/ pour out A/.s- lio.toni, yet I iicvcrcoiiM -et thcait nf,,,iiM.ia.Miuv'icsiivct. J

his cveri/ (houi/ht and jlontimj fam-ij, his very , 2 \v„nlswort)r.s letter to a friend of LUirus.

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

iijhlence, lo
part, of that
<i man ; or,
lis attciulinu;
iig his coiifi-

tcrmincd to
I will slictcli
■ striken nie,
unsliriiikiiig
!*, and take
rase, ird.'iont
on anvtiiing
me nu'asiiro,
j; I'atroclus'
ock and key
losoni of anv

of suspioiim
iililaint : "• 1
win likliKj —

)oot, in foni-
h Dr. Currie
f tlic weaker
ou alter tiie
iJurns was a
rtiiose birth,
1 placed and
Ihat in which
sive vohinies
>n works of
idc, that, re-
! choice of a

»le of treat-
nce of time;

ucordinuly.
uc 1 artificial
nan like Dr.
iiiuraldc, tlie

of wlmni lie

him at sncii
cr, tiiat ccrt-
hini, and his
most without
he criti/icil

Hit well kliiiw
.iiitliiT tli(ir.;;ll
ciiillv hi'lovnl;

lllill.'l'CSII-.'tt. J

liurns.

It would lie idle to suppose that the feelings
here ascribed, and justly, no (picstion, to the
amiable and benevolent ('urrie, did not often
find their way into the bosoms of those persons
of sui>crior condition and attainments, with
wlmm Burns associated at the period when he
first emerged into the blaze of reputation;
and wliat found its way into men's bosoms,
was not likely to avoid betraying itself to the
jHMsiMcaeious glance of the proud peasant.
How perpetually he was alive to the dread of
Ipciug looked down ujion as a man, even by
I liose who most zealmisly applauded the works
(if his genius, might perhaps be traced through
the whole sequence of iiis letters. When
writing to nicii of high station, at least, he
preserves, in every instance, the attitude of
self-defence. IJut it is only in his own secret
tables that we have the fibres of his heart laid
bare, iiiid liie cincer nl' this jealousy is .seen
distinctly at its iiaint'ul work ; hahcuttH jritm
I't vnnJiti'Dtim.

"There are few of the sore evils under the
sun i;i\ c me more uncMsiucss and chagrin than
tlie coni[i:irisoii how a man of geniu-., nay of
avowed worth, i-; received everywhere, with
the rciTpiion which a mere ordinary character,
decorated with the trappings aiul futile dis-
tiiK-tioii-; of fortune, meets. I imagine a miin
of al)iliiies, his brca-i glowing with honest
priile, coiis<Mons that men are born ecpial,
still givinu' iHiimnr In irhmn /iniiour is i/iir;
lie meets, al a great man's table, a Sipiirc
.-ouielhiiig. or a Sir somebody ; he knows the
iinl)/( liiiiilhu'd, at hc-irl, gives the bard, or
wliatcver he is, a share of his good wishes,
beyond, ])crhaps, any one at table; yet how
will it morliiy him lo ~ee a fellow, whose
.ibilities would scarcely have made tin riij/it-
/innii/ tiil/iir. and who>e heart is not worth
three farthings, meet wiih attention an<I
notice, that are withheld from the sous of
ircnius and poverty?

'•The noble (;leiieairii lias wounded me to
the soul here, because 1 dearly esteem, respect,
and love him. lie showed so much attention
— engrossing atteniion — one day. to the only
blockhead at table (the w lole company cjii-
sisted of his hu'dship. dundcrpale. and my-
self), that 1 was williin half a jioint of throw-
ing down my eage of coiitemiituous defiance;
but lie shook niv liand, and looknl n bene-

volently good at parting — God bless him !
though I .should never see him more, 1 shall
love him until my dying day I I am pleased
to think 1 am so capable of the throes of
gratitude, jls 1 am miserably deficient in some
other virtues.

" With Dr. Bliiir I am more at my ease. I
never respect him with humble veneration;
but when he kindly interests liimself in my
welfare, or still more, when he descends from
his piiniaclc, and meets me on e(pial ground
in conversation, my heart overtlo«.-. with what
is called likiiKj. When he neglects me for the
mere carcass of greatness, or when his eye
measures the difference of our points of eleva-
tion, I say to myself, with scarcely any emo-
tion. What do 1 care for him, or his pomp
cither?"

"It is not easy,'' says Hums, attempting t(v
be more philosophical — ' ' 1 1 is not ea.sy form-
ing an exact judgment of any one ; but, in my
oiiinion, J)r. Blair is merely an astonishing
jiroof (d" what iiulustry and apjilicaticui can tlo.
Natural i)arfs like his arc frecpicntly to be met
with ; his vanity is proverbially known among
his own acipiaiiitances ; but he is jtistly at tiie
head of what may be called fine writing, and
a critic of the first, the very first raidc, in
prose; even in poetry, n hard of Xatiin's
liiakiit;/ ran alone take the pas (;/' him. lie
has a heart not of the very finest water, but
far from being an ordinary one. In s'.iort. iie
is a truly wort'iy ami most respec(idi!e <har-
aeter. "

"Once,'' says a nice tpee'.i'aior on the
" fidlies of the wise," ' — " once we were nearly
receiving from the hand of geinus the most
curious sketcl'.cs of the temper, the ira.scible
humours, the delicacy of soul, even to its
.shadowiness, from the warm .<//o::o.f of Hums,
when he began ii diary of his heart -a narra-
tive id' characters ami events, and a chronology
ol' his emotions. it was natural for such a
creature of sensation and pas^ion to lu-ojeet
such a regular ta'k. but cpiic imiio>sible to
get throueh it." This mostcnrious document,
it is to be oliscrved, has not yet been "•' iteil
entire. .Vnother generation will, n bt,

.see the whole of the ,'onfes>io'; ;'-' .ver,

1 D'TsriU'li on tlic l.itrmry Chtn'tn-t'i\\. p. i;!(i.

- [This (oiiiiiMii-iiliiee liook wa.s imt iiiinlislieil in

it.s ciitiiety till IsTs) when it appeareil in MdeiiilUfin's

<>4

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

what has already been given, it may be siir-
miseil, indicates suHiciently the c(>n)i>le.\ioii of
JJurn.s's iirevailing moods, during !iis moments
of retirement, at lliis interesting period of Ids
history. 1 1 was in sueli a mood (tJiey recni red
often enougji) that lie tlius reiiroaelied •'Xa
ture — i)artial nature :" —

Tlioil Kivst tlR' jisM liis liiik', tlic snail his slioll,
The envfucinil wasp victcnioiis Knanls his (■(.■11 :
lint, oh; tin. 11 liittcr stepmother, and lianl.
To thy poor fciii'i'le.ss nak(.'(l child, flic liani.
fn naked fecliiiij tiiid in nchhuj pride.
He hears tlic iinlndkcn hlast from cvcrv side'

TJierc was ]irol)a')ly no idast tliat pierced
tliis haughty soul so sharply as the contumely
of condescension

'•One of the poet's remark.s," a.s C'romck
tells us, '-whcu he first came to Edinburgh,
was, that between the men of rusfic life and
the polite wo /hi he observed little diflerence
— that in tlio former, though unpolished by
fashion and unenlightened by science, he had
found mud' observation, and much intelligence
— but a refined and accomjdished woman was
a thing almost nert' t(> him, and of which he
had formed but a very inadequate idea. " To
be pleased, is the old and the best receipt how
to please: and there is abundant evidence that
Hurn-.'s success among the high-born ladies of
Kdii burgh, was much greater than among the
'■sf;itely patricians,'' a.s he calls them, of liis
own se.x. The vivid expre.ssion of one of them
has become proverbial — that slie never met
with a man, "who.se conversation .so com-
pletely set licr oil' her feet;" and Sir Walter
Scott, in his reference to 'Ij testimony of the
late Duchess of (Jordon, i;;i ■. -loubt indicited
tlic twofold source of the fa.scmu'. cu. 1 tit cv'f ii
here, he was destined to feel er : I .n r some-
tiiing of the fickleness of fl^llio!l. (In con-

fessed to one of h

'(ofo'c lie

wea.son was over, that >si:r \\\\n 'i,,! < .-csseii

Miirjrizine. X.itwithstaii(lin!.'t' .. f.ic* ''at I 'lU'rlc Imd
imlilislifd extracts from it, .\llnn t'ln, iug'iain ir.ii
('riiniel< allc;;L(l that it was stdlen irou. iJur i.c'.i'onj-
in^'s ill the latter part of 1VJ57 'ir V. '^'iiiii;;' of ;"5ij.
Kiir many years the >tS. lay, unrei ■ pi : •.•;d hl t.ie
iiiissiii}; cdiiiiiKUi-iilacc Ixjok, in the possv^^i n ,i, Jfr.
.Maciiiillaii. the imhlisher. Alexanikr .''niith ninde
use of it ill ISii.'i. Inii de.sclilied it as a "Vdliinie (if
early scrajis undevstoiMl to have heen presented hy
the poet to -Mrs. Duiilop. )

I .Second Epistle to tiiahani of Ijiiliy.

him tiie most zealously, no longer seemed to
know liini, wlien he bowed in jia.ssiiig their
carriages, and many more acknow edged his
salute but coldly.

It is but too true, that ere tliis season was
over Murn.s had formed connections in Kdin-
Imrgii which could not have been regarded
with much approbation by the eniineiil literati
in whose .society his Jr/iKt ha<l made so jiower-
ful an impression. But how much of the
blame, if serious blame, indeed, tiiere was in
the matter, (uight to attach to his own fastidi-
ous Jealousy — how much to the mere caiirice
of human favour, we have scanty means of
a.scertaining : no doubt, lioth had their share;
and it is also suthciently apparent that there
Avere many jioints in Uurns's I'onverational
habit.s, which men, aceustmned to the delicate
ob.servances ui' refined society, might be more
willing to toleratt^ under the first e.xcitcnicnt
of pcr.soiud curiosity, than from any very
deliberate estimate of the claims of such a
genius, under such circumstances developed,
lie by no means restricted his .sarea.stie obser-
vations on those whom he ciicoiintered in the
Avorld to the contidcnce of his n(ite-bo(di ; but
startled polite ears with the utteraiico of
audacious ei)igrams, far too witty not to obtain
general circulation in so small a society as that
of the Northern caidtal, far too liitter not to
]iroduee dee]) resentment, far too numerous
not to spread fear almost as widely as admini-
tion. Even when nothing was farther from
his thoughts than to inflict pain, his artlmir
often carried him headlong into stid scrapes.
AVitness, for ex; tuple, the anecdote gi\en by
I'rofe.s.sor Walker, of his entering into a huig
di.seussion of the merits of the jiopular preachers
of the (hiy, at the talde of l)r. Blair, and en-
thusiasticallv avcwinu' his low ojiinion of all
fiic rest in coi'.^.irison with Dr. Blair's own
I >il';aguo iiu<; uost fdiniidable rival'-' — a niai',
certainly enddwed with extraordinary graces

•' "he Kev. \t'in. Oreeii field, who was professor of
rh< '■'I ic in the I'liiversity of t'.dinbiiryli, and beeaine
coliei-fiiie to I)v. lllair in Feliy. 17s7. lie had the
('(•trreeof l).l). afterwards cdiifened (Oi him. and in
ITiMi he wa.s elected ModeiatdPof the deneial Assem-
bly. If was deposed fidiii the ministry for "scati-
daldiis condiut" in IT'.ts, and died ahroad in }>^-17.
The Kev. Koliert Walker, whose name was j;iveii hy
I.orkhart in a iidte as the e(dlea'.'iie referred to. ditd
ill 17.SJ, three years litfoie liurns .saw Edinliiir),'Ii.)

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

of voii'C anil inuniier, ii uenerous and amialilc j clergyman, aiul at hipnkjaat. V.ww ti- tlic
>lrainiit'l'eelinLr, aiidacoipioustlowof lan.n'iiagc; \ ladies, when lie suspected them of ui>liina: to
JMit having no pretcn.sior.s either to the f^cneral j make a show of him, he could not liclii udmin-
ui'eomidishmeuts for which Ulair was honoured j istcring a litde of his villat^e discipline. A
in a most aecomplisheil society, or to the certain stately peeress sent to invile him,
polished elegance which he first introduced without, as he iUncie<l, having sutlicienily
into the elo(|Ucnce of the Scottish pulpit, cultivated his ac(iuaintance heforehand, to her
I'rofessor Walker well describes the unpleasing assendily. •• Air. Burns," answered the hard,
ctl'ccts of such an (vcapmlr ; the conversation j " will do himscdf the honour of waiting on the

(luring the rest of the evening, "labouring
under that compulsory effort which was mi-
avoidahle, while the tlioiiuhts of all were full
of the only subject on wlucli it was improper
to speak." Hurn.s showe<l his good .sense by
making no elfort to repair this Idunder; but
years afterwards, he confessed that he could
never recall it without c.\(iuisitc pain. Air.
Walker properly says, it did honour to Dr.
IJlair that his kindness remained totally un-
altered by this occurrence ; but the professor
would have found nothing to admire in that
circum>iance, had he not been well aware of
ihc rarity of such good-nature among the
ijiiiiia irrilnhi/i' of authors, orators, and wits.

\ specimen (which some will tliink worse,
r-ouie belter) is thus recorded by Cromek : —
•• \l a private breakfast, in a literary circle of
iMlinburgh, the conversation turned on tlie
poetical merit and pathos of (Iray's J'J/c'Jii. a
[loem nf which he was enthusiastically fond.
.\ clergyman i)resent, rejiiarkable for his love
of Iianidox, and for his eccentric notion.s upon
every .-ubject, distinguished himself by an in-
judiciou> and ill-timed attack on this exquisite
poem, which IJurns, with generous warmth
for the reputation of (iray, manfully defended.
.\s tiie gentleman's remarks were rather general
ilian specific, IJurns urged him to bring for-
ward the passages which he thought exception-
able, lie made several attemjjts to quote the
poem, but always in a blunilering, inaccurate
uiauner. Burns bore all this for a good while
witii his usual good-natured forbearance, till
at length, goaded by the fa.stidious criticisms
and wretched <|uibblings of his opponent, he
rouseil iMm>elf, and with an eye flashing con-
tempt and indignation, and with great vehe-
mence of gesticulation, he thus addressed the
old critic : ' Sir, I now perceive a man may be
an cxccllenf Judge of poetry by s(]uarc and
rule, and afti'r all be ad — d blockhead;'" —
>o far, Mr. (.'roniek ; and all this was to a

of , provided her ladyship Avill

invite also the learned pig." — Such an aninud
was then exhibiting in the (irassm.irket.

While the second edition of poems was pass-
ing througli the jircss. Burns was favoured
with many critical suggestions and amend-
ments; to one of which oidy he attended,
lilair, reading over with him, or hearing him
recite (which he delighted at all times in
doing) his " Holy Fair," .stopped him at the
stan/.a -

Nuw a the c(ins.'re!;atioii o er

Is silent cxiiL'ttation,
For .Mipotliu speels the holy ilo' r ilimljs

\Vi' tidings o' ■..aleation.

"Nay," said the dector, "read ilcnuifiHoii."
Burns imi>roved the wit of the verse, undoulit-
edly, by adopting the emendation; but he
gave another strange specimen of want of ^"7,
when he insisted that Dr. Blair, one of i!ic
most .scrupuUuis observers of clerical propriety,
.should permit him to acknowledge the obliga-
tion in a note.

But to pass from these trifles — it needs no
effort of imagination to conceive wlnif the scn-
.sations of an i.^olated .set of scholars (almost all
either clergymen or jjrofessors) niu.>t have been
in the presence of this big-boned, black-
browed, brawny stranger, with his great
flashing eyes, wlio, having fc)rced his way
among them from the plough-tail at a single
stride, manifested in the whole strain of ids
bearing ami conver.sation, a most thorough
conviction, that in a society of the most
eminent men of his tuition, he was exactly
where he was cntii'ed to be : hardly deigned
to flaiier them by exhibiting even an occa-
sional symittom of being flattered by their
notice: by turns calmly measured hitnself
against the most cultivated understandings
of his time in discu8.slon; overpowered the
1)0)1 wcC.s' of tlie most celebrated convivialists
by broad floods of merriment, impregnated

j"«

(to

LIFE OF ItOJiEllT BUENS.

with all the burninj,' life of genius; iisldtiiiiicd
Ixisoms hjil)it)iiilly enveloped in the tlirice-
piled folds of sociiil rusei'vo, l>y coiniiellini,'
tlii-ni to trenililc— iiiiy, to tremble visil)ly —
luiK'iith the li'iirless toiieli of iiiitiinil juithos ;
and all this without indicating the smallest
willingness to he ranked among those profes-
sional minislers of exeili'nicnt, who are eon-
tent to lie paiil in money and smiles for doing
what the s|ieclat(U-s and andilors would Itc
ashamed of doing in their own jiersons, even
il' ihcy had the power of doing it; anil, — last
and proliahly worst of all, — who was known
to he in the hahit of enlivening soeieties
whieli they would have scorned to a])proacli,
still more freipiently than their own, -villi
elo.pience no less magnificent; with wit in all
likelihood still more daring; often enough,
as the superiors whom he fronted without
alarm might have guessed fnun the lieginniiig,
and had, ere long, no occasion to guess, with
wit pointed at tlu niselves.

The lawyers of iMlinhurgh. in whose wider
circles Burns figured a( his outset, with at
least as inuch success as among the professional
literati, were a very diU'ercnt, race of mc.'n
from these; they wouhl neither, 1 lake it,
have pardoned rudeness, nm- been alarmed iiy
wit. Hut being, in those days, with .scarcely
an exception, members of the landed aristo-
cracy of the country, .jid forming by far the
most inlluentiiil body (as indeed they still do)
in the society of Scotland, they were, jicrhaps,
as proud a set of men as ever enjoyed the
trampiil ideasures of uncpicstioned superiority,
What their haughtiness, as a body, was, may
be gue.s.sed, when we know that inferior birth
was reckoned a fair and legitimate ground for
excluding any nian from the bar. In one re-
markable instance, about this very time, a
man of very extraordinary talents and acc.,ni-
plislmients was chiefly ojiposed in a long and
l>.".inful strugule for admission, and. in reality,
for no reasons but those t have been alluding
to, by gentlenieu who. in the se(|uel. • d at
the very head of the Whig party in Edinnurgh; '
and the same aristocratieal jirejudice has, j
within the memory of the ]>resent generation. :
kept more persons of eminent <iualilicatioiis
in the back-ground, for a .season, than any ;
I'.uglish reader would easily believe. To this \
body belonged nineteen out of twenty of

tlio.se " i)atricians, " who>e stateliness Jbirns
so long reiiienibered ■•ind .so bitterly resented.
It might, perhaps, have been well for him
had stateliness been the worst fault of their
manners. Wine-biblMiig ajipears to be in most
regions a favourite indiilgei e with those wlio.se
bruins and lungs are subjected to the severe
exercises of legal study and forensic practice.
To this day, more traces of these old habits
linger about the Inns of Court than in any
other .section of l.iuidon. In Dublin and Hdin-
burgli, the barristers are even now eiiiiiieiiily
convivial bodies of men; but among the Scotch
lawyers of the time of Burns, the principle of
Jollity was indeed in its "high and palmy
state." lie partook hirgt'ly in those tavern
seencsof audacious hilarity, which then soothed,
as a matter of course, the arid labours of the
northern woZ/A.^w (/c /n rolif (so they are well
called in Ji'idi/nKiit/'/), and (d' which we are
favoured with a siiecimeii in the •• High .liiik^"
chapter of d'ni/ Ma inn rin;/.

The tavern-life is nowadays nearly extinct
everywhere; but it was then in full vigcuir in
I'/dinburgh, and there can be no doubt that
Burns rai)idly familiiirized himself with it
during his residence. He had, after all. t.asle I
but rarely of such excesses while in .\yrshire.
So little are we to consider hi> ".'^colcdi
Drink," and other j'ovial strains of the early
period, as conveying anything like a fair
notion of his actual course of life, that '•Auld
Nanse Tiimock," or •• I'oosie Naih ic," the
.Mauchline landlady, i known lo h.ive ex-
jiressed, amusingly enough, her surprise at
the style in which she found her name cele-
brated ill the Kilmarnock editi(Ui. Miying,
'■that Kobert Burns might be a \ery clevir
lad. but he certainly was VKjiirillf.-'.t. as, to the
best of her belief, he had never taken three
half mutchkin.s in her house in all hi- life."'
.\nd in additicui to (iilbeit's testimony to the
same purinise, we have (Ui record that of Mr,
Archibald Bruce (i|ualified by Heron, "a
gentleman of great worth and disceriinieiit").
that he had observed Burns closely during
that period of his life, and .seen him 'steadily
resist such soliciiations and allurements to
convivial enjoyments, as hardly any other
person could have witlistooil."

I y\v. R. ("hainbi'isR MS. iii)tcs. taWcii (liiriiit; a
tour ill Ayrsliiii'.

incss Hiinifi
ly resented.
L'M for liiiii
.lilt of their

lie in ino.>t
tli(i.-<e wiio.sc

1 the .severe
sic pr.'ietice.
f old habits
thiin in any
n and I'ldin-
,v iininently
fj; tiie Seoteh

Iirinciide of
and jialniy
hose tavern
lien .soot lied,
Imiirs of the
ley are well
hich we arc
li-h.link^"

■arly e.xtiiict

dl viuoiir in
doiilit. thai

elf with it.

erall, taslel
n Ayrshiie.

i> •• Scotidi
if I lie early
like a fair
thai •■.\iihl

aiieie," the

have c.\-
suriirise at
name eclo-

on, sayinir,
>ery clever
'. as. to the

taken three

1 hi> life.""
iioiiy to the
iJKil of Mr.
Ilcmn, "a

ernint'iil").
•ely diiriii,!;
n ".steadily
nnients to

any other

en (luriiiK a

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

The unfortunate Heron knew IJuriis well;
and himself niin.i,'led hirj.;ely' in some of the
scenes to wliieh lie adverts in the following
strong langua.sre : — "The cntiecmeuts of idea-
sure too often unman our virtuou.s resolution,
even while wo wear the air of rejectiin;' them
with a stern hrow. Wc resist, and resist, and |
ri'sist; hut, at last, suddenly turn, and passion-
ately emhraee the enchantress. The liiirk.-< of i
IMiiihurnh aeeomplished, in re.irard to liurns, '
that in which tlio huors of .\yrsliire had failed.
.\fter residinu; some months in lMlinlMiri;h, lie
liejian to cstranire himself, not altogether, hut
ill some measure, from graver friends. Too
many of liis hours were now spent at the tables
of persons who delighted to urge conviviality
to drunkenness— in the tavern and in the
hp.thel."-

It would 1)0 idle noir to atteniitt jiassing
over these things in silence; hut it coi d servo
no good purpose to dwell on tlieni.

During this winter Hiiriis continued, as has
hicn mentioned, to lodge with .lulin llichnioiul;
and we have the authority id' this early friend
of the poet for the sljitcmenl, that while he
did so, "he ke])t good hours."'' lie removed
aficrwarils to the house of .Mr. William N'icol
lone of the teachers of the High Schoul of!
I'.dijihurgh), on the Bucdeiich I'oad [liiiccleuch
I'end]. and this (diaii'je is, i suppose, to he '
considered as a symptom that the keeping of :
i:ood hours was heninning to he irkscmie.''
Nicol was a man of (|uick jiarts and consider- j
ahlc learning, who had risen from a rank as
hunihle as hurns's; from the heginning an
ciiiliusiastic adiniror, and, ere Ioiil', a constant
a>sociate of the pool, and a most daniicrous
associate ; for, with a warm heart, the man
united a tierce irascihle temper, a scorn of
111 luy of the decencies of life, a iioi.sy contempt
nf relidini, at loiist of the religious institutions
'>f hi* country, and a violent propensity for

' .See Hunis's ulhisidiis to Hirnn's own lialiits, in
■ l''f-tical T:iiistle t(i Ulackldck, " 178!).

= Heron, ]). '27. ^ Xi.te.s liy Mr. R. C'lmiiiliers.

■• ICIiainliors e\])lains that it was on accimnt of hl.s
friend lliihiiKiinl liaviiiL' in the interval lietwcen
liiinisK .lepartiiie fioiii Ediiilinivli (May .'itlO and lii.«
ivtuiM ( \ii!,'ust 7tli) taken in aiKither fellciw-liMl^'er,
tl'at lUiriis was uliliged to accept teiiipnrnry accoiii-
iiiodaticn in tlie lioiise of his friend Nicul. who was
to lie his ooiiipaniipii in the i oiiteiiiphitcd ITIjlduiiil
tour.)

tlic bottle. He was one of those who would fain
believe themselves to be men of genius; and
that genius is a sutVicient apologv for trampling
under foot all the old vulgar rules of prudence
and sobriety, — being on both points e<|ually
inistakeii. Of Nicid's letters to Hums, and
about him, I have .seen many that have never
been, ami probaldy that never will be, printed
— cumbrous and pedantic eli'iisions, e.vhib-
iting nothing that one can imagine to have
been pleasing to the poet, except what was
probably enough to redeem all imperfections
--namely, a rapturous admiration of his
.genius. This man, nevertheless, was, I siis-
])ect, very far from being an unfavoiirablo
s]iecimen of the society to whom Heron thus
alludes: — " He (the poet) sinj'rrnl hini.self to
be surrounded by a race of miserable being.s,
who were ]n'oud to tell that they had been in
comically with IJiitx.s, aii<l had .-ecu Murns as
loose and as focdish as themselves, lie was
not yet irrecoverably lost to lcm]ierance and
iiioileration ; but he was already almost, too
iiHudi captivated with these wanton i'c\els. to
be ever more won back to a faithful atlachmcnt
to Ihiir more sober (diarin>.'' Heron adds —
'■ He now also began to contract soinelhing of
new arrogance in conversation, .\ccusionied
to be, among his favmirite a~-ociates, what is
vulgarly, but e.\iire>sively, c.illcd the cock of
the company, he could scarcely refrain from
indulging in similar freedom ,iiid diciaiorial
decision of talk, even in the presence of persons
who could less patiently endure his presump-
tion;"'' an account i-x J'urh pndiablc, and
which sutliciently tallies with some hints in
^Ir. Hugald Stewart's description of the poet's
manners, as he first observed him at ('atrinc,
and with one or two anecdote^ already cited
from Walker and Cromek.

Of these failings, and indeed of all Hunis's
failinirs. it may be safely ;isserted. that there
was more in his history toaecouni and apidogi/.e
for them, than can be alleged in regard to
almost any other great man's imperfections.
We have .seen, how, even in his earliest days,
the strong thirst of distinction irhiwed within
him — how in his first and nide-f rhymes he
sung

- — to lie -.'reat is chaniiinv;;
5 Heliill. p. 28.

«8

LTFi: OF ROBERT BURNS.

ami we liavu ul>o scon, tliat tlio ilisplav of
talent in convcrxition was tlie tiiM means of
(listinrliipu that iMviirred td liini. It was l>y
tliat talinit that lie first, ai trailed notice anioni;
his fellow-penmints. and after he mingled with
the first Seotclinieii of his time, this talent was
still tiiat wiiii'h appeared the most astonishins;-
of all he possessed. Wiint wonder that he
shonld deliv'ht in exerting it wiiero he eonld
exert it the most freely — wlierc there wan no

eheek upon a toni,'ne that hail lieen aeenstoi 1

to rev' in the license of village -masterv?
vlijri ' lily, however hold, was snre to

he reeoivcd with Iriiimphaiit applause — where
there were no elaim- ival his- no ]>i()iul

hrows to eonvcy rohiike. ahove all, perhaps,
no grave eyes to convey regret? " Nonsense,"
says t'liniUerland, ''talked hy men of wit and
understanding in the hours of relaxation, is of
the very finest c>scnce of eoiiviviality ; I > t it
implies a trust in the company not alv.a_ to
he risked." It was little in Hurn.s'M cluinieter
to suhmit to nice and scrupulous rules, when
he knew, that hy crossing the street, he could
find society who would applaud him the more,
the more heroically all sucli rules were dis-
regarded ; and he who had passed frem the
company of the Jolly l)<iclii-lor< of Tarholton
and Jlauchline, to that of the eminent Scotch-
men whose names were honoured all over the
civilized world, without discovering any ditler-
cnce that appeared worthy of much consideni-
tion, was well prepared to say, with the prince
of all free-speakers and free-livers, " I will
take mine ease in mine inn !"

Hut these, assuredly, were not the only feel-
ings that influenced Hums; in his own letters,
written during his stay in Edinbur,;;!., we have
the best evidence to the contrary. He shrewd-
ly suspected, from the very beginning, that
the iiersonal notice of the great and the
illustrious was not to be as lasting as it was
eager; he foresaw, that soincr or later he was
destined to revei't to societies less elevated
above the pretensions of his birth; and,
though his Jealous pride niiglit induce him to
record his suspicions in l.-nguaLO rather too
strong than too weak, it is quite impossible to
read what he wrote without believing that a
.sincere distrust lay rankling at the roots of his
heart, all the while that he appeared to be sur-
rounded with an atmosphere of Joy and hope.

(>n the l.''ili of .lannary, 17S", we find him
thus addressing his kind patroness, .Mr-.
Dunlop: —

" Yon are afraid I >iiali grow intoxic-ated
with my prosperity as a jioet. .Mas! nmdani,
I know myself and the world too well. I do
not mean any airs of afl'ected modesty ; I am
willing to lielievc that my abilities deserved
some notice; but in a most enlightened,
informed age and nation, when jioetry is and
has been the study of men of the first nalurjil
genius, aided with all the jiowers of polite
learning, polite books, and iiolite company —
to be dragged forth to the full ylare of learned
and polite oliservalion, with all my imperfec-
tions of awkward rusticity, and crinle tind
uniiolished 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 jwet in my obscure situation, without any
of those advantages which arc reekone<l nei'cs-
sary for tlnit character, at least at this time of
day, has raised a ptirtial tide of ])ublie notice,
which has borne me to a hcii^ht where I am
absolutely, feelingly certain my abilities are
inadequate to support me ; and too surely ilo
I see that time, when the same tide will leave
me, and recede jierhaps as far below the mark
of truth. ... I mention this once for
all, to disburden my mind, and 1 do not wisii
to hear or say any nn)re about it. Mnt, ' AViieii
proud fortune's ebbing tide recedes,' yon will
bear me Avitncss, that when my bubble of fame
was at the highest, I stood unintoxieateil with
the inebriating cup in my hand, lookiinj jhr-
irtiril ic'ith rueful rfi^olr/'."

.\nd about the same time to Dr. .Moore:—
"The ho])0 to be admired for ages is, in by
fiir the greater part of those even who are
authors of rei)nte, an unsubstantial dreani.
For my part, my first :iiiibition was, and still
my strongest wish is to please my compeers,
tiie rustic inmates of the hanilel, while ever-
changing language and manners shall allow
me to be relished and understood. 1 am very
willing to admit that I have smne poetical
abilities; and as few, if any writers, cither
moral or poetical, arc intimately ac(niaiiited
with the cla.sses of mankind annng wlmin I
have chiefly mingled, I may have seen men
and manners in a difrerent ])basis from what
is common, which may assist originality of

Lin-; OF UOIJKI.'T BURNS.

(i!)

'. wo find liim
troiiess, .Ml-.

w into.\i<'!itc(l
Mas I muiliini,
>o well. I do
lodcsly; I am
itics deserved
I'ldiLTJiteiied,
poetry is and
ic first natund
vers of polite
te e()iiii)aiiy —
lure of learned
my iiiiperl'ei'-
id enidc and
1 assure you.
n 1 tell you I
riie novelty of
, without any
ekoned neee>-
it lliis time of
]ud>lie notice,
it, where I am
,• abilities are
too surely do
idc will leav(^
low the mark
this once for
i do not wish
Hut, 'Wlicn
es,' you will
ul)l)le of fame
oxieated with
lookiii'i for-
ty, .Moore : —
ges is, in dy
ven wlio are
iitial dream.
vas, and still
ly (■iini])eers,
, while evcr-
^ >hall allow
I ;im ^■ery
imc poi'lieul
rilers, either
acquainted
lit? whom 1
ve seen men
is from what
iriii'iiinli^v of

lliouslit. ... I scorn the aU'ectalion of
M'cmiui;' modesiy lo cover sell'-ciiiiceit. 'I'iiat
I have some merit, I do not deny ; Itut {see.
Willi lre(|iient wriiininus of heart, tiiat the
M(i\('lly of my charinier, and I he honest iia-
lioiial prejudici' of my counliymen. have li(priie
me (o ii heinlil allou'elher iiiileiialih' to my
.il.ililies. - \nd lastly, April ihc -I'M. 17n7,
we have the lollowiiii;- pa-saite in a letter also
In Dr. .Moore;- "1 leave Ivlinliiiruh in the
coiirse of ten days or a I'orlniuht. I >hall
I'd urn to my riir.il sIukIcs, /'// nil likiUhiiinl
III ri-r iiiitri' In i/iiil (Inni. I have I'ormed
many intimacies and friendships here, Inil
I Ilia iij'rniil lliiij iirf nil n/' Ino liiiih r a cim-
ali-Kflloii to lii'itr I'lifr'atiji' a /lumlri'd diiil jiflij
iiiili-<.

One W(U'd more on the sultjeet which iiitro-
diiced llieseipiotatioiis;— .Mr. Duuald Stewart,
no (h>ulit, hints at what, was a common enoui>'h
complaint amon,!^ the ele>;'aiit literati of I'.din-
liiiri;h. when he alludes, in his letter tol'unie,
lo the "iKit very select -ociety " ill which Hums
liidulg'ed himself. Hut I wo points still remain
somewhat douhtfiil; namely, whether, show
and marvel of the .season as he v.."s, the
•■ .\yishire ploiinhman " really hid it in his
power to live iiliriii/.-i in sot iety which .Mr.
Siewart, Would iiave considered as " very
>elect;'' ami secondly, whether, in so doinij;,
he could have failed to chill the aHection of
I hose humlile .\yrsliire I'rieiids, who, haviiii;
shared with him all that they jiossessed on
his lirst arrival in the metropolis, faithfully
and fondly adhc'd to him, after the sprinn'-
tide of fasliioiiai)Ie favour did, as he foresaw
it would do, •recede;" and, moreover, jier-
lia|is lo provoke, auum.i; the hiulier circles
themselves, criticisms more distasteful to his
proud stomach than any prohalile e(Uise(|ueMces
of the course of c<induct which he actually
imrsued.

.. The second edition of Hurns's (loems was
piihlished early in .March, liy Creech; there
were no less than l.'inn siihscrihers, many of
whom paid more than the sliop-jiriee of the
volume. .Mthouuh, therei'ore, the liiial settle-

iiient with the I kseller did not take place

till nearly a year after, liurns now found him-
self in ]iossessioii of a considerahle sum of
ready money; and the first im]nilse of his
mind was to visit some of the classic scenes of

Vul,. 1.

Scottish iiistory and romance.' lie had as
yet seen hut a small ]iart of his own country,
and this hy no means ainoni;' the most inter-
estihf^ of her districts^ until, indeed, his own
jioetry made it ei|ual, on that wc(n'e, to anv
other.

The mauiiilicent scenery nl' the capital itself
had lilled him with extraordinary delij;ht.
In the spiinn- morniims, lie walked very ofted
to the loll of .\rthur's Seat, and l,\ in,u' iirostra,e
on the turf, surveyed the risini; of the sun out
of the sea, in silent admiration; his ehosen
eomiianion on such occasions lieini,^ that ardent
lover <d' nature and learned artist, .Mr. .\lex-
aiider Nasmyth.'- The Hraid Mills, to the
south of Hdinliuruii, were also amoiiu; his
favourite niorninu,- walks; and it wiis in some
of these that .Mr. Diiuald Stewart tells us " he
charmed him still more hy his private eonvcr-
satimi tiian he had ever done in company."
•' He was," adds the professor, ■•passionately
fond of the lieauties of nature ; and I recollect
once he t(dd me, when I was admiriiii;' a
distant prosjiect in one of our mornini;; walks,
that the siv;iit of so many smokin,i; co.tavces
.uave a pleasure to his luiiid which none could
understand who had not witnessed, like him-
self, the haiipiness and the worth which they
contained."

I '•'I'lie iiiipellatioii of a Scottisli lian! is far iii.v
Iiigliest priilc; to coiitiiuie to ilcseive it, is my most
e.valted amiiitioii, Scottisli .scenes, and .Seottisii
stor.v, are the tliciiu'.s I could wish to sin;;. T have
no dealer aim than to Imvc it in iii.v power. iiiii)liif;iied
with theroutiiieot'liiisiiicBs. for which. Heaven knows.
r am uiiHt ciioiijili, to makt' leisiivel.v i)il;;riiiia'4es
throiiKli Caledonia ; to sit on thi' llelds of her hattles.
to wander on the romuntic hiuiks of her liveis, aid
to muse li.v the statel.v towers or vi'iierahlc niins. once
the hoiioincd aliodes of her heroes, lint these are
I'topiaii thoii;ihts. /,(7?(C III .W;.v. l)iiiiliii>, IaHii-
hiiiiili, ■>->il MkivIi. 17s7.

- It was to this artist that liuriis sat tor the portrait
eii.iriavcd ill ('leech's edition, and since re|ieate<l .so
cifteii, that it must lie familiar to all readers. jNa-
sm.\th also ]>repaied a '■ahiiiet jiortrait of the iioet at
full leniith as he appeared in Ivlinhuruh, in the first
he.vda.v of his reputation; dressed in tif;ht .jockey
lioots, very ti.uht liiickskin liii'eches, accordiiin' to the
fashion of the day, and (.lai-ohite as he was) in what
was considered the '• Fox "-livery, viz., a blue coat
and liiitf waistcoiil, with broad blue stripes. The
sketch, an enuraviii',;- from which appi'ared as title-
pai;e to the tlist editions of l.ockharfs r.il'<', was said
by siiivivint; friends to be a very lively representa-
tion of the bard as In; lirst attracted public notice on
the streets of I'.diiiburuh.j

MI'K or liol'.KIM' Mlh'NS.

IJiini.t was t'.ir too Imsy wiili .-ociolv ami jii>l piililic i.-U'iin. In llic iiiiilst of iIhwo

iilworviition to fimi linu' I'or iioutifai coiniiosi- c'iii|iloyiiK'iit.>. wliicli voiir Hiliialioinvill render

lion, (Inrinw lii> iii-l ivsiilence in IMinl)>ii',irli. iiroper, yon will not, I hope, m/j^leet to ]ini.

Creeeh's edition inehided M>nie pieces ol irreal mole that esleeni. Ii.v enllivatiiii; your Renins,

merit, whieli liud not hecn previously printcil ; and allendinir to .sneh imxlnetions of it as may

lint, witli tiic L'Xecption of the '-Address to raise your ehiiraeter si ill hiuher. At the wime

Ide jiir lime, lie iioi in loo f:reat a hasle to come I'or-

Kdinli

Vlll

li I . eliiL'tlv remarUa

the ^'rand stanzas on tiie CaMle and IJolyrond. ward. Take time and leisnre to inijirove and

ilh whieli it eoneludes, all of these appear to niatuv<. your talent

for.

nil anv seeoni

1 pro-

ive

leeii w

ritten hefore he left Ayrshire, diieiioii yoii i;i\e the world, yonr late us ;i jioet

Sever.d of them, indeed, were very early ]■
dueti

\er\ miieh ileiieinl

Theri

IS. ini (

The most important additions Hei'e. a liIos.- of iiovclly whieh tinit

iir.

lolllit.
As

Death anil Doetor llorntmok," the " Hritrs you \ery properly hint yourself, yon are not

tlr

of .\yr.'
to the (■

■ Ordinaiion." and the '•Addre» to lie .siirprix'd if, in your rnral retreat, von

(inid.

In this edition also, do iioi find \'iiir'>ell' >nrronnded wiih that

When (Juilford i;nid i.iir Pilot, .stood," made ylaie of notice ami applause which here shone

first appearance, on readinj; which. I>r. iiponyi

HI man can lie a uooil poet w ithoni

Ulair littered his pithy criticism. •• linrns's lieinu sumewliat of a ]ihilosoplu'r. iii

niii>i

polities always smell of the smithy.

lay Ills acconiil. that any one who e.\pose>.

It ouuiit not to lie omitted, that our poet himself to pnlilic ohservat ion. will occasionally

liL'slowed ..e (if the first-fruits of this edition meet with the attacks of illilhial censure,

in the creetion of u decent tomhstone over the which ii is always host to overlook and despi.se.

iiilherto iiesieeted remains of his unfortunate lie will lie inclined sometimes to court retreat,

predecessor, Koliert Vernusson. in the Caii'.n- ami to disappear from ]iiildie view, lie will

fate ch

.rd.

not allecl to shine alwavs. that he mav al

The eveniiiji; liefore he (iiiitied Kdinlniriih. proper seasons come forth with more advanta,u;e

the jioet addressed a letter to Dr. lilii
which, taking'' a most respectful farew
livelv t

ami

lie

ill

not tliii

k h

•If

nil, and expressinj? in lively terms Ins sense were lilair> admonitions

if neirlected if he lie not alwtiys prai>ed
lihi

Sue

of nT.ititude for the kindness he h;id shown

he tl

Ills recurs

to I

lis own views of his

Ami |iart ua.-i IicmiiI. uml >.arl was li>st in air.

n piLst and future c litioii:---! have Hnrns had one oliject of worldly Inisiness in

often felt the embarrassment of my singular h

oiirnev ; namelv, to e.\amine the estate of

situation. However the meteor-like novelty Dalswiiiton, near Dumfries, the pro]irietor

of my aii]ieariiiice in tlie worhl miiiht attract
notice, 1 know very well that my iiiimist t
merit was far unequal to the task of preser\ini;
that character wlien once the noveltv wtis over.

lich had. on learniiiij; that the poet desitrneii

o retiM'ii

to I

lis oriunnal callin

exiiressed

siniiii; » ish to htive liiiii for his tenant.

I liavi

lade up

mind, tiuit aiiii.se, <ir

I (III till

.aiiic

elusion, the iMn't addressed l.^iid

• llciicaini ill tlicse tciiii
M.v Lord, I -.1

almost even neyleet, will not surprise me in my
(|iiarters." To this touehiiii; letter the iiinialde and allow uu- in vent tlie fulness uf my lieait in
Ulair replied in a truly paternal strain of eon- t'lankin;; vom l.,.nlsliiii for all that iiatiMna;:e, that
solation and advice: — " Your situation," si

(.■voleiii

av to-iiiorid\v niorniiiK eail.\

nd that frieinlsliiji, with which )oii

he, '"was indeed verv .siiu.nilar; vou luive had

to stand a severe trial
liave stood it .so well.

have liiiiiiiii:cd inc. With liriinfiil eyes I pray, that
yon iiia> lind in that (iiiat licinj;, whose iiiiajte yoi

lia]ipy tiljit you so n ilil,\ licar, tliat friind which I have fminil in you.

oil are now

presume, to retire to a more private wa

1
Ik of

lif^

You litive laid the foiimlati

My fiialitiide is not selllsli dcsiiiii that I disdain it
is not dud;.'ini; after the heels of (^n atiiess that is
an odViiiiu jou disdain. It is a feeling of the saiuu
kind with ni\ ilfvutinu. It. li."

(Isl of (liosi;
HI will roiidcr
irlcc't to jiro-

,v(pur KLMiiuH,
< of it UK niav

At tiiu Willie

to foiiii; lor-
iniprovo aiiil

sciMiiiij pro-

lillc lis ,'l pOfl

is. IK) iloiilti,

.ills oil'. As

voii arc not

I'd real, von

I wilh that

li liu'ic shone

jioet witlioiii

lie niusi

H lio I'XjiosCs

occaHionally
ral ci'iisiirf,
and (k'spisc.
ourt ivlrcai.
w. lie will

he may al
iv advantage
Ilk hiinsoll'
-t'(l. " Siii'li

st in air. I

liiisiiu'ss in
lio I'slale of
ropriclor of
Id d('sit,'nL'd
expressed a
lant.

(Ire.s.se(l l.^rnl

riiiiiK earl.N ;
iii.v licai't ill
liiiMa.v:e, that

1 Wllit'll JCIII

I |.ia.v, tliat
■ic iiiia^e .yii'i
iiaiiil ill .Villi.
I (li.S(laiii It
less tliat i.s
of the .'iaiiiu

LIFE UK UOUHltT IJUUNS. 71

OJIvXPTKi; VI.

IliuidLi ti.iii:— opUtle to Ofcdi :— rutuni to .Miiiulilliiu:-fav«auiil)ly rcculvid liy tlie .\riiioai»; 'ituiiis
to i;iliiilMii!.'li: West lll-liliiii(l tour; Hiirvicstoii Jmiriiey: StIrliiiK epiHiuiii: iiniiiovcil liy K'i"i''«iir of
scinirv, iVr.: visit to Kaiiisay of Oili lei tyre ; visit to .\lr,s. liruiu of ('liitkiiiiiiiiiaii ; iwrtlierii tour:
'i'liMiioiitli ; lllalr-Atliole; IiiveriiesM (Jonloii t'astli'; .Vlierdet'ii :- Htoiielmveii, iVc.;— ilii lilea on liikiii^:
till' iiii'iii of t;i I island ; Clarlndii: .lulnisiaiH Miikiiiih: ode to I'riliee ('lmrk'.s: (ivertiiriied in a loaili

,111,1 ciiilliicd til Ills ro fur six weeks; low spirits; .lean .\niio\ir awaiii ex|iiised to the repidiieluv* nf lier

fiiiiiily, aiil tiiriud out nf doors: lliiiiis seeiires shelter for her; applies for a post on the t.xei»e, and is
appollite.l settlement with Creeeli : lnan t" (lilliert. I

lluiiiHity iiiiil fuiniiiiH (VrtdiiiKoii,

liluil Kortli iiiiil Tiiy ii lift iil i:

V;irriiw ami T\v I tn iiinnii; ii tuur

'I'liril' SinlliUlil lIllK-.

Wliili Irviiii,', liUKiir, .\.vr, ami Diioii,
.Niiuliii'ly ulnys.

(In ilie mil of .May |17^7|, {{urns left Ivliii-
inii'uli in eoinpany with Mr. I'oliert Ainslic,'
son to .Mr. .Vinslio of Herrywoll, in Hurwiek-
sliiiv, with the desiifii of pcrainlinlatin.i,' the
pieliii'es(|iie seenerv of tliu soiillieni liorder.
and in parlieiilar of visitini^ the localities
iel"ln'atod Iiy the old niinslrels, id' whose
works he was a passionate admirer: ami of
whom, lpy the way, one of the last appears to
have iieeii all liut a namesake of his own.-

I Afterwards t'lerk to the Si^:iu't. Anion;; nther
elian^es " whieh lleetiiiKtiiiie proiiiretli.'thisaiiiialile
^eiitleiiiaii, whu.se youthful gaiety niadeliini aeliosen
assiieiate nf liiiins, is ( hielly known as the aiithnr of
all Kssay mi the t'.viileiiees nf ('hristiaiiity, and snine
devntiniial traets. | lie was linin in I'lid, wasadniitted
Writer tn the Signet in 17S!1, and died .\pril 11. IS'tS.j

•• Nieiill liiirn, siippo.sed to luivu lived towards the
ilipse of the Kith |i7th?| eeiitliry, and to have heeii
aninii^ the last of the itinerant ininsti'els. He is |said
tn he] the aiithnr of " Leader llaiiKhs and Varrow. " a
liathetie liallad, in the last ver.se of which his own
name and desi<;iiati(i|i are introduced.

Sin;; Ki'-!iiii,'tj>ii ami ( 'ir.vdc'iikiiuu I'S wlure lliiiniNliail ami'

I'tiiniiiamliii^',
\iiil Dr.VKiaii;;! , wi' tile iiiilk-wliiti' yuwrs, 'twi.\t Th iiil anil

hrailrr "laiiiliii;;.
Thuliir.l that lliis tliriiu;;li Ki-i'ilpatli trws, ami (Hi'iIswdihI

liaiik^, ilk iimrrow,
May . haiit ami niuti >»i'i't l.iadi-r llaii^'li>, ami tiniiny

ll->\\nl^ iif Varrnu.

Kut niiii>tivl i;iini lauiiiit asMiam lii.s Kiiif »liili.' lifu

rmlun-tli.
Til Mtt thu ilianni's nf this ap., thai tlrrtiiiH liine i.nu uitUi.
Knr iiiuiiy II ijlaiii ^talllla in hard eusf, whiTo blythu folk

kemi nao .lomw.
With lliinii"! that il\v(!lt on Li'ailir »iile, anil Siiitts that

ilwi'lt nn Varrnw.

|l)r. R. Chamliers says; "In an nlil coUeetion of
siiiiKs. ill tlieir nri-inal state of hallaiitx, T have seen
Ills name printed as 'Buriie the violer,' which seems
tn iiiiliiiiti- the instninieiit iipnii which he was in tlie

Tliirt was lonij hefore I lie lime when iho>e
fields of Scottish roinaiiee were lo he iiiaile
aceessilile to the curiosity of citizens liy sta.i;e-
eouehes; ami Ihinis and his friend pcrfornieil
their tour on hoiseliack, the foiniev lieiiii:'
mounted on a favourite mare, whom he had
named .leiiny (ieddes, in honour of the zealous
viran-o who threw her Ktool at the Dean of
IMinliiirirh's head, on the *JUd of .Inly, Iti^",
when the alteni|(t was made to introduce a
Scottish Liturijy into the service of St. (liles's;
the same trusty animal who.sc merits have
licen recorded hy IJuriis, in ;i letter which
must have heeii |iii/.zliim- to nmst modern
Scotsmen, hefore the days of Dr. .lainieson.^

Uurns pas.scd from lvlinhur;^h to Herrx well,
the residence (d' .Mr. .Vinslie'.s family, and
visited successively Dunse, Coldstream, Kelso,
I'Moor.s, and the ruins of I'o.xhuruh Castle,
where a holly hush still marks the spot on
which .lames 1 1. of .S'otland was killed hy the
linrstin.u; of a cannon ; .ledhurgh, where he
admired the "eharmiiiL; romantic situation of
the town, with >;ardens and orchards inter-
iniiii,ded ainoiii,'- the housesofaonci! inagnificenl
cathedral (ahliey);" and was struck (as in the
other towns of the .same district) with the

practice nf aceoiniianyiii;,' liin rocitutiiais. I was told
by an a^ed person at lOarlstoii, that there useil to he
a iMirtrait nf him in Tliirlstane Castle, represeiitiiii;
him as a dniice nld man, leading; a cow liy a straw-
nipe.' I

" '■ M> ;iiild ^'ail (;leyde o' a iiieere has Inichyalled
up hill and down lirae, as tenth and hiriiie as a
vera devil, wi' inc. It's true she's as poors a saii^-
maker, and as hard's a kirk, and tijiper-taipers when
she taks the Kate, like a lady's gentlewoii mi in a
minuwae, or a hen on a liet girdle; but she's- a yauld
poiitherin nirian for a' that. 'Wlien mice her riiiK-
hanes and sjiavies, her eiuiks and cramps, are fairly
siiii])led. sliu heels to, hoets to, and aye the hindmost
hour the tightest," ttc. itc— Letter to Win. Nicol,
Ili-Hi/itcs, p. -JS. [.See vol iv. p. 01. |

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

U;|28 |2.5

^ i^ 12.2

2.0

1.8

1.25 U,,.6

.4 6" ►

Photographic

Sciences

Corpomtion

23 WIST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. M5S0

(716)872-4S03

LIFE OF KOBERT BURNS.

appearance of "old nulc graiuk'ur," ami tlic
idleness of decay ; Melrose, " that far- famed
glorious ruin," Selkirk, Kttrick, and the Hraes
of Yarrow. Having spent three weeks in this
district, of whicJi it has been Justly said, that
"every lield has its battle, and every rivulet
its song," Hums passed th'i Border, and visited
Alnwick, Warkworth, .Morpeth, Newcastle,
Hexham, Wardrue, and Carlisle. lie then
turned northward>, and rode by .\nnan and
Dumfries to Dalswinton, where he examined
.Mr. Miller's i)ro])erty, and was so nuu-h pleased
with the .soil, and the terms on which the
landlord was willing to grant him a lease, that
he resolved to return again in the course of the
summer.

Dr. Currie has published soni'^ extracts from
the journal whicii Burns kept during this ex-
tursion, but they are mostly very trivial.' He
was struck with the .superiority of soil, climate,
and cultivation in Berwick and Koxburgh-
shires, as compared with bis native county;
and not a little surprised when he dine(I at a
Farmers' Club at Kelso, with the aiiparcnt
wealth of that order of men. " .\11 gentlemen,
talking of high matters — each of them keeps
a hunter from £30 to 1'50 value, and attends
the Fox-hunting Club in the county." The
farms in the west of Scotland are, to this day,
very small for the most part, and the far, ,ers
little distinguished from their labourers in their
modes of life; the contrast was doubtless
stronger, forty years ago, beiveen them and
their brethren of the l.othians and the .Merse.

The magistrates of, I edburiih ])re.scnted Burns
with the freedom of their town: he was un-
prepared for the compliment, and jealous of
obligation.s, stept out of the room, and made
an effort (of course an iueflectual one) to pay
beforehand the landlord's bill for the "riddle
of claret," which is usually presented on snch
occasions in a Scotch burgh.

The poet visited, in the course of his lour,
Sir James Hall of Dunglas, author of the well-
known Exsiii/ oil (lothir An-hihrtnrc, itc. ;
Sir .Me.xander aiul l/idy Harriet Don (daughter
to his patron, Lord (ilencairu), at Xewton-
Don; Mr. Brydone, the author of Tniri/.i
in Skihi; the amiable and learned Dr.
Somerville of Jedburgh, the historian of (^ucen

I [See the full Journal (if his "liordcr '\'i<\\\' in
Appendix.)

.\nne, &c. ; and, as usual, recorded in his
Journal his impressions as to their maimers
and characters. His reception was everywhere
most Haltering.

lie wrote no verses, as far as is known,
during this tour, exceiit a hunmrous epistle
to !::s bookseller, Creech, dated Selkirk, l:itli
.May. In this he makes complinienlary
allusions to .some of the men of lellcrs who
were used to meet at breakfast in Cieeeh's
apartments in those days — whence ihe name
of Cri'irli'x li nv; and loiicbes, too briclly. on
some of the scenery he had visited.

I'p wiiiipliii;; slatily 'I'hitiI I've sjiril.
.\licl IMt II sciiU'.-, on riystiil .led.
.\ii(l Ktli'ick liiiiilxM iidw I'liai'iiiK I'lil.

W liile tiiupcsts lilaw .

IJurns returned to .Maucliline on the Mb of
July. It is pleasing to imagine the delight
with which lie innsl have been received by his
family after the absence of six months, in
which his fortunes and ]irospects bad under-
gone .so wonderful a change. He left I hem
comparatively unknown, his lenderesl feelings
torn and wounded by ijie behaviour of the
.Vrinours, and .'^o miseralily poor, that he had
been for some weeks obliged lo skulk fnnn the
sheritr's oliicers, to avoid the payment of a
]ialtry debt. He returned, his pdclical fame
established, the wliole counlry riiigiiiu' with
his praises, from a cajiital in which he was
known to have formed the wniidcr and delight
of till jiolitc and the learned; if mil rich, yel
with more money already lliaii any of his
kindred had ever lioiied to see him possc'^s,
and with prospects of future jiatronage and
permanent elevalion in the scale of society,
whicii might have da/./lcd steadier eyes than
those of nialerual and fraternal alleclion. The
](roiiliel had at last honour in his own counlry:
but tlie haughty sjiirit that had ])reserved its
balance in Ivlinbiirgh, was not likely lo lose
it at .Mauchline; and we hav"; him willing
from Xhconlil clnii lilijijin' on Ihe iMli of. Inly,
ill terms as slroiigly exjiressive as any liial
ever came from his pen. of that ji'alous pride
which formed the groundwork (diiis characler;
that dark suspiciousness of I'nrtune. which the
sul)se(|ueiit course of bis history too well Justi-
fied; that nervous intolerance of condescension,
and consuniinale scorn of meanness, which at-
tended him through life, ami made I he .-iiuly

hIb'E UF liOlJKHT BUKN'S.

iif his >iioi-ics, tor whidi niiUire had >,'iveii liiin
siicli txinKirilinary (iiuilifications, tlie source
nt'inon; iiain lliaii was ever (.•oimtfrlialamxMl In-
tlu'cx(inisitet'aiiai'it.,vl'orcn.j()yinent wit li which
lie was also endowed. Tliere are few of lii.s
loiters ill which more of" the dark places of his
si)irit come to liuht: — " I never, my friend,
thouitht mankind capalilc of anythinir very
Mcncrous; liut the ^tateliness of the iiatricians
of Ivlinlmruh. and the servility of my plelieian
lirethrcii (who. i>erhai>s, formerly eyed me
askance), since 1 returneil iiome, have nearly
iiiit nic out of conceit, altoifetiier with my
s|iccies, 1 have houirht a pocket .Milton,
which I carry jierpctually aliont me. in order
to sillily the .sentiments, the dauntless mat;-
iianimily, llie intrejiid unyieldini; in(le]iend-
ence. the desi)erate darimr, and noldc deliancc
of har<l>liip. in that sreat iiersonaufc — Satan.
. . The many ties of aciiuaintance and

j'ricndslii]! I have, or think I have, in life, I

have felt alonij the lines, and, d n tiiem,

they are almost all of them of such frail tex-
ture, that 1 am sure they would not stand the
breath of the least adverse hree/.c of fortune. " '

.\niom; those who, havinj? formerly "cyetl
him askance," now ai)|ieared suHiciciitly ready
to court his society, were the family of .lean
.\rmour. Hnrns'.s aflei'tion for this lieautifiil
youn;i; woman had outlived his resentment of
her comidiance with her father's commands in
the jirccedinu; summer; and from the time of
this rccdiiciliation, it is prohahlc he always
looked forward to a permanent union with the
mother of his children.

Hums at least fancied himself to he Inisy
with serious plans for his future estahlishment;
and was very naturally disposed to avail liiin-
self, as far as he could, of the opportiiniti-js of
travel and observation, wiiich an interval of
leisure, destined probably to be a short one,
luijrht jiresent. Moreover, In .spite of liis
jllooiny lanituas^e, a specimen of which lia.s
just been (|uoted, we. are not to doubt tliat
he derived much i)leasure from witnessimc
the extensive jiopularity of jiis writinsjjs, ami
from the Hatterins? homaije he was sure to
receive in his own person in the various dis-
tricts of his native country; nor can any one
wonder, that after the state of lii,u:h excite-
ment in which he had spent tlic winter and
' ll.cttcr to William .Mcol, .Iiniu 18, 1V87.1

sprinir, lie, fond as he was of his family, and
calmer to make them partakers in all his irood
fortune, sliouhl have, just at this time, found
himself incapable of sittinu; down eontente;'.ly
for any considerable period together in so
humble and (piiet a circle as that of Mossiriel.

His ajjpetite for wandering appears to have
Iteen only sharpened by his Horder excursion.
After remainiiiLr a few days at lionie, he re-
turned to Kdinl)iiru;li, and thence he jiroceeded
on anotlier short tour, by way of Stirlintf, to
Inverary, and so back a.i:;aiii, by Dumbarton
and (ilas^ow, to .Mauchline.- Of this second
excursion, no journal ha.s been discovered ;
nor do the extracts from his correspondence,
printed by Dr. Currie, ai)pear to be worthy
of much notice. In one, he briefly describes
i^the West lliirhlands as a country "where
.savai,'e streams tumble over savage mountains,
thinly overs])read with savage flocks, which
starvingly sup|iort as .savage inhabitants;"
and in another, he gives an account of .leniiy
<!eddes running a race nj'tir (/inner with a
Highlander's jiony — of dancing and drinking
till sunri.se at a gentleman's hou.sc on Loeh
Lomond; and of other similar matters. — "I
have as yet," says he, ''fixed on nothing with
respect to the serious business of life. I am,
just as usual, a rhyming, mason-making,
raking, aimle.ss, idle felh.' However, I

shall somewhere have a farm soon."

In the course of this tour, IJurns visited
the mother ami sisters of his friend (iavin
Hamilton, then residing at Ilarvicston, in
(-'lackmannanshire, in the immediate neigh-
bourhood of the magnificent scenery of Castle
Campbell and the vale of Devon.'' He was

-I'l'his iii.vstcriciiis Wi'st iriuhlaiKl joiiincy, which
lias liceu iciuiiccti'il with his fccliiijrs lOKarcliiiK the
liiti'ly (Icccasi'il " IliKliliincl Mary," wns uiuleitiikeii
ahiiut the ciul of .liciic. We tll'st lliid hini wiitinj;
thf wi'U-kiiDWu ijiijiiaiii on the window of the inn
at IriviTary, tint the mute by which he reached that
lilacc is certainly nnkiiowii. He wrote to lto1)crt
Ainslio from Armcliar on .Iiine tis. and to .lanics
Smith on the Moth— to the latter dcscrihiiiK amouK
other thing's the race mentioned in the text-and
returned to Arauchline liy Dumbarton and Paisley.
It has lieen said that at nnmliartou he was pulilicly
entcit»ine(l iiiid iircscntcd with the freedom of the
town, lint no record of such an event has come to
liKlit.l

•' ITIniv is a consiiU'ralilc anumnt of confiisinn in

this part of I.ockliart, partly caused no doulit hy a

' slip of the memory on the part of Dr. Adair, w. o

lAFE OF IIUBKUT BUKNS.

esiici-iiilly tlclishtcd with one of tlic yoiin.i,'
ladies;' iuul, accord i Hi? to Iiis usual custom,
celoliratcd licr in u sonj,', in wliicii, in opposi-
tion to his usual custom, there is nothing hut
the respectfulness of admiration.

Ilcw iilcasiint tliu lianks of the clear wiinliii};
Di'Von. Ac.

At llarviestonhaiik, also, the jjoot first he-
came acquainted with Miss Chalmers, after-
wards Jlrs. Jlay, to whom one of the most
interesting series of iiis letters is addressed.
Indeed, with the exception of his letters to
.Mrs. Dunlop, there is. perha])s, no part of his
corres])ondencc which may he (juoted so uni-
formly to his honour.

It was on this expedition, that having hccn
visited with a, high flow of .lacohitc indignatioi;,
while viewing the neglected i)alace at Stirling,
he was imprudent enough to write some verses,
bitterly vituperative of the reigning fanuly, on
the window of his inn. The verses were copied
and talked of; and although, the ne.xt time
Mums passed through Stirlmg, he him.self
liroke the pane of glass containing them, they
were remcmhercd years afterwards to his dis-
advantage, and even danger. The last coujilet.
alluding, in the coarsest style, to the melan-
choly state of the King's health at the time,
was indeed an outrage of which no political

was Burns's compnniDii on liis bccoikI visit to Har-
vieston, nn<l wlio coiiununicated tletails to Cunie in
179!), givi ig, however, tliu date .August instead <if
Ot*(ilier. Tlie first Ilnrvieston visit is liere made

prejudice could have nuulc a gentleman n\i-
prove: Itut he, in all jirobahility, com]iosed
his verses after dinner; and surely what
liurns would fain iiave undone, others should
have heen not unwilling to forget. In this
ca.se, too, the jtoetry "smells of the .-niiih's
shoj), " as well as the sentiment.

.Mr. Dugald Stewart has ju'onounced 15urn»'-
ei>igrams to he, of all his Avritings. the lea>i
worthy of his talents. Those which he coni-
po.sed in the course of his tour, on Itcing
refused admittance to sec the iron-works ai
(.'arron, and on finding himself ill-sorved at
the inn at Inverary, in conscciuence of the
Duke of .Vrgyle's having a large party at the
Castle, form no exceptions to the rule. He
had never, we may suppose, met with the
famous recipe of the .lelly-l)ag Clult; and
was addicted to beginning with the jjoint.

The young ladies of IIarvie>t(Ui were, ac-
cording to Dr. Currie, surprised with th<'
calm manner in which Murns contemplated
tiieir fine scenery on Devon-water; and the
doctor enters into a little dissertation on the
sul>jcct, showing, that a man of liurns's
lively imagination, uiight jirohatily have
formed anticipations which the i-ealities of
the ])rosiiect might rather disap|)oint. This is
jMissihle enough ; hut I suppose few will take
it for granted that Hums surveyed any scenes
cith.'r of heauty or of grandeur without emo-
tion, merely hecau.se he did not choose to he
ecstatic for the benefit of a conipany of young
hulies. lie was indeed very impatient of

ail uiiisode in tlie noitlierii tour of .Viigiist: wliile tlie
second ten-days' visit to t'laeliiiianiiaiisliire is made
to talve place iiniiiedlately liefore tlie iiortlierii tmir
instead of in the month of Oetolier follow inc. 'I'lie
proper order will lie seen from the following Lum-
inary:— Burns set out for the north in company with
Xicol on 25111 August, ITsT. They arrived at .'<tiiliiiK
on Sunday afternoon, 2(!th August, when the olfeiisive
verses mentioned in the text were written on the inn
window. On the Monday he left Nieol and visited
(Javiu Hamilton's friends at Harviestoii, returning
to Stirling in the evening, whence they set out for
the north next morning. Tlie travellers returned to
Edinburgh on Septenilier lOth, after three weeks'
alisence, and it was not till Octoher (Dr. Adair at this
time being his travelling companion) that he revisited
.Stirling and Harvieston, when he took the ojipor-
tuiiity of destroying the pane of glass confalnliig the
olmoxiuus epigram.]

' It'liarlotte Hamilton, half-sistertoOavin Hamilton
and afterwards married to Dr. Adair.)

pa.t of the West Highland tour of .lune instead of ; interruption on such oce.vsions. 1 have heard.

that riding one dark night near Carroii, his
com])anion teased him with noisy exclamations
of delight and wonder, whenever an opening
in the wood permitted them to see the magni-
ficent glare of the furnaces: — " Look. I}urnsl
(iood Heavens I look! look I what a glorious
sight!" — '"Sir," said Btirns, clapping spurs to
Jenny (icdde.s, " I would not Ion/:.' look! at
your bidding, if it were the mouth of hell !"

Hums spent the month of July at ]Mo.s.sgiel ;
and .Mr. Dugald Stewart, in a letter to Currie,
gives some recollections of him as he then
appeared.

"Notwithstanding the various reports 1
heard during the preceding winter, of liums's
predilection for convivial, and not very .select
society, I should have concluded in favour of

j.ii'K OK h'oBKirr iiruNs.

Ills liiilntsofsdln'iciy from nil nf him that, evoi-
tV'll tiiidor my (iwn oliscrvatioii. Ili' told mo,
indeed, liimsclf, that the weakness of lii-
»t(iniaeh was .*ueh as to deiu'lve him eiilirely
(if any merit in his teni]>eranee. 1 was, how-
ever, somewiiat, ahirmed aliout tiie efleet of iiis
now eomparatively sedentary and liixurions
life, wlicn he eonfesscd to me. the first, niulit,
lie spent, in my house after iiis winier's cam-
|iai,i?n in town, that lie hail lieen miieli dis-
inriied when in l)e<i, l>y a iialiiitation at liis
heart, wliieh, he said, was a complaint to
wiiieli he iiad of late become suliject.

•' In the course of the same season I was led
liy curiosity to attend for an hour or two a
masonic Iodide in .Mauchline, where iiuriLs
presided. Ho had oeeasion to make some
^liort unpremeditated c(unidiments to dillerent
iudividiials, from whom he had no riirlit to
cNpeet a visit, and everytliinii he said was
happily conceived, and forciMy as well as
lluently e.vpressed. His maniu'r of s])eakinL;-
in pid)lie had evidently the marks of some
practice in e.xtenipore elocution. " '

In .\iif;ust |(»ctolierl,'-' Burns revisited .'^tir-
liunshire, in eoni]iany with Dr. .\tlair. of
llarrowjtatc, and remained ten (hiy^^ at llar-
vicston. He was received with ]iartieular
kindness at Oehteriyiv. on the Teiili. l>y .Mr.

1 It was at this time, 1 lidicvc. tlmt liiirns iiiditcil
ii lively I'lijiy of verses, which have never yet (\>i',t)
lieeu priTiteil, and which I tlml iiitrniliieeil with the
f.illnwii!;! nieinoraniliiin, in a small cnllectinii of
MSS., sent liy the poet to l.inly H, Don, • Mr.
Chalmers, a Kentleman in Ayrshire, a iiiutieuhir
frieml of mine, asked me to write a imetical epistle
to a yoiinj; lady his ilaleinea, I had seen her, liut
was scarcely acquainted with her. and wrote as fol-
lows:"

M A II \ M ,

Wi' liriiH ni'»- liiMiil<s in inii kti'i>ricl

Aiitt fki' ;i Iir;i\v new lin-rlian,
My iV'u:isus I'm Kot astriile.

Anil up I'iiniiissus ipccliiir;
WliilcH own? a Imsti wi' dnwiiwani i-ni>!i,

Tlioiliiiti'd liea-tie Ftaiiinii'is;
Thi'ii u|> 111' Kits, and utriie M'tv,

Kcirnakeo' Willi,: Chithiu i-».

I dinilit iia, lass, lliat wed kenned n.iiiii-

May enst a pair "' ^plu^ll(■s;
I am nan straiiKiT te your fame,

Ner his warui-uriifd wislies.
ViMir licinnic fair sae iiiild and swiit.

Mis lioiiest lu'art I'liaiuours,
.Anil faitli yell no lie Inst a wliit.

Till)' waiiid nil iri»iV fVm/iiii ■■«.

Iln,' i.i'O liri.ll.^
l„.t..' o. ar

M.i|.i.l

ii|>fUt

jHeu the rest of the |ioein in its |jlaee in this edition,
2 [See note ahove p 7.'<. 1

I Itamsay (a frieml of lilai'klock), whose lieauti-

fiil retreat he enthiisiastieally admireil. His

host was amonir the last of that old Scottish

line of i,atinists, whieli Ite^an with IJuelianan,

and, I fear, may bo said to have ended with

(ireiiory, .Mr. liamsay, amonu; other eecen-

, tricitics. had sprinkled the walls of his house

' with i.atin inseriiitions. some of tliem hiehly

eleirant ; and those particularly interested

IJiirns, who asked and obtained copies and

I translations id' them. This amiable man

I (whose manners and residence were not, f take

I ii. out of the novelist's reeolleetion when he

I painted Monkbarns) was deeply reiul in Scoi-

! tishanti<|iiities. and theauthorof some learned

essays on the older poetry of his country. His

eonver.sation must have delitrlited any man of

! talents; and Hums and lie were mittually

j charmed with each other, Itamsay advised

I him slronuly to turn his attention to the

roniantic drama, and ]iroposed the "(leiiile

."shepherd " as a model : he also urwd him to

write '•Seotiisli (ieori^ics," ob.serviiij;', that

Thomson had by no means e.xliaustcd that field.

lie appears to have relished both hints.

'•Hut." says .Mr. 1!., •' to have e.xcented either

j plan, steadiness and abstraction from company

I were wantinjr. "

I " I have been in the comiiany of many men
, of lyenius (writes .Mr. h'amsay), .some of them
; i)()ets; but 1 never witnessed sueii fla.shes of
intellectual brightness as from him, the im-
pulse of the moment, sparks of celestial fire.
I never was more delighted, therefore, than
with his company two days Irlc-a-fi'fc. In a
mi.\ed company I should have made little of
him ; for, to use a gamester's phra.se, he did
not know when to play ofV and when to play
on,

•' When I iLskcd him wliotlier the Kdinburgli
literati had mendod his jjoems by their criti-
cisms — -Sir.' said he. 'those gentlemen remind
mc of some spinsters in my country, wlio spin
their thread so fine, that it is neither fit for
weft nor woof."

.Vt Claekmannan Tower, the poet's Jaeobit-
ism i)roeureil him a hearty welcome from the
ancient lady of the place, who gloried in con-
sidering herself as a lineal descendant of K'obert
Uruce. She bestowed on Hums what knight-
hood the touch of the hero's sword could con-
fer; delighted liim by giving as her toast after

LIFE OF l{OHKirr jn'ltNS.

iliniicr, J/on/ii iinms ' — ■• uwav straiiirersi " uiiil
when lie woiilil have kissed her hand at i>art-
in.ir, insisted on a warmer sahite, sayin.ir.
"What ails liiee at my lips, K'oImm?" At
l)iinf> line the jioct lielrayed deeji emotion,
Dr. Adair tells us, on seein.i; the j:rave of the
Hruec; hut passin,' to another mood on cnler-
ins; the ailjoinimt ehiin-h, he mounted the
pulpit, anil addressed hiseomjianions. who had,
at his desire, aseended the r ill tii •■■<>< ml, in a
jiarody of the rrlmh' which he had himself
uiuleriTone some time before at Mauehline.

From J)unferndine. the ]ioet crossed the
Frith of Forth to Fdininiruh ; and forthwith
set out vith his frieml Nieol on a more ex-
tensive tour than he liaii as yet iniderlakeii,
or was ever atjain to undertake.- Some frai;-
ments of his journal have recently iieen dis-
eovered. ami are now in my hands; so that I
m:iy hope to add some particulars to the
iiecount of Dr. Curric. The travellers hired a
past-ehaisc for their expedition — the iliirh
School master beinir, ])rol)al)ly, no very skilful
C(|uestrian.

"Auirusi -i.-.th. 1787.— This day.' says
iJurns, " I leave Jvlintmrgh for a tour, in
comiiany with my t^ood friend Mr. Micol,
w'.iose oriirinality of humour promises me
much entertainment. — Llii/t//iijow — A fertile
iiniiroved country is West Lntl'ian. The more
eleiranec and luxury anujii^ the fanners, 1
alwiiy.s ob.scrvc, in ecpuil proportion, the rude-
ness and stupidity of the I'uasantry. This
remark 1 liave made all over the J,othians,
Mcr.sc, Ifoxhurgh. &c. ; and for this, anioiif^
other rea.sons, I think that a nuin of romantic
taste, 'a man of feelinjr,' will be better ])Ieased
with the poverty, but intelliKcnt minds, of
the peasantry of .Vyrshire (peasantry they are
all below the justice of jioacc), than the opu-
lence of a club of Merse farmers, when he, at
the same time, considers the Vandalism of
their ploujrli-folks, &e. I carry this idea so
far, that an unindosed, unimproved country,
is to me actually more airrceable as a pros])cct,
than a country cultivated like a irarden."

It was hardly to be expected that liobert
Uurns should have estimated the wealth of

1 A slieplici'tl's cry when strnnse slieep niiuelu in :
tl'.'- Mock [here iilliiilins; of course to the reiuiiiiijj l
(lynastyl.

•-' (See note ;i, II. 7:?.l

nations entirely on llie principles of a political
economist.

<»f l,inlithf;ow, he says, "the town carriis
the a])pearance of rude, decayed, idle firandenr
— charmingly rural retired situation — the old
lioyal Talacc a tolerably tine, but melanclndy
ruin — sweetly situated by the brink of ii loch.
.Shown the ro<un where the beautifid injured
^Mary (Jueeii of Scots was born. .\ jurtiy
good old (iolliic church — the infannuis stool
of repentance, in the old I'omish way, on a
lofty sitinition. What a ])oor pimiiing business
is a Presbyterian idaee of worship! dirty, nar-
row, and s(|u;ilid, stuck in ii corner of old
l*oi)ish LO'andeur. such as Linlithi;ow, ami
much more. .Melrose I Ceremony and show,
if judiciously thrown in. are absolutely neces-
sary for the bulk of nnmkind, both in relijrious
and civil matters."

.\t Hainiockburn he writes as follows:
'• Here no .Scot can ](ass uninterested. I fancy
to myself that I see my gallant coiintrynn-n
coming over (he hill, ami down upon the
plunderers of their country, the murderers of
their fathers, noble revenge and just hale
glowing in every vein, striding nmreatul more
eagerly as they apjiroai'h the oppressive, in-
sulting, blooilthirsty foe. I sec them meet
in glorious triumjihant congratulation on the
vict(n"ious field, exulting in their heroic royal
lea<ler, ami rescued liberty and independi iice."''

Hero we have the germ of Hurns's famous
"(»(le on (he Maitle of Hainiockburn."

At Taymouth the jouroiil merely has
" tlescrlij.il ill r/ii/iii'." This alludes to the
"verses wri'ten with a jiencil over the numtlc-
piece of the jarlour in the inn at Kenmore;"
.some of which arc among his Ixv-t purely
English heroics —

I'lpctic iLicldurs in my liosdiii swell,

I.iiiie waiiileihiK liy the liennit s iims.sy cell ;

The sweeping theatre nf liniininK wimhIs;

The lneeh»ant inar (if lieii(l|iiii>;-tunililiii^' lluuils

•■'In the lust wonls of Ihuns s note iilxive (luotiil.
he iierhaim u'huices at a lieautiful trait of cihl liailiniii-.
where he desiribes liruie s .suldiers as (|dwilii!«
riiund liini at tlie cduelusiuii of cme of his hard-fought
day.s, witli as much curio.sity as if they had nevi r
Been his person hefoie.

.sic «l^rlIs s|ak they cif ttii'ir kiuf;;
Ami f.ir Ills liii- uinlirlukiiit;
Firliyit mill .viTuit liiin fur to soi'.
Tlmt witli liiin iiy wiis \v<iiit to Ihi.

LiFi': or JiuuKirr bluns.

lliii' roi'W ininlit waki! liiT licttveii-tniiKlit lyic.
Mill liHik tlir«'ii;.'li Natiiif witli t ruiitive tiro . . .
Ill ri'. t'l tlie wmiiKH cif Fiitu liiilf-ivioiiriliil,
Misfiiitiiiii's liKlitrn (I .stc|ps iiiinlit wiiiiiUt wild ;
And DisiiiPlMiintriii'iit, hi tlii'su Iciiu'l.v ImpiukIs,
I'iiiil lialiii to sciiitlif her liitter laiikliiij,' winincls;
llt'if lioaifstnick (Irlff iiiijilit luavciiwnril stictcli

lii'l' sraii.
And iiijmvil W Oitli forni-'t i""! liaiilm in

(If (ilciil.voii \\v have 111 iiii'iiniiaii(liim : —
•Druid's U'iniik'. tlirco ciivles ol' stinios. tlie
.iiilcnnii-t sunk; tlicsci-onil 1ms tliirtcon stunt's
niiiainiii;;-: tlic innermost i-iirlit; two laru:o
(Uliiii'iied oni's lilie ii ixtw to the soulli-eust —
.<i(il jiriiii' /••■< /'/' ''•

His notes on Duiikuld and IJiair of Atliolo,
are as follows :—•' />(Oi/v/(/ — Hreakfast, with
Dr. Smart — Neil (low i)Iays; ii sl-ort. stoiit-
liiiilt, llidiland tij,'iire, with his Ki"ayi>h liair
.-slied on liis lionest social lirow-an interestinii
faee. marked stronn' sense, kind o])eiiheavled-
iiess, mi.\ed with unmistriistinu' simplieity —
visit his liouse — .Marnaret (Jow. — Ffltln/i —
riile lip Tiimiml river to Mlair. I'aseallv, a
lieMiilifut romantic nest — wild s;raiideiir of the
pass of Killieerankic — visit the iralhint Lord
Dinidee's >tone. ' lUnlr --snji with the Dueiiess

lasy and happy, from the manners of that
family — eonlirmed in my unod o])inion of my
friend Walker. — Sulin-ilini — visit the si'enes
loinl Blair— line, lint sitoilt with had taste."

I'rofessor Walker, who, as Ave lii'vc .seen,
formed Hnrns's aeiinaintanee in Kdinltnr,;:li,
throuirh Mlaekhn'k. was at this period tutor in
the family of .\lhole, a. d from him the follow-
iiiu; imriicnlars of Biirns's reeeption at the seat
of his nolile patron aiv derived. " I had often,
like others, e.xpi'rieneed the ]ileasures which
arise from the sulilime or elegant landscape,
hut I never saw those feelinirs so inten.sc iis in
IJurns. When we reaidied a rustic hut on the
river Tilt, where it is overhnnir liy a woody
preciiiice. from which there is a nolile water-
fill, he threw himself on the heathy seat, and
i^ave himself u]i to a temler, ahstracted. ami
volu]iliious enthusiasm of imagination. It was
with much dilliculty 1 prevailed cm him to ipiit
this sjiot. ami lo he introduced in jiroper time
to supper.

'■ He .seemed at once to jierccivc and to ap-
preciate what was due to the company ami to

' It is unt true that this stone marks the spot where
IMmkIi'c rceeiveil his (leath-wouiid.

liimself, and never to for:;et a proper respect
for the separate species of di^'iiity lielonifim;
to each, lie did not arrogate conversation;
hut when led into it. lie spoke with ea^e. pro-
priety, and manliness. Jle tried to exert liis
ahilities. because he knew it was ability alone
gave him a title to he there. The dnke's fine
young family attracted much of hisathniratioii;
lie drank their healths as hoiieM men ninl Ikhuiji
liissis, an idea which was much a]iplauded by
the comiiany. and with which he has very
felicitou-ily closed his jioem.

" Ne.xt day 1 took ii ride with him through
some of the nmst rennirkalile jiarts of that
neighbourhood, and was highly gratified by his
conversation. As a s]iecimcn of his hap])iness
of concejition. and strength of c.\]iression, I
will mention a remark which he made on his
fellow-traveller, who was walking at the time
a few jiaces before us. lie was a man of a
roliust, but clumsy person ; and, while IJurns
was expressing to luc the value he entertained
for him. on account of his vi'.;orous talents,
although they were clouded at limes by coarse-
ness of manners; 'in short.' he ailded, "his
mind is like his body, he has a confounded
strong in-knee"d sort of a soul."

[Walker in his JJ/<' n/ Jiiinix remarks; —
"The ill-regulated temjier and manners of
.Mr. Nicol jirevented IJurns from introducing
him to scenes where delicacy and self-denial
were .so much recpiired. He was therefore
left at the inns, while the poet was regaling
in the higher circles: an indignity which his
proud and untracfablc spirit couhl with dilti-
culty brook. At Atholc liouse his impatience
was sus))emled by engaging him in his favour-
iio amusement of angling. ']

'■.Much attention was jiaid to IJurib both
before and after the duke's return, of which
he was perfectly .sensible, without being vain;
and at his departure 1 reeommendcd to him.
as the most approjiriate return he could make,
to write some descri]>tive verses on any of the
scenes with which he had been so much de-
lighted. After leaving Blair, he. by the
duke's advice, visited the Kails of Hriiar;
and in a few days I received a letter from
Inverness with the verses inelo.sed. " '-

- The liaiiks of the liruar, wliose naked condition
ealleil fortli ''the humble jiotltion," to whieli Mr.
Walker tlni.s refers, liave, shiee those days, been

LIFE OK JtOlJKlM" nilJNS.

At, JUair, IIiuiin (irsi met witli .Mr. (iniliaiii
i>( Fiiitrv, ii f;'!"tli^''>'i>" to whoso kimlness ho
was aflorwaids iiitlobtod on more tliaii oii'j
iiiilMirtaiil ocoasioii; and .Mr. Walker o.\]iro.><si's
urcat. ref^rol thai, ho did not remain a (hi.v or
two more, in whi<di ease lie must have been
inlrodueed to Mr. Diinihis, afterwards Viseount
.Melville, who was then Treasurer ol' the Navv.
and had the ehiel' manayeniont of the ailairs of
Seollaiid. Thiscminent statesman was, thoiiirh
little addieted to literature, a warm lover of hi
country, and in^reneral, of whatever redounded
to her honour; he was, moreover, very espoei-
ally (|ualifiod to ai)iireeiate I5urns as a com-
]ianion; jind, had siu'li an introdiietion taken
]ilaec, he mi<{ht in>l imiirolialdy have been in-
(iueed to bestow that eonsideration on the
eiainis of the poet, whieh, in the aliseneo of
any personal ae(|uaintanee, Hurns's works
cui.u:ht to have rceeivod at ills iiands.

From iJlair, Burns passed "many miles
throujih a wild eountry, anioni; elifls ;::ray with
eteriuii snows, and irloomy savage jziens, till
he ero.sscd S]iey ; and went down the stream
throuffli Strathspey (so famous in Seottish
musle), Hadenoeh, &e., to (Jrant Castle, where
he si)ent half a day with Sir James (irant;
erossed the eountry to Fort (ieorf,'e, but ealled
by the way at Cawdor, the ancient .scat of
Afaebeth, where he saw the identieal bed in
whieh, friii/l/luii shi/k. Kini^ Dnnean was
murdered; lastly, from ForttieorKo to [nver-
nes.s."»

I'rom Inverness, Burns wont alonu; the
.Moray Fritii to Foehabei-s, lakin.i; Cullodcn
.Muirand lirodie House in Jiis way.-

wt'll larud for, and the river in Ha jiruseiit statu
loiild luive no prete-xt for tlio i)rayer~-

J.ct lofty firs, 1111(1 ;ib1ics couI, my lowly liiinks o'ur-si.ri'ml,
.\ii(l view, doip-ljumliiiK in tliu inxil, tlicir sliiidows' w;iti'ry

lii'd ;
l.vt fnigriuit bilks, in wu(«lliiiie» dri'st, my ora;,'j;y ilifTs

iiclorn.
Ami fur the little toiiBi-tcrii iiest, tlie ulosc-cmlniHeriiit,-

tliuni.

1 Letter to tiilbert 13urn.s, Eilinliurgli, ITtli Due.

1V37.

- (Extract frorii Jminial.)— Thursday, Caiiiu ovur
CuUodun Miiir rufluutioii on tliu fluid of battle—
breakfast at Kilriiiuk |tliu local pidnuiiuiationof Kilra-
vock|--oId Afrs. Rosu— sturliii;; sense, warm liuait,
Ktront; pa.ssioii, honest iiride— all to an unconiiiioii
dejtree - a true chieftain's wife— daiishterof C'luphanu
—.Mrs. Rose, jun., a little milder than the mother,
[icrhaps owind to her beinp .vonnuer- two yoiuiR

••Cross Spey to Foelialicrs — fine palace.
worthy of the noble, the pidite, and yeneroii»
pro|iriotor. — Tho iluke nuikes me hap]iier
than over fjreat man did; nonle. prin<-el\.
yet mild, eondeseemlinjr, and alliili'o- ua\
and kind. The dnehoss ehannin>r, witt\.
kind, and sensible — (iod bless them."

Burns, who had been much noticed by llii>
noble family when in '•'.dinburuh, haiipened to
present himself at (Jordon Castle just at the
dinner hour, and being invited to lake his
]d,ice at tho table, did so, without for a
moment adverting to the eircumstain'o that
his iravelling com|ianion had been left alone
at the inn. in the adjacent villaue. (»n re-
nuMubering this soon after dinner, ho begged
to be allowed to rejoin iiis friend; and the
Duke of (iordon, who now for the lirst tinii'
learned that he was not journeying alone,
immediately pr< ;" od to send an Invitation in
.Mr. Nicid to come to the castle. His grace'.-
messenger found the haughty sehoolma>tcr
striding up and down before the inn-door
in a sl;ite of high wrath and indignation, al
j what he I'onsiderod Burns's neglect, and no
I apologies eould soften his mood. He had
already ordered horses, and the poet findini;
that he must chose between the ducal einle
and his irritable associate, at once left (iordon
Castle, and rejiaired to the inn; whence Nicol
and he, in silence and mutual di.-]deasnre.
pursued their j(.uriiey along tho coast of the
.Moray Frith. This incident may servo to
suggest some of the annoyance- to which
persons moving, like our ]poet, on the de-
batable land between two ditrerent ranks of
society, must over bo subjected. To play the
lion under sueh circumstances, must be difli-
etilt at tho best; but a delicate bnsine-s in<leed,
when the jackals are jiresumptnons. This
pedant could not stomach the superior success

ladies— Miss Ko.su suiik two (iacdic songs -buautifnl
and lovely- .Ml.s.s .Sophy I'.r.nlic, not very beautiful,
but most agrecablu and amiable both of them the
Uentloot, mildest, sweetest cieatmus on uaith, and
happinuss bu with them! Hi<idic House to liu Mr.
li. truly polite, but not (|Uitu thu I!i.u'hland cordiality.
— I'rldaji, cro.ss the Kindhorn to Koirus - famous
stone at Forres Mr. ISrodiu tells niu the iiiilir where
.Shakespeare lays Afaubeth's witch-meetiiiK is still
lijinnted— that the country folks won't pass throiinh
it at niKht.— A7(/i'ii— venerable ruins of the abbey, a
Rrander effect at first ulanee than Melrose, but
nothiiiK near so beantifuL

\A\i-: or KoiJKK'T jjruNs.

tif Ills iVienil — mill .vet, iila.s lor liiiinaii iialiire!
In' itTtaiiily waH one of the most eiitliiisiastic
,,|' liis ailmircrs, and one of tlie most alfeetion-
aic of all Ills intimates. The alirid^iment of
liiirii>'s visit at (loriion Castle "was not only,"
siys Mr. Walker, "a mortifying (lisappoint-
nient. but in nil probability a serious mislor-
(iine; as a longer stay amon;^ persons of sueh
inlluenee minl't '"iive bc.iiot a permanent inli-
luiu'V, and on their parts, an aetive eoneern for
his future ailvancemenl."' Hut this tiuieiies
(in a subject which we eannot at present pause
III consider.

A (cw days after leaviii'.;' Fochabers. 15urn>
tran>niil(ed to (Jordoii Castle his ackiiowledn'-
uiciii of the hospitality he had received from
ilic Miible family, in the stanzas -

.'Streams lliat i;liilc in oiUiit plains.
Never bound liy winter's eliains. iVe.

TJic duchess, on hearing; them read, said she
supposed they were Dr. Ueattie's, and on
learninu; w'lose they really were, e.xpressed
lier wish tiial Hums inid celebrated Cordon
Cattle in his own dialect. The verses are
anion.n' the jioorest of his productions.

I'lirsuini!: his journey alonu; the coast, the
poet visited successively Nairn, Forres. Aber-
deen, and Stonehaven, where one of his
relations, .lames Hurne.ss, writer in .Montrose,
met him by appointnoMit, and coniUicted him
into the circle of his paternal kimlred, amonj;-
wh:iin lie spent two or three days. When
Win. Hurness, his father, .abandoned his native
district, never to revisit it. he, a.s lie used to
tell his children, took a sorrowful farewell of
his brother on the summit of the last, liill
I'rdiii which the roof of their lowly home could
l»e dcseried ; and the old man ever after kept
up an afl'eetionatc eorresjiondeiicc with his
family. It fell to the poet's lot. as we have
seen, to eommunicate his father's last illness
and death to the Kincardineshire kindred ; and
of ids subsecpicnt correspondence with Air.
.lames liurne.ss, some specimens have already
been given, by the favour of his son. Burns
now formed a personal ac(iuaiiitance with
these fjood jicople ; and in a letter to his brother
(iilbert, wc lind him describint? them in terms
which show the lively interest he took in all
their concerns.

1 -Morison, vol. i. j). Ixx.v.

"The re>t of my siages," says he, "are not
worth rehearsini];; warnuw I was from < Asian's
(•(Uintry, where I had seen his irrave, what
cared I for (isliiiiij-towns and fertile carses?"
ile arrived once more in Kdinbur!;li, on the
Itilh of Seiiteiiiber, liaviiii^ travelled about six
hundred miles in two-aml-tweiily days —
greatly e.xtended his acfiuaintaiice with his
own country, and visited some of its most
classical scenery — ob.servcd .somethiiii;' of 1 1 ii;h-
land manners, which jiiust have been as in-
teresting as they were novel to him— and
strengthened considera4)ly among the sturdy
.laeobites of the North those p(ditical opinions
which he at this period avowed.

Of the few iioeins composed during this
Highland tour, we have already mentioned
two or three. While standing by the Fall of
Fyers, near Loch Ness, lie wrote with his
jiencil the vigorous couplets —

.Viiiont; tlie heathy hills and ra(;;.'ed Wdnd.-.
'I'lie loarinf; Fjei's iiinirs his niussy HimkIs, Ac.

When at Su- William Murraj'sof Oehtertyre,
he celebrated .Miss .Murray of Liutrose, com-
monly called "The Flower of Strathmore." in
the song —

lllytlie, lilytlie, and merry was she. iiiiirlnur

Hlythe was she Imt and lieii, Ac. iu kitchi'u and

And the verses, "On Searing some Wat.r Fowl
on Loeh-Turit,"- were eompo.sed while under
the same roof. These last, except, perhaps,
" Hrnar Water." are the best that he added to
his collection during the wanderings of the
summer.-' I5ut in liiirns's suUseipient pro-
ductions we (ind many traces of the <leliglit
with which he had contemplateil nature in
these alpine regions.

The poet once more visited his family at
Alos.sgiel, and Air. .Miller at Dalswinton, ere
the winter set in ; and on more lei.surely
examination of that gentleman .s estate, we
find him writing as if he had all but decided
to become his tenant on the farm of Fllisland.
It was not, however, until he had for the
third time visited Dumfriesshire, in March,
1788, that a bargain was actually concluded.

- Why, ye teiiant.s of the lake.
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake, Ac.
■' (The visit to Oehtertyre belouRS to the Hai'viestun
trip in Oetoher. Sue note 3, p 7;^)

MTK Ol' liOlJKIM' I'.n.'NS.

:', > !

More thiin luilt' of tlio iiiti-rvfiiim,' nionilis ii|>|ifan'il m

.March 17^x, wo find no fiwc

Kiliiiliur;;!!, wliuro Uuriis IoimmI, llian live M>nu>* l»v IJiirns; two timt Imvc Iicimi

woro >iPL'nl in
or rancii'ii. tlial liis pri'siiice wan nece-iwirv I'or
the hati-taflory I'.niiplolion of liis atlliirs wilii
tlic hooJiscllcrs. It si'i'nis to lie cli'ar iMioimli,

tlmt one Krwit olijci-t w;

lOV

ial

intiinaliN

in lilt' I'a)

tlic
ital.

socii'ly o
"or wi

{ his
ill-

witiioiil llif aniiiMii

icnl of a little roinanee to

fill tip wliat

vaeani hour>* they left him. lie

formed, alioiil lliis time, liisuequaintanee willi
ladv. (li>lin,mii-lie«l. I lieiieve. tor taste and

IliiriiH had lieen, from hin vtnith upwarils, an
e to wliom ho adtlre>sed entlinsiastie lover of the (dd m,"fdrclMy and

talents, as well as for personal lieaiity, and
the ]iiirity id' wlio>e eharaeter was always almvc
hiis[)ieion — the Kim
tlic Hong,

Clarliuln, mistress of my Roiil, At..

and u series of prose ejiistles, whieli have lieen
sejiarately puldislied, and whieli. if they lu-e-
sent more instanees (d' lionil>astie lanu'nafic
and fnlsonie sentiment thaneonld he prodiieeil
from all his writings hesides, eontain also, it
must 1)C aeknowledifod, jmssaires of deep and
inddc feelinu', whieli no one Imt IJiirns eonld
have iienned. One sentenee, as stronniy
illustrative of the poet's eharaeter, I may
venture to transerihe: " I'eojile of nice sensi-
hility and generous minds have a eertain
intrinsic diirnity, which fires lit licing tritled
with, or lowered, or crin ton rlosilj/ iiji-
jiroiirliii/. " '

M this time the jiuMieation called .Folin-
;;on's Miistioii nf Sroll'iKh Simijr was jioim;
on in Kdinl)ur<rh; and the editor api>ears to
liave early jirevailed on Hums to irive him his
assistance in thearran.iicmenl of his materials.
Tliouj^h "(irecn Grow the Ifa.shes" is tlie
only soiiji, entirely his, vldch appears in the
first volume, puliHshed in l?.*^?, mai'> of the
old l)ulliids included in that volume hear traces
of his hand ;•' hut ii. the second volume, which

' It is ))i<)]icr to note, tlmt tlie '• Letters toClaiinilii"
were printeil li.v one wlio had no riKlit to do so, ami
tliiit tlie Court of .Session (.'laiitiMl an interdict u^'aiiist
ttieir cireulation. |An aiitlioriiced edltiuii anan^rcd
and edited liy I'laiinda's grandson, W. ('. .M'Leliusc,
was puldislied in ls4;i. Tlicy aiipear in the iiresont
edition in their pioiier jilacc. |

2 ITlie true title is the Scatx Mimienl Mnscinn, in
.Six Vidumes, eoiisi.stiiiK of Six Hundred .Scots Soii^s,
wit'- iirojier basses for the Tianoforte, Ac.; liy .lames
Johnson. I

' [This is incorrect, for lii.s song " Young I'etifiy

already mentioned,' and tiiree far heller than
them. vi/. : — "Tlieiiiel .Meii/.ies' honiiv .Mar\,

hat K>''t>>'l

Ivric,

Farewell, ye dungeons daik and stiiuig,

The wretch s destiny,
Maeiiliel'Moii H time will nut lie liiiig

On yonder gallows tree;

liolh of which performances liopeak the re
impres>i(Uis i

ceni

if his lliiihland visit ; and, histlv.

Whistle and I'

•me to Von, in\

music of his col

iiiilrv; hut lie now >lndied lioil

hjecls Willi far licltcr o|iporlnnitii

appliai

mid have eominandcd

pri

ices than I
>lv: and it is from this lime that

inst date his ,'imliition to transmit his own
poetry to imsteriiy, in eternal association
with those cxipiisile airs which hail hilhcrlo.
ill far loo many iii>ianccs, hccii niarric(l lo
verses ilial did not deserve lo he immortal.
Ii is will known, that from this lime linriis
composed very few pieces hut sonu's; ami
whether we onirlit or fniirht not to rcfrret
that such was the case, must (le|ieiid on the
estimate we m;ike of his sonirs as compared
with his oilier |ioems; a ]ioint on wliiidi
critics are to this hour divided, and cm wliiidi
their descendants are not very likely lo atrrec.
Mr. Walker, who is (uie of those that laineiii
liurns's comparative dereliction of the sjieeies
of composition which he most cultivated 'u
the early days of !iis insiiiralion. sutrirests very
sensilily, tli.it if IJurns had not taken to sons;-
writiiiff, he would jiridialdy have written little
or iiothinir, amiilst the various temidatioiis to
eom]ianyaiid <lis.si|)atioii which now and hence-
forth surrounded him— ti> .say nothinji' id" the
active duties of life in whidi he was at leiiuth
ahout to he eniraued.

blooms our bonniest lass," written on Miss I'eygv
Kennec'y, the iiiifortunatc daughter of a 'andeil
liroiirietor in Carrick, to whom liiirns was intrMilneed
while she was on a visit to a friend in .Maiichline in
ITS.'i, follows inimedlately after "(iiein (liuw the
Hashes."!

* ''('larimla, " and " How jileasant the banks of the
clear winding Devon."

5 {There were more songs than tliese by linrns in
.lohnsiin's second volume, but many of them were
unacknowledged. 1

J.irK <H' liOlJKUT lll'KNS.

11(1 nil liwir
lal liavc l>i>(>ii
!• lullcr thiiii
Miimv .Man,'

ml Hlriiiijr,

uk the rcrciil

mil, liiNlIx.

1, iii\ l,ii|."'

iilnvanU. :iii

'sirclsy Mini

Kliiiiicil liiitli

tuiiitii-s iiiiil

J ('iiiiiiniiiiili'il

lime thai wr

i>iiiil Ills own

al assiirialiiiii

liail liilliri'tii.

II niarriril in

Ih! iiiiiiiiirtal.

lis )inu> liiirns

t sDiin's; anil

iKil to rc'Liri'i

l('|ieii(l nil till'

:■< as cDiniiari'il

>iiit. on wliji'h

, anil (III wliii'li

liki'l.v ti> auii'i'.

so that iaiiR'iit

(if tlie spoi'los

, I'liltivatL'il Ml

. siisrtfosts vei'v

takoii to smi!;--

c written liltli'

ti'iiiptatidiis III

tiiiw anil lionre-

notiiiiiu' (if tlio

) was at k'lmtli

on Miss IVyirv
rr (pf It 'aiidiil
s WHS intriiiliii Til
ill Maiic'lilinu in
lirt'cii (iriiw llir

tlu' liaiiks (if tilt'

(.'SO liy Itniiis ill
y (if tlifin wi'ir

I'liiins wan jircsi'iit, on tlio ;Ust nf l)coc'mi)i;r, willidiil, cnjuvinont ; the iitlier liiis iifitliur wisli

iJiniKT to (('li'liiali! tlio liiillidav of llie
iloiiiinalo Cliai'lcs Kdward Stuart, .id jiro-

at a

nor foar.

One iniirospoi'iiiionof this niaitniru'onl liypo-

llio (ii'casion an mlo, part of wliioii ciioiidriaoisni may lio sntlioiont

loso liavo

In. I iirrif has in-csorvo

Tho SI

H'ciinon wil

iiii; iniliiro any ro,i,'iot that tho roniaindor uf
ilic iiioi'o has liooii siipprossod. It appoars 'u
lie a iiiiiiilhiii',' rhapsody far, far dill'i'i'i'iit
iiiilood IVoiii Iho '•('hovalior's l.ainont," wliii'h
I ho pilot oiiinposod soiue nioiilhs afterwards,
wiili |inilialil\ tlio titlio of tho ollnrt. wliilo
ijilinu: aloiio '• tlirnirzh a traot of inolain'holy
iiiiiirs lii'iwoon (iallowayund Ayrshiro, it lioiiiu,'
Sill II lay."

for .-i.\ wcoks of the tinio that Miiriis spout
(his yoar in Kdinlmriili. ho was oonlincd to j
Iii> riiiini, in oonsoipionoo of an ovortiirn in a
liaiknoy-oiiaoh. " lioro I am," ho writos, j
••iindor the oare of a, suri^oon, with a liniisod

lieoii si.\ horrilil

liiiili oxioiidod on a oushioii, and tho tints of
iiiv iiiiiid vyiiit; with tho livid Imrrors pre-
rt'iliiii;amiiliii.u;iil ihiindor-storm. .\ dniiikoii
I'ipai'hniaii was tho oaiiso of tho first, and
iiii'ipiiiparalily tho linhtosi ovil ; misfnrtiino,
liiidily oonstitntiiin, lioll, and mysolf, liavu
I'nniiod a '/(("(/;•/(/(/< iil/iinirr to i;iiaraiiloe tho
iillior. I have taken tmith and nail to tho
l5ililo, and liavo fiul throiiLrh the live iiooks of
Miisos, and half-way in .loshiia. It is roally
a yliirioiis book. I sent for my bookliinder
Ill-day, and ordorod him to f,'ot an 8vii Uildo
ill >iiools, tho liost paper and ]iriiit in town,
and liiiid it with all the eleiianee of his orafl."'-'
In aiiolhor letter, wliioh opens uaily eiimmh,
we find him revoriiiin' to the sniiio provaiiimjc
darkness of ninod. " I oan'l say 1 am allo-
i;oilier at my o.iso when I see anywhere in my
paththat ineaiAiv, sipialid, faiiiiiio-faeod speotre,
I'overty, attoiulod, as ho always is, by iron-
fi>lod tl]iiirossioii and looriiin' (.'niitemiit. 15iit
1 have sturdily withstood his biid'etinus many
a hard-laboured day, and still my motto is,
I DAKi':, .My worst enemy is iiml- iih'iik .
Tiioro are just twooroaturos that 1 would envy
— a horse in his wild state traversing the for-
ests of .\sia, or an oyster on some of ilic desert
shores of i'^iirope. The one has not a wish

•[•''ii'iio printed part of the .seciinil gection mily,
liilt tin.' wlidU' iiile lias since lieeii iiftoiier tliaii oiue
piiiitiil ill it.s I'litirety. Sue " Uirtliilay (kle fur
yist Doe. I787."J

•- L'.'ttorto Missniiiliiiurs, l-2tli Doooiiilier, IVtT.

o weeks. .\nKnish and low
spirits have made mo unlit to read, write, or
think. 1 have a hundred times wished that
one eiiiild rosiiiii lil'o as ,in ollioor does a eoni-
niissiiin ; for I would not tuk'r in any poor
i,u:noraiit wretch by .•»/////;/ (l/^^ iialoly, I was
a sixpenny private; and, (Iml knows, a niisor-
ablo soldier oiioimh : now I march to the
oanipaiun a starvinir eadet, a little more eon-
spioiiiiiisly wretched, 1 am ashamed of all
this; for, iliiiuu:li I do not want bravery for
the warfare of life, 1 could wish, like some
other siildiers, to have as much fnrtinido or
cuniiiiiLf as to disseinlde or conceal my eow-
arilico. '

it seems impossible todoulit that ISiirns had,
in fact, lin.i;:oreil in l'Miniiiiri;h, in the hope
that, to use a vau:ue but sullioiently expre.-.sivo
phrase, somethim; would bo done for him.
lie visited and revisited a farm, — talked and
wrote .scholarly and wisely about ••havinu; a
fortune at the plmmh-tail," and ,so forth; iiiii
all the while nourished, and assuredly it would
have boon must strani^o if ho had not, tho fond
dream, that the admiration of his country
would ere Ion;; present itself in .some .solid and
tan,!,'ililo shape. His illness and oontinoniont
Lravehim leisure tiiooncontrato his ima.nination
on the darker side of his prospects; and the
li.'ltors which we have (|Uiitoil. may teach tliiiso
who may envy the imwors and the fame of
genius, to pause for a momeiil over the annals
of literature, and think what superior oapa-
bilitios of misery have boon, in tho great
majority of cases, intorwoveu with the pos-
session of those very talents, from which al!
but their jiossessors derive unminulod urati-
tleation.

Hurns's distresses, however, were to be still
farther airuravated. \Vliilo still under the
hands of his siirircon, he received intolliiionee
from Mauohlino that his intimacy with .lean
Armour had once more exposed her to the
repriiaohos of her family. The father sternly
and at onoc turned her out of doors ; and liurn.s,
unable to walk across his room, had to write
to his friend.s in XIauchline to ])roeure siicltcr
■' Letter to Mrs, Duiilup, '21st January, 17S8.

hii'K oi' iJoiJKirr lU'iJNs.

lor liix children, niul for \\vr wlioiii Ik- nuisid-
rrcd iiH -all but liis wile.' In ti leller to .Mrs.
Diinlop, writleii on lieiirinK •»'' I'di* »uw inii*-
rorliine, lie wivm, "/ icis/i I urn </niil, Inil
I'm HO lib linlic. 1 leiir I iiin sonietliinK' lilie
— undone; Imt I hope lor tlie l)e.sl. Vou
must not desert nie. Vour l'riendshi|i I think
I etin eouiit on, tlioui^Hi I slioidd date my
letters from a marehini.' rejriment. Karly in
life, and all m.v life, 1 reekoiied on ii reeruitinj?
drum a> my forlorn hope. Seriously, though,
life ai piv.-ent presents me with Imt a melan-
eholy iiath— Hut my limh will soon be
stmnd, and 1 shall rtlruj.%'le oii."-

It seems to have been iioir that llurn at
laslserewed up hiseouruKC tosolieit theaetive
interferenee in iii8 bulmlf of the Karl of (ilcn-
i-airn. The letter is a brief one. lUirnseoidtl
ill endure this novel attitude, anil he rushed
at onee to his rcipiest. '• I wish." say.s ho,
••to iret into the K.xeise. I am told your
lordship will easily procure me the j,'rant from
the eommissioners; and your lordship's patro-
■!aj;e ami kindness, whieli have already reseued
me from obseurity, wrelehedness. and e.xile,
embolden me to ask that interest. You have
likewise put it in my jiower to save the little
lie of //owe that sheltered an a^ed mother, two
brothers, an<l three sisters, from destruction.
There, my lord, you have bouiul me over to
the highest gratitude. .My heart sinks within
me at the idea of api)lying to any other of
The (Jreat w):o liuve honoured me with their
countenance. I am ill (juulified to dog the
heels of greatness with the impertinence of
.-olicitatioii; and trcnd)le nearly as much at
the thought of the cold promise as of the eold
denial."

It would be hard to think that this letter
was coldly or negligently received ; on the
contrary, we know that Hurn.s's gratitude to
Lord (ilencairn lasted as long as his life. Hut
the ej:cisc appointment which he coveted was
not procured by any exertion of this noble
patron's iniluencc. ,Mr. Alexander Wood,

'[Uunis's cliililrcn did not rc(|iiirc .sliclter at this
time; .Ifiin's only liviii;; cliild, lldlpirt. w.ns liuiu)?
wlII cared for, iilonK with the diUi^'htcr of ICli/ubctli
I'atoii, at .M(j.ss(iiel.]

- [This cNtrii- 1 is from u letter addressed to Miss
MavKuret Olialmers (not to Mrs. Uunlop), dated 'J-id
I ail nary, 178K.|

surgeon ("till atlcetionately remembered in

j Scollanil as ••kind old Sandy Wood"), Imp.

I peiiing to hear Hnnis. while his palicni,
mention the obj<>ct of his wishes, w'ent im.
mediately, without dropping any hint ol' In.,
intention, and comiiiiinicati'd Ihi! state of the

I poet'> ca>e to .Mr. tlraham id' Fintry, one ni
the eommissioners of excise, who had met

I Hums at the l)uke of .Vtliolc's in the autumn,
ami wli. immediately had the poet'- name

{ put on the roll.

1 ••I have chosen this, niy dear frieiiil (iliii^
wrote Hums to .Mrs. l)iiiilop''), after inaiiii'e
deliberation. The (|uestion is not at what
door of rorlunc's I'alacc shall we eiiti'r in;
but what doors docs >lie open to us^/ I was
not likely to get anything to do. I wanted
//// liiif, which is a dangerous, an uidiappy
.situation. I got this without any hanging on.
or mortifying stdicitation. It is immediate
bread, and, thoimh jioor in comparison ol' the
last eighteen months of my e.xistem^e, 'tis
luxury in comjtarison of all my jireceding life.

JittiidlX, till' ('olllllllnsldlll I'M lin- KOIIIC It/ till III

1111/ ticifioiiiitiiiiri'K, mill nil of tliiiu niji jinii
JriiiKiK.

(lur jioet seems to have kejil up an iingry
correspondence, during his confinement, with
his bookseller, .Mr. Creech, whom he alMi
abu.ses very heartily in his letters to his friends
in .\yrshire. The p'llilisher's iieeouuts, liow-
ever, when they were at last made ui>, must
have given the impatient author a very agree-
able surprise; for in his letter ubovc quoted,
to Lord (ilencairn, we find him e.xpressing his
hopes that the gross jirolits of his book might
amount to "better than .fJOd," whereas, on
the day of settling with .Mr. Creech, lie found
himself in jiosscssion of .t;'>i«t, if not of .t'tiiM).<

:i I'l'liis exiiiiet is tioiii a letter written to .Miss
Margaret Clialmeis and not to Mrs. lJiiiil<>|i. It is
dated X.'itli Keliniary, ITi^S.I

^ .Mr. Nicol, the most iiitiinate friend limns had
lit this time, writes to Mr. .Joiiii l.ewars, exeise-ollleer
at Dumfries, immediately on liearint; of the poets
death,- "lie certainly told me that he received CUdO
for the first KclinliiiiKli edition, and ClOO afterwards
for the coi>viiulit " (.M.S. in my iiossession). Dr.
Curriu states the uross product of t'reeeh's edition lit
C')00, and Hums himself, in one of liia printed Utters,
at £4(K) only. Nicol hints, in the letter already
refeiied to, that Hnrns had contracted deiti .vhilo
in r.diiiimiKli, which he mijjlit not wish to avow on
:ill nciiisions; and if we are to lielieve this, and, as

1,1 1'K Ol" KoltKUr 151'KNS.

8:)

I'i'nicinlKM'cii ill
\Vim(l"), liii|i.
Iii« piilinii,

.■*1U'H, wi'iil iiii

iii.v liiiil, III' liw

the stall; "I' llir

l''iiilrv, iiiic III

^^|||> hail iiici

II llic autiiiiiii.

|IIU'I '» llalllr

■||,i, ,ii|i|.l> laiiK'inil.v ill iIk' liiMir III iii'cil ; tlN", it (.'Jim, Id uhmUi him in liii' iiiaiiaWi'.

.iiiii '<\ Mi'iiiH lohiivoi-hivuliil liiKHiiiiilKKivullv. iiifiit nf Mus.'.nifl. " I Kivi' iii.vm'II' in airi i.n

itiHJ iriMii liii'i I'"" •'"' 'i""' " "*'" "'"'■'^ "' ''"'*•' '"■ Kt'iii'rtiiii«lv Ha.VK in a UlttT In Dr.

,,iiiliiUii T ; I'll' lit' """ i"i"*iiiii«''l iiiiiiiL'.lialflv .Mouri'. "rnr it was luiTu Hi'HiRJin.'MH on iiiv pari.

Ill, iiiiriiiwo ol' lakiii« .Mr. .Millt'r's liinii, it- ! I \\n* riiiiM-iiiiis thai- liic wniiiv M-ah- nl' llir

i.iiiiiiiu lii'* oxi'l^i! I'liiiiiiii^siiiii ill lii* piifkrl ! Iialaiu'c was prcll.v hfavilv fiiarv;i'<l. ami I

;,, a iliriii'i- riHiirl, to hi' mailf um' of oiilv i lIuniKlH that tlio thmwiiitf a liltii' filial |iii'iy

.liMiiliJ »iiiiir iTVi'iNi' ol' rortiiiie rniiif ii|iiiii ' ami t'ralrnial all'ci'linii iiilo llu' ffah' in iiiv

liiiii. Mil liiNl act, hmvi'Vi'r, was in ri'lii'vr , I'avoiir, niiirlil lii'l|i lo i>nioo|ii nialUT!* al llii.'

ill- l.iiillii'r from his (lilliiMilliiM, Itv aiivaiiriiii; | iiniinl nddnlinj."

■ar frii'iiil (liiii-

), aflir iiialiiii'

s not at wimi

1 \vf I'lili-r in;

io ii>v I «a>

<io. I wanicil

Is, an niiha|>|i\

my lianuiin.' on.

I is iiiinii'iliair
in|>ariMiii of iht-

cxlsteiii'i', 'lis

liri'ffdinu lifo.

.iiiiiii' (</' //('//)

t/ii III nil/ linn

|il lip an angrv
nrmi'inenl. with

whom he also
.•r.H to his friends

lU'coiiiits, how-
inadc up, must
or a Very af;ree-
r al)ove ijuoted,

II e.xpressinjr ids

lii.s liook nii;;hi

I," whereas, on

'receii, lie found

if not of .ftiiM).^

• wriltin to Mi»«
IS. Diiiilop. It Is

(rk'iiil ItuniH liiul
.vara, I'.xiiHt'-iiilJciT
ring ol the iHiits
t liu rett'ived t;tioi)
d tlUO aftiTwaiils
jiossession). Dr.
'leeth's eililinii iit
lisprintiil litti'is,
he letter aliviidy
iictcil ilelli .>liilo
t wisli to avow uii
Ik'Ve tills, and, as

T'l lliukr il tlilli|i.\ lili'r-iilr illllli'
I'm' uiMiiH anil \\\(v

Til It » till' lull' iiallhin mill ^ulllill|i'
I If liiiiiiiiii llfi'.

.l.illnli

ill.M'TKl; VII.

iMarrhiui': lake.'* r.llislaiid. and inlris mi iiiishi'mhIiiii : i'MIIsih fur his iiiairliiui' : liaild.n a Iimiiv. and
I I inus III" »ifi' liuiiii' : iMnipaii.v niiii'tid li,\ iiriuldiiiili's and visiturs : -nintriliiltluiis ti><li>linHiin s .I/cmioii
I \ti'ii>iM' I iiirrHpiiiidi'iiri' : fanning a falliiii': olitaln.'* arliial inipliiyniiiit as an rxrlsi'iiian : .Mian
I iniiilii;:liani H ivcnlli rtiniis'. pi'ills and trni|ilatli>ns nf liis new voiatlnii : llu' "uliistle cuntrst :
I aptiiili liiiisi' : " Tain ii' Shantir : ■ li'|.iind : Klllslaiid iineeduteH: leuves I'.lllsjaiid : last visit tu r.din-
I'Ui'uli: i'Mii\ InIiiI i'liiivrisiilliin.j

then eros.sed the eoiintry to Dalswinlon. and
eoneluded his liarv:ain with .Mr. .Miller as lo
the farm of Kllisland, on terms wliieh iiiiisi
nndoiilitedly have lieeii eonsidered hy liolli
jiarties as hitfhly faviiuralile to ihe poel ; iliey
were indeed li.xed by two of Hiirns's own
friends, who aeeompanied him for that pur-
pose from .\yrshire. The lease was for four
sueees.sive terms, of nineteen years eaeli,--iii

tiriiieil liy tlie I'l'eleHiastleal aiitlmrltleH on lliinis and
his wife hilliililiiiK themselves liefore the se.^slnn.
The fiilliiwiiiK is a enpy of the se.ssiiin-clerk's ii rurd.
the Nigiiatiire uf .lean lieliiK in the iioet's liaiidwrit-
ilig:

'■ IV.NS, AiiKUst ti, Sess. eon.: Ciiiiipeared Unlnit
HiniiH with .lean Anniiiii', his alle).'eil spniise. 'riie\
liiitli aekniiwIeilKed their irreKUlur iiiarriaue and their
siiniiw fur that irregularity, and deslrliiK that the
,Sess|iin will take Hiieh steps as may seem to them
proper, in nrder to the Solemn Ciinlirmation of the
said niarrlaue.

"The .Session taking this alfair under their eon-
sideratimi, a^ree that they liotli he rebuked fm- this
aekiiowleilKed irre^tularlty. and that they lie taken
solemnly en^'ajied to adhere faithfully to oiii. anntlnr
as liiisliand and wife all the days of their life.

" In regard the Session have a title In law to smne
line for behoof of the poor, they ajiree to refer to
Mr. liiirns liia own generosity.

•'The above Sentence was ac(oiilin;;ly e.vecuted.
and the .Session absolved the said ]iaities finin any
scandal on this aeet. Kobt. lUinis.

"Williii. Auld, Moilr. .lean Aniiour.

"(Mr. limns n"ve a cnineaiinte fui' lulmnf nf the
poor). ■ I

lliirii-. as soon as his lirnised limit was aide
jnr a jonriiey, rode lo .\iossj;iel. and went
iliioiiirli the eereinoiiy of a jiisliee-of-peaee
marriaue with .lean Armour, in I he wrilinu'-
eliainliers of his friend (iavin Hamilton.' He

!•> piiibable. the expense of prIlitlllK the sllbseriptioii
rilltiiiii, slmnld. nioreover, be deducted from tin CTlHI
-taled liy .Mr. .Mcol -the apparent eonlrailietions in
lliese stories may be Jiretty nearly reconeiled. There
appeals tu be reason fur thinking that Creeeli snb-
Mijiiriitly paid nmre than CKKI fur the eiipyi'j;.dit. If
lie dill nut. Iioweaine Itiirns to reall/.e. asCnnie states
it al till' end of his MciiKiir, "nearly nine Inindied
puinids in all by his ]ioeinsV "

I lllinns left r.dinbiirKli for Ayrshire on l.sth l''eb-
iilaiy, bat it was not till soinetlnie in May that ■iian
"blained a title to be publicly desi;;iiatvil " Mrs.
burns. ' by piliiK thron^li sinne form in (iavin Ham-
illmi s iitllee. the " kirk " ceremonial imt lakiiiK place
till AiiK'ilst. In fact. It would seem that Iturns at
lliis time had no Intention of making her his wife,
lie was in Ihe midst of the Infatuation about Clarinda.
I" «lioiii he writes, after having visited .lean; "I
am disgusted with her (,leaii). 1 cannot endure her.
... I have done with her, and she with me. In
Maieli he iletaila to .Vinslie how he had sworn her
privately and solemnly never to atteni|it any claim
"II liiiii as a hnsbaiid, so that .lean's chance of be-
ciiniin;,' Mrs. linrns did nut luuk biijrlit at the time
burns left KdinbniKb nur fur sume time after.

riie inarria;ic uf Kiirns and .lean Arniuiir wa- euii-

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

all sovciity-six years; the rent lor the first
three veiirn ami crops XoO ; ihiriiis the re-
muindcr of the period £70. Mr. -Miller lioniul
himself to defray tiie e.xpeiise of any planta-
tions which Hums might please to make on
the banks of the river; and the farm-house
and offices being in a dilapiilate(' condition,
the new tenant was to receive X'MW from the
proprietor, for the erection of suitable buildinsrs.
•'The land," .says Allan Cunninshani, "was
fiood, the rent moderate, and the markets v ere
rising."

Burns entered on possession of his farm at
Whitsuntide 1788, but the necessary rebuild-
ing of the iiouse prevented his removing .Mrs.
Burns thitheruntil the season was faradvanced.
He had, moreover, to (pialify himself for liold-
ing his excise commission by six weeks' at-
tendance on tiie business of that profession at
Ayr. From these circumstances, he led this
summer a wandering and unsettled life, and
Dr. Ciirric mentions this as one of his chief
mi>^'rortune.s. "The jwct," as he says, "was
continually riding between Ayrshire and Dum-
friesshire; and, often spending a night on the
road, sometimes fell into company, and forgot
the resolutions he had formed."

What these resolutions were ilie poet hini-
.sclf shall tell us. On the tnim ,.,.., of his
resi(le<-.c\: ;\i Ellisland, ho thus writes to .Mr.
Aiiislje . ' I

warfare -if iJ.- u.-on bred to arms, among the
liffh *•!';•-', li.i.j picjuet gn:inlsof fancy, a kind
o" '

happiness or misery. . . . The most iihuiil
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 licst
advantage by a more than commonly hand-
some figure; these, I think, in a woman, may
make a good wife, though she .sliould never
have read a page but the Scriptures of the Old
and New Testament, nor danced in a brighter
assembly than a pcnny-pa" wedding."' . . ,
"To jealousy or infidelity I am an e(|U!ii
stranger; my preservative from tlie first, is tln'
mo.st thorough consciousness of her sentiments
of honour, and her attachment to me;- my
antidote against the last, is my long and dccji-
rooted aflfection for her. . . . In householil
matters, of aptness to learn, and activity tn
execute, she is eminently mi.<uoss, and durinii
my absence in Nithsdale, she is regularly and
constantly an aiiprentice to my mother ami
sisters in their dairy, and other rural busine>s.
. . . You are right, that a bachelor state
would have ensured me nuu-e friends; but
from a cause you will easily guess, conscious
peace in the enjoyment of my own mind, and
nnmistrnsting conti<lence in approaching my
(iod, would seldom have been of thenundicr. "•'■
Some months later he tells .Mi.ss Clinlniii's

that his marriage "was not, iicrhajjs, in con-
iiy.? all along hitherto, in the se(|uence of the attachment of romance,"- Ik-
Is addressing a young lady — "but," he con-
tinues, "I have no cause to repent it. if 1
have not got polite tattle, modish manners,
and fashionalde dress, I am not sickened and
disgusted with theinnltiform curse of boardinu-
scliool affectation; and I have got the haiul-
soniest figure, the sweetest temper, tiie
soundest constitution, and the kindest heart
in the country. Jlrs. Hums be.ievesas fimUy
as her creed, that 1 am /'' jilii't In I cpr'tt <:> /<-

3f Li,-s:ii; ;•,,, 1 Highlanders of the brain; but
,; .,;'! liiiu! • :-cs' '.^CiS to sell out of these giddy
batta'i'iv... Cost what it will, 1 amdetennined
to buy in among the !.Tave squadrons of iieavy
armed thought, or the artillery corps of plod-
ding contrivance. . . . Were it not for the
terrors of my ticklish situation respecting a
family of children, I am decidedly of opini(ui
that the step 1 have taken is vastly for my
happiness."

To all his friends, he expresses himself in
terms of similar satisfaction in regard to his
marriage. " Your surmise, madam." he
writes to Mrs. Dunlop, "is just. 1 am indeed
a husband. I found a once mu<'h-lovcd. and
still much-loved female, literally and truly
cast out to the mercy of the naked elements, but
as I enabled her to piirr/nisf a shelter; and
there is no sporting with a fellow-ere.iture's

1 Letter to Mis. Diinloi), 14tli .Tune. 17.s.s.

- 1" l'erlia]is, after all, tlie.se revuliitiuiis in tlie
aiilent vivaeiims iiiiiid of Hiivils |tliat i.s, liis foigettiie.;
all Ills VdWB anil pi-otestaiioiis to CliiiiiKla ami iiiaii>
ill;.' .Ii'an] are le.ss astoinuliiijj; tliiiii tlie fiiet (fur it is
one lieyond all (inestion) that the jioet was not now,
and never had been, exactly the favoiiiite lover cf
.lean. There was, it seems, another iieison whom
.she fiiiieied above him, thou;;li, as but too idaiiil.v
ajiiieais. .she had been unable to eoiiteiid against th.'
fascination of those dark e.ves in which lay l:er fate.
- Itobeit Chambers. I

I Letter ti> Mrs. Dunldp. intli .Tuly, 1T8S.

Tlie most jilaiiil
of disposition ; a
oted witli all its
rous health and

off to the licst
I'onniioiily haiul-
iii a woman, may
slio sliould ncvi'i-
iptnros of the Old
need ill a hriulitfr
cddin^. "1 . . ,

I am an e(|iiiil
imi the first, is llic
of her seiitinu'nts
lent to me ; - my
ly lonj^ and dtcp-
. In houselmld
1, and activity id
suoss, and diiriiiv
e is reiiularly and

my mother and
ler rural l)usine>s.

a haehelor statu
ore friends; Ijiii
>' guess, eonseion.--
ly own mind, and

approaeiiini;' my
I of tlieninnlier. "■■
Is Mi.ss Clnilniifs
, jicrhaps, in eon
of romance," - lie
— "l>ut," he eon-
) repent it. if 1
modish manners,
not sickened and
curse of hoardinu-
ive i;ot the hand-
.'st temper, tlic
the kindest heart

he.ievesas iirndy
lifi III! <--</iiil (I I'

June. 17.S.'-.

rcvdliitiiins in tln'
;!nit is, liis forgcttin'.;
Clarinda and nnu'i'\
an the fact (for it is
ic ii"''t was nut now.
c favtmritc luver of
iitlicr person wlmni
, as lint tciii iilainly
contend atiainst tli -■

wliicli lay l:cr fate.

fnly. 17S8.

(\ i:

f:j

tin-
iiv(

as
till

it,
iU
ii
l.c;

ail
re
sti
1)1
ill
k-
ot
ill
Ii
til

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

nUtK fioiDWtc homme in tlio universe; altliougU
(ilie siaicoly ever, in lier life, except the Serip-
liiresaiid tlie IV Inis of David in Metre, spent
five niiniitcH to,:;ellier on eitlier prose or verse
— I must except also a certain late publication
of Slots I'oems, which slie has perused very
devoutly, and all the ballads of the country,
assliehas((> the partial lover! you will say)
the finest woodnote-wild 1 ever heard."'

It was durinj,' this honeymoon, as he calls
it. while chiefly resident in a miserable hovel
at i:ilisland, and only occasionally si)ending
a (lay or two in Ayi-shire, that he wrote the
beautiful song,

iliri'c'tiuns

love
roll

Of a' the airts the wiud can lilaw,

I dearly like the west,
Tor there the lioniiie lassie lives,

'I'lie lassie I lo'e best;
Tliere wililwdnds nmw, and rivers row

Aud niau) a hill between,
r.iit day and iii(,'lit my fancy's tlight

Is ever wi' my .reau.

(1 Maw, ye westlin wiiuls, blaw saft wtsteru

AmauK the leafy trees,
Wi (leutle gale, frae muir niul dale, from

Ihiti;; lianie the laden liees, home

And hriiiK the liissie hack to me,

Tliat's aye sae neat and clean, idwnys

Au blink o' her wad banish eare, uiu' slimiise

.Sae iDvely is my .lean.-

"A di,-icerning reader," says Jlr. Walker,
"will ])erceivc that the letters in which he
announces his marriage to .some of his most
respected correspondents, arc written in that
state when the mind is pained by reflecting
on an unwelcome step, and finds relief to itself
in seeking arguments to justify the deed, and
lessen its disadvantages in the opinion of
others. "3 I confess I am not able to discern
any traces of this kind of feeling in any of
Hurns's letters on this interesting and impor-
tant occasion. Mr. Walker seems to take it
for granted, that because Burns admired the

' One of IJinnss letters, wiitten not long after this
ltd .Mrs. Uunlop, .Inly 10, 17S8|, contains a pas.sage
strongly nuo'ked with his haughtiness of character.
"I have escaped," says he, "the fantastic caprice,
tlic api.sh affectation, with all the other blessed
lioarding-.school aeciulrements which are sometimes
to he found among females of the upper ranks, ))nt
almost universally pervade the misses of the wcuiUl-
bcgcntry. "

- [This stanza, as is now well known, was not
written l)y Burns.)

'' MoHson, vol. i. p. Iw.xvii.
VOb. I.

superior manners and accomplishments of
women of the higher ranks of society, he must
necessarily, whenever lie discovered "the in-
terest which l»e had the power of creating"
in such persons, have aspired to fi!id a wife
among them. But it is, to say the least of the
matter, extremely doubtful, that Burns, if he
had had a mind, could have found any high-
born maiden willing to partake such fortunes
as his were likely to be, and yet posses.sed of
such qualifications for making him a happy
man, as he had ready for his acceptance in his
" Bonny .lean." The proud heart of the poet
could never have stooped itself to woo for gold;
and birth and high breeding could only have
been introduced into a farm-hou.se to embitter,
in the upshot, the whole existence of its in-
mates, it is very easy to say, that had Burns
married an accomplished woman, he m!<j/it
have found domestic evenings sufticient to
satisfy all the cravings of his mind — abandoned
tavern haunts and jollities for ever — and
settled down into a regular pattern-character.
But it is at least as possible, that consequences
of an exactly opposite nature might have en-
sued. Any marriage, such as I'rofessor Walker
alludes to, would, in his ca.se, have been more
unequal, than either of those that made Dryden
and Addison miserable for life.*

Sir Walter Scott in his Life of the former of
these great men, has well described thediflicult
situation of her who has " to endure the appa-
rently causeless fluctuation of spirits incident
to one doomed to labour incessantly in the
feverish exercise of the imagination." " I'n-
intentional neglect," says he, "and the inevit-
able relaxation, or rather sinking of .spirit,
which follows violent mental exertion, are
easily mi.sconstrued into capricious rudenes.s,
or intentional oflence; and life is embittered
by mutual accu-sation, not the less intolerable
becau.se reciprocally unjust."^ Such were the
difficulties under which the domestic peace
both of Addison and Dryden went to wreck ;

* [Burns not oidy aspired to find a wife among
"the higher ranks of society," but he actually made
a formal offer of marriage to Miss I'eggy Ohalniei's,
which was declined on the plea of her pre-engagement
to Mr. Lewis Hay. This was well known to liis bio-
grapher Walkei', and was admitted by the lady her-
self to '<'l .omas Campbell, the poet, who was a familiar-
visitor (luring her widowhood.]

f* Life of Di-yden, p. 00.

i i

i I

and yet, to say nothing of manners and liubits
of the higlicst cloyance and polish in either
ease, tliey were botli of thcni men of slriutly
pure and correct condnct in their eonjuj;al
capacities ; and who can doubt tliat all tlicse
difUculties must liavc been enhanced tenfold,
had any woman of superior condition linked
her fortunes with liobert IJurns, a man at once
of the very warmest animal temperament, and
the most wayward and moody of all his melan-
choly and irritable trilte, who had little vanity
that could have been gratified by a species of
connection, which, unless he had found a
human angel, must have been continually
wounding his pride? But, in truth, these
speculations arc all worse than worthless.
Burns, with all his faults, was an honest and
high-spirited man, and he loved the mother of
his children; and had he hesitated to make
her his wife, he must have sunk into the cal-
lousness of a ruffian, or that misery of miseries,
the remorse of a poet.

The IJeverend Hamilton Paul takes aw origi-
nal view of this business : ' • M uch praise, " .'^ays
he, "has been lavished on lJurns for renewing
his engagement with Jean when in the blaze
of his fame. . . . The praise is misplaced.
We do not think a man entitled to credit or
commendation for doing what the law could
compel him to perform. Burns was in reality
a married man, and it is truly ludicrous to
hear him, aware as he must have been, of the
indissoluble power of the obligation, though
every document was destroyed, talking of
himself as a bachelor. "^ There is no justice
in these remarks. It is very true, that, by
a merciful fiction of the law of Scotland, the
female in iliss Armour's condition, Avho pro-
duces a written promise of marriage, is con-
sidered as having furnished evidence of an
irregular marriage having taken place between
her and her lover; but in this case the female
licrself had destroyed the document, and lived
for many months not only not assuming, but
rejecting, the character of Burns's wife ; and
had she, under such circumstances, attempted
to establish a marriage, with no document in
her hand, and with no parole evidence to show
that any such document had ever existed, to say
nothing of proving its exact tenor, but that of
her own father, it is clear that no ecclesiastical
> Paul's Life of Bunm, p 4.^

LIFE OF ROBEKT BURNS.

th<

jrld could hi

failed to decide

court

against her. So far from Burns's having all
along regarded her as his wife, it is extremely
doubtful whether she had ever for one nmuicut
considered him as actually her husband, uiiiil
he declared the marriage of 1788. Hums did
no more than Justice as well as honour de-
maiuled ; but the act was one which no liuniiin
triljunal could have compelled him to i)erforni.'-'
To return to our story. Burns complains
sadly of his solitary condition, when living in
the only hovel that he found extant on his
farm. "I am,"sjiyshe(Septcmbcr{tth), "busy
with my harvest ; but for all that most pleasur-
able part of life called social intercourse, I am
here at the very elbow of existence. The only
things that are to be found in this co\nitry in
any degree of perfection, are stupidity and
canting. Prose they only know in jirayers,
&c. , and the value of these they estimate as
they do their plaiding webs, by the ell. As
for the rinses, they have as much idea of a
rhinoceros as of a i)oct. "^ And in another
letter (September 10), he says: "This hovel
that I shelter in while occasionally here, is
jjcrvious to every blast that blows, and every
shower that falls, and I am only jircserved from
being chilled to death by being sutt'ocated by

- 1 mil Ii.iiukI to say tlmt, from some eiiticisms mi
the llrst edition of tliis iiarnitivf, imlilislail in Si-ot-
land, and evidently liy Scotch lawyers, it ai)iii'ais,
that the case, "Arnimir versus Hums," had there
ever lieeii sticli a lawsuit, would have lieeii more
dilHeult of deeision than I had ]ireviously siiji|iosed.
One tliinn, however, is (luite clear: limns himself had
no notion, that, in aekiio\vled<:iiiK his Jitnn as hir
wife, lie was liut yieldii)_ what levtal nieaauies eouM
Iiave extoittil from him. Let any one eoiisider, for
example, the laiiKUaKe of the letter in which he aii-
iiouneea his marriage and estalilishmeiit at EUisland,
to Mr. Iturness of Montrose —

" (minland ^th Feb. 1780.) . . . Here, at last.
I have heconie stationary, and have taken a farm, and
—a wife. . . . Aly wife is my .lean, with whose story
you are partly acquainted. I found I had a inueli-
loved fellow-creature's liap])iness or mi.sery amont; my
hands, and I durst not trille with so sacred a deposit.
(This sentence oeeurs at least half a dozen times in
letters to ditferent parties, and seems to jnstifv
Walker's remark that Burns soiifiht arguments to
justify his marriage.] Indeed, I have not any reason
to repent the stej) I have taken, as 1 have attaehe<l
myself to a very (jood wife, and have shaken myself
loose of a very had failing;.'' [See the letter complete
in its proi)er place in the C'orrespomlenee.J

3 Letter to .(ohn Beut'o, en({raver, !lth Sei)temher,
17f;8.

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

smoke. You will be pleased to hciir that 1
have laid anide idle eclat, and bind every day
alter my reapers."*

His jioiise, however, did not take much time
ill Imiitling, nor had he reason to eoniplain of
want of .society lon^s nor, it must be added,
(lid Burns l)ind every day after his reapers.

He l)rought his wife home to Ellisiand
about tlie end of November; and few house-
keepers start with a larger provision of young
mouths to feed than did this couple. Mrs.
Hun. ; had lain in this autumn, for the second
time, of twins, and I suppose "sonsy, .smirk-
ing, dear-bought Bess," accompanied her
younger brothers and sisters from Jlossgiel.
Kroni that quarter also Hums brought a whole
establishment of servants, male and female,
wild, of course, as was then the universal
custom amongst the small farmers, both of
the west and south of Scotland, partook, at
the same table, of the same fare with their
muster and mistress.-

Iillisia)id is l>eautifully situated on the banks
cif the Nith, about si.\ miles above Dumfries,
exactly opposite to the house of J)alswinton,
and those noble woods and gardens amidst
which Burns's landlord, the ingenious 3Ir.
Patrick Jliller, found rela.xation from the
scientific studies and researches in which he
.so greatly excelled.''' Un the Dalswinton side,
the river washes lawns and groves; but over
against these the bank rises into a long red
iicKiir, of considerable height, along the verge

1 Letter to Miss Chalniors, 10th Septeinl)cr, 1788.

- 1 1.dckliart makes several errors here, liunis's
lioiiseliol;! at this time eonsisteil of himself and hia
wiff, his sister, and ii domestic servant, together
witli two men and two women enf;aKe<l for out-door
work. So far from having a large proportion of
.MMiiig mouths to feed, tliey had none at all. fiol)ert,
.lean'.s only surviving cliild, was not hrouglit to Ellis-
laud till tlie August following, while "liess" never
was in Hurns's liouse after his niaiTiage, but re-
mained at Mo9.sgiel. The statement that the servants
•'partook at the same table of the same fare with
tlieir master and mistress " (trivial though the matter
lie), is also erroneous, having been directly contra-
dicted by Mrs. Burns herself. The testimony of a
William Clark who had l)een a phtughman to Burns
for six moutlis, is quoted by Kobert Chaud)ers to tlie
^ame ell'eet.l

■'IMr. Miller's name is known in the history of
steam navigation, he having caused to lie constructed
about this very time one or two small vessels in
which steam was successfully employed as a i)ro- j
Ji'-lliug power.] |

of which, where the bare shingle of the preci-
pice all but overhangs the stream, Burns had
his favourite walk, and might now be .seen
striding alone, early and late, especially when
the winds were loud, ami the waters below him
swollen ami turbulent. For he was one of
those that enjoy nature most in the more seri-
ous and severe of her aspects ; and throughout
his i)oetry, for one allusion to the liveliness of
spring, or the .si>lendour of summer, it would
be easy to point out twenty in which he records
the solemn delight with which he contemplated
the melancholy grandeur of autumn, or the
savage gloom of winter. Indeed, I cannot
but think, that the result of an e.xact in(|uiry
into the compo.sition of Burns's poems, would
be, that "his vein," like that of .Milton,
Ho wed most hapjjily, "from the autumnal
eipiinox to the vernal." Uf Lord Byron, we
know that his vein flowed best at midnight ;
and Burns has liim.self told us, that it waH
his custom " to take a gloamin' shot at the
Muses."

The poet wa.s accustomed to say, that the
Most happy period of his life was the first
winter he spent at Elli.sland, for the tirst
time un<ler a roof of his own, with his wife
and children about him ; and in spite of occa-
sional lap.ses into the melancholy which had
haunted his youth, looking forward to a life
of well-regulated, and not ill-rewarded, indus-
try. It is known that he welcomed his wife
to her rooftree at Ellisiand in the song,

I hae a wife o' my ain, Ml partake wi' naebody;
I'll tak cuckold fraeuaue,rilgiecuckoldtonaebody;
I hae a penny to sjiend— there, thanks to naeliody;
I hae luiethiug to lend— 111 borrow frae naebody.

In commenting on this "little lively lucky
.song," as he well calls it, Mr. Allan Cun-
ningham says: " Burns had built his house, —
he had committed his seed-eorn to the ground,
— he was in the prime, nay, the morning of
life, — health, and strength, and agricultund
.skill (?) were on his side, — his genius had
been acknowledged by his country, and re-
warded by a subscription more extensive than
any Scottish poet ever received before ; no
wonder, therefore, that he broke out into
voluntary song, expressive of his .sense of
importance and independence. " ■* Another
* Cunningham's Scottigh Songs, vol. Iv. p. S(i.

IJFE OF ROBERT BUKNS.

lf4

Hoiia; was i-ompoHcd in lionoiir of Mrs. IJiiriis,
•lining tiic ImpiO' weeks tlmt followed her
arrival at Kllisland:

I) wiTu I (III rariiiiHHiiH hill,
Or liiul (if llulit'dii my till,
'Mint I might catch pdotlc Mklll,
T(i bIiik how tleiir 1 IdVe thuo !

lliit Mill iiniiiii he my muse's well, mimt

My miiao maun he thy lioiiiiy sel', wlf

(Ml ('(iisliicdii I uliiwer, and spell, utaru
Ami write Ikiw dear I Idve tlieeli

III the iioxt stanza the poet ratlier transgresses
the limits of connuhial deeonnn ; lint on the
whole these tributes to domestic affection arc
among the last of his performances that one
would wisii to lose.

Hums, in his letters of the year 17S9, makes
nianv aiiologies for doing bnt little in liis
jioetical vocation ; his farm, without doubt,
Oi-'eupied much of his attention, but the want
of social intercourse, of which he complained
on his first arrival in Js'ilhsdale, had by this
time totally disappeared, (-)n the contrary,
his company was courted eagerly, not only by
ills brother-farmers, but by the neighbouring
gentry of all classes; and now, too, for the
first time, he began to be visited continually
in his own house by curious travellers of all
sorts, who did not consider, any more than
the generous poet himself, that an extensive
practice of hospitality must cost more time
than he ought to have had, and far more
money than he over had, at his disposal.
Meantime, he Mas not wholly regardless of
the Muses; for, in addition to some pieces
which we have already had occasion to notice,
he contributed to this year's Muwum, "The
Thames flows proudly to the sea ; " " The lazy
mist hangs, &c. ; " " The day returns, my bo.som
burns ; " " Tarn Glen " ( one of the best of his
Inimorous songs): the splendid lyrics, "Oo
fetch to me a pint of wine," and "!My heart's
in the Highlands" (in both of which, how-
ever, he adopted some lines of ancient songs
to the same tunes), "John Anderson," in part
also a rlfticf'inmcnto ; the best of all his bac-
chanalian pieces, "Willie brewed a peck o'
maut," written in celebration of a festive
meeting at the country residence, in Uum-

' [This iioetic eonipllment to .lean was composed
duriiiK the siiiiimer or autumn of 1788, hefore she
t<Mik up her residence at KUisland.]

friesshire, of his friend Mr. >iicol, of tlio
High School; and lastly, that noblest of nil
his ballads, "To .Mary in Heaven."

This celebrated jioem was, it is on all hands
admitted, comjio.sed by Hums in Septenibur,
17S!', on the anniversary of the day on whicji
he heard of the death of liis early love, .Man
Campliell.^ Hut .Mr. Cnmiek has thought fii
to dress up the story with circumstances whjili
did not occur. Mrs. Hums, the only per.-dii
who could appeal u personal recollection on
this occasion, and whose recollections of all
circumstances connectei with the history of
her huiiband's poems are represented as being
remarkal)ly distinct and vivid, gives wliat may
at first apjiear a :nore prosaic edition of the
history.-' .Vccording to her. Hums sjient that
<lay, though lalionring under a cold, in the
usual work of his harvest, and ajijiarently in
excellent spirits. Hut as the twilight dccji-
ened, he aiijicared to grow "very sad about
.something," and at length wandered out into
'le barn-yard, to which his wife, in her
an.xicty for his health, followed him, entreat-
ing him in vain to observe that frost had set
in, and to return to the fireside. <»n bcin-j;
again and again requested to do so, he always
promised compliance — but still remained where

2 ( .Sul)se((uent iiKiiiiiies into the episdde (if Ilij^h-
land Mary would seem td fix the anniversary (if her
death ahout the I'Jtli (ir 20th of Octolier.l

"I owe these iiarticiilars to Mr. M'Diarniid, the
aide editor of the Duiiifricn Courier, [('roniek in
1808 descrihes the poet as on the occasion, wnnderiiiij
"solitary on the hanks of the Nith, and ahout his
farmyard, in the extreniest aKitation of mind nearly
the whole night. " Ahout twenty years after, the ver-
sion of the story liere given appeared. Doiihts have
more than once heeii expressed as to whether this
circumstantial account, alleged to have lieeii given liy
.Mi-s. ISurns, is in all particulars a narrative of ac-
tual facts, and whether it may not have received iiii-
conscious emliellishnie'its in the hipse of time. It
certainly seems strange that IJurns should have suli-
mitted to the iieriisiil of his wife, immediately after
its composition, such a iiotile trilmte to another
woman, whose memory still apparently possessed
his soul, and who.se " lover " he still speaks of heiiig.
If he did so we cannot help helieving that the
jioet, hy this time at anyrate, had no deep and real
feeling in regard to his .Mary of untimely fate, hut
found her name and early death useful to him as a
hasis for the working of his jioetic genius. 'I'lie
"groans" that rent liia hreast might be audihle to
the Aluse, hut hy mortal ears were certainly not
heard. It may he remarked also that the star ad-
dressed 111 the poem is the morning star.]

I.IFE OF R()BP:RT UUllNS.

81)

lie wiis, striding up uiul tlowii slowly, iuid coii-
leinpliitiiiK tin; sky, which was siiiKulurly clear
:iiiil starry. At hist Mrs. Hums found liiin
^trclchL■d oil a mass of straw, with his oyus
tixcd on a iicautiful itlanct "tliat shone liiie
auotiicr moon;" and prevailed on him to
louic in. He immediately, on entering tiie
house, called for his desk, and wrote, exactly
as they now stand, with all the ease of one
idpying from memory, the sublime anil pa-
llietic verses—

■riidU liiiKfiiiit? star, with lusseulutt ray,

That liiv'st to jjieet the uiuly mom,
AKiiiii thou ushi'i'st in tliu day

.My Miiry from my soul was torn.
(», Maiyl dear ilc'iiarteil slmilf,

Wlicre is tliy place of lilissful ivst ;
Sce'at thou thy lover lowly laid, | Ac,

llcai'st thou tlic KniauM that reuil his lircast'.'

The "Mother's lament for her son," and
" Inscription in an Hermitage in Nithsdale,'
were also written this year.

From the lime when IJuriis settled himself
in I)uuifriessliire, he appears to have con-
ducted with much care the extensive corres-
pondciU-e in which his celebrity had engaged
liiui; it is, however, very ncce.-s:iry, injud,L;ing
(if the letters, and drawing inferences from
their language as to the real sentiments and
opinions of the writer, to take into considera-
tion the rank and character of the persons to
wiuim they are severally addressed, and the
measure of intimacy which really subsisted
between them ami the poet. In his letters,
as in his conversation. Hums, in spite of all
his ])ride, did something to accommodate
liiinself to his company ; and he who did
write the series of letters ad<lre.ssed to Mrs.
Duidop, Dr. Jfoore, .Mr. Dugald Stewart,
.Miss Chalmers, and others, eminently dis-
tinguished as these are by i)urity and noi)leness
of feeling, and perfect propriety of language,
presents him.self, in other etl'usions of the same
class, in colours which it would be rash to call
his own. In a word, whatever of grossncss of
thought, or rant, extravagance, and fustian ii'
expression, may be found in his corrcsjion-
dence, ought, 1 cannot doubt, to be mainly
ascribed to his desire of accommodating him-
self for the moment to the habits and taste of
certain buckish tradesmen of Edinburgh, and
other such-like persons, whom, from circum-
stances alreatly suiliciontly noticed, he num-

bered among his associates ami friends. That
he should iiave condescended to any such com-
pliances must be regretted; but in most cr. s,
it would probably be (piite unjust to imsh our
censure further than this.

The letters that passed between him and
his brother Gilbert are among the most precious
of the eollcetion; for there, there could be no
disguise. That the brothers had entire know-
ledge of, and eontidence in each other, no one
can doubt ; and the plain, manly, atlectionate
language, in which they both write, is truly
honourable to them and to the parents that
reared them.

" l)ear Hrother," writes Oilbert, January 1,
178'J, '• 1 have just finished my New-year'rt
day breakfast in the usual form, which naturally
makes me call to mind the days of former
years, and the society in which we used to
begin them ; and when 1 look at our family
vicissitudes, 'through the dark postern of time
huig elapsed,' I cannot help remarking to you,
my dear brother, how good the (iod of seasons
is to us; ami that, however some clouds m:iy
seem to lour over the portion of time before
us, we have great reason to hope that all will
turn out well."

It was on the same Xcw-year's day that
Hums himself addressed to Mrs. Dunlop a
letter, part of which is here transcribed — it
certainly cannot be read too often :

"F.I.I.ISI.ANM), Xew-Ye(ii'sl>iiii Moniimj, 17S9.

"This, dear madam, is a morning of wLshcii,
and would to (iod that 1 came under the
apostle Jamcs'.s description I — the jinujer of a
rhjliteom iikiii avnileth vuich. In that case,
madam, you shotild welcome in a year full of
blessings ; everything that obstructs ordisturbs
traiKjuillity and self-enjoyment should be re-
moved, 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 iniiuls, to a
state very little superior to mere machinery.

"This day, the first Sunday of May, a
breezy, blue-skyed noon sometime about the
beginning, and a hoary morning and calm

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

HUiiiiy (lay about tlie ciul of aiituinii; tlieso,
time out uf iiiiiiil, liiivu been witli me a kind
ol holiiliiy. I lielieve I owe this to that glorious
imiier ill tiie .S/nrfntur, "i'liu N'isiim of .Miiv.u,'
u iiiece tliiit stnu'k my youiij? faney before I
was ea]>alilc of fixing an idea t(i a word of
tiiree syllables: '(In tiio fitli day of the moon,
which, aeeordinff to the eiistom of my fore-
fatiiers, I always bc/i fio/i/, after havint; wasiied
myself and oflered up my morning devotions,
I usecnded the hi,i;h hill of liagdat, in order
to pass the rest of the day in meditation and
prayer. '

"We know nothinir, or next to nothinj;:, of
the substance or structure of our souls, so
cannot account for those seemin;; caprices in
them, that one should be particularly pleased
with tills tliinj?, or struck with that, which,
on minds of a diHerent cast, makes no c.xfra-
onlinary impression. I have some I'avouritc
flowers in sprinjj;, among which are the moun-
tain daisy, the harebell, the fo.v-glove, the
wild brier-rose, the budding birch, and the
lioary hawthorn that I view and hang over
with particular delinht. I never heard the
loud, solitary whistle of the curlew, in a summer
noon, or tlic wild mixing cadence of a troo[)
of prey plover, in an autunnial morning, with-
out feeling an elevation of soul like the en-
thusiasm of devotion or poetry.' Tell me,
my dear friend, to what can this be owing?
Arc we a piece of machinery, which, like the
i'Kolian harp, i>assive, takes the impression of
♦ he passing accident? Or do these workings
argue something within us above the trodden
cloil? I own myself partial to such proofs of
tlio.sc awful and important realities— a (<od
that made all things — man's immaterial and
immortal nature — and a world of weal or woe
beyond death and the grave."

Few, it is to be hoped, can read such things
as these without delight; none, surely, that
taste the elevated pleasure they are calculated
to inspire, can turn from them to the well-
known issue of Hurns's history, without being
afflicted. It is difficult to imagine anything

1 (Burns's l)otanicnl knowledge ai)i)ears snmewlmt
weak here; several of the favDurites ineiitioiied tan
hy no means 1)6 desidiiateil " H<nver8 in spring." IJy
the "grey plover" he prohaldv means the ijMea
plover, whose "wild cadence" is heard in autumn;
the grey plover is a winter shore l)ird in Scotland. |

more beautiful, more noble, than what sucii a
person an ^Irs. Duidop might at this pcii,,,|
l(C supposed to contemplate as the IjioIiuMl.
tenor of his future life. What fame can luiu;.'
of happiness he had already tasted : l.e had
overleaped, by the force of his j.cnius, all ilic
painful barriers of society; and there \<a-
probably not a nmn in Sc(/tlan(l who woiij,!
not have thought himself homuired by seeing
IJurns under his roof, lie had it in his power
to place Ills poetical reputation on a level with
the very liighest names, by proceeding in ilio
same course of study and exertion which liail
originally raised him into jiublic notice and
admiration. Surrounded by an afl'ectionatc
family, occupied, but not engrossed, by the
agricultural labours in which hi.s youth and
early numhood had delighted, communing
with nature in one of the loveliest districts of
his native land, and, from time to time, pro-
ducing to the world some immortal addition
to his verse — thus advancing in years and in
fame, with what respect would not Burns hav<;
been thought of; how venerable in the eyes
of his contemporaries — how hallowed in those
of after generations, would have been the roof
of Ellisland, the fn.dd on which he •'bound
every day after iiis reapers," the solemn river
by which he delighted to waiuler! The plain
of Hannockburn would hardly have been liol'cr
grouiul.

The "gidden days" of Klli.sland, as Dr.
Currie justly calls them, were not destined to
1)0 many. Burns's farming speculations once
more failed ; and he himself seems to have
been aware that such was likely to 1)C the case
before he had given the business nuuiy months
trial; for, ere the autumn of 1788 was over,
he applied to his patron, Mr. (iraham of Fin-
try, for acti'.al employment as an cxciscnnin ;
and was accordingly appointed to do duty, in
that capacity, in the district where his lamls
were .situated. His income, a.s a revenue
officer, was at first only £35 ; it by and by
rose to £.")0; and .sometimes was £70.2

- Burns writes to Lady H. Don, January ii, 1781): -
' My exci.se salary would jiay half my rent, and I
could nianage the wliole l)usine8S of the division
witliout live guineas of additional expense." (With
shares of tines and i)er(|uisites derived from seizures
of contraband goods, I'lUrns's income was xreiiuently
not less than t!M) a year.]

LIFE OF IfOBKKT lilliNS.

TIksi- pouihIk were Imnlly ciiriicd, hIiicc I lie
(liitifs of hU new railing iiiTCH«uriy withdrew
hiiii vi'iy ol'tcii I'riim tlie raiin, which iiet'tlt'il
his iitiiuist utteiilidii, 1111(1 cxpiiscd him, which
w;is>lill W(>r.«e, It) iiiniiiiicralde teiii]itatioiis of
tlic kind he was least, likely to resist.

I hiive now the satlst'aftion of itresentinu the
reailir with some jiartieiilars of this part of
IJiiriis's history, derived from a source which
every lover of Scotland and Scottish poetry
must he jircpared to hear mentioned with re-
spect. It happened that at the time when
our i)oet went to Nithsdalc, the father of Mr.
,\il;in I'linniiiKhani was steward on the estate
of l):ii>winton : he was, as all who have read
the writings of his son will readily believe, a
man of rciiiarkahle talents and attainments :
lie was a w i>c and uood man ; a fervid admirer
of Hunis's i;enius; and one of those .sober
iiciirliboiirs who in vain strove, by advice and
wiiniinir. to arrest the ])oot in the downhill
path, towards which a thousand seductions
were perpetually drawinjj; him. Allan C'uii-
iiiiiv'hani was, of course, almost a child when
he fir-it saw Hums ; but he was no common
child ; anil, besides, in what he has to .say on
this subject, we may he Hurc we arc hcariiiu:
the substance of his benevolent and sa.nacious
father's observations and reflections. His own
boyisii recollections of the poet's personal ap-
pearance and demeanour will, however, be
read with interest.

" I was very youmr," says Mr. Cunningham,
" when 1 first saw Hums. He came to .see my
father; and their conversation turned jiartly
on faniiinjr, partly on poetry, in both of which
my father had taste and skill. Hums had Just
come to Nithsdalc ;' and 1 think he appeared
a shade moreswarthy than he does in Nasmyth's
picture, and at least ten years older than he
really was at the .ime. His face was deejily
marked by tluuifrlit, and the habitual expression
intensely melancholy. His frame was very
muscular and well jiroportioned, thoufrh he had
a short neck, and something of a ploughman's
stoop ; he was strong, and proud of his strength.

• [.Mian I'uniiiiifjliam must Imve been "vcryyouiif!,"
iiuk'cil, at this tiinu, seeing that he was horn in ITS')
((ir accoidiiiK to some iiutliorities, I'm), ami Hums
laiiic to Nithsdalc in 178S. His recollections of Hums
at this time must be considered rather his father's
than his uwn.1

I saw him one evening mutch himscli ,< th a
number of masons ; and out of five-and-tweiity
practised hands, the most vigorous young men
in the parish, there was only uiiu that could
lift the same weiuht as Hums.

"He hud a very manly face, and a very
melancholy look ; but on the coming of those
he esteemed, his looks brightened up, and his
whole face beamed with utlcction and genius.
His voice was very musical. I once heard him
read 'Tarn o' Shunter,' — I think I hear him
now. His fine manly voice followed all the
undulations of the sense, and expressed as well
as his genius had done, the pathos and humour,
the horrible and the awful, of that wonderful
performance. As a man feels so will he write ;
and in pri))>ortion as he .syin])athi/.cs with his
author, so will he read him with grace and
e fleet.

" I .said that Hums and my father conversed
about poetry and farming. The jioet had newly
taken possession of his farm of Kllisland, — the
masons were busy building' 'lis house, — the
applause of the world was with him, and a
little of its money in his pocket, — in short, he
had found a resting-place at last. Jle spoke
w ith great delight about the exeellcncc of his
farm, and particularly about the beauty of its
situation. 'Yes,' my father said, 'the Avalks
on the river bunks are fine, and you will see
from your windows some miles of the Nith;
but you will also see several farms of fine rich
holm,'- any one of which you might have had.
You have made a poet's choice, rather than u
fanner's. '

" If Hums had much of a farmer's skill, he
had little of a farmer's prudence and economy.
I once inquired of James t'orrie, a .sag'cious
old fanner, Avho.se ground marched with Kllis-
land, the cause of the poet's failure. ' Faith,'
.said he, 'how could he miss but fail, when his
servants ate the bread as fast as it was baked?
I don't mean figuratively, I mean literully.
Consider a little. At that time close economy
was necessary to have enabled a man to clear
twenty pounds a year by Ellisland. Now,
Hurns's own handiwork wa.s out of the ques-
tion ; he neither ploughed, nor sowed, nor

2 llulm is Hat, rich, meadow land, intervening
liutwecu a stream and the jteneral elevation of the
adjdiniiiK country. [What is called haitgh or carte
land ill Hcutliuid.]

i>2

LIFE OF UOHEUT IJIJKNS.

11 tf

rnipcil, ivt IciiHt, like ii Imnl-workini? f'uriiu'r;
anil thfii lu! hull it licvy dI' HorviuiU Innii Ayr-
xliire. The hinsies iliil nothing hut Imke lircail,
ttiiil the hiilH Hat, l)y llie (ireHiile, ami ate it
warm, witii ale. Wante of time ami eonsiimi)-
tiim of food wouiil noon reach to twenty j»»iiniU
u year.''

"The truth of the eaHc/'sjiyn Mr. C'umiiiiK-
ham, in another letter with whieh he ha-*
favoiireil me, "tiie truth i«, that if liohert
Uiirnn liked IiIm farm, it wiw more for the
lieatity of its situation than for the laliours
whii'h it ilenianiled. lie was too wayward to
attend to the stated duties of a husliandman,
and too impatient to wait till the p-ound re-
turned in Kain the cultivation he liestowed
upon it.

" The condition of a farmer, a Nilhsdale one
1 mean, was then very humlde. 1 1 i* one-story
house had a covering- of straw, and a clay floor ;
the furniture was from lac hands of a country
carpenter; and, lietween the roof and floor,
there seldom intervened a smoother ceiliii!.'
than of rouf^h rods and jjrassy t\irf — while a
hu!,'C lan,g;-.HCttle of black oak for himself, and
a carved arm-chair for his wife, were the only
matters out of keei)iiiK with the homely looks
of his resideiu'e. I'' took all his meals in his
own kitchen, and j)! • uled reuularly animifr his
children and domesiics. He performed family
worship every evening — except durinj? the
hurry of harvest, when that duty was perhaps
limited to Saturday nijrlit. A few reliiiious
hooks, two or three favourite poets, the history
of his country, and his Bible, aided him in
forming the minds and manners of the family.
To domestic education, Scotland owes as much
as to the care of her clerijy and the excellence
of her i)arish. schools.

"The picture out of doors was less inter-
estinpr. The p'ound from which the farmer

' [It ought to be iiR'iitiout'd, however, tliat CuiHc's
stateiiiuiit was iii(lij{iiaiitly dunicil liy Mrs. I'.uriis.
.speaking of it to M'Diainiid .she ilodarud that "liuins
iliil work, and often like a liard-workiuK fanner."
Slio had seen him, while he liad his excise duties to
look after, "sow after breakfast two l)asis of eorn for
tlie folk to harrow throuttli the day. . . . There
was no waste : on the contrary, evervthinR went on
on the principle that is observed in any other well-
reguhited farm-house." The " l)evy of servants from
Ayr.shire, ' us has been pointed out previously, is also
an exaggeration. Statements made by Allan Cunning-
ham are oftc" to be received with caution.]

.sou^lit support, was Kt'ncrally in a very niotli i-
ate state of cultivation. The implements wiih
which he tilled his land were primitive and
clumsy, and his own knowledge of the niaiiane-
ment of cropsexceedin.'ly limited, lie plodihd
on in the regular sloth fill rouliiii'of hi>anci'>toi'^;
he rooted (Hit no bushes; IkmIuu: up riii>loni'^;
he drained not, neither did he inclose; and
weeds obtained their full share of the ilinn;
and the lime, which he bcslowid more like a
medicine than a meal (ui his soil. His ploii;r|,
was the rude old Scoti'h one; his harrow> h;!i|
as often teeth of wood as ol iron; \n>\ carls
were heavy ami low-w heeled, or were, more
j)roperIy siieakinir, tninblcr-cars, so called to
distinguish them from trail-cars, both id' which
were in common use. < >n these nidf carriaucs
his manure was taken to the field and his crop
lirouiiht home. The farmer hiinstdf corresiion-
deil in all res]>ects with his impi'rl'ect instru-
ments. His poverty secured him fnun I'iskiiii;-
costly experiments; and his hatred of inno-
vation made him intrench himself behind a
breastwork of old maxims and rustic saws,
which he interjiretcd as orach's delivered
uffainst iniproirwi'iit. With ^^round in sui li
condition, with tools so untit, and with kimw-
ledire so imperfect, he sometimes succeeded in
wrin,u;in;j:a few hundred ])ounils.S'c()/.-i from the
farm he occupied. Such was ucncrally the
state of agriculture when Miirns cjinie to
Nithsdale. I know not how far his own skill
was equal to the ta>k of improvenu'nl - his
trial was short and unfortunate. .\n important
change soon took place, by which he was not
fated to i)rofit; he had not the forcsiuht to see
its approach, nor, lU'obalily, the fortitude lo
await its cominjj.

" In the year 171I'*, much of the uroiind in
Nithsdale was leased at .seven, and ten, and
fifteen shillings j)er acre; and the farmer, in
his jterson and his hou.sc, ditt'ered little from
the peasants and mechanics around him. He
would have thought his daimhlci' wedded in
her degree, had she married a joiner or a
ma.son; and at kirk or market, all m"n bencaHi
the rank of a 'portioner' of the soil mingled
together, equals in appearance and imitortanee.
Hut the war which soon commenced, gave a
decided impulse to airricullure; the army and
navy consumed largely ; corn rose in denumd ;
I the price ancmcnted ; more land was called

LIFE OF KOHKUT IJUIINS.

■wJ

iiiii) fiiltiviition; mill, uh Iciwcm cxiiiriMl, tlio
|,iiiiirit'l<n''< iini>rovuil the urouiidH, linllt Itctlcr
hipiiM-', ciilaru;!'"! the iviiIh; uikI ilu' runner

«;14 HDOll ImrilC "II till' willKH of Kllllllcn HCtlllll

iiliKVc lii^ (iiiKiiml nuiilitiDii. HIh Iioiiho
nliiiiint'il u sliilt'fl niof, xiiHli-wiinlows, fiirpetcil

I1.MII-. pllistl'lllil wiiIIh, uikI CVl'll Ik'KUII In fX-

(•Imiiuii llic Imnkt* of yiirii with whicli it wiw
loiiiu'riv hiiiiir, tor imiiitiiiK'* mi'l piaiiofortoK.
Ill' liiiil ii>i<h' iii'< ('Kill of lioiiu'-iimilc cloth; he
ri'tiri'il from \\U scut uiiioiiK hin Ncrvuiits; he

I am jrrii'vcd to mention it Kave up faiiiilv
worsliii) as a tliiiii; iiiifaHJiionuhiu, and hui-ame
11 kind of ni't/lf iji ntlinniii, wlio rode a hlood-
horsc, and irallolied liomc on market ni^'ht.-i at
I lie jH-rii of his own neck, and to tlic terror of
everv modest i)edestriaii.' His (hlUKlilers, too,
no I'li.u'er prided tiieniselves in weil-ldeaeiied
linen and lionic-inadc «el»s; tlicy elianvreil
their linsev-wolsey ^'owiis for silk ; and so nii-
finieel'iilly did their new state sit u[M)n them,
that I have seen tlieir lovers poniin« in iron-
shod clotts to their earpetetl floors, und two of
the proudest .youiij; women in the purish skul-
//(;/ diiiij; to their father's potuto-field in silk
stoekiiiy;s.

"When a ehanire like this took plaee, and
a farmer eould, with a dozen years' industry,
lie aide to piiivhase the land he rented— which
many were, and many did — the same, oru still
more ]irolitalde ehanjre niinht have hap)iened
with respect to Kllisland; and Hnriis, liud lie
stuck hy his lease and his ])loui;h, would, in
;dl human possihility, have found the in-
d.'pendenee which he soujjht in vain from tiie
coldness and parsimony of mankind."

.Mr. Cunninjiham sums up his reminiscences
of ISiirns at Kllisland, in these terms: —

" Diirin'.' the iiros])crity id" his farm, my
father often said that Mums eoiulueted himself
wisely, and like one anxious for his name as
a man, and his fume iw a poet, lie went to
Diiiiscorc Kirk on Sunday, though he expressed
ofleuer than once iiis dislike to the stern
Calvinism of that strict old divine, Jlr. Kirk-
patrick; he assisted in forminu; a reading club;
and at wedtlinjj^s, ami luui so -heatings, and

• Mr. CiumiMKluun's ilescriptiim accords with tlie
liiKS of Cralilie:

Will) riili's liin liinitrr. wlin liJH lioiifc mloniH,
Willi iliinkii liis wliiu, .iml liiH (liiiliurHi'ineiit tcorns,
Willi frcdiy livi'H, niiil Ihvi'k to sliiiw liii cnii—
This ia the fimncr miiilu the Ki'iitlrnnn.

k-!riiM.'^ and other Kcene* of fentivity, he was a
welcome Kuesi, nniversally liked liy the y(Min;(
and the old. Kiit the failure of his furmiiiK
projects, and the limited income with which
he was eompelled to support un increaslnL;
family and an expensive station in life, preyed
upon his spirits; and, diirinu; these tits of
flespair, he was williiiL; too id'ten to liecome
the companion of the thouv;htless and the
jfross. I am ^trieved to say, that besides leav-
ini; the book too much lor the bowl, and Kfave
anil wise frienils for lewd und reckless com-
panions, he was also in the occasional practice
of com posing sonars, in which he .>iirpassed the
licentiousness, as well as the wit and humour,
of (he old Scottish muse, 'riiese have unfor-
tunately foiinil their way to the press, und I
am afraid they cannot be recalled. '

'' In conclusion, I may say, that few men
have had .so much of (he ]ioet alioiit them, and
few poets so ninch of the niaii- the man was
Itridiably less pure than he on,u:ht to have been,
but the poet was |)ure and brivtht to the last."

The reader must be sutlicientiy prepared to
hear, that from the time when he entered on
his excise duties, the poet more and more
nettlected the concerns ol' his farm. Occasion-
ally, he luifrht be seen holdinir the jdough, an
exercise in which he excelled, and was proud
ofexcelliiiir, or stalkinji'down his furrows, with
the white sheet of j;rain wrai>l about him, a
" tenty seedsman;" but he was more com-
monly occupied in far different pursuits. " I
am now," says he, in one of his letters, "a
]ioor rascally gau.irer, condemned to pillop two
hundred miles every week, to inspect dirty
bonds and yeasty barrels. " [Miirns's district,
to which he was appointed in the autumn ot
1789, comprised ten ])arishes, with his own
])arisli in the centre.]

Both in vor.se and in prose he has recorded
the feelings with which he first followed his
new vocation. Mis jests on the subject arc

- A'/nis.— 'I'lie Imrvcst-Iioine dances aio so called in
Hiotlaiid.

■' ITliis refers to n ciplloctioii of oltl-fiisliioiied and
liinlily-spiced Scotcli soiij^s of which T.unis took the
IiaiiistofoniuiAIS.collertion.niulwliichcoiitninedalgo
jiieccs of similar character written liy himself. This
collection after Hunis's death fell into theliaiidsof n
lieison who had it iirlnted anil sinieiititioiisly liawked
al)out the country iiiuler the title of tlie Mcni/
Mi'Xen (if Caledonia. See vol. iv. p. 228.1

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

\> h'

;i!

iiiiifonnly bitter. '• I Iiavc the same consola-
tion," he tolls .Mr. Ainslie, "which I once
heard ii recruiting sergeant give to his audience
in the "cts of Kilmarnock : ' CJcntlemen, for
your fan her encouragement, I can as.suro you
I hat ours is the mo.'<t blackguard corps under
the crown, and, consequently, with us an
honest fellow has the .surest chance of prefer-
ment.'" He winds up almost all his state-
ments of his feelings on this matter, iu the
same strain —

I )me a wife aiiil twa wee laddies,

'J'liey iiiami Ime Ivose and lirats o' duddies. rags

Ye ken yoiusell, my lieart right proud is,

I needna vaunt ;

(twist willow ropt's
Ilut I'll sued besoms— thraw saugli-woodies, cut

Before they want.

On one occasion, however, he takes a higher
tone. "There is a certain stigma," .says he
to IJishop (leddes, " in the name of exciseman;
but I do not intend to borrow honour from my
profession " — which may perhaps remind the
reader of (libbon's lofty language, on finally
quitting the learned and polished circles of
London and Paris, for his Swiss retirement;
" f am too modest, or too proud, to rate my
value by that of my associates."

JJurns, in his perpetual perambulations over
the moors of J)umfriesshire, had every temp-
tation to encounter, which bodily fatigue the
blandishnienJs of liosts and hostesses, and the
habitual manners of those who acted along
with him in the duties of the excise, could
present. He was. moreover, wherever he went,
exposed to perils of his own, by tlie reputation
which he had earned, and by his extraordinary
powers of entertainment in conversation ; and
he pleased himself with thinking, in the words
of one of his letters to tlie Lady Harriet Don,
that "one advantage he had in this new busi-
ness was, the knowledge it gave him of the
various sliades of character in man — conse-
(|ucntly assistiug liini in his trade as a poet."'
From the castle to the cottage, every d( or
tlew open at his approach ; and the old system
of hospitality, then flourishing, rendered it
difficult for the most soberly inclined guest to
rise from any man's board in the .same trim
that he sat down to it. The farmer, if IJurns
were seen passing left his reapers, and trotted

1 Letter (unpuhlislied), dated EUisland, 23d Dec.
1789. [See letter to Bishop Geddes, 3d Feb. 17sO. 1

by the side of Jenny Gcddcs, until he coiild
persuade the bard that tljc day was hot cnougii
to demand an extra libation. If he entered
an inn at midnight nfter all the inmates were
in bed, the news of his arrival circulated from
the cellar to the garret ; and ere ten minutes
had elapsed, the landlord and all his guests
were assembled round the ingle; the largest
punch-bowl was produced ; and

Be ours this night — who knows what comes to-
morrow '.'

was the language of every eye in tlie circle
that welcomed him.- The highest gentry of
the county, whenever they hud especial merri-
ment in view, called in the wit and eloquence
of Burns to enliven their carousals. The
famous .song of the "Whistle of worth,"
commemorates a scene of this kind, more
l)icturesque in some of its circumstances than
every day occurred, yet strictly in character
with the usual tenor of life among the jovial
.ii/iiir>'<i>r/ii/. Three gentlemen of ancient
descent, had met to determine, by a solemn
drinking-match,who should pos.se.ss f/ic W/ilsth',
which a common ancestor of them all had
earned ages before, in a bacchanalian contest
of the same .sort with a noble toper from Den-
mark ; and the poet was summoned to watch
over and celebrate liie issue of the debate.

Then np rose the hard like a prophet in drink,
CraiKdarroch shall soar when creation shall sink ;
But if thou wouldst tluurish immortal in rhyme,
Come, one hottle more, and have at the suldime.

Nor, as has already been hinted, was he safe
from temptations of this kind, even when he
was at home, and most disposed to enjoy in
quiet the society of his wife and children
Lion-gazers from all quarters beset him ; they
eat and drank at his cost, an<l often went
away to criticize him ami his fare, as if they
had done Burns and his black hotel -^ great

- These particulars are from a letter of David Mai-
cnlloch, nsti., who being at this i)erioil a very yotmii
gentlennm, a passionate admirer of Burns, and a
capital singe- . ' numy of his serious songs, used often,
in his enthusiasm, to accompany the poet on his
professional excursions.

■' Burns's famous black pnneh-bowl, of Inverary
marble, was the nuptial gift of his father-in-law Mr.
Armour, who himself fashioned it. After passing
through many hands, it became the pro))erty of
Atchiliald Ilastie, Esij., afterwards M.l'. for I'aisley.

LIFE OF llOBERT BUENS.

, until he cmilii

was liot cii()ii,i,'li

If lie entered

10 inmates were

cireulated finm

ere ten minutes

1 all his fjiicsts

glc; the largest

what comes tn-

ye in tlie eirde
ighest gentry of
1 especial nierri-
t and cloqiicnt-e
carousals. Tiie
■(tie of worth,"
his kind, more
.•umstanccs than
tly in ciianu'ter
mong the jovial
len of ancient
le, by a solenni
ssess the ]Vhi.itlc,
f them all had
haiuilian contest
toper from J)en-
moned to Avatch
f the debate.

ipliet in ilrink,
fiitiou hIiuU sink ;
iiirtnl in iliyme,
.' at tlie Kulilinit'.

ted, Wiis he .safe
1, even when he
ised to enjoy in
e and children
beset him ; they
an<l often went
fare, as if they
tck lioirl'^ iireat

ttur of Diivid Mac-
i;rio(l a very youny:
(if iiurns, anil a
< songs, n.sed oftrn,
• the i>')et on Ills

)owl, of Inverary
I fatlier-in-law -Mr.
it. After passing
I tlie projierty of
i M.V. for I'aisley.

honour in condesec.iding to be entertained for
a sinulo evening, with such company and such

liijuor.

We have on record various glimpses of him,
as he appeared while he was half-farmer, h.ilf-
c\ci>eniaii ; and some of the.sc present him in
attitudes and aspects on which it would be
ideasing to dwell.' For example, the cireum-
>taiices under which the verses on the
•' Wounded Mare " were written, are mentioned
generally by the poet him.self. James Thom-
son, son of the occupier of a farm adjoining
KUislaiid, told Allan Cunningham that it
was lie who wounded the animal. "Hums,"
said this person, " was in the custom, when at
hnme, of strolling by him.self in the twilight
every evening, along the Nith, and by tiie
miiirli lictween his land and ours. The hares
often came and nibbled our \vheat-//»'«(*v/;
and once, in the gloaming, it was in April, I
got a shot at one ami wounded her; she ran
bleeding by IJurns, who was pacing up and

lit was not, aecordiiijf to Mrs. liurns, strictly a
■ miiitial fiift;' Burns took a fancy to it on one of his
visits to .\yr.sliii'e, when his lather-in-law presented
it t<i liini. It was loft at Mr. Ilastie's deatli to the
liiitish .Miisciuii.]

' X writer in the F.dinlnmjh Literary Journal
[I'ldfessor (iillespie of .St. Andrews], vol. i. p. 82, has
just fiirnisheil 'ISJ'.)) thu foUowiiifi little anecdote:—
• It may lie readily (jnessed with wliai interest I
heard, one I'liornhill fair-day, that liurns was to visit
till' niaikit. Hoy as I then was, an interest was
awakcmd in nie respecting: this extraordinary man,
which w;i> suthcifiit, in additinn to the ordinaiy
iittraitinii of a village fair, to coinniand my presence
ill the ni i ket. liurns actually entered the fair ahoiit
ii.elve; ;imiI man, wife, and lass, were all on the oiit-
liHik i'or a pee]) of the Ayrshire ploujihman. I care-
fidly dofiLied him from stand to stand, and from door
to dour. An iiii<ii"iiati<in had lieeii lodged against a
poor widow woman of the name of Kate Watson,
«lio had ventured to serve a few of her old country
I'rieiids with a draught of unlieen.sed ale, ami a laeiliK
of whisky, on this village jnliilee. I saw him enter
liti door, and anticipated nothiiit; short of an ini-
nii'diate seizure of a . M'tjiin Krey-lieard and liarrel,
which, to my personal knowledge, contained the
rontraliaml commodities our hard was in iiuest of.
A noi', aceompanied liy a siKnifleant movement of
till' foretlii^'er, liriniKht Kate to the doorway or trance,
and I was near enonnh to hear the following words
distinctly uttered :— ' Kate, arc ye mad ? D'ye no ken
that the supervisor and me will lie in upon you in
the comse of forty minutes? (Jiiid-liy t'ye at present.'
liurns was in the street and in the midst of the
crowd, ill an instant, and I had access to know that
Ills fiiendly hint was not nenleeted. It saved a poor
willow woman from a tine of several pounds. "

down by himself, not far from mo. Ho started,
and with a liittcr curse, ordered me out of his
sight, or he would throw mo ins'nntly into
the Nith; and had I stayed, I'll warrant he
would have been a.s good as his word, though
1 was both young and strong."

Among other curious travellers who found
their way iibout this time to EUisland, was
Captain (Jro.se, tho celebrated antiquarian,
whom Buiiis brioflv described as

A fine fat fodgel wight—

Uf stature short, hut genius bright ;

imitiry

and who has painted his own portrait, both
with pen and pencil, at full length, in his
Olio. This gentleman's taste and pursuits
are ludicrously set forth in tho copy of verses —

Hear, Land o' Cakes and hrither Scots,
Frae .Maideukirk to John o' (iroats,
A chieUl's amang ye takin notes, i&e.

and, inter (din, his love of port is not forgotten,
tiroso and Hums had too much in common
not to become great friends. The poet's
accurate knowledge of Scottish phraseology
and customs was of much use to tho researches
of the humorous aiuiciuarian ; and, above all,
it is to their acquaintance that we owe "Tam
o' Shanter." Hums told the story as he had
heard it in Ayrshire, in a Letter to the Captain,
and was easily persuaded to versify it. The
poem was the work of one day; and ^Ir.s.
Hums well remembers the cireumstiinces. lie
sjient most of the day on his favourite walk
by tho river, where in the afternoon, she
joined him with some of her children. "He
was busily engaged rroonimj to himarll ; and
ilrs. Hurns, perceiving that her presence was
an interruption, loitered behind with her little
ones among the broom. Her attention was
presently attracted by the strange and wild
gesticulations of tho bard, who now, at some
distance, was agonized Avith an ungovernable
access of joy. He was reciting very loud, and
with the tears rolling down his cheeks, those
animated verses which ho had just conceived :

Now, Tam ! () Tam ! had they lieen queans
A' plum)) and strappin in their teens ; iKri'us.v fluiinol
Their sarks, instead of creeshie thinnen, cliemises
Been smiw-wliite seveiiteen-hunder- linen, —

- The manufacturers term for ttiie linen woven on
a reed of IVUii divisions. —Cromc/.-

LIFE OB^ ROBERT BURNS.

Tliir breeks o' mine, my only [mlr, these lirceehcH

That anue were pliisli, o' good blue liair,
1 wad liae given tliem olf my Inndies, liii>s

For ae blinlt o' tlie bonnie bardies.'

To tho last, Hums was of opinion that
-'Tani o' SJiaiiter" was the best of his pro-
ductions; and although it does not often
happen tliat poet and public come to the same
conclusion on such points, I believe the de-
cision in question has been all but unanimously
approved of.

The admirable execution of the piece, so far
as it goes, leaves iiothin,!,' to wish for; the
only criticism has been, that the catastrophe
appeai-s unworthy of the preparation. IJurns
might have avoided this error — if error it be —
had he followed not the Ayrshire, but the
(ialloway edition of the legend. According
to that tradition, the Ciitfi/Siirk who attracted
the special notice of the bold intruder on the
Satanic ceremonial, was no other than the
jirctty wife of a farmer residing in the some
village with himself, and of whose unholy
propensities no suspicion had ever been
whispered. The (ialloway Tain being thor-
oughly sobered by terror, crept to his bed
the moment he reached home after his escape,
and said nothing of what had hajipened to any
of his family. He was awakened in the morn-
ing with the astounding intelligence that his
horse had been found dead in the stable, and
a woman's hand, clotted with blood, adhering
to the tail. Presently it Wiis reported that
Ci(tti/-Snrk had burnt her hand grievously
over-night, and was ill in bed, but obstinately
refused to let her wound be examined by the
village leech. Hereupon Tani, disentangling
the bloody hand from the hair of his defunct
favourite's tail, proceeded to the residence of
the fair witch, and forcil)Iy pulling her stump
to view, showed his trophy, and narrated the
whole circumstances of the adventure. The
poor victim of the black art was constrainetl
to confess her guilty practices in presence of
the priest and the laird, and was fortiiwith
burnt alive under their joint auspices, within
watermark, on the Solway Firth.

' The aliove is <iuoted from a M.S. journal of ( 'roinck.
Mr. jr'Diarmid confirms tlie statement, and adds,
that the poet, having connnitted the verses to writing
on the top of his ^od-tlykc. [fence of tnifs] over the
water, came into the house, and read them innnedl-
atoly in high triumph at the fireside.

Such, Mr. Cunningham infonns me, is tin;
version of this story current in (ialloway and
Dumfriesshire: but it may be<l()ul)ted whetlici-.
even if Hums was acciuainted witii it, he did
not chocse wisely in adhering to the .\yrshirc
legend, as he had heard it in his youtii. It
is seldom that tales of popular superstition arc
effective in proportion to their completeness ot
.solution and catastrophe. On the contrary,
they, like the creed to which they belong, snfUr
little ina picturescpie jiointof view, by e.xhii)!;-
ing a maimed and fragmentary character, that
in nowise satisfies strict taste, eitiier critical
or moral. Dreams based in darkness, may
fitly terminate in a blank : tlie cloud opens,
and the cloud closes. TIk alisence tif definite
scope and purpose. appcai> to be (d" the essence
of the mythological urotcii/iic.

Hums lays the scene of this remarkable pi r-
formance almost on the spot where he was bori: ;
and all the terrific circumstances by which lie
has marked the progre.ss of Tam's midniuht
journey, are drawn from local tradition.

By this time he was cross the ford

Whare in thesiniw theehapman smoored.snKitlicrnl

And past tlie birks and meikle stanc, l>iivlieH

Whare drneken Charlie brak's luck-banc;

And throngh the whins, and by tlie cairn,

Whare hunters fand the mnrdered bairn ; fiMiiul

And near the thorn, almon the well, jitiovc

Where Jtungo's iiiither hanged herseli.

None of these tragic memoranda were derived
from imagination. N'or was "Tarn o' Slianter'
himself an imaginary character. Slianter i>
a farm close to Kirkoswald, that smuggling
village, in which Hums, when nineteen yeai--
old. studied mensumlion, and "first becanic
ac(|uainted with scenes of swaggering riot."
The then occupier of .Slianter, by name Douglas
(Iraliam, was, by all accounts, eciually what
the Tamof the poet ajipears, — a jolly, careless
rustic, who took much more interest in the
contraband traffic of the coast, than the rotati(j;i
of crops. Hums knew the man well ; ami to
his dying day, he, nothing loath, passcil among
his rural compeers by the name of Tarn o'
Shaiiter.'-

A few words will bring us to the close of
Hurns's career at Ellisland. .Mr. I'ani.say of
Ochtertyre, happening to pa.ss through Nilhs-

'■iTIie above infonnation is derived from Mr. J!.
Chambers. (See also note ;t, p. 24.1

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

il.tlL-, in 17!»<», met Hiinis ridiiis? rapidly near
Closcburn. The i)oet was ()i)li,u;ed to pursue
liis piofessional Journey, l>ut sent on Air.
i.'auisay an<l liis fellow-traveller to Kllisland,
wliere he joined them as soon as his duty per-
iir:ttc<l him, sayin.s as he entered, "I eome, to
use tlic Avords of Shakspearc, Hteurd in hade."
Mr. l{amsay was " niucli pleaseil with his luor
Suliiiiii iiWilU, and his modest mansion, so
indike the hal)itation of ordinary rusties."
lie told his ffuest he was prepariuji' to write a
(Iraniu, which he was to call " I'ob Al'Qucchan's
lllshin," from a pojiular story of King IJobert
tlie Hiucc heiui; defeated on tlie Carron, when
the 111 1 of his boot havinu- loosened in the
fliirht, he applied to oue Hobert M'tjueehan to
fi.\ it 0)1 • who. to make sure, ran his awl nine
iuehcs up the King's heel. The evening was
spent delightfully. .\ gentleman of dry tem-
perament, who looked in accidentally, soon
(larlook the contagion, and sat listening to
Burns with the tears runninii' over his cheeks.
" I'oor Burns!" .says .Mr. Uanisay, "from that
liuic I met him no more. "

The sunnner after, some Hnglish travellers,
calling at Kllisland, were told that the poet
was walking by the river. They proceeded in
sL'arch of him, and presently, '-on a rock that
projected into the stream, they saw a man
employed in angling, of a singular appearance,
lie had a cap made of fo.xs skin on his iicad ;
a loose greatcoat, fastened round him by a belt,
from which depended an enormous Highland
broadsword." (Was he still dreaming of the
Bruce?) " It was Burns, lie received them
with great cordiality, and a.sked them to share
his humble diinier. " These travellers also
classed the evening they sjient at Kllisland,
with the briglitest of their lives.'

Whether Burns ever made any progress in
the actual composition of a drama on " I'ob
.M '(iuechan's KIshin," we know not. Ho had
certainly turned his and)ition scriou.sly to the
theatre almost imme<liately after his first
establishment in Dumfriesshire. In a letter
(unpubli.shed) to Lady H. Don, dated Decem-
lier '2;!d, ]7S<,), he thus e.\t)resses himself—
•'No man knows what nature has fitted him
for till ho try; and if, after a preparatory

MTliis stilly, with otlicf iiartiLUlai's, is also (,'ivcii
ill ('nirit'.s iiieiiioir, as lioiiij; from iuforiiiation sup-
pli'il liy (iiie (if tlie party. |

course of some years' study of men and books,
I should find myself unequal to the task, there
is no great harm done. Virtue and stmly are
their own reward. I have got Shakspearc,
and begun with him ; and 1 shall stretch a
point, and make my.self master of all the
dramatic authors of any repute in both Kngli.sh
and French — the only languages which I
know." And in another letter to the .same
person, he recurs to thesulijeet in these terms —
"Though the rough material of tine writing is
undoubtedly thegiftofgenius, the workmanship
is as certainly the united effort of labour,
attention, and pains. Nature has (pialified
few, if any, to shine in every walk of the
muses. I .shall put it to the test of repeated
trials, whether she has formed me capable of
distinguishing my.self in any one."

Towards the close of 1791, the poet, finally
despairing of his farm, determined to give up
his lease, which the kindness of his landlord
rendered easy of arrangement : and jirocuring
an appointment to the Dumfriesdivision, which
raised his salary from the revenue to .f70 per
annum, removed his family to the county town,
in which he terminated his day.s. His conduct
as an excise-officer had hitherto met with
uniform approbation ; and he nourished warm
hopes of being promoted, when he had thus
avowedly devoted himself altogether to the
service.

lie left Kllisland, however, with a heavy
heart. The aft'ectiou of his neighbours was
rekindled in all its early fervour, by the
thoughts of parting with him; and the ro?(/>
of his farming-stock and other eflects, was, in
spite of whisky, a very melancho',, scene.
The competition for his chattels (says Allan
Cunningham) was eager, each being anxious
to secure a memorandum of Hurns's residence
among them.

It is pleasing to know, that among other
"titles manifold" to their respect and grati-
tude, Hums, at the suggestion of Air. Uiddcll of
Friars' Carse, had superintended the formation
of a subscription-library in the parish. His
letters to the booksellers on this subject do
him much honour: his choice of authors
(which business was naturally left to his dis-
cretion) being in the highest degree judiciou.s.
Such institutions arc now commor, almost
universal, indeed, in the rural districts of

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

.soutliern Scotlaml ; l)ut it h1iou1(1 never he
forgotten that Burns was among the first, if
not the very first, to set the example. " lie
was .so good," .says Mr. Uiddcll, "as to take
the whole management of this concern; he
was treasurer, lil.u'arian, and censor, to tiur
little society, who will long have a grateful
sense of hi.s public spirit and exertions for
their improvement and information."'

Once, and only once, did Burns quit his
residence at Ellisland to revisit Kdinburgh.
His object was to close accounts with Creech;
that business accomplished, he returned imme-
diately, and he never again saw the capital. -
He thus writes to Jlrs. Dunlop: — "To a man
who has a home, however humble and remote,
if that home is, like mine, the scene of do-
mestic comfort, the bustle of Kdinburgh will
soon be a business of sickening disgust —

Vain pom]) and glory of tlio world, I liato you.

"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 had he had, or what
demerits have I had, in some state of pre-
existcnce, that he is ushered into this state
of being with the sceptre of rule, and the key
of riches in his puny fist, and I kicked into
the world, the .sport of folly, or the victim of
pride? . . . Often as I have glided with
humble stealth through the pomp of Prince's
Street, it has suggested itself to me as an im-
provement on tlie present human figure, that
a man, in proportion to liis own conceit of his
con. .quence in the world, could have pushed
out the longitude of his common size, as a
.snail pushes out his horns, or as we draw out
a perspective." There is bitterness in this
badinage.

It may naturally excite some surprise, that
of the convivial conversation of so distin-
guished a convivlalist, .so few .specimens have
been preserved in the memoirs of his life.

' Letter to Sir .Tohn Sinrlair, Burt., in the Statisti-
cal Account of Scotland— Varish of Duiiscore.

2 [It is true tliat Burns paid only one visit to Edin-
Inu-gh while resident at Ellisland, but he ayain visited
tlie .Scottish capital on his leaving the farm, when he
remained there about a week, and took farewell of
"C.-.rinda," who was on the eve of s.iiling to the
West Indies.]

The truth seems to be, that those of his com-
pauions who chase to have the best mcniorv
for such things, happened also to have the
keenest relish for his wit and his hnniuiir
when exhibited in their coarser phases, .\nion!;
a heap of manuscript memoranda with \\liicli
I have been favoured, I find but little lliat
one couhl venture to present in print: and
the following specimens of that little must, for
the present, suffice.

Agentleman who luid recently returned from
the East Indies, where lie had made a lari:c
fortune, which he .-showed no great alacrity
about spending, was of opinion, it seems, one
day, that his company had had enough of wine,
rather sooner than they came to that conclu-
sion: he ottered another bottle in feeble and
hesitating term.s, and remained dallying with
the corkscrew, as if in hopes that some one
would interfere and prevent further cttusion
of Hordcaux. "Sir," ,>*aid IJurns, losing
temper, and betraying in his mood something
of the old rusticity— -" Sir, you have been in
Asia, and for aught I know, on the ]\louiit of
Jloriah, and you seem to hang over yonr
t(i)i/)lf-/i(ii^ as remorsefully as .Miraliam did
over his son Isaac — Conic, sir, to the.sicrificel"
At mother party, the society had suflercd
considerably from the prosing of a certain
well-known provincial Jion' of the first mag-
nitude ; and Hums, as much as any of them,
overawed, as it would seem, by the rank of
the nuisance, had not only subn.ittcd, but
condescended to applaud. The grandee, how-
ever, being suddenly summoned to another
company in the same tavern, liurns immedi-
ately addressed himself to the chair, and de-
manded a bumper. The president thought he
was about to dedicate his toast to the distin-
guished absentee: "I give," said the banl.
" I give you the health, gentlemen all — of the

waiter that called my Lord out of the

room. "

He often made extempore rhymes the vehicle
of his .sarcasm : thus, for example, having
heard a person, of no very elevated rank,
talk loud and long of some aristocratic festi-
vities in which he had the honour to mingle,
Hums, when he was called upon for his song,
chanted .some verses, of which one has been
preserved : —
3 [A coIlo(|niaI term for n Inrge-sizcd li(HU)r measure.]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

iHiornieasiire.]

(tf lorJly ntciuniiitnnce you bonst,
And the aiikes that you (liiieil wl' yestreen,

Vf t ail insect's an insect at most,
Tlio' it crawl on the curl of a (|uecn.

I liclicve I have already iilludetl to Hiirns's
custoni of carrying a diamond peiicil with liim
ill :ill his wanderings, and constantly einlicl-
lisiiiiiir inn-windows and so forth with his
cpii^'rams. ( )n one occasion, being storm-stayed
ill iiamington, in Clydesdale, lie went to
church; and the indiunant beadle, after the
cimiii'cgation dispersed, invited the attention
of the clergyman to this stanza on the window
by which the noticeable stranger liad been sit-
ting :

As cauld a wind ns ever h\ew-,

A caiilil l«irl{, and in't but few ;

As catilil a minister's ever spals;

Ye'se a' be het or I come Imck. you'll nil Iw hot cro

Sir Walter Scott possesses (1829) a tumbler,
on wliich are the following verses, written i)y
Hums on the arrival of a friend, ^fr. W.
Stewart, factor to a gentleman of Xithsdale.
Tlic landlady lieing very wroth at what she
considered the disfigurement of her glass, a
gcntlcniaii present appeased her, by paying
down a shilling, and carried off the relic.

You're welcome, Willie Stewart,
You're welcome, Willie Stewart;
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in -May,
'I'liafs half sae welcome's thou art.
I'oiiic, bumpers liiKh, express your joy,

Tlie bowl we mauii renew it;
'i'lie taiipit-heii fjae brinn her ben, qiiiirt-meiisure

'I'ae welcome Willie Stewart.
May foes be strann, ami friends be slack.

Ilk action may be rue it;
May woman on him turn her back.

That wranjjs thee, Willie Stewart.

Since we are among such small matters,
pcrliaps some readers will smile to hear, that
lUirns very often wrote his name on his books
tjius— " Robert Burns, Poet;" and that Allan
Cunningham remembers a favourite collie at
Kllisland having the same inscription on his
collar.

[.\s supplementary and partly corrective of
wliat has gone before we shall give the follow-
ing particulars of Kllisland and Hurns's stay
there. The farm of I'vUisland is situated on
flic banks of the Xith, between five and six
miles from Dumfries. When Hums took it it
was an uninclosed and unimproved piece of

ground, measuring 170 imperial acres; and
the poet undertook to pay a rent of fifty
pounds for three years, and seventy for the
remainder of ^ne lca.se, which extended to four
periods of nineteen years, or seventy-six years
in all. Mr. Jliller at the same time agreed
to allow the poet JC300 for the purpose of
building a suitable oiixf&al (suit of farm build-
ings) and inclosing tlie land. The crop of
that summer was also to be iJurns's, while he
was not to be liable to payment of rent till
^iartinmas.

'J'lie poet seems to have commenced his
residence on the farm on the l'2th of June,
1788, occupying a small smoky cottage on its
outskirts (the abode of the outgoing tenant),
while his house was building. His recently
wedded Jean at this time remained at ^lauch-
line or JIo.s.sgiel, with the one surviving child
of four which she had already borno to him.
.Vt length, in December, she went to join her
husband, ami till their new house was finislied
(some months afterwards) they lived at a place
called The Lslc, about a mile below Kllisland.

The farmstead, to which, while it survives,
.some interest must ever be attached, not only
as his residence, but as in some measure a
creation of his taste, is situated to a poet's
wish. Through the centre of a fine alluvial
plain skirted by mountains of considerable
elevation, the Nith, a broad and copious stream,
l)ursues its way to the Solway. The right or
west bank here ri.ses in a gravelly precipice
about forty feet above the stream, while the
opposite bank consists of a low holm or meadow,
out of which, about a mile from Kllisland.
ri.se the toAvers of Dalswinton. Hurns's farm-
buildings were situated near the verge of the
precipice or xcaur alluded to, in such a way
that, as Mr. Cunningham remarks, their
' ' afternoon shadow fell across the river upon
the opposite fields." A common-minded
farmer superintending the erection of farm
buildings in such a situation, would have
placed the dwelling-house with its back to the
stream, and its face towards the approach from
the public road. Hut Burns caused it to face
the river, thoudi this gave it a northerly aspect.
Kven in this little arrangement we can sec some-
thing characteristic of the poet. The house was
a simple parallelogram, of one story in height,
about sixty feet long, by eighteen in breadth.

100

LIFE OF KOBEllT BURNS.

I i

IJcliiiul it 11 quiidriinglo wan forincil by a stable
and cow-hoiisu on onu Imiul (cu.st), and a barn
(somcwbal too small lor the farm) on the otiier
(west), a straw-yard lor cattle being behind
tlie one, and a stack-yard at the extremity of
the other, and on the left hand as we ai)proa(.di
the liouse by it: ordinary access. There
is a separate garden a little to the cast; iiut
this is said to have been formed since Hurns's
lime. From llic front of the house a [latli-
way winds down the bank towards a little slip
of holm here left by the river, a spot where
children rejoice to weave rush-caps and begem
the thorn with the gowan, and "lassies use
to wash and spread their claitlis," as old .Vllan
says. Half- way down the pathway, a copi-
ous spring sj)()uts out into a basin, for the
supply of llic i'aniily witii water. There is a
small separate building at tiie top of the jiath-
way; but this was raised by the gentleman
who bought the farm from Air. Miller, several
years after it had been deserted by Burns.

Tlie house itself has a projection towards
tlie north, which has also been added since the
days of Burns, being emjjloyed as a kitchen.
The house built and possessed by the poet,
consists expressly of the parallelogram al)ove
described, being divided into four apartments,
besides sleeping-places under the slates. At
the we.st end, occupying the full breadth of
the house, but enjoying no fine outlook in any
direction, is the best room, s]>encc, ben-end,
or by whatever other name it might be e.-dled.
A corres])onding room at the east eml, ))artly
occupied by beds, was the ])arloiir. or ordinary
sitting-room of the poet, the other being re-
served for the rece]ition of strangers who
re(|uired to be treated with ceremony. The
former room has a pleasant window to the cast,
commanding a view of the Nitli downwards,
and of Dalswinton grounds on the oi>]iosite
bank. Between these two rooms is a space
divided into two small ai)artments, one of
which, adjoining the ordinary sitting-room,
was Burns's kitchen, while the other was a
bed-room. In this house were born his sons
Francis and William, and here he wrote his
"Tarn o' Slianter," and some of the best of his
songs.

William Clark, a respectable old farm-servant,
formerly residing at Enrick near Gatehouse,
ha<l some interesting recollections of the jwet.

which have been reported in the followinir
terms: — He lived with Burns as farm-servant
during the winter half-year, he believed, of
17>>!'-!K). On being hired in the house of one
Alexander K'obsoii, who sold ale and sj)irils in
the village of Duncow, Kirkmahoe, he wiis
treated to a dram, and got a shilling as arlm.
/ifiiii!/— that is, earnest-money. Burns kept
t'vo men and two women servants; but he in-
variably, when at home, took his meals with
his wife and family in the little i>arlour. [|}y
this we arc to understand that the .serv.mls
did not dine with him, as the old fashion was
in .'Scotland.] Clark thouaht he was as good a
manager of land as the generality of the farnicr.s
in the neighbourhood. The farm of Klli>Ian(l
was moderately rented, and was su.sceiitibjc of
much imi)rovemcnt, had imi)rovement liccn
in repute. Burns sometimes visited the
neighbouring farmers, and they returned tin
compliment, lie kept nine or ten inildi-
cows, some young cattle, four horses, and
.several pet-sheci) — the latter were great fa-
vourites with him. During the winter and
si)ring-time, when he was not engaged witli
the excise busine.s.s, he occasionally held the
]>l()U'.;h for an hour or so for Clark, and was a
fair worknnm. During seed-time Burns mii;lit
frc(|uently be seen early in the mornings in tlio
fields, with his .sowing-sheet; but as businc.->
often rccpiired his attention from home, he did
not sow the whole of his grain, lie was a kind
and indulgent master, aud spoke familiarly to
his servants, both in the house and out id' it,
though, if anything put him out of humcnir,
he was "gey gulder.somc for a avcc while;"
but the storm was .soon over, and there iK'\or
was a word of "ujicast" afterwards. Clark
never saw him really angry but once, and it
was occasionc'i i)y the careles.sness of one of
the women servants, who had not cut the
potatoes small enough, ,so that one of the cows
had nearly been choked. His looks, gesture,
and voice on that occasion were terrible, .-n
that William was glad to get out of his sight ;
when they met again, he was perfectly calm.
When any extra work was done, the men
sometimes got a dram; but Clark had lived
with masters who were more "Hush" in that
Avay to their servants. Clark had no iiesita-
tion in declaring that, during the six months
he was at Fllisland he never saw his nnister

IJFE OF IIOBEIIT BURNS.

101

intoxiciitcd, or incaimhle of tniusacting lii.s
(jiilinaiy biisliiuss. in uveiy ■•cnse of tlic word
lie was tlio poor man's friuiul. h was rumoured
tliat Alexander liobson, in Duneuw, made a
lew liushels of malt in a tdandestine way in an
old liai'u. Some ijerson, anxious for reward
or favour, informed 1 iuriis of the elreunistanees,
;,ud on the following night, rather late, a eard
was thrust under Itohson'.s door, intiniatini;'
that the exciseman would proliaidy eall at a
certain hour next day, — a hint to the poor
man to put his malt out of the way. Clark re-
collected hearing- liohson'sson reading this eard
to a group of villagers, with whom it made
I'urns very popular; they unanimously declared
liiui to lie ''a kind-hearted man, who would
not do anybody liann, if he could help it."
Hums, wiien at home, usiially wore a broad
blue bonnet, a blue or dral) long-tailed coat,
corduroy lireeehcs, dark blue stockings, an<l
cuutil.'i'ii.i [short spatterdashes]: a'.id in cold
weather, a l)laek-an<l-while cheeked phiiil
wra]>ped round his shoulders, .sueli as shep-
licnls and many otiier jiersons still wear.
.Mrs, Burns Avas a good and prudent housewife,
kept everything in neat and tidy order, was

well liked by the .servants, and provided plenty
of wiiolesomo food. IJefore Clark left Kllishmd
he was pressed to stay by his master; and
when lie came away, liurn.s gave him a eer-
titieato of character, besides paying hi.s wages
in full, and giving him a shilling as a fairing.

According to a recollection of his son Itoberl,
the poet gave shelter and sueeoiir at EUisland
for about si.K weeks to a poor broken-down
sailor, who had come licgging in the extremity
of want and wretchedness. The man hiy in
an outhouse until he recovered some degree
of health and strength, when, being able once
more to take the road, he departed, leaving as
a token of his gratitude a little model of a ship
for the amusement of tiie poet's children.

Burns's expectations from EUisland, an has
been already seen, ended in disappointment,
and in '.'ovember, 1791, having sold oH' his
stock, and much useless furniture, and having
obtained a better excise ajipointment at Dum-
fries, he removed to tliat town with his family:
thus abrujitly breakinti' ofl", after a four years'
exiieriencc, a lease which was to have lasted
lor more than the term of life a.ssigned to man
by the psalmist.]

CIlAl'TEK VIII.

I Diuiifiics :~iutenijiciiUKc ;— holies of ])iciinotiuu : -.lacoliitisni :— Whipgish favour for the French ricvolu-
ticiii : -lliiiiis su-spcctcil :— iiiili>crctiouH: — stoiy of tlie cajjlurcil ^'uus:— Kxcisc-lioarils investigation:—
r.iinis joins the IJuiiifriis \'(iluMtccrs :— F.kction lialla(ls:-(ira.v ami J''iuiUater on JUnns in Dumfries;—
Tlioiiisoii's J/c7ui/iV,s.— corrcspduiluncu :— (.'liloris : — " .Scots wlui hau ":— Cowjier.]

The KiiiK!^ in<»t liunilili" si'i'v:im, I
*'.ni scari-cly y\yivi- a iniiiutr;

IJut 1 am .yours at fiiiilUT time,
Or I'l.-e till.' devils in ii.l

The four princijial biogra])licrs of our poet.
Heron, C'urrie Walker, ami Irving,'- concur in
the general statement, that liis moral course,
from the time when he settled in Dumfries,
was downwards. Heron knew more of the
matter personally than any of the others, and
his words arc these: — '-In Dumfries, his
liissipation became still more deeply liabiiual.
He was here exposed, more than in the

' "Tlie al)ove answer to an Invitation was wiittuii
cxtciiipore on a leaf torn from liis pocket-hook."—
Cn,iiii'!c'.i MSS.

- [David Irving in Liivs o/ Seottish Poctn, 1S04.]
VOL. I.

country, to be .solicited to .share the riot of
the dissolute and the idle. Foolish young
men, such as writers' apprentices, young sur-
geon.s, merchants' clerks, and his brother ex-
cisemen, flocked ciigerly about him, and from
lime to time pressed him to drink with tliem,
that they might enjoy his wicked wit. The
Caledonian Club, too, and the Dumfries ami
(itilloway Hunt, had occasional meetings at
Dumfries after Ihirns came to reside there,
aiul the poet was of course invited to share
their hospitality, tmd liesitated not to accept
the invitation.'' The morals of the town were,

^ [Mrs. Burns took stronp: exception to this passapi',
hut Heron's know leiltre of lUirns's convivial friends
and tavern ciimpaiiiuiis would he more exact tliau
tliat of Mrs. Ijin'ns,]

108

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

ill conscqucuec of its becoming so mucii the
scene of public aniuscnicnt, not a little cor-
rupted, and, though a iiusband and a father,
liuruH did not escape suflcriny; b_v the general
contamination in a manner which I forbear
to describe. In the intervals between his
difVcrent fits of iiitcniperancc, he sullcred the
keenest anguish of remorse and horrible afllic-
tive foresight. His Jean behaved with a
degree of maternal and conjugal tenderness
and prudence, which made him feel more
bitterly the evils of hi.^ misconduct, though
they Cv-ild not reclaim him."

This picture, dark as it is, wants some dis-
tressing shades that mingle in the parallel one
by Dr. Carrie; it wants nothing, however, of
which truth demands the insertion. That
Hums, dissipated enough long ere he went to
Dumfries, became still more dissipated in a
town than he had been in the country, is
certain. It may also be true that his wife
had her own particular causes, sometimes, for |
dissatisfaction, lint that IBurns ever sunk
Into a toper — that he ever was addicted to
solitary drinking — that his bottle ever inter-
fered with his discharge of his duties as an
exciseman — or that, in spite of some transi-
tory follies, he ever ceased to be a most afl'ec-
tionate husliand — all those charges have been
insinuated— and they are all false. His in-
temperance was, as Heron says, mjif.-i; his
aberrations of all kinds were occasional, not
systematic; they were all to himself the
sources of exquisite misery in the retrospect ;
thcv were the abcrrati(jns of a man whose
moral sense was never deadened, of one who
encountered more temptations from without
and from within, than the immense majority
of mankind, far from having to contend against,
are even able to imagine; — of one, finally, who
prayed for pardon, where alone effectual pardon
could be found ; — and Avho died ere he liad
reached that term of life up to which the
passions of many, who, their mortal career
being reuarded as a Avhole, are honoured as
among the most virtuous of mankind, have
proved too strong for the control of reason.
We have already seen that the poet was care-
ful of decorum in all tilings during the brief
space of his prosperity at Ellisland, and that
he btcame less so on many points, as the pros-
pects of his farming speculation darkened

around liim. It seems to be c(nuilly certain,
that he entertained high hopes of promotion
in the excise at the period of his rtinioval to
Dumfries; and that the comparative reckless-
ness of his latter conduct there, was conse-
quent on a certain overclouding of these pro-
fessional expectations. The case is iiroinllv
stated so i)y Walker and Paul; and there are
hints to the same eflect in the narrative of
'Jurrie.

The statement has no doubt been exagwr-
ated, but it has its foundation in truth; and
by the kindness of Mr. Train,' supervisor iit
(.'astle Douglas, in (ialloway, I shall i)rescntly
be enabled to give some details which niiiv
throw light on this business.

Burns was nnic'i patronized when in I'.dln-
burgli by the lb nourable Henry Hrskiiio, Dean
cf the Faculty r)f Advocates, and other leading
Whigs of the place — much more so, to tin ir
honour be it said, than by any of the inlln<ii-
tial adherents of the then administration. His
landlord at Ellisland (Mr. Miller of l):d>\viii-
ton), his ncighbou'-, Mr. IJiddell of I'rijis'
(.'arse, and most of the other gentlemen who
showed him special attention, belonged to thr
same political jiarly; and on his ivnioval to
Humfries it so happened, that some of his
immediate sujieriors in the revenue service of
the district, and other persons of standing and
authority into \vho>e society be was thrown,
entertained sentiments of the same description,

Hurns, whenever in his letters he talk-
serimisly of political matters, unlfo.nily d
scribes his early ,lacobiti>m as mere "inattci-
of fancy." It may, however, be easily be-
lieved, that a fancy like his, long indulged
in dreams of that sort, was well jirepared to
pass into certain other dreams, which had,
as calm men now view the matter, but little
in common with them, except that both aliki'
involved some feeling of dis.satisfaction with
" the existing order of things." Many of the
old elements of political di.saiVeclion in Scot-
land put on a new .shape at the outbreaking
of the French Kcvolntion ; and Jacoliites be-

' f.Tosei)li 'J'rain, a poet and antiiiuariiui of soiuc
aliilit.v, but wlio is best remembered as a kind nf
It ;j;endar.v and iintiiiuarian jackal to .Sir Walter Kcott,
spent twent.v-eiKlit years in tlie service of the excise,
and died in 18,52, aged 73. .Several of the "llnds" lie
fnrnislicil Sir Walter with have since been proved
to l)e " ingenious falirieations of his own." ]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

103

tally ccrtiiiii,
)f in'omotion
s ninidviii to
tivc reckifss-
, was I'diise-
)(' tliesi' ]iro.
e is liniadly
lud there arc
iian-alivc of

iccn cxa^er-
11 truth; ami
■supervisor at
lall iireseiitly
< wliieh iiia.v

hcii in I'.diii-

Irskiiie, Dean

other leading

; so, to till ir

the inlluMi-

tratioii. His

• of Dalswin-

;11 of Fiiai>-

ntleinen whn

loiiijed to till'

s removal in

some of lii>

lue serviee of

>taiiiliiiu;' anil

was thrown,

cdcscriiitioii.

crs he talks

iiifo.nily (1

lere " matter

)e easily he-

111!;- inilnlueil

jireiiareil to

whieh hail.

er, but lit lie

at lioth aiiki'

faction Aviili

^laiiy of the

tioii in Seot-

oiitlircakiiii;'

Jaeoliites lie-

laniiii of siiiiiL'
. as a kiiiil i>f
r Walter Hciitt,
; of the excisr,
the "finds" lie
e liecn proved
ivn."]

eaiiie half Jacobins ere they were at all aware
ill what the doetriiies of Jaeobiiiism were to
end. '1'1'e Wlii.ns naturally re|j;arded the first
diiHii of freedom in Fraiiee with feelings of
sympathy, delifiht, e.xultation; in truth, few
good men of any party regarded it with more
of fear than of hope. The general, the ail but
universal tone of feeling was favourable to the
lirst assailants of the Hourboii despotism; and
tiieie were few who more ardently participated
iu the general .sentiment of the day than IJurn.s.
The revulsion of feeling that took place in
this country at large, when wanton atrocities
began to .stiiin the course of the French Itevo-
hitioii, and Hurke lifted up his powerful voice
to deiiomicc its leaders, as, under pretence of
love for freedom, the enemies of all .social order,
inonility, and religion, was violent in proportion
to the strength ami a 'our of the hopes in
which good men have been eager to indulge,
and cruelly di.saiipointed. The great body of
the Whigs, however, were slow to abandon the
cause which they had espoused; and altlioiigh
tiieir chiefs were wi.>e enough to draw back
when they at length perceived that serious
[ilaiis for overturiiiiin- the political institutions
of our owni country had been hatched and
fostered, under tlie pretext of admiring and
comforting the destroyers of a foreign tyranny
—many of their provincial retainers, having
iiltere<! their sentiments all along with pro-
vincial vehemence and openness, found it no
easy matter to retreat gracefully along with
tlieiii. Scenes niore painful at the time, and
more so even now in the retrospect, than had
for generations alllieted Scotland, were the
coiise(piences of the rancour into which jiarty
feelings on both sides now rose and fermented.
Old and dear ties of friendship were torn in
>iiiiiler; society was for a lime shaken to its
centre. In the most extravagant dreams of
the .lacobites there had alway.s been much to
coniinand respect : Iiii^li chivalrous devotion,
reverence for old ailections, ancestral loyalty,
ami the generosity of romance. In the new
species of hostility, everything seeme<l mean
as well as perilous ; it was scorned even more
ilian hated. The very numc stained whatever
it came near; and men that had known and
loved each other from boyhood, stood aloof,
if this iniluenec interfered, as if it had been
some loathsome pestilence.

There \va.s a great deal of stately Toryism at
this time in the town of Dumfries, which was
the favourite winter retreat of many of the
liesl gentlemen's families of the south of Scot-
land. Feeling.s that worked more violently in
Fdiiilnirgli than in London ac([uired additional
energy still in tliis provincial capital. .Ul
men's eyes were iiiion ISiirns. lie was tlio
standing marvel of the place; his toasts, iiis
jokes, his epigrams, his songs, were the dailj'
food of conver.sation and .scandal ; and he,
open and careless, ami thinking lie did no
great harm in saying and singing vvliat many
of his siijieriors had not the least objection to
hear and applaud, soon began to be considered
among the local admirers and disciples of tlio
gootl old king and minister, as the most
dangerous of all the apostles of .sedition, — and
to be shunned accordingly.

A gentleman of that county, whose name I
have alreaily more than once had occasion to
refer to,' has told me, that he was seldom more
iirieved, than when, riding into Dumfries one
fine suniiner's evening, to attend a county ball,
he .saw Hums walking alone, on the .shady side
of the priiici}ial street of the town, while the
opposite part was gay with successive groups
of gentlemen and ladies, all drawn togetiier
for the festivities of the night, not one of
whom appeared willing to recognize him. The
lior.seman dismounted and joined Burns, who,
on his proposing to him to cross the street,
said, "Nay, nay, my young friend, — that's
all over now ;" and cjuoted, after a pause, soiii j
verses of Lady (ivi/.zel Haillic's pathetic bal-
lad :—

His bonnet stood aiice fu' fair on his lirow,
His auUl aiie look'd better tliaii nioiiy aiies new;
Hut now lie lets't wear oiiy way it will liiiij.',
And casts Iiiinsell dow ie ujioii the eorn-liiii^'. sua

() were we yiiuiij!, as we aiice liae been,
We siild Iiae lieeii Kalloiiin;,' iloun on yon yrceii,
And linking it ower the lily-white lea, — triiiiilng
And icerna mi/ heart liijht I wad die.

It was little in Burns's character to let his
feelings on certain subjects escape in this
fashion, lie immediately after citing these
verses a.ssnmed the sprightliness of his most
jileasing manner; and taking his young friend

I [David Jl'OuUoch, brother to thclaird of Ardwell,
and whose sister was married to a brother of Sir
Walter, Scott.)

loi

I.IFK Ol' iiOBKirr IJITIINS.

I 3,

1,111110 williliiin, ciitiTliiiiu'il liiin very iiirrfi-iililv
until thu hour ot'llio Imll arrivt'il, with u liowl
(if his iisniil putiitioii. anil lioiinii' .lean's sin;;iiiu'
(if some verses whieh he had reeenll.v eomiuised.
Hut this iiieiileiit Iteloii.as, ])rol)altly, toasome-
vliat later jieriod of our [loct's re>idenee in
J)iinifries.

The records ol' I he exeise-ollice are silent,
eoncernin.ir the siis]iieions whieh the t'on)ini>-
sioners of I lie time certainly took iiji in re.uard
to Hums as a iiolitieal ofl'ender — aeeordim; to
the iiiiraseolo,t;y of the teii)])estuous jieriod, a
tli'iinieritt. in that deiiarlmeni, as then eon-
dueted, I am assured tiiat nothing eould have
liocn more uidike the usual course of Ihin.^'s,
tlian that a syllahle should have heeii set down
in writ ins "" such a suliject, unless t lie case had
heen one of extremities. That an in(|uiry was
instituted, we know from liiirns's own letters
— and what the exact termination of in(|iiiry
■was, can no lon,!.;er, it is iirol)al)le,l)e ascertained.

Aeeordin,!;' to the tradition of the nei.iilihour-
liiod, Hums, Inter (ilin, jiavc .y'reat oH'cnce liy
(lemiirrin'4' in a lar.n'C mixed coiiiiiany to the
jproposcd toast, "The health of William Pitt ;"
and left the room in indimiation, because the
siicicly rejected what lie wished to sulistitute,
namely, "The health of a greater and u better
man, (!corgc Washington." I suppose the
warmest admirer of Mr. Pitt's talents and
jiolities would liardly venture nowadays to
dissent substantially from IJurns's estimate of
the eompar.itive merits of these two great
men. The name of Washington, at all events,
when contemporary jiassions shall have finally
sunk into the peace of the grave, will un-
(|iicstioiiably have its jilace in the first rank
of heroic virtue, — a station which demands
tlie exhibition of victory pure and unstained,
over temptations and trials extraordinary in
kind, as well as strength. Hu* at the time
when Hurns. being a servant of Jlr. IMtt's
government, was guiltv of this indiscretion, it
is obvious that a great deal "more was meant
than reached the ear."

In tlie poet's own correspondence we have
traces of another occurrence of the same sort.
Uurns thus writes to a gentleman at who.se
table he had dined tlie day before :* — " I was,
1 know, drunk last night, but 1 am sober this

1 (Letter to Samuel Clark, Jan., Dumfries, dated
'• Huiulay morning" (January, 1794).]

morning. l''rom the expressions ('a|)taiii

made use of to me, had 1 had noliody's well'iirc
to care for but my own, we should certainly
have come, according to the manner of ijio
worhl, to the necessity of murdering one
another about the business, '{"he words were
such as generally, 1 believe, end in a brace of
pistols; l)ut I am still ideased to think that I
cjid not ruin the peace and welfare of a wiio
and children in a drunken siiiiabble. Kaiihcr,
you know that the report of certain political
opinions being mine, has already once bci'ure
brought me to the brink of destruction. 1
dread lest last night's business nniy be inter-
jireted in the same way. Ymi, I beg, will
lake care to prevent it. I tax your wi>li for
Mrs. Hurns's welfare with the task of waiting
on ever^. gentleman who was jiresent to slate
this to liim; and, as you please, show this
letter. What, after .all, Avas the obnoxious
toast? Mill/ our micccis in t/ii- /ircsciif nuir hf
ii/iiiil lo the judke of our ciiiin(—a, toast that
the most outrageous frenzy of loyalty caiiiiol
object to."

Hurns has been commended, sincerely by
some, and ironically by others, for putting up
with the treatment which lie received on this

occasion, without calling Captain to

account the next morning; and one critic
[Sir W. Scott], the last, 1 am sure, that would
have wislied to say anything unkindly about
the poet, has exi'ile<l indignation in the breast
of .Mr. I'eterkin,'- by suggesling that Hurns
really hud not, ut any iicriod of his life, those
delicate feelings on certain matters, which, it
must be admitted, no person in IJurns's original
rank and station is ever expected to act upon.
The (piestion may be safely intrusted to the
good sense of all who can look to the case
without i)assioii or personal irritation. Ko
human being will ever dream that Robert
Hurns wiis a coward; as for the poet's toast
about the success of the war, there can be no
doubt that only one meaning was given lo it
by all who heard it uttered; and as little that
a gentleman bearing the king's commission
in the army, if he was entitled to resent the
sentiment at all, lost no part of his right to
do so because it was announced in a quibble.

- [Mr. Ale.\aiuler Teteikiii, slieiifr-sulistitiite of
Orkney, author of a Jtevicw vf the Life of Uuljcrt
liuriis, i)Ublislied in 1813.]

I li I

rJl'M-: OK l!(H!KUT lirUNS.

10.-.

iixlv's wdl'iire

lll<l fi'l-|;iilily
iiniKT of the
iinluriiii; one
wiinls Wire

ill a lirai'o nf

lliiiik lliiit I
iirc dl' a wile
>k\ Faiilui',
lain imliiii'al
y oiict- 1h Inro
stniclioii. I
nay l)u intcr-
I l>t% uill
njiir wi.sh lor

k of Avail iiii;
sent to state
c, show this
le oliiioxiiiiis
/•(.<( lit ii;ir III'

a toast tliat
lyalty cannot

sincerely hy
ir ]Mittinu- {\\<
eived on this

in to

(1 one critic
e, tiiat Mould
kinilly alioiit

in tiie breast
;■ that liurus
lis life, tliose
urs, vhicli, it
irn.s's orijiinal

to act njion.
•ustcd to tlic
. to the ease
•itatioii. >'o

that liohert
I poet's toast
ire can he no
s given to it
as little that

coniniission
Lo resent tiie

his right to
1 a quil)l)]e.

'-sn))stitiito of
Life of Itvbeit

iiuriis, no (|iieslion, was guilt)' of iin[Milite-
iicsM as well as imliscrelion, in oU'ering any
such toasts as liicse in inixctl company; liul
that siich toasts .-lionld Jiave heen considereti
asallaciiinutany grave suspicion tohischaiueter
as a loval siilijcct, is a eir<',inislance which can
only lie accounted for liy lefcrence to the
cxairwrated slate of political feelings oli all
mailers, and anvng all descriptions of men,
at I hat melancholy [jeriod of disalleclion, dis-
trust, anil disunion. Who, at any other than
that laincnlaliictinii', would ever havedrcaincd
(if erecting the drinking, ordeelining lo drink,
the health of a particular minister, or the
approving, or disajiproviiig, of a particular
measure of govcrnnicnt, into the test, of a
man's loyalty to his king? The poet (. ralilic
has, in one of his masterly sketches,' given us.
perhai's, a more vivid delineat ion of the jarrings
and collisions which were at this period the
pcrpelual curse of society, th.ui the rcadci'
may heahle to lind elsewhere, lie has p;iinte(l
the sturdy Tory mingling aecideiitally in :;
comiiaiiy of those who W(udd not, like lUuns.
drink ••the licalth of William I'itt:" and suf-
fcviiig sternly, and sulkily, under the inlliction
(ifllicir, lo liiiii, horrihle doctrines

Now, iliiiMcr past, no longer lie KU)ii'iest
lli-i stroiit,' (IMil<c to lie a silent ;:uest;
sulijrcls ami wnnis wi re now at liis (■(uiininiiil
When ilis,'i|i|i(iiMtMit'nt tniwucil on all lie |>laiin'il.
I'nr, liink I lie licinl, aniazcil, on every side,
111 r iliuieli iiisulteil, ami her jiriests lielicd,
Tlic laws rcvik'il, the ruliiiK jMiwcrs aliased,
'riic land deriiliil, and her foes excused —
111' lieard and |H>Miler d. W liat lo men so vilti
Sliiinld lie Ins language? I'ur his thrcateniii!; st,\ le
'llie.v were too many, il his s|ieeeh weiu mi eli,
Tliey Wduld ilespise Riich jiooi' attemiits to speak.

'I'iierc wel'c reliiiiuers of each ditfereilt sort.
KiiL'S to the laws, the |iriesthood, anil the emnl ;
Siiiiie on tlieir favmnite plans alniio intent,
Siinie jmrely aiiyry and malevolent;
Tlic rash were pioiid to hlame their ciiuntry's laws.
'I'lie vain to seem supimrters of (( caiisi: ;
')ae called fur iliant;e that he would ilrend to see.
.Aiiiither sij;heil fur (Jallie lilierty ;
Anil mnnliers joinini; with the forward crew,
I'or MO one rea.son -lint that rnany do--

llow, s.'iid tlij .Instiee. can this timilde rise -
Tills sliame and pain, from creatures 1 ilesjilse'.' -

.\nd he has also [ireseiiled the eliaini>iim of

loyalty as surrounded with kindred spirits,

and amazed with the audacity of an intrusive

I [rrahhe's Tah-s: T. The nnmli Orators.]

democrat, with whom he has now no niof"
cause to keep terms than such gentlemen as

"Captain " were wont to do with

li'oliert llurns.

Is It nut known, anreiil, eonlirm d, ennfessd,
That of all peoples we ali> Ki'Vern d liest .'

.And live there tlmKc in such all-Kloriniis slali',
Truitors priiteeteil In the land they hate,
Itehels still wairiiiK with the laws that ;jlve
To them siilisistenee'/ - Vc», such wretehes live I
The laws that nursed them they hlasplicnie; liiU

laws
Their, '^overelHu'sulory- and their com dry's cause:
And who their moiilli, their master llend'^ and »ho
llelielliuirH oracle '^-Vou, caititf, you !
— O could our country from her cuhnIs expel
Such flies, and nuurlsli those that wish her well !
This her ndld laws foiliid, Imt irr may still
Krom UK ejeet them hy our sovel'cimi will-
Tills let us do . .
fie h|ioke, and, seated with his former air,
l.oiik'd his full self, and lllled his ample chair;
T'lii'k one full Immper to eai h favuurite cause,
And dwelt all nl^iht mi iMilities iniil laws,
\N itli hl^di applanilint{ voice, which gained him
hli;h applause.

15nrns, eager (d' temper, loud of t*>ne, and
with declamation and sarcasm eipially at com-
mand, was, we may easily believe, the most
haled of human beings, because the most
dreaded, among the jirovincial <liampions of
the admiiiistralioii id' which he thought 111 to
disa|i[iri)ve. 15ut th.-it he ever, in his most
avilent moods, upheld the principles of the
mi.screants, or madmen, whose apidause of the
French IJevolulion was but the mask of revolu-
tionary designs at home, after such priiiciides
had been really developed by those who
maintained them, and understood by him, it
may be .safely denied. There is not assureilly
in all his correspondence (an.l 1 have seen
much of it that iii'Vcr has been, nor oneht lo
be iirinled), one syllable to give countenance
to such a charge.

His iiuliseretion, however, did not alway.s
conline itself to words; and though an accident
now about to be recorded belongs to the year
17!'"2, before the French war liroke out, there
is reason to believe that it formed the main
subject of the iinpiiry which the excise com-
missioners thought them.selves called upon to
institule, touching the politics of our poet.

.\t that ])eriod a great deal of contraband
trafhc, chiefly from tiie Isle of Man, was going
on along the coasts of llalloway and Ayrshire,

KKi

LIKK UV IfOllKIfT JJUHNS.

tiiiil llio wlmle 111" the rovcnuc-ofllitcrH I'niiii
(irutim (ircon to Diinit'riin were i>liutMl iimlei
tlie onliTrt of a Kiiiicriiiteiicleiit, residiiii: in
Aiiniiii, will) exerted liiiii>eir/.eaIoiisly in inter-
eepliii;,' the lie cent "f llie simi^'^'linj,' ve.vtels.
(»n tlie "J'th Feliriiiuy, ii mispieious loolvinj,'
liriif wiiH (iineovered ii» the Solwiiy l-'ritii, and
IJurns WHS one of tlie [nirty \thoni the superin-
tendent eondiK'ted to waleii her motions. She
(tot Into kIiuIIow water the day afterwanlM, and
tlie ollifors were enaliled to diseover tiial her
erew were ninnerous, armed, and not liltely to
yield without a Htniwle. Lcwars, a brother
cxeiseman, an intimate friend of our poet, wa.>
aceordiniily sent to Dnmfries fur a Kiii"'"l «•'
•Irairoons; the suiicrintendent, .Mr. Crawford,
jiroeeeded himself on a similar orr.md to
Eeekfeihan ; and nurn.i was left with some
men under his orders, to wateh the l>rijr, and
prevent landing or eseape. Krom the private
journal of one of the oxeisenien (now in my
hands), it appears that H\irns manifested con-
sideralile impaticnec while thusoeeupied, lieinn
left for many hours in a wot salt-marsh, with a
fon-o which he knew to he inadecpiate for the
purpose it was meant to fullil. One of his
eomrades hoarini; him alniso his friend Lcwars
in pai'tieular, for heinir slow ahout his journey,
the man answered, that he also wished the
devil had him for his pains, and that IJurns, in
the meantime, would do well to indite a sont;
(ipon the sluttii'ard : Hums said noihinL", hut
after taking a few stride;; hy himself amonir
the reeds and shinu'le, rejoined his party, and
ehanted to them the well-known ditty, the
'■ Deil's awa' wi' the I'^xeiseman."' Lewars
arrived shortly afterwards with his dragoons;
and lJurns, jjutting himself at their head,
waded, sword in hand, to the hrijjr, and was the
first to hoard her. The crew lost heart, and
Hultinlttcd, though their nunihers were greater
than thi>se of the assailing force. The vessel
was eondemned, and, with all her arms and
stores, sold by auction ne.\t day at Dumfries :
upon which occasion, Hiirns, wiiosc i)ehaviour
iiad been highly commended, thought fit to
purchase four carronades, by Avay of trojihy.
l>ut his glee went a step further; — he scut the
guns, with a letter, to the French Convention,
requesting that body to accept of them as a
mark of his admiration and respect. The prc-
1 (.Sec note to tlie " Deil's awa' wi' the Exciseninii. "j

selli, and its aceoinpailimcilt, were illlererpliil
at the custom-house at jiover; and here, there
a|ipeai's to be little room to doubt, was the
principal eirciimstanee that drew on IIiiriiK
the notice of his jealous superiors.'-'

We were not, it is true, at war with l''riiiii(.;
but every one knew and felt that we were in
be so el e long; and nobody can prelenil llim
Itiirns was not guilty, on this occasion, uf n
most absurd and preHuuiplnous breach of
decorum.

When he learned the inipre>>ioii thai Ii.kI
been created by his eoiidiiel, and its priili;il,||.
(•<in>ei|Uences, he wrote to his paticm, ,\ir.
(li'aham of Fintry, the following h'ller: —

" Decemhf); ITiij.
"Siii, — I have been >iir|irise(l, eonfoumli .1.
and distraeteil, by .Mr. .Mitchell, the eulbvini,
telling me, that lie has received an order Iniin
your board loin(|uire into my political eondiict,
and blaming me as a person di.'-afrecled tn
government. Sir, you are a husband and a
father. You know what you W(Uild feel to sec
the much-loved w ife of your bosom, and ymu-
helpless, prattling little ones, tiirnei I adrift iiiin
the world ; degraded and disgraced fioiu n
situation in which they had been respeclalilc
and respected, and left almost williout llic
necessary support of a nii>erable e\i.-teiii'r.
.Mas! sir, must I think that such .soon will
be my lot? and from the damned dark in>iinia-
lioiis of hellish, groundless en\y, loo? I be-
lieve, sir, I may aver it, anil in the >ii;hi of
Omniscience, that I wouM not tell a delibemtc
falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors,
if worse can be than those I iiave mentioncil,
hung over my head. .\iul I say, th;it the
allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a

sjTlioi'e arc some tlilnns iu ri'naitl to this stor.v ni'
tlie «nii.s that rci|iiire cleaiiiin U|'. Tlie Fieiicli ('mi-
veiitinii (lid not exist till Scptenilier, l"iV2, so that tile
caiiiiiiades if dispiitilied at olice would lie sent to
the Legislative Asseiiilil.v, or the.v must have leiiiaiiii'l
for nearly six niniitlis in liurnHs jiossessioii liefoiv he
foolisldy sent tliem to the later liody. The iirivate
journal ii'ioted liy l.oikhait eiiii hardly he siiiiposiil
to have contaiiu'd any statement as to l;miis's sending
theiiiotf and their iiiteree|)tioii at l>over; tliisappeais
to rest entirely on the imsiipported evideme of
.losejih Train, liurns in a letter totiiahani of l''intiy
dated .Ith .Ian. 17l«, j.'ive» minute details of his
conduct as one siLSpeeted of disalfeetioii to pivern-
nient, hut does not make the sliiihtcst reference to
any such episode as the allej;ed present of kuiis to
the Frencli. See the letter in its projier place.

LIFE OF RonEKr mruNs.

107

fi' llllrr>'i|itiil

1 1 lii-'iv, ilicix.
'iilit, \\n^ I In;

I'W nil lliilii,
s. -
Willi i''nilKV;

itt wo wore to
invlciul iliiii

IICCa>il)|l, 111 ;|

IIH liM'inli III

ion iliui li.ul

I il-< prolialili.
|iali'iiii, Mr,

lilk'l-; --
ffiiihi'i; 17!'J.
, ('oIiI'iMMkIi'iI.

the ccillci'iiir.
Ill iinltT IVdiii
Ileal roiiiiiii;!,
li.siU'fi'lid tii
isliaiKJ ami :i
iM li'd In Mu
iiiii, and viiiir
U'll aili'il'l iiiln
■acL'd IVdiii a
n rcsjii'clalijc

williDUi I III.'
do I'xisti'iici'.
A\ soon will
dark insinua-
, liio? I lie-

ilio >iulii (if

II adclilicrato
lorsc horrors,
c nK'iitionL'd,
^ay, tlnit tln'
iniidu il, is a

tntllis Stnrvoi
111' KlllJlll (nil-

V'.VJ, SI. that till'
ulil III' hint til
linvi' ii'iiialiiiil

KSillll IlL'fol't' llf

. The iirivatc
ly lie sniiliiisiil
'iiiriis's Hriiiliii','
.')•; tliisaplK'ais
il cvicUiiri' llf
iiliaiii of i'iiitiy
ili'tailH of Ills
iiiii to piverii-
■it n'ft'rt'iii'c til
I'lit of f;nns tn
itr iiliici'.

II,., To the nritiHlii'oiiKtitution, on IJcvolutloii ]

priinilili'^ "I'^'i ""''•' "'.^' '''"'• ' '"" ""'^'
di'voull.v ultailu'd, Voii, Mir, liavo Ih'oii niinli
mid KOiierouMy mj IViond. liciiveii knows
lii.w warinl.v I liavc I'tll the otiliiciition, and
liuw malil'ully I havf thanked yon. Korlnni',
bir, liiiH inude ycni iiowerful, and me iniiiotent;
has ^iviii yon ]iatronai;e, and niu deiifiidenee.
I \Miiilil not, lor my siiiule self, eall on yonr
hiiinanily; were siu'li my insular, nneoiineetcd
biliialion, I wonid desiiise the tear that now
.-.wi'lls in my eye; I einild hruvc mi.Hl'ortiine ;
1 I'oiild fare rnin; tor at the worst, 'death's
tlioiisand doors stand open.' Itiit, ^^ood (iod!
the tender eoiu-eniM tliat I have mentluncd, tiio
I'laiins and ties that I sec at this moment, and
leil around me, how they unnerve emirate,
aiid wither resolution I To your |iatrona,u;o,
as a man of .some Renins, you iiave allowed me
aelaiiii; ami your esteem, as an honi'st man, I
know is my dui'. To these, sir, permit mo to
appeal. I!y tlie>e may I ailjnro you to .save
me IVoiii that misery which threatens lo over-
whelm me; and whieli, with my latest lircath
I will say it, I have not deserved."

nil the 'Jd of .lannary, 17'.i:!, a week or two
afierwards, we find him writing to Mrs.
hiiiilop in these terms:— (The i;ood lady had
heen od'erinK him some interest with the
e.Ni'isc hoard, in the view ol'promotion.) " .Mr.
('. ' can lie of little service to me at jiresent; at
lca.il, I should be shy of apidyinu'. I eaniiol
pii^^ilily lie settled as a supervisor for several
years. I must wait the rotation of lists, &e.
Hoside.s, some envious malieions devil has
r.iised a little demur on my political principles,
and 1 wi>h to let that matter settle liefore I
oil'er myself too mneli in the eye of my
superiors. [ have set lieneeforiha seal on my
lips, as to these unlucky polities; hut to you I
must hrcathc my sentiments. In this, as in
everythini!: else, I .shall show the nndisuuised
emotions of my soul. War, I deprecate:
misery and rnin to thousands are in the Idast
tliat announces the destructive demon. 15ut

'[Mr. Cni'lit't, Kciieral supurvLsor of excise, Etiiii-
liiiinli.]

-!.\li-. .Scott Doiiiilns states tlint tlio iiiLssiii}; iiart
of tills letter was liamlt'ii to Ciiirie markeil liy Oilhert
r.ariis, " liiteiniH'iate— politics." Tliat eilitor, after
ilciiliiif; with it " jiKlicloiisly " liy way of ileletion and
interpolation, inserted it among the correspoiiilcnce,

"The remainderof til i. letter, "suyHCromek,
" lias heen torn away l>y >onie liarlarons hand. "
I can have no doulit that it <ias torn away liy
one of tiie kindest hands in the world — thai
of Mrs. Dunlop herself -

The exact result of the excise hoard's in-
vest iuat ion is liidden, as has heen said aliovc,
in olisciirily ; nor is il at all likely that the
cloud will he withdrawn hereafter. .\ general
imiiression, however, appears to have pme
forth that the alliiir terminated in somethini;
which llnrns himself coiHidered as lantamoni
to the destruction of all hope of future promo-
tion in his profession; :iiid it has heen insinn-
ttted liy almost every one of his hiogra|iliers,
that the criishiiiLr of these hopes operated
unhappily, even fatally, on the tone of his
mind, and, in eonse(|uence, on the liahits of
his life, in a word, the early death of I5urns
has heen (hy iniplieation at. least) ascrilied
mainly to the eircumstances in cjuestion.
Kven .^ir Walter Scott has distinctly intimated
his aeiiuicseence in this prevalent notion.
"The political jiredilect ions," .says he, " for
they could hardly he ternieil prineiides, of
IJurns, were entirely determined hy his feel-
ings. .Vt his first appearance he felt, orafrecled,
a propensity to .lacohitism. Indeed, a youth
of his Avarm imagination in Scotland, thirty
years a;;i),'' could hardly esc;iiie this bias.
The side of Charles Edward was that not
surely of .sound sense and sohcr reason, Imi.
of romantic fflillantry and Iiiuh achievement.
The inade(|nacy of the means hy which that
prince attempted to regain the crown forfeited
hy his fathers — the stran,ce and almost jioetical
adventures which he nnderwcnt — the Scottish
martial character, honoured in liis victories,
and de.graded and crnshod in his defeat — the
tales of the veterans who had followed his ad-
venturous standard, were all calculated to im-
jiress upon the mind of a poet a warm interest
in the cause of the Mouse of Stuart. Yet the
impression was not of a very .serious cast; for
Hiirns himself acknowleilges in one of his
letters'* (/Mi'/ii,:>, p. -24(1), that 'to teli the

where it erroneously appears nmler date Jan. n, 17'.I2,
instead of 1703. It will ho fouiiil in its pro])er iilaee
in tills edition, dated Dec. 31st, 17!)l', .January 2, and
.laiuiaiy 5, I7'.).'i.l

" Qiiiiiiciiij Jteview for February, 1SI)9.

■• I.Note to .Mr. liiddell on one of his Jacobite songs
— ".Strathallan's Lament."]

108

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

! !

uiiittcr of fact, except wlicii my passions were
liojited I)}' some accicleiitiil cause, my Jacol)iiisiii
was merely by way of rire la Ofii/atc/li:' Tlie
same enthusiastic ardour of disposition swayed
lliirns in Ins choice of political tenets, when
the country Avas anitated i)y revolutionary
principles. That the poet should have chosen
the side on which high talents were most
likely to procure celehrlty; that he to whom
the fastidious distinctions of society were
always odious, should have listened with com-
placence to the voice of French philosophy,
which denounced them as usurpations on the
rights of man, was precisely the thing to be
expected. Yet we cannot but think, that if
ills superiors in the excise department hail
tried the experiment of soothing rather than
irritating his feelings, they mi_lit have spared
themselves the <H.-i<jr<ic(: of rend ring dcspenite
the possessor of such uncommon talents. Kor
it is hut too ortaiii, that from the moment his
hopes of promotion were utterly blasted, his
tendency to dissipation hurried him precipi-
tately into those excesses which shorteiie<l his
life. Wc doubt not, that in that awful period
of national discord, he had done and said
enouiih to deter, in ordinary cases, the servants
of government from countenancing an avowed
parti.san of faction. JJut this partisan was
Hums ! Surely the expevimont of lenity might
liave been tried, and jicrhaps successfully.
The conduct of ^Ir. (Iraham of Fintry, our
poet's only shield against, actual dismission
and consequent ruin, rcllects the highest credit
on that gentleman."

In the general strain of sentiment in this
passage, who can refuse to concur? Hut I am
1)1 und to say, tha after a careful cxaminatiiMi
of all the dccumcnts printed, and MS,*>., to
which I have had access, 1 have great doubts
as to some of the principal facts assumed in
the eloquent statement. I liave befire me.
for example, a letter of Mr. Findlater, formerly
collector at Glasgow, wlio was, at the period
in question, llurns's immeiliate superior in
the Dumfries district, in which that very re-
spectable person distinctly says: — "I may
venture to assert, that when IJurns was accused
of a leaning to democracy, and an iiKpiiry
into uis conduct took jilace. he was subjected,
in conse(iuence thereof, to no more than per-
haps a verbal or ■ '.ate caution to be more

circumspect in future. Neither do I luljrvo
his [)romotion was thereby aflecled. as lias
been stated. That, had he lived, would, I
have everj' reason to think, have gone on in
the usual routine. His good and steady frinnl,
Mr. (iraham, would have attended to this.
What cause, therefore, was there for depress mi
of spirits on this account? or how slKuihl ho
have been hurried thereby to a premature
grave? 1 never .siw his .spirit fail till he was
borne down by the pressure of disease ami
bodily weakness; ami even then it wmild
occasionally r-vive, and like an expiring lamp.
emit bright ila.-^hes to the last."'

When the war had fairly broken out. a bat-
talion of volunteers was formed in Dumfries,
and Burns was an original mendjcr of the
coqjs. It is very true that liis accession was
objected to- by some of his neighbours; Imt
these were overruled by the gentlemen who
took the lead in the business, and the poit
soon became, as might have been expectid,
the greatest possilde favourite with his brothers
in arms. His commanding officer. Colour]
De I'eystev, attests his zealous discharge <ir
his duties as a member of the ctu'its; and
their attachment to him was on the iiu'rcase
to the last. He was their laureate, and in
that capacity did more good service to the
government of tlio country, at a crisis of the
darkest alarm and danger, than perhaps any
one person of his rank and station, with the
excejition of Dibdin, had the power or the
inclination to render. "Hums," says .\lhiu
t'unin'ni;hani, "was a zealous lover of his
•■ouiitry. and has stamped his jiatriotic feelings
in many a lasting verse. — Ills 'Poor and
Honest Sodger,' laiil Imld at once on the
public feeling, aiul it was everywhere sung
with an entlnisiasm which only began to

1 Letter to Ddiiald Ilniin', K.S(|., W.S., Kdinhnrcli.

- Olio of tlicse olijt'ctdis fioine time afterwards
flioii-lit fit t" all'cit paiticiilar civility to liurii:^, ami
inter nlid seduced liiiii om; day into liis lioiLse, where
a Imttle iif cliiiiiipnune was jirodmed, and a simdl
enllectiini of iii'ius sulimitted to tlie lianls iiis|ieetioii.
lluriiHWell knew tlic (,'eiitlenian's reeeiit hostility, mul
a|i|iieciatei' the motives of liis courtesy. "Do tell me.
Mr. I'.iirns.'said he. " what do you tliiiik of this jiair
of ptstols? ' — "Why," said liiirns, after consideiiiiiK'
them with all tl.e jxravity of a halftiiisy connoisseur
— "I think I may safely say for your iiistols what
nobody would say for the creat miijority of mankind
—they're a credit to their maker."

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

109

abiUc wlicii CampbcU's 'Exile of Kriii' iind
'Wounded Hussar' were published. Dum-
fi-ies wiiicli sent so many of her sons to the
wars, rung with it from port to port; and tlic
poet, wliorcver lie went, heard it echoing from
house and hall. I wish this e.xcjuisite and
useful song, with ' Scots wha hae wi' Wallace
bled,' llie 'Song of Death,' and 'Does
luui','lity (!aul Invasion Threat,' — all lyrics
which enforce a love of country and a martial
cnthusiiism into men's breasts, had obtained
some reward foi* tlic poet. His perishable
conversation was remembered by the rich to
his prejudice — his imperishable lyrics were
rewarded only by tlie admiration and tears of
his fellow-peasants."

Lastly, whatever tlio rebuke of the excise
board amounted to — Mr. .lames (iray, at that
time selioolmaster in j)umrrics, and seeing
much of llurns both as the teacher of his chil-
dren, and as a personal friend and associate of
literary taste and talent, is the only person
who gives anything like an exact statement;
and according to him 15uriis was admonished
"that it was his business to act, not to think"
— inwhateverlanguage thecensurewasclothed,
llie excise l)oar(l did nothing from which Burn.-;
ii.id any cause to suppose thai his hopes of
ultimate promotion were extimiuished. Nay,
if he had taken up such a notion, rightly or
erroneously, Mr. Findlatcr, who had him con-
stantly under his eye, and who enjoyed all his
confidence, and who enjoyed then, as he still
enjoys, the utmost confidence of the board,
must have known tlvo fact to be so. Such, 1
cannot help thinking, is f'e fair view of the
case: at all events, avc know tiiat iJurns, the
year before he died, was peimitted to act as a
.■iiijicrri.^or; a thing not likely to have occurred
had ihcre been any resolution a^iainst promot-
ing hini ill his proper order to a permanent
situation of that superior rank.'

' I An iiiticle wliidi ajiiicarcil in CliKiiihci-K'KJuuniul,
Miiirli, IST.'i, fiives some new f:iits ri',uantin,L,' I'.unis's
ci.Miicctiiiii will) tlic ixiisc. Mv. .Ml'adzciiii, of tlio
ililiiiiil ivvi'iiiK' otllcc, fduiiil in SdMUTsct Vmuso sonic
iliicinncnta of tin; dd fxciso oltlco in Eilinliui-yli.
from wliioli wo Iciivn that Hums was cntcicd on tlic
list (.f piuMKiti.pn for till' nlliii' (if sill fivisiir mi -.iTtli
■'iil.v. 17:il, anil icinaiiud on it till liis iIc; 'i. Uad
III: livcil 1r. wniiM liavc liccn I'loinotiil <iii IJtli .run-
iiary. i:;i7. Tt apiionrs tliiit iiii iiliiliiilicticiil list of tlie
iiaiiH's of oftkiis was ilrawii up witli inaryiniil notes
conciriiiii!,' tlie cluuacters of tin' vrcions ntll'i'is.

On the whole, then, I am of opinion tlurt
tlie exci.sc board have been dealt with harshly,
when men of eminence have talked of their
conduct to Burns as aflixing (lisijnirn to them.
It appears that Burns, being guilty unques-
tionably of great indiscretion and indecorum
both of word and deed, was admonished in a
private manner, that at such a period of na-
tional distraction it behoved a public oflieer,
gifted with talents and necessarily with influ-
ence like his, very carefully to ab-lain from
conduct which, now that passions have had
time to cool, no sane man will say became his
situation; that Burns's subsequent conduct
cfliiced the unfavoural)le iiiiiiression created
in the minds of his superiors; and that lie
had begun to taste the fruits of their recovered
approbation and confidence ere his career was
closed by illness and death. These commis-
sioners of excise were themselves subordinate
otlicers of the government, and strictly re-
sponsible for those under thorn. That they
did try the experiment of lenity, to a ceitaiii
extent, ajipears to be made out; that f/ic//
could have been justified in try ig it to a
farther extent, is at the least doubtful. But
with regard to the government of the country
itself, I must say, I think it is much more
diilicult to defend them. Mr. I'itt's ministry
gave Dibdin a pension of .f2tJ0 a year for
writing his sea songs;'-' and lUie cannot help
rememtierivg, that when Burns did begin to
excite the ardour and patriot" m of his country-
men by such songs as Mr. Cunningham has
been alluding to, there were persons who had
every opportunity of representing to the
premier the claims of a greater than Dilidin.
liCnity, iii(liilgence, to whatever length carried
in such quarters as these, would have been
at once safe and graceful. What the minor
[loliticiaiis of the day-' thought of Burns's

Afaiiy of these notes are reniaikahly iihiin-siioken,—
iiiiy,otHcer is spoken of as "a liaii moral character;"
another, "a j^ood ollicer, lint now tipjiles;" another,
"a hliimlerinniiltieer;" and so on. jjiinis isehiiraeter-
ized, tjist as '•.Never tried— a poet;" afte waiiis is iii-
teilliied, ''turns I lilt well;" while the whVli said c if him
is three years afterwards, "the poit does pretty well."]

- life received his pensimi in lM'.'i.|

■ Since tlie llrst I'dilinii nf this T.il'e was iiulilisheil,
I have fi'iind that reiieated applii'iitinns in lUinis's
liehalf I'Cir made by Mi'. Addiiiitnn, afterwards
Viseouiit Siiiniiiiith. t Impe this I'ai i will not lie
iimitted in any fntiiie iiaiiati\e of llmi:.- s histuiy.

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

poetry, I know not; but Mr. Pitt himself up-
preciatcil it us liigiily as any man. It could
not be said of him,

Vaces oportet, Eutyclie, ^ negotiis
Ut liber animus suiitiat vim caniiiiiis.

"I can think of no verse," said tlie great
minister, wlicu Ikinis was no more, — " 1 can
tliink of no verse since Shakespeare's, tiiat has
so mucli the appearance of coming sweetly from
nature." '

Had Burns put forth some newspaper
squibs upon Lcpaux or C'arnot, or a smart
pamphlet "On the State of the Country," he
might have been more attended to in his life-
time. It is common to say, "What is every-
body's busines is nobody's ))usiness; " but one
may be pardoned for thinking that in such
cases as this, that which the general voice of
the country docs admit to be everybody's busi-
ness, comes in fact to be the business of those
whom the nation intrusts with national
concerns.

To return to Sir Walter Scott's rcviewal — it
seems that he has somewhat overstated the
political indiscretions of which Hums was
iictually guilty. Let us hear the counter-
statement of ^Ir. Gray, who, as has already
been mentioned, enjoyed Hurns's intimacy
and confidence during his residence at Dum-
fries. No one who knows anything of that
excellent man, will for a moment suspect him
of giving any other tlian what he believes to
be true.

"Burns," says he, "was enthusiastically
fond of liberty, and a lover of the popular
part of our constitution; but he saw and ad-
mired the just and delicate proi)ortions of the
I)olitical fabric, and nothing could be further
from his aim than to level with the dust the
venerable pile reared by the labours and the
wisdom of ages. That provision of the consti-
tution, however, by which it is made to contain
a self-correcting principle, obtained no incon-
siderable share of his admimtion; ho was.
therefore, a zealous advocate of constitutional
reform. The necessity of this he often sup-

1 1 am assiired that Mr. Pitt used tliese words nt
tlie table of tlio late Lord Liverpool, soon after
I'.urns's death. IIow that even niiglit come to iie
a natural topic at tliat table, will be se.n in the
sequel.

ported in convensjition with all the energy of
an irresistible eloquence ; liut fhere is no evi-
dence that ho ever went farther. He was a
member of no political club. At the time
when, in certain societies, the mad cry of
revolution was raised from one end of the
kingdom to the other, his voice was never
heard in their debates, nor did he ever su|i|)ort
their opinions in writing, or correspond with
them in any form whatever. Though limited
to an income which any other man would have
considered poverty, he refused £W a year
ottered to him for a weekly article, by the
l)roprietors of an opposition jiaper; and two
reasons, equally honourai)le to him, induced
him to reject this proposal. His independent
spirit si)urned the idea of becoming the hire-
ling of party; and whatever may have been
his opinion of (he men and measures that then
prevailed, he did not think it right to fetter
the operations of that government by wliieii
he was emjiloycd. "

In strong confirmation of the first part of
this statement by ilr. Gray,- we have the
following extract from the poet's own private
diary, never, in all human probabiliiy, de-
signed to meet the public eye — "Whatever
may 1)C my sentiments of republics, ancient
or modern, I ever abjureil the idea of such
changes here. X constitution which, in its
original princii)Ics, experience has proved to
1)0 every way htted for our liaiii>iness, ii
would be insanity to abandon for an untried
visionary theory." This surely is not the
language of one of those who then said and
sung broadly and boldly,

Of oM tliiuKS all are over olil ;
of (xood tilings none are tiooil enon^li;
We'll show that we can help in fianie
A woihl of otlier stufl.'i

.\s to the delicate and intricate question of
Parliamentary Keform — it is to be rcnieiii-
bcred that Mr. Pitt advocated that measure

- .Mr. Tiray removed from the school of liinnfrics
to the Hiyli Sehool of Edinburgh, in wliieh eminent
seminary lie for nuniy years laboured with (listin-
KUished sneeess. lie tlicn lieeame professor of Latin
in the institution nt lielfast, and is now |1S'J!)] in hc.ly
orders, and a chaplain of the East India Company
in the presidency of lJond)ay. [He died in ]ndia>
1830.]

ii Wordsworth's "Rob Roy."

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

Ill

at the outset of his career, and never aban-
doned the principle, altiiough the events of
his lime were too well fitted to convince him
of tiie inexpediency of making any farther
attempts at carrying it into practice ; and it
is also to be considered that Burns, in his
hiunbie and remote situation, \vx- much more
likely to seize right principles, than to judge
of the safety or expediency of carrying them
into eft'ect.

The statement about the newspaper, refers
to Jlr. Perry o the Moriiiiirf C'hronkic, who,
at the suggestion of Mr. Jliller of Dalswinton,
made the proposal referred to, and received for
answer a letter which may be seen in the
(I'cncral Correspondence of our poet, and the
tenor of which is in accordance with what Mr.
(iray has said. Jlr. Perry afterwards pressed
Burns to settle in London as a regular writer
for his paper, and the poet declined to do so,
alleging, that however small, his excise ap-
jiointmcnt was a certaintj-, which, in justice
ti) his family, he could not think of abandon-
ing.*

In conclusion, Burns's ab.stinence from the
political clubs, and afhliatcd societies of that
disastrous period, is a circumstance, the im-
portance of Avhicli will be appreciated by all
who know anything of the machinery by which
the real revolutionists of the era designed, and
endeavoured to carry their purposes into exe-
cution.

Burn.i, after the excise inquiry, took care,
no doubt, to avoid similar ■••rapes; but he had
no reluctance to meddle largely and zealously
in the squabbles of country politics and con-
tested elections; and thus, by merely espous-
ing, on all occasions, the cause of the Whig
candidates, kept up very effectually the spleen
which the Tories had originally conceived on
tolerably legitimate grounds. Of his political
verses, written at Dumfries, hardly any speci-
mens have as yet (1S-J9) appeared in print; it
would be easy to give many of them, but per-
hai)s .some of the persons lashed and ridiculed
are still alive — their children certainly arc so.

(.(nc of the most celebrated of these effusions,
and one of the most quotable, was written on
a desperately contested election for the Duni-
fri district of boroughs, between Sir James
Johnstone of Westerhall, and Mr. Miller, the
' Tliis is stated on the authority of JInJor ^nller.

younger, of Dalswinton; Burns, of course,
maintained the cause of his patron's family.
There is much humour in

THE FIVE CAELINES.

There were five C'arlines in tlie .soutli, tlicy fell upon

a scheme,
To send a lad to Luiniuu town t(j bring them tidings

linnie ;
Nov only bring them tidings lianie, but do their

errands there,
And nibliiis gowd and honour baith might be that

laddie's share. purh-ips

There was JIaggie by the lianks o' Nitli,'- a dame
wi' pride eneugh ;

And .Marjory o' tlie Monylochs,'' a carline auld and
tengli ;

And Idlnkin Hess o' Anninid.ile,< that dwelt near Sol-
way side ;

And whisky Jean that took her gill in Galloway sae
wide; 5

And black Joihi frac Crichton Peel," o' gipsy kith and

kin,
Five wighter carlines war na fotui the south countrie

witliin. &'J. &c.

[See the poem in its proper place.]

The ■ibovc is far the best humoured of these
productions. The election to which it refers
was carried in !Mr. Miller's favour, but after a
severe contest, and at a very heavy expense.

These political conflicts Avere not to be
mingled in with impunity by the chosen
laureate, wit, and orator of the district. He
himself, in an unpublished piece, .speaks of
the terror excited by

Biuns's venom, when

lie diiis in gall ninnix'd his eager pen,

And pours his vengeance in the burning line;

and represents his victims, on one of these
electioneering occasions, as leading a choral
shout that

His heresies in church and state,

iliglit well award him Muir and Palmer's fate.'

But Avhat rendered him more and more the
object of aversion to one set of people, was
sure to connect him more and more strongly

2 Dumfries. 3 Loehmaben.

■• Annan. 6 Kirkcudbright.

« .SaiKiuhar.
■ [From the "Epistle from Esopus to Maria," first
published in Cunningham's Sums, 1834.]

112

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

< I

with the passions,' and, nnfortnnatcly for
himself and for I's, with tlie plcasnres of the
other; and wc liavc among many confessions
to the same pnrpose, the following, which I
quote as the sliortest, in tme of the poet's
letters from Dumfries to Mrs. Dunlop. " I
iim better, but not quite free of my complaint
(he refers to the palpitation of heart). You
must not think, as you seem to insinuate, that
in my Avay of life I want exercise. Of that I
have enough ; but occasional hard drinking i.s
the devil to me. " He knew well what he was
doing whenever he mingled in such debauch-
erics: he had, long ere this, described himself
as parting "with a slice of his constitution"
every time he was guilty of such excess.

This brings us back to a subject on which
it can give no one ploasurc to expatiate. As
has been already sufliciently intimated, the
statements of Heron and Currie on this head,
still more those of 3Ir. Walker and Dr. Irving,
are not to be received without considerable
deduction. Xo one of these biographers
appears to have had any considerable inter-
course with Burns during the latter years of
his life, which they have represented in such
<lark colours every way; and the two survivors
of their number are, I doubt not, among those
who must have heard, with the highest .satis-
faction, the counter-statements which their
narratives were the means of calling forth from
men as well qualified as them.^elves in point
of character and attainment, and much more
so in point of circumstance and opportunity,
to ascertain and estimate the real facts of a
case, which is, at the best, a sufficiently mel-
ancholy one.

"Dr. Currie," says Gilbert Rurns,2 "know-
ing the events of the latter years of my

1 mother's life, only from tiie reports which had
been propagated, and thinking it necessary,

1 Lord Frederick heard of all his youthful zeal,
And felt as lords tipcni a canvass feel ;
He read the satire, and he saw tlie use,
That such cool insult and such keen ahuse
Might on tlie waveiing minds of voting men piu-

duce.
1 much rejoice, he crieil, such worth to find ;
To this tlie world nuist he no lunger hlind.
nis Klory will descend from sire to sou,
The Burns of Englisli race, the haiiiiierCliatterton.
('liAunK, in the I'alnm.

2 Letter to Mr. returkin. (Pcterkin's preface, p. 82.)

lest the candour of his work should be called
in question, to state the substance of these
reports, has given a very exaggerated view of
the failings of my brother's life at that period
— which is certainly to be regretted."

" I love Dr. Currie," says the Reverend
.lames (iray, already more than once referred
to, "but I love tlie memory of liurns nioio,
and no consideration shall deter me from a
bold declaration of tlie truth. The poet of (lie
'Cottar's Saturday Night,' who felt all tlie
charms of the humble piety and virtue wliieli
he sung, is charge<l (in Dr. Curric's narrative)
with vices which would reduce him to a level
with the most degraded of his species. — As I
knew him during that period of his lite
emphatically called his evil days, / am ciiidihil
to fjirdk J'rom mi/ own olisenxitioii. It is not
my intention to extenuate his errors because
they were combined with genius; on tiiat
account, they were only the more danger-
ous, because the more seductive, and deserve
tlie more severe reprehension ; but I shall
likewise claim that nothing may be said in
malice even against him. ... It came
under my own view professionally, that he
superintended the education of his children
with a degree of care that I have never seen
surpassed by any parent in any rank of lite
whatever. In the bo.som of his family lie
spent many a delightful hour in directing the
studies of his eldest son, a boy of nncoininon
talents. I have fre(]uently found iiim explain-
ing to this youth, then not more than nine
yearsof age, the Knglish poets, from Sliakspcarc
to dray, or storing his mind with cxaiiiplcs
of heroic virtue, as they live in the pages of
our most celebrated English historians. 1
would ask any person of common candour, if
employments like these are consistent with
hahUmd drtmhennesn? It is not denied that
he sometimes mingled with society unwcn-tliy
of him. He w.as of a social and convivi.d
nature. He was courted by all classes of men
for the fascinating powers of his conversation,
but over his social scene unctnitrolled passion
never presided. Over the social bowl, his wit
flashed for hours together, penetrating what-
ever it struck, like the fire from heaven; but
even in the hour of thoughtless gaiety and
merriment, I never knew it tainted by in-
decency. It was playful or caustic by turns,

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

113

IM.

following an allusion through all its windinjys;
pst()ni.>liin,^- hy its rai.iility, or amusing l.y its
wild orijiiuality, and grotesque, yet natural
I'diiiUinations, but never, within my obser-
vation, disgusting by its grossness. In his
iniiiiiiiiif hours 1 never saw him like one
sulli'iing from the efleets of last night's intem-
iicraufe. lie aivpeared then clear and un-
t'ldiided. He was the eh^juent advocate of
linniaiiity, justice, and political frfrJom.
From liis paintings, virtue appeared more
lovely, and piety assumed a more celestial
luieu. While his keen eye was pregnant with
fancy and feeling, and his voice attuned to
the very passion which he wished to commu-
nicate, it would hardly have been possible to
conceive any being more interesting and de-
light liil. 1 may likewise add, that to the very
end of his life, reading was his favourite amuse-
ment. 1 have never known any man so inti-
iiKitely accpiainted with the elegant Ihiglish
authors, lie seemed to have the poets by
heart. The prose authors he could quote either
in tiicir own words, or clothe their ideas in
langiia'ie more beautiful than their own. Nor
was there ever any decay in any of the powers
of his mind. To the last day of his life, his
Jiulgment, his memory, his imagination, were
fresh and vigorous, as when he composed the
'Cottar's Saturday Night.' The truth i.s,
that I5urns was seldom uito.vicafcd. The
drwiikard.-ioon becomes besotted, and is.shunned
even by the convivial. Had he been so, he
coidd not long have continued the idol of
every party. It will be freely confessed, that
the hour of enjoyment was often prolonged
beyond the limit marked by prudence; l)ut
wliHi man will venture to aflirm, that in situ-
ations where he wa.s conscious of giving so
nnich pleasure, he could at all times ha^.
listened to her voice?

' ' Tlie men with whom hegenerally associated,
were not of the lowest order. He numbered
among his intimate friends, many of the most
rc.-peetable inhabitants of Dumfries and the
vicinity. Several of those were attached to
him by ties that the hand of calumny, busy
as it was, could never snap asunder. They
admired the poet for his genius, and loved the
man for the candour, generosity, and kindness
i' lii- nature. His early friends clung to him
tlnough good and bad report, with a zeal and

fidelity that prove their disbelief of the
nuilicious stories circulated to his disadvantage.
Among them were some of the most distin-
guished characters in this country, and not a
lew females, eminent for delicacy, taste, and
genius. They were proud of his friendship,
and cherished him to the last moment of his
existence. He was endeared to them even by
his misfortunes, and they still retain for his
memory that aftectionate veneration which
virtue alone inspires."*

Part of Jlr. Gray's letter is omitted, only
because it touches on subjects, as to which 5Ir.
Findlater's stiitement must be considered as
of not merely siiflicient, but the very highest
authority.

" My connection Avitli liobcrt Burns," say.s
that most respecliible man,^ "commenced
immediately after his admission into the e.vcise,
and continued to the hour of his death.'' In
all tlmt time, the superintendence of his be-
haviour, as an officer of the revenue, was a
brancli of my especial province, and it may be
supposed I would not be an inattentive observer
of the (jcwral conduct of a man and a poet, so
celebrated by his countrymen. In the former
capacity, he was exemplary in his attention,
and was even jealous of the least imputation on
his vigilance : As a proof of which, it may not
be foreign to the subject to quote a part of a
letter from him to myself, in a ease of only
seemhxj inattention. 'I know, sir, and regret
deeply, that this business glances with a malign
aspect on my character as an officer; but, as I
am really innocent in the afl'air, and as the
gentleman is known to be an illicit dealer, and
particularly as this is the siiujlc instance of the
least shadow of carelessness or improiiricty in
' ny conduct as an officer, I shall be peculiarly
unfortunate if my character shall fall a sacrifiec
to the dark mananivres of a smuggler.' This
of itself allbrds more than a presumption of his
attention to business, as it cannot be supposed
he would have written in such a style to me,
but from the imi)ulse of a conscious rectitude
in this department of his duty. Indeed, it was
not till near the latter end of his days that
there was any falling ofl' in this i-espeet ; and

' Letter in llr. Peterkin's preface, j>x>. 93-05.
- Ibid. p. 9!)-9(i.

3 Mr. Findlater watched Ijy Buruii the uight l)efore
he died.

114

LIFE OF ROBEET BURNS.

! !i

I (':

I I

III

this WU.S amply accounted for in the pressure
of disease and acciimulating iiifirniities. I will
further avow, that I never saw him, which was
very frequently while he lived at EUisland,
and still more so, almost every day, after he
removed to Dumfries, but in hours of business
he was quite himself, and capable of discharging
the duties of his oHice : nor was he ever known
to drink by himself, or seen to indulge in the
use of li(iuor in a forenoon. ... 1 have
seen liurns in all his various phases, in his
convivial moments, in his sober moods, and in
the bosom of his fomily ; indeed I believe I saw
more of him than any other individual had
occasion to see, after he became an excise-
officer, and I never beheld anything like the
gross enormities with whicli he is now charged.
That when set down in an evening with a few
friends whom he liked, he was apt to prolong
the social hour beyond the bounds Avhich pru-
dence would dictate, is unquestionable ; but in
his family, I will venture to say, he was never
seen otherwise than as attentive and att'ection-
ate to a high degree."

These statements are entitled to every con-
sideration : they come from men altogether
incapable, for any purpose, of Avijfully stating
that wliicli they knew to be untrue. Yet we
are not, on the other hand, to throw out of
view altogether the feelings of partial friend-
ship, irritated by exaggerations such as called
forili these testimonies. It is scarcely to be
doubted that J)r. Currie and Professor Walker
took care, ere they penned their painful pages,
to converse and correspond Avilh other persons
than the enemies of the deceased poet. Here,
then, as in most other cases of similar con-
troversy, the fair and equitable conclusion
would .seem to be, "truth lies between."

To whatever Rurns's excesses amount' •
they were, it is obvious, and that frequently,
the subject of rebuke and remonstrance even
from his own dearest friends — even from men
who had no sort of objection to potations deep
enough in all conscience. That such rcitri-
mands, giving shape and form to the thoughts
that tortured his own bosom, should liavc been
received at times with a strange mixture of
remorse and indignation, none that have con-
sidered the nervous susceptibility and haughti-
ness of IJurns's character, can liear with sur-
prise. But this was only wlien the good

advice was oral. No one knew better than
he how to answer the written homilies of sueh
persons as were most likely to take the freedom
of admonishing him on points of such delieacv;
nor is there anything in all his correspondence
more amusing than his reply to a certain
.solemn lecture of William Nicol.^ the .siine
exemplary schoolmaster who "brewed the
peck o' maut which

Itol) and Allan cauiu to prec.

. . . "O thou, wisest among the wi.se,
meridian blaze of prudence, full moon of
discretion, and chief of many counsellors!
how infinitely is thy puddle-headed, rattle-
headed, wrong-headed, round-headed slave
indebted to thy supcreminent goo(lne<s, that
from the luminous path of thy own right-lined
rectitude thou lookest benignly down on ;ni
erring wretch, of wjiom the zigzag wandcrin?;s
defy all the powers of calculation, from ilie
simple copulation of units, up to the hidden
mysteries of fluxions! ^lay 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 ini-
worthy of the face and favour of that fatlier of
proverbs and master of maxims, that antipudo
of folly, and nuignet among the sages, the
wise and witty Willy \icol ! Amen ! amen !
Yea, so be it !

"For me! I am a beast, a reptile, and
know nothing!" itc. &-c. &c.

To how many that have moralized over the
life aiul death of Hums, might not such a Tn
i/uo'/iw 1)0 addressed !

The strongest argument in favour of those
whodenounced the statements of Heron, Currie,
and their fellow-biographers, concerning the
habits of the poet, during the latter years of
his career, as culpably and egregiously ex-
aggerated, still rcnuiins to be considered. On
the whole. Burns gave satisfaction by his
manner of executing the duties of his station
in the revenue service ; lie, moreover, as Jlr.
Gray tells us (;ind upon tliis ground ilr. (iray

1 [This rcfcr.s to a letter dated lOtli ROjruary, 170;),
in wliicli Xicdl talvt's ]iurn.s to task, in a wliinisiial,
hnniorons, nioek-licroic, lint at the same time jjointed
and friendly style, for the indisoretiinis into which
his political views were apt to lead him.]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

116

cuiiltl not possibly be mistaken), took a lively
iiiti'ivst in the cdui'iition <'( his chihlrcn, and
spent, mure hours in their private tnition than
falliors wliu have more Icisnre than liis cxeise-
niaiishiii left him, are often in the enstoni of
so heslowini;;' and, li(.iflii, although he to all
men's i-etrret executed, after his removal to
HiinilVicsshire, no more than one iioetieal
[ijeeeof considerable length ('• Tani o' Shanter"),
Ills epistolary eorrespondenee, and his songs
eiintriliuted to Johnson's JIiiscidii, and to the
i;rcat eolleetion of Mr. fieorge Tlnunson,'-'
furiiish undeniable proof that, in whatever
lii> of dissipation he unliappily indutueil, he
never eimld possibly have sunk into anythinir
like liiat Iiabitual grossness of manners and
Miliish (lenradation of mind, which the writers
ill (inesiion have not hesitated to hold up to
ihn (k'cpest coniniiseralion, if not more than
lliis. of mankind.

(If his letters written at Hllisland and
i)innl'i-ies. nearly three octavo volumes Inivc
iieen already printed liy Currie and Cromek ;
mill it would be ea.sy to .swell the collection to

1 "He was a kiml ami attentive fattier, and took
•;n'nt(leli;,'lit hisiiendiMulii-ieveninKsin tliee\iltivati(in
i.t' the iiiinils (pf Iiis eliililren. 'I'lieir edueatioii was
the Liaiid (il>jeet of his life, and lie did not, like iiiiist
liMiciits, tliilik it silllleieiit to .'ieiid tlieiii to jaililie
scIiimpIs; lie was tlieir jpiivate iiistruetoi', and eVLii
ill tliat early aiie, liestuwed f:reat ]iaiiis in liaiiiiiiji
tlieir minds to lialiits of tliou^'ht and Velleetiipn, and
in keeping tliein imro fmm every furm <if vice. 'J'liis
lie eiinsiilei'ed as a saered duty, and never, to the
pirippcl of his last illness, relaxed in liis ililintiiee.
With his eldest son, a liny (if nine years of atje, he
liail read many of the favourite poets, and some of
the hest historians in our lan^'uaf;e; and what is
inure remarkable, tiave him eoiisideralde aid in the
study (pf l.atin. This lioy attended the (Iraminar
.sihipipl of Dumfries, and soon attracted nij' notice liy
tlie streiifith <if his talent and the ardour of Iiis
aiiilpitioM. liefore lie had been a year at selioid, I
;hipn);ht it riL'lit to advance liiiii a form, and lie
lietiim to read Ciesar. and pave me translations of
that autliorof such beauty as I confess surprised me.
On iiHiuiry, I fiuitid Unit his father made him turn
over his dictionary, till he was able to translate to
hiiii the ]iiissa.ue in such a way that lie could iratlier
tlie author's meaniiip:-, and that it was to him he
owed that polished and forcible Enijlisli with which
I was so Ki'eatly struck. I have nientioiu'd this
incident merely to .show what minute attention lie
jiiiid to this important luaneh of jiarental duty."—
L-tlfr from the licv. James Gray to Mr. Gilbert
L'lo'/i.s'.

- |77u' Melmlies of Sfilland, with 8yiiipliouies and
Aeeonipauiments, &c.; (i vols.]

double this e.\tent. Enough, however, has
been published to enable every reader to jiulgo
for himself of the character of iiurns's style of
epistolary composition. The severest criticism
bestoweil on it has been that it i-- too elaborate
— that, however natural tlie feelings, the ex-
pres.sion is frequently more studied tind arti-
ficial than belongs to that species of composi-
tion,^ Be this remark altogether just in point
of ta.ste, or otherwise, the fact on whieh it is
founded furnishes strength to our present
position. The poet produced in these years a
great body of elaborate prose-writing.

We have already had occasion to notice some
of his contrii)utions to Jolmsoii's J/«.se((m.
He continued, to the last month of his life, to
take a lively interest in that work; and besides
writing I'or it .some dozens of excellent original
songs, bis diligence in collect ing ancieiit pieces
hitherto nnpnbli.shed, and his taste and skill
in eking out fragments, were largely, and most
bajipily exerted all along for his benefit. Mr.
('rollick saw, among Johnson's papers, no
fewer than 184 of the pieces which enter into
the collection, in Burns's hand-writing.

liis connection wiili the more important
work of ilr. Thomson, commenced in .Sep-
tember 170-; and ^Ir. Gray Justly says, that
whoever considers his correspondence with the
editor, and the collection itself, must be satis-
fied, that from that time till the commencement
of his last illness, not many days ever passed
over his head without the production of some
new sta izas for its pages. Hesides old
materials, for the most part embellished with
lines, if not verses of his own, and a whole
body of hints, suggestions, and critiei.sms,
lUirns gave Mr. Thomson about sixty original
songs. It i.s, however, but justice to poor
Ilcion to add, that comparatively few of this
number had bten made pnlilic at the time
when he drew up that rash and sweeping state-

II One of the reviewers of this memoir says, " Burns
never considered letter-writing' as a species of com-
Iiositioii at all," and attributes the excellence of his
epistolary .style to its "utter carelessness and rapidity.'
I am remiiidod by this criticism of a fact, which I
should have noticed before; namely, that Uuriis often
nave the same paragraph in different letters addressed
to dilferent persons. I have seen some if.S. letters
of the poet to Lady Harriet Don, in which several of
the finest and hest known pa.ssa<;es of his pvhited
letters to Sirs. Dunlop appear vcrhafvn. Such was
his "utter rapidity and carelessness."

■«

lie

LIFE OF ROBERT IJURNS.

ineiit, which J)r. Carrie adhered to in some
imrticuliirs witliout sufficient inciuiry.

The Kongs in tlii« collection urc, liy miiny
eminent critics, placed decidedly at the licad
of all our poet's performances : it is by none
disputed that very many of thcni are worthy
of his most felicitous inspiration. He bestowed
much more care on them than on his contribu-
tions to the Mhui Km; and the taste and feel-
ing of the editor secured the work against any ;
inti dons of that over-warm element Avhich
was too apt to mingle in his amatory effusions, j
Burns knew that he was now engaged on a i
book destined for the eye and ear of refine-
ment; he laboured throughout, under the |
salutary feeling, "virginibus puerisque canto;" !
and the conse(]ucnee.s have been hai)py indeed
for his own fame — for the literary taste, and
the national music of Scotland ; and, what is
of far higher importance, the moral and
national feelings of his countrymen.

In almost all these productions — certainly
in all that deserved to be placed in the first
rank of his compositions — IJurns made use of
his native dialect. He did so, too, in opposi-
tion to the advice of almost all the lettered
correspondents he had — more especially of
Dr. Jfoorc, who, in his own novels, never
ventured on more than a few casual si>ccimens
of Scottish colloquy — following therein the
examples of his illustrious predecessor Smol-
lett; and not foreseeing that a triumph over
English prejudice, which Smollett might have
achieved, had he pleased to make the effort,
was destined to be the prize of Burns's per-
severance in obeying the dictates of native
taste and judgment. Our poet received such
suggestions, for the most part in silence — not
choosing to argue with others on a matter
which concerned only his own feelings; but in
writing to Jlr. Tliomson, he had no occasion
cither to conceal or disguise his sentiments.
"These English songs," says he, "gravel me
to death. I have not that command of the
language that I have of my native tou'^uc;"
and again, "so much for namby-pamby. I
may, after ail, try my hand at it in Scots
ver.se: There 1 am always most at home."
He, besides, would have considered it as a sort
of national crime to do anything that might
tend to divorce the music of his native land
from her peculiar idiom. The "genius loci "

was never worsliijiped more fervently than by
IJurns. " I am such an enthusiast," savs he
"that in the course of my several pcrcgi'jnji.
tions through Scotland, I made a pilgrimai'c
to the individual si)ot from which every .sonff
took its rise, 'liochaber' and the ' Mraos (,[•
liallenden ' excepted. So far as the lociijitv
either from the title of the air or the tenor uf
the song, could be a.scertained 1 iiave jjaid mv
devotions at the particular shrine of eveiv
Scottish .Aluse." With such feelings, he was
not likely to touch with an irreverent hand
the old fabric of our national song, or to
meditate a lyrical revolution for the pleasure
of strangers. ' ' There is, " says he, ' ' a naivete,
a pastoral simplicity in a .slight intermixture
of Scots words and phraseology, which is uKirc
in unLson (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 Knglish verses what-
ever. ( »ne hint more let me give you. What-
ever Jlr. I'leyel does, let him not alter one
iotd of the original airs; I mean in the song
department, but let our Scottish national
music preserve its native features. They arc,
1 own, frequently wild and irreducible to :lic
more modern rules; but on that very eccen-
tricity, perhaps, depends a great part of their
effect."'

Of the delight with which liurns laboured
for Jlr. Thomson's collection, his letters con-
tain some lively descriptions. "You cannot
imagine," says ho, 7th April, ]"'.l.'}, "how
much this business has added to my enj<iy-
mcnts. What Avith my early attachment to
ballads, your book and ballad-making are now
ao completely my hobby-horse as ever fortifi-
cation was Uncle Toby's; so I'll e'en canter it
away till I come to the limit of my race ((!od
grant I may take the right side of the winning-
post), and then cheerfully looking back on the
honest folks with whom 1 have been hajipy,
I shall say or sing, 'Sac merry as Ave a' hac
been,' and raising my last looks to the whole
human race, the last words of Coila shall be,
' (!ood night, and joy be wi' you a' I ' "

' It ni.iy amuse the reader to luar, tliat, in .sjiite of
all IJurns's success in the use of his native dialect,
even the eminently spirited hookseller to whom the
manuseni)t of Waverley was snhnntted, hesitated for
some time ahout pnldishinj,' it, on account of the
.Scots dialect interwoven in the novel.

LIFE OF KOBEIIT BUKNS.

117

eiitl.v lliaii |,y
list," siiys lie_
•al poi'i'ni-iim.

11 I'ilKiiiiiage
L'li t'vei;v SOW'

lie ' Unies of

file Ideality,
!• the ti'iKirof
liiivc paid niy

inc of every

iin.^s, he was

evuroiit liaiid

Koiiir, or to

the iileasiiiv
e, "ii iiaivctL',

iiiteniiixtiire
rthii-Ii is niijic
nd I will add
te), with the
liness (if our

verses ^^llat-
yoii. What-
not alter one
I in the soni,'
fish national
s. They are,
lueililc to ;hc
;t very ceccn-

part of their

irns laliourcd
s letters eon-
"Yon eaiinot

17ii;3, "how-
to my enjoy,
ttaehinent to
king are now
> ever foriifi-
e'on canter it
my race ((!od

the winninu;-
j; hai'k on the

been happy,
as wc a' hac

to the whole
:)ila shall be,
a'!'"

hat, in sjiite nf
native dialect,
r to wlioin tlio
[1, hesitated for
iccount of the

" Until I am complete master of a tune in
mv own sinicinir, such as it is, 1 can never,"
says IJurns, "compose for it. My way is
this. I consider the i)oetic sentiment corres-
pondent to my iilea of the musical expression,
—then choose my theme, — compose one stanza.
Wiien that is composed, which is generally
the most (lidicult part of the business, I walk
out,— sit <lown now and then, — look out for
olijects in Nature round me that are in unison
or harmony with the cogitations of my fancy,
and workings of my bosom, — liumminL'' every
now and then the air, with the verses I have
iVanied. When I feel my muse licginning to
jade, I retire to the solitary fireside of my
study, and there commit iny efl'usions to paper;
swinging at intervals on the 'lind legs of my
elliow-chair, l>y way of calliim' forth my own
critical strictures, as my pen goes. Seriously,
this at home is almost invariably my way.
What cursed egotism !"

In this corrcsjiondence with .Mr. Thomson,
and in Croniok's later publication, the reader
will timl a world of intercstintr details about
the particular circumstances under which these
innnortal songs were severally written. They
are all, or almost all, in fact, part and parcel
of the poet's personal history. Xo man ever
made his muse more completely the companion '
of his own iinlividual life. \ new Hood of I
light has just been jioured on the same subject
in ilr. Allan Cunningham's Col/ir/lon of Scot- I
tUh Soiiijif : unless therefore I were to trans- !
crilic volumes, an<l all pojmlar volumes too, it ]
is impossible to go into the details of this part
of the poet's history. The reader must be con-
tented with a W'w general mcmorniuht ; c.;/.

"Do yon 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 liim with pathos, e(iual
to the genius of your book ! No, no. Whnn-
cvor I want to be more Ihaii ordinary in nowj
— to be in some degree e(iual to your divine
airs — do ymi imagine I fast and pray for the
celestial emanation? Tout au contro'irc. I
have a glorious recipe, the very one that for
his own use was invente<l by the Divinity of
healing and jioetry, when erst he piped to the
Hocks of Admetus, — I put myself in the regi-
men of admiring a tine woman." '

1 Letter to Mr. Tlionison, Oct. 19, 1794.
VOL. I.

"I can assure you I was never more in
earnest. . . . Conjugal love is a jiassion
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,

Wlicru love U liberty, and nature law.

Musically speaking, the first is an instrument,
of which the gamut is .scanty and confined,
but the tones inexpressibly sweet; while the
last has powers e(iual to all the intellectual
nuxlulations 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 1
might wish for, or whatever raptures they
might give me — yet, if they interfere with that
first principle, it, is having these pleasures at
a dishonest price; ami justice forbids, and

generosity disdains the purchase." So says

Hums in introducing to Jlr. Thomson's notice
one of his many songs in celebration of the
"Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks." "The
beauty of Chloris," .says, nevertheless, .\llan
Cunningham, "has added many charms to
Scottish song; but that which has increased
the reputation of the poet, has lessened that
of the man. Chloris was one of those who
believe in the di pensing power of beauty,
and thought that love should be under no
demure restraint. Hurns sometimes thought
in the same way himself; and it is not wonder-
ful, therefore, that the jioet should celebrate
the charms of a liberal beauty, wdio was willing
to reward his strains, and who gave him miiny
opportunities of catching inspiration from her
presence." And in a note on the ballad which
terminates with the delicious stanza :

Lot others love the city, and gaudy show at summer

noon,
Give mo the lonely valley, the ilewy eve, and rising;

moon.
Fair beaming and streaming her silver liyht tlie

boughs amang;
Wliilc falling, recalling, the amorous thrush concludes

her .sang ;
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove, by winipling

burn and leafy sha'v.
And hear my vows o' truth and love, and say thou

lo'ea me best of a"?

the same commentator adds — "such is the
glowing picture which the poet gives of voutli,

118

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

' |.

and Iiciiltli, an<l voluptuous licuuty. liut let
no liul.v envy llie iioctio I'Icvatioii of poor
Chloris; her HiluiitUm In poetry is splendid —
her Hituation in life merits our pity — porliaps
our charity."'

Of all Hurns's lovc-sonns, the best, in his
own opinion was that whieh begins,

YcHtrccn I liml a pint o' wine, iimt uIkIiI
A place wliL'ie lioily saw na. nit

Allan Cunningham says, " If the poet thou-iht
80, I am siu-ry for it;" while Mr. Ilamilion
Paul fully eoiK'urs in the autlior's own cstinuile
of the performanec. "J believe, however,"
says Cunningham, "'Anna wi' the Oowden
Loeks' was no imaginary person. Like the
dame in the old song, 'She IJrew'd (Jude Ale
for Centlemen ;' and while she served the bard
Avith a pint of wine, allowed her eustonier
leisure to admire her, 'as hostler wives should
do.' "2

There is in the same oolleetion a love-song,
whieh unites the suffrages, and ever will do
80, of all men. It has furnished IJyrou with
a motto, and Scott has said that that motto is
" worth a thousand roniance.s."

Ilrtil we never loved sac kiniUy,
Had we never loved sae liliiully,
Never met,— or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted

The "Nancy" of this moving strain was,
according to Cuimingham, another fair and
somewhat frail dame of Dumfriesshire.''

I envy no one the task of impiiring minutely
in how far these traditions, for such unquestion-
ably they arc, aiul faithfully conveyed by
Allan Cunningham, rest on the foundation of
truth. They refer at worst to occasional errors.
"Many insinuations," .says Mr. Gray, "have
been made against the poet's character a.s a

1 [The real name of Chloris was Jean Lorinicr.
See some particulars regarding hci- in note to the
sonfr, " She says she Iocs ine best of a'."

-[Anna of the "gowden loeks" was certainly no
imaginary person, and tlie poets admiration of her
was anything but purely platonie. The greatest
scandal in his life, indeed, was connected with this
young woman. See note 4 on this page. That a song
which is devoid of all delicacy of sentiment, and
simi)ly glorifies the raptures of illicit love, should
have l,>een spoken of by B\n'us as his best, seems to
argue on his part an obliquity of judgment, moral aa
well as critical.]

3 [The heroine is undoubtedly "Clarinda." See
note to Eong " Ae fond Kiss."]

husband, but witiiout the .slightest proof; and
I might pass from the charge with that nei^leet
which it merits; but 1 am happy to say that
I have in e.\cuIi)ation the direct evidence of
.Mrs. Murns herself, who, among many amiable
and rcspcctalile (pialitics, ranks a vcneralion
for the mcnnn-y of her departed husliaud,
whom she never names but in terms of tlie
profoundest respect and the dm-pest regret,
to lament liis misfortunes, or to c.xtol his
kindnesses to herself, not us the momentary
overllowings of the heart in a season of jienj.
tence for ollenees generously forgiven, but an
habitual tenderness, which cndcvl only witii
his life. I place this evidence, whieh 1 am
proud to bring forward on her own authority,
against a tliousand anonymous calumnies." '

Among the ellnsions, not anuitory, wliicli
Murns contributed to Mr. Thomson's collec-
tion, the famous song of liannockburn holds
the first place. Wc have already seen in how
lively a manner Hurns's feelings were kindled
when he visited that glorious field. Acc«u'ding
to tradition, the tune i)layed when Hruee led
his troops to the charge, was "Hey tutlie
taitie;" and it was humming this old air as
he rode by himself through (Jlcnkens in
(Jalloway, during a terrific storm of wind and
rain, that the poet composed his immortal
lyric in its first and noblest form.'' This is
one more instance of his delight in the sterner
a.spects of nature.

('ome, winter, with thine angry howl.
And raging bend the naked tree -

* Letter to Gilbert Hums. [Whatever may have
lieen liiniis's conduct after settling in Dumfries anil
when Mr. (iray knew him, we know tliat the fme-
nientioued Anna became the mother by Hiuns of a
child, a daugbter (born Hist March, 171)1), which the
poet's wife took and nursed along with one of her
own. If she showed this forgiveness towards hir
husband while he was alive it is not likely she would
recall any of his failings after his death.)

'The last line of each stanza ivas subsecpiently
lengthened and weakened, in order to suit the tune
of "LewieOordon,' which Mr. Thomson iireftircd to
" ITey tuttie taitie." ilowcver, almost inuuedlatcly
after having prevailed on the poet t<i nuike this
alteration, Mr. Thomson saw his error and discarded
both the change and the air which it was made to
suit. [Lockhart above follows Syme's account of the
composition of this famous song, an .leeoinit which
contradicts the jioet's own express statement; see
his letter to Thomson, 1st Septcnioer, 1703. See also
the (luestion discussed in Professor Wildon'6 Essay,
vol. v. of this work.]

this.]

LIFE OF ROIJEllT liUKNS.

118

proof; imd

tlllll IK'.^loft

to any thill
cviileiu'o of

iiiiy aiiiiiililo
■ vc'iiuraliDii
il llllsljiiilil,

•nils of tlio
[)est ru,mxt,

extol his
inoDieiilan-

<oii of lU'lli-

vcii, l)ut nil

1 only wilh
ivlili'li I am
II iiulhorilv,

iiinnies.

lory, \vliii'li
■oil's t'olh'i'.
;liuni liolils
seen in how
•ere kindled
Ari'ordiiii;
r. \in\w led

llcy tullie
IS old iiir lis
llenkens in
if wind mid
s ininioilid
W." This is

the sterner

howl,

'cr may Imve
Dlilllfl'ies iiliil
liat tlie fiiif-
)}• lliiiiis (if a
)1), wliirli lli(^
;li one of liei'

towards )ur
ely she wiaild
• 1
8ubse<iiu'ntly

suit tlie tlllll!
1 ]iieferiv(l to

iiiiiiieiliatily

1 make this
uul (liseaideil
was luado tn
ccoiiiit of the
ecouiit wliieh
atemcnt; see
rn3. See also
iUon B Essay,

'•There is hardly," siiys he in one of his letters,
'•there is seareely any earthly olijeet <,'iv('s nie
„ii,|.^. _I do not. know if I should call il pleasure
_- liut soniethinf; which exalts nie, sonietliiiii;
wjiieli enr.iptures me — than to walk in the
slullercd side of u wood in a cloudy winter
day. and liear tiie stormy winds howling anlon,^'
I he trees, and raviiv,' over tlic plain. It is
my host Hcason for devotion: my mind is
wrapt up in a kind of entlmsiusm to Jfiiii,
who in the ])onipous language of the Helirew
lianl, 'walks on the wings of tlie wind.'"'
Wlieii Hums entered a Druidieul eirelc of
>toiies on a dreary moor, he lias already told
ii^ liiat his first movement was "to say iiis
imiyers." His best poetry was to the last
liroiiiK'ed amid scenes of solemn desolation.

1 may mention here, that during the later
years of his life, his favourite book, the usual
eoiiiiiaiiion of his solitary rambles, was Cow-
jier's "Task." ltispleasingtoknowthatthc.se

illustrious contemporaries, in spile of tlio widely
diU'erent circiinislunecs under which their
talents were developed, and the, at tirst sight,
op]iosite sets of opinions wiiicli their works
express, did justice to each otlier. No I'liiglish
writer of the time eiilogi/ed linnis more
generously than Cowper. And in truth tiiey
Imd much in common,

Tliu Htunii> and eleur hiiiiresHioii of good seiise ;

the love of simplicity; the love of nature;
sympatiiy with the poor; humour; pathos;
satire; warm and manly hearts; the pride,
the independenee, and the melancholy of
genius.

Some readers may he surprised to find two
su^li names placed toge'.her otherwise than by
way of contnist. Let it not be forgotten that
Cowper had done little more than building
bird-cages and rabbit -hutehcn at the age when
tiie grave elo.sed on ihirns.

CHAPTER IX.

Iliiiiiiss irritalile and nervous lio.lily eoiistitiitloii iiilieiited:- tlie "rliyiiii n iiilie;"— letter to f'liniiiiiKliam:
- iKiiiiiiaiy ilillleiilties: -eonesiMiiiileiiee witli 'i'lioiiisini : -'I'liumson's treatment of lUiriis:— aetiiin' siijier-
vNnr: (leatli <if liis daiiK'liti'r ; illiiesa :— im]iru(leiit e.\i)osiiie and eliill :- laelied with rlieimiatisni:— lemovat
til lti()w:-Mis. Itiddell ;— letter to liis euiisiii at Montrose: refmii to lliimfiies:— deatli :— funeral ;—l)irtli
iif a son :— iiiaiisoleum erected :- stit>seiiiitioii for tlie ))eiiellt of liis family: —Ciiniu's edition :- sons of
liiii'iis:—(! illicit lliinis:— IJmiis ney;leete(l:— poverty :— letter •. i I'eter Hill :— Hunia's honesty ami eliarity :—
liis veligiciiis iniiieiples: -value of lliinis's history and jiuetry.]

I (liiMil tlu'i', V'ati', ri'li'iitli'SH mill si'ViTo,
With all 11 iioutH, hmliuiurs, fiiiliur's /cir.

We arc drawing near the close of this great
]iiH't's mortal c.ireer; and I would fain hope
tlie ilelails of the last chajitcr may have jire-
pared the humane reader to contemplate it
with .sentiments of sorrow, pure comparatively,
and iindebascd with any considerable intermix-
ture of less genial fecling.s.

For some years before Hums was lost to his
emiiitry, it is sutlicicntly plain that he had been,
on political grounds, an object of su.sjiicion and
ilistrust to a large portion of the population
iliat had most opportunity of observing liim.
The moan subalterns of party had, it is very
easy to suppose, dcliglited in decrying him on

' [Tlie poet's Common-place Hook, April, 1784, con-
tiiins 11 passage almost word for word the same as
thi.s.]

pretexts, good, bad, and indifferent, equally —
to their superiors; and hence— who will not
willingly believe it? — the temporary and local
lirevulence of those extravagantly injurious
reports, the es.sence of which Dr. Currie, no
doubt, though it his duty, as a biographer, to
extract and circulate.

The untimely death of one who, h d he lived
to anything like the usual ten of human
existence, might have done so nnuh to increase
his fame as a poet, and to purify and dignify
liis character as a man, was, it is too probable,
hastened by his own intemperances and im-
prudences ; but it .secm.s to be extremely im-
probable, that even if his manhood had been
a cour.sc of saintlike virtue in all respects, the
irritable and nervous bodily constitution which
he inherited from his father, shaken as it was
by the toils and miseries of hi.s ill-starred youth.

IfO

LIFK OF RUBKRT DUUNS.

('i)ul(l havo siisliiiiuMl to anytliini,' like I lie ••liirpim? Motiff, wiitoliinnr tlio frinkw of tlio little
jVuliiiiHl'i* "ulloltod »»|mii," tlio fxImuHtim; iiiimiowK in the hiimiiv pdol, or liiiiiliiiir aficr
cxfiti'iiu'iits of iin iiiit'ii-cly iiocticul leinperii- t tlic iiilriuuiNof Imttcrliics in short, sen,! Iiim
int'iit. SiiuT tlie lir>i pau'i's of iIiIh iiiirniti\(' [ adril'l ul'Icr some |)iirsnit wliich slmll ciciiiallv

wore HOiit to the invss, 1 liavu heanl fmiii an
old acipiaiiilanct; of tlic haril, whoot'icn .shaivd
his lied Willi liimat .Mo>s'jicl,' that even at lliut
early period, when intcniiieraiu^e asMiredly liad
had iioUiiiii,' to do with the matter, lho>u
oiniiioiis syniptomy oi" radical disorder in the
diirestive system, tlie "palpitation and siiU'oca-
tiou" ol'whieh <iill)ert speaks, were so re.yiilirly
hJM noeturnal vinitjinlft that it was his enstom
to havo a ureat till) of cold water liy his lied-
niile, iiilowhieh ho usually plunned more than
oneo in the course of the iiiKl'*, therehy pro-
curiiiji; instant, though hut shortlived relief.
On a frame thus ori,i;inally constriu'ted, and
lluis early tried with most severe aflliefions,
external and internal, what nnist not have
been, under any fulise(pient eourso of eireum-
(ttanecs, Iho eflect of that exquisite sensiliility
of mind, hut for whieli the world woidd never
liave heard anythinti; cither of the nins, or the
Horrow •, or the poetry of Miirns!

"The fates and eharaeters of the rhyminR
trllic," thus writcn the i)oct liimself to Miss
Chalmers in 17!''!,- "often employ my thoutthts
when 1 amdispiised to he mclaneholy. There
Jh not, anions all the martyroloRies that ever
were penned, so rueful a narrative as the lives
of the poets, in the eompar.itivc view of
wretches, the criterion is not what they arc
doomed to sulFcr, hut how they are formc<l to
1)1 ar. Take a bein,c; of our kind, ix'ivc him a
Htron,!j;er imaf^lnation and a more delicate Hcnsi-
liility, which between them will ever cnjTfender
u more un!rovernal)lc set of passions than are
the usual lot of man ; implant in him an irre-
»istil)le impulse to some idle vaiiary, such as
arransinK wild llowcrs in fantastic nosegays,
tracing the gra.sshopper to hi.*! haunt by his

' [Tile old aniu.iintani'c is probalily .Tolni BInne,
wlio was a farmsirvaiit to the poet at Mossjfiel (liut
(lid not sleep with him), iiiiil who afterwaids drovo
the mail-coach between (ilasuow niul Carlisle (or
ninny years. lie useil to talk freely of his eounectioii
with Mo.ssKiel, ilrawins,', clouhtle.ss, Ini'Kely on his
own invention or iiuasination. lie was chainetcrized
'oy Mrs. Begg, the poet's sister, as "a leeiii' body, "j

-ITliis is from a letter addres.scd, not to Miss
riialmers, Imt to Mi.ss II. t'raik, Arbigland, in the
stewartry of Kirkciulliri;:lit, sometime about 1789 or
ITlW.I

nisjead liim from the patlis of lucre, and vet
curse him with i\ keener ridisli than any man
livin.u: for the pleasures that lucre can purelia^c;
lastly, fill up the measure of his woe-* liy he.
slowing on liini a spurning' KCtise of ins own
di'iiiity, and you liave created a wight inailv
as miseralde as a poet." In these few flmii
senteiiecs, as it appear* to inc, Mums has traicil
hi.s own ehtiracter far better than any one el-o
has done it since. Xut with this lot uhai
pleasures were not mingled? "To ymi,

madam," he proceeds, " I need not re nut,

the fairy pleasures the .Mu>e bestows toeoiniii'i'-
balance this catalogue of evils, liewiiclijiiu;
jioetry ix like bcwittdiing women ; she ha^ in
all ages been accusc<l of misleadiii';' inaiikiuil
from the counsels of wisdom anil the ]iatli-ol
l)nidence, involving them in dillicultics, liaiiini:
them with poverty, branding I hem wit li iiilaniy.
and plunging them in the whirling vortex of
ruin : yet, where is the man but must ow n lliat
all our happiness or earth is not worthy liic
name — that even the holy hermit's soiitaiy
]iros)ieel of ]iaradisiaeal bli,-s is but the gliiicr
of a iKU'thern sun, rising over a frozen region,
eomimred with (he many jdeasures, tiic name-
less raptures, that we owe to the lovely (,»iie(n
of the heart of man I"

"What is a poet'r" asks one well <|ualific(l
to answer his own (inestion. " 1I(^ is a man
endowed with iinn'o lively sensibility, moiv
enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater
knowledge of human nature, and a more com-
prehcnsive soul, than ixvc sujiposed to be com-
mon among mankind ; a man jdcascd with his
own passions and volitions, ami who rcjoiecs
more than other men in the sjiirit of life that
is in him; delighting to contemplate similar
volitions and jiassions as manifested in tlio
goings on of the universe, and lialdtually im-
pelled to create them where he does not fiml
them. To these iinalitics he has addeil a dis-
position to be afl'ected, more than other men.
by ab.sent things, as if they were present : an
ability of conjuring np in himself passions
which are far indeed from being the same as
those produced by real events, yet (especially
in those part.s of the gener.d sympathy which

Lii'K OK uoiiKirr r.iifNs.

i»t

•in- ipk'ii'inu' ami tli'li^'litful ) <l«) metre iii'iirl.v
riwiiiMf tho iiUHHioiiH produced l).v real cveiiU
ihiiii iinylliiiii; wliirli, tVoiii llie motions of
lluir own iniiidi mcnly, oilier men an ueeim-
(;inicil to fi'il '" llieniselvoH." ' So wijm ono of
the rare l-einiT"* "I"' ''I'^i-' ''*'i'" "'•''^ '" '^•I'^'iiin
imd enjoy, llirouuli ii loni; term of linnian
vear", llic tear and wt-ur of »c■n^llpilitleH, tlmx
iiiiirkenedand refined iieyond what falls to the
lot of llie ordiiiaiy lirolhers of their raee —
fielinu' uiori' llm" others eaii dream of feelinir,
llie jiivs and the sorrows that eomo (o them as
jiiilividiials and lillim; up all those l)laiiks
wliieh HO lariicly interrupt the iiu;itatioiis id'
fiiiiimon liosoms, with the almost e<|iially atri-
l.iliiii; svmpalhies of an imaeiiialion to wliieh
repose would liedv'ath. It iseoiinnon to say of
iliosewho ovor-indul;i:e them>elves in material
stiniuliiiits, that they lire jhsf ,- whut wonder
il.at the eareer of the poet's tliick-eomini;
I'iiiicies should, in the immense majority of
eases, he rapid too?

That iiiirns Ural ni. if, in liolh .-eiises of the
phrase, we have alMindant evidence from liim-
.■"clf; and that the mm-e earthly motion was
siiiiicwhat accelerated as it. approached the
close, we may Ixdicve, without iimlini; it at
all necessary to minirle anger with our sorrow.
" Kven in his earliest poems," as .Mr. Words-
worth says, in a heantiful inissaire of his letter
to .Mr. (iray, "throiiuli the veil of assumed
liiihils and preteiulcd (pialities, enough id' tiie
real man ajipears to show that he was eonsciou-
of siiiricient cause to dread his own jtassions,
and to hewail his errors! We have rejected as
false sonu'times in the letter, ami of necessity
as false in the spirit, many of the testimonies
that others have home against him: — hut, by
his own hand — iu word.s the imjiort of which
cannot he mistaken — it has heen recorded that
the order of his life hut faintly corresponded
with the clearness of his views, it is probaldc
that he would have provctl a still greater jioct,
if, hy strength of reason, he could have con-
trolled the propensities which his sensihility
engendered; hut he would have heen a poet
of a difJerent class: and certain it is, had that
desirahle restraint heen early established, many
peculiar beauties which enrich his verses could
never have e.xisted, and many accessory inlhi-
enecs, which contribute greatly to their efi'ect,
' Piefiicctti the second eilitionof Wordsworth s I'ocms.

Would have been wiiniing. For instance, ilio
momentous truth of the ]iuHsage,'''

tliu' lioiiit nilldt Htm lie ureiltly <luil<, iV'c.

eould not possibly liave been conve.\cd with
su(di pathetic force liy any poet that ever
lived, speaking in his own videe, unless it
were felt that, like liiirns, lie wa^ a man who
preached from the te.vt of bis own errors; and
whose wisdom, bcaiilil'ul as a lloucr, that
might have risen from seed sown from above,
was, in fact, a scion from the root of per-mial
suiUM'ing. Whom did llu^ jioet intend sihiiild
be thought (d' as occupying that grave over
which, after modestly .setting forth the moral
iliscernmenl and w;irm aflections of its ' jioor
inhabitant,' it is sup|ioseil to be inscribcil,
that

ThoUKhtU'ss foUicH hilil him hiw,

.Villi staliiM his imiiieV

Who but himself, — liiniself aiiticipaiing the
too ]irobable termination of bis own course?
Here is a sincere and solemn avowal - a piililio
declaration I'rom his own will — a confession at
once devout, jtoetieal, ami human— a history
in the shape of a proiiheey? What more was
reipiireil of the Idographer than to put his seal
to the writing, testifying that the foreboding
had been realized, and that the record was
authentic?"

In bow far the "thouyhtless follies" of the
poet (lid actually hasten his end, it is needless

i to conjecture. They had their share, umpies-
'ionably, aloni; Avith other iiillucnces which it

1 wmild be inhuman to characterize as mere
ftdlies — such, for example, a.s that general de-

I jircssion of spirits, which haunted him from

I his youth;— or even a casual e.xpression of dis-
couraging tendency from the persons on whoso
good-will all hopes of substantial aitvancement
in the scale of worldly promotion depemled — ■
which, in all likelihood, sat more heavily on
such a being as IJurns, than a man of jdain
common sen.sc might gtiess — or that partidl
exclusion from the species of society our poet

•- 'I'lien ycntly scan your Ipiiitlicr man.

Still Kciitlier sister woninn —
'I'ho' they iiiiiy liiw^ a keniiin' wraiis?;

X.. ote]> aside is liuniaii:
One jioiiit must still he yreatly dark

The niiiviiiK ii'/ii/ they do it:
And just as hiinely can ye mark,

lluw far perhaps they rue it.

a littlu liit

122

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

> I

i>!i^

liiul been ueciwtoined to tidoni and delitjlit,
wliicli, from liowevcr inadequate causes, cer-
tainly did occur during some of tlie latter
years of his life. All such sorrows as these
must have acted with twofold harmfulness
upon Burns; harassinir, in the first place, one
of the most sensitive minds that ever tilled a
liuman ho-.om, and, alas.' by consequence,
tempting to additional excesses ;— impellinir
one who, under other circumstances, might
have sought and found iiir other consolation,
to seek too often for it

In fleetiuB mirth, that o'er the liottlo lives,

In the false jd.y its inspiration fjivcs,

And in associiitcs ijloascd to lliul a friend

Witli nmvers to lead tlieni, Kli'dden, and defend.

Ill nil tlidse scenes wlieie transient cise is fmiiid,

I'nr minds whom sins oppress, and soirows wnuiid.'

The same philosophical poet tells ns, that

Wine is lik'' a.ijier, for it makes us stroii;;;

IMiiid and iiiii...;ieiit. and it leads 's wroiij;;

The stien^'tli is (iiilekly lost, we feel the error loiij;:

but a short period was destined for the sorrii\vs
and the errors eciually of ]}nrns.

How ho struggled a'^ainst the tide of his
mi.sery, let the following letter speak. It Avas
written February 20, 1794, ami addressed to
Mr. Alexander Cunningham, an eccentric
being, but generous and faithful in lii- tricnd-
.ship to Uurns, and, when Hnrns was no more,
to his family.

"Canst thou minister, " .says the poet, "to
a mind diseased? Canst thou speak peace
and rest to r soul tossed on a sea of troubles,
witliout on' iicndly star to guide her course,
and dreading ti.at the next sur',e may over-
whelm herV Canst Ihou ■'iv', to a frame,
tremblingly alive to the to. i.res of suspense,
tlie stability and hardiho '1 of the rock that
braves the blast? If t'lou canst not do the
least of these, why woni.st thou disturb me
in my miseries with ihy iiniuiries after me?

" For these two montl-.s I have not lieen
able to lift a pen. My constitnti'-: and frame
were, ah orirjitie, biasted with a iiccp iMcnrable
taint of hypochondriii, which jioisons ;;iy o-
istence. Of late, a nnm'ier of domestic \e ca-
tions, and some pecunniiy share in the ruin
of these *****tini"s — '.isses which, thout-h
trihiiig, i\eie yet wiiat I could ill bear — have

' Crnhbe's EdirnrJ SIkdv, a tide in which tilut poet
has obviously had Burns in lii.s view.

so irritated mc, that my feelings at times could
only be envied by a reprobate .spirit listinjn','
to the .sentence that dooms it to perdition,

"Arc you deep in the language of consoja.
tion? 1 have exhausted in reflection every
topic of comfort. A Iwart at easi: would liave
been charmed with my .sentiments and roasnu-
ings ; but as to myself, I was like Judas Iscarint
preaching the gospel ; he might melt ami
mould the hearts of ♦hose around him, but his
own kept its native incorrigibility. Still there
are t"j great pillars that beams up. amid the
wreck of misfortune and miser)'. The one i.s
composed of the difl'erent modifications of a
certain noble, stubborn something in man,
known by the names of courage, fortitude,
magnanimity. The otiieii is made up nf
those feelings and .sentiments, which, however
tlie .sceptic may deny, or the enthusiast dis-
figure them, arc yet, I am convinced, original
and component parts of the human soul; those
■scii-icf of till' -iiiiii)!, if I may be allowed the
eiipression, which connect us with, and link
i.s to those awful obscure realities — an all-
powerful and equally beneficent (lod — and a
world to come, beyoml death and the grave.
The Prst .give.s the nerve of combat, whil^' a
ray of hope beams on tlie field ; the last jioiiis
'he balm of comfort into the wounds which
time .an never cure.

" I donot remember, my dear Cnnninghain,
that you and I ever talked on the subject of
religion at all. 1 know some who lanih at il,
as tlie trick of the crafty few, to lead the un-
discorning manv; or at most as an uncertain
ob.scnrity, which mankind can never know
anything of, and with which they are fools if
they give ihemselves much to do. Nor would
I (piarrcl with a man for his irrcligion, ,'iiiy
more tlian I would for his want of a musical
ear. I would regret that he was shut out from
"hat, to mc and to others, were such super-
lative sources of enjoyment. 't is v.'. iliis
point of view, and for this rca.son, that I will
deeply imbue the mind of every child of mine
with religion. If my son should hiijipcii to
be a man of feeling, sentiment, ami taste. I
shall thus add larLcly to his enjoyment.s. l.cl
mc flatter my.self that this .sweet little fellow,
who is just now running about my de.sk, "ill
be a man of a melting, ardent, glowing heart ;
ai dan imagination, delighted with the painter.

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

123

t timos fonlil
ii'it listtiiiii',r
lerditinii.
;o of eonsiila-
lection every
I' would liiive
s and reason-
Fudas Iseariot
it melt iind

liim, hut his

. Still there

up, amid the

The ONK is

fixations of a

ing iu man,

re fortitude.

made up nf

ii(di, liowever

itliusiast dis-

leed, oriLiiiial

in soul; those

allowed the
itli, and link
ties— an all-
, (Jod — and a
1(1 the grave.
nliat, \\\\\\" a
the last jioiuv
founds which

Cunnin,i;'liain,
the suhjeet of
lo laui'h at it,
) lead the iiii-
1 an uneertain

never kiioiv
?y are fools if
Nor would
rrelipion, any
. of a musical
shut out from
c sticdi su|M r-
't \a ii! tliis
n, that I will
child of mine
Id haitpen to
, and taste. 1
ynients. I. el

little fellow,
my desk, will
lowns' heart ;
h the painter,

and rapt with tlie poet. Let me figure him,
wandering out iu a .sweet evening, to inhale
the balmy gale.s, and enjoy the growing luxuri-
ance of the spring; himself the while, iu the
blooming youth of life. He look.s abroad on
all nature and through nature, up to nature's
God. His soul, by swift delighted degrees,
is rapt above this sublunary sphere, until he
eaii be silent no longer, and bursts out into
the glorious enthusiasm of Thomson, —

These, iis they change, Almighty Father, these
Are t)ut the varied (iod,— The rolling year
Is full of thee ;

and so on, in all the spirit and ardour of that
elia'Tuing hymn. Tlicse are no ideal pleasures;
they iire real delights; and I ask what of the
delights among the sons of men are stipcrior,
not to say equal to them? And they have this
jirccious vast addition, that conscious virtue
stamps them for her jwn, and lays hold on
them to bring herself into the presence of a
witnessing, judging, and approving (Iod."

They who luive been told that liiirn.s was
ever a degraded being— who have permitted
themselves to believe that hi.s only eon.solations
were those of "the opiate guilt applies to
grief," will do well to pause over this noble
letter and judge for themselves. The enemy
under which he was destined to sink had
already beaten in the outworks of his constitu-
tion when these lines were penned.

The readev has already had occasion to ob-
serve, that l5iinis had in those closing years
of his life vo struggle almost continu.'dly with
pecuniary diOicultics, than which nothing
could have been more likely to pour bitterness
intolerable into the cup of his existence. His
lively imagination exaggerated to itself every
real evil ; and this among, and perhaps above,
all the rest; at least, in many of his letters
we find him alluding to the probability of his
being arrested for debts, which we now know
to luive been of very trivial amount at thn
worst, which we also know he himself lived
to discharge to the utmost farthing, and in
regard to which it is impossible to doubt that
his personal friends in Dumfries would have
at all times been ready to prevent the law
taking its ultimate course, This la.st consider-
ation, however, was one which would have
given slender relief to Ikirns. How he shrunk
with horror and loathing from the sense of

pecuniary obligation, no matter to whom, we
had abundant indications already. ^

Tlic question naturally arises: JJurns was
all this while pouring out his beautiful songs
for the Mu-ieum of Johnson and the greater
work of Thomson; how did he happen to
derive no pecuniary advantages from this con-
tinual exertion of his genius in a form of com-
position so eminently calculated for popularity?
Nor, indeed, is it an easy matter to answer
this very obvious question. The poet himself,
in a letter to Mr. Carfrae, dated 1789, .speaks
tlius : " The profits of the labours oi' a man of
genius are, I hope, as honouraiile as any profits
whatever; and Mr. Jlylnc's relations are most
justly entitled to that honest harvest which
fate has denied himself to reap." And yet so
far from looking to Mr. Johnson for any
pecuniary remuneration for the very laborious
part he took iu his work, it appears fro:n n
passage in Cromck's I!'/!,jiiei,, that the poet
asked a single cjpy of the Miiacira to give to
a fair friend, by way of a great favour to him-
self—and that that copy and his own 'vcre really
all he ever received at the luinds of the pub-
li.sher.2 Of the secret history of Johnson and
his book I know nothing ; but the correspon-
dence of Burns with Mv. Thomson contains cuii-
ous enough details concerning his connection
with that gentleman's more important under-
taking. At the out.-et, Septeniljor, 1702, Ave
fiijd Mr. Thomson s: ying, "We shall esteem
your poetical assistance a particular favour,
besides i>aying any rcasoiuible ju'ice you .shall

1 The followinj; extract fnini one of his letters to
Mr. JIaenuuJo, dated Decendier, 1793, will speak for
itself:—

".Sir, it is said, that wc take the greatest lihcities
with our greatest friends, and I pa.v myself a very
high compliment in the manrer in which I am going
to apply tlie remark. I have owed you money longer
tlian ever I owed it to any man. Here is Ker's
neeount, and here are six guineas; and now, I don't
owe a shilling to man, or woman eitlier. line for
these damned dirty, dogs-cared little pages (Scotch
liank-notcs), I had done m.vself the honour to have
waited on you long ago. Independent of the obli-
gation? your hospitality has laid me under, the con-
sciousness of yonr superiority in tlie rank of man and
gentleman, of itself was fully as much as 1 eonld ever
make head against, hut to owe you money too, wab
more thai; I could face."

2 [Tliis must be a mistake, for Burns presented
copies to Charlotte Hamilton, to " Olarinda," to Kev.
John Skinner, to Jessie Lewars, and others.]

124

LIFE OF EGBERT BUENS.

please to demand for it. Profit is quite a
secoiiilary consideration witli us, and we are
resolved to spare neither pains nor expense on
the publication." To whicli Burns replies
immedlatelj, "As to any remuneration, you
may tiiinlc my songs either above or below
price, for they shall absolutely be the one or
the other. In the honest enthusiasm with
which I embark in your undertaking, to talk
of money, wages, fee, hire, &c., would be
downright prostitution of soul. A proof of
each of the songs that 1 compose or amend I
.sliall receive as a favour. In !he rustic phrase
of the season, Gmh speed the vark." The
next time we meet with any hint as to money
matters in the correspondence is in a letter
of ^Lr. Thomson, 1st July, 1793, where he
says, — " I cannot express how much I am
obliged to you for the exquisite new songs you
are sending mn; but thanks, my friend, are a
poor return for what you have done : as I
sIkiH be benefited by the pultlication, you
nuisi, suffer me tr Inclose a small mark of my
gratitude, and to repeat it afterwards when I
f^nd it eonvcnicnt. ])o not return it, for by
Heaven if you do, our correspondence is at an
end." To which letter (it inclosed £5) Burns
tiius replies: — "I assure you, my dear sir,
that you truly hurt me with your pecuniary
])arcel. It degrades me in my own eyes.
However, to return it would savour of affecta-
tion; but as to any more traliic of that (lel>t,or
and creditor kind, I swear by that honour
which crowns the upright statue of Iioi)ert
Burns's iiitcurit\ — on the least motion of it
I will indignantly spurn the bypast trans-
action, and from that moment commence to
be an entire stranger to you. Burns's character
for generosity of sentiment and iiulcpendence
of mind will, I trust, long outlive any of liis
wants which the cold unfeeling ore can supply ;
at least, I will take care that such a character
he shall deserve." In November, 1794, we
find Mr. Thomson writing to Burn.s, "Do not,
I beseech you, return the books." In Slay,
1795, "You really make me blush when you
tell me you have not merited the drawing from
me" (this was a drawing of the "Cottar's
Saturday Night," by Allan). " I do not think
I can ever repay you or sufliciently esteem and
respect you, for the liberal and kind manner
in which you have entered into the spirit of

my undertaking, which could not have been
perfected without you. So I beg you Avould
not make a fool of me again by speaking of
obligation." On February, 179(5, we have
Burns acknowledging a "handsome elegant

present to Mrs. B— ," which was a worsted

shawl. Lastly, on the 12th July of the same
year (that is little more than a week before
Burns Ndied), he n-rltes to Jlr. Thomson in
those terms: "After all my boasted indepen-
dence, cursed necessity compels mc to in)])lore
you for five pounds. A cruel scoundrel of a
haberdasher, to whom I owe an account, tak-
ing it into his head that I am dying, lias
commenced a jirocess, and will infallilily ]Mit
me into jail. Do, for tjod's .sake, ,scnd me
that sum, and that by return of post. Forgive
me this earnestness; but the horrors of a jail
have put me half distracted. 1 do not ask
this gratuitously ; for, upon returning health,
I hereby promise and engage to furnish you
with five pounds worth of the neatest song
genius you ha*. e .seen." To which Mr.
Thor'ion replies — "Ever since I received
your melancholy letter by Mrs. Ilyslop, 1
have been ruminating in what manner I could
endeavour to alleviate your sufferings. Again
and again I thought of a pecuniary offer; liut
the recollection of one of your letters on this
subject, and the fear of offending your inde-
pendent spirit, checked my resolution. I
thank you heartily, therefore, for the I'nnik-
ness of your letter of the l'2fh, and with
great pleasure inclose a draft for the very
sum 1 proposed sending. Would I were chan-
cellor of the exche(|uer but one day for your

.sake ! Fray, my good sir, is it not possil)le

for you to muster a volume of poetry? . . .
Do not shun this metho<l of obtaining the
value of your labour; remember Pope pub-
lished the Ilkiil by subscription. Think of
this, my dear Burns, aiul do not think me
intrusive uith my advice."

Such arc the details of this matter, as re-
corded ii; the correspondence of the two indi-
viduals concerned. Some time after Burns's
death, Jlr. Thomson was attacked on account
of his behaviour to the poet, in an anonymous
novel, which I have never seen, called NuhUla.'^

• [Xubilla was pntplisliefl in ISOO; its author wns
William IMuilfoiil, l)oni 1782, died 1848, for ninny
y^ara editor of tlie London Courier.]

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

125

In Trofcssor Walker's Mfmoirs, which ap-
iicareil i" ISH. ^•^r. Thomson took oppor-
tiinUy of dcfeuding himself; ' and Professor
Walker, who enjoyed the personal friendsiiip
of Burns, and who also appears to have had
tlie honour of Mr. Thomson's intimate ac-
quaintance, lias delivered an opinion on the
wliole merits of the case, which must neces-
sarily he far more satisfactory to the reader
than anytliin'^r which I could presume to offer

1 " I have ))eeii attackej with p.uil'U bitterness, ami
utilised of not endeavouring to reuunieratc ISuins for
tlie siPiins which he wrote for my eolleetion ; although
there is tlie clearest eviileiiee for tlie contrary, both
in the printed eoiTespondenee between the poet and
me, and in tlie public testimony of Dr. Currie. 5Iy
iissailant, tio, without knowing anything of the
matter, states that I had enriched myself by the
laliiiui's of Burns, ami, of course, that my want of
generosity was inexcusable.

" Now the fact is, tliat notwithstanding the united
lalionrs of all the loen of genius who have enriched
my eiilleetiiin, I am not yet even compensated for
the precious time consumed by me in poring over
musty volumes, and in corresponding witli every
amateur and poet by whose means I expected to
make iiny valuable additions to our national music
and Sling; for the exertion and money it cost me to
obtain ace mipaniments from the greatest masters
of liaiiuo iv in Vienna; and for the sums jiaid to en-
grave rs, printers and others. On this subject, the
testimony of Jlr. J'reston in London, a man of uu-
(|uestiouable and well-known character, who has
jiiinted tlie music for every copy of my work, may
lie more satisfactory than anything I < roi say. In
August, IbO'J, he wrote me as follows: '1 am eon-
ceined at the very un warrant able attack which has
been made upon you by the author of Xuhilia;
iiDthing could be more unjust tlian to say you had
enriched yourself by Burns's labours ; for the wliole
concern, fhoiigli it includes tlie labours of Ilaydn,
has scarcely afforded a compensation for the various
expenses, and for the time emiiloyed on the work.
When a work obtains any celebrity, publishers arc
1 enerally sujiiiosed to derive a profit ten times beyond
the reality ; the sale is greatly magnilled, and the ex-
penses are not in the least taken into consideration.
It is truly vexatious to be so grossly and scandalously
aliased for conduct, the very reverse of which has
been manifest through the whole transaction.'

" Were I the sordid man that the nnonymous author
calls nic, I had a most invitim: oiiiiortunity to profit
nnicli more than I did by the lyrics of our great bard.
He had written above fifty songs exju'essly for my
work; they were in my possession luipublished at
his death ; I had the right and the power of retaining
tliem till T slnuild be ready to publish them; but
wlien T was informed that an editiim of the poet's
works was projected for the benetit of his family, I
put them in immediate possession of the whole of
his snugs, as well as letters; and thus enabled Dr.
Currie to complete the four volumes, which were

in its room. " Hums," says this writer,
"had all the nnmanagealile pride of Samnel
.loiinson: and, if the latter throw away with
indignation tlie new shoes whicli had been
placed at his ciiamber-door — secretly and col-
lectively by his companions — the former would
have been still more ready to resent any iiccn-
niary donation witli whicli a single individual,
after his peremptory proliibition, should avow-
edly have dared to insult him. lie would

s(d(l for the family's behoof to Jlessrs. C'adell and
Davies. And I have the satisfaction of knowing
that the most zealous friends of the family, Mr.
C'unningliani, Mr. Syme, and Dr. (.'urrie, ami the
poet's own brother, considered my sacrifice of the
jirior rights of publishing the songs, as no ungrateful
return for the disinterested and liberal comluct of
the poet. Accordingly, Mr. (iilbert iiurns, in a
letter to ipe, which ahme might suffice foi' an answer
to all the novelist's abuse, thus exi)ress,es himself:
' If ever I come to Edinburgh, I will certainly call
on a person whose hamlsome conduct to my brother's
family has secured my esteem, and confirmed nie in
theoiiinion, that musical taste and talents have a close
connection with the harmony of the moral feelings.'
Nothing is farther from my thoughts than to claim
any merit foi' what I did. I never would have said
a word on the subject, but for the harsh and ground-
less accusation which has been brought forward,
either by ignorance or animosity, and which T have
long suffered to remain unnoticed, from my great
dislike to any public aiiiiearance."

To these jiassages I now add i)art of a letter ad-
dressed to myself by Mr. 'riiomson, since thisuieimiir
was fjftt published. "After the manner in which
Burns received my first remittance, I dared not, in
dellance of his interdict, rejieat the exjieiiuuMit upon
a man so peculiarly sensitive and sturdily imleiien-
deiit. It would have been iiresumptioii, I thought,
to make him a secoml pecuniary offer in the face of
his declaration, that if I did, 'lie would npiini the
jkiKt tmnKai-tion, and coiiuiience to be an ci'tire
stranger to me.'

" lint, independently of those circunistauces, there
is ai^ important fact of which you are probably ig-
norant, that I did not publish above a tenth part of
my collection ti'l after the lamented death o^our
bard ; and that while he was alive, I had not dei%ed
any lenellt worth mentioning from his liberal supply
of admirable songs, having only brought out IwlJ' a
viiluine of my work. It was not till some years
posterior to his death, an 1 till Dr. Currie had iiub-
lishe<l all the manuscript songs which I put into his
hands for the benetit of his widow and family, that
/ brought out the songs along with the music, har-
monized by the great composers in Europe. Those
wlio supposed, therefore, that I had enriched myself
by the publication of half a v(dumc. were egregionsly
mistaken. The fact is, that the wlude five volumes
have yielded me a very scanty comiiensation for my
various outlays ujion the w<irk, and for the many
years of lalimn' and research which it cost me."

126

LIFE OF EOBEET BURNS.

instantly have construed such conduct into a
virtual assertion that his prohibition was in-
sincere, and his independence atlected; and
the more artfully the transaction had been
disguised, tlio more rage it would have ex-
cited, as implying the same assertion, with
the additional charge, that if secretly made it
would not be denied. . . . The state-
ment of ilr. Thomson supersedes the necessity
of any additional remarks. When the public
is satisfied, when the relations of IJurns arc
grateful; and, above all, when the delicate
mind of Jlr. Thomson is at peace with itself
in contemplating his conduct, there can he no
necessity for a nameless novelist to contradict
them."'

So far, iir. AValker; — why Burns, who was
of opinion, when he wrote his letter to ilr.
Carfrae, tliat "no profits are more honourable
than those of tlic labours of a man of genius,"
and whose own notions of independence had
sustained no shock in the receipt of hnndreds
of pounds from Creech, should have .spurned
the suggestion of pecuniary recompense from
Mr. Thomson, it is no easy matter to explain;
nor do I profess to understand why Jlr. Thom-
son took so little pains to argue the matter in
limine witli the poet, and convince him, that
the time which lie himself onsidercd as fairly
entitled to be paid for i.v :\ i ommon book-
seller, ought of right to - ■■ X and acknow-
ledged on similar terms u^ .^ editor and pro-
prietor of a book containing both songs and
music. 1

They order these things lifFerently now ; a
living lyric poet,- whom none will place in a
higher rank than Burns, has long, it is under-
stood, been in the habit of receiving about as
much money annually for an annual handful

' [We liave little doulit tliat the reasons wliy Runis
refused to accejit of inoiiuy from Tlioiiisoii were, that
he was working iilons; with the latter .is a fi-ieml,
that the work w.is to him a lahour of love, and tliat
lie knew tli.it as yet Thomson had derived no pecuni-
ary l)eneHt to speak of from his iJiiliIieation and was
not himself in any w;iy a man of means. Creech, on
the other liaiid, was a iiiil)lish"r l)y profession, and if
Hums took Iniiulrecls of po; iids from him readily
enoiifrli lie knew tliat Treeeh was well paid for his
share in the transaction. Had Burns lived and Thom-
son's enterprise heeii rciminerative no doulit the poet
would have lieeii (|ulte willinj? to share in the success,
.'fee ('arlyle's opinion, in Ids 'Essay, " in vol. it. of this
work.)

- [Pro! "ably Tlionms Moore. J

of songs, as was ever paid to our bard for the
whole body of hi.s writings.

Of the increasing irritability of our poet's
temperament, amidst the various troubles
which preceded his last illness, his letters
furnish proofs, to dwell on which could only
inflict unnecessary pain. Let one example
suffice. "Sunday clo.ses a period of our curst
revenue business, and may jirobably keep nie
employed with my pen until noon. Fine em-
ployment for a poet's pen ! Mere I sit, alto-
gether Novemberish a d melange of fret-
fulness and melancholy; not enough of the
one to rouse me to passion, nor of the other to
repose me in torpor; my soul llouncing and
fluttering round her tenement, like a wild
finch caught amid the horrors of winter, and
newly thrust into a cage. Well, I am per-
suaded that it was of me the Hebrew .sii;e
prophesied, when he foretold — 'And behold,
on whatsoever this man doth set liis heart, it
.shall not prosper!' — Pray that wisdom and
bliss may be more frequent visitors of 1'. 15."''

Towards the close of \'K> [1794] Burns was,
as has been previously mentioned, employed
as an acting supervisor of excise. This was
apparently a step to a permanent situation of
that higher and more lucrative class; and from
thence, there was every reason to believe the
kind patronage of Mr. Graham might elevate
him yet farther. These hopes, however, were
mingled and darkened with sorrow. For four
months of that year his youngest child lini;erc(l
through an illness of Avhich every week pro-
mised to be the last; and she was finally ciil
off when the poet, who had watched her with
anxious tenderness, was from home on pro-
fessional business.* This was a .severe blow,
and his own nerves, though as yet he had not
tiiken any serious alarm about his ailments,
Avere ill fitted to withstand it.

"There had need,'' he writes Mrs. Dnnlo]i,
15th December [1793], " there had much need
be many pleasures annexed to the states of
husband and father, tor, God knows, they have
many peculiar cares. I cannot describe to you
the anxious, sleepless honrs, these ties fre-
quently give me. 1 sec a train of hclidess

" Letter to ^Irs. Itiddell, Novcmlier, ITOIi.

< [Ilis yonngest daushter, hut not Ids yoinipst
child as 8tate(( aliove, Elizaheth Riddell, died, and
was buried at Mauehline in .September, 1701).]

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

127

little folks; mc 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
i-oniin;uul of fate— even in all the vigour of
iiianliodd as I am, such things happen every

j1;,v yracious (jod ! what would become of

my little llockV 'Tis here tluit I envy your
pe()l>lo of fortune. A iivthcr on his deathbed,
taking an everlasting leave of his children,
li;is indeed woe enough; but the man of com-
petent fortune leaves ids sons and daughters
independency and friends; while I — but I
shall run di>tractcd if I tinnk any longer on
tiie sid)jeet. "

To the same lady, on the 29th of the month
[Dec. 1701], he, after mentioning his super-
visorship, and saying that at last his political
sins seemed to be forgiven him — goes on in
this ouunous tone — "What a transient busi-
ness is life! Very lately I was a boy; but
t'other day a young man; and I already begin
to feel the rigid fibre and stifl'ening joints (if
old age coming fast over my frame. " We may
trace tiie melauelioly sequel in these extracts.'

'■yis/ JiiiuKiri/, 179C. — 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 .o rapidly,
as to put it out of my power to pay the last
duties to her. I had scarcely begun to re-
cover from that shock, when I became myself
the victim of a most severe rheumatic fever, and
long the die spun (loid)tful ; until, after many
weeks of a sick-bed, it seems to have turned
up my life, and I am bcginidng to crowl across
my room, and once indeed have been bofore
uiy own door in the street.

When |)lLasurc fascinates tlic nicutiil sinlit,

AlHktidii iiuritU's the visual ray,
Kuliyioii Iiiiils the iheur tlie untried nijiht,

Tliat shuts, for ever sluits! life's doulitfiil d.iy. "

Hut a few days after this, Burns was so
exceedingly imprudent as to join a festive
circle at a tavern dinner, where he remainc;!
till about three in the morning. The weatlier

'I It "ill lio noticu^l tliat tliere is considcralilc
tlouniii!iii;.r aiiiiinn daics in the last two or three
par,ijsiai)lis. F.oekhai t has evidently heeii misled l)y
Ciniie, wlio, for some reason unknown, dated tlie
Dunlop letters of tins jieriod in such a way as to eon-
eeal tlie fact that there had heen a cessation in tlie
eorrespcmdenec, on the lady's part, of nearly two
years.)

Avas severe, ami he, being mtich intoxicated,
took no precaution in thus exjiosing his
debilitated frame to its influence. It has
been .«aid, that he fell a.slcep upon the snow
on his way home. It is certain, that next
morni'-g he was .sensible of an icy numbness
througli all his joints — that his rheumatism
returned with tenfold force upon him — and
that from that unhappy hour his mind
brooded ominouslv on the fatal issue. The
course of mediwinc to which he sulmiitted was
violent; confinement — aeoistomed as he had
been to much bodily exercise — preyed miser-
ably on all his power.,; he drooped visibly,
and all the hopes of his friends that health
would return with summer, were destined to
disappointment.

'• 4lh June, 17!»f).''' — I am in such miserable
health as to be utterly incajiable of showing
my loyalty in any way. I'ackt as I am with
rheumatisms, I meet every face with a greeting
like that of Ualak to Balaam — 'Come, curse
mc Jacob: and come defy me Israel. '"

"7//i' Jnhi. — 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 mo —
pale, emaciated, and so feeble as occasionally
to need help from my chair. — Jly spirit's tied !
fled ! Hut I can no more on the subject."

This last let terwasaddressed tojlr. Cunning-
ham of Kdiidjurgh, from the small village of
Brow on the Solway Firth, about ten miles
from Dumfries, to which the poet removed
about the end of June [4th July]; "the
medical folks," as he says, " having told him
that his last and only chance was bathing,
country (pmrters, and riding." In separating
himself by their advice from his family for
these purposes, he carried with him a heavy
burden of care. "The deuce of the matter,"
he Avrite.s, "is this, when an exciseman is ofl"
duty his salary is reduced. AVhat way, in the
name of thrift, .shall I maintain myself and
keep a horse in country quarters on £35?"
lie implored his friends in Fdinbnrgh to make
interest with the board to grant him his full
2 The birthday of Georp;c HI.

128

LIFE OF ROBEET BURNS.

salary ; " if they do not, I must lay my account
with an exit truly en poHc — if 1 die not of
disease, I must perish with hunjrer. " The
application wiw, I believe, sucecssful ; but
IJurn.s lived not to profit l)y the indulgence, or
the justice, of his superiors.'

Mrs. Riddell of Woodley Park, a beautiful
and very accomplished wonum, to whom many
of IJurns's most, intercstine; letters, in the latter
years of his life, were addressed, happened to
be in the neighbourhood of Brow when Burns
reached bis bathing quarters, and exerted her-
self to make him as comfortable as circum-
stances permitted. Having sent her carriage
for his conveyance, the poet visited her on the
hi\\ July; and .she has, in a letter published
by J)r. I'urrie, thus described his appearance
and conversation on that occasion : —

■' I was struck with his appearance on enter-
ing the room. The stamp of death was im-
printed on his features. He seemed already
touching the brink of eternity. His firsi
.salutation was, ' \Vcll, madam, lune you any
commands for the other world?' I replied
that it seemed a doubtful case which of us
should l)e there soonest, and that I hoped he
would yet live to write my cpit.aph. ( I was
then in a pooi state of health.) He looked
in my face with an air of great kindness, and
expres.scd his concern at seeing me look .so ill,
with his accustomed sensibility. At tabic he
ate little or nothing, and he complained of
having entirely lost the tone of his stomach.
We had a long and serious conversation about
his iirescnt situation, and the a]>proaching
termination of all bis earthly j)rospects. He
spoke of his death without any of the ostenta-
tion of philo.sophy, but with firmness as well as
feeling — as an event likely to iiappen very
soon, and wiiich gave him concern chiefly from
leaving his four children .so young and unpro-
tected, and his wife in so interestim^ a situation
— in hourly expectation of lying-in of a fifth.
He mentioned, with seeming i)ride and satis-
faction, the promising genius of his eldest son,
and the flattering marks of approbation he
had received from his teachers, and dwelt

• [It appears it was neither to tlie indulf-'ence nor
tlie justice of liis sujieriors tliut liiuiis was oMificu,
but tiillif neuero.sit.v of a youiiK candidate for ajipoiut-
iiieiit iu tlie e.vcise named Stot)ie, wlio undcitodli to
(liscluuxe liis oltiiial duties, <itlKi\vi!-e Ins full salary
would nut have liueu continued. See Vol. iv. p. ^M.]

particularly on his hopes of that boy's future
conduct and merit. His anxiety for lii.s
family .seemed to hang heavy ujpon him, and
the more perhaps from the reflection that he
had not done tiiem all the justice he was so
well qualified to do. Passing from this .sub-
ject, he showed great concern about the care
of his literary fame, and particularly tlic
publication of his posthumous work.s. JIc
said he was well aware that his death would
occasion some noise, and that every scnq) of
his writing would be revived against him to
the injury of his future reputation: that
letters and verses written with unguarded and
improper freedom, and which he earnestly
wished to have .luried in obliviiui, would be
handed about by idle vanity or malevolence,
when no dread of his resentment would restrain
them, or prevent the censures of >lirill-toiigm'(l
malice, or the insidious .sarcasms of envy, from
jjouring forth all their venom to blast his fame.
I Ile!amoiited that he had written nianyeiiiLiranis
on persons against whom he entertained no
enmity, and who.se characters he should bo
sorry to wotind ; and many imliflcrenr poetical
l)ieces, which he feared would now, with all
their imperfections on their head, be thrust
upon the world. On this account In deeply
rcgri^ttcd having deferred to put his ]iapcrs
into a state of arrangement, as he was now
(piite incapable of that exertion. The con-
versation was kept up with great evenness and
animation on his side. I have seldom seen his
mind greater or more collected. There was
frequently a considerable degree of vivacity in
his sallies, and they would jjrobably have had
a greater share, had not the concern and dejec-
tion I could not disgui.se, damped the spirit
of plea.santry he seemed not unwilling to
iiululgc. We parted about sunset on the
evening of that day (the r)tli of July, 1709),
and the next day I saw him again, and we
parted to meet no more !"

I do not know the exact date of the follow-
ing [probal)ly 14th July]: —

To Mrs. Burns. — "llrow, Thursday.— My
dearest Love, I delayed writing until I could
tell you what eflf'ect sea-bathing was likely to
produce. It would be injustice to deny that
it lias cased my pains, and 1 think ha.s streng-
thened me; but my appetite is still extremely
bad. No flesh or fi.sh can I swallow, porridge

LIFE OF EGBERT BUENS.

129

and milk are the only tliiiifrs I can taste. I am
very Ii^ippy *" '"-"'''"' ''^ ^''•'*'* '^^^^ Lcwars, that
you are all well. Sly very best and kindest
comiilinients to her and to all the ehildren. I
will see you on Sunday. Your afteetionato
husband, 'it. I J."

There is a very affecting letter to Gilbert,
(hited the "tli, in which the poet Hays: "I am
dangerously ill, and not likely to get better.
God keep my wife and children ! " Or. the
I'ith he wrote the letter to Sir. (Jeorgc Thom-
son, above quoted, requesting A'5; and addressed
another, still more painful, to his affectionate
relative Mr. James Burncss of Slontrosc, by
whose favour it is now before the reader: —

".Mv DKAHKST CoiSI.V,

"When you offered mc money assistance,
little did I think 1 should want it so soon. A
rascal of a haberdasher, to whom I owe a con-
sideral)le bill, taking it into his head that I
aui dying, has commenced a process against
me, and will infallibly put my emaciated body
into jail. Will you be so good as to accom-
modate me, and 'liat by return of ])ost, with
ten pounds? (), .lames! did you know the
pridt of my heart, you would feel doubly for
me ! .Mas ! I am not used to beg ! The
worst of it is, my health was coming about
finely. You know, and my physician assures
mc, that melancholy and low spirits arc half
my dise;»se; guess, tiieu, my horrors since this
business began. If I had it settled, 1 would
be, I think, quite well in a manner. How
shall I use this language to you? O, do not
disappoint mc ! but strong nece.s8ity'.s cui-st
command !

" I have been thinking over and over my
brother's affairs, and 1 fear 1 must cut him
up; but on this I will correspond at another
time, particularly as I shall want your advice.

"Forgive mc for once more mentioning %
return of post. Save me from the horrors of
a jail!

" .My compliments to my friend James, and
to all the rest. I do not know what I have
writte'i. The .subject is so horrible, I dare
not look it over again. Farewell ! 1{. H."

Jul// Vlth.

The same date appears also on a letter to
his friend Sirs, llunlop. Of these three pro-
ductions of the I'ith of July, who would not

willingly believe that tlie following was the
last?

"Sladam, I have written you so often,
without receiving any answer, that 1 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 mo beyoud that lionruc vhcnce. )ic tnuKllcr
rclurux. Your friendship, with which for
many years you lionoured mo, was the friend-
ship dearest to my soul. Your conversation,
and especially your correspondence, were at
once highly entertaining and in.struetivc.
With what [)lcasurc did 1 use to break up the
seal ! The remembrance yet adds one pul.se
more to my poor i)alpitating heart. — Fare-
well!"

1 give the following anecdote in the words
of Sir. M ' Diarmid : — "Itous .eau, we all know,
when dying, wished to oe carried ii>to the
open air, that he might obtain a parting look
of the glorious orb of day. A night or two
before iJurns left Brow he drank tea with
Sirs. Craig, widow of the minister of IJuthwell.
His altered appearance excited much silent
sympathy, and the evening being beautiful,
and the sun shining brightly through the case-
ment, Sliss Craig (now Sirs. Henry Duncan)
was afraid the light might be too much for
him, and rose with the view of letting down the
window blinds. Hums immediately guessed
what she meant, and regarding the young
lady with a look of great benignity, said,
' Thank you, my dear, for your kind attention,
but oh let him shine! he will not shine long
forme.'"

On the 18th, despairing of any benefit from
the .sea, our poet came back to Dumfries.
Sir. Allan Cumiingham, who saw him arrive,
"visibly charged in his looks, being with
difficulty able to stand upright, and reach his
own door," has given a striking picture, in
one of his essays, of the state of popular feeling
in the town during the short space which
intervened between his return and his deatli.
"Dumfries was like a besieged place. It
was known he was dying, and the anxiety,
not of the rich and the learned only, but of the
mechanics and peasants, exceeded all belief.
Wherever two or three people stood together,
their taik was of Burns, and of him alone.
They .spiikc of his history — of his per.son — of

LIFE UF ROBEET BURNS.

hirt works — of hin family — of hia fame — and
of Ills lint iincly and npproacliinf; fate, with a
warmtii and an cntiiu.siit ni wlii;li will r;vti
endear Dumfries to my rcniumbranee. All
tlmt he saitl or was saying— tlio opinions of
tlie pl;v.'i,;ians (and ^l..x\vcli was a i<ind and
c skilful oh-^l, Mcrc eagerly caught up and
repov .' irom 'let to street, and from house
to house."

"His good jiriuour (Cunningham adds) was
ur (filed, ai. ' his Avit never forsook him. He
looked at one of his fellow-volunteers with a
smile, as he stjod by the bed-side with his
ryes wet, ana said, 'John, ''on't let the awk-
ward sijuad five over me.' He repressed with
u smile the hopes of his friend.s, and told
them he had lived long enough. As his life
drew near a close, (he eager, yet decorous
solicitude of his fellow-townsmen, increased.
It i < the praciice of the young men of Dumfries
to m ;et in tSe streets dnving the hours of
remission from labour, and by these means I
had an opport.inity of witnessing the general
solicitude of all rank.s and of all ages. His
ditt'erences witn them on some important
points were forgotten and forgiven; they
thought only of his genius- -of the delight his
compositions l;ad diffused — and (hey talked
of him wit'' the .same awe as of some dcpartiuLr
spirit, whose voice was to gladden them no
moro " '

"A tremor now pervaded his frame," .says
Dr. Curric on the authority of (he physician
who attended him; "his ton, ic w.as parched;
and his mind sunk in(o delirium, when not
roused by conversation. On the second and
third day the fever increased, and his strcnirth
diminishcl." On the fourth, July '21st, 179(5,
Eobert Burns died.

" I went to .sec him laid out fo* the grave,"
says Mr. Allan Cunningham; ".several elder
people were with me. He lay in a plain un-
adorned coflin, with a linen nheet drawn over
liis face, and on the bed, and around the body,
herbs and flowers were thickly strewn, accor-
ding to the usage of the country. He was
wa.sted somewhat by long illness; but death

1 In tlie London Magazine, 1824, article, " Ruliort
Burns and Lord BjTon." [AUiin runningliain wa.s
not quite twelve years of ago wliei I'tinis died, and
it is hard to tell liow nmch of tliese "rcccilUttions"
was really his own, how much mere hearsay.]

had not increased the swarthy hue of his face
which was uncommonly dark and deeply
nuirked--his broad and open brow was pale
and serene, and around it his sable hair la\ in
masses, slightly touched with gray. The room
where he la.)' A\as plain and neat, and (lie sim-
plicity of t'lo jwct's humble dwelling pressed
(he presenc"! of death more closely on tlie
heart than if his bier iiad been ondjcUisJicd l)v
vanity, and covered with the blazonry of h]^h
ancestry and rank. We stood and ga/.od un
him in silence for the space of several niinnlijs
— wc went, and others ■ i ccoedcd us — nui a
whisj)cr was heard. This was .several days
after his death."

On (he 'ifith of July fon the evening of
Sunday, the 'JIthl. the remains of (he puct
were removed to the Trades' Hall, where they
lay in state until ne.\t morning. The, Nolan-
teers of Dumfries were deterinined to inter
their illustrious comrade (as indeed he hail
an(icipatcd) with militjiry honours. The cliicf
persons of the town and neighbourhood were
anxious to make part of the procession ; and
not a few travelled from great disiauees (»
witness the solemnity. The streets were liiied
by the feneible infantry of Angusshire, and
the cavalry of (he Cinque r()r(s, (hen tiuarlcred
at Dumfries, whose commander, Lord llawkcs-
bury (now I'^arl of Liverpool-), although lie
had always declined a jiersonal introductio..
to the poet,'' ofiiciatcd as one of (bo cliief
mourners. "The multitude who acconipiraiec'.
Burns to the grave mi. lit amount," says
Cunningham, ''to ten or twelve tliou'^and.
Not a word was heard. . . . k Avas an im-
pressive and mournful sight to see men of all
ranks rnd jjcrsuasions and oiiinions -.ningliiig
as brothers, and stepping side Ijy side down
the siicets of Dumfries, with the remains of
him who had sung of their lovrs and joys
and domestic endearments, with a (ruth and
a tenderness which none i)erhaps have since
equalled. I could, indeed, have wished tlie
military part of the procession awny. The
scarlet and gold — the banners di.splayed — the
measured step, and the military array — with

'-The second call n." (lie faiidly, deceased since this
memoir was llrst tnil)lisli('d. [lie 1)iLami prime
ministcv iu lsl'2, an otlice wlikli lic held till 18'27.
He ..iud in 1S'2S.]

s.'^o Mr. .Syme informed Mr. M'Diarmid.

' "f liis fiico,
iiiul deeply
m «as j,alu
e liuir lav i,,
1 iiu room
iuul tlie sim.
liiiji' jircsscd
sely (111 tlie
ibellisheil \,y
Jiiry ol" iiini,
ul ;;ii/.oii Ull

LM'ill lllilllilljs

il US — iiui a
several days

cveniim: of
of the pdot,

where they

Tlie.volmi-
led to inter
eed he had
. The chief
irliood were
essioii ; and
ilistanecs In
s were lined
isshiro, and
.Ml »iiiarloreil
)r(l Jlawkes-
iltlioui^li lie
iiitrodiu'tio..
)f the eliicf
icconipanier,
oil lit, " says
Q thoniumd.

was an ini-
l; UK'ii of all
lis ;iiinj;:liiijj;
• side down

remains of
r.s and joys
a truth and

have since

wished the
away. The
played — the
irray — with

scd since this
icanit prime
eld till 1S2".

lid.

J.IFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

131

the sounds of martial instruments of inusie,
liaJ no share in increasing the Kolemnity of
the hiirial scene, and had no connectiou with
the poet. I 'ooked on it then, and I con.sidcr
it now, as an idle ostentation, a piece of
stipcrlluous state, which might have been
spared, more esjiecially as his neglected, and
traduced, and insulted spirit, had cxpcricncc<l
110 kindness in tiie body from tho.se lofty people
who are now proud of being numbcrcil as his
coevals and countrymen. ... 1 found myself
at I lie brink of the poet's grave, into wliicli he
was about to descend for ever. There was a
pause among the mourners, as if loath to part
witii his remains; and when he was at last
lowered, and tlie first shovelful of earth .sounded
on his coHin-lid, I looked up and saw tears
on many cheeks where tears were not usual.
The volunteers justified the fears of their com-
rade by three ragge<l and straggling vo'lcys.
Tlic earth was heaped up, and the green sod
laid over liim, and tlie multitude stood gazing
on the grave for some minutes, and then melted
silently away. The day was a line one, the
sun was almost without a cloud, not a drop of
rain fell from dawn to twiiiglit. 1 notice this,
not from any concurrence in the common
suiierstition, that 'happy is the corpse which
tlic rain lains on,' but to confute the pious
fraud of a religious magazine, which made
heaven express its wrath i' the interment of
a ))ro!',iiic poet, in thuiicl;r, in liguiuing, and
in rain."

During the funeral soleninity ^Irs. I3urn.s
was seized with the pains of labour, and gave
birth to a male in fan , vho quickly followed
his father to the gra.e. Jlr. Cunningham
describes the appcaance of the family, whor
they at last emerged from their house of .sorrow :
— "A weeping widow and fonr helpIe.sH sons ;
they came into the streets in their mournings,
: nd public sympathy was awakened afresh. I
shall never forget the looks of his boy.s, and
the 'iompussion which they excited. The
poeL's lif(; had not been without errors, and
sucli err Ts, too. a.s a wife is slow in forgiving;
but he was honoured then, and is honoured
now, by the unalienable affection of his wife;
and the world repays her prudence and her
love by its regard and esteem."

There was much talk at the time of a sub-
scrip'ion for a monunicnt; but Mrs. Burns,

iieginning ere long to suspect that the husi-
ness was to end in talk, covered the grave at
her own expense with a plain tombstone, in-
scribed simply with the name and age of the
poet. In 1813, however, a public meeting
was held at Dumfries, tJeneral Dunlop, son to
Hurns's friend and patroness, being in the
chair; a subscrii)tion was opened, and con-
tributions llowing in rapidly from all (luarters,
a costly mau.soleura was at length erected on
the most elevated site which the churchyard
presented. Thither the remains of the poet
were solemnly transferred' on the 5th June,
1815; and the spot continues to be visited
every year by many hundreds of travellers.
The structure, which is perhaps more gaudy
than might have been wished, [is in the form
of a Greek temple surmounted by a dome, as
will be seen from the plate in the last volume
of this work -].

Immediately after the poet's death a sub-
.scription was opened for the benefit of his
family; Mr. Miller of Dalswinton, Dr. ilaxwcU,
Jlr. Syme, Mr. Cunningham, and Mr. Jl'^lurdo
becoming trustees for the application of the
money. Many names from other parts of
Scotland appeared in the lists, and not a few
from England, especially London and Liver-
pool. Seven hundred pounds were in this way
collected; an additional sum was forwarded
from India; and the profits of Dr. Carrie's
Life and Edition of Burns were also consider-
able. The result has been, that the sons of
the poet received an excellent education, and
that Jlrs. Burns continued to reside, enjoying
a decent independence, in the house where the
])oet died, situated in what is now, by the
authority of the Dumfries magistracy, called
Burns Street.^

1 'I'lie (iricfinal tomlistone of IJurns was at flr.st sunk
under llie pave'nent of tlie iiiausoleuni, but lias since
lii;en raised and fl.xed in the floor; and the Riave
which first received his remains is now oeeujiied,
according to her own djiii;; request, by a daughter
of Mrs. Dunlop.

'- [See vol. v.— "Ifuiiuments I i liiinis."]
" [On leaving; EUislaiid tor the town of Dumfries in
IXceiiibo. 1791, Burns and his family took u\> tiieir
aliode in a ''Tuscof tliiee small apartments, eaehv :tli
a window i.i the street, on the second floor of a tene-
ment on *hc north side of Bank .J'.ieet, then called
the Wee Vennel. Tlie small central room was used
as tlie poet's Kauctxtm, ami here, duriiiLt his eighteen
months' tenancy, he composed some of his most pop-

1 '

132

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

"Of tlio (four surviviii)?) sons of tlio poet " i iminc wliicli tliuy buar. One of tlani (James),
naVM tlieir uncle (iill»ert in IS'JO, " Kobcrt, tlie ' an Hoon m his eireunintanees peruiiMcd, sliUl.,!
eltlest, is pliiced as a cleriv in liio wtanip-omce, ja liberal annuity on liis esUnial.le in,,i|n,,.,
London "(IS-JD). "Francis Walluee, I lie second, ' L"'l>''"'' "''*-' fonlinued to enjoy till hd- (l,.,,]',

in April, 18;i4J.

Ciilliert, the udniirable lirotlicr of llic lunt
survived till the 2711) of April, ],S27. llcru-
nioved from .Mossgiel, Nhorlly al'ler (heiUntli
of liurns, to a farm in Dunifriosiiire, larnin;'
wilh him his aj;ed mother, who died under his
roof. At a later jieriod he hecanie fiiclcir li>
the noble family of Blantyre, on their e>laUs
in Kast Lothian. The jieeuniary s\uc(iiiis
which the poet allbrded (iilbert Hums, hikI
still more the interest excited in his behalf
by the account of his personal characier ((in-
tained in Currie's Mcmttir, proved of liii;li ;iil-
vanlane to him. He trained up a laree family,
six sons and five daughters, ami bestducd ou
all his boys what is called a classical educalidii.
The nntimely death of one of these, a yniin','
man of very prcnnisim,' talents, when on the
eve of beinj;' admitted to holy ordei's, is s\ip.
posed to have hastened the dciiarture of ilie
venerable j.. .'nt. It should not be oniiile(l
that, on the puidicatiou of his edition of his
brother's works, in ISlit, (Albert repaid, with
interest, the sum which the poet advanceii to
him in 17S8. Throujrh life, and in death, hu
maintained and justified the promis* of Ills
virtuous youth, and seems in all respects Id
have resend)led his father, of whom .Murdncli,
Ions iit'fr he was no more, wrote in laiiMiiau'e
honouralde to his OAvn heart: "(» for a wnilil
of men of such dispositions! I have (il'ieii
wished, for the ^ood of mankind, that it were
as customary to honour and perpeliuite the
memory of those who excel in moral rcctiiiuic,
as it is to extol what are called heroic actidii-:
then would the mausoleum of the friend of my
youth overtop and surpass most of those wc
sec in Westminster .\bbey?"

It is pleasiii": to trace in all these detail.- llic
hap]>y influence which our poet's crenius liiis
exerted over the destinies of his connet'tiitiis.
" In the fortunes of his family," says Mr.
M'Diarmid,' "there are few who do not fool
the liveliest interest ; and were a reuisler lupt
of the names, and numbers, and characters, of
those who from time to time visit the hniiilili'
but decent abode in which Burns brealhccl liis
' Article in tliu Dvmfrics Mai/azine, August, 1^-0.

died in Ibo;!; William >'icol, the third, went
to Madras in 1811 ; and James (Uencairn, the
youngest, to liengal in 1812, both us cadets in
the IIonoural)le Company's service." These
young gentlemen have all, it is believed, con-
ducted themselves through life in a manner
highly lionourable to themselves, and to the

ulnr SDiiKS. liimiuillatcly umltriieatli tliu jioetH
iipaitniiiits !i ficiitli'iimn iiaiiictl .lolni iSjniu liail liis
olllce for tlio (listrilpution of stumiw. Jlu liecauic u
warm fiicml of tliu pot't, ami after the death of the
latter acttil as Ills executor. 'I'liis tLiiement Irj-
loii^ed to a ('a|itain Ifamiltoii, a ^rcat uiliiiircr of
liiu'iiH, ami is now iiiaikcil liy a stone talilit on tlie
front of the second lloor: — '• Kohcrt linrns, the
National I'oct, lived in tlUs house with his family
on eonilny; to Diuiifries from Kllisland, In IT'.tl."
The poet afterwanls removed to a small "self-eon-
taineil " two-story house on the south side of a short,
mean street striking eastward from St. .Michael Street,
in the northern vieiiiity of St. Miehaels ehiueh. The
Btreet was then known as Milllinie or .\lilllirae-hide;
lint lifter r.ninss death its name, as above stated,
was elian^ed to Hums Street. Ills house here con-
sisted of a sittiiiK-room an<l kitchen on the uronnd-
lloni', two liedidoms— in one of which, a small idoni,
fifteen feet )iy nine, the poet died— on the tloor aliove;
and a couiile of attic hedroonis in which the children
slept. The house in Hiuns's time was one of a koo'1
w-der, such as was occupied by the better class of
citizens, .\fter his death it contiiined in tlu^ occu-
pancy of his widow down to the time of her ileath
in IS.'il, and in l.S.'iO was iiurchased by Col, Wm.
\ic<d linnis, son of the poet. It was left by Col.
Burns to the Dumfries and Maxwellton Industiial
School, but still continues to be kejit in, as much as
po.ssi1ile, the same condition as when I'.nnis Inhabited
it, thouirh in ISSO it was found to reiinire rebulldinn
in part. Tn a niche in the ndjoiniiiK buildiiiu a bust
of the jioet lias been placed, alonv; with a stone bear-
ing ties inscriiitiun:— "In the AdjoiniiiK Ilouse, to
the North, Lived and Died the Poet of his Country
iMul of Mankind, Robert Burns." Tn a narrow, jjiooniy
clot:'! olf the Hiy:h Street Is situated the fMolie Tavern
which linrns u.sed to frequent, at the bar of whicli
" .Vnna \\[' the {lowdeu locks" was the presidiuj,'
Ilebe. imd on the wiiulows of which he used to scratch
verses with Ills diamond. The house, which is in-
vested with somewhat of a painful interest, has uu-
derRone very little chauKe since the days of I'.iuns ;
imiecd the doors, windows, floors, and panellliif; are
almost unaltifred. The Kiuji's Arms Inn was also an
occasional "liowff" of Burns, and a window pane on
which he had scratched an epigram was for a long time
a great attraction to both townsmen and strangers.
Thepewwliidi Burns occupied in St Michael's Churcli,
and on which he had cut the initials "R. B.," was
sold at the reiiairing of the church in 18C9 for .CI.]

Ikiii (.laniw),
lilloil, M.u|e,|

ill lier (Icaili

• of tllC iKIft,

^27. II,. IV.
tor lliu (Iciiili
liire, nin-viiii;
ii'il iiiiijcr lij.,

Illio lilrlDV Id

llK'ir tslalos
H\v siiccdiii's

I iJiiniM, iiiiil
ill Ills heliiilf
li.'inii'ler cnii-
il of liiiili ad.
liiruc I'aiiiily,
lies((iuc(l (III
al t'diicatidii,
iCHC, ji viiiMi:;
wlieii oil tlie
iders, is sii]).
art lire ol' ilie

lie oiiiiited
ilitidii of lii.4
rciiaid, with
advanced to
in death, lie
omisi (if Ills

II rcs]ieels ti)
;)ni .Muiileidi,
! in lani;ii!i.'o
I > for a wiirld
I have (ifieii
, tliat it were
rpcluate the
ral reel il lido,
eroie ai'limis:

friend of my
of those we

sc detail.-, the
s [renins lias
eoniieetioiis.
•," says .Mr.
I do iiol feol
register kept
•liaraeters, nf
. Ilio liinnlili'
lireallied liis

August, li^L'O.

%
P

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

133

last, ainid the deepest dependency for the
fate of those who were dearer to him than life,
ami In whicli his widow is spending tranquilly
the evening of her days in tlic enjoyment of a
competenev, not derived from the public, but
from tlie lionourahle exert' ons of her own
otfspring — the detail, though dry, would be
pleasing to many, and wouid weaken, though
it could not altogether cffiice, one of the
greatest stains on the character of our country,
liven as it is, his name hay proved a source of
patronage to those ho left behind him, such as
the liigii and the noble cannot always command.
Wherever his sons wander, at -lonie or abroad,
they are regarded as the scions of a noble
stock, and receive the cordial greetings of
lunulrcds who never saw their faces before,
but who account it a happiness to grasp in
friendly pressure the pnfl'ered hand in which
circulates the blood of Harn.s. "'

Sir roa non vohls. The great poet himself,
whose name is enough to ennoble his chil-
dren's children, was, to the eternal disgrace
of his country, sufl'ered to live and die in
penury, and as far as such a creature could
be degraded by any external circumstances,
in degradation. Who can open the page of
Burns, an<l rcmcmi)er without a blush, that
the author of such verses, the human being
whose breast glowed with such feelings, was
(loomed to earn mere bread for his children by
casting up the stock of publicans' cellars, and
rilling over moors and mosses in quest of
snuigu'ling stills'' The subscription for his
poems was, for the time, large and liberal,
and perhaps absolves a cci'tain number of the
gentry of Scotland as individuals; but that
some strong movement of indignation did not

> Mr. AIDianiiiil, in the nitkli^ al>ovi3 (luoteil, ^ives
a liiucliiii;; account of tlie illnL's.s anil iloatU of one of
tlic (laii^'litcrs of Mr. .lanics (ilciicairn Hums, on her
voya^'c lionu'war<ls from India. "At the funeral of
tills poor cliilil there was witnessed," says he, "a
most atfectinK scene. OHIcers, ])a8senKers. and men
Here drawn up in reculur order on deck; some wore
cra|)e round the rit;ht arm, others were dressed in llie
deeiiest mouniiiiLr; every head was uncovered; and
as the lasliiiiu of the wave's on the sides of the cotlln
proclainu d tliiit the i;relancholy cereuiony had closed,
every countenance seemed si\d<lcMed with firief—
every eye moisteiicd with tears. Not a few of the
sudors Wept outri;ilii, in-.tives <if Scotland, who, even
when f,w away, had revi .ed their recollections of
home mid youth, liy listtiiini,' to, or repeating the
jjoetry of I'.urns."
vor.. I.

spread over the whole kingdom, when it was
known that Uobert Burns, after being carcsseil
and llattered by the noblest and most learned
of his countrymen, was about to be established
as a common ganger among the wilds of
Nithsdale — and that, after he was so estab-
lished, no interference from a higher quarter
arrested that unworthy career : — these are
circumstances which must continue to bear
heavily on the memory of that generation, and
especially of those who then administered the
public patronage of Scotland.

In defence, or at least in palliation, of this
national crime, two false arguments, the one
resting on facts grossly exaggerated, the other
having no foundation whatever either on
knowledge or on wisdom, have been rashly set
up, and arrogantly as well as ignorantly main-
tained. To the one, namely, that public
patronage would have been wrongfully be-
stowed on the poet, because the exciseman
was a ''cal partisan, it is hoped the details
embodieU in this narrative have supplied a
sutficient answer: had the matter been as bad
as the boldest critics have ever ventured to
insinuate. Sir Walter Scott's answer would still
have remained — ''this partisan was Buuns."
The other argument is a still more heartless,
as wull as absurd one ; to wit, that from the
moral character and habits of the man no pat-
ronage, however libera', could have influenced
and controlled his condiict, so as to Avork lasting
and effective improvement, and lengthen his
life by raising it more nearly to the elevation
of his genius. This is indeed a candid and a
generous method of judging. Arc imprudence
and intemperance, then, found to increase
usually in proportion as the worldly circum-
stances of men are easy: Is not the very
opposite of this doctrine acknowledged by al-
most all that have ever tried the reverses of
fortune's wheel them.sclves — by all that have
contemplated from an elevation, not too high
for sympathy, the usual course of manners,
when their fellow-creatures either encounter or
live in constant apprehension of

The thousand ills that rise where money fails,
llehts, threats, and duns, hills, liailifTs, writs, and jails?

! To such mean miseries the latter years of
I Hurns's life were exposed, not less than his
, early youth, and after what natural buoyancy

134

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

! I

' 'Si

of animal spirits he ever possessed had sunk
under the influence of time, which, surely
bringing' experience, fails seldom lo bring care
also and sorrow, to spirits more mercurial than
his ; and in whai bitterness of spirit he sub-
mitted to his fate, let his own burning words
once more tell us. " Take," says he, writing
to one who never ceased to be his friend —
" take these three guineas, and place them over
against that****account of yours, which has
gagged my mouth these five or six months !
1 can as little write good things, as apologies,
to the man 1 owe money to. O the supreme
curse of making three guineas do the business
of five ! Poverty ! thou half-sister of death,
thou cousin-german of hell ! Oppressed by
thee, the man of sentiment, whose heart glows
with independence, and melts with sensibility,
inly pines under the neulect, or writhes in bit-
terness of soul under the contumely of arrogant,
unfeeling wealth. Oppressed by thee, the .son
of genius, whose ill-starred ambition plants him
at the tables of the lashionable 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 tiie family of worth that have
reason to complain of thee; the children of
folly and vice, though, in common witli tiiee,
the otispring of evil, smart ctjuiilly under thy
rod. The man of unfortunate disposition and
neglected education is ccndcmned as a fool for
his dissipation, despised and shunned as a
needy wretch, when his follies, as usual, bring
him to want; and when his necessities drive
him to dishonest practices, he is al)horred as
a miscreant, and perishes by the justice of his
country. But far otherwise is the lot of the
man of family and fortune. 7//s' early follies
and extravagance arc spirit and fire ; //w con-
sequent wants are the embarrassment of an
honest fellow; and when, to remedy the mat-
ter, he has gained a legal commission to
plunder distant ])rovinces, or massacre jicace-
ful nations, he returns, p(:rhaps, laden with
the spoils of rapine and murder; lives Avickcd
and respected, and dies a * * * * * and a lord.
Niiy, Avorst of all, alas for helpless woman !
The needy prostitute, who has shivered at the
corner of the street, waiting to earn the wages
of casual i)rostitution, is left neglected and

insulted, ridden down by the chariot-wlicels
of the coroneted lUf, hurrying on lo the guilty
ii.ssignation ; she who, without the .sauie
neces.sities to plead, riots nightly in the .same
guilty tnidc. Well! divines may .say of it
what they please, but execration is to the
mind, what phlebotomy is to the lioily; tlie
vital sluices of both are woiulerfully relieved
by their respective evacuation.s. " '

in such evacuations of indignant sjilcen the
proud heart of nmny an unfortunate genius,
besides this, has found or sought relief; and
to other more dangerous indulgences the
afHiction of such sensitive spirits had ol'ten,
ere this time, condescended. The list is a
long and painful one; an<l it includes some
names that can claim but a scanty share in
the apology of Hums. Addison himself, the
elegant, the philosophical, the religious Addi-
son, nmst be numbered with these oU'enders :
— .lonson, Cotton, Prior, I'arnell, Otway,
Savage, all sinned in the same sort ; and the
transgressions of them all have been lenicutl\
dealt with in comparison with tho.<c of one
whose genius was probably greater tlian any
of theirs; his appetites more fervid, his
temptations more al)undant, his repentance
more severe. The beautiful genius of Collins
sunk under similar contaminations ; and tlioso
who have, from dulness of head or sourness of
heart, Joined in the too general chunour against
Murns, may learn a lesson of candour, of mercy,
.and of Justice, from the language in wliicli one
of the best of men, and loftiest of moralists.
has commented on frailties that liurried a
kindred spirit to a like nntimcly grave.

'• In a long continuance of ])ovcrty, anil long
habits of dissipation," ,siys .lolinson, "it cn-
not be expected that any character should be
exactly uniform. That this man, wise and
virtuous as he was, passed always unentanghd
through the snares oflifo, it would be j)rcju(licc
;nid temerity to afiirm ; liut it may be said liiat
he at least preserved the source of action un-
polluted, that his principles were never .--haken,
that his distinctions of right and wrong wcic
never eonfcnmded, aiul that- his faults hud
nothing of malignity or design, but proceeded
from some unexpected i)ressure or casual
temptation. Such was the fate of Collins,

' Letter to Mr. Tetcr ITill, liookscller, Edinburgh,
17th .Jan. 1791 [us ultercil by Currie).

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

llji.

iriot-wlieels
o tlic jiuilty

tlic saiiiu
II tlie saiiie
' say of it

is to the
' body; the
lly relieved

L silicon the
ate .uoiiius,
rclief; and
gcnees tiie
had often,
le list is a
dudes some
ty share in
liiniself, the
gious Addi-
e oU'endei's :
-dl, < Itway,
rt; and the
eii leniently
liosc of one
n- than any
fervid, his
rciientanee
s of Collins
; iiiid those
sourness of
lourajiainst
r, of uiercy,
II M liicli one
f moralists,
liurried a
rave.

y, and loir/
11, "il iMi-
r should lie
, Avisc and
nciitanuled
le ])rejudice
be said that
iU'tion un-
vcr shaken,
ivronjr were
faults had
t, proeeeded
or (•ll^ual
of Collins,

, ITUinburgli,

with whom I ouec delighted to converse, and
whom 1 yet remember with tenderness."

Hums wa.s an honest man : after all his
ati-nn-'des, he owed no man a shilling' when he
died. His heart was always warm anil Ins
hand open. "His charities," says ^Mr. Cray,
'•were great beyond his means;" and 1 have
to thank Jlr. Allan Cunningham for the fol-
lowing anecdote, for which 1 am sure every
reader will thank him too. Jlr. ilaxwcll of
Temughty, an old, austere, sarcastic gcntle-
111! ,n, who eared nothing about Jioctry, used
to say when the excise-books of the district
were i>roduced at the meetings of the Justices

" IJring me Burns's journal : it always docs

mo good to sec it, for it shows that an honest
ollicer may carry a kind licart about with liim. "

Of his religious prineiiiles we are bound to
judge by what he has told us himself in his
more serious moments. I le sonietinics doubted
with the sorrow, what in the main and aiiove
all, ill the end, he believed with the fervour
of a [Hiet. " It occasionally haunts mc," says
he in one of his letters — "the dark suspicion,
that immortality may be only too good news
to he true;" and here, as on many points
besides, how much did his method of tliinking
([ fear I must add of acting) resemble that of
a noble poet more recently lost to us! "I
am no bigot to infidelity," said Lord liyron,
'•and <lid not expect that, because I doubted
the immortality of nnin I should be charged
with denying the existence of a Cod. It was
the comjiarative in-^igiiificance of ourselves and
our world, when placed iu comparison with
the mighty whole of which it is an atom, that
first led me to imagine that our pretentions
to immortality might be overrated." 1 dare
not pretend to quote the se(|iiel from memory;
lint the effect was, that Hyroii, like Ikiriis,
complained of "the early discipline of Scotch
Calvinism," and the natural gloom of aniolan-
clioly hear!, ashaving between them engendered
"a hypochondriacal (linca ■'," which occasion-
ally visited and depressed him through life.
ill the opposite scale we are, in justice to
ISunis, to place many pages which breathe the
ardour, nay the exultation of faith, and the
liumblc Hinceri;y of Christian hope; and as
the poet himself has warned us, it well befits
us "at the balance to be mute. " fiCt us avoid,
in the name of religion lieivelf, the fatal error

of those who would lashly swell the catalogue
of the enemies of religion. "A sally of
levity," says once more Dr. Johnson, "an in-
decent jest, an unreasonable objection, are
sufficient, in the opinion of some men, to efface
a name from the lists of Christianity, to ex-
clude a soul from everlasting life. 8uch men
are so watchful to censure, that they have
seldom much care to look for favourable inter-
pretations of ambiguities, or to know how soon
any step of iiiadvertencx has been exjiiatcd by
sorrow and retraction, but let lly their fuliiii-
nations without mercy or prudence against
slight offences or casual temerities, auainst
crimes never committed, or immediately re-
pented. The zealot should rec(dlect, that he
is labouring, by this frcipiency of cxcominu-
nication, against his own cause, and vuliiii-
tarily adding strength to the enemies of truth.
It must always be the condition of a great
part of mankind to reject and embrace tenets
upon the authority of those whom they think
wiser than themselves, and tlierefore the addi-
tion of every name to infidelity iu some degree
invalidates thai arguineni upon which the re-
ligion of multitudes is necessarily founded. "^
In conclusion, let me adopt the sentiment of
that illustrious moral poet of our own time,
whose generous defence of Burns will be re-
membered while the langmige lasts: —

Lot no ineiiii liope your scjiils enslave—
IU' iiiilopc'iiiloiit, t;ciierous, lirave;
Your I'ttct suuli txamiilo gave,

Aiul siicli revere;
Hut lie adiiioiiisird lij liis jira'X',

And think and fear.-

It is possible, periiaps for some it may be
easy, to imagine a diaracler of a much hiL;lier
cast than that of Hums, developed, too, under
circumstances in many ropects not iiiilike
those of his history — the character of a man
of lowly birth and powerful genius, elevated
by that idiilosojihy which is alone luire and
divine, far above all tliose annoyances of ter-
restrial spleen and passion, which mixcil from
the beginning with the workings of his in-
spiration, and in the end were able to cat
deep into the great heart which they had long
tormented. Such a being would have received,

' I.i/e of Sir TJioman Drowne.
- Wordsworth's "Address to the Sons of Euriis,"
on visiting his grave in 180y.

!'l

136

LIFE OF EGBERT BURNS.

no question, a species of tlcvout reverence, I
mean wlien the grave has closed on him, to
which tlie warmest admirers of our poet can
advance no pretensions for tiieir unfortunate
favourite ; but could such a iieing have de-
liglited his species — could he even have in-
structed them like Ikirns? Ougiit wc not to
be thankful for every new variety of form and
circumstance, in and under which the en-
nobling energies of true and lofty genius are
found addrcv:«ing themselves to the common
brethren of the race? Would we have none
but Jliltons f.nd Cowpers in poetry — but
Brownes and ."^outheys in prose? Alas! if it
were so, to how large a portion of the species
would all the gifts of all the muses remain for
ever a fountain shut up and a book sealed?
Were the doctrine of intellectual excommuni-
cation to be thus expounded and cnforccil,
how small the library that would remain to
kindle the fancy, to draw out and refine the
feelings, to enlighten the head by expanding
the icart of man? From Aristopliancs to
Byron, Jiow broad the sweep, how woeful the
desolation !

Jn the absence of that vehement sympathy
with luimanity as it is, its sorrows and its joys
as they are, we mi,i;ht have had a great man,
peril ips a great poet ; but we could have had
no Uurns. It is very noble to despise the
acci('ents of fortune; but what moral homily
concerning these, could have equalled that
whiili Burns's poetry, considered alongside of
Bun s's history, and the liistory of liis fame,
presents' It is very noble to be above the
allurements of pleasure; but who preaches so
effectually against llieni as lie who sets forth,
in immortal verse, h's own intense sympathy
with those that yiek', and in verse and in
prose, in action an<l in i>assion, in life and in
death, the dangers and the miseries of yield-
ing?

It requires a graver audacity of liyimcrisy
than falls to the share of most men. to declaim
against Burns's sensibility to the tangible cares
and toils of his earthly condition; there are
more who venture on broad denuncialioiis of
his synqiathy with the Joys of sense and pas-
sion. To these, the great morpl poet already
(juoted, speaks in the fdllowing noble iiassage
— and must he speak in vain? " Terinit me,"
.siys he, " to remind you that it is the privilege

of poetic genius to catch, under certain restric-
tions, of whicli perhaps at the time of its beine
exerted it is but dimly conscious, a spirit of

pleasure wherever it can be found in the

walks of nature, and in the business of men.
The poet, trusting to primary instincts, Iuau.
riates among the felicities of love and wine
and is enraptured while he describes tlic fairer
aspects of war; nor does he shrink from the
company of the passion of love though immod-
erate — from convivial pleasure, though intem-
perate—nor from the presence of war though
savage, ami recognized as the handmaid of
desolation." Frequently and admirably has
Burns given way to these impulses of luiture,
both with reference to himself, and in describ-
ing the condition of others. Who, but som";
impenetrable dunce or narrow-minded puritan
in works of art, ever read without delight the
picture Avhich he has drawn of the convivial
exaltation of the rustic adventurer, "Tamo'
Slianter?" The poet fears not to tell the
reader in the outset that his hero was a des-
perate and sottish drunkard, Avhose excesses
were frequent as nis opportunities. This re-
probate sits down to his cups while the storm
is roaring, aiul lieaven and earth are in con-
fusion — the night is driven on by song ami
tumultuous noise — laughter and jest thicken
as the beverage imjiroves upon the palate —
conjugal fidelity archly bends to the service tit
general benevolence — selfishness is not absent,
but wearing tlie mask of social cordiality —
and, while these various elements of humanity
are !>lended into one proud and hai)py com-
position of elated spirits, the anger of the
tempest without doors only heightens ami sets
ofl' the enjoyment within. I pity him wlio
cannot perceive that, in all this, though there
was no moral purpose, there is a moral i fleet.

Kinns uiiiy l)o lilret, li\it Tiuu was filiiriiiiis,
()'<!■ a' tlic ills (if life victiirious.

" Wimt a lesson do these words convey of
charitable indulgence for the vicious habits of
the princiiial actor in this .scene, and of those
who restinble him! Men, who to the riuiilly
virtuous are objects almost of loathing, and
whom therefore they cannot serve ! The poet,
penetrating the unsightly and disgusting .-ur-
faces of things, has unveiled, with exciuisilc
.skill, the finer ties of imagination snid feeling

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS,

137

rtaiii I'csiric-

■ of its being
*. a spirit of
iml— in the
less of men.
tiiifts, 1v.au.
e ami wine,
bcs tlic fairer
Ilk from the
)ugh immod-
lougli intern-

■ war thougli
liandniaiil of
Imirably has
CH of nature,
id in deserih-
:io, but some
nded puritan
t delii;hl tlie
Ihe convivial
■er, " Tam o'

to tell the
ro was a dcs-
losc excesses
;s. This re-
lic the storm
1 are in con-
by sontr and
jest thicken
the palate —
;hc service of
s not absent,
cordiality —
of hinnanity
liappy coin-
tngcr of tlie
tens and sets
ity him who
though there
floral effect.

(Is convey of
cms habits of
and of those
o the riuiilly
itliing, and
The poet,
ignsling ^ur-
ith exfiuisite
nid feel in;;'

that often bind these beings to prr.ctiees pro-
duotive of much unhappiness to themselves,
and to those whom it is their duty to cherish
a„j as far as he puts the reader into posses-
sion of this intelligent sympathy, he qualifies
him for exercising a salutary influence over
the minds of those who are thus deplorably
deceived. " '

That some men in every age will comfort
themselves in the practice of certain vices, by
reference to particular passages both in the
history and in the poetry of Burns, there is
all reason to fear; but surely the general in-
fluence of both is calculated, and has been
found, to produce far different effects. The
universal popularity which his writings have
all along enjoyed among one of the most
virtuous of nation.s, i.s, of itself, surely a de-
cisive circumstance. Search Scotland over,
from the I'enlland to the Sol way, and there is
not a cottage-hut so poor and wretched as to
be without its Hiblo; and hardly one that, on
the .same shelf, and next to it, does not treasure
a Mums. Have the jicople degenerated since
their adoption of this new manual ? Has their
attachment to the Hook of Hooks declined?
Are their hearts less firmly bound, than were
their fathers', to the old faith and the old
virtues? ' believe he that knows the most of
the country will be the readiest to answer all
th'!se (luestions as every lover of genii? i and
virtue would desire to hear them answered.

On one point there can be no controversy :
the i)oetry of Hums has had most powerful
inlliience in reviving and strengthening the
national feelings of his countrymen. Amidst
penury and labour, his youth fed on the old
minstrelsy and traditional glories of his nation,
and his genius divined that what he felt so
deeply must belong to a spirit that might lie
smothered around liim, but could not be
extinguished. The political circumstances of
Scotland were, and liad been, such as to starve
the flame of patriotism ; the popular literature
had striven, and not in vain, to make itself
English ; and, above all, a new and a coKl
.system of speculative philosophy had begun to
spread widely among us. A peasant appeared,
ami set himself to check the creeping pesti-
lence of this indifTerenee. Whatever genius
Las .<;inee then been devoted to the illustration
' Woidswortli's Letter to Cirny.

of the national manners, and sustaining thereby
of the national feelings of the people, there can
be no doubt that Burns will ever be remem-
bered as the founder, and, alas! in his own
person as the martyr, of this reformation.

That which is nowadays called, by solitary
eminence, the wealth of the nation, had been
on the increase ever since our incorporation
with a greater and wealthier state — nay, that
the laws had been improving, and, above all,
the administration of the laws, it would be
mere bigotry to dispute. It may also be con-
ceded easily, that the national mind had been
rapidly clearing itself of many injurious pre-
judices — that the people, as a people, had been
gradually and surely advancing in knowledge
and wi.'dom, as well as in wealth and security.
But all this good had not been accomplished
without rude work. If the improvement were
valuable, it luid been purchased dearly. "The
spring fire," Allan Cunningham says beauti-
fully somewhere, "which destroys the furze,
makes an end also of the nests of a thousand
song-birds ; and he who goes a troutmg with
lime, leaves little of life in the stream." We
were getting fast ashamed of many precious and
beautiful things, only for that they were old
an<l our own.

It lian already been remarked, how even
Smollett, who began with a national tragedy,
and one of the noblest of national lyrics, never
dared to make use of the dialect of his own
country; and how Jloore, another enthusiastic
Scotsman, followed in this i-ospcct, as in others,
theexampleof Smollett, and o/erand ovcriigain
counselled Burns to do the l.kc. But a still
more sti iking sign of the times is to be found
in the style adopted by both of these novelists,
especially the great master of the art, in the
representations of the '.nanncrs and characters
of their own countvymen. In Humphrey
Clinker the last and best of Smollett's tales,
there arc some trails of a better kind — but,
taking his works as ,i whole, the impression it
conveys is certainly a painful, a disgusting
one. The Scotchmer cf these authors arc the
Jockies and Archies of r>:vi.'e —

Time out of mind the Southrons' mirtliniakers — ''

the best of them g'-ote.sque combinations of
simplicity and hypocrisy, pride and meanness.
When such men, high-spirited Scottish gentle-

138

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

men, possessed of learning and talents, and one
of them at least of splendid genius, felt, or
faneied, tlie necessity of maliing such sul)niis.
sions to the prejudices of the dominant nation,
and (lid so without exciting a murmur anions
llicir own countrymen, wo may form sonu'
notion of the bohlness of Hurns's experiment;
and on contrasting the state of things then
with what is before us now, it will cost no
effort to appreciate the nature and consequences
of the victory in whicli our poet led the way,
liy achievements never in their kind to be sur-
passed.^ " ikirns, " says M r. Campbell, "has
given elixir vitre to his dialect;'"- — he gave it
to more than his dialect.

The moral influence of his genius has not
been confined to his own countrymen. "The
range of the paxtornl," said Johnson, "is
narrow. Poetry cannot dwell )ipon the min-
uter distinctions by which one species difl'ers
from another, without departing from that
simplicity of grandeur which ////s t/if hnrKjiini-
t'lon ; nor dissect the latent qualities of things,
Avithout losing its rjcnernl power o/r/rati/i/iiin
crfnj vihifl hi/ rccalJ'mri Us own roiiccptioiii.
>sot only the images of rural life, but the
occasions on which they can be properly ap-
plied, are few and general. The state of a
man confined to the employments and pleasures
of the country, is so little diversified, and
expi scd to so few of those accidents which
proifu-'c perplexities, terrors, and surprises,
in more complicated transactioiis, that he
ran be shown but seldom in such circumstances
as attract curiosity. His ambition is without

i"no was," sftjs a writer, in wliosu language a
hrotlier poet will Itu recognized— " lie was in many
respects born at a liap]).v time; happy for a man of
genius like liini, but fatal and hopeless to the more
coiMnion mind. A whole world of life lay heforu
linrns, whose inmost recesses, and darkest nooks, and
sunniust eminences, lie had familiarly trodden fiom
Ids ehihUiood. All tliat world he felt could lie miide
his own. No coni|ueror had oveniin its fertile pro-
vinces, and it was for him to he crowned supreme
over all the

Lyric singers of tli.at Iilsh-sourd Iiiiid.

The crown that he has won can never he removed
from his head. JIucli is yet left for other poets, even
among tliat life where his spirit delighted to work;
hut lie has liiiilt moimn.cnts on all the high places,
anil they who follow can only hope to leave heliind
tliem some far humbler memorials."— JSiac/iH'oorf's
Jfarinziiif, Feb. 1S17.

2 .'Specimens of the British Poets, vol. vii. p. 240.

policy, and his love without intrigue. Helms
no complaints to make of his rival, but that
he is richer than himself; nor any disasters
to lament, but a cruel mistress or a bad
liarvcst."''' Such wcie the notions of the great
arbiter of taste, whose dicta i'ornicd the creed
. the Uritish world at the time when JJuriis
made his apjiearance to overturn all sudi dog-
mata at a single blow ; to convince the loftiest
of the noble, and the daintiest of the learned
tliat wherever human nature is at work the
eye of a poet may discover riidi elemcnls of hi.-*
art^that over Christian Kurope, at all events,
the iiurity of sentiment and the fervour of
passion may be found combined with sagaciiy
of intellect, wit, shrewdness, humour, whatever
elevates, and Avhatever delights the minds, not
more ca.sily amidst the most "complicated
transactions" of the most polished societies, than

In huts where poor men lie.

Burns did not jilace himself only within the
estimation and admiration of those whom the
world called his superiors^ — a .solitary tree
emerging into light and air, and leaving the
})arcnt underwood as low and as dark a.-; before.
Ho, as well as any man,

Knew his own worth, and reverenced the lyre:

but lie ever announced himself as a pea.'^ant,
the representative of his class, the painter of
their manners, inspired by the same influences
which ruled their bosoms; and whosoever
sympathized with the verse of Jiurns had his
soul opened for the moment to the whole
family of man. If, in too many instances, the
matter has stopped there — the blame is not
with the poet, but with the mad and uncon-
querable lu'ide and coldness of the worldly
heart — "man's inhumanity to man." H, in
sjiitc of Hnrns, and all his successor.-*, the
boundary -lines of society are observed with
increasing strictness among us — if the various
orders of men stiii, day by day, feel the chord
of sympathy relaxing, let us lament over
symptoms of a disease in the body politic,
which, if it goes on, must find sooner or later
a fatal ending: but let us not undervalue the
antidote which has all .along been checking
this strong poison. Who can doubt, that at
this moment thousands of "the first-born of
a liambler, No. 30.

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

139

Lj,'Ypt' look upon the Hinokc of a cottiigcr's
chiiiiiioy .vitli I'eulings wliifii would never liavo
been (lcvel(.!)cil witliin their being liad there
been no IJiirns?

Such, it ean hiinlly be disputeil, has been,
and is tlie,i,'cncral influence of tiie iioel's j^enius;
and the cH'eefc has been aeeomplished, not in
spite of, but by means of tlie most exaet con-
tradiction of, every one of the principles laid
down by l>r. .lolnison in a passage already
cited, aiul, indeed, assumed throughout the
whole body of that great author's critical dis-
quisitions. Whatever IJurns has done, lie has
done by his c.\(iuisite power of entering into
the characters and feelings of individuals; as
Heron lias well expressed it, " l)y the effusion
(if particular, not general sentiments, and in
the [licluring out of particular imagery."

Currie says, that "ii JirHoii be the soul of
poetry, as sonic assert, Unrns can have small
pret elisions to the name of poet. " The success
of Burns, the influence of his verse, would
alone be enough to overturn al' the systems
of a thousand defincrs ; but the doctor has ob-
viously Uikon tii'''(»i in far too limited a sense.
There are indeed but few of liurns's pieces in
which he is found creating being.s and circum-
stances, both alike alien from his own person
and experience, and then, by the power of
imagination, divining and expressing wliat
forms life and jjassion would assume with, and
under these — but there are some ; there is
quite enough to satisfy every reader of " Hal-
lowe'en," the "Jolly liegi^ars," and " Tam o'
Slianter" (to .say nothing of various particular
songs, sucli as " Hruce's .\d(lres^," "^!ac-
l)lierson's Lament," &c. ), that liurns, if i,')
pleased, might have been as largely and as
successfully an inventor in this way, as he is
in another walk, perliuiis not so inferior to this
as many people may iiave accustomed them-
selves to believe ; in the art, namely, of rc-
combining and new-combining, varying, em-
bclli.shing, and fixing and transmitting, the
elements of a most picturesque experience
and most vivid feelings.

JiOrd IJyron, in his letter on Pope, treats
witii liigli and just contempt the lal)orious
trifling which Ins been expended on distin-
guishing by air-drawn lines and technical
slang- words, the elements and materials of
poetical exertion; and, among other things,

expresses his scorn of the attempts tliat have
been made to cla.ss Ihirns among minor poets,
merely because he has put forth few large
pieces, and still fewer of what is called the
purely imaginiitive character. Figlit who will
about words and forms, " Burns's rank," .says
he, "is in the first class of his art;" and 1
believe the world at large are nowadays well
prepared to prefer a line from such a pen as
Byron's on any such subject as this, to the
most luculent dissertation that ever perplexed
the brains of writer and of reader. Sciitlo,
cnjo sum, says the metaphysician ; the critic
may safely parody the .saying, and assert that
that i.s poetry of the higliest onler which ex-
erts influence of the most powerful order on
the hearts and minds of mankind.

Burns has been appreciated duly, and he
has had the fortune to lie praised eloquently,
by almost every poet who has come after him.
To accumulate all tliat has been said of him,
even by men like liimsclf, of the first order,
would fill a volume — and a noble monument,
no question, that volume would be — the
noblest, except what he has left us in his own
immortal verses, which — were some dross re-
moved, and the rest arranged in a chrono-
logical order' — would, I believe, form, to the
intelligent, a more perfect and vivid history
of his life, than will ever be composed out of
all the material in the world besides.

"The impression of his genius," says Camp-
bell, "is deep and universal; and, viewing
him merely as a poet, there is scarcely another
regret connected with his name, than that his
\ '. iductions, with all their merit, fall short of
the talents which he possessed. That he never
attempted any great work of fiction may be
partly traced to the cast of hi., genius, and
partly to his circumstances and defective
education. His poetical temperamcia was
that of fitful transports, rather than steady in-
spiration. Whatever he might have written
was likely to have been fraught with passion.
There is always enough of iitferfd in life to
cherish the feelings of genius; but it requires
knowledge to enlarge and enrich the imagina-
tion. Of that knowledge, which unrolls the
diversities of human manners, adventures, and
characters, to a poet's study, he could have no

1 [The poems art; arranged in chronological order
in the present edition.]

II I

■111

140

LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.

great Hharc; although he stamped the little
treanure which he possensed in the m; ge of
Bovcreign genius."'

"Xotwithstauding," eayw Sir Walter Scott,
"the wpirit of many of iiis lyrics, and the ex-
quisite sweetness and simplicity of others, we
cannot but deeply regret that so much of his
time and talents was frittered away in compil-
ing and composing for musical collections.
There is sufficient evidence, that even the
gcnias of Hums could not support him in tiie
monotonous task of writing love verses on
heaving bosoms and sparkling cye.s, and twist-
ing them into such riiythmical forms as might
suit the capricious evolutions of Scotch reels
and strathsi)eys. Iksides, tiiis constant waste
of his power and fancy in small and insignifi-
cant compositions, must necessarily have had
no little ettcct in deterring him from under-
taking any grave or imjiort^vnt task. Let no
one suppo.sc that we undervalue the songs of
Hums. When his soul was intent on suiting
a favourite air to words humorous or tender,
as the subject demanded, no poet of our tongue
ever displayed higher skill in marrying melody
to immortal verse. Ikit the writing of a series
of songs for large musical collections degener-
ated into a sli'vish labour which no talents
could support, led to negligence, and, above
all, diverted the poet from his grand plan of
dramatic com[)osition. To produce a work of
this kind, neither, perhaps, a regular tragedy
nor comedy, but someliiing partaking of the
nature of both, seems to have been long the
cherished wish of Hums. He had even fixed
on the subject, which was an adventure in low
life said to have happened to Kobert Hruce
while wandering in danger and disguise, after
being defeated by the Knglish.'^ The Scotti.sh
dialect would have rendered sucii a piece totally
unfit for the stage ; but those who recollect the
masculine and lofty tone of martial spirit
wliich glows in the poem of Hannockburn,
will , igh to think what the character of the
irallant Hruee might have proved uniler the
hand of Hums. It would undoubtedly have
wanted tliat tinge of chivalrous feeling which
the manners of the age, no less than the dis-
position of the monarch, demanded; but this

1 Specimens, vol. vii. p. '241.

- (See Mr. Kainsay's auLouiit nf a visit to 'EllfslHiiil.
p. ij;.]

deficiency would have ' v.en moi
bva bard v lio > i Id ' .' i ihnv

rms^ "lilied
liujii ii. i per.
ccptions the unbendiu,; viit-rwjf' of ;, heru huh-
taining the de.sertio' of j •uv;'.:'. 'in- pcrsecu.
tion of enemies, and the '..aiost )ii;i ■" of
disastrous fortune. The scene, too, he. ig
partly laid in humble life, admitted tliat dis-
play of broad humour and ex(iuisite pathos
witii Mhich he could, interchangeably and at
pleasure, adorn his cottage 'iews. Nor was
the assemblage of i'amiliar sentiments incom-
patible, in Htirns, with those of the most
exalted dignity. In the inimitable tale of
' Tain o' Shantcr ' he has left us sufiicicni
evidence of his abilities to combine the ludi-
crous with the awful, and even the horrible.
No poet, with the exception of Shakspcre,
ever j)Os.se.s,sed the power of exciting the most
varied and discordant emotions with such
rapid transitions. Mis humorous description
of death in the poem on 'Dr. Iloml)ook,'
borders on the terrific, and the witches' dance
in the Kirk of .Mloway is at once ludicrous
and horrible. l)eci)ly must we then regret
those avocations which diverted a fancy so
varic' and so vigorous, joined with langiuifrc
and e.ijiressions suited to all its changes, from
leaving a more sui)stantial monument to his
own fame, ami to the honour of his country."'
The cantata of the "Jolly Hcggars," which
was not printed at all until some time after
the poet's death, and has not bee" included in
the editions of his works until within tlie.se
few years, cannot he considered as it deserves,
without strongly heightening our regret that
Hums never lived to execute his meditated
drama. That extraordinary sketch, coupled
with his later lyrics in a higher vein, is
enough to show that in him we had a master
capable of jilacing the mr.sical drama on a
level with the loftiest of our classical forms.
" Hcggar's Hush " and " Hcggar's Ojiera" sink
into tanieness in the comparison; and indeed,
without profanity to the name of Shakspcre,
it may be said, that out of such materials,
even his genius could hardly have constructed
a piece in which imagination could have more
sjilendidly predominated over the outward
shows of things — in which the sympathy-
awakening power of poetry could have been
disi)!ayed more triumphantly under cireum-
•1 Quarterly Review, No. I. p. sy.

TJFE OF K'JBERT burns,

14f

■plied

tjiiK.os (.1' the greatest diftk-uUy. Tlmt rc-
niark.il)lc pcrformanec, by the way, was an
early iiroduftioii of tlic Mauehlinc period;' I
know nothing Imt the "Tani o' Shanter" that
is calculated to convey so high an impression
of what Hums might liave done.

As to Hurns's want of education and know-
leiliri'. Ml'- (-'ainphcll may not liavc considered,
liiii he must admit, that whatever Burns's
oppnrtunities had been at the time when he
priHluccil his first poems, such a man as lie was
not likely to be a hard readei* (which he
certainly was), and a constant observer of men
anil manners, in a much wider circle of soc' ty
than almost any other great poet has ever
moved in, from tliree-and-twcnty to eight-and-
tliirty, without having thoroughly removed
any pretext for auguring unfavoura!)]y on that
score, of wliat he might have been expected to
]in)(luce in the more elaborate departments of
his art, had his life been spared to the usual
limits of humanity. 1 n another way, however,
I cannot help suspecting that Hurns's enlarged
knowledge, both of men and books, produced
an unfavourable effect, rather than otherwise,
on the exertions, such as they were, of his
later years. His generous spirit was open to
tiic impression of every kind of excellence;
his lively imagination, lending its own vigour
to whatever it touched, made him admire even
what other people try to read in vain; and
after travelling, as he did, over the general
surface of our literature, he appears to have
liecn somewhat startled at the consideration of
what he himself had, in comjtarative ignorance,
adventured, and to have been more intimi<latcd

I .So John Richmond of ^[nuchlhie infonnud C'liam-
lieis. See that very iiiterostlnK work, tlie Picture of
SfiiHaiitl. article " Manclillne," f(ii' snine entertaining
liaiticulais (if tlie scene tliat suggested tliu fiDeui.

than encouraged by the retrospect. In most
of the new departments in which he made some
trial of his strength (such, for example, ;is tlio
moral epistle in Pope's vein, the /ii'roic satire,
&c. ), he appears to have soon lost heart, and
paused. There is indeed one magnificent ex-
ception in "Tam o' Simnter" — a piece which
no one can understand without lielieving that
had Hums pursued that walk, and poured out
his stores of trailitionary lore, embellished
with his extraordinary powers of description
of all kinds, we might h.ave had from his hand
a scries of national tales, uniting the quaint
simplicity, sly humour, and irresistible jiathos
of another Chaucer, with the strong aiul grace-
ful versification, and masculine wit and sense
of another Drydeu.

This was a sort of fjeling that must have in
time subsided. Hut let us not waste words in
regretting what might have been, where so
much is. Hums, short and painful as were his
years, has left behind him a volume in which
there is insi)iration for every fancy, and music
for every mood ; which lives, and will live, in
strength and vigour — "to soothe, "asa generous
lover of genius had said, "the sorrows of iiow
many a lover, to inflame the patriotism of how
numy a soldier, to fan the fires of how nuiny a
genius, to disi)crse the gloom of scditude, ap-
pease the agonies of pain, encourage virtue,
and show vice its ugliness;"- — a volume in
which, centuries hence, as now, wherever a
Scotsman may wander, he will find the dearest
consolation of his exile. Already, in the
language of C'hihle. Iftirolil, has

Glory witliiiut end
Scattered the elondsaway ; and on that name attend
Tlie tears and praises of all time.

- See the Censnra Litcraria of Sir Egerton Brydges,
vol. ii. p. ."j.").

1 I

APPENDIX

LOCKIIAIIT'S LIFE OF BURNS.

BURNS'S Al'TOBIOORAPinc'AL LETTER
TO DU. MOORE.'

Siii, -For soiiio moiitlis jmst I Imvo been
riitiililiiiL;- over the counti-y, iiartly on account of
some little busiiKss 1 1., o to settle in various
l)laces; but of late I liu\ J ''ecu contincd with
some lin^'^erinn' coniiilainis, orij^inatinfjf, as [ take
it, in the stonuuh. 'i'o divert my spirits a little
in this miserable foLf of eiumi, I have taken a
whim to }:fivo you a history of myself.

My name lias made a small noise in the coun-
try; you have done ino the honour to interest
yourself very warmly in my behalf; and 1 think
a faithful account of what eharaetor of a man I
am, and how I came by that character, may i)er-
liai)s amuse you in an idle moment. I will f;ive
you an honest narrative, though I know it will
be at the e.xponso of fre(iuently bein<? lauj^hed
nt; for I assure you, sir, I have, like Solomon,
whose character, exeeptinj,' in the trilling nlTair
of irisddiii, I sometimes think I resemlile - [ have.
I say, like him, " turned my eyes to behold mad-
ness and folly," and, like him, too, freiiuently
shaken hands with their intoxicating' friendship.
In the Very polite letter .^[iss Williams- di' :.. - ..'..^
honour to write me, she tells me you have got a
complaint in your eyes. I jir;!}' God it may be re-
moved; for, considering- that lady anil you are
my common friends, you will probably employ
her to read this letter; and then good-night to
that esteem with which she was plea.sed to honour
tlic Scotch Rar.l !

After you have iieruscd these pages, should
you think them trilling .anil impertinent, I only
bog leave to tell you that the i)oor author wrote
them under .some very twitching qualms of con-

1 .rotm Mocire, a i>Iijsiiiiin iiiiil .'mtlinriif soinc nnti' in tlir
last ci'iitiiry, was Inirn iit stirliui; .■ilioiit ir:in. anil ilicd in isr.'.
After takiuK the lii'-iciMif IM.li. In; iiractisi'il for Hnnu' years
in .Srotlanil; tlien travi-lleil for live years on tlie Continent as
meilieal attendant ttUlioyouiif,' Ifakeof Hamilton, and latterly
settled in Ijunilnn, where ho was resident wln^n Ihn*ns heeanie
ae(iuaintod with him, thrnnijh .Airs. Dunlop, in 1787. There
are seven or eiKht letters to Moore in liiirns's Correspondenee.
The two do not seem ever to have met. Anions Moure's
literary iiroilnrtions were the tiovel Xt-titrn, wliieh had a eon-
Biderablc popularity in its dny; .1 \'iiir a/ Suciclii iind M'limirK
ill France, liioiUerlaml, and UemKmij; A \'(ew of Siicnlii ami
Munners in Jtiihj; Mnlical .^kxMun, 6ic. .See \ol. iv. p. -17.

- Helen JIaria Williams, a poetees and miscellanuuuit « Titer
of BOinc note in her day.

.science that, perhaps, ho was doing what ho oiifrlit
not to do -a predicament ho has more than iiiieo
boon in before.

I have not tho most distant iireteiisioiis to
what tho pye-coated guardians of eseiitihcdiis
call a gentleman. When at Edinburgh la.st win-
ter I got ai'i|uainted at the Herald's OlHee, ami,
looking thro' tho gr.anary of honours, 1 tliiro
found almost every name in tho kingdom; Imt
for me.

My .'ineient lait IkiiuIiIu blooil
Has erept thiiiii|{h mouinlniU iihicu the Hood.

Clules, i)tM'pure, argent, kc, quite disowned nie.
My forefathers rented hind of the faiiious,
noble Keiths of Marshal, and had the hoiioiir Id
share their fate. I do not use tho word " honmn'"
with any reference to political iirineiples: ln,i,if
and (lif/i'i/d/ I take to be merely relative terms in
that ancient and formidable court known in this
country by the name of " club-'.iw." Those wIik
dare welcome Kuin and shake handswith Infiiniy,
for what they believe sincerely to bo the cause
of their (iod or their king, itre-~as Mark Aiitniiy
in Shakespeai' says of ISrutus and ( 'assius — " him-
ourable men." J mention this cireiunslaiice be-
iMso it threw my father on the world at largc^
where, after many years' wanderings tind so-
journings, ho picked up a pretty large quantity
of observation and experience, to which I aia
indebted for most of my ]iretensions to wi.sduiii.
1 have met with few who understood men, tlii.ir
manners and their ways, equal to him; bntstuh-
born,ung'ainly integrity, and headlong ungovern-
able irascibility, are disqu.'difyingcircuinstanies;
consequently, I was born i vorj- poor man's sun.
For the first six or seven years of my life my
father was g'ardener to |Mr. Ferguson of I loon-
holm | a worthy gentleman of small estate in the
neighbourhood of Ayr. Had my father contimieil
in that situation I must have marched olf to be
one of the littie underlings about a farm-hou.so;
but it was his dearest wish and }ir;iyer to have it
in his power to keep his children under his own
eye till they could di.scern between good and
evil; so, with the assistance of his generous mas-
ter, ho ventured on a small farm on that gentle-

^This is orritneons. See '* Paternal .\neestry of Burns" in
this App*.'tidi.\'. " Keith.s of .M.-irshal" is a rather sinjiuliir
designation. The Keith.s were hereditary Karls .Marisehal .f
Seotland.

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

148

nmn'a ostnto. At tlioso yenrw [ wuh by no moiuiH
,1 fuvoiirito witli niiyboily. 1 wuh ii Kood deal
iiott'il ft>i'ii rotfiitivu luuniory, ii stubborn, sturdy
Homotliiii^' in my diHpositiiiii, and an outliuwia.slii'
idiot-iiii^ly- f ""'y "''o'-pioty bccauno I was tliun
Imtiieliild. Tliouf,'h I cost tliu sclioolniastor somo
tlmisliini^x, I iimdo an uxcollont Knglish scholar;

and aKii'"-*'' "^''^ J''-'"'''' °^ ^'^" "'' "•''^''" ' ^^■''"' •'*'■
RolutJiy a critii; in substaiitivoH, vorbs, and jiar-
tiolcs. In my infant and lioyish days, too, I
owed niiicli to an old maid of my inotlior's ro-
niiirkablo for lior innoranto, crcdidity, and su-
jioi-stition.' Sho had, I supimso, tho lar^ust
cdlluction in tho country of talus and songs con-
ccniiiig devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches,
wnrlcielis, simnkies, kelpies, olf- candles, dead-
iiglits, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, en-
chanted to.vers, dragons, and other trumpery.
Tliis cultivated tlio latent sccdsof i>ocsy; but liad
so strong an ellect on my imagination that to
this hour, in my nocturnal ramliles, I soniotinies
keep a shai'p look-out in susj)icious places; and
thmigh uolioily can bo more sceptical in these
matters tlian f, yet it often takes an elYort of
iiliilosophy to shako oil" these idlo terrors. Thn
earliest tiling of composition that I recollect
taking jileasuro in wiis tho "Vision of Mirza,"
and a hynni of Addison's, beginning " ITow aro
tiiy servants blest, O Lord I" I partic\ilarly re-
nieinhcr one half-stanza, which was music to my
Iniyish ears; —

For tliouKh on droailfiil wliiils wc Ihmik

IIikIi on tho lirokun wuvo,

I met with those pieces in Mason's Enr/linh Col-
lerlioii, one of my school-books. Tho two first
books I ever read in private, and which gave mo
more pleasure than any two books I ever read
again, were Tin' Life of IIan)i!li<(l nntl Tlir. I/I.i-
tiiri/ of t<i'f ^Villidm Wnlhtir. TIanuibal gave my
young ideas such a tin-n that I used to strut in
raptures up and down after the recruiting drum
and bagiiipo, and wish myself tall enoiigh that
I might be a soUKcr; while the story of Wallace
poured a Scottish prejudice in my veins which
will boil along there till the Hood-gates of life
.slnit in eternal rest

Polemical divii.ty about this time was ptit-
ting the ccmntry h;:lf-mad; and T, ambitious of
shining' on Sunday's, between sermons, in conver-
sation parties, at funerals, &c., in a few years
more used to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat
and indiscretion that I raised a hue and cry of
heresy against nic, which has not ceased to this

llOVU'.

My vicinity to A3'r was of great advantage
to me. i\ry social disposition, when not checked
by some modification of spited pridi , like our
catechism definition of infinitude, was without
bounils or limits. T fornied many connections

1 Tlpttj- Diiridson, tlio widow of a cousin of the pouts
mother.

witli other youukcrH who po.sMedNcd superior arl-
vantiiges, the youngling actors, who were busy
with tho rehearsal of )iarts in which they wero
shortly to iijipcar on that stage where, alas! I
was destined to drudge behind tho scones, It
IS not eoniMioiily at the.so green yeai's that tho
young noblesse and gentry have !i just sense of
tho immense distance betwi'cn them and their
ragged play-fellows. It takes a few dashes into
the world to give tho young great man that i)ro-
per, decent, uniioticing disregard for the pooi-,
insigniiic'ant, stupid deviln, the nieihaiiics and
jieasantry around him, wIm perhaps were born in
tho same village. .My young siiperioi's nev^r in-
sulted the elouterly apliearauceof my ploughboy
carcass, tho two extienies of which were often
exposed to all the inclemencies of all tho seasons.
'I'liey would give mo stray volume:; of books;
among them, even then, 1 could pick up .sonio
observations; and one, who.so heart I am sure not
even tho " Aluiiny lieguin" scenes havo tainted,
helped nic to a little f'rench. Parting with these
my young friends and benefactors ii si hey dropped
oil" for the East or West Indies, was often to nie
a soro atlliction: but I was soon called to more
serious evils. My father's generous master died;
tho farm proved a ruinous liargaiii, and, to clench
the curse, wo fell into tho hands of a factor,
who sat for tho picture I have drawn of one in my
"Tale of Two Dogs." :\ly father was adv.iiiced
in life when he married; [ was the eldest of seven
chililren, and he, W(U'ii out by early hard.-snip,
was inilit for labour. My f.ither's spirit was soon
irritateil, but not easily broken. There was a
freedom in his lea.so ni two years more, and, to
weather these, wc retrenched our e.NjK uses. Wo
lived very poorly; I was a dexterous ploughmiin
for my years; and tho next eldest to me was a
brother (dilhcrt) who coiiM drive the jilough
very well and help nic to thrash. A iiovel-wnter
might perhaps have viewed these scenes with
soino satisf.iction, but so did not 1; my indigna-
tion yet boils at [the recollection of] the threat-
ening, insolent epistles from the scoundrel tyrant,
which used to .set us all in tear.s.

This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a
hermit, with the unceasing toil of a galley-slave,
brought mo to my ,-ixtceiith year; a little before
which period I first coniinitted tho .sin of Piliymo.
You know our country custom of coupling a man
and woman together as pirtners in the labours of
harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partnerwas a
bewitchhig creature who just counted an autumn
less. My scarcity of English den! « me tho po'-.^.T
of doing her justice in that language, bu'. you
know the Scottish idiom- she was a Jmnnii'. n'rert,
.s-o».«!> /((.w. In short, .she, altogether unwittingly
to herself, initiated me into a cert.ain delicious
pas.sion, which, in spite of acid disappointment,
gin-horse prudence, and book-worm philosophy,
I hold to bo the first of human joya, ourehicfcsfc

144

APl'KNDIX TO LIFE OT-' lUHiNS.

liluiiM\iro lioro below! How hIio oiiiiKlit tlio coii-
tnnrion I riiii't Hiiy; yoii iiiLMlioal folks talk imicli
of iiifuotioii l>y lirc;itliiii>,' tlio saiiiouir, tliu touch,
iic; but I iifviT cxiH'oMHly told her timt I loved
hor. Iiidoed, I <liil not well know niynelf why I
likod HO much to loiler lieliind with her when
returniiij,' in the evenin^f from our lubourx; why
the tonus of her voicu luiido my heiirt-strin^'s
tliril! liko an .Koliim hiirp, and iiarticniarly \ihy
niv pidse lieat MMoh ii furious rantiinn when I
looked and liiij,'ered ovir her iiand to pick out
tlie nettlo-stinjfs and thiules. Anion;,' her other
love-inspiriii;;' '|nalilications iho H\ni^,' HWi;etly;
and 'twas her favourite Scotch reel thnt I at-
tuni|itoil to t,'ive an embodied vehijio to in rhyme.
t was not HO [iivsuniptuous as to imn)j;ino that I
could make verses like printed ones, coni)posed
by men who had (Ireek an<l Latin: but my ^'''1
sun^ a sonj^ which was said to bo composed by
a small country laird's sou on one of his fatlier's
maids, with whom ho was in love; and I saw no
reason why I nii;j:ht not rhyme as well as ho; for,
exeeptin;,' smearin;,' sheep and casting peats (bis
father liviui^ in the moors), ho bad no more
Hcholar-craft than myself. Thus with mo be^'an
love and i)ocsy; wliich at times have been my
only and, till within the last t..elvo months, have
been my l!ii,diest enjoynjent.

-My father sfruf,'y:lc<l on till ho reached the
freedom in his lease, when he entered on |l,oclilea
in Tarboltou parish, | a larger farm, about ten
miles farther in the country. The nature of the
bargain was .siuli as to throw a little ready money
into his liamls at the conuucncemcnt of his lease,
otherwiso the affair would have been impracti-
cable. For four years we live<l eonifortid)ly here;
but a lawsuit between him and his landlord
commencing', after three years' tossing and whirl-
ing in the vorte.x of litigation, my father was just
saved from absori)tion in a jail by a j)lithisieal
eonsumption, which, after two years' promi.ses,
kindly stepped in and snatched him away, to
'• where the wicked cease from troubling, and
where the weary are at rest."

It is during this climacteric that my little
story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning
of this pericnl, perhaps the most ungainly, awk-
ward being in the parish. No so/iliihr was less
iicquainted with the ways of the world. .My
knowlcdg'e of ancient story was gathered from
Guthrie's and Salmon's geographical grammar;
and the knowledge of modern manners, and of
literature luid criticism, I got from the S/)f(:laloi:
The.so with Pope's Works, some plays of Shak-
sjjearc, I'n/l and Jh'ch'iii on Aijrlcultnre, Tlit
I'tiiit/ifoii, Locke's KtsMfi nil, tin' lliniiaii Undrr-
.iftuidiiif), Stackliouse's Hlntorii vf (he llihU', Jus-
tice's JJn'ti.i// (larileiirr, Boi/lf Lecliirin, Allan
Kam.say's Works, Taylor's Sry,'/ifurc Jhiiriiic of
Uriffiiiul Sill, A Select Collection of English
Songs, and Hervcy's Meditalioits, had been the

extent of my reading. 'I'hc r-ollcrtion of KiinrfH
was my iviid imfiiin, I pored over tlirni diivin^
my lart or walking to labour, soug by huUj, xvr^r
by veisi'; carefully noting the tLuder or siilijiiii,.
from atfeetation and fustiun. I am convinceil |
owe nnieh to this for my critic craft, such as it in,
In my sovenleenlli year, to give my niannerH
a brush, I went to a country daining-sclieol.
.My father had an luiaceoiuitableaiitipiilliyagMiimt
these meetings; ami my goin,' was, what to this
hour I repent, in absolute di liance of his ctmi.
m inds. ,My father, as I saiil lufore, was thu
sport of strong jiassions; from that instance of
rebellion ho took a kind of dislike to me, wliidi
1 believe was one caiise of the dissipation which
marked my future years. I say dissipatiou, cuin-
))arativo with the strictness and sobriity of I'ns.
byterian country life; for though the Will o'
Wisp meteors of thoughtless wliim were alnawt
the sole lights of my ]ialh, yet early ingraiiieil
piety and virtue never failed to point me out tlio
line of iiuincenco. The great misfortune of my
life wa.s never to have an aim. I had felt eiiily
some stirrings of ambition, but they were the
lilind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round tliu
walLs of his cave. I saw my father's situation
entailed on me perpetual labour. The only two
doors by uhieb I could enter the lields of I'ortuno
were the most niggardly economy or tlii' little
chicaning art of bargaiu-m.iking. The tirst is
so eoutiacted an ai)crture, I luver could s |ueezo
my.self into it; the last — 1 always hated the con-
t.'unination of its thresliold ! Thus abandoned of
view or aim in life, with a strong appetite for
.sociability (as well from native hilarity as from
a )>ride of observation and remark) ami a con-
stitutional hypochondriac tinnt which made lao
lly solitude; add to all these incentives to social
life, my reinitation for bot)ki>h knowleclge, a
certain wild logical talent, and a strength of
thought something like the rinliments of good
sen.se, made me generally a welcome guest. So
'tis no great wonder that always, where two or
three were met together, there was [ in the midst
of them. But far beyond all the other imiiulscs
of mj' heart was ini /iciir/niiit tl I'adiirnhlr imiti,'
(lit ijciiiv /nniiitiii. .My heart was completely tin-
der, and was et(^riially lighted up by some god-
dess or other; and, like every warfare in this
world, r was sometimes crowned with success
and sometimes mortitien with defeat. At the
plough, .scythe, or reap-hook 1 feared no com-
petitor, and set want at deliance; and as I never
cared farther for any laliours than wliile ( was in
actual e.xerci.so, I sjient the evenings in the way
after my own heart. A country lad seldom carries
on an amour without an as.sisting confidant. F
po.s.«esscd a curiosity, zeal, and intrepiil dexterity
in these matters which reconimcnded me as a
proper second in duels of that kind; and, I daro
say, I felt as much pleasure in being in the secret

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

14ft

'■•'"'1 of Miiifp,

• li' 111 'Iriviii^
luri.rsiil,|i|„„

II l-'iilivilicuil 1

^ 'iiy iiiiiMiu;rii

lliiliiLC..scln)„|.

i|'ii'li.ViiKiiiiiMt
. " liiit to thw

I.' of his UDIIl.

fori', was tlio
It iiisliuiuo of
t<> nil', wliioli
i|Kiti(JM wliicli
'ipatinii, i.„|„.
>iicty (.f IVcs.

til.! Will ,;

I Wt'l'O lllllllJ.Ht

I'ly iiiKiaiiiud
lit iiio out the
I'liiiio of my
ml folt early
liey wiro tho
It roiiMil tliu
it's situation
Tlu) only two

Is (if I'dl-tuilu

or the iittlu
'I'lio lirst is

.'"llM S |UCO/,C

atcil tlio (MM.
iliiuichiiiuil of

ii|ilietitu for
irity IIS fiMiii
;) ami a con-
it'll iniulo 1110
tivL's to social
;iio\vluili,'o, a

.stl'cli;;-th of
cuts of gooil
u f,'-tic.st. So
vhuro two or

ill tlio iiiiilst
lioi' iiiiimlsos
/(irnli/r till itii'
iiliiotoly tiii-
y Hi lino {,'oil-
rfai'u ill this
with success

!!lt. At tlio

•ed no coiii-
1(1 as I never
liilo 1 was in
s ill the way
liloiii carries
i>ii(i(lant. r
till (I(\\tcrity
led 1110 as a
; and, [ daro
in the secret

of half tliu nmourn in the iiariMli iw ever did i>ro-
mior at knowiiit,' tlio intri«>ioH of lialf tlio courts
of Kiiro|i.'.

Tho V( ry j,'oose-feiitlior ni my hand HoeniM to
know instinctively the well-worn path of my
i„„i^,iniitioii, the favonrito theme of my houk;
and is "ith diUlciiliy restrained from KivinK you
a couple of paraKiaphs on tho aiiioiir.s of my
coiiipcerH, tho huiulile inmates of tho farmhouse
and cottaKD ; '»it the ^fi'avo nous of science, am-
hitioii, or avarice Kiptl/.o these tliiiiK's by the
name "f KoMies, To tho sons and dau),'liters of
labour and poverty, they are matters of the most
sorioiis nature; to them tlio ardent Ikhio, the
stolen interview, the tender farewell aro thof^reat-
est and most delicious part of their enjoyments.

Another eircumstaneo in my life which made
Very considerable altoratioiis on my mind and
iiiaiiners, was, I spent my sevciiteonth summer a
Ijood distance from home, at a noted school ' on
a smivf,'liii^' coast, to learn mensuration, snr-
veyiiii,', dialling,', Jtc. , in which I made a pretty
Kood proj,'ress. |{ut I made t L,'reiiter jiro^'ress
in the Uiii)wli'dfj;e of mankind. The contraband
trade was at this time very successful; scones of
swa|,'Keriiijj riot and roaring' dissipation wore as

I ,\l Kirko<WMlil, ill t';iniik, mi tliu pkhI frmn I'lirtpiilriik
ti) (ibi^k'i'W. liiiriiH Hct'iiti t<i Ii;v\i! tu't'ti MMil til KirkiiiiVMiIil
K-Iiuiil in (■iiiK'Ciiui'iii'f iif Inn iiiiitlicr'rt i-iitiiici'tiiiti with tlic
..I'lri', fur kIu' will tliii cliiiiKlitcr iif (iillii'i't llrowii, triiiiiit nf

I riii(,'i'ntiiii, witliin tlui lnniiiils nf tin' inirixli. Iiiiriii^ liin
attoiiilaiii'u lit tlic Hclioul 111! livwl witli lii.s iniitorniil mulo,
Siiiniicl Itriiwii. lit lliillochiiuil, a little itidi'i! tliaii ii iiiilu fruiii
Kirko»wulil, nalkiiix cvur.v muriiiiiu tn tin,' little si'iiiiiiiii'.v
mill ri'tiiriiiiin at iii^lit. S'o imli! tii l.iickliart'H Life, |i. ■.'4,
ulu'ro ii Kivrii an ciiKrinini; nf Kirkn^wald. Tliu villii}:i' in
I'l'inr^i'iilril as it ii|ipuiirs fniin a imliit near tliu Kniitli-ucsi
uxtiuiiiil.viif till' iliiir.liviinl. tin tliu left nf the iiiutiire is tlie
iilil rililieil elliirell, Hiiil tu (ii'ellpy tlie Hitu of iiiie built li.v
Onwalil, ■: NiMtliuiiilii'iiiii kinitiif tliu lluptareliy, in Kratitiiilu
fur a \irler>' wliiuli he aeliii'Veil iiuiir tliu Bput, and wliiili,
taking' its iKiiiie fi'uiii him, Kavu it in tiini tu tliu village ami
liarish. .\ miall uhiiiiilier in the ua-t uml nf tliu liiiililiiiK was
iiseil lis a liarish ulinnl till a iierinil Inietl.v aiiteuudent tn
liiinis's resiileiiee lure, wliun, the Imihlini^' lieenmiii;; niiiiniis,

II iiuw ehiireli Mas ereeteil nii a i!ei;.;li!iniiriii^ hei^jht, ami tliu
leaelier, llii;!h liiiil;;er tiansferreil his ■■■uat nf emiiire tn an
ii|iartiiiiiit in one nf tlie nouses of the villauu. The iiliiee of
«iir.-lii|i then liiiilt is seen at the uxtiemity of the struut on
the riKlit side of tliu iiietiire. Tliu room ealled iit the mmu
tiinu into use as a selioni, was the tlimr or Inwur uliaiiilier of
the house riiiikiii^' third in the inw, seen over the eliureh) aid
wall, lieiiiK the main street of the villa^'e, and that aloni;
whieh the road pisses. From liehiiid this Imiise, as fioni
hehiiid eaeh nf its iieiKlihniirs in the same row, a Kmall stripe
(if kail-jiird [Aiiiil:o\ kiteheii -j;arden) extuiuls almut fift.v
.vanls aloni; tliu riipidly a-eeiuliiix slnpe Inwards the ridue on
wliieh till' iiewehureh is situated. When Itiinis went iiitn the
Iiartieiilur piiteli liuliind tliu selinol, to take the sun's altitude,
lie had only In look nver a low iiielnsiiru to sue tliu similar
paleh eiiiineeliil with the next house. Here, it seums, l'u,'ny
Tliiiiiisiiii, daimhter tn the rustie neeiiiiant nf that liniisu, was
walking' at tlie time, thou^'li more prnhahly eiii:iiL'eil in the
liii«iiiessiif nittiii« ealilia^'e fur the family dinner than iiiii-
tatiiij; the llnwerKatherinj! rrnseriiine, nr her pi'ntntype Kve.
I'l'i-'By heeiiiiie, liy niairia^'e, .Mrs. Neilsun.aiid was the liuroiiii'
nfthu souy I'U-Miiiiiiii.',

Now westlin winds ami slaimhfrini,' Kuns

liri

ngautuiiiUH ideasaiit weather.

yot now to mo, and I wan no enemy to uncial lifo.
ilore, thoiiKli I learnt to look unconcernedly on
a lar^o tavern-bill, and mi.\ without fear in a
drunken Hipiabbln, yet I went on with ii hi).;li
hand in my Ke'onietry, till tlio sun entered N'ii'no,
a month whieh is idway a carnival in my bosdin,
when a eliarmiuf,' jillfll", who lived next door to
the school, overset my tri^,'oiioinetry, iind set mo
otF in a tan^fcnt from tho sphere of my studies,
I stru^'^led on with my ninrn and cu-miich for a
few days more; but, steppin^i; out to tho jjfiirdeii
olio charming noon to take tho sun's altitude,
there I mot my anuel,

. . . Iiiku I'ro-erpinii KutherhiK HuHirs,
llumulf 11 fairer llnHur . . .

It was in vain to think of doinjf any more
f^ood at school. Tho reiiiainin^f week I staid, I
did nothing but craze the faculties of niy soul
about her, or steal out to meet with her; and
the two last nit;'lits of my stay in tho eotmtry,
had sleep been a mortal sin, 1 was innocent.

I returnod homo very considerably improved.
.My readinnf was enlarged with tho very important
addition nf Thomson's and Wlieiistone's Works; 1
had .seen niaiikind in anew phasis; and I eii^'ai^'cd
several of my .'^ehool-fellows to keep up a literary
correspondeiico with me.''' I had met with ii coUec-

'-.\miinh' the frieiiilH wlinni Ilnriis uim'iiuud to keep up a
eorrespoiiduiieu with him was \Mlliaiii Mvuii, a Mayhole
friend, to whom laeeordiin,' tn Itnhurt ( hamliurs) liu wrotu
nfieii, iiiiil ill tliu most fiiuiidly iiiul uoiitldeiitiiil terms, ^^'hull
that individual was eommeiieiii;,' hnsinuss In his iiativu town,

the poet addressed him a] tieal upistli) of aiiprnpriatu advii'u,

headed with thu woll-knn«ii linos fmiii Illairs "tiravu," liu-

(liUllill).',

I'riuiidsliip I m.\ steriniis eemeiit of the sniil,
tSw ueteller of life, and solllur of sneiety.
This unrrespmideneu uonllii till thu purind of thu pnhliua-
tion nf thu pneiiis, when llu, wrote to request his friend's
Kood olliees in iiiereasiiik' til. i ' of nilisurihura. The yniiim'
man wis then pns-u-sed nf littl. ntlneiieu; Imt what little hu
had huexureised with all tliuze>l - f frii ndship, and with no
little Bueeess. A enii-ideralile niii .r nf cnpies were iieunr-
dinnly traiisinitted in innper lime to liia care, and, soon alter,
the poet came to .Maylmle to leeeivu the mmiey. His friend
enlleeteil a few elioiie sjiirits to meet him at the Kind's .\riiis
Inn, and they spent a happy nii^ht tofjethur. Ihiriis was on
this oeeasioii pai'tieiilarly elated, for Willie, in the midst of
their eiinvivialily, handed over to him iilmve seven pminds,
liein« the first eoiisidunililu sum nf mmiuy thu imnr hard had
ever possesfed. Ill the pride of his heart, next niorniiis,', ho
determined that he slmiild imt walk hoiiie, and aeeni.liimly

I he hired frnm his linsi a eertain pnnr hack mare, well kiinwii
iilnii^' the wlinle rnad fmiu tdasu'nw tn I'liitpatriek-in all

I pruhaliility the fir-t hired uniivevaneu that I'net liiiins had
ever uiijiiyed. Willie and a few other yiuiths wlm had luin in
his eomp.my on thu preeediir-,' ni'^ht, walked out of town
liefnre him, fnr the purpose of takinj; leave at a pirtienlarspot;
and lieforo he eaine up they had prepared a few nmekdiurnie
verses in whieh tn express their farewell. When linriis rodo
lip, aeeoidiiii-'ly, they tainted him ill this formal niauiier, a
little to his surprise. He thanked them, lunvevur, and in-
stantly added," What need of all this line parade of verse? It
would have been quite unnii^'h if you had said-
Here unmeK Iliinis,

(In Unsiiiaiite;
Bile's ilanin'd pnnr,
Lut he's daniii'd eaiity."

The eiinipany tlicu allowud Uiiriis to go uu his way rejnieiiiB.

146

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BUENS.

; I

tion of let* rs hj- the wits of (Jucfii Aiino's rei<,'ii,
mill I j)orctl over them most devoutly. 1 kept
copie.', .)i any of inj own lexers thiit jileMsed me ;
and a compaii.son b' tw.'cn them and tlic comiio-
silion of r •)stor' tny convsjiondents llattered my
vanity. ''- <^a)'ncd tli-''^ vvliim so f-: , liiat, thonyli I
had ;:<>t three farthinf.'s' wo-LU of business in tlie
\v("hl, yet every post lironj^ht me as many letters
as if I had been a liroad phvldin-; son of day-book
and ledjfer.

.My life fioweil on much in the same tenor til!
my twenty-'.hird year. \'iir /'uiiiii„i; il fiir la
hivjalclle, were my sc le prineiples of action. 1'he
aiidition o' two more authors to my library
(rave me file:' t pleasiu'c; Sterne and Mackenzie —
Tri.striuii S/Htiif/;/ and J'/if Mon af FnHnij -
were my bosom favourites. Poesj' wa.s still a
darlinjj; walk for my mind ; but it was on'y to the
humour of the hour. I liad usually half a <iozen
or more pieces on hand; I took up one or other
as it f'aited the momentary tone of the mind,
and dismissed it as it bordered on fatigue. .M\'
passions, when once they were lin'hteil \\\i, raa'ed
like so many devils, till they g(jt vent in rhyme;
and then conninji: over my verses, like a spell,
s". ithed all into (juiitl None of the rhymes of
timso days arc in print, cxcpt "Winter, a Dirj^c "
(the eldest of my printed pieces), the "Death
and Dj'inu Words of Poor Mailie," ".lolui TSarley-
corn," and song's tirst, second, and third.* Sonir
second was the ebidlitii.ii of that passion ■.vhich
ended the for"mentioned school business.

My twenty-tlnrd _'ear was tome an important
era. I'artly throuy-li whim, and jiartly that I
wished to set about <loinLf somethiiiL? in life, T
joined a (lax-drcssor in a neig-hbouring' countrj-
town [IrvineJ to learn his tra.de and carry on
the Inisinos.. of nianiifacturinf; and retailing llax.
This turned oui; a sadly imlncky aifair. My
partnei- was a scoundrel of the tirst water, who
made money by the mystery of thieving, and to
finish the wliolo, while we were giving a welcome
carousal to the new year, otu- shop, by tlic
druiiken carelessness of mj' partner's wife, took
tire, and '.-.urnt to ashes; and I was left like a true
poet, — not worth sixpence.

I was obliged to give up business ; the clouds
of miifortuno were gatlui'ini;- thick round my
father's head ; the darkest of which was- he was
visibly far gone in a consumption. To crown all.
a liilh' jilh'w] om T aik..ed, and who had liledgt'd
her soul to t.ieet mo in the tields of matrimony,
jil'cd me, with peculiar circumstances of morti-
fication. The linishing evil '^hat brought up the
rear of this infernal file was my hypochondi'iac
complaint boinyr irritated to such a degree th:it
for three months T was in a diseased state of

1 This r( fcr- U< tin! sniiijs iiriiiti'd in llic KdiiilmrKli I'llilicui
of till! pnoms, " It wiis up"ii il I,;uiiin:,-i iiiK'if .' " N"«' wi"IIiii
winils ;iuil sluu^'ltt'riti^ Kiai-'.'' -"Hi'l '" Hi'Iiinil yon hills wlit'iv
l.UOTr (or Stiiidiiirl flows," urn tlii' piciii'S allu'li'd to.

body and niinil scarcely to be envied by tliu
hopeless wretches who have got their iiiittinuis—
" Itepart from nie, yo accursed !"

From this adventure 1 learned soinetliiiif of
a town life; but the i)rincij)al thing wliiuli gave
my mind a turn was— I formea a bosoin frifud.
ship with a young fellow, the first- crcatod
being I had ever seen, but a hapless son of
j misfortune. lie wa.s the son of a pkiin me-
chanic; but a great man in the neighbourhood,
i taking him luider hi.s i)atronage, gave him d,
genteel education with a view of bettering hi,.)
situation in life. The jiatron dying and leav.
ing my frieiul unprovided for just as ho was
ready to launch forth into the world, the poor
fellow, in despair, writ to sea; where, after ii
variety of good and bad fortune, he was, a little
before I was acijuainted with him, set ashore by
ail American privateer, on the wild coast of
t'omiaught, stripped of everything. 1 caimot
I i|uit this poor fellow's story without adding that
ho is at this moment caittain of a large West-
: indiaman beloiiging to the Tha-ncs.

This gentleman's mind was fraught with cour-
age , independence, and magnanimity, and every
I noble, nianlj' virtue. I loved him ; I adiiiired
I hitn to a degree of tiithusiasm, and I strove
I to imitate him. I in some mo isnre succeeded;
I I had the pride before, but he tangl t it to flow
■ in j)roper channels. His knowledge of the world
was va.^tly superior to mine, and I was all atteii-
' tion to learn. lie was the oidy man I ever saw
• who waf a greater fool than myself when woman
u'as the ]>resi(ling star; but he spoke of aci'rtain
fashionable failing with levity, which I'itherii) I
Iiad regarded with horror.'* Here his friendship
did mo a mischief ; and the consequeneo was
that, .soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote
the cnclo.sed "Welcome."'*

My reading was only increased by two stray

volumes of I'<nrula and one of Firiliiiitml Coinit

Fdlliiim, which gave me some idea, of novels.

llhyme, except some religious iiieces that are in

] print, T liail given up; but meeting with /■'< /i/i's-

I mn's ' .flt/).<!i Poems, I "trung anew my wildly-

! sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When i';y

father liied, his all went among the rapacioiu

' hell-hounds that growl in the keniu! of justice;

but wo niade a shift to scrape a, little money in

the f;ini;Iy amongst us, with which (to kce]i art

{ together) my brnther and \ tocdv [Mossgiel] a

I neighboiu'ing farm. My brother wanted my hair-

: brained imagii:ition, as well ,'is my social and

I amorous madness; but, in good scu.so, and every

sober qualification, ho was far my superior.

" That i« '««(, iiiosf ixedknt ; a f.ivouriti' form of i'\|iri'ssinn
\ith I'lnrns.

'' ItirlKiiil r.rcwn, till' i'liliviilnal IiiTi' allmlril to, whi'ii Die
I'l ntcnts of this li'lli'r wire ri'hifoil to him ivmarkivl: " Wlnii
I first knew liiirns hu had nothing to li'.i'.'ii in that rcspocl. '

< The poet's " Welcoim; to his Uleyitiiimtu Child."

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

147

bo onvieil by tlw
K'ot tlioiriuiitiinus—

caniud something of
liiil thing which ,,'avo
nieu ii busdia friend.
, the firsfJ cruuted
lit a h:ii)Iu.ss son of
son of a phiin i„e.

1 tho iit'ig-lilnmrhDoJ^
ruli;ig-u, oavo him ;t
•icw of botN'i'iiij; |,i,s
roil dyiiiy- ;uul ieav.

for just iis ho was
the vorM, tho pour
.soa ; wUlmu, urtur a
tuiio, ho \v:is, a httlo
h liim, sot ashoi'u by
1 tho wild coast of
L■^ytbillf,^ I cannot
witliout aihlini,' that
lin of a hir-o West-

rilUMlOS.

s frauf,'-ht with eour-
naiiiiiiity, ami every
•ed him ; I admired
■;ia.sni, and I strove
mv.' isiiro siicceuded ;

lie taiiL'; t it lo fl(jw
uvledn'o :if the wcirld

and 1 was ail attun-
Jiiiy man I oversaw
myself when woman
10 sfioko of a certain

y, which Mtiiertc) I

Hero his fricidsliip
10 coiisciiuenco was

ho iiluU'_;!i, 1 wrote

cased bj- two stray
tiL FrrdiiMiid Count
mo iclca of novels,
s ])ieces that are in
looting'- with !■'< ripi.i-
Lf anew my wildly.
; vi;;-(inr. When i>;y
iioii.LT tho i-aiiacious
kennel of justice;
10 a littlo niciney in
which (to kceji U9
took [.Mossi;;ie!| a
lor wanted my hair-
as my social and
od .«!onso, and every
;• my siijiorior.

nritc fcinii nf I'Mircssinn

■ri'iilliidi'il to, wlii'ii llic
liiiii ri'iiiMiki'd; " Wlir'U
li'iirn ill tliiit respect."
liniiite IJliilJ."

T entered on this farm with a f'.'l resolution,
"Come, K" ^"' ' "'" '^'^ wise I" 1 read farming:
books; 1 ealeiilated erops; 1 attended markets:
and, ill ■'^liort, in spito of "tho devil, tho world,
and the flesh," i believe 1 shouhl have been a wise
man; hut tho first year, from unfortunately
biiyiiif;' !'•"' -"oed, tho seeoud, from tho late
harvest, we lost half our crops. Tiiis overset all
niv wisdom, and I returned, " like the doy to his
vomit, and the sow that was wa>. cd to her
wallowiii,!,'iii the iiiiro." 1 now beuan to bo known
in the neii4'liliourliood as a maker of rhymes. 'J'ho
first of my poetic olfspriiig Uiat saw tho liylit,
was a burlesipio lamentation on a quarrel be-
tween two reverend C'alvinists, both of them
(liviiKili.i jifmiiKi in my "Holy Fair." >■ I had an
idea myself that the piece had some merit: ; but,
to prevent tho wor.-^t, I pave a eojiy of ii to a
friend who was very fond of these thintf.-, and
told him that f eould not guess who w;.,s the
aiilhor iif it, but that 1 thounht it prot.y clever.
With a certain side of both cleroy and laity it
met with a roar o( applause. "Holy Willie's
I'rayer" next made its appearance, and alarmed
the kirk-se.ssioii .so niueh that thoy held three
several meetings to look over their holy artillery,
if any of it was i)ointed against in-ofano rhymers,
rnliiekily for nio. my idle wanderings leil mo, on
another side, iioint-blank within reach of their
lieaviest metal. This is the unfortunate story
alluded to in my printed jioem ;ho"Lameiu."
Twas a shocking alfair, wliicdi I eannot yet bear
to recollect, ami it lia<l very nearly given me one
<ir two of the iirineipal iiUMlilieiitions for a place
among those who have lost the i hart, ami iiiis-
tak'^n the reckoning of rationality. I gave up
my part of the farm to my brcither; as in trutli
it was only nominally mine (for stuck I had none
fo embark in it), and made what little preparation
was in my power for .Jamaica, liefore leaving
iiiynative eountry. however, I resolved to ]mblish
my iioems, I weighed mj' jiroduetions as impar-
tially as was in my power: I thouglit they had
merit: and 'twas a delicious idea that I .sliouM
he called a clever fellow, even the' it should
never reach my ears— a ])oor negro driver ; -or
peril ■ me to the worlil of spirits, a victim to
tlia, . . I table clime. " n truly .say, that
/lavviriiico)! linns I then was, I had pretty nearly
.IS high an idea of my.sclf iiiid of my works as I
have at this 'nonient. It was ever my opinion
that the grea' unhajiiiy mistakes and blunders,
both in a rational and religious |ioint of view, of
whitdi wo .see thousands daily guilty, arc owing
to their ignorance or mistaken notions of them-
selves. To know my-'-'lf, had been all along my
ecm.stant study. I .veighed myself a.lone ; I
balanced myself with others; 1 watched every
nie;ins of inform.uion, to ,>•••"> how much ground

1 .See th. "T<v:i IIeril(,"p.'J*i.

I occupied as a man iind as a poet; I studied
assiduously natui'o's design, where she .seemed
to have intended the various lights and shades
in my character. 1 was pretty sure my poems
would meet with some applause; but, at the
worst, the roar of tho Atlantic would deafen the
voice of censure, and the novelty of West-Indian
.scenes would make me forget neglect. 1 throw
olf si.x hundred cojiies, of which 1 had got sub-
scriptions for about three hundred and tifty.
.My vanity was highly gralitied by the reception
I met with from the public; bes"ides pocketing
(all e.xi)enses deducted) near twenty jiounds.
This last came very .seasonably, as I was about
to indent my.self for want of money to pay my
freight. As soon as I was master of nine guineas,
the price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I
bespoke a passage in the very tirst ship that was
to .sail, for

JIuiiKry rniii had me iu tlie wind.

I had for some time been skulking from

covert to covert, umler all the terrors of a jail;

as s(mic ill-advised ungrateful people had iin-

couiiled the merciless legal pack at my heels. I

had taken the last farewell of my few friends;

my chest was on the road to (Jrecnoek ; 1 had

composed a song " The gloomy night is gathering

fa.st," which was to bo the last olbn't of my muse

in Caledonia, when a letter from Dr. IJIaeklock

to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes,

by rousing my jioetic ambition. The doctor

belonged to a class of critic:-, for whose aiijilause

1 had not even dared to hope. His ide.i that 1

would meet with every encouragement for a

second edition, fired mo so much, that away I

posted for Ivlinburgh, without a single aeiiuaiii-

j lance in town, or a single letter of reconinienda-

[ tion in mj' pocket. The baneful star which had

so long piresided in ni\' /.eiiith, for once tiiade a

revolution to the nadir; the iirovicleiitial care of

I a good God ]ilaeed me under the patronage of

I one of his ludile.st creatures, the Earl of tllen-

I c:iirn. Oiibli:: moi\ (Iraiid iJiat, xi Jaiiuii.i je

! I'oMic!

I I need relate no farther. At Hdinburgh I
! was in a new world; I mingled among many
i classes of men, but all of them new to me, and I
I was all attention " to catch the manners living
as they rise."
You I'an now, sir, form a jiretty near guess
I of what sort of a wight he is whom for some time
you have honoured with your eorresiioidence.
That whim and fancy, keen sensibility ,ind ricjlous
passions, may still make him zigzag in his future
jialli of life is very iirobable: but, come what
will, 1 shall answer for liini--the most iletermi-
nate integrity and ln>iiour; and thouiib bis evi!
star should again blaze in his meridian with ten-
fold more direful inlluoneo, lie iiiaj' reluctantly
tax friendship with I'i'y, but no more.

Jly most respectful com: liments t(> Mi.s3

148

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

Williams. Tlio very clegaiit and friuiidly letter
Hho honoured mo with a few clays ago 1 cannot
answer at presen*:, as my presence is re<iiiired at
Edinburgh for a week or so, and I set off to-
morrow.

I inclose j-ou "Holy Willie" for the sake of
giving you a 'ittle further information of the
affair than Mr. I'rceeh could do. An Elegy I
comjiosed the other day on Sir James H. Blair,
if time allow, I will transcribe. The merit is
just mediocre.

[f you will oblige me so highly and do mc so
much honour as now and then to drop mc a line,
plca.«o direct to me at Mauchline, Ayrshire. Witii
the most grateful respect, [ have the honour to
be, sir, your vciy humble servant,

]{()Bi:uT Buuxs.

Mauchline, 'Jd August, 1787.

Edinburgh, 23d September.
Sir, — Tlie foregoing letter was unluckily for-
got among other i)ai)ers at Glasgow on mj' w:iy
to Edinburgh. Soon after 1 came to Edinlnirgli
T went on a tour through the Highlands, and
did not recover tlie letter till my return to town,
which was the other day. My ideas, picked \i\>
in my pilgrimage, and some rhymes of my earlier
years, 1 shall soon be at Ici.sure to give you at
large -so soon as 1 hear from you whether you
are in London. I am again, sir, yours most
gratefully, R. liLiliN.s.

[Concerning this famous coniposition. Dr.
Currie says: '-There are various copies of this
letter in the author's handwi'iting; and one of
these, evidently corrected, is in the book in which
he c(.pied several of his letters." The text given
above is that of the letter as it was actually sent
to Dr. Moore, the letter in this its original form
being first ijHuIlmI in I'aterson's Edinburgh edi-
tion of Murns, edited by W. Seott ])ouglas. If, as
Burns says in the above note of 'J.'id Sept., the
letter as it was written for Dr. Moore was left in
(ilasgow, he n.Ust have had a copy of it with him
during his noi them tour (.Aug. •_',') Sept. ](!), for
we lind Mr. Wii'ker writing to Burns from Athole
Hou.se, S(.pi. l:j. "The duchess would give any j
consideration for another sight of your letter to
])r. Moore." it .«eems somewhat strange that
Burns should i)en the above note after exhibiting '
the letter, or a copy of it, throughout the i
country. | I

J'.UIIXS'S EABLY LIFE.

i:y mis liKoTiiiMi (iir.i)i:i!T

Originally aiUbess<'(l in the foi'in of a let* '■)
Mis. Duiildp.

" I have ofte-.i licarci my father des the

anguish of mind he felt when he parted w...i his
elder I rnther, Kobert, on the ♦op of a hill, on

the confines of their native place, each goiiii; .,«•
his several way in .search of new adventMros anil
scarcely knowing whither he went. .My futher
undertook to act as a gardener and slKijied his
course to Edinburgh, where he wrouglit Imrd
when he could get work, passing thioiij^rli .^
variety of difficulties. Still, however, he einlcn.
voure<l to spare something for the suppoit of jm
aged jiarent, and 1 recollect hearing him iMciition
lii.s having .sent a bank-note for this imriKise
when money of that kind was so .scanu in
Kincardineshire that they hardly knew how to
emiiloy it when it arrived.

"I'assing from Edinburgh to Ayrshire, liv livo,|
for two years as gardener to the Laird of I^iirlv
in Dundonakl parish, and then changed liis.suivi(."o
for that of Mr. Crawford of Doon.side in the
parish of ^\ lloway. At length, lieing desirous to
.settle in life, ho took a perjiotiud lease of sonK-
acres of land from Dr. Campbell, physician in
Ayr, with a view to cultivate it as a nuisoiy
and meal-garden [being at this time, ami still
continuing, in the Kervieo of Mr. iVrgiisoii of
l)ooiiholin|. With his own hands he built ii
house on jiart of this ground, and in Decciulicr,
17^7, married Agnes Brown, belonging torc-^jjcc-
table connections near Maybole in Carriek. The
tii-st-fruit of the marriage was the subject of this
memoir, born on "inth January, 175!*. The edu-
cation of my i>rotherand myself was in coiiiiiiuii.
there being only twenty months between us in
respect of age. Coder .Mr..lohn .Murdoch (wi-ifci-
of the next following article in this A]i)ieiidi.\| wu
learned to read English tolerably well, and to
write a little. He taught us two the I'.tiglisli
grammar. 1 was too young to prolit much from
his lessons in grammar, but Itobert made some
proticienc\- in it, a circunistanee of considenililo
weight in the unfolding of his genius ami clinr-
aeter; as he .soon beeanie remarkable fur the
flueni'y an<l correctness of his exiiression, and
read the few boi.ks that came in his way 'vitli
niucli jileasure and ir.iiirovenunt ; for even then
he was a reader when he could get a book.
Murdoch, who.se library at that time had no great
v.irietj- in it, lent him T/ir Li/i- "/ lltiimilnd,
which was the iirst book he reail ( the school-books
excepted) and almost the f>nly one he had an
oppi.itunit}' of reading while he was at school:
for the Lij'r of \\'tilliin\ which he classes with i;
in one of his letters, lu' did not see for some
years afterwards, wIrii lie borrowed it froin tlio
blacksniith who shod our horses.

".\t Whitsunday, 17<)'>, we rcniove<l to .M<iunt
Oliphant. a farm of seventy acres (between eighty
and ninety English statute measure), the /cut of
which was to bo foity ]iounds annually for the
first six years, and .'iftcrwards forty-live ]iouii(ls.
My f.ither endeavoured to sell the le.Msihold
property in .Mloway, foi- the jiurpose of stoikiiiL;'
this farm, but at that time he was unable, :ii.'l

advuiitiires, ami
2nt. .\|y fathei-
and jsli^iiieil |ij^
i wroiij;l,t liard
siiitr lliniM(rh ,j
vx'vcr, lie ciidea-

10 S(ll,l„„t „f,|||

iiiKl'iiii iiiuiiticii
ir this inii'iiose,
•s so .sfiiivu ill
ly kiiuw liow (^>

3''>'l"ii-o, lio lived
l>iiinl of Kiiiriy

lIlgL'clilis.sflTico

)o()ii.si(lt; in tlie
L'iiii,^ <lcsii'(iMs tM
il loiise (if Mjnii;
11, idiyslciaii in
it as a nui'sei-y
tinio, and still
r. i'lT^nison of
mis ho liuilt a
1 ill Docoiiil)er,
ipiiK toi-e^jicT-

11 ( 'arrick. Tlio
• subjoct (if this
7')!*. 'J'ho tdii-
iVas in odninioii,

liotwL'on ns ill
lunlooh [writer
s AjMiondixl wu
y woll, and to

o tho Kiit,disli
olit iiiiich from
ort niailo wmie

f (.roiisidcnihk'
niiis and t'har-
rkalilo fer the
xiu'ossidii, and
1 his way nitli

for even then

1 fTOt a Ixmk.
10 had noLireat
/• llnn„;i,„l
10 sohool-lidoks
no ho had an
was at school ;
elassos with ii
seo for Mitiie
cd it frolM the

)vod to .Mount
lotwoon oiij'hty
■o), tho ;vnt of
nially for the
y-llvo |i()unds.
tho leasehold
ISO of stocking,'
s iinahlo, aii'I

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

14!)

Mr. Feriaison lent liiin a hundred pouiuls for
that iiui'iiose. It was, I think, not above two

years

after this that Murdoch, our tutor and

friend, left this part of the country ; and, thnre
heiii"" no school near us, and our little services
beiii"' useful on tho farm, niy father undertook
to teach us arithmetic in the winter evenings, by
(■aiKlle-liyht; and in this way my two oldest
sisters gut all the education they received. I
rcincnilior a circumstanco that haiipeuod at this
time, which, though trilling in itself, is fresh in
niv nicniory, and may servo to illustrate the early
character of my brother. Murdoch came to
.spend a night with us, and to take his leave
when he was about to go into (.'arrick. lie
lirought us, as a iirosoiit and memorial of him,
a small coiniiendiiim of English gr.immar, and
the tragedy of Tilt's Andmniims, and, by way of
iiassing the evening, ho began to road tho play
aloud. We wore all attention for sonio time, till
presently tho whole party was dissolved in tears.
.\ feiiialo in the jilay (I have lint a confused
reeollection of it) had her hands chopt off, her
t()ni;-ue cut out, and then was insiiHingly desired
to call for water to wash her hiuids. At this, in
an agony of distress, wo with one voice desired
he would read no more. My father observed,
that if wo would not hear it out, it would bo
needless to leave tho play with us. Robert
replied, that if it was left ho would burn it. .My
father was going to cliido him for this ungrateful
retui'u to his tutor's kindness; but .Murdoch in-
terposed, declaring (hat ho liked to see .so much
.sciisiliilily : and ho loft 77/c Si-lnnil for Lure, a
coiiieily (ti'anslated, 1 think, from tho French), in
its pliiee.

"Nothing efiuld l)o more retired than our
general manner of living at Mount Oliphaat; we
rarely saw anybody but tho members of our own
family. There were no boys of our own ago, or
near it, in tho noighboui-hood. Indeed, the
greater part of tho land in the vicinity was at
that time possessed by shopkeepers, and ])eo[ile
of that str.inp, who had retired from business, or
who kcjit their farm in the country, at tho .sauu^
tiiiu^ that they followed business in town. .My
father was for some time almost tho only coni-
lianion wo had. Ho conversed familiarly on all
subjects with us, a.s if we had been men; and
was at i;reat pains, while wo accompanied him in
the labours of the farm, to lead tho conversation
to such subjects as luight tend to iiurea.se our
knowled j-e, or eonlirin our virtuous habits. lie
horrowei! Salmon's <l(iiiir:i]ihiral (Irnnninir Uw us,
and endeavoured to make us ae(|Uainled with the
situation and history of the diU'oront countries in
the woi'ld ; wliilo. from a book-society in Ayr, ho
[irocured for us tho reading of Derham's P/ii/xirn-
iiiiil Axlrn-Tlii'itlnijii and Itay's Wisi/nni of (•'ml in
lla i'l-nilloii, (o give us some idea of astronomy
and n.itural history. Itobert read all the.so books
Vdb. I.

with an avidity and an industry scarcely to be
e(iualled. My father had been a subscrilier to
Stackhouse's JJistiir;/ of the Jlihle, then lately pub-
lished by .lames Meiiros in Kilmarnock: from
this lioliert collected a pretty competent know-
ledge of aneient history ; for no book was .so vol-
uminous as to slacken his industry, or so anti-
(piated as to damp his researches. A brother of
my mother, who had lived with us for some time,
and had learnt some arithmetic by our winter
evening's candle, went into a. book.seller's shop in
Ayr to purchase T/ie /ieadi/ Itickoney, or Tvudis-
viiin'g Siire O'liidc, and a book to teach him to
write letters. Luckily, in place of T/ic ('om/tlrle
Lillir- \Vtiin\ he got by mistake a small collec-
tion of letters by (he most eminent writers, with
a few scnsiblo directions for attaining an easy
epistolary style. This book was to Itobcrt of tho
greatest conse(pienee. It inspired him with a
strong desire to e.xeel in letter-writing, wliilo it
furnished him with models by some of the first
writers in our language.

"My brother was about thirteen or fourteen,
when my fathei', regrotling that wo wrote so ill,
sent us, week about, during a summer (piarter,
to the parish school of Dalryniple, which, though
between two and three miles distant, was tho
nearest to us, that wo might have an opportunity
of remedying this defect. About this time a
bookish ac(iuaintance of my father's procured us
a reading of two volumes of Itichardson's Patm/a,
which was the first novel we read, and the oidy
]iart of Uichard.son's works my brother was ae-
■ |uaiiited with till towards the perioel of his com-
mencing author. Till that time, too, he remained,
unaecpiaintod witii l''i(dding, with Hniollett (two
volumes of Fi rdinand Coiiitf Fathom, and two
volumes of I'iir</riin'. I'ivkle excepted), with
Hume, with Robert.son, and alnio.st all our iiu-
thors of eminence of tho later times. T recollect,
indeed, my father borrowed a volume of Knglish
history from Mr. Hamilton of Bourtrochiirs gar-
dener. It treated of the reign of .lauios I., and
his unfortunato son (.'harles, but I do not know
who was tho author; all (hat I ronieniher of it is
something of (.'harles's eonver.sation with his chil-
dren. About this time [177-] Murdoch, our
former teacher, after having been in dilferent
lilaeesiii tho country, and having taught a schocd
some time in Dumfries, eamo to be the established
teacher of tho Knglish language in Ayr, a circum-
stance of considerable eonse(pience to us. 'I'lio
reniembrance of my father's former frieiidshi|),
and his attachment to my brother, niaih him do
everything in his powd' fir our improvement.
He sent us Pope's works, and some other poetiy,
tho lirst that wo had an ojiportunity of reading,
exce)iting what is contained in Tlw Kui/lish.
<'o//i rlioii, and in tho volume of tho lidiiilnniih
Mai/((:li(C for 1772; excepting also those 'i'xc('l-
lent new tongs' that are liawkoel about tho

III
in

]')0

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BUEN

!L ,.i.

isn

cm\ntry in liMskots or cxiioscd on stalls in the
strootM.

" 'I'ho siinmior aflfi- wo had been at Dalryniple
school, my father sent Robert to Ayr, to rovisu
his Ent,'lish {■rannnar with his former teacher,
lie had been there only one week when ho was
i>blij,'ed to return to assist at the harvest. When
the harvest was over he went back to school,
where ho remained two weeks; and this eoni-
jiletes the account of his school education, oxcep-
tini^' one summer (juartor, sometime afterwards,
that he attended the iwrish school of Kirkoswald
(where he lived with a brother of my mother's),
to learn sm'veyinj;-.

" Dnrinu- the two last weeks that he was with
.Murdoch, he himself was en;Aa,n-e(l in learning
Frenrl'., and he communicateil the instructions
ho received to my brother, who, when he re-
turned, broi'i^ht home with him a French dic-
tionary and fj;rammar, and the Adfcntures (/ Tele-
liiwliii^ in the original. In a little while, by tho
assistance of these books, \\p had aciitiired such
a knowleili,'o of the lanj^-najfe as to read and
understand any French author in prose. Tliis
was considcreil as a sort of prodigy, and throuj^h
tho medium of Min'doch procured him the ae-
(iu,",intance of several la<ls in Ayr, who were at
that time uabblinu' French, and tho notice of
some families, particularly that of Dr. Malcolm,
where a knowledge of French was a rcconunen-
dation.

" Obsorvinfj the facility with which he i:ad
acquired the French lannuajic, Air. Pioliin.son,
the established wi-itinj;--niaster in .\yr, and Mr.
Murdoch's jiarticular friend, having' himself ac-
quired a consideral)le knowledge of the Latin
Ian^'ua{i:o by his own indiistry, without ever
having- learnt it at school, advised Robert to
make tho same attempt, promisiufr him every
assistance in his power. Ayreeablj- to this advice,
he purchased The Itiuliiiirnl.inf the Latin Tiiiii/H',
liut lindinj/ this study dry and iniintercstinj.r, il
was quickly laid aside. He frequently retuna^d
to his JiKi/iiiii'iil.t on any little ehati'rin or ■
apjiointment. particularly in his love affairs; in;i
the Latin seldom jiredoniinated more than a day
or two at ;i time, or a week at most. Ob.serving
himself the ridionle that would attach io this
sort of conduct if it were known, ho made- tw..
or three Inmiorons stanzas on the subject, v. hirij
I cannot now recollect, but they all ende<l,

So 111 to my l.ntiii UKnin.

" Thus you see .Mr. .Murdoch was a princi)ial
moans of my brother's inqirovemcnt. Worthy
man ! thouyh foreign to my jiresent purpose, I
cannot take leave of him without tracina: his
future hi^ toiy. He continued for some years a
respected and useful teacher at Ayr, till one
cvenint;' that he had been overtaken in li(|Uor,
he happened to s]ieak somewhat disrespectfully

of Dr. Dalrymi)le, tho parish minister, who ],n(\
not paid him that attcuion to which he tliouchi
himself entitled. In Ayr ho ini{;ht as well have
spoken blasi)hen)j'. He found '. proper t j f;ive
up his ajipointment. He went to London, vhcro
he still lives, a jirivate teacher of French. llu
has been ,' considerable time married, and kecijs
a shop of !-*'itio:iery wares.'

"The father of Dr. I'aterson, now I'liysicianat
.Vyr, was, 1 believe, a native of Aberdeeii.shire
and was one of the established teachers in Ayr
when nij' father . ettled in the neij.;hbourhiio(l.
He early recognized my father as a fellow-native
of the north of Scotland, and a eertiiin (kjjrce of
intimacy subsisted between them duriui^- .Mr.
I'aterson's life. After his death his wiilnw, who
is a verj' ^^entcel woman and of f,'reat wortli,
ileli.n'hted in doin^' what she thonyht her liusli;ui(l
would have wished to have done, and assicluously
kept up her attentions to all his acciuaintanco.
Siio kept alive tho intimacy with our f.imily by
frequently invitinji; my father and mother to her
house on Sundays, when .she met them at cluuvii.

" When she eainu to know my brother's passion
for books, she kindly offered us the use of her
husband's library, and from her we ^^ot the
S/tectat<i); Pope's translation of Homer, and
several other books that wore of use to ii.s.
.Mount Oliiihant, the farm my father possessed
in the pari.sh of Ayr, is almost the very poorest
soil I know of in a state of cultivation. A
stronjrcr proof of this I cannot pve than that,
notwithstandiuf;' the extraordinary rise in tho
value of lands in Scotland, it was, after a con-
sideraVvle sum laid out in iniprovint;' it by tho
])roprietor, let a few years :\ji;o live pounds jier
annimi lower than the rent paid for it by ray
father thirty years af^o. My father, in conse-
quence of this, soon came into dilhcidties, which
were incrca.sod liy tho loss of .several of his cattle
by accidents and disease. — To the bufVetintis of
nn'sfoi'tnne, we eoidd only oppose hard labour,
and the most rinid ccononn'. We live<l very
sparingly. For several years butcher's meat was
.' stra.re.' in the house, wdiileall the mendicrsof
llie faiiil}' e: ej''.ed themselves to the iitmostof
tl (if h'rength, and rather beyond it, in the
lahoui'si of tho farm. My brother, it the ape of
tl.'irti en, m-sifte'l in thrashliig th*" ;rop of corn,
.'iid at f rt X'M Ha J •'.■ pnneij .1 labourer on the
i.i.m, fet we had no liircd servant, male or female.
Tilt ungT.'di i/ mind wc foil ,n - ur tender ye.n-s,
'ii;^i.v ♦hose .straits and difiic dties, was vor,
c^vc.rS 'Jo ';l,ii;': of I'lr father growing old (for
hn was n'iW above (iit;), broken ilown with tlio
,' ii:^' ' iit.iii. d fatigues of his life, with a wife
and IV ' '>i''.er children, and in a declining state
of circumstances- tlieso reflections ]iroduecd in
my brother's mind and mine sen.sations of the

1 Mr. Murdi.ili (lied in Iioiulon in 1824; 8i!e uoti' 2, p. 15
'if this volune.

'■■ \\

APPENDIX TO TJ.FE OF BURNS.

IT)!

tur, wlio lifid
h ho tlioiK'!,;,
as well have

ropLT t i fjivo

muloii, vliuro
Kicnch. Hu
•il, aU'l kcejis

• pliysifian at
liunlooiisliii-o,
clici-.-i in Ayr
iuhboinliuud.
tV'llow-iiative
ain (k'^'fi-co of
dnriiif;- Mr.
s willow, wlio
txvcut wortli,
t her husbaiul
(1 assiihiously
icqiiiiintanco.
mr family hy
notliei' ti) \k'v
I'lii at cluu'fli.
tiler's iiassion
iKj uso of her
wu j;'()t tlie
Iloinor, and
f use to U.S.
Iier po.«s('ssed
( very poorest
Itivation. A
vo than that,
f I'ise in the
, after a coii-
ng- it hy the
jioiuuIm )ier
r it liy my
■, in consu-
lt ies, which
of his cattle
ulVetint;'s of
lard labour,
liveil very
's ni(\'it was
nienilicr>'of
le utmost of
it, in the
t the afje of
ro]i of corn,
ifinrer on the
le or feninle.
'iLckr years,
;, was ver,
iiil;- old (for
wn with tlio
with a wife
'cliniiiff state
iroilnecd in
itions of llio

• s, !>■ 15

(Iccnest distress. I doubt not but the hard labour
and sorrow of this period of his life was in a peat
measure the cause of that depres.sioii of spirits
with wliich Itobert was .so often atliieted tlu'ouirh
his whole life afterwards. At this time he was
almost constantly alilieted in the evenin.ys with
il dull headache, which, at a future period of his
life was exchanged for a palidtation of the heart
and' a threatening;- of faintiny and sidfocation in
his bell in the nifiht-tinie.

" iiv a stiptdatioii in my father's lease he had
a n'tfht to throw it up, if he thought proper, at
the end of every sixth year, lie attempted to
lix himself in a better farm at the end of the
first si.x years, but fading in that attempt, he
ciiiitinucd where lie was for si.\ years more, lie
then took the farm of Lochlea, of a hundred and
thirty acres, at the rent of twenty shillings an

aero, in the tiarisli of Tarbolton, of Mr. ,

then a merchant in Ayr, and now (17!^7) a mer-
chant in Liverpool, lie removed to this farm at
W hitsiinday, 1777, and i"jsse.s.sed it only seven
viars. \o writing had ever been made out of
"tlie conditions of the lea.se; a iiiisuiiderstandiiig
took place resjiecting them; the tsubjects in
(li>|iute were submitted to arbitration, and the
decision involved my father's allairs in ruin, lie
lived to know of this decision, but not to .see any
execution in consei|Ueiico of it. He died on tlie
l.'Jtli of February, 178i.

"The .seven } irs we lived in Tarbolton palish
(cxtendiug from iiie nineteenth to the twenty-
sixth of my brother's age), were not marked
bv much literary improvement; but during this
time the foundation was laid of certain habits in
my brother s character, which afterwards became
but too |>roniiiieiit, and which inalice and envy
have taken delight to enlarge on. Though when
young ho wa.s bashful and awkward in his inter-
course with women, yet when he ajiproached
manhood his attacliment to their s(jciety liecanie
very strong, and he was const.antly the victim of
some fair enslaver. The symptoms of his passion
were often such as nearly to iiiua! those of the
celebratc<l Sappho. I never indeed knew that
he 'fainted, sunk,, and died away;' btit the agi-
tations of his iniKfl and liody exceeded anything
of the kind 1 ever knew in re.d life. He had
.always a particular jealousy of people who were
richer than himself, or who had more eonse-
(|uence in life. His love, tlu'refore, rarely setthnl
on persons of tlii.-' description. When he selected
any one out of the sovereignty of his good
pleasure, to whom he should pay his particular
attention, she was instantly invested with a
suH'icient stock of charms, out of the plentiful
stores of his own imagination; and there was
often :i great disparity between his fair capfi-
vator ;iiid her attril)utes. One generally reigned
paramount in his alTections, but as Yorick's atlee-
tious llowed out toward .Madame du L at

the remise door, while the eternal vows of I'liza
were upon him, so Kobert was froiiueiuly en-
countering other attractions, which formed so
many under-jilots in the drama of his love. As
the.se eoniiections were governed by the strictest
rules of virtue and modesty (from which he never
ileviated till he reiiched bis twenty-third year),
he became anxious to be in a situation to mar;'y.
This was not likely to bo soon the case while he
remained a farmer, as the stocking of a farm re-
iiuired a .sum of money he had no probability of
being master of for a great while. Ho begun,
Ihereforc, to think of trying some (jther line of
life. He and I had for several years taken land
of my father for the imrpose of raising tiax on
our own account. In the course of .selling it,
Kobert began to tl ink of turning tlax-dresser,
both as being suitable to )iis grand view of settling
ill life, and as subservient to the tlax-raising. Ho
accordingly wrought at the business of a tlax-
dresser in Irvine for six months, but abandoned
it at that period, as neither agreeing with his
heallli nor inclination. In Irvine he had con-
tracttMl some aci|Uailitanco of .a freer manner of
thinking and living than he had lieen used to,
wlio.se society prepared him for overleaiiing the
bounds of rigid virtue wdiicli had hitherto re-
strained him. Towards the end of the period
under review (in his twenty-.sixth year), and
soon after his father's death, ho was furnished
with the subject of his ' Kpistlo to .lohii Kaiikinu.'
During this period also ho became a frecma.son,
wdiicli was his tirst introduction to the life of a
boon companion. Yet, notwitlistanding these
circumstances, and the prai.se he has bestowed
on Scotch drink (which seems to have misled
his historians), 1 do not recollect, during these
seven years, nor till towards the end of his
commencing author (when his growing eeiebrity
occasioned his being often in companyi, to have
ever seen him intoxicated ; nor was he at all
given to drinking. A stronger proof of the
general sobriety of his conduct need not bo re-
(|uired than what I am about to give. During
the whole of the time we liveil in the farm of
Lochlea with my father, he allowed my brother
and nic such wages for our labour :is he gave to
other labourers, as a part of which, every article
of our clothing, mai'-factured in the family, was
regularly accounted for. When my father's
affairs grew near a crisis, Itobert and I t >ok the
farm of Mossgiel, consisting of a liundre ^ and
eighteen acres, at the rent of ninety pouml.- per
anm.m (the farm on which 1 live at present),
from Mr. Gavin Hamilton, as an asylum for the
family in case of the worst. It was stocked by
the property and individu.al savings of the whole
' family, and was a joint concern among us. Every
meml>er of the family was allowed ordinary
I wages for the labour he performed on the farm.
I My brother's allowance and mine was seven

;'l

ir)2

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

l>f)(inil.s per aniiuni ciifh. And during the whole
tiiiio this faniily-coucurn lasted, wliieli was for
four years, as well iis (hiriii;f the {jreeedin;; jieriod
nt Loehlea, his expenses never in any one year
exeeedeil his slender income.' As I was intrnsted
with the keeiiini; of the family aeeouiits, it is not
jiossible that there can be any fallacy in this
statement in my brother's favour. His tenii)cr-
anee and fru^'ality were everythinn- that could
]k: wished.

"The farm of Mosspel lies very hiuh, and
mostly on a cold wet bottom. The lirst two
years that we were on the farm were very frosty,
anil the spring was very late. Our crops in con-
seipiencu were very unprotitable; and, notwith-
staiiiliiif,' our utmost dilifjence and economy, we
foiuid otirselves olilij;ed to }.dve vtp our b.art,'ain,
with the loss of a considerable part of our orit,nnal
stock. It was durini;' these tw j \ ears that Itobert
formed his connection with .lean Arnioiu-, after-
wards Mrs. IJnrns. This coiniectioii coii/d ha
Iniiijcr III' oiiii-mlid, about the time we came to a
final deterniiiiation to ipiit the farm. IJobert
durst not en};'a;:;'o with a family in his p(.or un-
.settled state, b\it was anxious to shield his i)art-
ner, bj' every means in his jHuver, from the con-
seijucnees of their imprudence. It was a jif reed,
therefore, between them that they should niako
a leyal acknowledgment of an irregular and pri-
vate marriage: that he should go to .lamaica to
push his foi'tune, and that she should remain
with her father till it nu'ght please I'l-ovidence to
p»ifc the means of supporting a family in his
poN.er.

" Mrs. Hums was a gi'eat favourite of her
father's. 'J'he intimation of a marriage was the
first stiggostion he received of her real situation.
He was in the greatest distress, and fainted awaj'.
The marriage did not apjiear to him to make the
matter .any better. A husband in .Tamaica ap-
peared to him and his wife little better than none,
iilid an iltVctual bar to any other priis])ects of a
settlement in life that their daughter nu'ght have.
Thcj' therefore expres.sed a wish to her that the
written papers which respected the marriage
.should be cancelled, and thus the marriage ren-
dered void, fn her melancholy state she felt the
deejiest remorse at having brought such heavy
atlliction on jiarenls that loved her so tenderly,
and submitted to their entivaties. Their wish
was mentioned to 'lobert. He felt the deepest
anguish of minil. He offered to stay at liome
and provide 'or his wife and family in the best
manner ti\at his daily labours could provide for
them, that being the only means in his power.
Even this offer they did not approve of; for
iiumble as Miss Armour's station was, and great

1 They ciiti-Teil Mo«r.;;icl in Maivli, ir''4, iiiul liuriis'si'umiri'-
timi witli tl.:it farm niiiy In: siiil to liiivii icuscd in Ndvcinln!!-,
irwi, wliun lie went t\ Kdiiiliur^li-a period of two yeaia mid
a liidf.

though hor imprudonce had been, she still, in tha
eyes of her partial parents, might look to a hot-
ter connection than that with my friendless and
unhappy brother, at that time without house or
hiding-place. i{oliert at length consented to their
wishes; but his feelings on this occasion were of
tlie most ilistraeting nature, and the impiv-^-idu
of sorrow was not effaced till by a regulai' uiar-
riago they were indissolubly united. In the
state of mind which the sei)aration produced ho
wisheil to leave the country as .soon as possible
and agreed with Dr. l)o\iglas togoout to.hiiii.iica
as an assistant overseer, or, as I believe it is
called, a book-keeper, on his estate. As he huil
not suflicient money to pay his pas.sag'e, ainl the
vessel in which Dr. Doiiglas was to in'ocure a
passage for him was not expected to sail foi' some
time, .Mr. H.imilton advised him to jiublish his
poems in the meantime by subscription, as a
likely way of getting a little money to pi-ovido
him more liberally in neees.saries for .laniaica.
Airreeably to this advice, subscription-bills were
printecl immediately, ;ind the printing w.is cmii-
meneed at Kilmarnock, his ])rei)arations goiu;;- uii
at the same time for his voyage. The reception,
however, which his poems met with in the world,
and the friends they procured him, made hiin
change his resolution of going to .Jamaica, nii<l
ho w;is advised to go to Kdinburgh to publish a
second edition. On his I'eturn, in happiei- cir-
cumstanei.'s, he renewed his connection with Mrs.
Hums, ai.d rendered it permiuient by a union
for life."

BURNS AND HIS FATHER'S HOUSE-
HOLD.

BY .JOHN .MIHDOCH.'

Oriyinally commuuicatcil in a letter to Mr. .F.'M.ph
Couiiei- Wallit-r of Diililin.

"Silt, "I was lately favoured with a letter t'nim
our worthy friend the l!ev. Wm. Adair, in which
he re(|ue.sted me toeoninnmieate to you whatever
jiarticulars I couM recollect concerning Itoliort
Jiurns, the Ayrshire poet. My business being at
present multifarious and harassing, my attention
is consei|uently .so much <liviiled, .and I am so
little in tiie habit of expressing my thoughts on
jiapL-r, that at this distance of time I can L'ivc
but a very imperfect sketch of the early part of
the life of that extraortlinary genius, with which
alone " mi ae(|uainted.

" Vv iiam Hurnes, the father of the poet, was
born i I the shire of Kincardine, and bd'ed a gar-
dener. He had been settled in Ayrshire ten or
twelve years )>efore T knew him, and liad been
in the service of Mi'. Crawford of Doonside. Ho
was afterwanls employed as a gardener and over-

'- Sfi' the; foroKoins niiir.\tivc by f:iltii;rt Huriis; iilso l."ik-
liiirt » liifi' ill tliis voluiiU', ptirliiularly uott •_', |i. l.').

lie still, ill tiia
ook to a but-
neiullfss ainl
lout luiu.su or
oiitod to their
asidii wciv .if
lie iiii|iri.-ioii

I'L'^uliir iM.ir-
tt'd. hi tlie
prodiu'Ld hu
11 as iMissilile,
lit to Jamaica

bulit'Vf it is
. As he liail
mjrc, ami thu
to i>rotMiiv a
> sail lor some
II |iul.lisli his
riptioii, as a
2y to in'oviiie
for .lamaica.
ion-liills wiro
iiijj- was com-
ious t;'oim;-iiii
'lif rccL'iition,
1 in the worM,
III. iiiaiU' him
.laiiiaita, and
1 to iiulilish a

happiur tir-
ioii witli Mrs.
t liv a union

5 HOLSi:-

Mr. Josi'iili

a letter fi-nni

liv, in which

you whatever

•niiii,' iiol'crt

iiess lieiiiij' lit

my attciitii'ii

mil I am su

thouL;-lits on

I can ij-ivo

early i)art of

s. with which

ic poet, was

1 t.red a ij-ar-
rsliire ten or

d liad lieiii
)onside. lie
lerand over-

iriis; iilso l."il;-
p. 15.

APPENDIX TO LiFE OF BUKN.S.

i.j;3

HGcr hy Provost I'Y'rpruson of Doouliolin. in tho
piiish of Alioway. which is now united witii tiiat
o' Avr. In this parish, on tho roadside, a Seotcli
mii-'iiiid a half from tho town of Ayr, and half a
mile from tho l>ridf,'o of Doon, William Humes
took a piece of land, eonsistiuf'- of about seven
acres, part of whiidi ho laid out in (/.arden fjfround,
ami I'^iit of which ho kejit to graze a cow, iS:c.,
still coiithniine- in the einphiy of IVovo>t Kernn-
,son. I'l'on this little farm was erected an liuni-
hlc dwcllinj,', of which William Humes was the
architect. It was, with the exception of a little
straw, literally a tatiomacle of clay. In this moan
cottaye, of which I myself was at times an iiilia-
hitant, I really helievo there dwelt a lai^er por-
tion of content than in any jialaco in iMirope.
The 'Cotter's Saturday Xitiht' vill j,dve .some
iilca of the temper and inaiiners that jirevailed
lliere.

'• In 17ii."), iihout tlie middle of .March, .Mr. Win.
iiiirnes came to.\yr, and .sent to the school where
1 wasiniproviiiji' in writinir.unilcr my fi"'"! friend
.Mr. Koliinson, desiring' th.it I would come and
speak to him at a certain inn, and hrin^' my
wiitini,'-liook with mo. This was immediately
complied with. Ilaviiijjf examined my writing he
was plea.sed with it (you will readily allow he was
not ditlk'.ilt) -and told me that he had received
very satisfactory information of .Mr. 'J'ennant,'
the master of the Kn^ilisli school, concerning;; my
improvomoiit in KnL;iisli, and in his method of
tcachiiif,''. In the month of May following,' I was
cn^iaired hy Mr. linrnes and foui'of his iieitihliours
to teach, an. 1 aceorilingly hegan to teach the little
school ,'it .MIoway, which wiissituated a few yards
from the argillaceous fabric above iiicntioiiod.
.My live employers undertook to board me by
turns, and to makeui) a certain salary at tho end
of thej'ear, provided my ipiarterly payments fr.. in
thtditferont jinpils did not amount to that sum.

'■ My piijiil Ilobert Hums was then between
fWK or seven ycar-^ "f ajie, his preceptor about
'.'ii.diteeii. Kobert, and his youn.^'jr brother (iil-
Vrt,liad been irrounded a little in Hnji'lish before
tluy were juit under my care. They both mad(i
a rapid protrres- in readiu;? and a toler.able ])ro-
p'ess in writint;'. In na. linir. dividiiif^ wonls into
.syllables by rule, speliiiij.: without book, parsinir
sentences, &c., Kwbert and (lilbort wore ufone-
lally at the ui)p(T end of the class, oven when
raiifred with boys liy far their seniors. The books
most commonly used in the school were the Spel-
linir liiiok, the .N'ewTesr.mieut, the Hible, Mason's
Collection of Prose and Verse, and Fisher's Knir-
lish (Jrammar. They comniittod to memory the
hymns and other |>oenis of that collection with
luicominon faiility. This facility was partlyowinu'

1 Mr, Diiviil Teiiiiaiit, lir..tlii r ..f ".fulin TiMiimut in (il.ii-
<''iini(T." nil I'lirly .\,vrsliiri' fviftul <if A\illi!ini Itnrii.'s. mii.I
afhTWiti'ttti It1lrtl^*H iiitvi.si'r ill the eltnicc of his Ilunifrif^sliiri;
f.irni.

to tho method imrsueil by their father and inu
in ins.rneiint,' them, which was to make them
thoroii.^hly aciiuaintoil with the moaning- of every
word in each .sentence that was to be committed
to memory. Hy tho by, this may be easier done
and at an earlier period than is generally thought.
As soon as they were capable of it, f taught thom
to turn verso into its natural prose order, somo-
times to substitute synonynious expressions for
poetical wonls, and to .supply the ellipses. 'I'hesc,
you know, are the means of knowing that tho
pupil under.stands his author. These are e.xcel-
lont holjis to tho arrangement of words in sen-
tences, as well as to a variety of exjiression.

"(Jilbert iilwaj's ajipeared tonic to possess a
more lively imagination and to bo more of the
wit than liobort. I attempted to teach them a
little church music; here they were left far be-
hind by all the rest of the school. Robert's ear
111 particular was dull, anil his voice untunable.
It was long before I could get them to distinguish
one tune from another. Kobert's counteiianee
was grave, and exiiressive of a serious, contem-
plative, and thoughtful mind, (lilbert'sface said,
• -Mirth, with thee I moan to live;' and certainly
if any pers.in who knew the boj's had been asked
which of th.'tii w.is the most likely to court tho
muses, he would surely never have guessed that
Kobert had a propensity of that kind.

" In tho year 17t)<) Mr. Humes (|uitted his mud
editico, and took jiosscssion of a farm (Mount
Oliphaiit) of his own improving, while in the .ser-
vice of Provost Ferguson. This farm being at a
eonsideralile distance from the school, tho boys
could not attend regularly; and some changes
takiivg place among the other sujiporters of tho
school, [ left it, having continued to conduct it
for nearly two years and a half.

" In the y.'ar 1772 I was apiiointed (being one
of live candi.lates who wore examined) to teach
tho Eiigli.sh school at Ayr; and in 1773 Hobcrt
i'orns came to board and lodge with mo, for the
purpose of revising the Knglish grammar, iVc,
that he miiiht be better ipialitied to instruct his
brothers and sisters at home. lie was now with
mo day and night, in school, at all meals, and in
all my walks. At tho end of one week I told
him that, as ho w.as now pretty much master of
Iho parts of speech, iScc, I .should like to teach him
something of French iironunciation; that when
ho should meet with tho name of a French town,
shi]), oHicer, or the like, in the newspapers, lie
might be able to pronounce it something like a
French word, liobert was glad to hear this pro-
posal, and immediately wc attacked the I'rench
with groat courage. Now there was little else
to be heard but tho d.eclension of nouns, tho con-
jugation of verbs. I'^c. When walking together,
and even at meals, 1 was constantly telling him
tho names of different objects, as they in'csented
themselves, in French, so that he was hourly

154

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

Iiiylli),' in n stoik of words and sonictiinos littlf
]>lirnsos. In short, lie look such pluiisiire in
loiirniii;;-, !iii(l I in tfaciiin;,', tliat it was (litticnlt
to Hay whii'li of the two was most zealous in tlie
Intsiness; anil ahont tlie end of the second week
of onrstndyof the l-'rcncii, wu l>ci;an to read a
little of thv Ad trii III irsoj Tdi niiichus, in Fenelon's
own wordn.

" Hilt now the j)laiiis of Mount Oliphanl he^aii
to whiten, and lloliert was MUiiiinoned to relin-
((iiish the ]>leasiiitr scenes that snri'oniKled the
grotto of Calypso, and, armed with a sickle, to
seek fflory h}' si^'nalizin;,' himself in the tields of
Ceres and so he did: for althou;,'h Imt ahmit
tifteen, 1 was told that ho •''o-nied the work of
a r.iMii.

" Thus was 1 doju-ived of my very ajit luijiil,
and coiisequontlyagreealilecomi>aiiion,at d

of three weeks, one of which was spent entiii;;y
in the stuily of Knulish and the other two cliielly
in that of French. 1 dicl not, however, lose sij^ht
of him, hut was a freiinenl visitant at his father's
house when I had my half-iioliday; anil very
often went accom|ianied with one or twn (icrsdiis
more intelliLfent than myself, that ^ood Willi.am
Jhirnos ini^dit enjoy a mental feast. Then the
laliourinf^ oar was shifte<l to some other hand.
The father and the son sat down with ns, when
we enjoyed a conversation wherein solid reasoii-
inp. sensihlu remark, and a moilerate seasoning; of
jocularity, were so nicely blended as to lender it
palataliie to all [laities. lio')ert had a hundred
<|Uestions to ask me ahuut the French, i^c; and
the father, who hail always rational information
in view, had still .some ijuestion to propose to my
more learned friends, uiion moral or natural jhi-
losophy, or .some .such interesting- suliject. Mrs.
15uri)es, too, was of the party as much as ])ossilile;

Itut still tlio liiuisf .-xtTairs would draw Iht tlti-iK-r,
Mtiirh ever us slic cunlrl witli liiistf (ii'pjitch,
SIiimI I'dine aKHiii. ami with a kH'i'^.v lar,
l>fVo\ir up tlu-ir tlisnturM',

and particularly that of her hnshand. At all
times and in all companies .she listened to him
with a more marked attention than to ar.yoody
else, While under the necessity of beiny about
while he was speakiiijr, she seemed to ref^rct as a
real loss that slie had missed what the good man
liad .said. This worthy woman, Ajriies lirown, had
the most thorotifrh esteem for her husband of anv
woman I ever knew. [ can by no means womlcr
that she hi^ihly esteemed him; for 1 myself hiwe
always consiilered William Unrnes as by fiir the
best of the human race that ever 1 had the
pleasure of beinof acquainted with— ami many a
worthy character I have known. I can cheerfully
join with Robert in the last line of his epita[)li
(borrowed from C.oldsniith) :

And itvcn his failings li'an'd tii virtue's siilc.
" lie was an excellent husband, if 1 may judir-e
from his as.>iduous attention to the ea.se and com-

fort oi his worthy p.artner, and from In r alToc-
tionate behaviour to him, as well as her um\v( ^n,.,!
attention to the duties of a mother.

'• rio was a tender alul alfectionate fiilln i ; 1^.
took jileasurein leadiiij; his children in tli( i,atli
■ if virtue, not in driving them, as some jKUviitsild
to the performance of duties to which thev tlniii-
selves are averse. He took care to find fault hut
very seldom; and tlicref(n-e when he did rihuke,
he was listened to with a kind of reverential awc.
A look of disapprobation was felt; a rejiniof wiis
severely so; .and a stripe with the Iiiks, even (in
the skirt of the coat, yave heartfelt pain, \<n\.
diieed ;i loud lamentation, an<l brounht fiiril, ^^
tlood of tears,

" He h;ul the art of f^'ainili),' the esteeia and
goodwill of those that were labourers under liini.
I think I never saw him aiiKO' but twice: the one
time it was with the foreman of the band for nut
reapiny- the field as he was desired: and the oiher
time it was with an old man for usin;,; smutty
innendoes and dniililr ciitiiif/ir.i. Were everv
foul-montlied old man to receive a, sea.son.ilile
cheek in tii way it would be to the advantage
of the risn: generation. As he Was at no time
overbearing; lo inferiors, he was ii|ually iucapahlo
of that jiassive, pitiful, paltry .spirit that indnccs
.some ]ieo]ile to /wy) lnjiiiii^ inid lumi'tii; in tliu
presence of a yreat man. Ho always treated
superiors with a beconiiiii,'- respect; but he never
yave the smalle.'t encouragement toaristoeratieal
arro^ranee. Hut I must not pretend to ,L;ive you
a description of all the manly i|Ualities, the
rational and Christian virtues of the velieniblu
Willi.im llurnes. Tiiiu^ would f.ail me. 1 -hall
only add that he carefully practised every kimun
<lnty ami avoided everytbiiif; that was eriminal,
or, in the apostle's words, " Herein rlid he exer-
cise himself in livintf a life void of olfeuce towards
(iod and towards men." O for a world of men
of such dispositions ! Wo should then have no
wars. I have often wished, for the i^dod <if man-
kind, that it were .as customary to honour and
lierpetuate the memory of those who excel ia
moral rectitude, as it is to extol what are called
heroic actions; then would the mausoleum of the
friend of my youth overtop and surpass most of
the monuments I sec in Westminster Abbey.

"Althouffh I cannot do justice to the- character
of this worth)' man, yet you will jieivtive from
these few particulars what kind of person h.ul
the principal hand in the education of our poet.
He spoke the FiiLrlish laii^aiaj^e with more )iii>-
liriety (both with respect to diction and ]iromui-
elation) than any irian I ever knew with no
!J:reater ailvantapes. This had a very (i-ood elfect
on the boys, who bc^'an to talk and reason like
men much sooner than their neii,dibours. 1 do
not recollect any of their contemporaries at my
little seminal V who afterwards made any L''''cat
fiffure as literary chai'acters, except l)r. Tennant,

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

I5r>

nil lirr :i(Toc.
ifruiiwt.iin,.,!

ito fntlici-; lie
» ill tlir i,:,t|,
iL' imrciilsdd,
■li tlicy ll„.|||.
iiiii f:iull liiit
t.' iliil iTlnikc,
iXTC'iilialawo.
\ rc'in'dof Was
tit lis, cvin 1)11
-'It jiaiii, |i|-(i-
)im-lit f..|-il, a

J esteem aiiil
•s miller him,

wiee: till o

liniid for i|,,|

iiiil tliei'llu'i-

isiiiij siniitty

Were every

a soasdiialile

10 advaiitaije

IS at 11(1 \hm-

tly ineapalile

tliat iiiiliu'L's

iiiiiiii/ ill tile

vays treated

liut he never

iristoeralieul

ltd f^-ivo y(i\i

iialities, tiie

10 veiierahlo

inc. I shall

every kimwn

as criiiiiiial,

did he exer-

'lee towards

irld (if men

1011 have 11(1

"od iif man-

liDiiour and

II) exeel in

it are called

ileiiin (if the

lass most (if

■ A 1.1 ley.

'ie(diaracter

I'l'eive fiiim

|iers(m ha it

if iiiir |i(iet.

1 iiKire inci-

111(1 |ir<iimn-

w ^vilh iiii

piod elf( et

reason lihe

ours. I (111

iiries at my

> any L"vat

r. 'I'eiiiiaiit,

who WiisehaiiLiin toColoiiul Fiillartiui's reK'inu lit,
nnd who is now iti tlio East Indies.' Ho is a man
,if (feiiius and luariiing; yet alFablo and froo from

liedaiilry-

■■ Mr. Iliiriies in a short tinio found that ho had
oveiiated .Mount Oliphant, and tliiit he eould not
rear his iimneroiis family niioii it. .After boinir
there some years ho ruliiovod to Jiouliloa, in tlio
iiiirish of 'larliollon, where, I holiovo, lluliort
wrote many of liis iioonis.

'• IJiit here, sir, yon will iieriiiit nio to iiau.so.
I can tell you Imt little iiioro relalivo to tho pout.
I hIuiII, howevor, in my iioxt »oud you ii copy of
Olio of hi.s letters to luu about the year 1783.
I received ono since, but it is niislaitl. I'leasc'
rciiieiiiber me, in the best manner, to my worth}-
friend .Mr. .Vdair, when you .see him or write to
him.

" Hart Street, liloomsbury Si|uare,

hoiid.m, I'Vii. ii-j(i, Mwr

liUltXS, AS SKKTCHKl) BY I'ROFESSOU
DlMiALl) STHWAIIT.

Tlies(> particulars were comminikatcd in a letter
to 111'. Ciirric.

" The lli'st kiiiie 1 saw Kdliurt I'lUrns was on the
'2od of Oetolier, 17M), when he dined at my house
ill Ayrshire, to(j;ether willioureonimon friend .Mr.
John ifackenzie, suryoon in iMauehline, to whom
luni indebted for the pleasure of his acnuaintanee.
I am enabled to mention tlio date particularly, by
some verses which Muriis wrote after ho returned
home, and in which tho day of our meetin;j; is
■ceordeil. .My excellent and niucli lamented
friend, tho late liasil. Lord Daer. liappeiied to
arrive at Catrine the same day, and by the kind-
ness and frankness of his niaiiners left an im-
pression on the mind of the poet whieli novorwas
effaced. Tho verses I allude to arc among the
most inijierfect of his pieces; but a few stanzas
may perliaps be an object of curiosity to you,
Iidth on account of the character to which tliey
relate, and of tho light which they throw on the
situation and feeling.s of tho writer, beforo his
name was known to tin jmblic.^

" I cannot positively i<ay, at this distance of
time, whether at tho period of our lirst acipiaint-
anco, tho Kilmarnock edition of his poems had
been jii.st published, or was yet in the pre.ss. I
.inspect that the latter was the case, as 1 have
.still in niy possession copies in his own handwrit-
ing of some of his favourite performances; |iar-
ticul.ii'ly of his verses 'On turning uji a Mouse
with his Plough,' ' On tho .Mountain Daisy,' and
'The Lament.' On my return to Kdinburgh I
showed the volume and monlioiied what I knew

1 Tlio *' iircacluT Willie" nu'iitidiicil in Iluni.s'.'j podtiial
c'piatlo to lii.s half-liriitlii'r .lamus Tcniiaiit.

2 Sec tli(j iiot'in entitled " Lines itn nicetiiiK Lord Ilaer."

of the author'.s history to several of my friends;
and, among others, to .Mr. Henry .Mackenzie, who
lirst recommended him to )iublie notice in the
i>7tli number of 7'/ii- Ldiiiiijii:

" At this time IJurns's jirospccts in life were so
exli'cmely gloomy that he had seriously formed
a plan of going out to ilamaiea in a very liumblo
situalioii, not, however, without lamenting that
his want of patronage should force him to think
of a project so repugnant to his feelings, when
his ambition aimed at no higher an object than
the station of an exciseman or ganger in his own
country.

"His manners wcro then, a.s they eontimud
ever afterwards, simple, manly, and independent,
strongly expressive of eon.scious genius and worth;
but withoutanylhing that indicated forwardne.-s,
arrogance, or vanity, lie took his share in con-
versation, but not more than belonged to him;
and listened with apparent attention and defel-
eiieo on subjects where hi.s want of education
deprived him of tho niean.s of information. If
there had been a little more of gentleness ;ind
ac'jommouatioii in his temper, liu would, 1 think,
have been still more intclesting; but ho had
been aeeustomcil to give law in the circle of hi.s
ordinary ae(iuaintaiiee, and hisdrcad of anything
approaching to meanness or servility rendered
his mannersoniewhat decided and hard. Nothing
perhaps was more remarkable among his various
altainii'.eits than tho tluoney, and precision, and
origiiiulity of his language when he s])oko in com-
pan;f; more particularly as he aimed at purity in
his t'lrn uf expression, and avoided more suece.s.—
fully than most Scotchmen tho peculiarities of
Scottish phra.seology.

" lie came to Hdinliurgli early in the wintir
following, and remained there for several months.
Jiy whoso advice he took this step 1 am unable
to .say. Perhaps it was suggested only by his ow n.
curiosity to seo a little more of the world; but, 1
confess, I dreaded the eonseiinences from the
lirst, and always wished that his pursuits and
habits should continue the .same as in the foinicr
part of life; with the addition of, what I con.sid-
ered as then comiiletely within his reach, a good
farm on moderate terms, in a part of the country
agreeable to his taste.

" The attentions he received during his stay in
town, from all ranks and descriptions of pcr.sons,
were such as would have turned any head but
his own. I cannot .say that I could iierceive any
unfavourable effect which they left on his mind,
lie retained the same simplicity of manners and
aiipearance which had struck me so forcibly when
1 first saw him in the country, nor did he seem
to feel any additional self-importance from the
number and rank of his new ae(]uaintaiico. His
dress was perfectly suited to his station, plain and
unjiieteuding, with a suthcient attention to neat-
ness. If I recollect riuht ho always wore boots.

ISO

AITKNDIX TO LIFE OF BTTRNS.

(luil wlii'ii (111 iiinro lljim iisuiil otTcnioiiy, luick-
Hkiii hruoolioM.

"Tlio viirit'ly of his unKftffcriioiit« wliilo in
Ivliiilmi-Kli pruvc'iitetl me from Mocini; liiiii sd
(iftuii lis I cMiiilil liiivu wixlicil. Ill tlio coursi' ol'
tliu s|priiiK 111) fiillfd <in iiie hiki' oi' twiiro, at liiy
li'iiut'st, t'liily ill tliu riiiiiiiiiiL;', iiiiil walked with
niu til Braid ilili.., in the neiKhbourliood nf llie
town; when ho eliarniod iiie.-.ii i ..km' l>y hi.- pri-
vate eoiiverMutioii than lie had ever done in eoni-
])aiij\ lie was passionately fond of tlio lieiinlies
of nature; and I reeolleet once lio told mo, when
1 was iidniiriiif,'' a distant pnispeet in olio of our
nmi iiiiijf walks, that the Ni;^lil of so many smoking;-
cottages jrave a pleasure to his mind, which ii'iuu
could understand who had not witnessi^d, like
Iiiiii--ilf. the haiijiiness and the worth whiili they
contained.

" ill his [lolitical principles he was then n .laco-
l)itc, which was perhaps owinjj; jiartly to this, that
jiis father was originally from the estate of l,ord
.Mareschal. Indeed, he did not ajipear to liave
thought niueh on such suhjeels, nor very con-
sistently, lie Iiad 11 very stroiiu' sense of religion,
tind e.\pressed clee)) rej^ret at the levity with
which he had heard it treatt.'d oeeasionally in
some convivial nieetiiif^'s which ho freiiuented.
I speak of him us he was in the winter of 178(1 ":
for afterwards we met hut seldom, and our con-
versations turned chii;lly on his literary projects
or his private affairs.

" I do not recollect wliether it appears or not
from any of your letters to me, that you had ever
.seen Hums.' If you have, it is suinrtliious for
nio to add, that the idea which his conversation
conveyed of the powers of his mind exceeded, if
possible, that which is suj,'t,'ested liy liis writini,'s.
Among the poetswhom I liavehapjiened to know
J have lieen struck, in more than one instance,
with the unaccountable disiiarity between their
jreneral talents and the oi'casioiial ii^iiirations of
their more favoured moments. Jiut all the facul-
ties of liurns's mind were, as far as I could jud^^e,
0(|ually vifTorous ; and his iiredilection fur poetry
was rather tlio result of his own enthusiastic
and impassioned temper, than of a HCii'its fc-x-
clnsively adapted to that species of comjiosition.
From his conversation I .sliould have jn'oiumnced
him to bo fitted to excel in whatever walk of
ambition he had cho.scn to exert his abilities.

" Amonif the subjects on which he was accus-
tomed to ilwell, the chancters of the individuals
with whom he happened to meet was jilainly a
favourite one. The remarks he made on them
were always .shrewd and pointed, thout,di fre-
ipiently inclinin;,' too much to sarcasm. His
praise of those ho loved was sometimes indi.s-
criniinato and extravagant; l)ut this, I suspect,
proceeded rather from the caprice and humour of

1 [ir. Currit' Iiad seen and cum'tTJ-eU with lliiriis, liiit tliis
was lilt.

the moment, than from tho ell'icts of altucliment
inblindirij,'- his judgment, llis wit was ready, and
always impressed with the murks of a viuormis
unih^rslaiidin^': but to my tasti', not oficii plefts-
iiii,' or happy, llis attiiiipts at epit^rani m his
printed worl.s are the only perforiiiaiices pn li.ips
that he has produced totally unworthy ol' hjs
ueliius.

" In -uninier, 17>7, i passt'd sonic wcckv in
Ayrshire, and saw Uuriis occasionally. I think
that he m.ido a pretty lont; excursion that season
to the liif;lilaiicls, and that ho also visited wlmt
lleattio calls the Arcadian j,'roiind of Scotland,
upon the banks of the 'I'eviot .ind the Tweed.

" I should lia\e mentioned before that, nut-
withstanding' various reports I heard duriiiu' tlic
precedinu winter of Hnrns's iiredih'ction for con-
vivial and not very select society, I shmild have
concluded in favourof his habitsof sobriety from
all of him that ever fell under my own observa-
tion. He told me indeed himself that the weak-
ness of his stomach was such as to ile])rive iiiin
of any merit in his temperance. I was somculml
al.iriiied about the ell'ect of his now compara-
tively sedentary and luxurious life, when he con-
fessed to me, the lirst niy'lit he spent in my hoiiso
.■ifter his winter's ca'iipaii;n in town, that he had
been much dis'irbed when in bed by a palpita-
tion at his heart, wliieli, he said, was ii coiii|ilaint
to which he had of late become subject. '■'

" In the conrseof thesame season I was led by
curiositj' to attend for an hour or two a niason-
loili^e in Manchline. when liurns )a'csiiled. He
had occasion to make some short, unpreincditalcd
compliments to dilfcrcnt individuals finin whom
he had no reasiai to ex|iect a visit, and every-
thinjr he said was hajipily c<inceived and forcibly
as well as tUiently exiaosed. If I am not niis-
taken he t<ild me that in that villai^e, before
(.'oinf,' to Edinburijh, lit had lielon^'ed to a small
club of such of the inhabitants as h;id a taste for
books, when they used to converse and debate on
any iiiterestin^; ipiestions that occurred to tluin
in the conrseof their reading', llis manner of
speaking' in jiublic had evidently the marks of
some practice in extempore elocution.

" 1 must not omit to mention what I have
always considered as characteri.stical in :i hii.'-h
dcf,'rco of true genius, the extreme facility and
pood-natnre of his taste, in judi,diiL,' of the coiii|io-
sitions of others, where Ihei'c was any real irroiind
for jiraise. I repeated to him many passages of
English (loetry with which hi' was niiaec|uainted,
and have more than once witnessed the tears of
admiration and r;i]itiire with which he heard
them. The collection of sonirs by Dr. Aiken,
which I t'r.st put into his hands, he read with
mimixcd deli^lit, notwithstanding liis former
efforts in that very dillicult sjiecies of wiitinK;

- Ai'riirilink' to (iillort'.i iiiirritivi', tlii' pnol li;iil licini suliJM't
tu tilis i-oniplaint fruiii liin ti;ir)u-st ye.'irs.

find 1
pnli-^hii

APPENDIX TO LIFK OF liURNS.

i:.;

I f ]|,,vo littlo iloiilit that it li-l Noiao olFui;! in
,,„li.liiiii,' iii^ NiilwuiHicMit coinpositinim.

■• 111 iuiij.'iii>,' of lii'dsu I lit) not f liink lii.s tiiMto
WHS (■•luiilly soiniil. I <iiK'o reiul ti> liini ii |>iiss:i^;l'
uiMuoiii I'l'MiiUliii'i wi'iliH, wiiicii I thoiiKlit very
li,,.,.,j|y oxcciitcMl iiiiiin till' nioilol of Aililisdu;
bill liudiii iiotuii|>i'iir to iviisli ur to porLcivu tlio
lifMiiiy w'lifii tiicy (Icrivud from tliuir fXinilMitL'
siiiiiilicity. iinil spotio of tlicni witli iiulilli'ivm o
wIh'H ((MiiiKiivil "ill" the jiiiiiit, ini'l luititliusis,
jiiiil ii'iiiintiiess of .IiiiiiiiM. 'I'lie irJliifnco of that
tiisto in vcn- i.i'i<''iitil>lc' ill iii-- uwii jh-dno ooiii-
lHi~ilii)ii.s, iiltliiiii;^'' tJK'ir ^'ivai and varioun i-x-
ccllriK'L'S iviidiT siiiiio (if tlii'in scaiviOy Ilss
i.liic'ctsdf WDiidfi' than liis poutical inTfuniianecs.
Till" latu I'c. lidl'Li'tsdii usL'd to say that, con-
siil'iinx' hisidiication, tlio tonnur suunicd to him
thi' inoru extraordinary of tiio two.

" His memory was iinconimonly rotuntivc, at
iuist for poL'try. of wlii(^ii liu rucituil to mu fro-
iiMuiitly loni,' compdsitioiiH with tlic most miinito
iK'i'uraey. 'I'hoy wiro eiiirtly lialladii and otlier
iii 'c'cs in o\n' Si'ottish dialcel; nwiit pari of tlu'iii,
liL' told mo. ho iiad Icarnod in hisohildhodd frum
his Midthor, wild doli;,d!tod in snoh rooitations,
and wlidso poolical taste, rude as it prolialily was,
^,'ave, it is iiresniiialik', the lirst direotion to her
win's 1,'enins.

'•((f the more iioiishod vurses v.hieh nccideii-
tally fell into his hands in his early years,
lie incntioiied jiarlieularly the roconnneiidatory
pdeins, liy diireront authors, prefixed to ller'/oy's
M,ilititliiiii.<; a liddk whieh has always had a very
uide eirciilatjdii aiiidiiLr siieli of the eountry
pt'dpie of Sodtland as iitl'eet to unite some doLrree
of taste with their reli^idus studies. And these
pdiliis (,ilthoiiL;h they are eertainly iiolow meilio-
ority) he eoniimied to rend with a ilejrree of rap-
t'lro hcyond exprc-sion. He took notiec of this
fait himself, as a proof how mueh the ta.sto is
liiiMo to lie inlhioneed hy aeeidentai eircuin-
stiiliecs.

" His father appeareil tonic, froni the aeeoiuit
lie ^:vivo df him, to have liten a res|ioetalile and
wiirtliy I'liaracter, possessed of a mind sufieriorto
ivli.it mi^^dit have been expeeted from his station
in life. Ho ascribed mueh of his own prineiptcs
aid tei linij;s to the early inipre.ssions ho had
received from his instnietioii and exainjilo. I
peolieet that ho oneo applied to liiiii (.ind he
iidilv'd tli.'it the pa.s.s;id-o was a literal statement of
Tact) tint two last lines of the followint;' passa{>'o in
the ' .Mill- trei ; ' tin; whole of wliieh he repeated
villi ;reat eiithusiasni :

Shiill I I,,' |,.ft fi.rk'ollcn in tile dust,

Wlicii friti'. ii'li'iitiiiK, Ills till' tlimiT revive;
Sli.ill iiaturc'H viiirc, tu mini altitic un.inst,

IJifl hiiu, ttidiiL'li (liHiniM to pcrisli. liope to live?
I^^ it fiiv tliis f.iir viiiiu' nft iim^t slrivi',

M'illi <li<:i|ipiiiiitin<'iit. I'cniir.v, miil piiiii?
N"! lliMvi'ii'< iiiiniiirtMl sprint' shall .vrt arrive;

i\nti inan'« niai-'^ti'- ln-tnty Kl.ioni a;iaiii,
TiriHlit thiM' till' I'tiru.il .vi'ar nf Icive's triiiinpliant ri'i.'.'ii.

Tliit li'iith KiiliHiiit, hin riiiii'lv fira Ital hi'nikl
III muilh, f'niM iitnuft ull lilt thi'iihtril Him n-.

"With rospoet to Unrns's early eduratioii f
cannot .say anything' with eertainty. lie always
spoke with rosptct and uratitudo nf the .velmol-
iiiastor who had taiinht him l(p reail KiiLrlish; and
who, lindiii;,' in his scholar a nidi-c than drdinary
arddiirf"!' kiidwlodiic, had been at pains to instruct
him in tlu^'rainmatieal juinciplesdf the laiiKuatfe.
lie be^ran the study of Latin, biii ilropt it before
ho ha<l hi.ishoil the verbs. I have soinotinies
hoard him (pioto a few Latin words, sueli nsiinniiii
I'liifit (iiiiiir, itc, but they seemed to bo siieh as
ho had eanuht frdUi Cdiivcr.satidii, and which ho
repeated by rutr. 1 think he had a prujcct, {iftor
he came to Kdinbur;.'h, of prd-ccutiiiL;- ihc study
under his intiniale frieiiil tlie late .Mr. Nicdl, dne
df llie masters of the |,'r,iniiiiar-sehodl iiere; but I
do not know that ho over pruoeoded so far as to
mako the attempt.

" Ho eertainly ])ossessecl a smatteriiiy: of l'"reneh;
and, if he iiail an alfeetation in anytliiiiir. it was
ill inti'dducinn' neeasidnally a woril m- phrase from
that lan^^'iia^'e. It is posfible that his )• nowled/o
in this respect iniL'lit be more e.xtelisivi' tli.in I
suppose it to be; but this you can learn from his
more intimate aci|Uiiintanec. It would be wurth
while to iiii|tiire whether he was able to read the
l'"reneli authors with such facility as to receive
from thom any im|irovement to his taste. For my
own part I <ldubt it nnich ; nor would 1 believe
it but on very strong' and iioinled evidence.

" If my memory docs nut fail me he was well
instructed in arithinclie, and knew sdmcthinf^ of
liractieal fj-eoiiu.'try, particularly of surveying-. --
.Ml his other attainments were entirely his own.

"The last time T saw him was durini; the
winter, 17'S8-S!I, when ho pa.ssod an oveninjr with
me at Drumsou^h, in the neighbourhood of Kdiii-
bur^h, whore I was then livintr. My friend .Mr.
Alison was tin; only other |ier.soii in cdiiipMiiy. I
never .saw him iiiore ai;rccable ca- intercslinj;. A
present which Mr. Alismi sent liiin afttrwanls df
his /■JsKni/.i <ui Ttifli' drew fniin liurns a letter of
ackndwledL'inent which I rciiieinber to have read
with sdino den'roc df surprise at the distinct con-
ception he ap|)eared from it to have formed of
tlio fj^cneral ininciplcs of the (Inctrine of associa-
tion."

BURXS'S I.AST VF.AllS.
li:tti:u fko.m mu. .(.\mi:s liii.w' to (;iLiii:uT

lilliNS.

fdilbert Burns, when prcp;iriiiL;- the 1 s'3) edition
of C'urrio's Burns, wrole to .Mr. (Iray for leave to

1 Mr. (Iray was master of Hie Uiu'li Selmol if Iiiiinfries in
llurns's (l;iy. Me wa-; ;iftrr\varils, fi>r many a var. a leaelier
in tlie Iliirli Sduuil, KilinliarL,'b. ami liitlerly I'lcamo a eliap-
laiii in the lion. i:a-t India i'umpany's serviee, and died at
I'lileh in Ih:m.

,#/>,

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Sdences

Corporation

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^ii

158

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BUKNS.

briiif,' forward liis letter to Petorkiii, the most
important part of which is pivoii in Lockliart's
Life; tliat geiitlenian rather ])referre(l to write liis
statement anew in the following letter aihlressed
to (iillierf himself. 'I'ho tone of tlio letter is,
howevei', piteheil too hi,i;h ; and the portrait tliat
hu i)aints of linrns at the period referred to
camiot in any way he reeoneiied \\''h that whieh
wo obtain fidm the K<-'ncral testimony of otiiers
and from known facts, (iray is said to have been
a man who took amiaiile views of most peojile
lie met, and of all who had any eomiection witli
literatnrc in particular; and it nnist bo remem-
bered that he is writinji', after an interval of over
twenty years, of a life he only knew imperfectly
for a little over two. It besides throws a doubt
on his sincerity to lind Ilobert Chambers .sayiu)^-.
"A friend of Mr. Gray has a.ssured me that he
u.sed, in private, to speak of tlio irro<^nlaritie.s of
the poet in much the same terms as other snr-
viviuif oh.servers.'J

" In the oliservation.s I am now to make I claim
no merit but purity and sincerity of purpose in
narrating events that I myself saw; and I am
hapi)y to add that, from many symptoms, there
.seems to be a j^reat chanue of opinion on the
.sul)ject and a disposition to listen to the voice of
truth, however I\uinble the individual by whom
it i.s raised. I sliall consider the poet's character
as u companion, a fatlier, a hu.sband, a citizen,
and a man of genius; f -t it may bo seen if from
his conduct in any one of tho.so capacities, hi
couhl possibly bo tlie degraded being he lias bcoii
repro.sented, constantly under the dominion of
tlio lowest and the basest ij)petitcs and passions
of our natm-e, an habitual drunkard, and a
thorough vicious man, for ' therewith has ho been
charged with.il;' and, as my remarks apjily to
the throe' la o years of his life, 1 shall not be
accused of liaving .'.elected, in excul[iation, the
purest ])ortion of it.

"It was my good fortune to bo introdiiccd to
i,;:r. soon after I went to Diunfries. This was
early in ]7!M, and I sa.v him often and intimately
during the remainder of hi. life. I .sometimes
met him in the scene of conviviality, and there,
if anywhere, I must have received conviction of
that intellectual and moral degradation of which
wo have lieard so much ; but no such impression
was made on my mind. Ho seemed to me to
freipient convivial parties from the same feelings
with which ho wrote poetry, because nature had
eminently iiualitied him to shino there, and he
never on any occasion indulged in solitary drink-
ing, llo was always the living spirit of the
company, ami, by the communications of his
genius, seemed to animate every one present
with a portion of his own tiro. IFo indulge<l in
the sally of wit and humour, of striking original-

1 Mr. (ir.a.vsliouUI rather hiiTO said Urn, an being much umrf
nearly comet.

ity, and .sometimes of bitter sarca.sm, but ahv;iv.s
free from the hast taint of grossness. I wa~, fiuiji
the connnenccmenl of my acipiaintance witli liiiu,
struck with his aversion to all kinds of indelii'acv,
and have seen him dazzle ami delight a jiarty fdi-
hours together by tho brilliancy and rapidity yf
his flashes, withcMit even an allusion that coiiM
give olfence to vestal purity. 1 never s.aw lum
into.\icated ; and, indeed, I am convinced, tli;it
thoiiuh his comi>any was cou' ted by men of all
ranks, and he was much in si jiety of a convivial
nature, that ho was very .seldom in a state of
inebriation.

" I often met him at breakfast jiarties, wliitli
were then customary at Dumfries, and soinctinu s
enjoyed a morning walk with him; and on tlicsc
occasions, if he had been sulfering from niiiliii;;lit
excesses, it nuist have l)een aiipareiit. (Jn tli !
eontraiy, his whole air was that of one who li;, |
enjoyed refreshing slumbers, ami who aiM-,.
hapjiy in himself, ;ind to diffuse hapiiiness on all
around him; his complexion was fresh and ck:u',
his eye brilliant, bis whole frame vigoro\is aul
elastic, and his imagination ever on tho wing."
llis morning conversations were markeil by mu
impassioned i'loi|uenco that seemed to How fnun
immediate iiisiaration, and shed an atmosplnri!
of liu'httind beauty around everything it tuudicil,
alternately melting and elevating the souls of all
who heard him. llo had read much, and possesscl
a most powerful memorj-, which oover oxhiliitc 1
any symi)toms of that decay which must have
been the con.se(juonco of habitual intoxication;
so far from it, ho gleane<l all tliat was vahiahle
from every book he perused, which he eouM
cither (juote in the wonls of the original or make
the ideas his own, and embody them in a iiioio
beautiful form. In our solitary walks on .■!
summer morning tho simplest tloweret by tln'
wayside, every sight of rtu-al simplicity an!
hapjiiness, every creature that seenieil to drink
the joy of tho seasons awakened tho sympathy
of his heart, which flowed in spontaneous nnisic
from his lips; and every new o]ieniiig of the
beauty or the magnificence of the scene befuio
him called forth tho jioetry of his soul.

"As a friend, no views of selfi.sliness ever made
him faithless to those whom ho had once hon-
oured with that name — over ready to aid them
by tho wisdom of his counsels, when his mcius
were inadequate to their relief; and, by a delicate
sympathy, to soothe tho sufferings and the
sorrows ho could not heal. As a citizen he never
ncglectetl a siimlo professional duty; and even
on the .slen<ler income of an excise ofhccr, I.e
never contracted a single debt he could not pay.
Ho could submit to privations, but could nut

- In 1704, till' yciu' in wliirli (iriiy licciuiii' aoiii:iiiitvil with
niirii", tlio liitter write') tn Mrs. Iiiiiilipp: " I iilri'ady licKin t'>
fi'cl till! rJK'i'l lihru ami KtilR'iiiiig juints of old ugu coming f^i^t
o'er niy frann."

ArPENDTX TO LIFE OF BURN^;.

15!)

Mil, li\it ahviiys
ss. I wa--, fiuni
taiifo witli him.
Is of iiiilcli<'aey,
iglit ii i)arty for
iiiil rapidity uf
<i<)ii tliat coiiM
iiuvcr saw lain
;oiiviiicoil, tliMt
liy iiic'U of all
y of a convivial
1 ill a slate of

jiartifs, wliitli
and soiiiL'timt.s
i; and on tlicso
from inidiiiylit
iront. On tlu
if Olio who liii i
ml who aidM'
lajiiiiiK'SH on all
Fresh and clear,

vij^-orous and
' on tho wiiif;-,2

marked liy ai.
.'d to Mow fnna

an atinos|ihere
linn '' tuuelie.l,

the souis of all
I, and possessed
.lovor exhiliited
licli must have
il intoxieation;
:it was valuable
I'hieli he eouM
ri^inal or make
.hem in a more
ry walks on a
loweret liy the
simplieity and
;emud to drink
the sympathy
ntanoons nnisie
ijioniii^ of the
10 seeiio before

1 soul.

incss ever made
had oneo hon-
dy to aid them
rhon liis means
111, liy a delicate
rinj^s and the
-•iti/.on he never
liity ; and even
eise 'ifiiccr, he
could not pay.
hut could nut

lu' ar<iu;tiiitfil with
' I iilri'acl.v lirKin ti>
olilugu comiub' <■"<■

hrnnk tho dependence of owiiij,' anyttiiiif,' to any
man on earth. To the poor ho was liberal beyond
his limited means, and tho cry of the unfortunate
was never addressed to him in vain, and when he
could not himself relieve tl.cir necessities, ho was
often known, by a pathetic recital of their mis-
fortunes, to draw the tear and open the pur.se of
those who were not famed eitlier for tenderness
of heart or charity; on such occasions it was iin-
po.ssihlo to resist his solicitations.

" lie was a kind and an attentive father, and
took i^rcixt dclii;ht in spending;' his ovoniiif^'s in the
cultivation of the minds of his children. Their
education was tlio grand object of his life, and
ho did not, like most parents, think it suUicient
to send them to public schools; bo was their pri-
vate instructor; and even at that early nq-c be-
stowed great ]iaius in training their iniud.s to
habits of thouglit and reHection, and in keeping
them pure from every form of vice. This lie coii-
pidcrod a sacred (bity, and never to his last ill-
ness relaxed in his diligence.

"With his eldest son, ;i boy of not more tiian
nine years of age, lie had read many of the favour-
ite poets, and some of the best historians, of our
language; and, what is more remarkable, gave
him considerable aid in tlie study of batin. This
hoy attended the grammar-sehool of Dumfries,
and soon attracted my notice by the strength of
his talent and tho ardour of his ambition. Hefore
he liad been a year at scliool I thouglit it right
to advance him a form; and he began to reail
t'a'.sar, and gave nie translations of that author
of such beauty as, I confess, suqirised me. On
inquiry I found that his father made liim turn
over liis dictionary till he was able to translate
to him the p.issage in such a way that he could
gather the author's meaning, and that it was to
him he owecl that polished and forcible English
with which I was so greatly struck. I have men-
tioned this incident merely to show wdiat minute
attention he paid to this important branch of
parental (bity.

" Many insinuations have boon made against his
character asn hu.sband, but without the slightest
proof, and [ might pass from this charge with
that neglect which it merits; but I ivUi happy to
say that I have in exculpation the direct evidence
of Mrs. Hums herself, who, among many amiable
and respectable ipialities, ranks a veneration for
the memory of her departed husband, whom she
never names l>ut in terms of the profoundesl
respect and tho deejicst regret, to laniont his
misfortunes, or to extol his kindnesses to herself,
not as the momentary overHowings of the lieart
in a season of penitence for offences generously
forgiven, but an habitual to'iilerness that ended
only with his life. I place this evidence, whieli
I am proud to bring forward on her own autho-
rity, against a thousand anonymous calumnies.

"To the Very end of his existence all the powers

I of bis niiiiil were as vigorous as in the blo.ssomof
: tlieir spring; and it may be askeil if the numer-
j ous .songs written for -Mr. Tlvimson's collection,
which wore his last compositions, an<l by many
considered the glory of his genius, indicate any
intellectual deciiy: yet it is strange how long
prejudices will keep their ground in the face of
evidence the clearest, and within the reach of
every one. I saw him four days before he died,
and though the hand of death was obviously upon
him, he re])eated to me a little poem ho had
composed the day before, full of energy and teii-
ilerness. Now, my iloar sir, as when I consider
tho occupations and the studies of his early years,
arguing from the general prineiplesof our nature,
L am impelled to conelude that he was an amiable
and virtuous young man, though I had notdiioct
evidence in support of the proposition; .so on a
review of the facts just stated, I cannot for u
niomont lielieve in the alleged degradation of hi.s
character. The truth is, your brother partook,
in an eminent degree, of the virtues and tho vices
of tho poetical teniperamcnt. He was often
hurried into error by the impetuosity of lii.^ pas-
.sions, but ho was never their slave; ho was often
led astray by the meteor lights of pleasure, but
he never lost sight of tho right way, to which he
was ever eager to return; and, amid all his wan-
derings and his self-confliets, his heart was pure
and bis princiitles untainted. Though ho was
often well-nigh brokon-boarted by the severity of
his fate, yet he was never hoard to complain;
and had ho been an unconnected individual ho
would have bic! letianco to fortune; but his sor-
rows for his wife and children, for whom he .suf-
fered niueli, anil feared more, wore keen and
acute, yet unmingled with selfishness. All his
life he had to maintain a hard struggle with cares;
and he often had to labour under those de|)res-
•sioiis to which genius is subject; yet his spirit
never stooped from its lofty career, and to tho
very end of his warfare with himself and with
fortune ho continued strong in its independence.
The love of posthumous fame was the master
passion of his soul, which kept all others in sub-
ordination, and prevented them from running
into that disorder which his great susceptibility
to all those objects which pleased his fancy or
interested his heart, and the vivacity of all his
emotions might, without this regidating prin-
ciple, have produced. .Amidst the darkest ovcr-
shadowings of his fate or tho most alluring
tomiitatioiis of jileasuro it was bis consoling and
leading star; and as it directed his eye to distant
ages, it was often his only support in the one and
the most powerful check against tho dangerous
indulgence of the other, rossessing an eloipienco
that might have guided the councils of nations,
and which would have been eagerly courted by
any party, he would have pori.-hod by famine
ratliiM- than submit to the degradation of bocoiU'

II i

KiO

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

ill!,' t1io tool of fnction. It is a known fact that
liu rojuctcd a siun e(inal to his wliolo annual in-
come, for the su])i)ort of those muMsures wliich
ho thou^'ht most for the interests of tlie eomitry.
Ho had a loftiness of sentiment that raised him
aliove making his j^^enins a hireling even in a pood
cause, and his laurels wore never stained by a
single act of venality. Yet with all the nohility
(f his mind and the kindness and generosity of
his natni'e, and the supremacy of his genius, his
fate has been unusually hard. Tliouph his chosen
companions were not mororeniarkahle for talent
than for the rcspectalnlity of their character and
the purity of their lives, and many lailics of the
most delicate and cultivated minds and elegant
manners were numbered among his friends, who
clung to him through gootl and through bad re-
port, and still cherish an afTectionato and enthu-
.siastic regard for his memory, yet has he been
accused of being adilictcd to low company. Qua-
lified for the noblest employments, he was eon-
ilemned to drudge in the lowest occupations -
often in scenes where to avoid contamination was
an eifort of virtue. Though he jtossessed a can-
dour which led him to view all the actions of
others on the brightest side, the fairest of his
own have, in the estimate of his character, been
passed over in silence or even blackened. His
virtues have been denied, and when that could
not be done, thcj' have been extenuated. Ac-
cumulated misfortunes and the cruelty of man-
kind actually broke his heart ami hurried him to
a ]>reniature grave, which to him has lieen no
.sanctuary, for the voice of calumny has been
heard even there; but prejudices will jiass away,
and jio-sterity will do him justice They will
balance the various an<l often contradictory ele-
ments of his character, and decide with candour.
They will be iiillucuecd by no personal or political
enmities, but will drop a generous tear over his
failings, which will appear but as a natural blem-
ish in the light of those virtues which they will
read in his works, and read aright. Now, my
dear .sir, that 1 have finished the object of my
lettei', which was to give you such observations
as I myself had an oi)portunity of making relative
to the habits of the three Inst years of your
brother's life, you will permit me to .say that
what I have written ha.s not been with a view of
wounding the feelings of any one; my sole pur-
l)Ose has been defence, not attack: yet I will
confess that indignation has sometimes swelled
in my bosom to hear the memory of the friend
whom I loved, and the man of genius whom T
admired, traduced and calunuiiated by men who
knew him not, and who had not the means of
ascertaining the truth of their allegations; and
I shall deem it the i)roudest w-ork of my life if
my feeble efforts shall be in the .slightest degree
instrumental in correcting erroneous opinions,
which it can be the interest of none to keep :ilive,

tlumgh, to the shame of our coimtry, tlu y have
been too long and too widely circulated. "

HUKN'S AS AN EXCISE OFI'KIAL.

LKTTKU FUO.M Mil. KIXDI.ATKll, CoM.l.iTiiH oK
i;.\i isi:, (;l.,\SH(iW.l

"(Ji-.ssnow, Idth Octobir, 1M><.

"SlU,"-I entirely agree with you in opiuidu on
the various accounts which have been given to
the World of the life of Iiobert IhuMis, and can
have no hesitation in c.\ pressing pulliily my
sentiments on his oflicial conduct at leiist, und
perhajis in other respects, as far as may appear
necessMi-y for the development of truth. Anmngst
his biographers, Dr. Currie of course takes tlio
lead, anil the .severity of his striitmvs. or to
borrow the words of the poet, his ■ iron justice,'
is much to be regretted, as 'his Life' hiis )>o.
come a kind of text-lxiok for succeeding commen-
tators, who have, by the ai'l of their own fancies,
amplified, exaggerated, and filled up the outlines
he has sketched, and, in truth, left in such a state
as to provoke an exercise of that deseriptifin.

" It is painful to trace all that has been written
by Dr. C'vurie's successors, who seem to hiive
considere<l the history of the poet as a thing like
Ul^'sses's bow, on which each was at liberty to
trj- 'lis strength, and some, in order to outdo their
eoin])etitors, have strained every nerve to throw
all kinds of obloipij' on his memory, lliscon-
viviid habits, his wit atul humour, his social tal-
ents, and independent si)irit, have been i>erverteil
into constant and habitual di'unkenness, impiety,
neglect of his pi'ofe.ssional duty and of his fiimily,
ail', in short, every human vice. lie has hucn
l>!'.aniled with cowardice, aecu.scil of attempting
nuu'der and even .s\iicide, and all this without a
shadow of ]iroof, //iv/A /niddi:'

" Is there iiothing of tenderness d\ie to the
memory of so tran.scendent a genius, who ha.s so
often deliuhted even his libellers with the felici-
ties of his .s(uigs and the charms of his wit and
humour? And is no regard to be ha<l to the
feelings of those nenr and dear relatives he lia.s
left behind, oi- aie his ashes never to ' hope re-
pose.'' My indignation has unwarily led nie
astriiy from the point to which I meant to Iwive
contined my.self, and to which I will now recur,
and briefly state what I have to say on the sub-
ject.

" .Myconuection with Robert liui'nscouHnenccd
immediately after his admis.sion into the excise,
and continueil to the hour of his <leatli. In all
that time the suponntendenec of his bihaviour

1 Virst iml>lislu'il iu I'eti'rtin's cilition iif Dunis. Mr. riml-
Inter wan tlii' imi't's siiiuTinr iitliccr all tlu' time lie was in thi'
cxrisc, and his t<".tininny as ti» this pi-rioil nf litirnH's life is
fliiTcforf uf tlic liiclirst autluirity. Mr. Kinillatur dial at
(ilasj,'iiw on till' 4tli Ik'ceiuljLT, 18;t», a«ed 85.

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

161

ry, tlifv liiivo
latLMl."

Kiel A L
ii.i.ii r.iii UK

■ln-T, 1^1'^.

ill iiiiiiiinii (111

lii'd! ^ivi'ii to

iriis. Mini can

iml liily my

at k'ast, ami

■< may appear

illi. Aiiiiiiij,'st

rsu takus tlio

iituiv>:, or to

iniii justice,'

l.ifu' lias lic-

liiiir c'oniiiion-

V (iwii faiuies,

tliL' (lutliiios

111 siicli a state

cscriptiiiii.

s lit'Lii written

seem to have

IS a tliiiiL;- like

at liliei'ty to

to outilo their

crvo to throw

iry. Jliseoii-

iiis social tal-

icon perverted

lUess, impiety,

I of liis family,

lie has lieen

iif attemptiiiif

this without a

ss lino to the
IS, who has so
•ith the fehei-
if his wit and
o hail to the
latives he has
■ to ' hope ro-
arily led mo
iioatit to have
ill now recur,
ly oil the suh-

iseoiiiiiu'nced
ito the excise,
leath. Ill all
his lirliaviour

Inru'^. ^Ir. Fiml*
liir lie w;m ill ttu*
'if IturiiKV life is
"inilliiter iliiil at

ns all officer "f t!io rcveiuio was a l.raiieli of my
especial province, ami it may be sujiposed I
would not 1)0 an hiii^tontivo olisorvcrof thufj:enc-
nil conduct of a man and a poet so celuhrated by
his coiintiyineii. In the former cajiacity, so far
from its beinjj 'impossible for him to diseliar},^'
the duties of his otVieu with that rej^ularity which
is almost indispensable,' as is palpably assumed
hy olio I'f his biographers, and insinuated not
very oliseiirely even by Dr. C 'iirrie, ho was exem-
plary in his attention as an exciso-oirieer, and
was even jealous of the least imputation on iiis
viKitiiiiec ; as a proof of wdiieh it may not be
forei^'ii to the subject to quote jiart of a letter
from him to myself, in a ease of only .inmini/ in-
attention. " I know, sir, and reijret deeply, that
this lnisiness n-laneeswith a malion aspect on my
character as an olhcer; but as I am really inno-
cent in the affair, .iiid as the nentlenian is known
to he an illicit dealer, and particularly as this is
the .single instance of the least shadow of care-
lessness or impropriety in my conduct as an
officer, I shall lie peculiarly unfortunate if my
character shall fall a .saeritice to the dark man-
(euvres of a smuggler.'' This of itself .iH'ords
more than a prcsumjition of his attention to
business, as it cannot be supposed that he would
have written in such a style tome liut from tlieim-
jiulse of a conscious rectitnile in this ilepartment
of his duty. Indeed, it was not till near the
latter end of his (hiys that there was any falling
off in this respect, ami this was amply accounted
for in the pressure of disease and accuniulating
intiviiiities. About this jieriod I advised him to
reliiii|iiish business altogether, which he complied
with, liut it distressed him a good deal, as he
was thereby liable tosufl'era diminution of salary;
and he wrote to Commissioner (.Jraham, in the
hope that that gentleman's intlueiiee would get
his full [lay contiiiuecl during his illness, which I
have no doubt it would have done if he had re-
covered. In the meantime, ]\lr. (Iraliam wrote
him a letter, exhibiting' a solid proof of his gene-
rosity and friendshij), but, alas ! the poet was
by this time too far gone towanls that 'undis-
covered country from whose bourne no traveller
returns,' and he could not acknowledge it.

" Having stated Hurns's unremitting attention
to lnisiness, w hich certainly was not compatible
with ]ierpetual intoxication; it follows of course
that this latter charge must fall to the ground;
and I will farther avow that I never saw him,
which was very freip'ently while ho lived at
Ellisland, and still more so, almost every (hiy,
after he removed to Dumfries, but in hours of
business he was (piite liim.self, and capable of
discharging the <lutics of his ottiee; nor was he

1 Tlie person licri? reforreil tii Wiis ii Mr. I.nriiner, futluTof
*'*'liliiris," tlio lieiMiiie of sum.' uf llurns's ht-st sttii;;s. 'I'lie
li'ttir will lie funnel in tlii' Corn'-iionili'ine. itmlei- diite .liini',
17111, Ijcfuiv liiirns si'ttleil in Hunifrics.

"ever known to drink by himself or seen to indulge
in the u.se of lic|Uor in a forenoon, as the state-
ment that he was perpetually under its stimulus
uneipiivocally implies.

"To attempt the refutation of the various
other calumnies with which his memory has been
a.s.sailed, some of wdiich are so absurd as hardly
to merit any attention, does not fall in my way,
though L hope they will be suitably taken notice
of; liut permit nie toad ' that I have .seen Hums
in all his variou.-. phases in his convivial mo-
ments, ill his soiier moods, and in the bosom of
his family; indeed, 1 believe I saw more of liini
than any other individual had occa.sion to see,
after he became an excise otiicer; and 1 never
beheld anything like the gross enormities with
which he is now charged. That when .set down
in an evening with a few friends whom he liked
he was apt to prolong the social hour beyond the
bounds which iirudeiice would dictate is nmiues-
tionable; but in his family, I will venture to say.
he was never .seen otherwise thai: attentive and
attectionate to a high degree. Upon the wliole,
it is much to be lamented that there has been so
much broad nmpialitled assertion as has been
displayecl in Hnriis's history; the virulence, in-
ileed, with which his memory has been treated
is hardly to be paralleled in the annals of liter-
ature. Wishing every success to the laudable
attempt of rescuing it from the indiscriminate
alni.se which has been heaped upon it,

" I 'emain, itc., A. l''iNi)i..\Ti:i{."

DR. CU ERIE'S DESCRIRTIOX OF IRHIXS.

KUOM ms BIOUlt.M'IlV OK THIO POKT.

" Burns was nearly live feet ten inches in height
and of a form that indicated agility as well as
•strength. His well-rai.seil forehead, shaded with
blacic curling hair, indicated exteii.sive capacity.
His eyes were large, dark, full of ardour and
intelligenco. His face was well formed ; and his
countenance uncommonly interesting and ex-
pressive. His mode of dressing, which was often
.slovenly, and a certain fulness and bend in his
shoulders, characteristic of his original profession,
disgui.sed in .some degree the natural symmetry
and elegance of his form. The external appear-
ance of Hums was most strikingly indicative of
the character of his mind. On a tir.st view his
lihysiognomy had a certain air of coarseness,
mingled, however, with an expression of deep
lienetratioii, and of calm thonghtfulness aji-
proaehing to melancholy. There appeared in
his first manner and address perfect ease and self-
possession, but a stem and almost supercilious
elevation, not indeed incompatible with openness
and affability, which, however, bes]ioke a mind
con.scious of .superior talents. Strangers that
.supposed themselves approachuig an Ayrshire

if -1 i

16.

APPENDIX TO UFE OF T.URNS.

peasant, wlio could make rhymes, and to whom
their iiotieo was an linnotir, found themselves
.siKOilily overawed by the [ireseueo of a man wlio
liore himself with dignity, and who possessed a
singular power of eon-ectinK' forwardness ami of
repelliii{,' intr\ision. I'.ut llioii;^h jealous of the
respect duo to himself, liunis never enforced it
where ho saw it was willin!,dy paid; and, though
inaeeessilile to the approaches of pride, ho was
open to every advance of kindness and of bene-
volence. His dark and liiiughty coinitenanee
easily relaxed into a look of good-will, of pity, or
of tenderness; and as the various emotions suc-
ceeded each other in his ndnd. assiuned with
e.jual ease the expression of the 1 roadest humour,
of the most extravagiUit mirth, of the ileepest
melancholy, or of the most sublime emotion. The
tones of hi.s voice happily corresponded with the
expression of his features, and with the feelings
of hi.s mind. When to these endowments are
added a rapid and distinct apprehension, a most
jiowerful understanding, and a ha]i|iy command
of language — of strength as well as brilliancy of
expression — wo sh.ill l)e able to account for the
extraordinary attractions of his conversation, for
the sorcery which, in social j)arties, he seemed
to exert on all around him. In the company of
Women this .sorcery was more especially apparent.
Their jjreseucc charmed the lirnd of mehuu holy
in his bo.soni, and awoke his happiest feeliniis;
it excited the powers of his fancy as well as the
ten<lerne.ss of his heart ; and, by restraining the
vehemence and the exidierauce of his language,
at times gave to his manners the impression of
taste, and even of elegance, which in the com-
pany of men they seldom i)osscssed. This in-
lluence wa; do\d)tless reciprocal. A Scottish
lady, acc'i'<omed to the best .society [.lane,
Duchess ot Ctordon], declai'ed, with characteristic
iidifefe, that no nuin's conversation ever 'carried
hei- so completelv off her feet ' as that i.f Ihirns:
and an Knglisii 'lady [.Mrs. Widtor Kiddell], fa-
miliarly aciiuainted with seveial of the most
distinguished characters of the present times,
assured the editor that, in the hajipiest of his
.social hours, there was a charm about IJurns
which .she had never seen eiiualled. This charm
arose not more from the power than the versa-
tility of his genius. No languor coidd be felt in
the society of a man who i)assed at pleasure from
grave to gay, from the hulici'ous to the j)athetic,
from the .^inii>le to the sublime ; who wielded all
his faculti.'s with enual strength and ease, and
never faileil to impress the offspring of his f.mcy
with the stamp of his understanding.

"This, indeed, is to reia-esent Jiurns in his
Iiajjpiest pha.sis. In large and nji.Ncd jiai'ties he
was often silurit and dai'k, sometimes liurce and
overbearing; he was jealous of the jiroud man's
scorn, jealous to an extreme of the insolence of
wealth, and prone to avenge, even on its innocent

posses.sor, tlic partiality of fortune. Ry naturo
kind, bnive, sincere, and in a singular digrce
compassionate, he was, on the othir hand, piuiul
irascible, ami vindiitive. I lis virtues an. I hj,,

failings hail their origin in the extrai

I'lUiiary

.sensiliility of his miiut, and eipially pMilimk of
the chills ;niil glows of sentiment. Ills tiiii,,!.
ships were lialOe to interrujition from jealousy
or disgust, anil his enmities died away uuiKr tliu
intluence of pity or self-accusation. His under-
stamling was eipial to the other pnwers uf his
mind, and his deliberate opinions v.'ere singulariv
canilid ami just ; but, like other men of great
and irreg'idar genius, the opinions which lie de-
livered in eonver>ation were often the ollVpriin;
of temporary feelings, .and widely dilleiviu from
the calm decisions of his judgment. This was
not merely true resjiecting the characters of
othei-s, but in regaril to some of the most iiiiiior-
taut points of human sjteculation.

"Kn no sidijeet did he t:ive a more striking
l)roof of the strength of his understanding tliun
in the currect estimate he forme<l of him>elf. Ilu
knew his own failings; he predicted their enn-
seipience; the melancholy forebiidiug was never
long absent from his mind; yet his pissions
carried him down the stream of error, and swept
him over the i)recipice he saw ilirectly in his
eourse. The fatal defect in his character lay in
the comp.irative weakness of his volition. . . .
The oecupatiims of a poet are not calculated to
strengthen the governing powers uf the mind,
or to Weaken that sensibility which rei|iiires
perpetual control, since it gives birth to the
vehemence of pa.ssion as well as to the higher
powers of imagination. Unfortunately, the fa-
vourite oc'.uiiations of genius are calculated to
increase all its peeidiarities ; to luau'ish that lofty
pride whieh ilisd.iins the littleness of prudence
and the restrictions of order; and by indulgence
to increase that sensibility, whieh, in the javsent
I form of our existence, is sealcely comp.itible with
I peace or hapiiiness, even when accompanied witli
the choicest {fifts of fortune."

KSTI.MATK OK liUKNSS (IlAllACTr.K,

KV .M.VKIA HIDDILI..

I'h>t published iu the Diniifrhn Journal,
rtli .\agust, 1700.

"The ."ittention of the public is much occupied
at {iresent with the irreparable lo.ss it has recently
sustained in the death of the Caledoniini poet
Robert Hums. It is not iiroljable that this
mournful event, whieli is likely to be felt .s(<verely
in the litei-ary wurld, as well as in the circle xif
private friendshi|i which .siuTounded him, >liall
fail to be .'ittended with ihe usual profusion of
posthumous anecdotes an<l memoirs that com-
monly spring up at the death of every rare and

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

IG2

iii^ By nature
:iii,_iiliir chu-rtu
■i'liainl,i,r,,ii,l,
irtiiL's aii.l lij,,
i'Xti'acir.lii„ii-y
'll.v \wu,„k „f

• His lliulnl.

fl'olU ji.:ilij\isy

IWiiy UIKki- till;

»• His iiiiili;!..
v.-L'i-o >in;;-iihiny

• IllLll (if j,lv„"t

wliifh lit' ilo-
fi tlir (ilt'>]iriiiL_-

ill'tiviit fi'diu

'lit. 'J'his Was

I'liiii-acttTs (if

lie iiuist iiiiiior-

nioro strikiiif,'

•st.-iiiiliii^' Ihiiii
'f liiiu.-tlf. Ilu
tt'il tliuir L'dii.
liii;,' was never
t his ji.issidiis
•i'(ir, and swejit
iliroctly in liis
liaraeter lay in
iilitidii. . . .
t caleulatcil to
' "f tile iiiiiid,
viiieli re(|uires
< l)ii't]i to the
to the liijiher
iiatcly, tlie fa-
; ealeulateil to
irish tliat lofty
;s of iinidence
liy iiidiilnvMcu
ill the jiivsent
Jiii|iatilile with
uiiiiaiiied with

IAI!ACTi:i{,

' Jonrnal,

inieli occiiiiicd
it has recently
ledonian jxiet
Mo that this
le felt severely
1 tlie eirele of
leil him, .-hall
1 ]irufusioii (if
irs that coni-
vury rare and

celohratcd iicrsonaKc. I sliall not ntten;i)t to
(.■nlist with th(j nvnnerous co:;is of liio^^rajihers
who may, without jxissessin^,' a kindred genius,
iirnifrate to themselves the iirivilci^e of eritieisill^v
the eharaeter and writiny-s of liurns. An ' in-
spirinu' mantle,' like that thrown over hiin liy
the tutelary muse who tlrst found iiini 'at the
iilou),di,' has been vouchsafed to few, and may
he tlie iiortion of fewer still ; and if it be true
that men e ,'enius have a claim, in their literary
caiiacities, to tlie lc,i,'al riglit of a liritisli citizen
in a court of justice that of ' heinf,' tried only
liv hi-i I'eers' (I lioriow here an cxjiression I have
fivi|ueii( • heard lUirns himself make use of), (iod
fdiliid I should assume the llatteriiij,' and iieculiar
[irivilcf^e of sittiii.L,' u]ioii his jury ! liut the in-
timacy of o\n' adiuaintance for several years ]iast
may [lerhaps justify my iireseiitiii},' to the jiulilic
a few of those ideas and ohservalioiis I have had
the oiiportunity of fonianL', and which, to the
day that closed for ever the scene of his iiainiy
(lualities and of his errors, I have never had the
smallest cause to deviate in or to recall.

" It will be all injustice done to iiiirns's reputa-
tion in the lecords of literature, not only as
respects future jrenerations and foivi^n countries
hut even with liis native Scotland and some of
his conteniiioraries, that he is j;:encrally talked
of and considered with reference to lii.s poetical
talents only. In rej^ardino; Uiu'iis as somethin;,'
more than a ]ioet it must not be supposed that I
consider that title as a trivial one- no person can
he more Jieuetrated with I he respect due to tlie
wreath bestowed by the .Mi.ses than niyself~-and
much certainly i.s due to the merit of a ^elf-tau.o;ht
hard, deiirived of the advnntaf^es of cl.is<ical
tuition and the intercotirse of eonffenial minds
till that period of life when his native tire had
.'ilrcad blazed forth in all its wild t^races of
genuine simplicity iind eneru'etie elociuence of
.sentiment. 15ut the fact is that, even when
all his honours are yielded to him, 15urns will
perhaps be found to move in a poetical sphere
less .sjilendid, less di<,mitied, and le.ss attractive,
even in hi.s own pastoral style, than some other
writers have done. Xevcrtliele.ss T liesitate not
to athrm -and in vindication of my opinion T
apjical to all who had the advanta<j;e of personal
acijuaintanee with him -that poetry was actually
not his/;i,/,. If othei-s liavo clinilied more suc-
cessfully the heif4:hts of I'arnassu.s none certainly
ever out.slione IJurns in the charms — the sorcery
I would almost call it— of fascinatiufjf conver-
sation; the spontaneous elocpicnce of social argu-
ment, or the unstudied poignancy of brilliant
repartee. His jiersonal endowments were per-
fectly corrcsjiondent with the (pialilications of
liis mind. His form was manly, his action
enc'gy it.self, devoid in a great measure, how-
ever, of those graces, of that polish ae(piired only
in the retinenient of societies where, in early life,

he iiad not the opportiuiity to mi.\ ; Imt where
- .such was the irresistible power of attraction
that encircled him, though his ap|iearance and
manner were always iieeuliiir, he never failed to
delight and to lyfd. Jlis figure cei'tainly bore
the authentic impress of his liirth and oiiginal
station ill life; it seemed moulded by nature for
the rough exercises of agriculttnv. rather than the
gentler cultivation of InlUn titlns. His features
were stamped with the hardy character of inde-
pendence and the firmness of > niscious though
not arrogant pre-eminence. J believe no man
was ever gifted witii a larger jiortion of the
rifididd VI.1 aithiii; the animated, exiiressions of
his countenance were almost peculiar to him-
self. The rapid lightnings of his ^ye were always
the harbingers of some tla.sh of genius, whether
they darted the liei'y glances of insulted and
indignant superiority, or beamed with the im-
passioned sentiment of fervent and impetuous
alfcctions. His voice alone could imjirdve ui)on
the magic of his eye : sonorous. I'djilete with the
finest niodnlations, it alternately cajitivateil tho
ear with the melody of poetic numbers, the jiers-
liieuity of nervous reasoning, or the ardent sallies
of enthusiastic jiatriotism.

" I am almost at a loss to say whether the keen-
ncs.s of .satire was tho./ioVc or the foible of iiurns:
for tlio\igh Nature liad endowed him with a
portion of the most pointed excellence in tiiat
' perilous gift,' he suffered it too often to be tho
vehicle of personal, anil sometimes unfomided
animosities. It was not always that sportivenes.s
of lumiour, that 'unwarj' ploas;intry' which
Sterne has described to us with touches so con-
ciliatory ; but the darts of ridicule were fre-
ipiently directed a.s tho caprice of the instant
suggesteil, or the altercations of parties or of
)iers(ins hapiieiied to kindle the restlessness of
his spirit into interest or aversion. This w.as not,
however, invariably tin? case; his wit (which in
no unusual matter indeed) hacl always the start
of his judgment, and would lead him to the
indulgence of raillerj' luiiformly acute, but often
unaccompanied with the oast desire to wound.
The .s\ippre.ssion of an arch and full-pointed Ion
VKit. from dread of injui-iug its object, the sage
of Zui'ich very properly classes as ' a virtue only
to be sought for in the Calen(h'ir of Saints ;' if so,
Burns niii.st not be dealt with luiconscientiou.sly
for being rather delicicnt in it. He jiaid the
forfeit of his talents as dearly as any one could
do. 'Twas no extravagant arithmetic to say of
him (as of Yorick), 'that for every ten jokes he
got a hundred enemies;' but much allowance
should be made by a candid mine i for the splenetic
warmth of a spirit ' w hich distress had often
spited with the world,' and which, unbounded
in its intcllectu.al sallies and pursuits, continually
experienced the curbs inipo.scd l>y the wayward-
ness of his fortune. His soul was never languid

1G4

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

or inactive ami liis k<-'"'>''' ^^'i-"* cxtiiitiuishcd only
witii tlio last sjiark.s of rutmiliiiK' iifo; l»it tlio
vivacity of his wishes ami tciiipLi' was ciiociiuil
liy constant ilisni>|M)iiitiiK'iits whicli sat licavy on
a heart tiiat ai'iiiiowlud-oil tliu niliiiK passion of
incIu|u'nilLiif(.', without having- ever been phieeil
lieyoml tile ^;vn>\> of penury.

" liui'us [lossessed none (if that negative insipid-
ityof eliaracterwliose love niiylit bo regarded with
inililFerence, or whose resentment could bo con-
sidered with contempt ; so his passions rendered
him according as they disclosed themselves in
alfection or antipathy the > I'ject of enthusiastic
attachment or of decideil enmity. In this respect
the temper of his comp.'iiiions .seemed to take the
tincture from his own; for /«■ acknowledged in
the miiver.so but two classes of objects — tho.se of
adoration the most fervent, or of aversion the
most uncontrollable. It has, indeed, been fre-
(piently as.-ertid of him, that, unsusceptible of
indilference an<l often hating wliere ho ought to
have despiseil, he alternately ojicned his heart
and iMiured forth the treasiu'es of ins umie.
standing to some who were incapable of appre-
ciating the homage; ai.d elevated to the privilege
of adversaiies those who were uni|ualitied in all
respects for the honour of a contest .so distiii-
giii.shed.

"It is said that the celeliratcd Dr. Johnson
professed to ' love a good hater: ' a temperament
that had singidarly adapted him to cherish a
prepos.session in favour of oiw b.ird, who ])erhaps
fell but little short even of the surly doctor in
this qualilication, so long as his ill-will contimied ;
but the fei-vour of his passions was fortunately
corrected by their vers.itility. He was seldom,
never indeed, implacable in his resentments, and
sometimes (it has been alleged) not inviolably
steady in his engagements of friendship. Much
indeed has been said of his inconstancy and
caprice; b>it I am inclined to believe they
originated less in a levity of sentiment, than
from an extreme impctuo.sity of feeling which
rendered him prompt to take umbrage ; and his
sen.sations of piipic, where ho fancied ho had
discovered the traces of unkindncss, scorn, or
neglect, took their inea.surc of asjierity from the
overflowings of the opjiosito sentiment which pre-
ceded them, and which seldom failed to regain
its ascendency in his bosom on the return of
calmer reflection. He was candiil and manly in
the avowal of his errors, and /i/.v aramtl was a
fefmratinii. His native .^T/e never forsaking him
for a moment, the value of a frank acknowledg-
ment was enhanced tenfold towards a generous
mind, from its never being attended with .servility.
His mind, organized only fur the stronger and
more acute operation of the p.issions, was im-
practieablo to the efforts of superciliou.sness that
would have depressed it into humility, and
ciiually superior to the eucroachincnts of venal

suggestions that might have led him jntd tin,
mazes of hypoeri.sy.

" It has been observed that he was {m- frum
averse to the iiuen.so of flattery, and could |•^;.
ceive it tempereil with less delicacy than uiinlit
have been expecteil, as he scMom tran.-L'icsscil
extravagantly in that way him.self; where ho
l>aid a compliment it might indueil iliiim tliu
power of intiixicalion, as approliation from him
was always an honest tribute from the warmlli
ai.a sincerity of his heart. It has been somciiin, s
represented by those who, it would seem, hml i\
view to dei>reciate, though they could imt lioii,.
wholly to ob.scmv, that native brilli.mcy wlmli
this extraordinary man had invariably bestowcil
on everything that came from his lips or jflm,
that the history of the Ayrshire pluughboy was
an ingenious lictinn, fabricated for the iPurpos(.»
of obt.iining the interests of the great, and
enhancing the merits of what in re;dity rei|iiirt,l
no f(>il. Hut had his compositions fallen huw
a. 'land more dignilied in the ranks of society
than that of a Jieasant, they ha<l Jicrhiips lie-
stowed as miusiial a grace thcn^, as even in the
hund)ler shade of rustic insjtiration from wlicncu
they really sprving.

" 'J'hat Hnrns had received no classical cducii-
tion, and was ac(|uainteil with the (Jrcck and
Homan authors only through the medium of tnuis-
lations, is a fact that can be indisputably inovcn.
I have seldom seen him at a loss in conversation,
unless where the dead languages and their writers
were the subjects of discussion. AVhen I have
pressed him to tell nio why he never took pains to
ac.|uire the Latin in particular (a language which
his happy memory had .sosoon enableil him to he
mastei- of), he used only to reply, witii a smile,
that he already knew all the Latin he desired to
learn, and that was (imiila riiicit aninf; a phra.sc
that, from his writings and most favourite ]iiu-
suits, it .shoidd inidoubtedly seem he was nio<t
thoroughly versed in ; but I really believe hi-.
cla.ssical enidition extended little, if any, further.

" The i>cnchant uniformly acknowledged hy
Burns for the festive jjleasures of the table, ami
towarcls the fairer and softer objects of Nature's
creation, has been the rallying-jioint where the
attacks of his censors, both religious and nunal,
have lx:en directed ; and to these, it nuist be con-
fessed, ho showed himself no stoic. His jioeticMl
pieces blend, with alternate h.'ippine.ss of de.-;iiiii-
tion, the frolic sjpirit of the joy-inspiring bowl, i,r
melt the heart to the tender and impassioiud
sentiments in wdiich beauty always taught liiin
to pour forth his own. 15ut who would wi.sh to
reprove the failings he has consecrated with such
lively touches of nature • And where is the
rugged moralist who will pei-suade us so far to
' chill tho genial current of the soul ' as to
regret that Ovid ever celebrated his Clorinna or
that Anacreon sung beneath liia vine •

I liiiii inti) tlio

D was far ff,,,,,

ii^^y tliaii iiii^lit
111 traii>t.'-i'L.ss(.(l
i^lf; wlici'u ho

tt-'il claiiii tliu
itiiiii fi-diii liiiu

Ml ihu Wiiniiili

llfCll H(JI1I( lllil, s

llil SL'uiii, liail a

I.'DUM I Kit ll,,|i,,

illi.iiicy wliuli
•ialily Iii'slowtd
lis lips (II- |„,,|,

I'loll^lilKiy Was
II' tllo |illl'|lOs(..s

lie n'lvat, niiil
vality I'l'iiniri,!
Ills fallen fn.m
inks of sdcirty
III ))<'ilia|is lie-
is even ill tlio
111 fi'DIU wlitiicc

claasica! eilnca-
the (Jivek and
icdiuiu of trans-
Hitalily lu-ovfij.

II coiivi'i-salion.
ml tiioir writers

AVI It'll I liavo
ur took ]iains til
l;iiii;'iafi:o whicli
iblc'il him t(i lie
^ witli a smile,
11 he (lesii'LiI to
mil))-; a lilil'asu

favdurild ]imi'-
n ho was iiuKt
illy believe lii>
if any, further.
:no\vlL(lged by

tlio table, and
cts of Nature's
oiiit where the
aiiK and iiKnal,
it must lie eon-
. His iiDetical
lioss of desei'lp-
))ii'ini,'' liiiul, 1,1'
il impassioned
ys taii^;lil him
would wish to
atcd with sueli

where is the
Ic us so far to
D soul ' as to
his C'ol'inna ei'

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

1G5

" 1 will not, however, undertake to ho tlio
apdliiyist of the irregularities even <if a man of
irc'iiiiis, tli(iiiH:li I believe it is as eertaiiily under-
Htoiid that ^^eiiiiis never »'((,< free of irregularities,
,is tlial their absolution may in ifi'eat measure bu
justiV elainiod, sinee it is evident that the world
niiisl have eoiitiniied very stationary in its intel-
luetual iiecpnreineiits hail il never ;4iven birth to
anv but ipeii of plain sense. Kveniiess of eonduct
and a clue re^iai'd to the ileeoriims of the world
have been so rarely seen to move hand in hand
wit II ;reiiiii ;, that some have ^diie so far as to say
(tlioimh there I eaiiliot wholly aciptiesee) that
tliev Mi'e even ineomp.ililile ; but, be it reniem-
iK'i'ed, the frailties that east their shade over the
spliiidoiir of superior merit are iiioic eonspieu-
oiislv ^clariii;; than where they are the atteiulaiits
of mere niedioerity. It is only on the (,'cni we are
disturbed to see theiliist; thopebbk' may be soiled
and we do not regard it. The eeeeiitrie intuitions
of f^'eiiius tlio often yield tho soul to the wild
elVerveseeiice of desires, always unbounded, and
Moiiietimes enually dalin'.'rons to the rcpo.so of
others as fatal to its own. No wonder then if
Virtue lu'i'SL'lf lie .sometimes lost in the blaze of
kiiidliii;^' aniniation, or that the ealni admonitions
of rea.son are not found .sullieieiit to fetter an
ima.;ination whieh seoriis the narrow limits and
restrietioiis that would eliain it to the level of
ordinary minds. IJurns, the eliild of nature and
sensibility, uubroko to the refri^^erative iirecejits
of philosophy, makes his own artless apology in
terms more foreiblo than all the ai'LTumentivtory
viodieations in the world eould do. This appears
in one of his jioeins, where ho tleliiieates, with
his usual simplieity, the pi'oi,'ress of his mind,
and its i;radiial exjiansion to the lessons of the
tutelary .Mii.se: -

I Kiiw tliy pulse's iiKiilil'nin^' pliiy
Willi somi tlu't) I'leisure'H (lt'viu'..j way;
Misli'.l liy Fumy's im'tcnr r.iy,

lly piuisiuii ili'ivoii;
liut yut the light tliiit IliI astniy

Wu.s liglit from lieavcii!

" I have already tran.sirresse<l far beyond the
hounds I had j)i'oposed to niy.self on tirst eom-
niittinjf to paper this sketeh, w hieh eoiuprehends
what I at least have been led to deem the leading
features of Iturns's iiiiiid and eharaeter. A
criti(pie, either literary or moral, I cannot aim
at; mine is wholly fullilled if in these jianigraphs
I have been able to delineate any of tho.se strong
traits that distinguished him, of those talents
whieh rai.sed him from tho plough — where he
passed the bleak morning of his li.e, weaving his
rude wreaths of poesy with the wild tield-liowers
that sprung around his cottage — to that enviable
eiiiineiiee of literary fame, where Scotland shall
long cherish his memory with delight and grati-
tude. Proudly she will rememlier that beneath
lior cold sky a genius was ripened without care
vol.. I.

or culture, that would have done honour to
climes more favourable to tho development of
lho.se luxuriances of fancy and colouring in which
he .so eminently exci lied.

" l''rom several p.iragraphs I hiivo noticed in tlio
public prints, even since the idea was formed of
sending this humblu elVorl in the same direction,
I liiid private animosities have not yet sulisided,
and that envy has not yet exhausted all her
shafts. I still trust, however, that honest fame
will be permanently allixed to lUirns's character
— a fame which the eaiidiil and impartial of his
own eounlrymen, and his readers everywhere,
will lind he hasmeriud. And wherever a kin-
dred bosom is found that has been taught to
glow with the tires that animated liurns, .should
a recolkclion of the imprudences that sullied his
brighter iiualilications interpose, let such an one
remember the imiierfeetion of all human excel-
lence, let him leave those inconsisteneies whicli
alternately exalted his nature into the seraph,
and sunk it again into the man, to the 'J'ribiinal
which alone can inve>ligate the labyrinths of tho
human heart.

Nil furtlicr seok liis nirrits to digclose,
111' ilnw his friiillii'H fnun tlifir dieiicl iilmile;

Tlii'iu tlii'y iilike in tn'iiililiii;{ Impe rfimsi' -
Thu busuui uf hi.s l-'atlK-r iiml liin liud.

" .M. It."

BIOGRAPHIC NOTKS ON THE FAMILY
OF BURNS,

AM) OX HIS lillOTlIEHS AND SISTEUS.

At the time of Uurr .'s death his children wero
as f(jllows; — Robert, born at -Mauchline, 3(1 Sept.
1780; Francis Wallace, born at EllLsland, l8tli
August, IJt^'J; William Nicol, born at Dumfries,
ittl April U'.'l; James (ilencairn, born l'2th
August, 1794. Another .son. Maxwell, was born
on the day of tho poet's funeral, '2Mi July, 17l"i.

Riilil'MtT received a good education at the aca-
demy of Dumfries; spent three sessions at tlieUni-
versity of Edinburgh and Glasgow; and in 1.^0]
obtained a situation in the stamp-otiice, Somerset
House, London, where ho remained till lSii:i,
when he retired on a small annuity, and took up
his residence at Dumfries. When twenty-two
years of age he married Ann Sherwood, and the
only child of the marriage who came to maturity
was Eliza, born in 1812, who married a surgeon
in tho East India Company's service in ls;j4.
Both in London and in Dumfries Robert was in
tho practice' of teaching the classics and mathe-
matics; he also wrote verses of a very mediocre
(luality. Like his father ho was the po.sses.sor of
warm passions, and was deticient in "prudent,
cautious self-control." He died 14th -May, 1857,
and was buried in the mausoleum at Dumfries.

FiiANcis Wallack, a boy of uncommon viva-
city, died 9tli July, 1803, at tho age of fourteen,

■ \i

160

APPENDIX TO TJFE OF liriJNS.

mill wn« flrMt buriofl in tlioHnmll inclosiiro wlicri-
till' jMiut was oriffiniilly iiiterrud, iiiid tiimlly liiid
in till' niMusolonni in islft.

Wii.l.iA.M Niriii, Hiiilud iit tlio iijro of fifk'on to
tliu K;ist IndioH iiH II niidHlii|itnun, and was a|i-
l.()intod to a I'lidutsliiii in ISll. Ilo wurvud for
tliirty-threo yciii-M in tiie "tli .Madnis Infantry,
rotirin>< in 1S4.- witli the rank of licuteniint-
uolonel. wlion h took uj) Inn FL'siilunco at Clii'l-
tcnliani. In l.'"2'J lio niarrii'd Catlicrino A. ( 'rime,
whcMJiod in isllJuaviiiK no issiio. HoinK only
tivu yuars of iij,'u at tiio tiino of iiis fatlioi-'Hilcatii,
his rui'olluctions of liini wort" neix'ssarily shuiit.
Ho rfMit'nil)ofud his taking' him to sciiool, ami
his wnlkin^f aliout thtirooiii with him in his arms
dnriii^r iiiirht to ^ooflio him in somo I'liiMish ill-
ness. In Aii(,'iist, 1.S4 1, he was ]iresent, iiloiii,' with
his brothers IJoUert and James, his aniu, the
poet's Hister, Mrs. He^'j,', and various other rela-
tives, at the ^'reat festival on the hanks of tin-
Doon, or^'ani/.ed with the doiiMe ohjeet of doin^r
honour to the memory of the jioet, and of wel-
eomiii); hi'< f'ons baek to the land whieh their
father's jfenins had eon.seeratod, after their lon^'
ab.senee in the East. In IS;")!) he took jjart in the
centenary celebration at Dumfries. He died at
Cheltenham, '21st February, 1S7"J, in his eifrhty-
second year, and was buried in the mausoleum
at Dtimfries.

J.VMivS (ii.KXCAiHN was educated at Dumfries
.Vcademy and at t'hrist's Hospital, London. In
1811 he received a cadetship in the service of the
I'^ast India (.'onipany, and sailed for Caloitta in
June of that year, where he joined the ir)th J5en-
>,'al Native Infantry. In 1S17, hy which time he
had attained the rank of lieutenant, he was ap-
pointed by the Mariiuis of Hastings, then (iover-
nor-gencral of India, to an important po.st in the
conwnissariat ilei)artment. His first care after his
proniotionand coiisci|uent prosperity was to settle
an allowance on his mother, whieh enabled her
to resign the pen.sion generously granted to her
by JIaule of I'anmure. He married a Miss Sarah
Robinson in 1S18, who dierl in 1821, leaving three
children, one of whom, Sarah, who wa.s brought up
by the poet's widow, reached maturity and was
m irriel in 1847 to Dr. Berkeley W. Hutchinson,
a n.^tive of Gal way . In 1 828, J.inies, now Captain
Hums, married Mary Beckett, with whom in 1831
ho revisited his native country. In 1833, soon
after his return to India, ho was ajjpointed by
Lord Metcalfe judge and collector of Cachar. He
held this post till 1839, when ho retired from
active service and returned to England, with the
rank of major. His second wife died in 1844,
leaving an only daughter, and soon after he took
up his residence with his brother at Cheltenham.
In 1 S55 he obtained the brevet rank of lieutenant-
colonel. His natural abilities and amiability of
character made liim a great favourite in society,
where his musical accomplishments wore highly

np)ire('iated. He ilieil at Cheltenham, IHtii \ov.
\MU, friim the elfects of an accidental fall <|i>\vii
a (light of stairs, and was buried in the niniisd.
leum beside his illustrious father.

MA.\Wi:i.t., the child which was borii on tin.
day of his father's funeral, only Hiirvived till •>.',\\i
.\pril, I7'.i'.i. Ilis reiiiiiins also lie in the hmmsh.
leum.

"The only dependence of .Mrs. Hums aftci'lici-
husband's death was on an amniity of ten |mimiii|<,
arising from a benetit society eomurti'il with tlic
exci.so, the books and other movalil'' ]ii'ci|iiitv
left to her, and the generosity of the puMic.
.V public subscription, which was iiiniieiliiitelv
started, produced seven hundred )iounil-; and llio
works of the | jt, as edited for behn.if nf ilu.
widow and fani.ly by Dr. Curri(!, soon lnuiiglit
nearly two thousand more. .Mi's. Burns was
thus enabled to sujiport anil educate her f.'iiiiiiy
in a manner creditable to the memory of her
hiisKinil. She continue<| to ri'side in the hmisu
which had l)een occupied by her husb.ind and
herself, and

iievir <'1iaiii,'i'il, ii'ir wislicil to chnii),'i', lirr |p!iup.

I'or many years after her sons had left her to
imrsuo their fortunes in the world, she lived in
a decent and respectable maimer on an inconic
which never amounted to more than f'l'' per
.•mnum, exclusive of house rent, which aiiMniiitcd
to i'S. At length, in 1S17, at a festiv.il held in
Edinburgh to celebrate the birthday of the bard,
.Mr. Henry (afterwards Lord! Cockburn acting
as jiresident, it was proposed by .Mr. .Maule of
I'anmure (afterwards Lord I'anmure) that some
permanent addition should be made to tin; in-
eomo of the ])oet's widow. 'J'ho iilea apjieaivd to
1)0 favourably reeeiveil. but the siibscription did
not till rapidly. .Mr. .Maule then .said that the
burden of the provision should fall u])on himself,
and immediately executed a bond eiiiluir.^- .M'v.
liurns to an annuity of tTiC as long as she livcil.
This act, together with the generositj" of the
same gentleman to Nathaniel Cowinhis latter
and evil days, nuist ever endear the name of
Lord Panmure to all who feel warmly on the sub-
jects of Scottish poetry and Scottish music.

" Mr. Maule's pension had not been enjoyed by
the widow more than a year and a half when her
youngest son James iittained the rank of a ca|i-
tain with a situation in the commissariat, and.
as stated above, was tliUK enabled to relieve her
from the necessity of Ixjing beholden to a stranger's
hand for any share of her support. She accord-
ingly resigned the |)ension. During her subsu-
ipicnt years Mrs. Burns is .said to haA'o enjoyeil an
income of about two hundred a year, L'reat jiart
of which, as not needed by her, she di.s])enscd in
charities. Her whole conduct in widowhood was
such as to secure universal esteem in the town
where she resided. She died, March 2i'>, IS'il,

iliiim, isth \,iv.
iL'iital f.ill iliiwii

I i'l tllc IJi;iiiS(i.

iiM liiirii (111 tlif
irvivud till ;;,•,( 1 1

-' ill tlio iiiaiiso-
Hums after ||,.|.

V <lf till iMJllUils,

iicitfd with til,.

IVIllii.' lil-ii|„ity

"f till' piiMio.
M-t iiiiiiH'iliiitvIy
"iiiiwl-: iiiiil tlif

• I'L'llcof of tllu

!, soon lii(iMj;lif
ll-s. Hums wiis
nito lior f.iiiiily
iiumory I if liei-
io in till! Iniiisu

V luisllMUd illlil

ij,'!', liir pliii'p.

lild li'ft 111!' til
d, sliu lived ill
• on ail iiicoiiie

than ftiii |ier
•liicliainouiitecl
I'stival held in
ay of tliu )iari|,
)t'i<l)uni actiiij,'
' .Mr. Maule of
uro) tliat some
inilo to tlie iii-
ea a)i|iL'aivd to
lliserijitioii did
1 said that the
I tllioil liiliiself,

omii,!;;;^ M>s.
p: ns she hved.
erosity of tlie
iw ill liis latter
r tlio name of
Illy on the siih-
isli music,
jen enjoyed hy

half when her
rank of a ea])-
ni.ssariat, and.

to relieve her
1 to a. stranger's
She accord-
ing' lier subse-
ave enjoyed an
;ar, L'rcat jiart
le dispensed in
ndowhood was
a in the town
arch -ICk ls;i4,

Hl.»*-k»f 4 S.jr. Lun.ioi». sjUsfiuw \ K:ir-SL:sr

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

107

in the- sixty-eighth year of her iigo, and was
burii-'il ht'si(le her ilhistrious liusbaml in the niau-
soliuia at jlnnifric's.' The deccasLMl was born at
Jhiiicliline in February, 17<i7. Her father was
an imhistrious master niasoi; in good etniiloy-
nifut, wlio enjoyed the esteem of the gentry
and others within the <listriet, and reared the
numerous family of eleven s(;iis and daughters,
'i'lie term of Mrs. Ihirns's widowhood extended
to thirty -eight years, in itself rather an mi-
usua) eircunistanco — and in July, 171>'>, when
the bereavement oecurred, she was but little
licvonil the age at whieh the majority of females
niarrv." l>ut .she had too nuieh respect for the
nieiiKiry of her hu.sband and regard for his chil-
ilreii to think of elianging her name, although
she might have done so more than once with ad-
vantage; and was even careful to secure on lease
and rejtair and embellish, as soon as she could
afford it, the decent though modest mansion in
whieh he died. And here, for more than thirty
years, she "vas visited by thousands on thousands
of strangers, from the peer down to itinerant
.-ionneteers — a class of persons to whom she never
refused an audience or dismissed unrewarded.
Occasionally during the .summer months she was
a good deal annoyed; but .she bore all in patience,
and although naturally fond of (juiet, seemeil to
consider her house as o[)en to vi.sitors, and its
nii.stress, in .some degree, tho property of the
]i\ililic. Hers was one of those well-balanced
minds that cling instinctively to propriety and
a medium in all things; and such as knew the
decea.sed, earliest and latest, were uucon.scious of
any change in her demeanour and habits, ex-
cepting, perhaps, greater attention to dre.ss and
more refinement of manner, insensibly ac(Hiired

I Till' linusflKiUI flTV-cts iif ^^\:. lliiniit wiTc sold by imlilic
aticth'ii nil tlu* loth ami llth of .April, and fruin tlie iiiixii-ty
of the pulilii' to piisstiss rrlics of tlii» iuturistin^ liousilicilil,
lirniiKht inu'oininonly l»i;;!i wnnii*. .AfcmdiiiK to tlic Duni/rits
l'itttru'.i\ "tlif am-tiuneti romnienceti witli Kiimll artich's, anil
when 1h> canu- to a brnkon c ippcr cciflec-pot, tliere wvrc so
many liiildei'H that the price paiil cxci'fiicd twcnty-foltl thu
intrinsic valnc. .\ tca-kcttlu of the same metal succeeded,
:nid rc.iclied ti sterlint;. Of the linens, a tahle-cloth, marked
17!!-, which, speakiDg commercially, may have hcen worth
lialfa-cniwn or five shillings, was knocknl down lit 4,1, 7».
.Muny other artieleii comnninde<l handsome jirices, and the
cliler and plainer the furniture the lutter it sold. The rusty
iiiui toil of a shower-bath, which Mrs. Ilunlop of Hunlop sent
to the poet when afflicted with rheumatism, was tiouKht by a
Carlisle gentleman for lEI , s«.; and a low wooden kitchen chair,
on which the late Mrs. Hums sat when nursinx her children,
wa,s run n\i to f:l, 7«. The crystal and china were much
coveted, and brouKht, in most cases, splendid prices. Kvcn an
old fcnilcr reached n figure which would go far to buy half a
ilnzen new ones, anil everything, towards the close, attracted
notice, diiun to gmybcMrds, bottles, and a half-wom pair of
liillows. The poet's eight-day clock, nnide by a JIa\ichline
artist, attracted great attention, from the circumstance that
it had frequently been wound up by his own hand. In a few
seconds it was bid n|i to fifteen pounds or guineas, and was
tiually ilisposcd of for £;|»."

- In the jiresent work a iKirtrait is given of Mrs. Hums in
.iilvaiiccd life, nUnig with that of her grandchild, a son of
Colonel .lames (ilencairn Hums.

by frciiuent intercourse with families of the first
respectability. In her tastes .she was frugal,
.simiile, anil pure; and delighted in mu.sic, pic-
tures, and tl.iwors. !n spring and summer it was
imiMis.siblc to pass b.er windows without being
struck with the bejiuty of the Horal trea.sures
they contained; and if extravagant in anything
it was in the article of roots tind plants of tlio
linest sorts. Fond of the society of young people,
she mingled as long as aUe in their imioeent
pleasures, and cheerfully tilled for them the cup
'which cheers but not inebriates.' She wa.s a
clever woman, po.ssessed great .shrewdness, dis-
criminated character admirably, and frequently
nbade very pithy remarks.

" When young .she must have been a handsome
comely woman, if not indeed a beautj', when the
poet .saw her for the first time on a bleach-green
at Mauchline, engaged like Peggy and Jenny at
Habbie's Howe. Her limbs were ca.st in the finest
mould; and up to middle life her jet-black eyes
were clear and sjiarkling, her carriage easy, and
her step light. Slie moved with great grace on
the fioor, and chantcil her ' wooil-notes wild ' in
a style but rarely ccjualled by unin-ofessional
singers. Her voice was a brilliant treble, and
in singing 'Coolen,' 'I gaed a waefu' gate yes-
treen,' and other songs, she rose without effort
as high as IJ nattiral [equivalent +o A of the pre-
sent scale]. In ballad poetry her taste was good,
and range of reading rather exten.sive. Her
memory, too, w;.s strong, and .she could (piote,
when she chose, at considerable length, and with
great ajititude. 0^ these powers the bard was so
well aware that ho read to her almost every piece
ho conipo.scd, and was not ashamed to own that
ho had profited by her judgment. In fact, none
.save relations, neighbours, and friends could
form a, proper estimate of the character of Jlrs.
I5urns. In the i>resenco of strangers she was shy
and .silent, and required to be drawn out, or, as
some wotild say, showu off to advantage, by per-
sons who possessed her confidence and knew her
intimately. "»

Burns left two illegitimate children, Elizabeth,
daughter of Elizabeth Paton, born in 1781, and
brought up at Mossgiel by Gilbert Burns and his
mother; and Elizabeth, daughter of Anne Park,
a niece of .Mrs. Hyslop, hostess of the Globe Iim
at Dumfries, born in 1701, and imrsed and brought
up by Mrs. Burns along with her own family. ••
For tlie benefit of these two girls a fund wjis
jirovided, chiefly through tho exertions of Mr.
Alderman Shaw of Loi: Ion, an Ayrshire gentle-
man. Tho sum of i'400 was laid aside, one moiety
jiayable to each on marriage or on attaining the
ago of twenty-one; and in the event of cither of

" .\bridge(l and slightly modified from an article in tho
Dunifiiea Courifr. published immediately utter her death,
and no doubt written by tin' editor .Mr. .M'Diarmid.

i See note to Bong, " Vestrceu 1 had u pint o' wine."

1C8

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

thoiii dying' uiulcT these periods, the moiety due
ti> her wiis to go to tlie survivor. The duiit,diter
of Elizabeth rutou manieil John Bishop, inaim-
trer at Polkeniniet, in Linli hyowshire. 81ie died
in 1S17, at the u^a of tliirty-two, leaving several
children, and was buried at Whitburn. Anne
I'ark's daughter lieeanie the wife of John Thom-
son, a retired soldier, and .settled down at Follok-
shaws, near tllasji:o\v, where she died Kith .lune,
Jf^l'.i, agetl eighty-lwo years. She had a family
of two sons and three dauglitei's.

Mr. Gilbert Burns, the early companion and
at all times the stea<lfast friend of the poet, con-
tinued to be farmer of Mossgiel till Whitsunday,
171'?', when he removed to the farm of Dinning,
on the estate of .Mr. Menteith of Closeburn, in
Xithsdale. On 21st June, I'll], he had married
Miss Jean Breckem-idge, by whom he had six
sons and live daughters, lie continued to hold
the farm of Dinning till ISIO, but in 1801I he took
charge of .Mr.s. Dunlop's farm of Morham .Mains,
near Haddington, and on her recommendation
was in 1804 appointed factor to Loid lilantyre
liver his Kasi Lothian estates, his emoluments
being £100, afterwards rai.sed to.t'140, and a free
hou.sc. He accordinyly took up his residence ut
(irant's Braes, near Lethington or Ijcnnoxlove,
leaving Dinning in ciiarge of his brother-in-law
John liegg, and carrying with him his aged
mother and his sister Amiabella. His conduct in
this capacity, during nearly a (juarter of a cen-
tury, was marked by great tidelily and prudence,
and gave the most perfect satisfaction to his
titled enii)loyer. His mother continued to reside
with him till her death in IS'JO, in the eighty-
eighth year of her aye anil the thirty -sixth of her
widowhood. She lies buried in Bolton church-
yard. Gilbert Burns was invited by the iiub-
lishei-s of Currie's edition of the |>oet'H works to
superinteiiil and improve as much as possil)le a
new edition, which a)ipeare., in LViO, and for
which ho received £'2^A). This enabled him to
l)ay olf the flSO lent him by the ])oet in 17SS.
This excellent man died at Grant's Braes, Sth
Nov. 1S27, aged sixty-.seven years, ,ind was buried
in Bolton churchyard, where also rest, besides his
mother, his .sister Ann abella, and five of his chil-
dren wiio I'l ideceased him. One of his sons
.succeeded Inui in the facloi-ship.

A(;xi:s Bi'hns, the ])oet's eldest sister, mar.-ied
William Gait, a farm .servant on Gilbert's farm
of Dinning. He afterwards became lan<l-stoward
on a gentlenii'in's estate in the nortli of Irelaiul,
where the poet's sister died in 1834, leaving no
family.

AxN.\ni:LLA ]<riiNS was never mam'ed, but
continued to live with her mother in the house of
her brother (iilbcrt. She died in March, 18:5'J,
aged sixty-eight years, and was buried in Bolton
churchyard.

WiLLlAJt BtniNS was boru in 1767, and .served

his apprenticeship as a saddler. About tiie vml
of USS he was with Burns at EUisiaml for some
weeks unenn^oyed. He then cro.s.sed the liurdur
into Kngland, and wrought for some time in
Longtoun and Xewcastie-on-Tyiie, ultinuitely
proceeding to London about the begiuiniig df
March, 17!'0. A short series of interesting letters
between him ami the poet belong to this peiiml.
In London he renewed his aeijuaintance witli his
old preceptor Mtirdoeh, who at this time kip: a
st.itionery shop near Bloonisbury .Sijuare. Tiiev
had had but one meeting, however, when Williai'u
was seized with a niidignant fever, and died on
24th July, 171'0, before iMurdoch was apprised of
his illness. He was buried in St. Paul's ehiiieh-
yard, Murdoch acting as chief mourner.

John Bl KNS, the poet's youngest brotiiei-,
born in 17(i'.l, who is incidentally mentioned in
(iilbert's account of the composition of the
'•Death and Dying Words of Poor Mailie," iip.
pears to h.ive died in 17^3 and to have been
buried at Kirk AUoway.

I.SAUia.l.A BlUN.s, the youngest of the family,
was born 27th June, 1771, and married 171''i, to
John Begg, who afterwards, from 1M)4 tol8lo. luul
charge of (iilbert's farm of Di-" ing. When that
farm was given up Mr. Begg became laud-stew-
ard on the estate of Blackwood, in the p,ui>li of
Lesmidiagow, Lanark>hire. He was aecideiitully
killed by a fall from his hor.se, 24tli April, l,si:j.
His widow, who hiul borne him nine children,
managed foi' many years to giun a livelihood by
teaching. She lived first at Ormiston and then
;it Tranent in East Lothian, removing in ISlo to
Bridge House, near Ayr, where she died on Itli
Decendier, lsr)>^, and was buried in her father's
grave at Kirk AUoway.

EXHUMATION OF THE POET.

FltOM TIIK DlMKIilKS CdlHII.K.

"It is generally ktiown (says Mr. M'Diartiiiil)
that the remains ef Burns were exhumed pri-
vately on the 10th September, 18ir>, and de|ios-
ited, with every regard to decency, in the iUelied
vatdt attached to the mausoleum, then m'wly
erected in honour of his memory. . . . Origi-
nally his ashes lay in the north coiner of the
churchj'ard; and as years ela|i.sed before any
genend movement was made, liis widow, with
]>iou" are, ni;>rked the n]»)t by a modest monu-
ment. theex)iense of which she willingly defrayed
out of her own slender means. In the first in-
stance, attempts wore made to enlarge the
church-yard wall, and thus avert the necessity
of a ceremony, in the higlicst degree revolting to
the feelings of .Mrs. Btn-ns; but the spot was so
narrow, and interfered so closely with the ]iro-
j)erty of others, that the idea was aliandoned as
utterly impracticable. On the daj', therefore.

Alioiit tlio tiid
sliiiid for s(iine
<so(l tliu liijiiler

soiuo tiiin; in
iiu, ultiiMiitLly
u bcgiiiiiiui,' of
uivstiiiL;- IfttL'i'.s

to this |ario(l.
iitancu wiih liis
lii.s tiiiio liipr a
8(juaro. Tliuy
•, wliuu NVilliain
r, iiiul iliud on
was ainuiscil of

I'aul's clinrcli-
mnici'.

iiif^cst lirotliL'i-,
y iiic'iitioiifil in
)o.«itioii of tlio
>or Mailiu," n]i-
. to liavu htt'U

t of till,' family,

iiarriud 17'.'-!, to

.{jO-ltulMll.iiail

nj^. Wlu'li tliat

•aiiii; lanci-.stcw-

iii tliu jiari^li of

vas aci-idi'iitally

4tli April, IMIJ.

I iiiiio cliililrun,

11 livulilioo 1 by

iiiston ami tliuii

iviiio- in LS-i:') to

111' clifd on Itli

in ln.-r falliir's

E I'OET.

Hllll.H.

Mr. M-I)iai-mi(l>
o t'xluinioil iiri-
81 "i, and dfjios-
y, in tlie arclRil
mi, thun iii'wly
y. . . . OriiO-
ll COiTltT of tlio
isc'd lit'foro any
lis widow, witli
a niodost iiionu-
iUinoly (Itfl'ayiii

111 the first in-
to ciilar^ju tilt'
rt tho iicec-ssity
,'rci! revoltiiifr to

the spot was so
y with the pro-
as aliimhined as

day, therefore,

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

IGi)

ecdinjj the vault was opened hy Mr. C'roniliio— a
work' of consideral)le (litlieulty aii.l lalionr- and
the keys of tho inausoleuni, wliieh is j^iiarded
round and round with hinh iroii-pillared clooi's,
placed temporarily in the po.sstssioii of ,Mr.
.M'Diarniid. And li'.'re it may he liest to confess
the whole truth, and eoiK'eal nothini;. ICvur .since
we hecaineaci|naiiited with what oeuurred on tho
19th Se[)tenil)er, 1>1."), we have re,<,n-etted that so
favouralile an opportunity was nii.-sed of taking
a cast from the poet's sUnll, -and the more so
when informed that a jihieiioli gist had inade an
iniao;inary one from his works and history, and
on tins theory assiijned to linrns all the nualitics
of a great statesman. In this regret we wero
joined liy many, and not a few persons here and
elsewhere, liy word and hy letter, proniple<l and
urged tho proiiriety of a measure we had jirc-
viously determined to adopt, if possilile. Hut
one (lillieulty remained luhind soothing the re-
pugnanee and conciliating the feelings (if those
who alone had a right to decide — the principal
male relatives of the bard and his late relict. Mr.
.Vrniour arrived from London ly .Monday's mail,
and wo confess it was .six o'clock I'.M. before wo
could find courage to intro.luce the subject. AVe
did, however, name it at last, and after iiiucli
anxious conver.sation obtained a reluctant and
conditional consent. From this moment matters
were jiut in train, and by seven a small party
repaired one by one, and by diU'ereiit routes, to
St. Michael's churchyard. I.'iit the hour was
foniicl unsuitable and the opportunity inapt, from
the numberof anxious cvls that were still abro.id.
At nine, however, the attempt was renewed with
all the success which the most enthusiastic ad-
mirers of genius or scinice coulil desire. Again
tho party conferred ])i-ivat<ly, and ju'ocecded
stealthily, one after another, by the ijuietest
jiaths, and after clambering over the churchyard
walls, met by a]ipointnieiit in front of the mau-
soleum. Ill this, it must be confessed, there was
something degrading, which reminded r.s of tho
horrid tiade of body-snatehing: but the most ]>ro-
fouiid secrecy was initispensable, and if there bo
any who feci inclined to inijinte blaine, all we can
•say is— our motives were good, and totally .ilicii
to those of idle curiosity. Mi'. Ulaeklock oirered
his services at a favourable moment, and it was
well wo h.'iil a gentleman with us cpuditicd to give
a scientific account of the apiiearaiicc, preser-
vation, anil peculiarities of the .skull. While one
of our number kept watch above, the rest of tho
party descended into the vault by means of a
ladder and a mullled lanlern; and we shall not
readily forget the mingleil emotions that arose
in the mind, -passing away and returning with
the most thrilling influence,- -as wc stood .«ol-
emiily on the poet's grave and recalloil the awful
" 'I'lie remains of Mrs. Hums were interred on malediction of SliaksiMarc. The night was most
Tuesday the 1st April [1n84]. On the day pre- serene, and the dim light of tho lantern and the

already named the committee chosen ])roeecded
to tiie spot before the sun had risen, and wont to
work so rapidly that they had well-nigh com-
pleted their purpo.so previous to the assemblage
ol any crowd. . . . .\s a report had been spread
that the largest coffin was made of oak, hopes
were entertained that it would be possible to
remove it without injury or public oxiunination
of any kind. Jiiit this hope proved fallacious;
on testing' the cortin it was found to bo composed
4)1 ordinary materials, and liable to yield to the
slightest pressure; and the lid partially removed,
a spectacle was unfolded which, considering the
fame of the mighty dead, has rarely been wit-
nessed by a .single human being. There lay the
I'cinains of tho groat poet, to all appearance en-
tire, ret.iining various traces of recent vitality,
or, to s|ie,ik moi'o cori'ectly, cxliibiting the fea-
tures of one who had newly sunk into the .sleep
of death. The forehead struck every one as
beautifully arched, if not so high as might have
been reasonably .suiijiosed, while the scalp was
rather thickly covered with hair, and the teeth
jierfeetly firm ami white. Altogether tho scene
was so imiiosing that the conimonest workmen
.stood uncovered, as the late Dr. (iregory did at
the exhumation of the remains of King Robert
Driice, and for .some nioments remained inactive,
as if thrilling under the effects of some undelin-
able emotion, while gazing on all that remained
of one " whose fame is as wide as the world it-
self." Hut the scone, however inijiosing, was
brief; for tho instant the workmen in.serted a
shell or wooden case beneath tho original eofVin
the head .separated from the trunk, and the
whole body, with the exception of the bones,
crumbled into dust. Notwithst;iriding of the
solemnity the occasion recpiired, at least a few-
felt constrained to lift and examine the .skull -
prohaliK under the inspiration of feelings akin
to tiio.so of Hamlet when ho leaned and moi'alized
over Yoriek's grave, and who. if awaro of the
passage, might have i|Uoted appropriately enough
the language of Hyron: —

l.""k on its lirokcn .inli iiiid niincil liiill—

Itscliiimlii'rsili'foliiti' iUiil pm-tals fmil;
Yes, this \v,is iini'i' Aniliition'8 ;iiry li.'ill,

Tlic ilcimi' iif tlimiulit. tlic imlaci' nf tlie smil
Ri'lidlil tliMiatli I'ac'li iM.'k-lnstr.' i-ycl.'ss linle,

Tlio K-'i.v re''i's« af \vi.iiloin aini of wit —
Of passiitii's liiist that lU'ver hi'ddkofi coiitnil —

Van all saint, pajrc, nr so|iliist cvor writ,
IVcijih' tills liini'l.v tower -this tcnonu'nt ri'fit.

" Kverythinc", as wc have sai<l, was conducted
with the g'-eatest pro]iiiety and care; and after
the .second grave-bod of the jioetand liisofTsjii'ing
had been carefully preiiaied, tho original tomb-
stone was placed above their ashes, and the vault
closeil for a jieriod of nearly nineteen years [that
is. till the death of Mrs. Hurusl. . . .

170

AITENDIX TO LIFE OF BUllNS.

lonuliiic.Hs of the vault contrastud strikin.niy witli
thelambciit light of the host of stars that sparkled
brightly in the heavens above. Mr Cronibie"s
knowledge of localities rendered tlie i>rocoss of
disinterment comparatively easy, and Mr. Hogie,
who liad seen the sknll in ISlfi, proclaimed its
identity the moment it appeared. But in the
ab.sence of such a witness, its .size and character
were quite sufficient to avouch the fact, and,
after it had been carefully cleaned, a cast was
taken from it before the parties retired to rest.
. . . Just as the party were alx)ut to separate
the clock chimed the hour of one; and although
ton individuals were present at the last, including
IVovost Murray, Mr. Hamilton, writer, and Hec-
tor M'Millan, the largest hat of the whole was
found toil narrow to receive the skidl—a sufficient
jjroof of its extraordinary size. Karly on Tnesdaj-
morning a leaden box was made and carefully
lincil with the softest materials, and on the same
day we, as in duty bound, witnessed the rc-inter-
ment of the sacred relic it contained, previotis
to the funeral of Mrs. Hums. At this time the
original tombstone was taken from the vaidt an<l
jilaced within the iron railing which protects the
sculptiu'c. In accompli.xhing this, the said railing
liad to bo slightly enlarged; and the stone now
occupies a position where it can bo .seen by all,
without being trod upon or injured by any.
The inscriptions upon it are as follow, the elo.sing
one having been chiselled within the last few-
days:—

" ' In memory of Robert Burns, who died the
'21st July, 179t), in the 37th year of his age; and
Maxwell Burns, who died 25th April, 17W, aged
two years and viine months. Also, of Francis
Wallace Burns, who died 9th July, 1S0;{, aged
fourteen years. Also, of .Jean Armour, relict of
the poet, born Februarj-, 17<)"», died "Jtlth March,
1834.'"

The following description of the skull is from
the pen of Mr. Archibald Blacklock, surgeon,
mentioned above : —

" The cranial bones were perfect in every re-
spect, if we except a little erosion of their t .<-
tornal table, and firmly held together by their
sutures; oven the delicate bones of the orbits,
with the trifling exception of the as viiipiis in the
left, were .sound and uninjured by death and the
grave. The .superior maxillarj- bones still retained
the four most posterior teeth on each side, in-
cluding the denies sdpieiifiir, and all without spot
or blemi.sh; the iruisores, cxn/iic/nti, &c., had, in
all probability, recently dropped from the jaw,
for the alceoli were but little decayed. The bones
of the face and palate were also somid. Some
small j)ortionsof l)lack hair, with a very few gray
hairs intermixed, were observed while detaching
some extraneous matter from the occiput. In-
deed, nothing could exceed the high .state of

preservation in which we found the bone-^ of the
cranitnn, or offer a fairer opjiovtunity of supply.
ing what has so long been desiilerated by jilu'o-
nologists -a correct model of our immortal poet's
hoa<l; and in order to accomplish this in the most
accurate and satisfactory manner, every iiarlicle
of sand or other foreign body was carefully waslicil
off, and the plaster of Paris ajiplied with iill the
tact and accuracy of an experii^nced artist. The
cast is admirably taken, and caniujt fail to jirovc
highly interesting to j)hrenologists and others.

" Having C(>mi>leted our intention, the skull,
.securely inclose 1 in a leaden case, was again
connnitted to the earth preciselj' where we found
it.

" AUCIII). Bl.ACKI.OCK.

"Dumfries, l.st April, 1834."

An elaborate i-eport on the cranial development
of the j)oet and on his nientid and moral charac-
teristics, from the i)hrenologist's stand-point, was
.soon after drawn up by Mr. (!eorge Combe. This
we do not think it necessary to give here, since
few at the present day have much faith in the
doctrines of phrenology, esjiccially as ordinarily
expomicled.

TllK PATKHXAL ANCE8TUV OF BUliXS.

The name Burne.ss, or as it has been variously
spelt, Burncs, Bin-nace, Burnice, is of very
common occurrence in Kincardineshire, where
the poot's father was born and brought up. The
form Burness was that orig-inally adopted by
the poet, but, prior to Issuing proposals for the
tii-st edition of his poems, he finally changed the
spelling to Burns, the name being u.-<ually so
lironoiniccd in Ayr,«hire. In the coinitry of the
poet's ancestors the name is still regularly written
Burne.ss, and isr.lways pronounced asaclissyllable.
Sir .lames Burnes, sometime i)liysician-general nf
the Itombay army, in his Nulm mi /ii.< Xaiiie und
Fdtiiihi, and Dr. ('. Hogers in his <li uealiniienl
Mrnioir.i of l/,e S-iilli.tfi lIouKe of /hirne.i, claim fur
the poet's family a c<iusideral)le anticjuity ami
position. In the present note it is deemed suf-
ficient to trace the family to the great-great-
grandfathrr of the ])oet, who occupied the farm
of Bogjorgan in the parish of (Jlenbervie some
time about tlie middle of the .seventeenth century.
This Walter Burnessof Bogjorgan had four.sous: -
(1) V/illiam, who succeeded him in Bogjorgiin,
and who died in 171'): this William, a considei-
ablo time before his death, seems to have sur-
rendered his farm to his .sons William and James,
who after some time separated in 170.'i, wlioa
William, jtmior, remained at Bogjorgan, anrl
James proceeded to rent the farm of Inches in
the same pari.sh ; (2) .lames, the great-graud-
father of the poet, who became tenant of the
farm of Bralinmuir, in the same parish; (3) John,

tllU llOIlON (jf till.

unity of suiinly.
Icriitud l)y iilii'u-
•iniinort:il jioct's
1 this in tlio most
every pMrliclc
carofully Wiislieil
lied witli all thu
iced artist. The
iKjt fail to prove
sts and otliors.
ntion, tlio skull,
case, was airain
where we foimd

Hl.ACKI.OCK.

lial dcvelopniuiit
nd moral fliarac-

stand-point, was
'go Cond)e. This

givo here, siiiie
nch faith in the
y as ordinarily

V OF BURNS.

us been variously
lice, is of very
dincshire, wlicre
hrouj^ht up. 'i'he
ally adopted liy
jirojtosals for the
lally clianiTcd the
lieintr usually sd
le comitry of the
rcfjularly written
-Mlasadi.ssyllalile.
y.sician-general nf
<in /(/'.< XtiHti' and
his (I'l iii'u/(ii/icnl
lh>ri(iti, claim for
lie antiipiity ;ui(l
it is deemed suf-
the p'eat-griat-
■•cupied the faiiii
Glenbervie some
jiitceuth century,
nhad four.sons; -
ra in Bofifjoriraii,
lliam, a considcr-
iuis to have sur-
lliam and .Janies,
d in 1705, when
Ro<;jorj,'an, and
arm of Inches in
the jjTcat-Krand-
no tenant of the
parisli; (;})John,

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

171

wiio u mentioned as " Colonel " John Hurness in
the act of 1(590 "for rcscindinf,' the forcfaulters
and fynes .suice the year ItiCa;" and (4) Kobert,
who .settled in the parish of Jienhohn, and whose
descendants were solicitors in Stonehaven up till
a comparatively recent pei'iod.

James Hurness, the poet'.s f^rcat-trraudfather,
heeanio the tenant of the farm of liralinmuir in
(llenbervie, as al)ovo stated, wliere he died on
•j3ril January, 1743, at the ajjo of eighty-seven
years, lie had live .sons and one daughter, and as
at least four of the sons were set uj) in farms of
thcirown, his circtim.stances must have been jfood.
Itisstated by Sir James Hurncs that the brothers
were of such substantial po.sition in the .Mearns
"that they could show silver utensils at their
tables, with otiicr indications of wealth unu.sual in
that county." The tombstones erected in (llen-
bervie churchyard to tiio memory of the farmer
of Bi-aliiunuiranil his lirotherof Bogjorfran, beiuK
considerably decorated with symbolic ornaments,
&c., indicate on the part of the family the pos.ses-
sion of means rather above the average of their
compeers. These stones, which lay long in a
neglected condition, were carefully restored and
made more aeces.siblo to inspection in the sunnner
of l.SS;').

Kobert Burness, tho eldest .son of James Burness
of Hi-alinmuir, became tlie tenant first of tho
farm of Kinmonth in Glenbervie and afterwards
of Clochuahill in the parish of Uunnottar. This
would be lu'obably about 171;"), which date may
be a.fsumed for his marriage, seeing his eldest
son was born in 1717. It maj' be as well here to
do away with a dithculty which oppressed tlio late
Mr. Scott Douglas (editor of Burns's works, 1S77-
7U, () vols., and of l.iwklmrt's Lift nf /luin.i, 18.vJ),
whose imperfect information made him sneer at
tliose who connected tho farmer of C'lochnahill
with the well-to-do tenant of Bralinmuir. lie
.says: "They (the genealogists) have demon-
strated that pcixons bearing tho surname of
Burnes did rcsiclc and rent small farms in Kin-
cardineshire upwards of two centuries ago; but
they produce no reliable documentary links con-
necting any of these with Kobert Kunios, tho
hnmblotenantof C'lochnahill in Dunuottar parish,
the know^n parent of William Burnes who mi-
grated to Ayrshire and became the father of
Burns the poet. . . Every record in and

out of tho several parishes of Kincardineshire
has l)cen overhauled with a view to show a con-
necting link between James Burnes of Bralinmuir
and Kobert of C'lochnahill and Denside, but in
vain." By tho assiduity of Mr. John Craig
Thomson, sheriff-clerk depute, Stonehaven, tho
connecting link has been found (in ISSo) in the
form of a disposition of his property by James
Burness, recorded in tho sherilV court books at
Stonehaven, 28th January, 174-"}, and attested by
James Strachan, notary public. This document,

while of interest mainly as placing tho connection
beyond doubt, is otherwise of interest to the
curious. It runs as follows; —

"Be it known to all men By thir. presents,
Mo, .lames Burnaco, In Bralinmuir, 'I'hal ll'oras-
mickle as I have Thought fitt to .setle my small
worldly concern In my lifetime tt'or preventing
any di.sorder or confusion that may arise among
my children after my death, 1 with tho burden
of my own liferent, sell and dispone from me
and after death To and in flavour of Kobert
Burnaco, My Eldest lawfull .son, in C'lochnahill ;
William Burnacc, my .second son, in Bralinmuir;
James Bnrnace, in Ilalkhill, my third .son; (ieorge
Burnaco, in Elphill, my fourth .son; Margaret
Burnace, spous to James CJawen, in Drunilithie,
my only daughter, and the .said James for hi.s
interest ; my haill corns and croft and other
moveables parteining to me at present or that
may be the time of my dcccss In as flfar as
extends to the soum of One hundred Merks
Scotts money To each of tho saids Kobert,
William, James, and George Burnace, my .sons;
and thfty merks money for so to tho .said Margret
Burnaco and James Gawen ; and tho like soum
of ftifty merks to John Ciawen, lawfull son to tho
said James Gawen, making in haill tlive hundrecl
Merks Scotts money divided and apointed to
them in mener above e.xprest, with full power to
them, agreeable to thir respective shares, To
inidio, iutromitt with, .sell, use, ami di.sposo on
my said Croft and EiTects for payment to them
of tho said .soum and shares, to each of them so
due as above sett douii and divided, always under
tlie provision befoi'o of my liferent use, and what
is over and above This payment as said is I sell
and dispone to my Wife Margret ffalconer, To
bo by her liferented, and what remains after her
death I recomend To be ecpially divided amongst
my said ffive children free of any Buruon, E-xccjit
twenty merks to Mary Burnace, lawful <laughtor
to the deceased Thomas Burnaco my fifth .son,
which, at discretion of my said children, I apoint
To be payed Either with themselves or at tho
death of the said Jlargaret ffalcner, my spous,
which disposition, with the Burden and provision
before mentioned, 1 Bin<l and oblige mo to
warrend, acijuit, and defend good and valid To
my said children as above divided, with respect
to the sounis particullarly above mindted at all
bauds anil against all deadly. Disjiensing with
the generality hereof, and with all nullities,
inii)crfections, and objections in law, proponeablo
ov prejudicial hereunto In any sort, 1 further
recommend to my sons to be careful of, and
ilutiful to, mj' said spous and their mother, and
to be assisting to bring to perfection my said
goods so disponed, and the value of them aply(l
for payt. of the forsaid soums as above apointed,
and, more particularly, 1 recomend peace and
unity among themselves and exact observance of

17:2

APPENDIX TO LIFE UE IJURNS.

wliat I thoi'uin above ivcoincinUil ; ami if :iiiy
sliiill oll'or to contnivcon or iMuili'iiilict tliis in
any pairt, Tiicn tliu rest agfoeiiif,' 'I'o ami Aliidinf,'
l>y the same are li(.Tul)y einjioaered to (kiinile
him or them of the share to them ai>pointe(l, and
to apply the same anion{,' tiiemselves at dis-
erution."

'I'iiis document was sig'ned on 14th June, 1740,
in presence of David ('roll, in Wiiitho;,''; (ieorue
Touch, in inchlircek ; Jolni Jelhe, suli-tenant in
liralinnniir; and William Tailior, son of James
'Jailor, in Whitboi,''.

Uobert Hurness, the poet's j^randfalher, con-
tiinied in Clochnahill till somewhere about iliS,
when, throui;;h some misfortune or other, he left
that farm and retired with his (lauj4hte;s to a
cottap:e at iJonsidc, Dumiottar, his sons n.i^'rat-
ing to the south for the purjiosc of making' their
way in the world. What was the cause of this
break-up in the family is ns yet unknown. Dr.
Charles Kot;-ers, in his 0'fHCit/oi/ii, attril)ules thcii'
ruin to the terrible winter and spring of 17 ID, but
there is no evidence to show that the family left
Clochnahill till the sons set their faces south-
ward, which was certainly not till 174S. At a
later period the same f>entlcnian .suggested th.tt
the rel)ellion of 174r> was the cause, that tlie
far.nicrof Clochnahill served in Cajilain (larioch's
I'cgiment, and that the jioet's father fdiight for
Prince Charles Kdward on tiic held of Culloden.
This is most improbable in the face of a certifi-
cate, still in existence, dated Jlay, 174S, signed
bj" Sir William Ogilvy, Alexander Schank, iind
tlohn Stewart, three gentlemen of the district,
to the effect that " the bearer, William litu-ness,
is the .son of an honest farmer in this neighbour-
hood, andisa very well-inclined lad himself;" and
recommending him to any nobleman or gentle-
man as a tit servant according to his capabilities;
and of another certiticato, which (iilbert Ijurns
remembered, staling" that "the bearer had no
hand in the late wicked rebellion." I'lurns himself
was f.iin to borrow a kind of lustre from the idea
that his fathers had becti " out " for the Stuarts.
Speaking of that name, ho says : —

My futlnTS tJiat njimo huvo rt'vcri'd on a tlintiic,

M.v fMtluTs hiivc f;illi'ii to ri^'lit it;
Tliosc fiitlHTs would !-iiurn tliiir dc^'cneratr .son.

That name .slioulil liu hcuHingl}* Bli|:)tt it.

Tn his autobiographical letter to Dr. Moore he
makes this st.atement : — " My forefathers rented
laud of the famous, noble Keiths of Marshal,'
arid had the honotir to share their fate.
I mention this circtimstance because it threw
my father on the world at large." Again,
writing to Lady Winifred Maxwell Constable, a
descendant of the forfeited Earl of Xithsdalc, he
adds to his fancy family history :—" With your
Ladyship I have the hnnom- to bo connected
1 See note 3, ii. 142 of the present volume.

by one of the strongest and most eudcariiiif
ties in the whole woi'ld — eonnnon sullVrers jn
a cause where e.ven to l)e unfortunate is glundus

the cause of heroic loyalty! Though lav
fathers liad not illu>trioiis honours and vast
)iroperties to hazard in the contest, though tlioy
left their humble cottages only to add so many
units more to the unnoted crowd that followed
their leaders, yet what they eouM they did, and
what tliey hail they lost: with unshaken lii'miuss
and unconcealed jiolitical attachments, tlicy
shook hands with ruin for what they esteemed
the cau.se of their knig and tlieir coinitry." Now
it is a fact that Hnrns knew very little about his
family history ; indeed, as will l)e seen by a letter
to his cousin, Jiimes iiiuiicss, .Montrose, datcil
4th Sej)tembcr, 17>7, he knew very little of those
of them who Were his contem]ioraries, let aluiio
his ancestors. What litllehedid know, howiver,
was wrought up into a fine fiction which gratified
his sentimental J.ieobitism. His grandfather no
doubt was latterly unfortunate, but Jacoliitisni
could hardly have been the cause of his mis-
fortunes, el.>;e he would never have occupied u
farm on a forfeited estate from about the time
of, or shortly alter, the rebellion of UlTi till 174S.
His great-grandfather ;iiid great uncles also
ajipear to have been prosperous farmers liviuo'
ipliet imeventful lives, their descendants occupy-
ing the s.ame farms till into the present century.
.Moreover, he always ■•onnects the misfortunes of
his ancestors with those of the Keiths, who lost
their estates ^:"m their share in the rebellion
of 17]i>; but how could the fall of the Keiths in
1 7iri have thrown the poet's father " on the world
at large" in 174s.' That the relations of his
•_;'randmother. Isaliella Keith, may have su(l'eri;d
from being coiuncted with the ivbellion of 17iri
isipiite likely, since tlay were akin to the Keiths
of Dumiottar. and, no doubt, sympathized with
the party espoused by thiir chief.

We can hardly, therifore, attriliute any mis-
fortunes th.it may have befallen linrns's grand-
father's family ti> " the cause of hei'oic loy.dty."
I'armers arc nnich exposed to losses and vicis-
situdes of various kinds, and the misfortunes
that overtook the farmer of Clochnahill were
no doubt the s.ime a.s those that have over-
taken many another, such as bad seasons, death
of stock, ruineil crops, money lo.s.ses through
dishonest debtors, kc. &c. In the document
(pioted above as the settlement of his worl lly
concerns by .lames P.urnace thei • is an injunction
lo "peace and unity among themselves." This
would seem to jmint out. that the lirothers were
not .always on brotherly terms, and may account
for the fact of Uobert h.iving to ijuit Clochnahill
in poverty tbiriiig tlie lifetime of his mother and
his brothers, who, no doubt, li.id the means, if
they had not. the will, to assist him.

1 1 is interesting to note that William Burncss,

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BUHNS.

173

lost ciiilr.irinif
m snllViii-s ill
luto is ^;l(in(.nis

T1i(»1l:Ii liiy

ovirs uml vast

t, fllOll^ll timy

() ilild so liiMiiy

tliiit fiillowi'd

tlicy (lid, 1111(1

liaUfii tiniiiirss

itlKMlts, tlicy

tliuy cstcL'iiiod

(lUiitry. " Niiw

itllo iiluml iiis

soun liy a Ictlci-

ontnise, dalLMl

y littlodf thdso

•aric's, l(jt aidiio

;iii)\v, liiiucvcr,

whiidi irratilJL'd

UTaiidfatlicr no

Imt .Tac(il)iti-i!ii

isL' of his mis-

ivo ociMipicd (I

ibout llio time

n 71 '.till iris.

it lincli's also
fannui's liviii;,'
iidaiits oc'cn|]v-
ivscnt fcntury.
iiiisfortuiios of
t'itlis, wild lost

I the tvhollioii
f llio Keiths in
' "on the world
elallons (if his
y have siifVcnMl
hellion of 171;"!

II to the Keiths
iipatlii/ed with

iliiite any niis-
ihii'iis's ^-raiid-
leidie loyalty."
sses ami vicis-
iie misfortunes
iiehnahill «ere
lat have over-
seasons, death
losses tliroUf,di
tlic doenment
of liis Wdi'l lly
sail injunction
iselves." This
hrothefs were
<\ may aecoiint
nit (.'lochnahill
lis mother and
the means, if
II.
Ilium Jkinie.s.s,

(

fl,,. ooc't's father, in lielpiri},' to establish a school
at .Mloway, merely followed the cxaniiile of his
own father, who, in conjiinctioii with some of his
iieiidilioiirs, liuilt a sehoolhotisc on tlio farm of
< locliiiahill for the acconiniodation of the children
ill the district, which was at a considerable
distance from the parish school.

The other members of James I'.uriiace's family,
fls imntioiied in the document above ipioted,
wore: William, the second son, who succeeded
his father in hralinninir; James, who became
the tenant of llalkhill.in (ilenbervic parish; and
Ceoi'fre, who held Klfhill, in the parish of Fet-
torcsso. A son, Thomas, died in 17'i4 at the nifo
of twenty-nine, leaviiij^' a dau|,diter, who died in
1711 ay-ed ein;lit years. The only dauuhter of
this family, Martiaret, was married to a James
(;.iweii ortJ.ivin, Drumlithie.

.hiines Murness, the eldest son of IJobert of
Clochiiahill, and uncle of tlu! poet, was born in
1717, and at the break-up of the family ho settled
ill Montrose, whore he attaineil a respectable po.si-
tion in society. His son James apjiears .it lirst to
have been a schoolmaster; lie afterwards bccanio
a writer or solicitor. He eorre>ponded with his
cousin the poet, and acted towards him the part
of a kind and licnerous friend. A tliinl .lames,
the son of the above, became provost of .Montrose,
and was the father of Sir. lames liiinus, sometime
pliysieian-ireneral of the liombay army, and of
.Sir .Vlexander JJurnos, author of Tr<ii<h in llni-
/,((,(), who was a.s.sassinated alonj;; with his brother
Lieutenant Charles liuriies at Cabul in IS 11.

liobert, the second son of t'lochnaliill, who left
liotiie jiloui;' with the poet's father, made his way
into Kuylaiid, but ultimately settled at Stewarton.
ill Ayishii'e, where he died, :iril .lanuary, 17>!'.
He left two sons and a daudifer, Fanny, who
iiiarricd a brother of .lean .Armour's.

William, the third son, w.is born 1721, died at
I,(ichleeiiil7s4, and Imd seven of a family: liobert,
llie poet; (iilbert, born Uti", died ]S-^7 (had
eleven of a family); Airues, born in 17'i'2, died
1\'U; Annabella, born 17';i. died !>:«; William,
born 17ii7, died 17'.lO; .b.hn, born 17<1'.», died 1783;
Isabella, born 1771, married to .lotin 1 iei^f;' - liad
iiiiio children. I'articulars reuardin^,' these have
already been jj;iven in this Alilielidix.

The other members of the family of Robert
liurness of ('lochnahill were: .MarL;aret, born
17"2o, married Andrew AValker, Ciawton; F.lspot,
born 17"2."», m.irried John C'aird, Deiisidc, ])un-
nottar; Jean, born 17-7. married a cousin, John
Hurnes, left no family; Cieorye, born 17"-"-', died
in early life; Isabel, born U-'iO. married William
Brand, .\uehenblae; and Mary, born 17^52, died
unmarried.

IIKIIILANI) MAKY.

i\'rliaps no jiart of liuriis's life has excited
nioro interest than his conneolion with .Mary
Campbell, the sometime nur.seniaid to (iavin
Hamilton's eliildren, and, according to popular
tradition, "dairy-maid or byres-W(inian"at Coils-
tield House. This interest is in no dej^^ree lessened
but rather strengthened by the niy.-tery which
liurns himself has thrown round the stoiy, n
mystery all the deeper as it is (piite (JUt of keep-
iiii; with his usual candoui' in such alfairs. Her
name was never connected with his till three year.s
after her decease, when "Mary in Heaven"
awakened a curiosity as to the heroine, which
drew from him t he vao-ueiiartieiilars noted further
on. Robert Chambers su,L:-;^ests that "he nii}i:lit
have some sense of remorse about this simjilo
Kill— lie nii^Iit dread the world's knowiiiLr that,
after the all'air (pf .lean Armour, in the midst of
such calamitous eircumstanees, and facing a long
exile in the AVost Indies, he had been .-o madly
imiirudent as to enga;;e a poor girl to join him
in wedlock, whether to go with him or to wait
for his return." When all the facts are taken
into account this .suggestion seems a very natur.il
one.

It was not till ISi'O that the true date of tho
Highland Mary episode was made known to tho
public, when Mr. \V. Scott Douglas of Kdinburgh
throw a new light upon the matter. Since then
it has been fuUj- discussed by various writers.
.Mary was born of Highland ])a rentage, at Arden-
tinny in Argyleshire, it is said, her father being
a sailor in a revenue cutter, w hose station, at tho
time Mary is heard of in the liurns drama, wa.s
at Campbeltown. She is said to have spent .sonio
of her early years in the house of the iJiV. llavid
Campbell, minister of Loch Kaiiza in Airan, a
relation of her mother's. She has been described
.■IS "a sweeti .sprightly, blue-eyed creature ;" but
it is well to remember liurns's foible of investing
his fair ea))tivators with a stock of charms out of
the plentiful stores of his own imagination, and
which were not iiiiiiarcnt to the (.yes of others.
l>r. Hately Waddell remarks :~" (Jentle, good,
and true she no doubt was; blue-eyed, and
yellow-haired, and comely, but never graceful;
and . . . the probability is thiit .she was not
endowed with a tithe of the sweet indelinito
attractions with which liurns alone has invested
her." Mr. A. II. Adamson, in his llindlihallirin'ijli
Ihe IaiikI nf lliiritf, states that there is a tradition
" that she was neither graceful nor feniiniiie, but
was a coarse-featured, ungainly country lass."
At the instigation of a relative, who held tho
situation of housekeeiicr to a family in Ayrshiro,
Mary came over to that county, and we tind her
employed as nursemaid in (iavin Hamilton's
family when his .son Alexander was born, in July,
178ri. To Burns the year 178;") was a year of

174

APPENJ)IX TO LIFE OF BUllNS.

iiuirvflloiis iR'liiovemcnt in tlio wiiy of work, yet
at tlio Miimu tiino ho suoiii.s to imvu liad almn-
(laiR'o of tiino for culliviiting the afinmiiitaiico
of tliu Mancliliiii! lasses. In letter or in sonjj; wc
arc niailo acciuaintoil with most of thcin, but
thoro is no niuntion niadu of one whom ho must
havo soon fiviiuontly at his friend Hamilton's:
her charms, wc may infer, had not yet attracted
his notice, Verj' little appears to have Keen
known al)out Mary in the household at .Mos.sf^icl.
Mrs. HcfJTK, the jioet's sister, recollected no sort
of reference hcini,'' •nado to her more than once,
when the poet remarked to .lohn lilane, the
"Kaudsman,'' that Wary had refused to meei
him in the old castle — the dismantled tower of
the priory at Mauchline. There was also i;
reminiscence of JJobert's receivinp: a letter one
evening which ev L'ntl3' disturbed him, and
which, as was afterw irds settled in the family,
could have been nothing' else but the letter con-
taining the news of Mary's death.

From about April, 178."), .lean Armour to all
aiipearance reigned supreme in the poet's affec-
tions, whatever other underplots in the drama
of his love were taking place. When his intimacy
with Jean could no longer be '\idden he was led
to give her a written acknowledgment of marriage,
though at tirst, according to a letter (juoted by
iiockluirt, he was fixed as fate against "owning
her conjugally." I'liis document, a.s is well
known, was afterwanls destroyed under the im-
IH'cssion that thei'cby thcniarri:ige was annulled.
Yet whoever believed that a complete iuid valid
.sep.aration ha<l been etTectcd bj- this proceeding-
it would seem that Hums himself doubted if the
destruction of the informal declaration in any way
altered the relative position of the parties; else,
why his solicitude to procure "a certificate iis a
bachelor " from the kirk -.session ! Jean's conduct
liad .'i most irritating and disturbing ell'ect on
Burns, all the more, probably, because he con-
sidered himself rather magnanimous in giving
up his determination not to own her conjugally.
He .says himself, writing some years after, "I
^vould gladly havo covered my inamorata from
the darts of calumny with the conjugal shield —
nay I had actually made up .some sort of wedlock
- -but 1 was at that time deep in the guilt of
being unfortunate, for which good and lawful
objection the lady's friends broke all our measures
and drove mo an dhexpoir." In his letter to
Dr. Moore also he speaks as if he had almost lost
his reason over the alTair. Yet in Ajiril, 1780,
writing to John Arnot of Dalijuhatswood, after
the break between Jean and him, he treats the
matter in r|uite a burlesque vein, an<l with much
that is highly extravagant, .says : " Hy degrees I
havo subsided into the time-settled sorrow of the
sable widower, who, wiping away the decent tear,
lifts u]j liis grief-worn eye to look — for another
wife."

The vacancy eauHe<U)y. lean's temporary baiiish-
menl from his heart had, it would thus apinin^
to bo tilled uji, and Gavin Hamilton's nur.-iinniii
(there is no ground for believing she evi !■ wm
a dairytnaid at t'oilsheld) was at hand. At this
time, indeed, there seems to have been room in
his heart for a .second or third pa.ssion, if we nru
to |mt any faith in the ardent terms in which
(looking forward to his intended voyage to .In-
maica) ho takes leave of a certain Kliza -"the
maid that I adore 1" And it is (|Ucstionalile if
ho ever allowed himself to feel ajiy vacancy, fur
it is i)ermissible to suiijiose that it was even In fm;-
•leai 's so-called desertion of him that he li:i(|
enta gled hin;.self with Mary Cami)bell, and tlwt
this was partly tlio cau.so why he at tlrst pro-
tested that ho would not on any account "own"
the inifortunate girl "conjugally." Mowevtr
that may be, wo tind him now off with the old
love and on with the new. Jfary Campbell, wlm,
by the way, could not have been ignorant nf the
Armour scandal, may have had for .'<oim; time
a liking for the poet, but their .swietheiiriing
could not hiive lasted any great length of time
or it must have become a matter of ijulilic
notoriety. Hums on his part, who describes
himself as "an old hawk at the sport," would
have no ditliculty in "battering himself into a
pa.s.sion," to use another of his own expressions,
on the .shortest notice.

IJurns's connection with Highland Mary— which
we believe was but a mere interlude between tlio
acts of the Armour drama—culniinated with the
parting of the lovers on the banks of the Ayr,
which must have tiiken place on the sccoml
Sunday of May, 178(). This romantic event wiis
for long referred to some indefinitely early pcriuil
of his life ; but that it was not earlier than 17>l
is shown by " Mo.ssgiel " with his name beiiiLr
written by Burns on the Jiiblo which he presentc il
to Mary, and which is now preserved at Ayr.
while that the true year was 17St) is proved by
the fixing of Mary's early death to the month of
October in that year. All that Hums thought
tit to say in regard to this insidcnt in his life is
contained in a MS. note written by him in Kiil-
dcU's copy of John.son's Mitseinii (along with other
similar annotations), to the song " My Highland
Las.sie. " "This," he says, "was a composition
of mine in veri/ i-arli/ life, before I was known at
all in the world. My Highland lassie was a warm-
hearted charming young creature as ever blessed
.a man with generous love. After a pretty long
tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachnicnt
wo met, by ajipointment, on the second Sunday
of May, in a .scipiestered spot, by the banks of
Ayr, wlioro we spent the day in taking farewell,
before she shouhl embark for the West Highlands,
to arrange matters among her friends for our pro-
jected ch.inge of life. At the close of autumn fol-
lowing she crossed the sea to meet meat Greenock,

ii|'"niryli:iiii,.|i.

Ill lllUSiCl,],!,,,.^

ton'M nuiMiiiaiil
K «liu uvii' was

liiind. At this
o liecn I'iMiiii ill
iHsioii, if wu iii-e
tuiiiw in which
V(>yiii;u to ,1ft.
ill I'lliza -"the

"liiestiiuiiililu if
iiy vaiiiiity, fur

. wiiH fvcii /«/;„■,.

u that hu liad

iplii-'ll. and tiiiit

10 at first |iro-

iCLouiit "(iwn"

ly." MdWevcr

ff with thu „|,1

Caniiiliull, wlm,

i^'iioraiit iif tho

for s<piii(! time

• swiL'tliLiirtiiij^f

lon^itii of time

ittLT of ],uMic

who describes

sjiort," WdiiM

himself into a

ivn exiiressions,

(I Mary-wliieli
ido lietwocii tiio
iiiatod with the
iks of thu Ayr,
on the seeoml
antic oveiil was
ely curly jierioil
irlicr tlian 17M
lis name l)eiiiLr
ell he jiresentul
served at Ayr.
G is jiroved hy
;o the month of
Hums tlioiiirht
mt in his life is
hy him in Hid-
ilonfjf with other
" My Hi-hhuid
a eomiKisitioii
I was known at
sie was a warni-
as ever Messed
p a pretty Ion;;'
za\ attaelinieiit
second Sjunday
y the hanks of
ikintjf farewell,
'est liiKhlanils,
ids for our pro-
! of autumn fol-
iieat Greenock,

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

17ft

where she hail scarce landed when slio was seized
with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear
ffirl to the jjrave in a few days, before 1 could
oveii hear of her illness." In a similar strain
iil.'io the jMiet writes to Thomson inclosiiij; the
Hiiiih' "Will ye no to the Indies, iiiy Mary T' " In
my IV )•// '('/'/,'/ iintr.i, when I was thinking' of going
to the West Indies, I took the following farewell
of a dear girl," Now tho West India project
oeeii|neil his mind only in tho year l".StJ, so that
Uiiriis was using words that were certain to mis-
lead when ho spoke of his " very early life " and
"my very early years," On the other hand,
what he calls the "pretty long tract of the most
ardent reciprocal attachment " couM only have
uxtiuded to at most a few months previous to the
second Sunday in May, as licforo that time Jean
oeeiipied the first place in lis aifections for a
comparatively long period.

The romantic details of the jiarting Iwtween
liiuns and Mary — when tho lovers stood at dif-
ferent sides of a hrook, laved their hands in the
water, and exchanged Bililes — are well known.
The authority for them is Cromek, and whence he
ikrived the particulars is unknown, lie certainly
could not have got them from the poet himself.
However much truth may he in the.so details it is
sutlieiently clear that Hurn.s's gii.st of passion for
Mary did not last long, though perhaps her love
for him was only terminated l>y death.

This attachment has been often described as
the purest and mo.st elevated ever formed by the
poet. This may be .so, but the admirable High-
land Maiy poems of later conniosition do not
necessarily show that what insjiired them was
anything else than a posthumous and merely
lioetical passion, and one that served the poet
excellently for literary purpo.ses.' Within a very
few weeks we find him raving of Jean as one
who has still the sway over his affections, and
jioor Mary is, for the time, forgotten. According
to liurns's account she is away in the West High-
land.-- "ai'i'anging matters among her friends for
our projected change of life ; " he him.self — show-
ing, one would think, how completely any idea of
a marriage with Mar}' was absent from his mind,
if it was ever present — executes, on 2"2d July,
a deed investing his brother (iilbert with all his
"goods, gear, and movable effects." profits from
poems included, to be hold by him in trust for
the uiibi'inging of his illegitimate daughter known
as "Sonsie, smirkin' de.ir-bought Bess." In
liartieular, provision was made by the same deed
for continuing his daughter's exclu.sive interest
in the co|)yright after she had reaehed the age of

1 Mr. .Scntt DouRlas well remarks; "Tliecontiiist between
the (lu.ility of tliiwc stntins which the iioot ininluceil uiuler
till' iiiHiicnre nf his Mary 'ill the ilnys nf her flesh' (who was
ainuist unknown in .Vyrsliire) anil those impassioned lyrics
that Htru iii»|iirecl liy ' >lary, ilearileparted simile,' ... is
very strikint,'."

fifteen years. With what then was he going- to
endow .Mary in the way of worldly goods.' The
truth seems to be, tin;' Mary is out of sight out
of mind. In the toueoing " l-'arewell, " written
certainly before 'M September, his nearest rela-
tives, his most intimate friv-iids, and especially
his Jean, are alluded to, but .Mary, whom he had
asked not long before if she would "go to the
Indies," is not once mentioned, and it is for the
sake of .lean that he as.serts he must ero.ss tho
Atlantic. The time was to come, however, when
the memories of his love alVair with .Mary was to
furnish good jioetical capital. To her we owe
what is generally considered the "noblest of all
his ballads," "To .Mary in l.'eaven," and others
perhaps eipially admired. Had she lived it is
probable her name would hardly have been heard
of in connection with that of Liurns.

It is impo.s.sible to account for Kurns's want of
candour in connection with this epi.sode, unless
on the ground that he felt tlio truth would not
look well and wi.shed to jiresent himself in a .senti-
mentalanil interesting-position. lioberK 'liambers
.says of Burns in this connection: "It is to be
feared that ho was not a man for whom his
admirers can .safely claim steadiness of allectioii,
any more than they can arrogate for him a
romantic or platonic delicacy. His was a heart
whoso pulses were synchronous with those of no
other human Ixiing ; beloved keenly, enthusias-
tically for a time, but not neces.sarily for a long
time; and then there were 'underplots in the
drama of his love.'"

It would appear that, after spending tho
summcrat Campbeltown, Mary came to (Ireenock,
on her way to accept a .situation at .Martinmas,
in the family of a Colonel M'lvor in Glasgow. It
is probable that bj" this time she had become dis-
illusionized, and it may have been her own hand
that partly deleted her own name and that of
Burns from the sacred memorial of their .'• cret
betrothmeiit, leaving the inscriptions as they now
appear. While in Greenock .she .sickened of fever,
and her friends, sujierstitiously believing her to
have been alHicted by the cast of an evil eye,
seriously recommended her father to go to a spot
where two burns met. select seven .smooth .stones
from the channel, bod them in new milk, and give
her the same to drink. Her illness, however, was
far too serious for either charms or .skill ; she
died after a few days' suffering, and was buricil
in the West Churchyard, Greenock, in a "lair"
or plot of ground which belonged to a tlistant
relative of her mother. In 1842 a tine monument
designed by John Mossman was erected to her
memory. It bears bas-reliefs representing the
traditionary parting at Coilstield, .surmounted by
a figure representing grief. It has been asserted
by some of the older inhabitants of Greenock
that tho grave over which the monument is
erected is not the spot where the body of High-

17(i

AITENDIX TO LIFE OF UUENS.

Innd Mary wnn intcrivil, lior ivstin^jr-plico Iwini;
nllutruil to 1)0 tliu luir im ii lino with tlio in()i..iiuoiit
but iiL'iircr tho kirk.

BRIEF NOTKH BY BUIINS OF A
liOifDKIl TOUIl:

May 5-Ji'Ni:l, 1787.

Tioft Rlinlmrtih [May 5, 17S7| -T<;ttniTiernuiir-
liills luisfnilily drciiry, Imt (it tiiiios voiy jiii'tiir-
escjilo. rjiinytoii-eil^jo, a jjflnrioiis viow of tlio
AFoi'Me -Itt'iu'li Horry-woll ' oM .Mr. Aiiislio iiij
uiicoininoii cliiinii^tor; — his holihios, aui'iciiitiii'o,
ii.'itiu'.il iiliilo-ophy, and jpolitics. In tlio tirst he
i.s unoxc'uiitionalily tho clearost -hca<lL'd, bost-
infortnu<l man I ever mot with; in tho other two,
very iiitollii,'ent :— as a man of business Iio has
unconniion merit, and by fairly desorvinjy it has
made a very decent independenee. Mrs. .Vinslie,
nn excellent, sensible, cheerful, amiable old
woman. .Mi.ss .Ainslie -her per.son a little <iii-
lioiipdliit, but handsome; her face, particularly
her eyes, full of sweetness and >j;ood lunnour -
she unites three qualities rarely to bo found
toi,'ctlier ; keen, .solid ))enetration ; sly, witty
observation and remark ; and tho i,'entlest, most
luiaffected female modesty. 1)oml;I:is, a clever,
tine, i)ri>niisinif yonn;;- fellow. The family-nieet-
ini^ with their brother, my rom/hii/iKin (/<■ <()</((//c,
very charminf,'; ])articnlarly the sister. 'I'lie whole
family remarkably attached to their menials —
.Mrs. A. full of stories of the sagacity and sense
of the little ffirl in tho kitchen. Mr. A. hi.uh in
tho i)raises of an African, his house servant— all
his people old in his service — Duui^las's old nurse
eanio to I'erry-well yesterday to remind them of
its beini? his birth-day.

A Mr. Dudiicon, a poet at times, 2 a worthy
remarkable chnractcr — natural penetration, a
f^rcat deal of information, .some genius, and
extreme modesty.

SUN'OAY [Gth]. —Wont to church at Dnnsc -Dr.
Bowniaker, a man of strong lungs and pretty
judicious icm u'k, but ill skilled in propriety, and
.■iltogetlior unconscious of his want of it.''

-MoNUAY [7th|. — Coldstream — went over to
Kngland—Cornhill- glorious invcr Tweed -clear
and ni.ajcstie — tine bridge. Dnic at Coldstream
with Mr. Ainslio and .Mr. Foreman — beat Mr.

F in a dispute about Voltaire. Tea at

Lennel Mouse with Mr. Bi-ydono'*— .Mr. Hryilone

1 The pnot. w.is tr:ivelIiiiK with a yomiK fricml Mr. Kdlicrt
Aiii-^Iii', Mii'l tlii< wa< thi! lu^iilcuce of lli^ fiitlRT, who artcd .is
hinil-stcwriril on the cstiiti's <if I,oril Douuhis, in BiTwicksIiiru.
A iiiinilicr of lottiiN to ISubcrt .\inslie will be funnel in the
poet'.) Cori'i'sponiieneo.

2 The author of tlie song, " Up amanR yon cliffy rocks."

y See epi^^rmi preNciited to Miss .Ainslie on this occasion,
* I'atrick liryilonc, K.sq., author of the well-known tour in

Sicily anil JIulta. His wife was a dauBhtcr of Principal

Robertson.

! a most excellent liiart, kind, joyous, nnd luiuvn.
lent, but a good ileal of the French iinlivi rimj.
nate complai.sMiiee fi'om his situation p i-t hikI
present, an admirer of every thing that hiai's ii
splenilid title, or that pos.sesses a large eslnto-
.Mrs. Brydoiio a most elegant woniau in her per-
son ami minuiers; the tones of her voice rcmiirk-
ably sweet my reeeptiou extremi'ly tlatterii:^' -
sleep at Coldstream.

Ti'KsDAY iMh). -Breakfast at Kelso diinii.
ing sit\iation of Kelso— tino bridgi' <ivi i- ijie
Tweed -I'nchanting views an<l ]irospcits ou Ixitli
sides of the river, iiarticularly the Scotch side;
introduced to .Mr. Scott of the lioyal i!:uil;, an
exeelknt modest fellow — tino situation of it—
ruin.s of Uoxbiu'gh Castle — a holly-liush growing
where James II. of Scotland was accidcntiilly
killed by the bursting of a cannon. .\ sm.ill did
religions ruin and a tine old garden iil.inlcd l>y
the religious, rooted out and destroyed by iui
Fnglish Hottentot, a VKitlri- d'/ifilil of theilukc's,
a .Mr. Cole. Climate and soil of lierwicksliire,
iind even Uo.xb\wgh.shire, superior to .Ayrshire -
bad roads. Turnip anil sheeji husbandry, tlicir
great imjirnvements- Mr. .M'Dowal, at C;ivirtcin
.Mill, a frionclof .Mr. Ainslie'.s, with whom I dined
to-day, .sold his sheep, ewe and kunb togctlicr,
at two guineas a-piece wash their sheep Ivfuro
shearing 7 or .S lb. of washeti wool iu a tleecc -
low markets, consei|uenlly low rents -line l:uids
not above sixteen sliillinLrs a Scotch acre iiiiig-
nitii'oneo of farmers and f.ai'ndiouscs con;e up
Teviot and up .led to .leilburgh to lie, and so
wish myself a good idght."

WkdnIvsday [itth]. -B.eakfast with Mr.

in Jedburgh— a .cpiabblo between Mrs. , a

crazed, talkative slattern, and a sister of liei-s,

5 This fine oM royal anil pnrli;nueiitary liurKh is sjtuiiti'.i "U
.led water, a tril»ut:tr,\' of the Ti-viot, at the ilistaiiee nt ten
mile- from Kelso and fifty from IMiuhuruh. AVhile poss(.>>inj;

Home local impurtane... as th imty town of Uoxhurirlisliire,

its population scarcely reaches ,'ioiio. The ablicy, of which the
ruins still tower above all the e.vistint; domestic buildings,
was founded cirly in the twelfth cintury: and even at that
early time the town was of some note. The only part of this
Ktructnre of which any remains exist is the church, which
has been in the form of a cross about '.'tie feet in lcn;,'.h,
Tiic^ 11 ive, north transept, and cciitril towir, aie still tolei--
ably entire, and form a beautiful specimen of early (oithic.
A .Niu'iiian door in the west ciiil is iiiueh admireil for its
curious miMildiiius, and a St. Catherine's wheel at the top
of the same f^.-ihlo is a conspicuous fi-aturc The eicirorjs
of ,ledbur(,'li are extremely biiiutiful. The .leil ru-bcsdowir
from its native moors under steco rirmirH and haii^dmr wi ods,
the remains of the aiic lent fori'st of ,IcilburKli, from which
the Kn^'lish borders were erst kept in trouble. Here a
noildin;; tower, there an old enrii-mill; here a beauti'''
(rlade, there a Kreeii slope ; scarcely any town in the south of
Scotlaml can be said to have more delitrhtfiil siirroiiinliii;,'s.
Till! niaiiistrates of .Icdbiir^di Rave Ihiriis the freedom of their
bur^di. with its usual accomtiaiiimcnt of a treat at the inn. It
was loll),' remeinbereil in the town that, while this trial Wiis
in the course of beinj,' discussed, the poet, ever jealous of his
itiilependence, left the room nnd endeavoured— need we aild,
in vain?— to prevail on the landlurJ to accept of payment of
the bill.

MS, imd I'liii'vo-
iiicli iiiiliMriiiii-
witii.ii jpi-t :iii,l
IK that iKaWd

I laiV'c t'stiito-
iiMii in )iL'i' per-
r Vdioo I'ciiiiii'k-
I'ly tliittiM'ii:^; -

Ki'Isd clni'iii.

riilirt' (ivii- I lie

l)S|lccts (.li lidtll

lo Sfdtcli .'.iiU' ;
!<iyal Italil;, an
Illation i(f it—
y-lm.sli jirrowini;
n« lU'cidentally
II. A small did
Icn jilantrd liy
'Sti'oyi'd liy an
/ cif the dulic's,
■ lioi'wicksliii-e,
r til Ayi'.-liiic -
nshandry, tliuir
■«1, iit ( 'avcrtiiti
'1 wlmni I dined
land) todvtiici',
■ir sJR'oii ln'fdi'o
11)1 in a tli'iH't' —
nts - (ino laniln
tcdi ac'l'i; niaif-
uses L'onii.' llj)
to lie, and SI)

with Mr.

II MiN. , a

sister of hci-s,

iui'kIi !!■ ''ituiiti'iliiii
llii' ilisliiiii'i' 111 i™

I. Whilr lnisM'vsiliH

iif l!"\lMirnliy|iiri',
ihlti'y, of wliich tilt'
niili->tii" lniililiii;;s,
; Jiuil I'Vi'li lit tll;lt
ic ipiily pMi-t ipf lIliH
llu' rliuri'li, wtiifh
.':iii fwt ill li'ii;.'.li,
in'i', me still tnlir-
?n ..f i:ii-l.v (;..(liii'.
■li iiiliiiireil fur itH

i Wlll'l'l lit till' t>'p

ire. T'u' I'lr.irnrjs

e .Irll ril'llC.K lluUII

ml h:iii^'imr \vi ods,
mrKli, from wliirli
tnmlile. IliTe a
luTo 11 I'e.-iuti' ''
'wn in tl)i' south "f

itflll PinTnllllilili;.'!*.

he friediiui of tlii'ir
trciit lit the inn. It
liile this tii'tit WHS
ever jeiilnii.sof his
ireil— iiceil we mlil,
cupt iif piiymcut u(

.'if

li'^M

an oM imii
gives Mail
vciii,'".', iil'l
taiiLclo the
net of nui
Jeilliuri^li
tfolilier-lik
had been
Ainei'iea, i
infr, I'oiiia
dens, ore
houses — ti
odral, am
have the ;
the lieopl
little livei

Dine wi
jiolite fell
sJKiwed II
lady exac
foi' him.
too far ^'1
swelling- 1

Ketuni
ladies to
two fairj
writer, a
the elerg;
man, but
inif party
sister bef
pear still
hoi'e mo
ably a.Lfri
^nrl. fun
yooil-hun

- beaulil
with del
timf iit.li'
of femali
rosy, SOI
several
Miss-
Miss Lin
nieltin;
the Grou
and non
We. plci
her, and
easily m,
and kinii
l)artod I
Jlr. Soni

1 Dr. Siii
lliili«h liii
clnii-ili of
iiiiii't.v. all
for tifty-si
n'fi-rciH'et
iiii're. A I
kuuuii M;

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

177

an oM tiiaiil, rospcctiiifj a Ilolief miiiistur. Miss
orives Miiiliiiii tho lie; and Madam, by way of re-
vciiiri-', lipliniiils liur that slio laid siiaros to en-
tanylo tho said niinistur, then a widowor, in tho
net of matrimony. Go about two miles out of
Jt'iniur^''li to a roup of parks -moot a polito
solilit r-liko guntlonian, Captain lluthorford, who
hail boon many years throuj^h tlio wilds of
Ann.rifii, a prisoner amony the Indians. Charm-
injr. romantic situation of Jedburgh, wiih gar-
dens, ort'iiards, &c., intermingled among the
houses — tine old ruins — a once niagniticent cath-
eih-ai, and strong eastlo. All the towns here
have the ap[iearauee of old, rude grandeur, but
the pooiile extremely idle — Jed a Hue romantic
little river.

Dine with Captain Rutherford— tho c,i[)tain a
pohtu fellow, fond of money in his farming way;
sliowed a jiarticular resj)ect to my hardship— his
liuly exactly a i)roi)er matrimonial second part
for iiim. Miss Itutiierford a beautiful girl, but
too far gone woman to expose so niueli of a fine
swelling bosom —her face very tine.

IJetnrn to .ledlnn-gh — walk up Jed with some
ladies to be shown Love -lane and Blackburn,
two fairy scenes. Introduced to Mr. Potts,
writer, a very clever fellow; and Mr. Somerville,
the clergyman of the place, a man, anil a gentle-
man, but sa<lly atldicted to puiuiing.i The walk-
ing party of ladies, Mrs. and Mi.ss , her

sister before mentioned. N.B. — These two ap-
pear still more comfortably ugly and stupid, and
bore me most shockingly. 'I'wo Miss — — toler-
.ahly agreeable. -Mi.s.; Hope, a tolerablj' pretty
girl, fond of laughing and fun. .Miss Lindsay, a
good-humoured, amiable girl ; rather short at t'7ti-
boii /I'll' lit, but handsome, and extremely graceful
- beautiful hazel eyes, full of .spirit and sparkling
with delicious moisture— an engaging face— ««
timt I ii.-ii'iiili/e that speaks her of the first order
of female minds — her sister, a bonnie, Strappin',
rosy, sonsie lass. Shake myself loose, after

several unsuccessful elforts, of Mrs. and

Miss , and, somehow or other, get hold of

.Miss Lindsay's arm. My heart is thawed into
melting jileasin'o after being so long frozen up in
the Greenland bay of indiifereneo, amid the noise
and nonsense of Edinburgh. Miss seems very
We. pleased with my hardship's distinguishing
her, and after .some slight qualm.s, which I could
easily mark, she .sets the titter round at defiance,
and kindly allows me to keep my hold; and when
Itarted by the ceremony of my introduction to
Mr. Somerville, she met mo half, to resume my

I Dr. Hiinienillu was the nutliorof two laborious wurks mi
lii'itish liJRtor.v, luul siirvivwl to lie the olilost niiiiistcr of thr
iliurrli of SLotliUul ill lii.s da.v, iljintf in IKto, at the awe of
niiii't.v. ami when he liai! otlifiated as iiiiniBtor of JedliiirKli
fur tifty-si'ven years. It is saiil, that, after siTiiij; I!uni!^'s
rofiri'iire to liis lialiit of iniiiniiih', Dr. Homerville never iiunneil
more. A smiof Dr Homenillo was the hu.sbanilof thewell-
kuowii Mary Somerville.

situation. Nota iienc— The poet within a jioint

and a half of being in love— I am afraid

my i)o.som is still neaiiy as uuieh tinder as ever.

The old, ero.ss-grained, whiggish, ugly, slander-
ous Mi.-is , with all the poisonous spleen of a

disappointed, ancient maid, stops me veiy un-
.sea.sonably to ea.se her bursting breast, by falling
abusively foul on the .Miss Lindsays, iiarticularly
on my Duleinea;--! hardly refrain from cursing
her to her face for daring to mouth her calum-
nious i-iander on one of the tinest iiieces of the
workmanship of Almighty Excellence ! Sup at

Mr. 's; vexed that the Miss Lindsays are not

of the supper party, as they only are wanting.

Mrs. and .Miss still improve infernally

on my hands.

Set out next morning [10th] for Wauchope,
the seat of my correspondent, Mrs. Scott —
breakfast by the way with Dr. Elliot, an agree-
able, good-hearted, climate-beaten, old veteran,
in the medical line, now retired to a romantic,
but rather moorish place, on the banks of tho
lioole — he accompanies us almost to Wauchope
— we traverse the country to the top of Rochester,
tho scene of an old encampment, and Woolee
Hill.

Wauchope — !Mr. Scott exactly the figiu'e and
face commiudy given to Sancho I'anza — very
shrewd in his farming matters, and not tnifro-
quently stumbles on what may be called a strong
thing rather than a good thing. .Mrs. Scott all
the .sense, taste, intrepidity of face, and bold,
critical decision, which usually distingui.^i female
authors. Sup with Mr. Potts — agreeable party.
Breakfast next morning [llthj with Mr. Somer-
ville — the liriu'/ of .Mi.ss Lindsay and my hardship,
by means of the invention and malice of .Miss
. Mr. Somerville sends to Dr. Lindsay, beg-
ging him and family to breakfast if convenient,
but at all events to .send Miss Lindsay; accord-
ingly. Miss Lindsay onlj' comes. I find Miss
Lindsay would soon play the devil with nie — I met
with some little flattering attentions from her.
Mrs. Somerville, an excellent, motherly, agree-
able woman, and a tine family, ^h: Ainslie and

Mrs. S -, junr. , with -Mr. , Mi.ss Liiahsaj-,

and myself, go to see Extlur, a very remarkable
woman for reciting poetry of all kinds, and
sometimes making Scotch doggerel herself — she
can repeat by heart almost e.'cry thing she has
ever read, particularly Pope's Homer from end
to end— has studied Euclid by hereelf, and, in
.short, is a woman of very extraordinary abilities.
On conversing with her I find her fully eijual to
the character given of her.'-' She is very much
flattered that I send for her, and that she sees a

- Kstlicr Kaston was in a very Imiiihle walk of life— the wife
of a eonunoii workini? Hardener. She latterly taiiKht a little

i day- elioiil, which not lieiiiK sufficient for her sulisisteiice, she
was ohliued to solicit the charity of her beuevoleut ueiHlibours.

I She died iu Tebruary, 1781).

J,, !..f

178

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BUIiNS.

poet who has fut onf a hnoi; as she says. Sho is,
amoiifr other things, a threat Horist, and is rather
past the meridian of once celebrated beauty.

I walk in Ksthtr'K garden with Miss Lindsay,
and after some little chit-chat of the tender kind.
I presented her with a \n-ooi print of my imh,
which she accepted with something more tender
than grat'tiKle. She told nic many little stories

which Miss had retailed concerning her and

me, with prolonging pleasure— God bless her!
Was waited on by the magistrates and presented
with the freedom of the burgh.

Took farewell of Jedburgh, with some melan-
cholj', disagreealile sensations. Jed, pure be
thy crystal streams, an<l hallowed thy sj'lvan
banks ! Sweet Isabella Lindsay, may peace dwell
in thy bosom, uninterrupted, except by the tu-
multuous throbbings of rapturous love ! That
love-kindling eye must beam on another, not on
me — that graceful form must bless another's
arms, not mine !

Ki:i.s(). — Dine with the farmers' club — all
gentlemen, talking of high matters — each of
them keeps a hunter from £30 to £50 value, and
attends the fox-huntings in the county -go out
with Mr. Ker, one of the club, and a friend of
.Mr. Ainslie's, to lie. [12th] Jlr. Ker, a most
irentlemardy, clever, handsome fellow, a widower
with some fine children — his mind and manner
astonishingly like my dear old friend Robert
Muir in Kilmarnock —every thing in Mr. Ker's
most elegant — he offers to accompany me in my
English tour. Dine with Sir Alexander Don a
pretty clever fellow, but far from being a match
for his divine lady.^

A very wot day . . . Sleep at Stodrig again,
and set out fl3th] for Melrose— visit Dryburgh,
a tine old ruined abey — still bad weather— cross
Leader, and come up Tweed to Melrose - dine
there, and visit that far-famed, glorious ruin —
come to Selkirk, up Ettrick — the whole country
hereabout, both on Tweed and Kttriek, remark-
ably stony.

Monday [14th]. — Come to Tnvorlcithen, a
famous spa, and in the \'icinity of the palace of
Traquair, where, having dined and drunk some
Oalloway-whey, 1 here remain till to-morrow —
saw Elibanks and Elibracs on the other side of
the Tweed.

TUKSDAY [15th].— Drank tea yesternight at
Pirn with Mr. Hoi-sburgh. Breakfasted to-day
with Mr. Ballantyne of Holly-lee. Proi)osal for a
four-horse team, to consist of .Mr Scott of Wau-
chope, Fittieland ; Logan of TiOgau, Fittiefur;
ISallantyno of Holly-lee, Forewynd; Hor.sburgh of
Ilor.sburgh. Dine at a country inn kei)t by a
miller in Earlston, the birthplace and residence
of the celebrated Thomas the Rhymer—saw the
ruins of his castle— come to Rerrywcll.

I Liidy Hiirriet Pon, sietcr of the Earl of Glencairu.

Wkdnesday [l(Jth]. — Dino at Dunso with the
farmers' club— company, impo.^ .ibie to du tliom
justice — IJev. Mr. Smith a famous imnstt ]■, (md
Mr. Meikle a celebrated mechanic and iiiwutor
of the thra.shing-mill.

TlIL'ltsuAV [17th]. -Breakfast at lieiiywuU,
and walk into Dunso to see a fiunous knifu limile
by a cutler there, and to be presenteil tci an
Italian prince. A pleasant ride with my fiieiiil
Mr. Robert .Vinslie, and his si.ster, to Mr. 'riidni-
son's, a man who has newly commenced fiiniu'r,
and has niarried a Mi.ss Patty (irieve, fornKily a
flamo of .Mr. Hobert Ainslie's. Company ^Jiss
Jaeky Grieve, an amiable sister of .Mr.s. 'I'lKini.
son's, and .Mr. Hood, an honest, wnrthy, faic-
tious farmer in the neighbourhimd.

Friday [18th]. — Ride to Berwick — an idl^j
town, rudely picturesque. Meet I/ord Eriol ii,
walking round the walls — his Lordship's ftatior-
ing notice of me. Dine with Mr. C'lunj'ie, imi-.
chant —nothing j)articular in conq)any (ir ton-
versation. Come up a bold .shoiv, and ovei' a
wild country, to Eyemouth — stq) and sKcp at
Mr. (irieve's.

S.vrrHDAV [10th]. - Spend the day at Mi-.
Grieve's — made a royal arch ma.son of St. .M.h's
Lodge. '^ Jlr. William Grieve, the eldest brollicr,
a joyous, warm-hearted, jolly, clever fellow-
takes a hearty glass, and .sings a good song,
.Mr. Robert, his brother and partner in tivido, a
good fellow, but says little. Take a sail alter
diinier. Fishing of all kinds pays tithes at Kve-
mouth.

SlNDAY [-JOth].- A Mr. Robinson, brewer at
Eduam, sets out with us to Dtmbar.

The .Mi.ss (irieves verj' gooil girls. My bard-
ship's heart got a brush from Miss Betsy.

Mr. William Grieve's attachment to the family
circle ; so fond, that when ho is out, which by I he
bye is often the ease, he cainiot go to bed till lie
see if all his sisters are sleeping well. Pass the
famous Abbey of Cohlingham, and Pease-bridg^;.
Call at .Mr. Sheriff's, where .Mr. \. and 1 dine.
Mr. S. talkative and conceited. I talk of love to
Xancy the whole evening, while her brother cs-
corts homo some companions like himself. Sir
James Hall of Dunglass [father of Capt. liasil
Hall] having heanl of my being in the neigh-
boiu-hood, comes to Mr. Sheriff's to breakfast
[21.st] takes me to see his fine scenery on the

- Tliu I'litr.v ni;iile "n tliis nocasion in tlip I.u(I);g lionks is ;cs
fallii«.s :—

" KvcMofTii, litTii May. 17s7.

".U II KPnonl rnrampnuMit ln'lil tliis iliiy, tlu' fnllnwiiij;
tiri'tlircn were niaili' Itnyal Arcli Ma^cms, viz. — Unlurt Il\ini«,
from till! l.o<lt!i' cf St. .lanu's'B, Tarlinlti.n, Avrsliirc, .nul
Itcilii'rt Ainslii', frnni llu! liiiiljrc nf St. l.nkf s, Kdinlniivli, l.y
.liinics Carmii'liui'l, Wni. (iiiivi', Dauiil Dnw, .lulm ( l:i.v.
Kcilicrt (irii'Vi'. &(•. ic. Unliert .Ainslie paid oni' Biiiiu ;i ;iii-
inissioii (lues; l>nt i>n arcNinnt (if It. Ilunis's rcniarkatili' imcti-
I'al Renins till' umanipnicnt iinauiniiiiislyaKri'iil to inliiiit liiiii
unitis, anil nmsiiluri'il tliciiK'elvcs Imnnurcil liy liaviii« .1 man
of BUiii shiniiiK aliiliticn fur one of tliuir Lunipanionii. '

; Dunsc witli tlie

ililc to .|„ tlio,,,

ous imnstii', and

iiic and iiiW'iitoi'

st at licn-vwcll,
inoiw knilV umlc
I)rcsciit(.'(l tu an
u with my fiioml
ur, to Mr. Th(,ni-
inioiK-ud faiMici-,
riove, fdnnri-lv u
<i)miiany Miss
r of Mrs. TlKini-
st, u-di'thy, {n^■^..

iLTwick--nii idl^;
I't Lord Kri'i)! in
ordsliij.'s tlattcT-
Ir. Clunyic, nn-r-
•iiiiiiiany nv con-
lore, aiid oV(.t h
1> anil .skr]! at

Hio day at Mr.
son (pf St. Aliir.s

oldest lirullicr,
clever fullow—

rs ,1 f,'ood sdni;.
rtner in trado, a
!";iko a sail aftur
ys titlifs at \'.\\:

inson, lircwtr at

bar.

Kirls. .Aly lianl-

iss Ik'tsy.

L'nt to tliu faiiiily

Hit, wliioli liy tin:

j,'o to hud till lio

r woll. Pass thu

till Pcasc-lirid.i;-o.

. A. and I dint'.

1 talk of love to
her lirothcr cs-

ko himself. Sir
- of Capt. li.isil
g in the neinli-
'< to breakfast
scenery on tlio

IP Lud^re lutdks is ;is

II, iiiTii Mav, irsr.

iliiy, til.' fnlli.wiii^'
viz. — Unn,it F'.nni-',
Itiin, .\.vrsliii'i', :iii>l
ikf's, Kilinlmi-Kh, l.y

1 llnW, ,l,,llll r|;iy,

paid Dili' KiiiiiiM .ni-
l's rcniiirk.ilili' jKicti-
iKri'i'il tu iiiliiiil liiiij
■n\ liy huviiiKii ni;iii
•iiipaiiiuiib."

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

17!)

stream of Dunglnss— Dunjflass the nio.st ronmntic
sweet jilacc 1 ever siiw — Sir James and hi.s lady a
iileasant hiippy couple. Ho point.s out a walk
for which ho has an uncommon respect, as it
was made by an aunt of his to whom ho owes

much.

j[i^s will accompany mo to Dunbar, by

way of makinj^ a parade of mo as a sweetheart
of hers, amcng her relations. She mount.s an
old tai't-horso as huffo and as lean as a hon.se; a
nisty old .side-saddle without f^^irth or stirrup,
hut fastened on with an old pilli'in-girth — her-
self as tine as hands cotild make her, in cream-
coloured ridiufi^ clothes, hat and feather, &c. T,
ashamed of my situation, ride like the devil, and
almost shake her to jneces on old Jolly — i;et rid
of hor by refusing,' to call at her uncle's with her.

Passed through the most glorious corn coun-
try 1 ever saw, till I reach Dunbar, a neat little
town. Dine with Provo.st Kail, an eminent mer-
chant, and most respectable character, but uii-
iloserihable, as ho exhibits no marked traits.
Mrs. Fall, a genius in painting ; fully more clever
in the tine arts and sciences than my friend Lady
Wauchope, without her consummate a.ssuranec
of her own abilities. Call with .Air. liobinson
(who, by the bye, [ find to be a worthy, much
respected man, very modest ; warm, social heart,
which with less good sense than his would bo,
porhaiis, with the children of i)ritn precision and
])riile, rather inimical to that respect which is
man's due from man) — with him I call on Miss
Clarke, a maiden, in the Scotch phrase, "■<jtiil<
• iiowjli, liHt nn hriiit new:" a clever woman, with
tiilorabie jirotension.s to remark and wit ; while
time had blown the blushing bud of bashful
modesty into the Hower of easy confidence. She
wanted to see wh.at sort of raree s/inw an author
wa.s; and to let him know, that though Dunbar
was but a little town, yet it was not destitute of
people of parts.

Breakfast next morning [•J'Jnd] at Skateraw,
at .Mr. liCe's, a fanner of great note. Air. Lee,
an excellent, hospitable, social fellow, rather
dlili.sh -warmdiearted and chatty--a most judi-
cio\is, sensible farmer. Mr. Lee detains mo till
next morning. Company at dinner— My Rev.
acipniintancc Dr. Howmaker, a reverend, rat-
tlitig old fellow : two sea lietitenants ; a cousin of
the landlord's, a fellow whoso looks are of that
kind which deceived mo in a gentleman at Kol.so,
and has often deceived me : a goodly handsome
figure and face, which incline one to give them
credit for parts which they have not : Mr. Clarke,
a m\ich cleverer fellow, but whose looks a little
cloudy, and his appearance rather imgainly, with
an cvery-da}' observer may prejudice the opinion
against him : Dr. l?rown, a medical young gontle-
nian from Dunbar, a fellow whoso face and man-
ners are open and engaging. Leave Skateraw
for Dunso next day [2-'irdJ along with Collector

, a lad of .slender abilities, and ba.shfidly

diffident to an extreme.

Foinid Mi.ss .Vinslie, the amiable, the sensible,
the good-hnmotn-ed, the sweet Miss Ain.sliv, all
alone at Borrywell. Heavenly powers, who know
the weakness of human hearts, support mine I
What happiness must I see, only to remind me
that 1 camiot enjoy it!

Lanunermuir hills, from East Lothian to Dunsc,
very wild. Dine with the farmers' club at Kelso.
Sir John Hume and Mr. Lumsden there, but
nothing worth remembrance when the following
circumstance is con.sidoi'od— I walk into Dunsc
before dinner, and out to Herrywell in the even-
ing with Miss Ainslie — how well-bred, how
frank, how good she is ! Charming kachel !
may thy bosom never be wriuig by the evils of
this life of .sorrov.s, or by the villany of this
world's sons!^

Thursday [24th].— Mr. Kcr and I set out to
dinner at Mr. Hood's, on our way to England.

I am taken extremely ill with strong feverish
symi)toms, and take a servant of IMr. Hood's to
watch me all night— embittering remor.se scares
my fancy at the gloomy forebodings of death. I
am detormincd to live for the futtu-e in such a
manner as not to be .seared at the approach of
death— I am sure I could meet him with indiffer-
ence, but for "the something beyond the grave."
.Mr. Hood agrees to accomjiany us to England if
we will wait till Sunday.

FlUD.W [25th].— T go with Mv. Hood to see
a roup of an mifortunato famier's stock -jigid
economy, and decent industry, do you preserve
inc fi'oni being the principal draiiiuttK /« monK in
such a scene of horror !

Meet my good old friend !Mr. Ain.slie, who
calls on Mr. 1 lood in the evening to take farewell
of my bardship. This day I feel myself warm
with .sentiments of gratitude to the (!reat I're-
server of men, who has kindly restored me to
health and strength "uco more.

A pleasant walk with my young friend, Douglas
Ainslie, a sweet, modest, clever yountr fellow.

SfXD.VY [27th]. — Cross Tweed, and traver.so
the moors, through a wild country, till I reach
Alnwick — Alnwick Castle, a seat of the Duke of
Nortlutmberland, furnished in a most princely
manner. A Mr. Wilkin, agent of his grace's,
shows us the house and policies. Mr. Wilkin, a
di.jcrcet, sensible, ingenious man.

Monday [28th].— Come, still through by-ways,
to Warkworth, whore we dine. Hermitage and
old castle. Warkworth situated very pictur-
esque, with Coipiot Island, a small rocky spot,
the seat of an old monastery, facing it a little in
the sea, and the small but romantic river Coquet

1 Miss Ainslie died unn arried. llolicrt C'hambora says :— " I
ri'inemhcr moetiiiR her about forty years after her acquaint-
ance with Ituras-a good-looking elderly lady, of very ngree-
able manners. "

180

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BUKXS.

I'unnii)!,' tlirotigli it. Slocji at Morjiotli, a jilcas-
aiit c'iu>iij,'h littlo town, anil on iioxt day [•JUthJ
to Nuwoastk'. Mout witli u vory agrueulilu,
sensiblo fellow, a .Mr. Cliattox, who sliow.s us ii
groat many civilitios, and who dinos and sui)s
ivith us.

\V'i:dn'i:si)av [30th]. — Loft Nowcastlo early in
tho niorniuL;' and mde over a lino country to
lic'.xhani to broakfast— from llo.\ham to Ward-
ruo, the celobratod Hi>:i, where wo .slept.

TilUlisD.vY [ol.stj. — Ueaeh Longtown to dine,
and part there with my good friends, Mes.srs.
Hood and Iver. A hiring day in Longtown. I
am uneonimonly happy to see .so many young
folks enjoying life. 1 eonic to Carlisle. (.Meet
a strange enough roniantie adventure liy the
waj', in falling in with a girl and lier married
sister — the girl, after some overtures of gallantry
on my side, sees mo a littlo cut with the bottle,
ami oli'ers to take me in for a Gretna-gi'ceii
affair. I, not being (juito sueh a gull as she
imagines, make an appointment with her, by
way of lia: /a liiu/dlilli', to hold a conference on
it wlien we reach town. 1 meet her in town, and
give her a brush of caressing, and a bottle of
cider; but finding lierself n/i jnui fi-aiiijie in lier
man, she sheers off.) Ne.\t day [.lune IstJ 1
meet my good friend, Mr. -Mitchell, and walk
with liini round the town and its environs, and
through his jirinting-works, &,c. — foin- or five
hundred people employed, many of them women
and ehildi'en. Dine with Mr. Mitchell, and
leave C'ai-lisle. Come by the coast to Annan.
Overtaken on the way by a curious old fish of a
slioemaker, and miner, from Cumberland mines,
[y/c/'e Ike MUiHscri/il ubrKft/i/ tenninuks.]

BRIEF NOTES BY BUUNS OF A
IIICHLAXD TOUR:

Aug. 25— Ski'T. 16, 1787.

^otii augu.st, 1787.

I set out for the north in company with my
good friend Mr. Nicol.i From Corstoriihine, by
Kirkliston and Winchburgli, fine improven, fertile
country; near Linlithgow the lands worse, light
and sandy. Linlithgow, the a])pearanceof rude,
decayed, idle grandeur, charmingly rural, re-
tired situation. The old royal palace a tolerably
fine, but melancholy ruin— sweetly situated on a
small elevation liy tlie brink of a loch. Shown
the room where the beautiful injured Mary Queen
of Scots was born. A pretty good old (iothie
church — the infamous .stool of repentance stand-
ing, in the old Romish way, in a lofty situation.

V/hat a poor, pimping business is a Presby-
terian place of worship ; dirty, narrow, and
s(iualid; stuck in a corner of old popish grandeur

I'fliw WHS Williiim Xicol of tlic EJiuburgh High School
one of Burub's most iutiumte frieuds.

such as Linlithgow, and nnu-h more Mulroso'
Ceremony and show, if judiciously ilnuwii in
absolutely neces.sary for the Imlk of iiiuukiinl'
both in religious and civil matters.

West Lotiiian. I'he more cle:.
among the farmers,

ance ainl luxury
always observe, in cuial
proportion, the rudeness and sluiijdiiy of 1]^,
peasantry. 'J'his remai'k I have made all nVLrttio

his,

Lothians, .Mer.se, Ro.\burgh, kc: and for
among other rea.sons, I think that a man (jf lu-
mantic taste, a '" .Man of Feeling," will be huttu-
plea.sed with the poverty, but intelligent iiiiinl.s
of Ihe peasantry in Ayrsliire (peasantry tiny ni'o
all below the justice of peace) than the opulLHuo
of a club of .Merse farmers, when at the same
time he considers the vandalism of their ploui;li.
folks, i'v:c. [ carry this idea .so far, that .in uii-
inelo.sed half-improveii country is to me actually
more agreeable, and gives me more |ileasurc asa
prospect, than a country cultivated like a gankii.

Dine. Go to my friend SmitlTs at Avon I'riiit-
tield; find nobody but Mrs. .Miller, an agivcalik',
.-sensible, modest, good body, as useful but iicit
so ornamental as Fielding's .Miss Western ucit
rigidly jiolite « /ii Fi-aurnisc, butea.-<y, hospilahle,
and housewifely.

An old ladyfroni J'aislej', aMrs. Lawson, wlmm
F promi.70 to call for in Paisley like oil laily

W , and still more like iMi-s. C , her cou-

versatidii is pregnant with strong sense ami just
iviuark, but like them, a certain air of self-im-
portance and a diiivAie in the eye, .seem to indi-
cate, as the -Kyrshire wife observe<l of her cmv,
that " she had a mind o' her ain." -

I'le.'isant distant view of Dunfermline, ami tlio
rest of the fertile coast of Fife, as we go down to
that ilirty, ugly place, liorrowstoness. Sec a
horse-race, am', call on a friend of Mr. Nicol's, a
IJailie Cowan, of whom I know too little to at-
tem()t his portrait. Come through the rich carsc
of Falkirk to Falkirk to pass the night.

[Sr.VD.w, liOth). - Falkirk nothing remarkable
except the tomb of Sir ,lohn the llraliam, over
which, in the succession of time, four stones have
been laid. Camelon, the ancient metropolis of
the Picts, now a small village in the neighbor-
hood of Falkirk. Cro.ss the »,'rand canal to Canon.
Breakfast— come piust Larbert, and admire a line
monument of cast-iron erected by Mr. lirucc,
the African traveller, to his wife. N. Ii. — lie usi il
her very ill, and I sujiiwse ho meant it as nukli
out of gratitude to Heaven as anything else.

Pass I)uiiii)ace, a ))lace laid out with tine tastu
— a charming amphitheatre bounded by Denny
village, and iilca.sant .seats of Herbert.shire, Deiin-
van, and down to Dunipace. The Cari'on running
down the bosom of the whole, makes it one of
the most charming little prosjiects I have .seen.

Dine at Auchenbowie — Mr. Munro an excellent

2 I.Hily W anil Mis. C : .Mrs. Scott of Wimrliopi' imil

llrs. Cockburu, authoress of the " Flowers o' the Forest."

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

181

ii-li nioiv Mulrosot
i;ionsly tlir,,wii in
Imlk uf iiiaiiiuiKl,

(-■gaiice uikI luxury
< obsurvu, in cMnml
I stui)i(iity (,f thu
o luiule all nVLi'tliu
kc: and for il,is,

tluit a miui of i„.
iny," will lioliuttu-
t iiitellinviif iiiiiiils
poasaiitry tluy are
than thu uiiuifiiLc
wlioii at the same
ni of tliuir iiloui;h-
■^o far, that an mi-
■y is to mo actually
nioru [ilcasin'o as a
atud likoa tranlun.
llTs at Avon I'rint-
illcr, ;;n a,L;ivualile,

as useful hut licit
diss Wostcni iKjt
it easy, hospitalile,

Irs. Lawscjii, whiiiii
ley- like oil huly

VH. C , her eon-

jiip sense and just
tain air of self-im-
eye, seem to indi-
-erve<l of her euw,
dii."2

nferndine, ami tlio
•; as we ^'o down to
)Wstoness. See a
d of Mr. Nieol's, a
)\v too little to at-
nigli the rich earsi;
he iiiH'ht.
.(tiling- relnarkahlc

the lii'ahaiii, over
e, four stones have
lent nietroiiolis of

in the nei|j;liliour-
nd canal to (.'arroii.
, and admire a lino
xl by Mr. liriK'o,
e. N.li.— Ileusid

meant it as iiurIi
anything;- else.
out with tine taste
uunded by Denny
erbertshire, Deiio-
he (-'ari'on runniutc
L', makes it one of
lects I have .seen.
dunro an e.\eelleiit

■ic'ott of WiuidicM'i' ami
vera o' thu Forest."

worthy old man — Miss Munro an amiable, scii-
sihlo, sweet young woman, much resembling Mrs.
Grierson. Come to Bannockburn— shown tl cold
house where James III. was murdered. The
field of Bannockburn — the hole where glorious
Bruce set his stanilard. Here no iScot can pa.ss
uninterested. I fancy to myself that I see my
gallant, heroic countrymen coming o'er the hill
and down upon the plunderers of their country,
the murderers of their fathers; noble revenge
and just hato glowing in every vein, striding
rnoro and more eagerly as they approach the op-
pressive, insulting, bloodthii-sty foe I I see them
meet in gloriously-trhimphant congratulation on
the victorious Held, exulting in tlieir heroic royal
leader, and rescued liberty and independence !
Oonie to Stirling.

.M(i.\i).\Y['27th]. — Oo to Ilarvicston— Mrs. Ham-
ilton and family— Mrs. Chalmers — Mrs. Shields.
Go to see Cauldron Linn, and Rumbling Brig,aiid
Deil's Mill. Return in the evening to Stirling.

Supper — Messrs. Doig (the schoolmaster) and
Bell ; Captain Forrester of the castle — Doig a
queerish figure, and .something of a pedant —
Bell a joyous, vacant fellow, who sings a good
.song Forrester a nieiTy swearing kind of man,
with a dash of the sodger.

TUKSD.W MouNiNo [-iSth]. — Breakfast with
Captain Forrester — leave Stirling — Ochil hills^
Devon river — Forth and Teith — Allan river —
Strathallan, a fine country, but little improven —
Cross Earn to Crieff — Dine and go to Arbruchil
— cold reception at Arbruchil— a mo.st romanti-
cally pleasant ride up Earn, by Auchtertyre and
Conirie— Sup at Crietr.

Wi.DNKSDAV MouNiNO f29th]. —Leave Crieff -
Glen Almond — Almond River — O.s.sian's grave —
Loch Frioch — (llempiaich — Landlord and land-
lady remarkable characters — Taymouth — do-
scrihed in rhyme — Meet the Hon. Charles Town-
shend.

'I'HLitsDAY [30th].— Come down Tay to Dun-
keld — Olenlyon IIou.se — Lyon river — Druid's
Temple — three circles of stones — the outermost
.sunk "the second has thirteen stones remaining
— the innermost has eight — two largo detached
ones like a gate, to the south-east— say prayers
in it— pass Tay Bridge -Aborfoldy— described in
rhyme — Castlo Menzies, beyond firandtully —
Balloighan — Logierait — Invcr — Dr. Stewart —
Sup.

FiUDAY [31st]. -Walk with Mrs. Stewart and
Beard to Biriiam toji — fine prospect down Tay —
Craigiebarns hills— hermitage on the Bran Water
with a picture of Ossian — breakfast with Dr.
Stewart — Neil Gow plays — a short, stout -built
Highland figure, with his greyish hair shed on
his honest social brow — an interesting face, mark-
ing strong sense, kind open-heartedness, mixed
with immistrusting simplicity — visit his house —
VOL. I.

.Margaret Cow. Ride up Tummol river to Blair
— Fascally a beautiful romantic nest— wild gran-
dein- of the pass of Killicrankie— visit the gallant
Lord Dundee's stone. Blair-Sup with the
duchess— ea.sy and happy from the manners of
the family— confirmed in my good opinion of my
friend Walker.

Satuhuay [1st Sept.].— Vi.sit the .scenes rouml
Blair— fine, but spoiled with bad taste— Tilt and
(iari-ie rivers— Falls on the Tilt— heather scat-
ride in company with Sir William Murray and
Mr. Walker to LochTummel— mcanderings of the
Itannoeh, which runs through (piondam Struan
Robertson's estate from Loch Rannoch to Loch
Tummel — dine at Blair. Company — (Jeneral
Murray— Captain Murray, an honest tar— Sir
William Murray, an honest, worthy man, but
tormented with the hypochondria- .Mrs.Oraham,
helle et aviialJe — Miss Cathcart — Mrs. Murray, a
l)ainter— Mrs. King— Duchess and fine family,
the manpiis, Loids James, Edward, and Robert;
Ladies Charlotte, Emilia, and children — Dance —
Sup— Duke— Mr. Graham of Fintray; Mr.M'Lag-
gan; Mr. and Mrs. Stewart.

[Sunday, 2d].— Come up the Garrie— Falls of
Bru.ar—Dalnacardoch— Dal whinnie— Dine— Snow
on the hills seventeen feet deep — no corn from
Loeh Garrie to Dalwhinnio — cross the Spey and
come down the stream to Pitnim — straths rich —
let fiirtroim picturesque — Craigow hill— Ruthvcn
of Badcnoch — barrack ; wild and magnificent —
Rothemurche on the other side, and Glonmore —
Grant of Rothcmiu-che's poetry — told me by the
Duke of Gordon — Strathspey rich and romantic.

[Monday, 3d].— Breakfast at Aviemore, a wild
romantic spot — Snow in patches on the hills
eighteen feet deep— Enter Strathspey— come to
Sir James Grant'.s — dine— C!ompany: Lady Grant,
a sweet, pleasant body; Mr. and Miss Bailie; Mrs.
Bailie ; Dr. and Mi-s. Grant— clergymen — Mr.
Hepburn— Come through mist and darkness to
Dulsic to lie.

Tuksday [4th].— Findhorn river— rocky banks
— come on to Castlo Cawdor, whore Macbeth
murdered king Duncan — saw the bed on which
king Duncan was stabbed — dine at Kilraik [Kil-
ravock] — Mrs. Ro.se, sen., a true chieftain's wife,
a daughter of Clephane — Mrs. Rose, jun. — Fort
George —Inverness.

Wkdnksday [.'ith].- -Loch Ness— Braes of Ness
— General's hut — Fall of Fyers — Urquhart Castlo

and Strath — Dine at —Sup at Mr. Inglis'

— Mr. Inglis and Mi's. Inglis; three young ladies.

Ththsday [lith].— Come over Culloden Muir
— reflections on the field of battle — breakfast at
Kilraik — old Mrs. Rose, sterling sense, warm
heart, strong passion, honest pride, all in an un-
common degree — Mrs. Rose, jun., a little milder
than the mother: this, perhaps, owing to her

lb-2

ArrENDlX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

l)Liiii,' youn;^or Mr. (Jraiit, niinister at (.'alder,
roseinblos .Mr. Scott at liivcrleitlioii -- .Mr.-*. l!<>so
and -Mr. (iraiit accomimny us tn .\il(lniiiiiiiic
two youii^' hulius, Mi.ss I'ms.s, who sanj,' two (latlic
noiin><, beautiful ami lovely; Mis.s Sophie lirodie,
notvery beautiful, Imtiiiost agreeable audainialije

both of them the j,'eiitlest, milde.st, sweetest
creatures on earth, and happiness be with them!

Dine at Nairn - fall in with a jileasant enouirh
t;ent Ionian, Dr. Stewart, who had been lon^,'
abroad with his father in the forty-live; and .Mr.
Falconer, a spare, irascilile, warnidiearted Nor-
land, and a nonjuror -Wastes of .sand lirodie
llou.so to lie— Mr. I'.rodie truly polity but net
just the Hiirhland cordiality.

KlilDAV [7th|. Cross the Kindhorn to Torres

.Mr. Urodie tells nie that the inuir where Shak-
speare lays Macbcth's witch-nieetintj; is still so
haunted that the country folks won't pass it by
ni^dit Kl^iu to breakfast meet with .Mr. ,

.Mr. Duidiar's friend, a pleasant .sort of a man;
can come no nearer -Venerable ruins of Kl,i,dn
Abbey — a grander effect, at first t^lance, than
.Melro.se, but nothinj.^ near so beautiful.

Cros.s Spey to Kocliabcrs -fine palace, worthy
of the generous propiietor — dine. ('(>nii>any:
<luke and duche.ss. Ladies Charlotte and .Made-
line, Col. Abercrombie and lady, .Mr. (iordon,

and Mr. , a cler^jjym.'Ui, a venerable ai.;ud

fijrurc, and Mr. Hoy, a cler};yniau, I suppose, a
pleasant open manner. The duke makes me hap-
pier than ever great man did noble, princely,
yet milil, condescending, ami affable; gay and
kind— the duchess chai-ining, witty, ami .sensible

tJod bless them I '

Sleep at Cullen. Hitherto the country is .sailly
poor and uninijjroven; the ho\ises, crops, Iior.'^cs.
cat tic, &c., all in uni.son with their cart-wlicds;
and these are of low, coarse, unshod, clumsy work,
with an axle-tree whicli had been made with
other design than to be a resting shaft between
tho wheels.

[S.\TU1!DAV, Sth]. Breakfasted at Hanlf Ini-
provenients over this j)art of tho countiy Port-
soy Bay pleasant ride along the shore- cou'itry
almo.st wiM again between Banff and Newbyth;
cjuitc wild as we come through l'>uchan to Old
l>eer; but near the village both lands and crops
rich — lie.

[StNi).\y, 9th], — Set out for Peterhead. Near
Peterhead como along tho shore by the famous
Bullars of Buchan, and Slaius Castle. The soil
rich; crops of wheat, turnijis, &c.; but no in-
closing; .soil r.'ither light. Come to Ellon and
dine— Lord Aberdeen's seat; entrance dcnieil to
everybody owing to the jealousy of threescore
over a kept country wench. Soil and improve-
ments as before till we come to Aberdeen to lie.

1 For :in incident coiinccti'il with tliis visit nee I.oekhiiit's
Tiife, p. 78. liOckhnvt, \vc miiy rciniirk, must liiive fiiiJ a {'"Py
of Buruii'E diary difTeriiiK «"in(wliiit fnm t!ir iircsi'iit.

[.Monday, lOthJ. Meet with .Mr. Clialniurs,
jirintcr, a facetious fellow .Mr. Boss, a lino fel-
low, like Professor Tytler .Mr. .Marshall, (nie df
tho /iiiilti )ii ! norm .Mr. Sherifl's. authorof ".laiiiio
and Bess," a little decrcpid body, with sdinc
abilities Bishop Skinner, a nonjuror, son of tlm
authorof ■•Tuilocligorum," a man whose niilil,
venerable manner is the most niarkeil of any in
so young a man - Profes.sor (Jordon, r. good-
natured, jolly -looking' profcs.sur .Vberdceii, a
lazy town— near Stonehive the coast a gooil ileal
romantic meet my relations, llobert liiuni's,
writer in Stonehive, one of tho.se who love fun,
a gill, a punning joke, and have not a hail luait;
his wife, a sweet hospitable body, with(jiit any
affectation of what is called town breeding.

TiKso.w 111th].— Brcakfa.st with .Mr. Bunics
— lie at Laureneekii'k .Mbuin -library Mrs.
,a jolly, frank, sensible, love-inspiring widow

Howe of the -Mearns, a rich, crdtivaled, but
still unincloseil countrj-.

Wi:uxi;si).\Y |P_'th]. Cro.ss North Ksk river
and a rich country to Craigow. Co to .Monti'usu,
that finely situated hand.sonie town.

TlIflisD.\V[13th].— Leave Montrose breakfast
at .\uchmnthie, and sail along that wilil, i-mky
coast, ami .-ice the famous caverns, particularly tliu
Cairiepot- land and cline at .Vrbroath .stately
ruins of .\rbroath Abbey come to Dundee,
through a fertile country — Dmidee, a low-lying but
plea.sant town— old steeple - Tayfirth - Broughty
Castle, a finely situated ruin, jutting into tlie
Tay.

Klun.\Y[l Ithj. Breakfast with the MissSeotts

Mr, .Mitchell, an honest clergyman- .Mr. Bruce,
another, but pleasant, agreeable anil engaging;
the first from Aberlenmo, the second from For-
far, Dine with Mr. .Vnderson, a brother-in-law
of Mi.ss Scott.s. .Miss Be.ss Scott like .Mr.s, (Jrccn-
tield my bard.sliip almost in love with lur.
Come through the rich harvests and fine licdLTc-
rows of the Car.se of (jowne, .along the ronianliu
margin of the (!ram]iian hills, to Perth Castle
Huntley— Sir Stewart Thriepland.

S.\TLUD.\Y [lyth]. — Perth -Scoon— picture of
the Chevalier and his sister: Queen Mary's bed,
the hangings wrought with her own hands tine,
fruit fill, hilly, woocly country round Perth, Tay-
bridge. .Mr. and .Mrs. Hastings — .Major Scott
C.istle Gowrie. Leave Perth— come to Sti'atlic.ira
to llndcrmay to dine. Fine, fi'uitful, cultivated
Strath — thescencof " Bessy Bell and .M;iry (!r;iy "
near Perth — tine scenery on the banks of the May
— Mr.s. Belches, gawcie, frank, !ifT.ible, fond of
rural sports, hunting, .^c. .Mrs. Stirling, her sister
di (rnV.'— Come to Kinross to lie — reflections in ,i
fit of the colic,

SiNDAY [Sept, Kith].— Come through a cold,
barren country to Queensferry — dine — cross the
ferry, and come to Kdinburgh.

I Mr. Cliiilmers,
Koss, a line fel-
.Miirsliall, iiiiu i)f
mtlioruf ".Jiiiuie
lody, witli sdiiii;
juror, son of tliu
mill wluisu inilil,
iiurkcil of any in
lordon, ;i t^noil-
)r AhcnkTii, a
coast a ;;ooil iRmI
lloliort liiiniL's,
ISO who lovo fun,
not a bail liciirt;
Illy, without any
.•n brcodiiif,'.
with -Mr. liunics
-hlirary Mrs.
c-ins|>iriiif,'\vi<low
1, tailtivatcMl. Init

North Ksl; rivor
do to Montrdso,
own.

iitroso broakfast
that will), rurky
s, iinrticularly thu
VrUroath' stately
onio lo Uunik'o,
k'o,alow-lyiiif,'hut
yiirtli Rrotii^lity
juttiiiL? into tia;

ththo MissSfotts
nan- Mr. IJnae,
o anil t'nt,Mj_anH; ;
econd from i''or-
a lirolhcr-iii-law
t like -Mrs. (irron-

lovo with hir.

mil thio lit'ilLrc-
011^; the romantic
to IVrth- Castlu
1.1.

coon— [licturu of
luucii Mary's hcil,
own hands line,
(jund I'orth. Tay-
< — Major Scott
ime toStrathcaru
uitful, cultivalod
land .M.ary(!riiy "
hanks of the May
, afTalilc, fonil of
St irlin>r,hor sister
-reflections in a

.• through a cokl,
- dine— cross the

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

183

\-I^^IT BY BURNS Tl) CLACKMANNAN-
SHIIIK, >'^c.

LKTTKH TO 1)H. crHllIl':
I llO.M DIt. JA.Mi:s .M'KIXrilK'K .VD.MIl.

"Ilurns and I left Kdinliiir;;li to<,'ether in
Au"iist, 17'>7.' Wo rode liy Linlitlij,'ow and
Carroll, to Stirling. We visited the iron-works
at Carroll, with whicii the poet was forciliij'
.striiik. 'I'lie re.senililanee between that place
and its inliabitants to the cave of the Cyclops,
wliich nnust have occurred to eveiy clas.sical
reader, presented itself to Jkirns. At Stirlin;^
the prospect from the castle stronifly interested
liim ; in a former visit to wiiich his national
fecliiitrs hail been jiowerfully e.xcited by the
ruinous and rootless state of the hall in wliicli
the Scottish parliaments had been held. His
iiiilitiiiatioii had vented itself in some imprudent,
but not uiipoetical lines, whicli had j./, en much
oll'ence, and which he took tlii.s opportunity of
erasing, by breakinic the jiaiie of the window at
tliu inn, on which they were written.

" At Stirlin.n' we met with a company of travel-
lers from Kilinburn'h, among whom was a char-
acter in many respects congenial to that of
liurns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers of
the llij,di (Irammar-School at Edinbiirnh — the
same wit and power of conversation; the same
fondness for convivial society, and tliouf^htless-
ncssof to-morrow, cliaracteri/.cd both. Jacobitical
principles in politics were common to both of
tlicni ; and these have been suspected, since the
lovulution of France, to have ^dveii place in each
to opinions apparently opposite. I rcj^ret that
I have preserved no nicuiondiilid of their conver-
siition, either on this or on other occasions, when
1 liappeiieil to meet them together. Many songs
were sung; wliich I mention for the sake of
observing that when Burns was called on in his
turn, he was accustomed, instead of singing, to
recite one or other of his own .shorter poems,
with a tone and emphasis, which, though not
correct or harnionious, were imjjressive and
(latlietic. This he did on the present occasion.

■■ From Stirling we went next morning through
the romantic and fertile vale of Devon to Harvie-
ston in Clackmannanshire, then inhabited by
Mrs. Hamilton, with the younger part of whose
family Burns had been previously acquainted.
He introduced me to the family, and there was
fiirmed my first aei|uaintanee with I\Irs. Ham-
ilton's eldest daughter, to whom I have been
married for nine years. Thus was I indebted
to Burns for a connection from which I have
ilerived, and expect further to derive, much
La|i|)iness.

"During a residence of about ten days at

1 lii:illy ill October— a Blip of miinory. Si'u nutu 3, p. 73 of
I.iKkliart'-- l,ife.

Harvicstou, we made excursions to visit various
parts of the surrounding scenery, inferior to
none in Scotland in beauty, sublimity, and
romantic interest; particularly Castle Campbell,
the ancient seat of the family of Argyle ; and the
famous cataract of the Devon, called the Caldron
Linn; and the Kunibling Bridge, a single broad
arch, thrown by the Devil, if tradition is to 1m>
believed, across the river, at about the height of
a hundred feet above its bed. I am surprised
that none of those scenes should have called
forth an exertion of Burns's mu.se. But I doubt
if ho had much taste for the picturesque. I well
remember that the ladies at Harvieston, who
accompanied us on this jaunt, c'xiire.-iscd their
di.sappointmeiit at his not e.xiiressiiig in more
glowing and fervid language, his impressions of
the Caldron Linn .scene, certainly highly sublime
and somewhat liorriblo.

"A visit to Jlrs. Bnice of Clackmannan, a
lady above ninety, the lineal descendant of that
race which g.-ive the Scottish throne its brightest
ornament, interested his feelings more power-
fully. ^ T'his venerable dame, with eharactcr-
istical dignity, informed me, on my observing
that i believed .she was descended from the family
of IJobert ]5ruce, that Itobert Bruce was sprung
from her family, 'i'hougli almost deprived of
siieoch by a paralytic atl'eotion, she preserved
her hospitality and urbanity. She was in pos-
se.s.sion of the hero's helmet and two-handed
sword, with which .she conferred on Burns and
myself the honour of knighthood, remarking
that she liad a liottcr right to confer that title
than .tiimr /Kn/ife. . . . You will, of course,
conclude that the old lady's political tenets were
as Jacobitical as the poet's, a conformity which
contributed not a little to the cordiality of our
reception and entertainment.— She gave us as

- Cutlicrini" Ilvnce was tlii; iluuKlitor iif .Mcxiiiiili'f llriii'c,

K^^||., (if the family of Nowtoii, ami in eiiiiy life luciinu the

wife of Henry IJriico, Kpq., of (taekinainiuii, tlie ackiiow-

leilt'eil chief <pf the family in Seutlanil. It is a |iity th.it her

Milierli tioast .IS to ancestry is nut siiin'oitcd liy hi,^tlll•ical

antiiiimries. Ily these scriiiuilous ^'unllemt'ii the ilescent of

hir father, husliaiiil, anil other lamleii nun of the name eannut

lie traceil farther hack than to a Sir Itnliert ISniiv, who liveil

in the aw fullowint; that of the restorer of S.ulli.-h iiuleiien-

ilence, anil whom Kin^' Daviil 1!., in a charter liestowiiis on

him the lan.ls of t'hickinauiiau anil others, styles as his dniiiin.

! There is little reason, however, todoulit that from Sir Uuhert,

I first of I'laekmannan, were ilesceniled the families uf .\iith,

: Kinnairil (of whom eaine the Ahyssinian travelhrl, Kiiiloss

■ (i.f whom are the Karls of KiKin), Kinros.s, Caniock (of whom

' were the Karls i>f Kineariline), ami many other honouriilile

houses. On the ileath of Henry Itruee, .Inly H, 1772, wilheiit

surviving issue, his widow continued to reside in the massive

old tower of the family, situated on a hill at the west end of the

town of Clackmannan, where she kept the sword and helmet

I said to hiivc heen worn liy KiiiR Itohert at the hattle of fian-

noekhurn. She survived t" the 4th of Novemher, 17iil, when

she had readied the age of ninPty-five. The sword and helmet

then passed, liy her will, to the Earl of ElKin. The tower

i where the family flourished so louf;, and where liurns was

' eiitertiiiued, has, siuce the death of Mrs. Bruce, fallen into

ruin.

184

APPENDIX TO LIFE OF BUllNS.

lior first toast after dinner, Ami' (/iiron, or Away
with the Stran<rers. Who tlicse stranf,'ors were
you will readily iindorstand, Mrs. A. corrects
mo hy saying it should be Jlooi, or lloohi Uiiros,
a sound used i>y shephenls to d'rect thoir dogs
to drive away the sheep.

"We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on
the shore of liOchloven) and Quccnsfcrry. I am
inclined to think Burns knew nothing of poor
.Michael Uruce, who was then alive at Kinross, or
liad died there a short while before. A meeting
between the banls, or a visit to the deserted
cottage and early grave of poor IJruee, wouhl
have been liighly interesting.'

"At Dunfermline we visited the ruined abbey
and the abbey church, now consecrated to Pres-
byterian worship. Hero I mounted thociilh/f/ool,
or stool of repentance, assuming the character of
a penitent for fornication ; while Uurns from t'.o
pulpit addressed to mo a luuicrous reproof and
exhortation, parodied from tl-.at wliieh had been
delivered to himself in Ayrshire, where he had,
as he assure.l mc, once been one of seven who
mounted the sea/ of sliame together.

" In the church-yard two broad Hag-stones
marked the grave of lioliert Bruce, for whose
niemorj' Burns had more than common venera-
tion. Ho knelt and kissed the stone with sacrc<l
fervour, and heartily (mus ut mns erat) execrated
the worse than Oothic noglect of the tirat of
Scottish heroes."''

SYME'SS NARRATIVE OF A TOUR WITH
BURNS IN GALLOWAY.

" I got Burns a gray Highland shclty to ride
on. Wo dined the first day, 27th July, 1793, at
Glendonwynes of Parton ; a beautiful situation
on the Banks of the Dee. In the evening we
walked out and ascended a gentle eminence, from
which wo had as lino a view of Alpine scenery as
can well bo imagined. A delightful .soft evening
.showed all its wilder as well as its grander graces.
Inmiediatcly opposite, and within a mile of us,
wo saw Airds, a charming romantic place, where
dwelt Low, the author of ' Mary, weep no more
for me.''* This was clas.sical ground for Burns.
Ho viewed ' the highest hill which rises o'er the
.source of Dee ; ' and would have staid till ' the
passing spirit' had appeared, had we not resolved
to reach Kenmuro that night. We arrived as Mr.
and Mrs. Gordon were sitting down to supper.'''

1 nrme ilicil twenty yrars licfore this, n.imcly in l?''^.

2 Unuu's griive was within the church, sn tlmt tlio stoiio
whicli Ituriis kissed with sacred fervour did not cover tlie
remains of tiis licro.

3 Some account of .Tohn Syme, alons with his portrait, will
be found in vol. iv. of this work.

■t A beautiful and well-known hallad licRinninc—
The moou had etimhed the highest hill
"Which rises o'er the source of Dee.
<• John Gordon of Kenmure, afterwards, liy the restoratioa

" Hero is a gemiino baron's seat. 'I'hc i.'a.stlc
an old buihling, stands on a largo natuml mont.
In front the Ken winds for several miles tliidui li
the most fertile and bea\itiful holm, till ji e.\-
])ands into a lake twelve miles lotig, the lianks
of which, on tho south, )ire.scnt a line aiKl soft
landscape of green knolls, natural wckxI, anil
here an<l tliere a gray rock. On tho nortli the
a.spect is great, wild, and, I may say, treinciiiloiii.:
In short 1 can scarcely conceive i scene nwi'u
terribly romantic than the castio of Kcimnire,
Ihirns thinks so highly of it that he nicdiliitcs a
description of it in poetry. Indeed, 1 belicvij lie
has begun tho work. We spent three day.s v.jtli
.Mr. (lordon, whose i)olishcd ho.spitality i.s of an
original and cndL-ariiig kind. Mrs. (iordnn's la]!-
ilog, Kilio, was dead. She would have lui oiiitapli
for him. Several had been made. Burns wa.t
a.sked for one. 'I'liis was setting Hercules to tlio
distaff. He disliked the subject : but, to plcn.so
tho lady, ho would try. Hero is what he iim-
duced :

In wood anil wild, ye warlilini? thruii}{,

Your heavy loss deplore,
Now half extinct your powers of simp,

Sweet Keho is no more.

Ye jarriuKi screcchinn things around,

Scream your discordant joys !
Now half your din of tuneless song

With Keho silent lies.

" Wo left Konnnu'o and went to dateliouso. I
took him the moor-road, where savage and ilcso-
late regions extended wide around. The sky wa.s
sympathetic with the wretchedness of the soil ; it
became lowering and dark. The hollow wiiiijs
sighed, tholightningsgleamed, the thunderiolloil.
Tho iioet enjoyed the awftil scene he spoke not
a word, but seemed wrai>t, in meditation. In ;i
little while the rain bej :i to fall ; it pourcil in
floods tipon us. For iiiree hours did the wilil
elements 'rumblo their bellyful' upon our de-
fenceless heads. Oh ! Oh ! 'twas foul. We got
utterly wet; and, to revenge ourselves, iiunis
insisted at Gatehouse" on oiu' getting utterly
drunk.

" From Gatehou.se we wont next to Kiik-
cu<lbright, through a tine country. But hero I
must tell you that Burns had got a pair of ;'.,„»(./
boots for the journey, which had been thoroiiglily
wet, and which had been dried in such maimer
that it was not possible to got thcni on again.
Tho brawny poet tried force, and tore them to
shreds. A whiffling vexation of this sort is more
trying to the temper than a serious calamity. Wo
were going to Saint JIary's Isle, tho seat of tho

of the forfeited title, Viscount Kenmure, a title which liei amc
dormant in '**17 on the tleatli of his successor.

6 (iutehousc is a borough in the stcwartry of Kirkcuilhiiu'lit
situated on tho Fleet, near that river's expansion into I'lul
It,ay or estuary. The town sprang, alwut the middle of tlie
eighteenth century, from a sinwle eottaKe situated at the ^':ile
of the Avenue to Cally lloufc— hence the name.

icat. 'I'lic rastlc,
•^0 natural nioat.
ml miles tiinint;li

hulni, till it t'\-
i Imtx, tliu hanks
t a tiiio aiiil soft
itunil wooil, aiiil
Dii tlio noi'lh tlio

suy, trt'iiiuiulKus
ivo I scfiic luuru
<tlo of Kciinuii'c.
at liu nie<lilatus ii
leod, I believe lie
t throe (lays with
ospitality is of an
irs. (lorilnn's laij-
il have an ejiitapli
lado. Hums was
g Hercules tti tlio
ot : Imt, to [ileaso
a is what he [iro-

inK thriiiih'i
rsof soiiff,

j8 iiromul,

lj'8 !

s» HonR

t to (iatehousc. I
! savajjfo and iksn-
und. The sky was
ness of the suil ; it
The hollow winds
thethuiiderrdlled.
jiie- ho spoke nut
nieditatioii. In a
fall ; it [loured in
ours (lid the wild
'ul ' upon (jur de-
.•as foul. We got
ourselves, lUinis
ir j^-ottiug utterly

it next to Kirk-
ntry. But here 1
(ota pairof /I'wdH;/
d been thoro\it;iily
(1 in such manner
;t thcni on again.
and tore them to
)f this sort is more
ious calamity. We
ilo, the seat of the

re, !i title wliiili bciiimo

[■(■t'ssdr.

urtry of KirkcMidliriulit

's expaimiciii into Vhil

l)out the inidillc of tin'

line sitiiiitoil at the ^'ute

;he niiinc.

: !

M'^? B }Fi Kj- C 35;

OF ri.AfKVANKAH.

l,.Mi':'.". ''iliLf.,* V !• ■!n'b'::f;ii

Al'PKNIHX TO r-IKK OF lUrUNS.

185

Kjirl "f Hi'lkirU, mill tho forlorn Hunm wan (Uh-
cntiilitL'il lit tliK thoui^'ht cif Ills ruincil hoiitN. A
^Ick Hlciniai'li iiiid ii huinliu'lui lout tlicir aid, anil
tlio iiiiiii "f viTHc wnM nuilu lurnlilii. I ulti;lii|iti'il
to ivuMoii witli liiiii. Mi'i'iy III) iiH ! Iiow ho iliil
fnniu with ra^u ! Nntliiiii^' luiilil I'uliistatu liiiii in
ti'iii|>or' I trit'il variuiiH i'X|ici'iiiii'ntH, ami at laxt
hit on onu tlint miucuoilud. I hIiowuiI liita tliu
JioiiHi' "f (larliiwtiiii, acroHK tlic liay of Wij^tiin.
AK'iiiii''t *'"' '''"''I "f •''illi'way, witli wliom lii^ was
uDVmiIoiI, Iiu I'XpuctoiMtuil hlH H|>iL'un, and ru-
(riiimd a nioMt atfrouuMo ti'inpor. Ho waH in a
liKint i'|>i;;raniniatii' liuinoiir Induud. Ilo after-
wim'iIm foil i>n hiinililor piinu. 'I'liuru is tMio
)hii'iiio whom Ik' docn nut luvu. Ilo hud u iiiiMMin^
blow at liini; •

Wlicii Miirliii", (Ic'iiiim'il, to tho ili'vll went ilcjwii,
"I'n ir< iKitlillik' woiilil Hrrvo lilin Init Sutaii'x iiwii (Tnuii',
Til) (uiirM liiail, i|uiitli Hiitiiii, thiit iniwii hIiiiII wiiir nuvcr,
I \tm\\\ tlKiii'i'l iix wl< k< il, liut nut i|uitu ao cli^vur.

" Well, I am to l)iinj^ my render to Kirkcud-
lirij,'lit aloii^f with our poot witliont hootH. I
cnrrii'd the torn ruinh across my sadcllo in sjiite
uf iiis fuiniinations, and in contempt of appear-
ftuces; and, wliat is more, Fiord Selkirk carried
tliuin in his ooaeh to l)iimfries. lie insisted
they were worth mending,'.

"We reached Kirkeiidlirit^ht about ono o'clock,
I lijid i>i'oniised that we sh(iu!<l dine with one of
tiio first men in our country, .lolin Dal/.oll. Hut
Itmiis was ill a wild and olistropenms humour,
nnd swore he would not dine where he should
lie under the smallest restraint. We prevailed,
tlierefore, on Mr. Dal/.ell to dino with us in tho
inn, and had a very a^'reealile party. In the
evuiiiiifi; we sot out for St. .Mary's Isle.' Ivobert
liiid not nlisohitoly refrained the niilkincss of pfood
temper, and it oeeurred once or twice to him, as
liu redo aloii^', that St. Mary's Isle was the seat
of a lord; yet that lord was not an aristocrat, at
least in his sense of the word. We arrived aliout
eight o'clock, as the family were at tea and e<'iree.
St. Mary's Isle is one of the most delightful places
that can, in my opinion, bo formed by thea.ssein-
blaj,'c of every soft, but not tamo object, which
constitutes natural and cultivated beauty. Hut
not to dwell on its external graces, lot mo tell
you that we found all the ladies of the family (all
beautiful) at home, and some stranf,'ei's ; and
anioiifj: others, who but Urbani I Tho Italian
suiij,^ us many Scottish soiif^s, accompanied with
instrumental musie. Tho two younfj^ l.idics of
Selkirk sunj,' also. We had the song of ' Lord
Ore;,'ory,' which I itskod for to have an opjior-
tunity of calling on Burns to recite hin ballad to
that tune, lie did recite it; and such was the

1 St. Jliir.vB I"li', ttic scat of llio Karl of Hclkirk, is situated
Buhiirt ilJHtaiiue from Kirkciulliriglit. The carls lidongod ti>
the DouKlns famil.v, anil, on thi> iluath of the sixth uarl in
isw, tho titlu iiasKc'd tu tliu head of tlie family, tlie Duke uf
ll:iiniltoii.

effect that ft doail Hilonco un^uud. It wan MUth ii
silence as a mind of feeling naturally preserves
whiMi it is tiiiw hod with that eiilhu.-<iaim which
lianishos every other thought but tlu' contem-
plation and indulgeiieoof the sympathy produced.
Ilurns's ' |,ord (Jregory ' is, in my opinion, a nioHt
beautiful and all'i'ctiiig ballad. The fastidioiin
critic may perhaps say some of the sentiments
and iniiigi'i-y are of too elevated a kind for such
a style of composition ; for instance, 'Thou iiolt
of liciven that jiasscst by;' and ' ^■o mustering
Ihundir,' ite.; but this is a eolibblnodod objec-
tion, which will be said rather than fill.

" We enjoyed a most liapp, evening at Lord
Selkirk's. Wo had, in every seii.so of tho word,
a feast, in which our minds and our senses were
eipially gratilieil. The poet was delighted with
his company, anil aci|uitted himself to admiration.
The lion that had raged so violently in the morn-
ing, was now as mild and gentle as a lanili. Next
day we returned to Dumfries, and so ends our
jierogriiiation.

" I told you that in the midst of the storm, on
the wilds of Kenmnro, Hums was wrajit in inedi-
tiition. What do you think he was about > Ho
wascharging the Knglisharmy, along with liruce,
at Hamiocklmrn. He was engaged in the same
manner on our riilo home from St. Mary's Isle,
and I did not disturb him. Next day he jiro-
duced me the following address of Hrnco to his
troops, nnd gave mo a. copy for Dalzell:

'Hcots whii liae wl" \\ al'iuo Mid," 4i-."2

LIBHAIJY OF HURNS.

On tho decease of lUirns, the books in his
library were numerous and well-seleeted. Tho
following list was furnished by the sons of tho
]ioet; and although it comprises a jiortion only
of their father's library, it will be accepted by
his admirers as a most interesting memorial.

IIKIJ.ES I.KTTKKS ANH KI.KOANT I.ITKKATIUK.
Iluuald Stowarfs Klenuiil" 1 Mi'Imolh's linro

of the I'hilosojihy of tli

lluinau .Mind. 4tii.
Blair's Lectures.
Kiiinies' Elements of Criti-

eisiii.
Kaiine.s' Sketches nf Man.
Smith's Moriil Sentiments.

IMecant K.\triiits in I'lu.ie
and Ver.-e. ;i Vuls. Svo.

Ilr. .loliuMins Idles of tlie
IViets.

liiildsmith's Wmks.

Swift's Works.

Sterne's Works.

Iturke (in the Sntiliine and Letters liy l'"lie. Ony, Swift,
Heautiful. | and otlicr eminent Writers,

tloileau's Works. I

ESSAYISTS.

Tlie Spectator.
The Kainhler.
Tho Idler.
Tho .Adventurer.
Tho Tatlor.
Tho Guardian.

Tho Freeholder.
The World.
Tho Ohsener.
The Mirror.
The I.ounKer.

5 I'nfortunatoly, this story of Mr Syinc's resanlins the com-
pOBitiun of " Bruce's Address " receives what is tantamount to
a contmdictiou from Durus's own pen. Hee note to the poem.

ISC

ArrENDIX TO LIFE OF BURNS.

1'(.i;ti;v.

llMiniT'8 Iliiul. Tmiislntcd liy

MAfl'IIK.KSON.

ViiKil. TranKlut.cl hy (iAwiN
Doidi.AS. Witli (lUwsar.v.

Tii!-i!ii"s .liMiisali'in Dclivuruil.
Traiislatuil l)y IIuhr.

rlmuccr'a Works. Fnlii".

I'himcer's Work". '.; t'opii's in
Folio, Wink l,ttti.'r. Morr
tliiin oiii'-lialf of olio of till!
I'oiiitM in .Mannsiriiit.

.Viii'ii'nt l'oi!tw of Si'otlanil.

MullllISON, I'LM-tll.

Cambnscan, willi tlie Hattlo,
and tlic TwiliKlit of tlio

(ioils.

()R.<iau's I'oi'nis.
Itoliin Hooil Dallails.
J'crcv's Ri'liciucs of Aiiiii'nt

I'oi'tr.v.
.Mian Uamsay'9 room".
Ilanisa.v's <: nllc Slii'iihonl.

I'lati's liy I'lviil Allan.
Milton's Wcii«-.

lintUr's lluilibras.
I'oiu.'n Works.
Dryili'ns Works.
Tlionison's Works.
Wallor's I'ounis.
I'owli'j's Tocnis
Prior's I'lK'nis.
Dyor's I'oi-nis.
Di-nluun's Poems.
Collins' Olios,
(lay's PoiMns.
(iloviT's l.ioniilas.
Wilkif's Kpigoniail.
SonuTvillf's Cliasi'.
Cowper'K Task.
■Vonns's ^W't Tlion^'lr .
Ferdnsson's Pounis.
I'arniUs llimiit.
Heat tie's Minstrol.
Voltairu's llenriaiU'.
Poems liy -Vnna Seward.
Sonas. Many I'oUeitions.

Shakspeare. Edited by .loiix-

sox. 8 Vols. 8V0.
Shakspeare. Kdited by liKi.i..

Uii \'ol«. I'Jnio.
.Moliere's Works,
lien Jonson'9 Ilraniatie

Works.

IiK.VM.V.

Ciliber's Dramatic ^Vo•.■ks.
i (Itway's Plays.
Sebiller's Uobliei-s. Transla-
tion.
Soiitlorne'.s Dramatic Works.
Tile Conscious Lovers.
1 Tbe lleaiix" 8tiataj,'em.

Kney^ioiwdia Rritanniea. lo
vols. 4to; 1784.

Knclid's Klements of Geome-
try.

Siiiellie's Philosopliy of Xatn-
ral History.

(Smith's Wealth of Nations.

«KNi;i!AL sriKXCK.

Land - surveying,'. Various
Treatises.

Arithmetic. Various Trea-
tises.

dauKin^'. Various Treat i>es.

Mui-ie. Many Dooks, ,\neienl
and Modern.

WORKS OK FICTKiX.

Tom Jones. Fikl»ixu.
.Joseph Andrews. Do.
Uoderick Itandom. Smoi.i.ktt.
llumphrey Clinker. Do.
t<ir l.auiiceliit (ireaves. Do.
Don liuixote. Tiaiislation.

Man of Fcelinn. .Mai
Man of the World.
.Inlia de KouhiMix'.
Viear of Waketiel.l.

Ketiii'ious t'ourlsliip.

Ki.szii;.

llo.

Ho.
(ioiii-

IIISTORV.
Life of Sir William Wallace. (Million's Decline and I'all ..f

lilack Letti r.

liarliour's lirnce. I'.laek
Letter.

lilack Letter Folio. Hiindiy
Legendary and Faliulmi-
Ilistories of the Fir.^t Set-
tlements of P.ritain.

Lindsay's (of Pitscottie) His-
tory of Scotland.

Kohertson's lli.story of Scut-
lanil.

Stewart's History of Scotland.

SKHMONS, THF.OLOCY,
Kililes. Various.
lilair's Sermons.
Tillotsou's Sermons.
Sherlock's Sermons.
Sermons. Many Volumes.
Works of John Knox. 4to.
llaxter's Call to the Uni i

verted,
liaxter's Saints' Uest.
lioston's Crook in the Lot.
lloston's Fourfold State.
Ilervey's Meditations.

the Roman Fuiiiiii'.
Ilnines History of IJiLilaml.
Smiillett'K Ciintiiiuatiiin ef

H uiue's History iif KiiL:laiiil.
Somervilles Hi>tiiiy nf tlir

Last Years of yu^in Amu-,
(loldsmith's lloinan llislmy
L'Hi-toire des Ilicas de IVrii.
L' 1 1 istoire de la Uevolution ile

Suede.
Joseiihus' Works.

AND KF.MiiliiL.S WilUKs.
j Ilervey's Theron and As|ia>ia.

Eli/.alietb We.-t's Meiliiati.ins.

Welhvood's (ilimpse nf (dmy.

Uutherfonl's Letters.

Watts' Hymns.

Solemn Le.i^'ui'and CDVcnunt.

Conh'ssion of Faith.

The Scots Worthies.

Sundry lark'e Volumes. Fnliu,
4to, and Svo, ciintiiiiiiii;;
many '1 i.ictscnniicct.Ml witli
the iliunh of Ceneva, ;iii(l
the lieformatinn in (.'Ciuril.

MISOF.LLANK.iil'.S.
Bogue's French Dictionary j Swift's Tale of a Tuh, ainl

Thick 8V0. j Battlcof the nooks.

Moore's Travels. ! Slacpherson's IlitthlandiT,

naron Tivnck. j Treatise on Falconry.

Dirom's Narrative of Wars in Hume's Kssays.

India. Montaiaue's Kssays.

eeliiiK. lUiKi.Nzii
:iu\Viirl.l. lj„.
KiMlliiKlii'. Hi,.
■Wiiki'tiil.l. (miiii.

i C'ourtsliip.

Duoliiii- mill I'iill „t
miiii Kiii|iiir.
Uistiiryof Knijlmiii.
'n <'Miitinu;itiitn <>i
sIIistdi-ycfKiiMlanil.
Ir's lli-tciy i.f tlic
ears .if (iu;(ii Anne,
th'ri Itntnait Ilisluiy
ro ties Iiii'iis (if I'lrii.
iciU'liiUuviiUuiuuili..

»• Works.

I';iiiL.S Woiins.
* Tlirnm ami .\sit;t>i;\.
li Wf.-t'sMi'ilitaliuiH.
id's (ilimpsii lit' (ilury.
.inl's 1,1'ltcrs.
lynuis.

liiMmicaiKll'iivc'iiaiit.
on of Kaitli.
ts Wortliics.

laivi- VollUliOS. l-'nliu,

mil Svo, coiitaiiiiiiL;
'ria<'ts('oinn'tt.-il witli
lutri-ti of (ifiuMa, anil
.'formatiini in Kener:il.

Tiilf of a Tuli, ami
! of tho n»iiks.
rson's iiii^hlaniliT.
■ on falconry.
1 Kssays.
Sue's Kssays.

POEMS AND SONGS.

"'^'^^^

" w
my
wic
it, i
siiR
lior,
siiii

large i
which
found
iinine
same 1
the lo
tlie LI

POEMS AND SONGS.

EARLIEST TO 1785.

SONG-HANDSOME NELL.i

Tune— "i am a man unmarried."

"The followiiiR composition," says Hiinis, in his Hist Coiiimon-plaee Book, refeiiiug to this lyric,
"wiia tlie llist of my performances, anil done at an early period of my life [probably IT".')], when
my heart glowed with honest warm simplicity, nnacciuainted and uncorrupted with the ways of a
wicked world. The performance is, indeed, very puerile and silly, but I am always pleased with
it, as it recalls to my mind those happy days when my heart was yet honest, and my tongue was
sincere. The subject of it was a young girl, who really deserved all the praises I have bestowed upon
her. I not only had this opinion of her then— but I actually think so still, now that the spell is long
since broken, and the enchantment at an end."

O, once I lov'd a bonnie lass,

Ay, and I love her still ;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast

I'll love my handsome Nell.

As bonnie lasses I liae seen, have

And mony full as braw, well-dressed

But for a modest gracefu' mien
The like I never saw.

A bonnie lass, I will confess,

Is pleasant to the ee, eye

But without some better qualities

She's no a lass for me.

But Nellie's looks are blithe and sweet,

And what is best of a', all

Her reputation is complete.
And fair without a flaw.

She dresses aye sae clean and neat, always

Both decent and genteel ;
And then there's something in her gait

Gars ony dress look weel. makes well

1 Of the subject of the song. Burns speaks more at
largo in the autobiographical sketch of his early days
which he sent to Dr. Moore, and which will be
found in the Appendix to the Life. The heroine's
n.inie was Nelly Kilpatrick, the daughter of the
same blacksmith to whom Burns was indebted for
the loan of the Hintorj/ of Sir William Wallace (see
the Life). The inspiration took place in tiie harvest-

field at Mount Oliphant, "in my fifteenth autunm,
ho says in the letter to Dr. Jfoore, and one would
understand that the little piece was composed at
tliat time. But elsewhere the poet expressly says it
was written when he was a few months more that\
his sixteenth year, that is in 1775.

Burns himself, says Lockhart, "characterizes it
as a very puerile and silly performance, yet it

190

POE]MS AND SONGS.

[1776.

A gamly dress ivud gentle air
Miiy slightly touch the heart,

But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases nie,
'Tis this enchants my soul ;

For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.

SONG— TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.'

TVSK—" Iiu-crcaiild'n liirl."

Burns, in liia notes written in an interleaved copy of .loinisnn's Scots Mtmical Museum, prescnti'il
t.) liis friend Capt. Riddeli, reniarlvs in regard to this piece, "Tliis son^ I eonijiosed about tlie aue «(
seventeen." Tlie year of its composition would tlierefore be probably 177(1.

Oh, Tibbie, I hae seen the day,
Ye wad na been sae shy ;

B'or lack o' gear ye lightly me.
But, trowth, I care na by.'-

Yestreen I met yon on the moor.

Ye apak' na, but gaed by like stourc ;

Ye geek at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care T.

Oh, Tibbie, &c.

When comin' hame on Sunday last,
Upon the road as I cam' past.
Ye snufft an' gae your head a cast.
But, ti'owth, I care't na by.

Oh, Tibbie, &c.

llllVO

would not
means sliglit
tnitli, I care not

last night
went tlyliig ilust
toss tlie lieiiil
ileiU'o

lioiue

•?ilVO

tnitli, I ilid iiiit caiv

contains liere and there lines of wliieli lie need
hardly Inive lieen ashamed at any period of his life."
Among the poet's memoranda, is tlie fcdlowinf;
somewhat elaborate criticism l)y liimself on tlie same
song:— "The first distieli of tlie llrst stanza is qnite
too niucli in the llimsy strain of our ordinary street
ballads; and, on tlie other liand, tlie second distieli
is too niueli in the other e.xtrenie. Tlie expression
is a little awkward, and the sentiment too serious.
Stanza the second I am well pleased with ; and I
thinli it conveys a fine idea of tliat amiable part of
the se.\— tlie agrecaldes ; or what in our Scottisli
dialect we call a siocet mmny lann. The third stanzn
has a little of the flimsy turn in it, and tlie third
line has rather too serious a cast. Tlie foiirtli stanza
Is a very indifTerent one; the lirst line is, indeed, all
in the strain of the second stanza, but the rest is
mostly an expletive. The thoughts in the llfth stanza
come finely up to my favourite idea— a sweet sonsji

hian: tlie last line, liowcvor, halts a little. Tlie ; i'liie
sentiments are kept up witli eijual sjiirit and ti'iidcr-
ncss in tlie sixtli stanza : iiut the second and foiiitli
lines, ending with sliort .syllables, hurt the wlmje.
Tlie seventli stanza has several minute faults; Imt 1
rcinemlier I composed it in a wild enthusiasiii (if
jiassion, and to this hour I never recollect it but
my heart melts, and my lilood sallies at the renieiii-
liraiice."

1 Tlie heroine is said, by Mrs. Begg, the poet's sister,
to have lieeii Isabella Steven, the daughter of a biiiall
land-owner near Lochlea, which, if true, unsettles lur
lirotliers chronology, for he was nineteen when tlii'
removal to Lochlea took place.

-Tliis stanza is inserted in the first romnion-pliue
liock, extending from Ajiril, 1783, to Octolier, 1785, iiinl
wliieli was first iirintcd in nnytliing like cnmiiliti'
form in 187'J.- The Scotch idiom care Jia h.i/ nu ;ims
literally " care not by, or in regiird to (tiiat)."

["76.

•wn, prosciitcil
Ixmt tlio imiiif

ilVC

oiild not
leans ulipl.t
nitli, I caio iiHt

ist niglit

i-ent tl.vingiliist

ns8 the licMil

eui'o

IVO

lutli, I dill not c!\\v

n little. Till' f :Miie
spiiit and temlcr-
second and fonitli
i, hurt the wli^k'.
iiutc faults; hut 1
ill! enthusiasm nf
;r recollect it Imt
lies at the leincni-

i;, the ])oet's sister,
laughter of a small
true, unsettles lit r
lineteen when tlic

r.st C'onnnon-i)la(e
October, 178:'), anil
iujx like rnniiilitc
care iia bi, nuaiis
to (that)."

Age 17. J

POEMS AND SONGS.

I doubt na, lass, but yo may think,
Uecau8e ye liae the name o' clink,
That ye can j)lease me at ;■. wink,
Whene'er ye like to try.

Oh, Tibbie, &c.

But sorrow tak' him that's aae mean,
Altho' liis pouch o' coin were clean,
Wlia follows ony saucy quean
That looks sae prouil and high.

Oh, Tibbie, kc.

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart.
If that he want the yellow dirt,
Ye'U cast your head anither airt,
And answer him fu' dry.

Oh, Tibbie, &c.

I>ut if he iiae the name o' gear,
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Tiio' hardly he, for .sense or lear.
Be better than the kye.

Oh, Tibbie, &c.

But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice,
Vour dadilie's gear mak's you sae nice ;
The deil a ane wad speir your price.
Were ye as poor as I.

Oh, Tibbie, &c.

There lives a las.s beside you park,
I'd rather hae her in her sark.
Than you wi' a' your thousand mark ;
That gars you look sae liigh.

Oh, Tibbie, &c.

191

ciuh

imcket

direction

learning
kine

devil a one wo\dd ask

shift

makes

SONG— I DEEAM'D I LAY.

"Xhe.se two stanzas," sa.vs Huiiis, "I composed when I was seventeen [1776]: they are amouf;
the oldest of my printed pieces." ^

I dream'd I lay where flower.s were springing,

Gaily in the sunny beavn ;
List'ning to the wild birds singing.

By a falling, crystal stream :
Straight the sky grew black and daring ;

Thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;
Trees with aged arms were warring

O'er the swelling, drundie wave. turbid

If
I

jllllllj

192

POEMS AND SONGS.

Such WJ18 my life's deceitful morning,

Such the pleasures I eujoy'd ;
But laiig or noon, loud tempests storming

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd.
Tho' tickle Fortune has deceiv'd me,

(She promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill ;)
Of mouy a joy and liojje bereav'd me,

I bear a heart shall i:iU])port mo atill.'

[mi.

TRAGIC FRAGMENT.^

" III my early years, nothing less would serve me than courtiiig tlie Tragic Muse. I wan, 1 tliink,
about eighteen or nineteen wlien I sketi'liud tlie DUtlliies of a tiaged.v forsooth ; Imt tlie Inirstiiit; of
a cloud of family misfortunes, wlilili liiid for some time tlirtiiteiied lis, pii'vented my further ]pidwres.s.
Ill tlio.se days I never wrote down anytliing; so, except a speech or two, the whole has escaped my
memory. The following, which I most distinctly reiiiciiilicr, was an exclamation from a groat
character— great in occasional instances of generosity, and daring at times in villainies. He is
supposed to meet witli a child of misery, and exclaims to liimself, ' All villain as I am 1' " Ac— li. 1;,
—The piece was composed then in 177" or 177S.

All villain as I am — a danintd wretch,
A hardened, stubbdrn, unrepenting sinin'r.
Still my heart melts at human wretchedness;
And with sincere but unavailing sighs
I view the helpless children of distress!
With tears indignant I behold the oppressor
Rejoicing in the honest man's destruction,
Whose luisubmitting heart was all his crime. —
Fiv'n you, ye hai)les.s crew ! I |/ity you ;
Ye whom the seeming good tliink sin to pity;
Ye poor despised, abandoned vagabonds,
Whom Vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er to ruin.
Oh ! but for friends and interposing Heaven,
I had been driven forth like you forlorn.
The most devested, worthless wretch among you !
O injured God ! Thy goodness has endow'd me
W' .r talents passing most of my compeers.
Which I in just projiortion have abused —
As far surpassing other common villains
As thou in natural parts has given me more.

' " On comparing these verses with those on
" Handsome Nell," the advance achieved liy tlie youiiL
1 lard in the course of two short years must be regarded
with admiration."— J. G. Lockhart.

" This fragment was first published by f'romek in
1808, but without the concluding five lines; it was
found by that industrious collector among the poet's
]iapers, headed by Burns's note given aliove. The
piece was copied into the Common-place Hook in
March, 1784. Notwithstanding the note given hy

liiinis as to the origin of the Fragment, we find liini
heading one cojiy of it: "A Fragment in the ninir
of Remorse, on Seeing a Fellow-Creature in Misery,
whom I had once known in Better Days." Wlio can
doulit that the lines beginning "With tears indig-
nant," Ac, ref' rs to the tyrant factor whose insolent,
threatening epistles used to set the family in tears;
and tliat the "honest man" with "unsubmittiiig
heart," was the poet's noble father.

[inr.

Ago 19.]

POEMS AND SONGS.

THE TARBOLTON LASSES.

15)3

This is evidently an early proiluction of the bard. Ita exact date cannot be asucitaiiicil ; its pio-
bttble date may be given as 1778.

was, I tliiiik,
lu iiinstiiiK <if
thtiiuiiHit'ss,
IN isniiiid my
friMii a Kieat
iiiifs. Ill' Is
Ac- II. l;.

If ye gae up to yon liill-tap,
Ye'll tliere see bonnie Peggy;

Slie keiia her father is a laird,
And she forsooth's a lady.

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune :

Wha canna win her in a niulit
Has little art in courtiuir.

Gae down by B'aile, and taste the ale,

And tak a look o' Mysie ;
She's dour and din, a deil within.

But aiblins slie may please ye.

If she be shy, her sister try,

Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny,
If ye'll dispense w.' w.ant o' sense —

She kens hersel' she's bonnie.

As ye gae up by yon hillside
Speer in for bonnie Bessie;

She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light,
And handsomely address ye.

There's few sae bonnie, nane sae gude,
lu a' King George' dominion ;

If ye should doubt the truth o' this —
It's Bessy's ain opinion ! '

liiiKl-owuer.

wliu viinnot

obstinate dun (sallow)
pt'iliaps

inquire

give curtsy

none so good

lent, we find liiiii
lent in the Uam
lature in >Iisii-.v,
Oays." WIio can
Vitli tears imliv:-
r wliose insolent,
! family in tears;
I "uiisiibmitting

AH, WOE IS ME, MY MOTHER DEAR.

The following verses were copied from the Glenriddell MSS. in the Athenreuni Library, Liverpool,
anil were icpiitaincd in an account of tliese MSS., printed for private circulation in Xhli. They were
llrst published among the poems in Paterson's edition of Burns (Edin. 1877). They were probalily
written in 1778.

PARAl'HRASK OF Jf.UEMIAH XV. 10.

All, woe is me, my mother dear!

A man of strife ye've born me :
For sair contention I maun bear ; soie must

They hate, revile, and scorn me.

1 The above satirical verses first appeared in Cham-
bers's edition of the poet's works in IS.'il, with the
til itor's critical remark that they are strikingly inferior
ti 1 tlie young bard's average eiTorts ; ' ' yet, as expressive
of a mood of his feelings regarding his fair neigh-

bours in these days of simplicity, they appear not
unworthy of preservation. " It is to be regretted
that Chambers does iiot inform us where he got
these verses, nor on what grounds lid felt satisfied as
to their authorship.

1!)4

POKMS AND .SONCS.

I ne'er could lend on bill or bond,
Thut five per cent might bless nie ;

And borrowing, on the tither h.ind,
The deil a line wiid trust nie.

Yet I, .1 coin-denied wight,
By Fortune quite discariled ;

Ye see how I am, ilay and night,
l>y lad and lass blackguarded.

[m».

(itliur

tluvil ii ouf wiml.l

SONG— :montgomery's PEGCJY.'

"The following fragment is done," writes Burns in liis llrst Connnoii-plaee Book, "BcinietliiiiK in
Iniitntion of tlie nmiiner of a noble oM Scotch jiiece lalli'd ' .M'-Mlllan's I'ejigy.' . . . .My .Mmit-
yiinicry's I'cKgy was my deity for six oreinlit montlis. Slie had been hred (tliou);h ns tlie wcirld mi.\.«,
without any just pretence for it) in a style of life rather elcKant; hnt, as Vanhuriih says in nne uf
his comedies, ' Jly damned star found me out' tliere too; for thoutrh J licgan tlie alfair merely in
a ijaictv de cwui; or, to tell the truth, which will scarcely he hclievcd, a vanity of showinn my innts
in idurtship, particularly my aliilities at a hiUct-doux, which T always pi(|ued myself ujion, iinnle
me lay siene to her; and when, as 1 always do in my foolish gallantries, I had battered myself into
a very warm att'cction for her, she told me one day in a linn' of truce, that her fortress had heen fur
some time l)efore the rightful property of anothci' ; hut, witli tlie greatest friendshi)), and ]pnlitencss,
sliu offered me every alliance excejit actual possession. I foinid out afterwards that wlial she tiild
me of a pre-engagement was really true ; ))ut it cost me some heart-aches to get rid of the atfaii-. I
have even tried to imitate, in this e.xtempore thing, that irregularity in the rhyme, which, when
judiciously done, has such a line elfeet un tlie ear. " Tlie <late of composition is proliahly 177'.i.

TlNK— "(Vrtin WuU'i.'

Altho' my bed were in yon muir,

Amang the heather, in my plaidie,
Yet hapj)y, hajipy would I be,

Had I my dear ^Montgomery's Peggy.

When o'er the hill beat surly storms,

And winter nights were dark and rainy ;

I'd seek some doll, and in my arms
I'd shelter dear IMontgomery's IVggy.

Were I a baron proud and high,

And hoi'se and servants waiting ready,

Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me.

The sharin't with Montgomery's Peggy.-

' I'cggy w.is housekeeiier with Archibald Mont-
gomery, Escj., of Coilsfleld, and Hums had met her
fre(iuently at Tarholton Mill. Hesides they sat in the
same church, like the Laird of Dumbiedykes and the

lady whom, from this circumstance, tliat woitliy
learned to admire, and afterwards married.

- Not well expressed. The nieaiiing is, ''all of joy
it would give to me (w<iuld be) the .sharing of it," Ac.

Age -'!•

b'tv.

>il a out- WiiiiM

Boinethiiin in
•My Mont-

10 wdi'Iil says,
wiys ill iiiir (if
air nicivly in
viiiK my iiiiits
f iiliiin, iiiiidc
•1 niy.si'lf iiiici

Iiiid lifiii for
11(1 iicilitciifss,
»liiit slie t.ild

the iitrair. 1

"Iiicli, wlicii
ly 177: 1.

ce, that wortliy
larritMl.

IK is, 'Mil nf joy

liariiig of it,"*o.

AgeL'i.] POExMS AND SONGS. ur,

THE RONAF-DS OF TJIK llENNALS.'

This iMiein (written probably nbont 17S(l) was llrst imbllslicd in Chainlierst, tilili f liiuiii (ISM);

till' I'llitor (lot's n(it indicato whciico he derived it.

Ill Tarbolton ye ken, tlieie are proper young men,

And proper young lasses and a', man ;
But ken ye the Jlonalds tliat live in the Uunnals,

They carry the gree frae tlieni a', man.

Tlieir father's a hiird,- and weel he can spar't.
Braid money to tocher them a', man ;

To proper young men he'll clink in the hand
'•owd guineas a hunder or twa, man.

Tliere's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant ye've seen

As bonnio a lass or as biaw, man,
But for sense and guid taste, siie'U vie wi" the best.

And a conduct tiiat beautifies a', man.

The charms o' the min', tlie langer they shine.
Tile mair admiration they draw, man ;

While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies,
They fade and they wither awa', man.

lieiir tho palm fnim

pvolpvietnr
laoiid iMirticiii

t'ol.l

call
Hell-(lvfJi<eil

iiuiid

from

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak' this frae a frien',

A hint o' a rival or twa, man ;
The liaird o' Biackbyrc wad gang through the tire, wonMiri)

If that wad entice her awa', man.

The Lairil o' Braehead ha" been on his sjieed

For mair than a towmond or twa, man.
The Laird o'tiie Ford will stiaught on a board

If he canna get her at a,' man.

Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin,

'J'he boast o' our bachelors a', man ;
She's sonfsy and sweet, sae fully complete,

She steals our affections awa', man.

If I should detail the pick and the wale

O' lasses that live here awa', man,
The vault wad be mine, if they didna .tshine

The sweetest and best o' them a', man.

twelveliiniith
h\i stretcheil

Ijiixom

chnice

I The lieiinals is a farm in the west iiart of 'I'ar-
lioltoii piirish, near Aftoii Lod^e and a few miles from
l.nijilea (the poet's resideiiee at this time). The
fiirimr, Uonald, was eoiisidered to bo a man of eon-
si(lera))ie means, and his two daughters were the
liellt's of the distriet, beiii}; Iiaml.some and fairly
Hell edueated. Gilbert Burns wooed the elder sister
■lean, but after a lengthened eorrespondenee, he was
rejected as being too poor. The poet himself seems
to have liad a liking for Anna, but was too pi'oud to
risk a refusal. Hut Fortune had humiliation in store

for the wealthy and purse-proud Ronalds. In Novem-
tier, 1780(sonie nine or ten years after the above verses
were written). Hums writes to his brother William :—
"The only Ayrshire news that T remember in whieli
T think you will be interested, is tliat Mr. Konald
is bankrupt. You will easily suess, that from his
insolent vanity in his sunshine of life, he will feel a
little retaliation fr(mi those who thought themselves
eclipsed by him. "

- Laird is a title popularly applied in Scotland to
a proprietor of lands or houses.

[l"80.
ilaie iiiit Hell

POEMS AND SONGS.

I lo'e her niy.sel*, but darouii weel tell, lovu

My poverty keeps me in awe, iumii,
For luiikiny o' rhymes, and working at times,

J)oeH little or naething at a', man.

Vet I wadna choose to let her refuse, houIcI not

Nor liae't in her power to say na, man ; imvo it

For thougii I he ])oor, unnoticed, obscure,
My stomach's as proud iis them a', man.

Though I canna ride in weel booted pride,

And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man,
I can iiaud up my head wi' the best o' the breed

Though fluttering ever sae braw, man.

My coat and my ve«t, they are Scotch o' the best,

O' i)airs o' guid breeks I hae twa, man,
And stockings and pumps to put on my stunips,

And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man.

My sarks tliey are few, but Ave o' them new,

Twal' hundred* as white as the anaw, man,
A ten-shillings hat, a Holland cravat.

There's no mony poets sae braw, man. Heii-iiiv^si.i

I never had frien's weel-stockit in means.

To leave me a hundred or twa, man,
Nor weel tochered aunts, to wait on their drants, dowered drawiinu talk

And wish them in hell for it a', mjiu.

Aga

fly ci'iiw

liold

Wt'll-ilii'sscd

llI'L'UCllfH

HtituU
sliiita

I never was canny for hoarding o' money,
Or claughteu't together at a', man ;

I've little to spend, and naething to lend,
But deevil a shilling I awe, man.

cailtinuH
clutching

SONG— ON CESSNOCK BANKS.2

Tune — ' If he be a Butcher neat and trim."

On (Jessnock banks a lassie dwells,
Gould I describe her shape and mien ;

Our lasses a' she far excels.

An* ahe has twa sjjarkling roguish een !

• The techiiieal name of a coarsish kind of linen,
woven with 1200 wavp-threads : coarser, therefore,
tliaii the "seventeen hunder" linen mentioned in
"Tain o' Shanter."

- There are two versions of this song in existence.
The one here siven is that printed in Pickerinft's
Aldine edition from the poet's own MS. The oth'-r

is that publisiied by C'roniek in 1808, and stated l).v
him to have lieeii " recovered from the oral coin-
munication of a lady in Olasgow, whom the lianl,
early in life, dearly loved." This lady (said to have
been the subject of the poem) was Kllison Benliie,
the daURhter of a small farmer in Galston parish,
and was a servant with a family on the banks of the

[liSO.
•vu .late lint wtii

loilld nut
iiivu it

l.v UlllW

lOI-c1ic.-s.*(1

titch
liirts

rell-(lri'><sril

rud iliiiwliiig talk

autiniiH
lutchiiig

808, and stated liy
'oiu the oral cuiii-
■, whom the liaid,
lady (said to have
as Kllisoii Ik'nliie,
ill Oalstoii parisli,
n the liuiiks of the

Age 21,]

POEMS AND SONCIS.

Slie'rt Hwet'tfi- tliiui tlic iiioniiiig <lawji,
When rising IMki-Iius tiint is seen;

Ami (lew-clidiw twiniile o'er tiie lawn ;
An' Hhe hna twii wimrkling roguish eou.

She's stately like yon youthful ash,
That grows tlie t'owsjlip braes between,

And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
An' she has twa s[)arkling roguish een.

She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,

With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,

When purest in the dewy morn ;

An' she has twa sparkling roguish een,

ITer looks are like the venal ^lay,
When ev'ning riid-bus saines serene ;

While birds rejoice in every spray;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Iler hair is like the curling mist

That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en,

When llow'r-reviving rains are jiast ;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her forehead's like the sliow'ry bow,
When gleaming s ubeams intervene.

And gild the distant n\ountain's brow;
An' she has twa siiarkling roguish een.

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem.
The pride of all the flowery scene,

Just opening on its thorny stem ;

An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

197

Cessnock, aliout two miles from the riiiriises' farm
of Liichloa at the time tliis soiik was written, that is
wlieii tlie poet was twentj-oiio yeai's of ajje. Ellison
Avas, aceonlinK to Mrs. lietrjf (ISuriis's sister), the
bclli'-jillc who the poet s.iys jilted him whih; he was
at Irvine, after havinfj i)roiiiise(l to marry him, an<l
for whom ho evidently had a sincere resju'ct. .'^lie
iiiarried some years after, and went to filasgow, )mt
iintliiii}{ is known of her snhseiineiit life. Several
letters to lif :• from ISurns will he found at the benin-
iiinit of I'.is Correspondenee. She could hardly lie
des' I ilied as a beautiful woman : her cliarnis lay in
he • mind, and in this respect slie was so .siijii'iiipr to
tl'o averajjc maidens of her rank in life, tluit I'iiirns.
a Iter liisaeiiuaintanee with Kdinliui-gli ladies, dei hired
she was, of all the women he had ever seriously ad-
dressed, the one most likely to h.ivo formed an
n'.'ieeable companion for life.— ('lomek's version of
the present piece opens thus :—

On Cessnock li.inks there lives a l:is,s

Cuiild 1 (lesevilie lier sliaiie iiuil iiiicn ;
VOL, I.

Tlie Rmees of her weel-faur'd face,
And the glaciu' of her tparkliu' een !

The concluding line in each of the following
stanzas runs : —

An' Bhc'8 twa glr.nciu' spavklin' een.

The fifth stanza • .'ads;—

Her looki. .e like the sportive Inmb
Wlieu f iw'ry May adurns the scene,

Tli.it wantons round its bleating dam ;
An' she's twa glancin' sparkliu' ecu.

There are .some other slight variations, but what
is of more importance is that C'lomck's version wants
two entire stanzas— the ci^ditli and ninth. Stanza
nine of the original has "teeth," apparently by a
mere slip, as the lady's teeth are duly described in
stanza eleven. We here follow llr. .Scott Douglas in
jiivinj; " bosom's " instead.— So far as we are aware
no tune is now known by such a name as that given
under the title.

198

I'OEMS AND SONOS.

Ilcr bosom's like tlio nightly snow,
Wlicn pale tho inorning riHes keen ;

Wliilu hid tho nn>nn'iini( Htreiinilets flow;
An' hIiu hiia twa Hparkling roguish con.

Iler Upa arc like yon chenieH ripe,
Tiiat sunny walls from Uoreas Bcreen, —

They tempt the taste and charm the sight ;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her teeth are like u flock of slicep,
With fleeces newly washen clean,

That slowly mount the rising steep;
An' slie has twa sparkling roguish oeii.

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze,
That gently stirs tlie blossom'd bean.

When Ph(ebu8 sinks behind the seas ;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush,
That sings on C'essnock banks unseen ;

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ;
An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

liut it's not lier air, h"*" form, her face,
Tho' matching beauty's fabled (pieen,

'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace.
An' chiefly in her roguish een.

[Ubo.

M» H'v

SONG— HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNIE LASS.'

TUNK-" L(»(/j/a?> /?Hm,"

Here's to thy hcaltli, my l)onnie lass;

( Juid night and joy be wi' thee ;
I'll come nae mair- to thy bower-door.

To tell thee tliat I lo'e Uiee. lovo

dinna think, my jiretty pink, do not
But I can live without thee :

1 vow and swear I dinna care
How lang ye look about ye.

I '.I

old
Viiti

1 This has been often claimed as an early production
of the poet, dating almilt 1780 ; later in life he is said
to have revised it, and in the fifth volume of Johnson's
Museum it appears as " written for this work 1)v
Roliert Burns." Wo thinlJ it advisahlc to note,
however, that the poet's sister. Airs. BegK, states
that it is one of those familiar ditties which were fre-
<iuently sung at country (liesides Ijefore lier lirother's

lyrics hecanie known, and its character is (initc in
accordance witli this statement. Tlio eonclinliiij;
four lines sccni to liave little connection with vvliiit
goes l>efore, and nii;;lit justify the suspicion tli;it
more than one liand lias lieen at the making of tlic
song.

2 Evidently " no more " would better suit the versi-
fication ; but this is the reading of the Museum.

1 'I'lie

lank.s'
- Tins

[i7M.

Ago '.'l.J

\SS.'

POEMS AND SON(iS.

Thoii'rt ayo Hue freo infonniiig iiiu

Thou liiiHt iiav iiiiiul to iiiiirry ;
I'll be iiM fiei! iiiforiiiiii^r tlicu

Niio tii»R' Iiiu! 1 to tarry.
I kiMi tliy friiMids try ilka imwm,

l''rae wedlock to tlelay t\wv,
Depending on homic lii;,'lier cluuico —

Hut fortune may betray tliee.

T ken they scorn my low estate,

But that does never j,'rieve me ;
But I'm as freo an any he ;

Sma' siller will relieve me.
I count my health my j^reatest wealth,

Sae long as I'll enjoy it :
I'll fear nae scant, I'll Ixxle nae want.

As lang's I get employment.

But far-off fowls liae feathers fair.

And aye until ye try them :
Tho' they seem fair still have a care,

Tlu^y may prove as bad as I am.
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bright,

My dear I'll come and see thee ;
For the man that lo'es his ujistresa weel

Nae travel makes him weary.

11)9

nlwAyt

ovurj

little money

twulvo

IclVO

il>i not

rncter Is (|iiito in
The foiicluiliin;
iiectioii witli «lu(t
10 suspicion tliat
,lie inuliint; iif tlie

tier suit tlic versi-
tlic Museum.

SONG— BONNIE PEGGY ALISON.i

Tr.NK— " The RracH o' nalijithUler:"'

lluriis hod even tlius early in liis career (ftliont 17S0 or l"(Sl), l)iy;nn to elie o\it the remains of tiio
old lyrics of his country. 'I'he chorus Is all tliat in tills instance he has tleenicd worthy of jireser-
vation. If licIoMKS to an old soiik whose indelicacy seems to liave condemned it to tlie uncertain
keeiiinii of the memories of men.

I'll ki.Hs thee yet, yet.

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again,
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

My bonnie Peggy Alison.

Ilk care ami fear, when Ihoii art near, every

I ever mair defy them, :
Young kings upon their han.-.el throne newly attained

Are no sae blest as I am, O !

I'll ki.ss thee yet, &c.

1 The heroine of this sonj; was Ellison, or Alison Henl)ie, in whose praise was also composed "On Cessnoek
hanks" (sec p. 100). It is also supposed that she inspired the charmiiiK " Mary Morison."
- Tliis tune is now more popularly connected witli " I'm o'er youiij,' to marry yet."

200

POEMS AND SONGS.

[lVSO-81.

When ill my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O;

I seek uae mair o' iieaven to share.
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O !

I'll kiss thee yet, &c.

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever, 01

And on thy li})s I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never, O.

I'll kiss thee yet, &c.

no more
sucli

SONG— MARY MOilISON.i

TVSE—" Bide ye yet'

In a letter to Thomson, the poet styles this, "one of my juvenile works," and it is inferred frnni
a note of his brother Gilbert's that the heroine was Ellison liegbie. iSee note to iireteiling song.

Mary, at thy window be.

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! apiwiutca

Those smiles and glances let me see.

That make the miser's treasure poor I
How blythely wad I bide the stoure, dust

A weary slave frae sun to sun ;
Could I the rich reward secure,

r'\e lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen, w'.en, to the trembling string.

The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',
To thee my fancy took its wing,

I sat, but neither heard nor saw :
Tho' this was fair, and that was braw.

And yen the toast of a' the town,

1 sigh'd, and said amaiig them a',

" Ye are na Mary Morison."

O iMary, canst thou wreck his peace,

Wlia for thy sake wad gladly die?
Oi canst thou break that heart of his,

whase only faut is loving thee? whose fiuit

If love for love thou wilt na gie, not give

At loast be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be

The thought o' IMary Morison.

last night
went

well-dressed

1 " .)f all the productions of Hums tliciintlutic and
serious love sonjrs, which he left heliind him, in the
iiianiu'r of old lialla.ls, are, perhaiis, those whicli take
tlic deepest and most lasting liold of the mir.d. Siieh
arc tlie lines to ' Mary Morison.'"- ITa/i.itt.

Tlie tune to which Hums composed the song, as

intimated above, was " Hide ye yet." In Thomson s
collection it is set to an air called "'I'he lilasgow
I.asscs." arranged by liecthovcn. Wilson, tlii; fanicni-^
Scottish vocalist, sang it to a melody called "'I'lii
Miller." and tins is now a more popular setting tlian
any of the others.

[1780-81.

ling scmg.

pointed

,8t

St uiglit

JUt

cll-dressed

hose fault
i)t givu

t." Ill TllOlllSDUS

eil "The (ihisfioH
iVilsoii, fhi; fiiniiiiis
-lody called '•Tlu-
ipiilar setting than

Ago 22.] POEMS AND SONGS. 201

A PRAYER

UNDER THE I'RESSUKE OF VIOLENT ANGUISH.

"There was a certain period of my life that my spirit was l)rolce by I'epeated losses and disasters
wliicli threatened, and, indued, effected tlie utter ruin of my fortune. Jly body, too, was attaclied l)y
tliat most dreadful distemper, a liypoclioudria or conllrnied melanclioly ; in this wretditd state, the
recollection of which malccs me yet sliudder, I liung my liui p on tlic willow trees, except in some
lucid intervals, in one of wliieh I composed the following."— JiuiiNs'.s Common-place Hook. Marcli,
1781. It was probably written about the same time as the next piece.

O Thou Great Being! what Thou art

Surpasses rue to know :
Yet sure I am, tliat known to Thee

Are all Thy works below.

Thy creature hero before Thee stands,

All wi etched and distrest;
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul

Obey Thy high behest.

Sure Thou, Ahiiiglity, canst not act

From cruelty or wratii !
O, free my weary eyes from tears,

Or close them fast in death !

But if I must artlicted be.

To suit some wise design;
Then man my soul with iirm resolves

To bear and not repine.

WINTER— A ,)IRGE.i

"There is something," says tlie poet in his Comnion-phue 13oul<, .April, 17S4, "cvei in tlie

.Mighty tempest, and the Iioary waste

Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried enrtli,—

V Mich raises the mind to a serious s\i))limity, favourable to every thing great and noble. There is
SCI rcely any earthly object gives me more— I do ni>t l<no\v if I should call it pleasure — but sometliing
wliich exalts me, something wliidi enraptures me- than to wallt in the shclteied side of a wood, or
liigli plantation, in a cloudy winter day, and hear a stormy wind Iiowling among tlie trees and raving
liver the plain. It is my licst season for devotion : my mind is rapt up in .x kind of entliusiasm to
Ilim, wlio, in the pompons language of Scrljiture, 'waliss on the wings of the wind.' In one of
tliese seasons, just after a tract of niisfortuius Ija'obalily a1)out the end of 1781], I composed the
following song— tune, ' Macl'herson's Farewell. "

Tiie wintry west extends his bl;ist.

And hail and rain does blaw ;
Or the stormy nortli sends driving forth

Tiie blin<ling sleet and siiaw:
While tumliling brown, the burn oonies down,

And roars frae bank to brae ;
And bird and beast in covert rest

And jiass the heartless day.

J In 1787 the poet notes this as being the oldest of his tlicn printed pieces.

202

POEMS AND SONGS.

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"'

The joyloas winter-day,
Let others fear, to lue more dear

Thau all the pride of May :
The tempest's howl, c soothes my soul.

My griefs it seems to join.
The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine !

Thou Power Suprerae, whose mighty scheme

Those woes of mine fulfil.
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy will !
Then all I want (O, do thou grant

This one request of mine !)
Since to enjoy thou dost deny.

Assist me to resign.

[l78l.

Age 22

A PRAYER

IN THE PROSPKCT OF DEATH.

"This prayer was composed," says liiiriis, " when faintiii); fits, and otlur alaniiinu sjinptMins nf
pleurisy, or some other dangerous disorder, first put nature on the alarm." It was, therel'uic,
pro))al)ly written during his short and unfortunate sojourn at Irvine in 1781.

O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause

Of all my hopti and fear !
In whose drea(i presence, ere an hour,

Perhaps I must appear !

If I have wander'd in those paths

Of life I ougiit to shun ;
As something, loudly, in my breiust,

Remonstrates T have done ;

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me

With passions wild and strong ;
And list'ning to their witching voice

Has often led me wrong.

Where luinian weakness has come short,

Or frailty sto|)t aside,
Do Thou, AU-Oood ! for such Thou art,

In .shades of darkne.ss hide.

W^here with intention I have err'd,

No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good ; and goodness still

Delightcth to forgive.

' Dr. Younjr. R. R

iTl

the s!
piece
who I
EdinI

[nsi.

Age 22.]

s.vmptoiiis of
iis, tlierutiiic.

POEMS AND SONGS.

STANZAS

ON THE SAME OCCASION.l

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene?

Have I so found it full of pleasing charnia?
Some drops of joy witli draughts of ill between :

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms:
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms?

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode?
Fur guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms;

I tremble to approach an angry God,
And justly smart beneath His sin-avenginjf rod.

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence!"

Fain promise never more to tUsobey ;
But, should my Author health again dispense,

Again I might desert fair virtue's way ;
Again in folly's path might go astray :

Again exalt tlie brute and sink the man;
Then how should I for heavenly mercy jiray.

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's ])lan?
Whc sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran?

O Thou, great Governor of all below !

If T may dare a lifted eye to Thee,
Tliy noil can make the tempest cease to blow.

Or still the tumult of the raging sea:
With that controlling power assist even me,

Those headlong furious passions to confine;
For all unfit I feel my powers to be,

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ;
O, aid me with Thy help. Omnipotence Divine !

203

PAEAPHEASE OF THE FIEST PSALM.

This niid the poetical versiii'i nf tlie Ninetieth Psalm following were probably written about
the same period as the three preceding pieces, tlie winter of 1781-82.

The man, in life whei over plac'd,

Hatli happiness in store,
Wlio walks not in tlie wicked's way,

Nor learns their guilty lore !

1 Tliese " Stanzas " seem to have been written about
the same time as the "Prayer" preceding, and tlie
piece was apparently a favourite witli tlie autlior,
who gave it some polishing licfore inserting it in tlie
Edinburgh edition of 1787. In his Common-place

Bonlv it was entitled, "Misgivings in the Hour of
Despondency and Prospect of Death;" in tlie Stair
nminiscript, into which he afterwards copied the
poem, lie altered tliis to " Misgivings of Despondency
on tlieApproacliof the Gloomy Monarch of theOrave."

l!i^

204

POEMS AND SONGS.

Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad,

But with humility and awe
Still walks before his God.

That man shall flourish like the trees
Which by tlie streamlets grow ;

The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the root below.

But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Shall to the ground be cist,

And like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.

For why? that God the good adore
Hath giv'n them peace and rest.

But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.

[1T81-82.

Age 23,]

tlUR'i

Conn
nliou
tune
the V
went

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE NINETIETH
PSALM PARAPHRASED.

Probably, like the a))ove, written in winter, 1781-S2.

O Thou, the first, the greatest friend

Of all the human race !
Whose strong right hand has ever been

Their stay and dwelling place !

Before the mountains heav'd their heads

Beneath Thy forming hand,
Before this pond'rous globe itself

Arose at Thy command :

That power which rais'd and still upholds

This universal frame,
From coiuitU'ss, uuboginning time.

Was ever still the same.

Those mighty periods of years

AVhich seen' to us .';<> vast,
Ajipear no more before Thy sight

Than yesterday that's past.

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man.

Is to existence brought:
Again Thou sny'st, " Ye sons of men.

Return ve into nought !"

iThe
nato lii
conRi(l(

2 1'lic

[IV81-82.

Age 23.]

POEMS AND SONGS.

Thou layest them, with all their cares,

111 everlasting sleep;
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off

With overwhehuiiig sweep.

They flou ish like the moruiug Hower,

In beauty's pride array'd;
But long ero night cut down, it lies

All wither'd and decay'd.

205

SONG— RAGING FORTUNE.

A FltAOMENT.

This song was composed aliout 1781 or 1782, under the pressure of a heavy train of those niisfor-
tiuRS to wliich the youth of Burns was suliject. ""I'was at tlie same time," says lie in the llrst
C'(Hnni(m-phice Book, referrin;,' to tlie close of one of tlicse " dreadful periods," as he calls them, " I set
al)cmt composing an air in the old Scotch style. I am not musical scholar enough to prick down my
time projierly, so it can never see tlie light, and pcrliaps 'tis no great matter ; hut the following were
the verses I composed to suit it. The tune consisted of three parts, so that the ahove verses just
went through the whole air." See First Common-place Book in last volume of this work.

O raging Fortune's withering blast

Has laid my leaf full low, O ! '
O raging H'ortune's withering blast

Has laid my leaf full low, !

My stem was fair, my bud was green,

My blossom sweet did blow, O ;
The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild,

And made my branches grow, O.

But luckless Fortune's northern storms

Laid a' my blossoms low, O;
But luckless Fortune's northern storms

Laid a' my blossoms low, O.

SONG, IN THE CHARACTER OF A RUINED FARMER.^

Tune — " Go from my ivindow, Love, do."

The sun he is sunk in the west.
All creatures retired to rest,
"While here I sit, all sore beset.

With sorrow, grief and woe :
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, O !

1 The recurrence of this O at the cud of each alter-
nate line is a decided hlemisli. Readers had hettcr
consider it omitted.

2 There can be little douht that the "Ruined

Farmer" was the poet's father, whoso unavailing
struggles against misfortune were brought to a close
in February, 1784.

20G

POEMS AND SONGS.

The prosperouB man is asleep,
Nor hears how the wlarlwinds sweep ;
But Misery and I mu^t watch
The surly tempest blow :
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O !

There lies the dear partner of uiy breast.
Her cares for a moment at rest :
Must I see thee, my youthful j)ride.

Thus brought so very low i
And it's O, tickle Fortune, O !

Tliere lie my sweet babes in her arms ;
No anxious fear their little hearts alarms;
But for their sake my heart does ache

With many a bitter throe :
And it's O, tickle Fortune, O !

I once was by Fortune caressed,
I once could relieve the distressed,
Now life's poor support hardly earned

]\iy fate will scarce bestow :
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O !

No comfort, no comfort I have !
How welcome to me were the grave !
But then my wife and eliildreii ilear —

O, whither would they go?
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O !

() whither, O whither shall I turn,
All friendless, forsaken, foiloni (
For in this world, rest and peace

I never more shall know !
And it's O, tickle Fortune, O !

[1781-82.

Ag«

23.]

SONG— MY FATHER WAS A FAEMER.

Tune—" The Weaver ami his Shuttle, 0."

"The following soiif?," says IJuriis, in the ConinHm-phice Bo<ik already referred to, "is a wild
rhapsody, niiseratdy doflcient in versification ; but as tlie sc:ntinients are the genuine feelings of my
heart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over." It was written probal)ly
about 1781-82.

My father was a farmer upon the Carrick border, O,

And carefully he bred me in decency and oi-der, O :

He bade me .net a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, O,

For without an honest manly heart, no man w.as worth regarding, O.

Then out into the world my course I did determine, O,

Tho' to be rich wjvs not my wish, yet to be great was charming, O.

WOl

reg
2-
of'
wli

[usi-i

Age 23.]

5, "is a Willi
luliiigs of my
ten jiroljahly

POEMS AND SONGS. 207

My tjvleuts they were not the vorst; uor yet my education, 0;
Kesolved was 1, at least to try, to mend my situation, U.

Ill many a way, and vain essay, I courted Fortune's favour, O;
Some cause unseen still stept between, to frustrate each endeavour, O ;
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd ; sometimes by friends forsaken, O;
And when my hope was at the toj), I still wjis woi-st mistaken, U.

Then sore harass'd, and tir'd at last, with Fortune's vain delusion, O ;
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, and came to this conclusion^ ( ) ;
The past wjis bad, and the future hid ; its good or ill untried, O ;
But the present hour was in my pow'r, and so I would enjoy it, ().

No help, nor hope, nor view had I ; nor person to befriend me, O ;
So I must toil, and sweat, and broil, and labour to sustain me, O,
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, my father bred me early, O ;
For one, he said, to labour bred, was a match for Fortune fairly, O.

Thus all obscure, nnknown, and poor, thro' li'e I'm doomed to wander, O,
Till down my weary bones I lay in everlastnig slumber, O :
No view nor care, but shun whate'er might breed me pain or sorrow, O;
I live to-day, as well's I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.

But cheerful still, I am as well as a monarch in a i)alace, O,

Tlio' Foi'tune's frowji still hunts me down, with all her wonted malice, O;

I make indeed, my daily bread, but ne'er <jan make it farther, O ;

But as daily bread is all I need, I do not much regard her, O.

Wiien sometimes by my labour I earn a little money, O,
Some unforeseen misfortune comes generally upon me, O;
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, or my good-natur'd folly, O;
But come what will, I've sworn it still, I'll ne'er be melancholy, ().

All you who follow wealth and power with unremitting ardour, O,
The more in this you look for bliss, you leave your view the farther, O ;
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, or nations to adore you, O,
A cheerful honest-hearted clown I will prefer before you, O.

g,0.

L).

EXTEMPORE VEESES— "ILL GO AND BE A SODGEE."

" Come, stul)l)i)ni pride and unslirinkiiiK resolution, accompany me through this, to me, miserahle
world. Voiir frieiulship I think I can count on though I should date my letters from a marching
regiment. I reckoned on a recruiting drum as my forlorn hope."— Bukns TO Miss Chalmkr.i, Jan.
'2i, 1788. Dr. Carrie gives April, 1782, as the date of this in)promptu. It is transcribed in the hook
of Idank jiaiier, into which it was the poet's expressed intention of entering farm memorandmns
when he occupied Mossgiel farm in March, 1784.

O why the deuce should T repine,

And be an ill foreboder?
I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine—

I'll go and be a sodger.

208

POEMS AND SONGS.

I gut some gear wi' lueikle care,

I lielil it. weel lliegitlier;
But now it's gillie, uiul .something mair—

I'll go !\u<l be ii sodger.

[1782.

got nienoB

together

luuru

SONG—THE CUEE FOK ALL CARE.

TVHT.—" Prepare, my dear brelhren, to the tavern let'njflu"

These linos were probably written nbont 178'2, mme months after Hiirii' liatl bee'i pRspcil and
raised as a frcemasdn. He apjiarently modelled tlie sonjr ,-,ueh as it in) on a Uuccliunulian ditty in
Yair'a Charmer (1701), tiie eonelndiii)^ line of one uf wliose stanzas rnns:

And a l)ij;-l(ullied liottlu's a niifihty good tiling.

No cliurchnian .-im I for to rail .ami to write,
No statesman nor soklier to plot or to light,
No sly ni.'in of Lusiness contriving to snare, —
For a big-belly'«l botlle'.s the whole of my care.

The ])eer I don't envy, I give him his bow;

1 scorn not the peas.int, tho' (:ver so low ;

But a club of good fellows, like those that are liere,

/\nd a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

ilere i>as,ses the squire on his brotiier his horse;
There centum per centum, the cit, with his purse;
liut see you The Crown liow it waves in the air !
There, a bigbelly'd bottle still eases my care.

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ;
t'or sweet consolation to church I did lly;
1 found that old Solomon proved it f lir.
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

I once w;is persuaded a venture to make ;
A letter iiiform'd me that all was to wreck; —
But the ])ursy old landlord just waddled up staiiv?,
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

"Life's cares they are comforts,'" a miiviin laid down
By the bard, what d'ye call him, tiiat wore the black gown;
And, faith, T agree with th' old jirig to a hair;
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heaven of care.

Added in a .Mason Lodge.

Then fill up a bumper and n'ake it o'erflow,
And honours masonic prepare for lo throw;
]\Iay every true brother of tlie compass ai,d square,
Have a big-bel'y'd .lottle when harass'd with care.

1 Young's " Kiglit Thoughts. "--R. B.

Age 23.] POEMS AND SONGS. S(N»

JOHN BARLEYCORN.

A IIALLA1>.

This ballnil, probably produced In 1782, wii» coiiit-d Into the first Common-place Hook, imaer date
of June, 1785, with the fullowiiijf liicoiuplcte note : " I oiiee heard the old song, that goes by this
name, sunK; and being very fond of it, and renieniberiiiK only two or three verses of it, viz.: the
Ist, '2d, and 3d, with some scraps whicli I liave interwoven here and there in the following ](iece.
. . ." Xho old ballad is given in Jauaesou's I'vputar liallailH (ISUO) from his own recollection as
a boy.

Tliere was three kings into tlie e.isl,'

Three kings both great and higli,
An' they hue sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn sliould die.

Tliey took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn was dead.

Ei;t the cheerful spring came kindly on,

And show'rs began to fall ;
John Barleycorn got up again,

And sore surprised them all.

The sultry suns of summer came,

And he grew thick and strong,
Ilis head weel arm'd wi' pointed speara,

That no one should him wrong.

The sober autumn enter'd mild,

When he grew wan and pale ;
His bending joints and drooping head

Show'd he began to fail.

His colour sicken'd more and more,

He faded into age ;
And then his enemies began

To sliow their deadly rage.

They've ta'en a wea])on long and sharj),

And cut him by tlie knee ;
Then tied him fast upon a cait,

Like a rogue for forgcrie.

They laid him down upon his back.

And 'judgcll'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm.

And l-'rii'd him o'er and o'er.

They filli" up a darksome pit
With M'.'iter to the 1)rini,

1 r.in lis always uave tl'is line witli i('^,^'. The vnx I many of liis editors prefer the less characteristic and
i.'^ an antirine ring with it which were has not ; l)Ut | less .Siotcli form.

Ill

210

i 'I

POERTS AND SONGS.

'lliey lieavM in John Barleycorn,
There let him uink or Hwiui.

They laid him out upon the Hoor,

To work him further wo,
And still, as signs of life appear'd.

They tosa'd him to and fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame.

The n:arrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all.

For he crush'd him 'tween two stones.

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero boKl,

Of noble enterjjrise.
For if you do but tiiate his blood,

'Twill make your courage rise.

'Twill make a man forget his wo;

'Twill heighten all his joy :
'Twill make t\- ^ widow's heart to sing,

Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,

Each man a glass in hand ;
And may his great posterity

Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! *

[1782.88.

THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE,

THE author's only PET YOWE.

AN UNCO MOUHNFU TALE.

"He lind, ptiitly by wny of frolic, liouKlit a I'we and two lainlis from n iicinhhonr. and she was
tethered in a Held adjoining the Iioiise at Loclilea. He and I were K"inK out with onr teams, and cjur
two younjrer brothers to drive for us at mid-day, when llugli Wilson, a eurious-lookin;: awkward hoy,
clad in plaidins;, eanie to us with much anxiety in Ills face, with the information that the ewe had
entanuled herself in the tether and was lyint; in tlio ditch. Kol)ert was nnich tickled with HuKhoc's
appearance and postures on the occasion. Poor Mailie was set to rights, and when we returned
from the plough in the evening, he repeated to me her ' Death and Dying Words,' pretty iniuh in
the way they now stand." -(ill.DKKT lilliNs.

As Mailie, an' her lambs thegithcr,
Were ae day nibbling on the tether,
Upon her cloot she const a hitch,
An' ower she warsled in the ditch :

together
one

hoof cast a loo()
Btniggled

' Tho version copied into the Common-place Hook I proved version, published in the first Eiiinliurgli
contains many unrhythmic lines ; the author's im- I edition of 1787, is what we have followed.

A«»Mj

POEMS AND SONGS.

There, groaning, dying, she did lie,
When iiiighuc ' he caiue doytin by.

Wi' glowrin' een, an' lifted liiin'.s,
I'oor Hughoc like a statue stall's ;
He saw her days were near-hand ended,
But, wae's my heart ! he could ua mend it !
He gaped wide, but naethiiig spak !
At length Poor Mailie silence biak.

" O thou, whase lamentable face
Appears to mourn my woefu' case !
My dying words attentive hear.
An' bear them to my muster dear.

" Tell him, if e'er again he keeji
As nuickle gear as buy a sheep,
(), bid him never tie them niair
Wi' wicked strings o' henij) or hair!
But ca' them out to park or hill,
And let them wander at their will;
So may his flock increase, an' grow
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo' !

"Tell him, he was a master kin',
An' aye was guid to me and mine ;
An' now my dying charge I gio him,
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him.

"O, bid him save their haniiless lives,
Frae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives !
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill.
Till they be fit to fend themsel':
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn,
Wi' teats o' hay an' rijijis o' corn.

" An' may they never learn the gaets
Of itlier vile wnnrestfu' pets!
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave an' steal,
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail.
So may they, like their great forbears,
For mnnie a year come 'thro' the shears:
So wives will gie them bits o' bread,
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead.

" My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir,
O, bid him breed him up wi' care !
An', if he live to be a beast.
To pit some havins in his breast !

211

wulkliig Htilpiclly
Htnring eyes

nearly
woo i»

!!f

iiiiK'li iiidiii'y

mora

<hivo Hfld

always

give

foxes

priivido fell'

teiiil

tufts liaiulfuls

ways
restless
gaps ill fences
colewoit iiliuits
forefatliers

weep

tup

put good manners

' A iieibor herd-cnllan fiieiglibour herd-boy] about three-fourths as wise as other folk.— R. B. Tlughoc is
the familiar diminutive of Hvijh.

•It

POEMS AND SONGS.

All' warn liini, wimt I wiiiiia name,
To 8tay CDUteiit wi' yowew at liaiiie;
Au' iiu to till ail' wear IiIm ilools,
Liko itiK'i' ineimt'lt'MM, gracelo«s hrutuM.

" An' nit>Mt my yowio, Hilly tliiiij:,
Giulo keep thee frao a tetlier Mtriiiy !
O, may tlmu ne'er forefather up
Wi' ony bhistit, moorland toop;
But aye keep mind to iiKup an' mell,
Wi' sheep o' credit like tliysel!'

" And now, my bairns, wi' my lust breath,
T lea'o my blesxinj,' wi' yon baitii :
An' when you tliink ujk)' your Milher,
Mind to be kind to ane nnitiier.

" Now, honest IIuji;lioc, dinna fail,
To tell my master a' my tale ;
An' bid him burn this cursed tether.
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether."

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head,
Au' clos'd her een aiuang the dead.

[1782-83.

OWOI

mil lifKih
iiiiiimiiiii'iud

iiuxl

keep conipniiy

to iusoclut«

both

one another

Uu not

bladdor

eycH

■ I

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY.

Lament in rhyme, lament in piose,

Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose, siilt

Our bardie's fate is at a close,

Past a' remead ! all roniwiy

The last sad cape-stane of his woes; coiw-stonu

Poor Mailie's dead!

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, world's wealth

That could sae bitter draw the tear,

Or milk our bardie, dowie, wear molancholy

The mourning weed :
He's lost a friend and neibor dear, neighbour

In Mailio dead.

Thro' a' the town sihe trotted by him; town-fiirm

A lang half-mile shu could descry him;
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him.
She ran wi' speed ;

" The t'xpirniR aiiimarH admonitions touching the
education of tlio ' poor toop-lanib her son and heir,
and the 'yowie, silly thing,' her dauf;htor, aro from
tlie same peculiar vein of sly homely wit, imbedded

upon fancy, which ho afterwards duR with a lioldor
liaiid in tlic 'Twa bogs,' and porlia))S to its ulinost
dcjitli in his ' Death and Dr. Hornbook.' "—J. G.

LOCKHAllT.

(liiR witli a lioldor
■Imps ti' itH iitnidst
Jornbouk.' "—J. 0.

ai»m]

rOEMS ANIJ 80NaS.

A friend luair fiiitlifii' iioVr ftuiu- iiifjh liim,
Tliau Miiilio doutl.

I wat she wnH n Hlicep o' m'lisc,
All' could heliavo IioimuI' wi' iiu'iise :
I'll Biiy't, hIio never bnik ii fencf,

'I'liri)' tliiovisli f^ix'ud.
Our bardio, laiiely, kcops tin- H|K'iict!
, Sill' Mjiilif'f* dead.

Or, if lie waiideiM up tliu iiowe,

Jh'i" liviiij^ iniuf^o in iii'i' yowo,

ConieH bkatiii^' to liini, owro tlic iiiiowo,

l"\)i- liits o' broad ;
An' down tlie briny peaiis rowe

l''i>i' Mailie dead.

Slie was iiae j,'et o' moorland tips,

Wi' (awtcd l<et, an' liaiiy liipH;

For her lorbeary were i'roii;,'lit in wliips

Frae yont the Tweed :
A bonnier lleesrih ne'er cnisH'd tlie dips

'i'liaii Mailio dead.'

Wae Worth the man wha first did shape
That vile, waiKiliancie thiii<{— a rape!
It nialiH gnid fellows jfirii an' ,i;ape,

Wi'chnkin' dread;
An Itobin's bonnet wave wi' erape,

For Mailie dead.

O, a' ye bar<ls on lidnnic Ponn !
An' wha on Ayr yoni' chauters tune!
Come, join the melaiirimlidus croon

( t' IJnl'ih's reed I
Hia heart will never irct alponu

His ^lailie dead.-

n»

wot
iluconim

luii'Idiir

liiillow
uwo

hillock

roll

otfainiiig rain«
iniitti'il flueeo
fiircfiithoiH
fioiii bejdiiil
hIiviu's

uiihu'ky miiu

iibovo

I OriKiiml MS.

SIui vii\^ line Rct o' ninti'd Tani?!,

\\ i' won like Kiiiil* Miiil li'-'s liki' ti'iuns,

Sho wns till! flower "' Fiiirlii' l;iiiili«

A frnnitu-* liri'fiil ;
Now Koliin, Rri't'tin', rlums tlii' li.iiiin

O' Miiiliu ili'iiil.

illliiTil

ciirl>liiifU

clu'W»

' " Kut a tenderer siwrtfuliicss dwells In him, and

(■iiiiii'sfurlliliiiTiiiiil there In cvnnescciit mill heiintiful
tcmclu's, lis in his AililicKs to the Mnilse.'nr tn the
' K'H'iiicr's Mure,' or in his ' Eleyy mi I'h'T .Miiilie,
wlilrli lust niiiy he reiknncil his hii)i|iii'st i ll'ort nf this
kiiiil. Til these iiieecs there me traits nf u hiiiiiunr
IH fine lis thiit of Sleviw, yi t Jilt<i,2etlier ilill'erelit, nii-
yiiiiil, mill peeuliiu- tl,e huiiiuuruf lUuns."— TlldMAit
Caki.yi.i:.

VOL. I.

1^1

214

POEMS AND SONGS.

[lTa3.

SONG— THE RIGS O' BAI.'LEY.

Tl'Nt — ■' Corn JUjn are bonme.'

In tlie copy of Johnaous ihnseuin aniiotattJ fur Captain Kidaell of Glenridtlell burii,-, writes:
'■ All tlie old wuids tliat evt-r I cuulJ lactt witli to t)i.s air were the following, which seems to have

been an old tl.orua ;—

i) com rig* and rye riifs,
*) C->rii ri^ii are \^jiiu\k ;
Auii wht-iic er you i(ie---t a t»onuy Ix^,
irctu uj< her Lo-.ktruouy.*'* ^

It \v;u iiixjii .1 Laiumiia aiyht,

Wliuii LDiii rigs are bonuie, ridp->

Beneati. tl.e luuoii'.s uucli.iudetl liglit,

I lit'ld away to Aiiuie :
Tliti time tlew hy \vi' tentless li>t'il, cajcie«

Till 'tween the late ami early,
Wi' snia' persiiii.sion, slie agreed

To se ,' me thro' tlie barley.

C-.ii rigs, ail' l»arl>-y rigs,

All' corn rigs are boniiie:
I'll ni,''er forgt-t that hapiiy night,

Amang the rigs wi' Anni>-.-'

The sky was blue, tiie wind was still,

Tlie moon was shining clearlv :
I set her down, wi' liglit good will,

Aaiang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain: Udc* •>wn

I lov"d her most sincerely:
I kissM her owre and owre ag;dn, orer

Aniaiig the rigs o' b:irltv.

(.'oin rigs, \<j.

I lock'd ii-r in my fond embrace:

Her iieart was beati^ig rari-ly:
My blessings on that hapiiy place.

AnKMig the rigs o' iif'ltyl
But by the moon and stars so briudit,

Tliat sl"<ne that hour so clearly 1
She aye : ii.dl bless tliat happy night, alw.iys

Ani.-iiiLT the rig< o' barley.

( 'orn rigs. &c.

This :
wi'ttcn
cdil.'oii

■ The iillowing lines ntcur in Rani.says "GtnfL'
••ihiphcrd :"--

Ue ki-*M ir.d vavM iie «:i'l I'O mi:ie,

AUill 1 m.-'..-tnf ..!1»;

Tliut K:ir-( mo liki' to »in^' Biiisyiii!
C cuin rij,'" i..'^' Iwn'iii'

T:'.'.> melody i.s very o!d.

•iThe "Annie" <eUl"' in tlii" si>ii- !i:!« loT.

difft-re'-.tly idtntilied wiin Annie Ulair and Annie

H'lirild. Ir.tli dan-liters of farnieLi in Tarlioltmi
i.arisli. i;nt it enuld hardly be tlie latter, wlioni
liniiiH wiir-ihipiKMl at a cli-lam-e, as hinted in tlit
•'l!oiiiilds..(tliel;.'Mnal^. Anile Kankiiie.d Adiiniliill
(ilauglite." of ••rougl), rude, ready-witted Kaiiki;ie,"
tlie piiets friend, see p. TA). I" .oUd tlaougliout life
tliat .she Wii.s tiie heroine of Ihi.s more warm tliaii
delieate < ,■rn^il.n. The .«ci:iK «a.s iirol.al.ly written in
17-:i. Tlie hi.-t A;\\:7n n>' d li^ lie in-talRed hy llie
hard as one of the triuiniihs ol lii= an.

1 The r.'
Tliiiiii in
end i'. Ill

tri- 1 1

writteii, hi

Age

■U.]

POEMS AND SONGS.

I ha'e Lt'L'ii bl}tliu \vi' coniiiides dear;

J ha'u been meny tiriukiu';
1 ha'e been y>yhi' gatlieiiu' gear;

i lia'e been liai)[)y tliiukiii':
But a' llie jduasiuies e'er 1 saw,

Tli(j' lliiee times doubled tairly,
That liapjiy uigln was worth llieiu a',

Auiaug the rigs o' barley.

Cora rigs, &c.

215

woaltli

SONG— PEGGY.'

Tune—" / had a horse, I had nae mair."

This poem Burns lieads as "Sonvr, icniiiiosLd in August." Johnson mistakenly states that it \v:n
wf'tten for his Mimical Mtiseiiiu ; it aiiianicil Ijeforu tlif puldicatiou of th:it work, in the KiimarnocK
cilil on of tlic ]i(ienis.

Now westli" •'tids and siaught'ring guns westerly

Ihiiig autu.... s pleasant weatlier;
And the nidorcock spiings, on whirring wings, grouse

Anian^ tlie bl(i(jniing heather;
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights tiie weary farmer;
And tlie mooM sliines liright, when I rove at night.

To muse upon my eliarnier.

The j)artridge loves the fruitful fells;

The jjlover loves the mountains;
The woodcock hnuuts the lo!iely dells;

The soaiing hern tlie fountai

ns:

Thro' loftv 'n;

e eusliat. roVes.

Tile path nf man to shun it;

The ha/.el lm>h

o efhanus

the thrush

The spread ill.;' thoiii tjie linnet.

upland fields

crs in Tarholton
the latter, whom
a.s hiiitcil ill tin
iikinM.f A'laiiiliill
Avittid l;aiiki:n',
■il tiirouv'lioiit iili'
hioie Warm than
nl.ahly wiitttii in
iii-tancc'il hy tlit
m.

Thus ev'rv kiiiil their I'l

easure

find

le sa\a'.;'e
•ial

and the tende
h

oni(> social Join, and leagues comhine

Soiiit

)lit.

irv Wamlel

Avaiiiit. aw.'V iln

■1

■ way :

vraniue man s <ioiiiiiii<>ii

le siiortsman

file niiM-d'riiig cry,

The ilutl'iiii'j-. -S'^yy pinion !
I Tlio T'eyiry of this IvricHas inohiulitcilly MiiiL;ai't was sta\in,i;at Kirkoswahi, and on an orrasion when

Thoni'in of Kirkoswald. the " fillflfi:' who |iiU an
end II.' 'iiT fa'iriniitioii.i to tlie atiioioiH vounu' )ioit'.s
trif;oi o iictfleal >liidies. It aiipi ars to have been
written, however, suhseiiuently to the time when he

he had a.iiaiii

under the iiilliieiiee of the fnino

elianinr, iirobahly in IVS.'t. See note to Ji"\t song.
A draft of a i.cpition of the son;; was copieu into the
lli'at Commun-plaec liuuk.

216

POEMS AND SONGS.

[nas.

But Peggy dear, tlie eveiiii)g's clear,

Thiok Hies tlie skiiumiiig swallow ;
Tlie sky is blue, the fields in view,

All fadinji-iireeu and vellow :
Come let us stray our gladsome way,

Antl view tlie cliarnis of nature ;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn.

And every happy creatuie.

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,

Till the silent moon sliine clearly;
ril grasp thy waist, ami, fondly presfc,

Swear how I love thee dearly :
Not vernal show'rs to budding liow'rs,

Not autumn to tiie farmer,
So dear can be as thou to me.

My fair, my lovely charmer!

SONG— MY NANNIE, O.^

TlJNK— "3/;/ Xaiiiiif, 0."

"Shenstone observes flnely that love verses writ wilhinit any imssiDii are the iiKist iiauscdiis of
all conceits; and I have often tliounlit tliat no man can lir a jirojier critic of love coniiioj-itioM, txci'iit
he himself, in one or more instances, have liccn a warm votaiy of tills jiiission. As I liavc Imn all
alonj! a miseralile (hipe to Love, and have liecn led into a thousand wi'akncsses and follies li\ it, for
that reason I put the more conlhlcncc in my critical skill in ilislinuuishin;: Knpi'liHV an<l com kit
from real VASSION' and NATLKK. Whethci' the followiii:^ soiijr will slaml the t< st I will not prctcncl
to say, hecausc it is mv own; only I can say it was. at the time. liKAr.." i!l UNs. ('omnmn -place
Cook, April, 1781. The song was probably wiitten about 17S^;l, but was subsetiuenlly revised.

iJehind yon hills, where Lu^ar- ilows,

'Mang moors an' mosses many, U,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,

And I'll awa to Nauide, O.

The wcstlin wind blaws huid and shill;
The night's liailh mirk an' rainy. ();

wi'>teni slnill
bnth dark

1 The heroine of this sons was, according to flilbcrt.
the jioet's brother, " a faiinei's daughter in Tarbolton
liarish, named Fleming', to whom the poet paid some
of tluit rovins attention which he was continually
devoting to some one. Her charms were, indceil,
mediocre, and what she had weie sexual, which,
indeed, was the cliaracteristie of the greater i)art of
his mi stresses." | Lclti'r to (Imnii' Tliiiiiis{iii, .'!i/ ,liim\
ISlD.i It should be added, however, that -Mrs. r.e.ii;.',
the ])oet's si.ster, fiivcs the honour of haviicjc inspiicd
the song to i'enL'y Thomson, the Kirkoswald y/7^■/^•,
on whom the ])recedinj; song was comiioscd.

2 In all editions of I'urnss works up to and iTiclud-
ing that of 1704, Stinchar (or Stinsiar) stood in the
place of Lugar. The latter name was thoujiht more
euphoniuus, and Tlionisun says the author sunetioned

the alteration in 17'.li!. The I.ugar is a tributary oi
the .\yr, which it joins a litth' above (dil liarskinmiiii!;
bridge. Like its [irinciiial. it iinrsues its wa\ forsoini'
miles through a deep chasm in the red sandstone cf
thcilistrict. In theengravinggiven.tliesccnc.'-clcdiil
is in thc!;rounilsconm'ct((l with tin' niansioiiof Aiirli-
inlcck. the scat <if a family (lloswein whose name liiis
become familial- in our liti'iature. Tlu' ruin near llio
icntre of the iiictuic is th;it of the .ancient cii~tlecif
the Aiicbildeeks. and afterwards of (he lloswclls of
Aucbiiileek, which .lobnson deseribes in his ./"i'/'/i''.i/
III llii' Wr.ylrni Ik!iiiiiIs. The iiitroduetjon by the
artist of the aged harper will be niidcrslood if the
reader will refer lo the poets "Lament for .lanios,
Karl of (llencairii, and note the nieiitiun of " Lugur's
winding stream " there.

[lV38.

sliiiU

TtXJHUtSW'WS'''?^'

■A

t)
b

^ 5
1;^ a

PI I

ii I

11 '

ill,

i24.]

1 In the vcrsioi
wliidiitsmitlior
the follow iiig ch(

Anil C

W y yc
Till)' 1
I wim

Subsequently hii

2 This song w
fourth volume o

24.]

POEMS AND SONGS.

217

But I'll get my jjlaid, an' out I'll steal,
Au' owre the hills to Nannie, O.

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young:
Nae artfu' wiles to wmi ye, O:

May ill hefa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nannie, O.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,
She's hputless as she's bonnie, O:

The oi/iiing gowan, wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

A country lad is my degree,

And few there be that ken me, O;

But what wire I liow few they be?
I'ui welcome aye to Nannie, O.

My riches a' 's my penny-fee,
An' I maun guide it cannie, 0;

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thougiits are a' my Nannie, O.

Our auld guidman dtliglits to view
His sheep and kye thrive bonnie, O;

But I'm as blytbe that hands his pleugh,
Au' has nae care but Naimie, O.

Come weel, come woe, I caie na by,
I'll tak' what Heav'n will sen' me, O;

Nae ither care in life have I,
But live, au' love my Nannie, O.'

would

daisy

know

wngea
must use it carefully
world's weiiltli

old farmer

kine

holds

do not care

other

SONG- WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER DOOR?^

1 :'NK— " LasK, an' I cotiie near thee."

Wlia is tliat at my bower door?

(O wha is it but Findlay.)
Then gae your gate, ye's nae be here !

(Indeed maun I, ijuo' Findlay.)

go your way, you »!iall not
must

'Tn tho version of this natural and tducliinc,' lyric
wliicli its antlKir coiiit'd into his Cunuiion-iilace Uouk,
the following churns aiipcars : —

Anil O my lioiiiiv Niiniiic O,
^ly yomi^', my li:iinisrinio Niintiie O,
Tlio' 1 liai; tlic wiirlil all at my will,
1 wouli' give it all for Xaiuiio 0.

Subsequently his more matured taste sniipressed it.

2 This song was eunnnunljated by Burns to tho
fourth volume of Johnson a Muneiun. Croniok says

ilbcrt f'.urns told him that " this song was suggested
to his brother by the 'Auld Jlan's Address to the
Widow' I'Tlie Auld Man's Dest Argument J jninted
in Uanisay's Tca-Tuhle MinccUaim, wliieh the poet
(hst beard sung before he had seen that cuUection,
by .lean Wilson, a silly old widow wonuin, th.'U living
at 'I'arbolton.remarkalde for tliesimidicity and . ifl Vi;t'<(!
of her character, and for singing (dd Scots songs with
a jicculiar energy and earnestness of manner." We
nmy add that the resend)lanee between the two songs
is of the very slightest character.

218

POEMS AND SONGS.

What niak yo, si e lik- i fliicf ;

(O (iome ill 1 see, qi\i Viiiulny,)
Before tlie morn ye'll Wun. iiii^uluef.

(Iiulued will I, quo Fir. i'liy.)

Gif [ rise and let you in —

(IjgL mo in, quo' i'^iniliay.)
Ye'll keep ine waukin' \vi' your din.

(Indeed will 1, quo' I''indlay.)
In my bower if ye should .stay —

(Let me stay, quo' Findlay.)
I fear ye'll bide till break o' day,

(Indeed will I, (jiio' Findlay.)

Here this niglit, if ye remain,

(I'll remain, quo' Findlay.)
I dread ye'll learn the ijate a,i,'ain,

(Indeed will I, (juo' Findhiy.)
What may ])ass within this bower, —

(Let it j)a.ss, quo' Findlay.)
Ye maun conceal till your last hour,

(Indeed will I, (juo' Findlay!)

[l7fu.

iwiike

way

SONG-G]iKEN VAIOW THE HASHES.'

Tune—" Green ijrinv the rank

„ ,.. . -., . Iiiloiif; to." 'I'liu tl;itc of it.s ciiliy in tlii' ('iiiiiiiion-|ilnc(' I'liiiik i.s Aii','.

1784, but it was .siiiit to liavo huuii written hcfoiv tliis, when lliuiis was at Loclilca. Tlie lust .'.taii/.a

mine wliieli of tlio da.sscs I
1784, but it was .saiil to liavc
was added at a later period.

Green grow the rashes, O !

Green grow the ijishes, O !
The sweetest hoins that e'er I spend,

Are spent aniang tlie lasses, O.

There's noii'jlit Iml care on ev'i'v ban'.
In ev'i'v hour th.it jiasses. () :

What sign-ifu'S the life o' man.
An 'twere na for the lasses. O?

Gi-een grow, &c.

rii»lieH

' This light-hearted effusion was modelled on a
spirited old song bearint; the same title and havhiL'
a similar ehorus. It was a .trieat f.ivonrite of onr
ancestors, and the air lielongin!.'- fo it is, aeeordint:
to Iiobert f'hambers. "one of tlio oldest whieh have
been handed down to us." Tlie old songeontains here

and there a frei
a master : -

lorn of toneh indicating the hand of

A\'i''r*» -y <lry wi' tlriTikiiiir o t,
Wt'Yc :i" ilry wi' ilriiikini^ <)"t ;

Till' purxin kissM tliii ticlilliT'n wifi-.
All' lie Cdulil ii;i iire:ii;h f.ir thiiikinp; o't

Age

a^J

POEMS AND SONGS.

The war'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches atill may Hy tiiem, O ;

An' tho' at hiHt they catch them fast,
Tlieir hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow, &c.

lint j,'ie 1110 a canny hour at (;'en,
My arms about my ilearie, O ;

An' war'Jy caies, ami war'ly men.
May a' <jae tapsalteerie, O !

Green grow, &c.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nouyiit but senseless asses, ():

The wisest man the war!' e'er saw.
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Green grow, &.c.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
ller noblest work she classes, O:

Her 'j)rentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.'

Green grow, &c.

219

Hiirldly

quiot

topBy-turvy

grave
world

IIEMOIISE-A FRAGMENT.-

"I t-'iitirely agree with tlint judicious i)liilosii|ilit'r Mr. Sniltli, in Iiis excellent Theoni of 31 oral
Simdiiieiiln, tlmt Iteiiiorse is tlie intist painful sciitinient tliat cnn cniliitter tlie iiuinan l)Ofi<im. Any
ordinary j)itcli of Inititude may liear up tdler.ildy will, under tlicse ealaiiiities in tlie iirceuix ment
of whicli we (Hiiselves liave had no liaiid ; but when cnr (jwn fellies or crimes have made ns niis^i i-
nlde and wretehe<l, to t)ear it iiii witli manly llnnness, and at the same time have a proper penitential
Bensu of our miscoiiduct- this is a glorious illort of sdf-comniand."— CoMMON-rLACE BOOK, Sept.
1783.

Of all the numnroiis ills tliat hurt our peace —

That press the soul, or wring the mind witli anguish,

Beyojid comparison the worst are those

By our own folly or our guilt brought on ;

In ev'ry other circumstance, the mind

Has this to say : " It was no deed of mine :"

But, when to all the evil of misfoituuo

This sting is ad<lod : "Blmiie thy foolish self!"

Or woifier far, the pangs of keen Remorse,

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt —

I Tlie conceit contained in this verso (as pointed out
hysrvcral e(iitors') is found thus expressed in a comedy
c.alied Cupld'n Wliiiliii!<i, published in 10(17: —

Sinn; wo wrri* nirulc liofim' yni. sluMi'd wo not Invp nnil
admire you ns the Inst. ;inil. IlirMcfrin'. iicrfrrt work of Nature?
Miin wasmiule wlifu nnturo wnw Iiutnn :i])prtMitici',but woin.nn
when Kill! w:i» ii sliilful nii>tro-8 of lur art.

In all likelihood Burns never saw tliis (irama, but

an extract inclndin;; tlio.se lines was introduced into
a woik entitled The nritinh Muse, a Col led inn of
Thniiijht<. h}i Tliowa.i Jldiiminl. 4 vols. Lond. 173t,
whicli had a pretty wide circulation in his time.

2 The present piece was copied into tlie poet's llrst
rommon-iilacc Book under date September, 1783.
Tlie lines are probably a lamentation over his follies
and dis! > ♦ions at Irvine.

220

POKMS AND SONUS.

[l7M.

Of guilt, pfiliapfl, wliere we've involved otlieia,
The young, tiie innocent, wiio fondly lov'd iia;
Nay nioiv, tliat very love tiie cause of ruin !
O iiuiiiing liell ! in all thy Hlore of torments
Tliei'e's not a keener lasli.
Lives tiieie a man so tirni, who while his heart
Feels ail the liitler horrors of his ciime
Can I'eason down its agonising throbs;
And, after proper purpose of amendment,
Can firndy force his jarring thoughts to peace?
O happy, happy, envialde man !
O glorioua magnanimity of soul !

EPITAPH FOR Till] AUTiroK'S FATITKR.

These lines nro ei)grnvc<l "ii the hunilile headstone in Allowiiy Kirkyurd, over tlie grave of Williiuii
I!urnu'*s, tile iinet'H f:ither, wlwi died at l.ochlca, i:itli IVIiniary, 17x4. 'I'lie ejiitiilili received enic fill
elal)(iratiiin at tiie I. mid uf JiiiriiM. 'I'lie tli'st line, mi liapjiiiy expressed, was preeeded dy at luasl t«M
ieadiii;;s, found in tlie poets lianiiwritin;; ;

o yir wliii rt.viii|i:itlii/'- Willi virtui''H |j;iinH—

for whieli tiie writer liiiuseif sii<:Kesteii tlie sulistitiltioii of

O ju « liu.w liiMrts ili'ccuHril iiici it paiuH

each of wliiell is consiiiellously inferior to tlie line as we liiive it.

O yo whoso eheck the tear of ])ity slniiis.

J)raw near with ))ious rev'itMici! and attend!
Here lie the loving liusliaiid's dear remains,

The tender father, and the genVons friend;
'i'lie ])itying heart that felt foi' hnnian woe;

The dauntless heart that fear'tl no human jn'ide ;
The friend of man, to \ice alone a foe ;

" For ev'ii his failings lean'd to virtue's side." '

EPITAPH— ON A FPIEND.

An honest- man lu^re lies at rest,
As e'er God with his image blest;
1'he friend of man, the friend of truth ;
The friend of age, and guide of youth ;

Few hearts like liis with virtue waini'd.
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd ;
If there's another world, he li\'es in bliss;
If there is none, hi; made the best of this.-

1 Ooldsmith.

- In Unrns's oriRinnl Common-place Book the aliove
is headed tluis:— "Epitapli on my iwn friend, and

my fatlier's friend, William Mnir in Tarholton Mill. '
'I'liis is tlie " Willie " of " Willie's Mill ' in "Death and
Dr. Hornljook."

1 Not a .Manil
Iliiiiiilton, as lia
filler, of most
Iluod, liy trade i

2 When Dr. Ill;
"liiirns's jioliti
written proliald
in tiie r.dinliiiiu
Earl of Gleneair

A|»

25.]

POEMH AND SON as.

EPITAPH— ON A CKLEUKATEU IIULING ELDKIl.'

Here Houter Hood in ileatli iloe.s sleep; -

To li— 11, if he's g.uie tliilliir,
Siitaii, i^ii- liiiii tiiy '^v.w to kfep,

He'll liiind it weel tlie'dtliei'.

221

immoy

licilil it \\M together

BALLAD ON TJ[K AMHHICAN WAR

A lIlAd.MKNT.

Tim; •lullitcKinklo,

WluMi (iiiilfonl ,i,'oci(l (nir jiilct stoofi,

And did tmr licllini tlir;i\v, niiin,
Ae nii,dit, ;it tcji, lif!;;in u pk'ii,

Within Anifi

lieliii turn
oiiu i|ii;iiTul

ni'iic'i, ni.'in :

til

ii'n n|) thcv
And in tlic

It til

e niiisKin

dill

-|..'.l.

iiw, iii.'in ;

got
iIiihIi

tl','l-|10t

ciini/rcss.

All' did n;n' Ics^, in full

'I'liMn (jiiite ^efn^^e oiii' l.iw, iiian.

Tlicn tliio' tlie lakes Muiit^dniei y tiiises,
1 Wilt lie was niie .sliiw, niaii ;

Down Lowiie'.H liiinr lie took ii t
And Cirlctiiii did

Bnt vet, wli.it-r

mil,

(-a , man

lie, at (.^)ueliec,
JMdiilu'onicry like did fa', man,
Wi" swurd in hand, liifore his l.aiid,
Ainiui<' his eii'mies a', man.

not hIhw

drive
nevertlieli'

oor

Tan

nmv (iaire, within a caue

W.is kept at llostiiii lia', man:

Till Willie Howe took o'l
For I'liiladelpliia, man :
he tiio

the 1

e Kiiiiwe

liitll
kuoll

\\V sword an' j.nin

CJnid ( hristi.in 1

But at New-\'(iik,

■lit

;i sin

1(1(1 to draw, man
.i' knife iin" fork.

Sir-loin he liackid snia', i

nif^'oyne i:a"(i nj

1 np, Jik

nan.

iiir an wliii),

Till Fraser Inaxt- did fa', man

Then lost his WAV, ;h

IMS

tv da

In Saratoo-.i sliaw, man.

went

wood

' Not a Mauctiliiic cldtT, iiiid iicrsecutor of (iaviii
Hamilton, as lias liccn .sngiiioscd, liiit a 'rai'linlloii
(lilcr, of most ])ciiuriou.s lialiitn, named William
II I, by trade a "soiitcr" or sliocmakcr.

- W lit'ii Dr. Mlairrcnd lliisliallad lie rcmiirkcd that
"Hiinis's jiolitics smelt of tlie smithy." It «as

111

iif Vacuity, had (iivcn their aiiproval. The letter

wiitlcn Iiv liiinis to rr.-liine in this connection was

tirst iiriiitcd in the .liirOh

victolier, 1840. Tlu!

irersonal and historical allnsions are familiar to all

vlio have studied the liisti

if that interesting

l)eriod. with itsfialaxy of jrreat statesmen and orators,
and its strnsslt's iire^;nant with such mighty and un-

written ))idhaldy eiirly in 17.'^4, Imt tlrst imldished
in tile ]%diiilnir<;li edition of ITsV, and only after tlie
Earl of Glencairn, and the Hon. Jlenry Erskine, then ' '•> The biiDi, i.e. river of Lawrence, the St. La\vrenee.

for

'cseeii issues.

222

I'UKMS AND SON(JH.

[iTM.

WIW illlll)

\\M

tlmait

Coi'ii Willi i-t fonj^'lit as loiij^ 'h lie dnii^ht,

Ah' dill llu) ISiU'kNkiim' cliiw, man;
liiit Cliiiton'M glaivu fmu nmt tu mivu,

lie laiii!^' it lo tliu wa', man.

TlifU Monla'^'uc, an' (Jiiilt'onl too,

lu'^'iiii to t'oar a t'a', m;Mi ;
And Saukvillo iloniv, wlia ntdud llw stouri' stuhlioin ■imtfofijauiu

TliK (Jmnian diicf to lliiaw, man:
l''()i' I'addy hiirku, liki- ony 'I'liik,

Nao niHicy liad at a', man;
Anil Cliarlii' Tux tliirw I'V (lii^ liox,

An' luws'd his tinkk-r jaw,- man.

Tlii'n Kiiekin^rliain timk up the i,'!ini('

Till death did on him i-a', man;
When Slii'lliuine meek held li|i his elieek

(.'onfoim to ;,'oM|iel law, man ;
Saint Stephen'M hoys, wi' jarrinjf noise,

'I'liey did his ineasnies tliiaw, man.
For North an' Vus. united .stoeks,

An' hole him to the wa', man.

Then elid)s an' hearts were ( 'harlie's cirtes,

lie swept till' slakes awa', man,
Till the d'amoiid's aee, of Indi.in race.

Led him a H:\\v/<i>i.r /'</.s', man;
The Saxon lads, wi' loud plaeads,

On ('hatham's hoy did ea', in.an :
All" Scotland drew her pipe an' blew.

" Up, Willie, waiir them a', man !"

I5eliiiid the thione then (Ireiiville's ^oiie,

A secri't word or tw.a', man ;
While slee l>iiiid.is ai-ous'd the clitss

Jie-north the Uoniaii wa', man:
An' Clialhiim's wraith, in heavenly graitli,

(Iiis|,ired liarilies saw, man)
Wi' kindliii!,' eyes cried, " Willie, rise!

Would I ha'e fear'd them .a', man?"

But, Word ;in' blow, North, Fox, and Co.,

(Jowll'd Willie like a lui', man,
Till Southrons raise, and eoost their claise

rieliiiid him in ;i i;iw, man ;
An' ( '.-ileiloii threw by the drone.

All' dill her whittle dr.'iw, ni;m ;
An' swoor fu' iiiile, thro' dirt an' Mood

To make it i,'niil in law, man.

call

thwart

cnrdR

flioom

\.iimt

«ly

ii.irtli of
■^'licist, t;iiil)

kliiH'ki'd alioiit
r.'ist ii(l' clothes

|-(UV

kiiifu
swiiro

« Buckskins, a term npplicil to the AMirriciin tindiis i - riilodsi'il his tinker tfinpne, i.e. iniliilgcd in the
durin;; the Revolutionary war. | coarse raillery chaiiicteristii; of n tinker.

if, 29.]

i'UExMS AND SONUS.

22;\

SONO-THK 11ANT1N({ iHKi TllK DADDIK O'T.

'I'lNK -" A'<«»< iiuiik (/ Fij'f."

We liiivu tli'j pdi't'd own niitlinrlty dn' lUKt rtlUK llmt tliinu vitkch wcro sent to n "jdiiinf plrl, n
piirtlciiliinitinmlntuiiiiKif 111,;, at that tliin^ iiiiilrniiliMid. ' 'I'liU |shii|>|iiihi'cI to |jc lliu iilliiii ulliidiil

til III III;* iiul"iiii>KiiMilii"il Mill' t" L»r. M e (17^7) ii« miiinlnn "lic.itl.v iiftir lie jnit liU liiiiiil t<i

tlif [jIuHkIi, oil IiIh lutiirii floin Irviiif. If -o the noii« wnn pKiliaiil) wilUcii noihu Uttlu liim- liifoii!
the next followliiii piucc, lliu '■ youiiK Kill In Iiik lln; iiiotlui' of Mn own tliilil.

O wliii my Ijiiliiu iluiilH will Iniy ^
O wlia will tuut iiiu wiioii 1 cry/
Willi will kiss iiK! wlu'ic I lie/
'rin.' liuitin' (Idif tlic (liuidiu o't.

O wild will nwn III) did tlx; fau'l /
() wliii will liny my f,'roiiiiiii'-iuiiiil
() wliii will tfli mi! Iiow to c'Ji't?
Tlie liintiii' do;,' the- daddio o't.

Wlicii I miiiiiiL till' I'li'i'iiii'-cliair,
Whii will sit liosidf me tlioif/
Gio mo l{i>l), I'll sci'k nau inair, —
Till- vaiitin' do'' thi> daddio o't.

\VI

la will I'lai

ck t

o nil' III

y lam

VVlia can mak' me lidi^'iii' faiiil

111 Wl

Ilk

I8S mo Of:

rain /

Tiiu riilitiii' ilo'' the daddio o't.

alti'iiil til

I'lollcRdmo

l.viiiK-iii alv
call it

HtiMil of i'L'|iulitaiii'u ill cliiinli

cliat wlivii alone
ktiunly fond

Tin; I'OET'S WELCOME TO HIS JI.LEdlTLMATE CIIILIX'

"Tliu llrat iiiataiiL'o tliat ciilitlu'd him to tliu venernlil aiipcllatloii of fatliiT. "• II. I'..

Tlion's welcome, wean! niisliaiitur f;i' me, thild misadvouturo botuii

If oiifflit of lliee, Of of lliy iiiaiiii, y,

Sli.'ill ever danton me, or awe me. daunt

My sweet wee lady,
Or if I lilnsji wlicn tliou sliiilt c;i' mo call

Tit-ta or daddy.

Wee ima^e of my lioniiy IJetty,

I fatherly will kiss aii<l daiit thee. fondle

As dear iiml near my heart T set theo

Wi" ;is onid will,
As ,'i' the priests had seen me u'et thee,

Th;il's out o' h-11.

• The subject of this not very decorous " Wclromo "
wn« the poet's ilU'fritiiiiate child Klizalictli (daiii.'litt'r
of Elizabeth Taton), the "sonsid, sniirkhitr, dcar-
bou){litl'ess"of the "Inveiitory.'whofircw to woman-
hood in Gilbert liurns's houselioM, was married, and
had a family. Amonn the (diitnary notices in the
Scott Mayazine for January, IblT. is the followinji:—

" Dec. ,«. Elizabeth r.iirns, wife of Mr. .John Bishop,
overseer at r(dkemmct.aiiddanji'hterof the eelcl rated
IJobert Unrns. and the subject of some of his most
b antlful lines." She was born in Nov. I'ifi. The
most comiilete text of this jdece is in Patersnn's Edin-
bniy;h edition of lUiriis (edited by AV. Scott Douglas 1.
which also gives certain textual variations.

224

POEMS AND SONGS.

[1784.

What tho' tliey c:i' me fornicator,

And te;isL' my iiauie in kiiitni cliitter: country gossip

The nuiir tliey talk I'm keiit thi- better, nioro known

E'en let them clash ; tattle

An auld wifeVi tongue's a fecklfss matter trilling

To gie ane fash. give one truubio

Tho' I should be the waur bestead,
Tiiou's he as braw and bicnly ela<l,
And thy young yeais as nierly bred

Wi' education,
As ony brat o' wedlock's bed

In a' tliv station.

H'drso

flue wiinuly

And if thou be what I wad hae thee,
And tak' tht! counsel I shall gie thee,
A lovin' father I'll bi? fo thee.

If tlmii bi; s]iar'd :
Thro' .1' thy childish years 111 ec (hep,

Ami think't weel ward.

(iude grant that thou may aye iidieiit
Thy ii'ither'.s in'ison. grace, and merit,
And thy jioor v.orthless daddy's spirit,

Without his failins.
Twill ])lease me mail' to se<' thee hi'ir it.

Than stockit mailins.

would li.'ivo

eyo
spent

farms

EPISTLE TO JOHN I{ANKINE»

[or ADAMIIILI.. SV.\\\ TAlUiOLToN).
ENCI.OSINii S"MK I'liKMS.

rough, rude, icady-\\iltt d liaiikine,

The wale o' cocks for fun ainl diinkin'! clioiee

There's mony gmHy fdlks are thiid<iii'

Your dreams'- ;in' tricks
Wili .send you, Jvoiah-like, a-sinkin',

.'^tiauuht t.i .-luld Nick's. str.iiftlit

' .Iiiliii Kiinkini', f.irinti' :it Aiiiii.;!'ill, two miles
west nf r.di'liluu, \v;is a ju'incc.' iif lie im i(iiiipiiiiiiiiis
anil an hivcteratiMViiK; cnnsciiuontly lie wasjnst tl'.e
man to attract linnis, ami tlie two Ipccamu ureal
friends. He was no favourite with the " saiints," ami
the feelinj; was recijiroiatrd. ile entertaiiieil a riuiil
professor of icliKion to a jorum of todily. ami as the

111' Lot. What the poems Here that Ihirns .sent him
\vi- ilo not Umo\' .

- .\ eertain humorous ilreiini of his was then niiikin.'
a noise in the eonntry-slile.-- 1{. 1!. When Itankine
wished to administer a rebuke to some eonsei|iiiiiti:d
jierson or pi rsons he h;is wont to ilo so ninler the
i;uiseof adirain in wliiih thev ti;:ured or were in soiiie

hot-water kettle eont, lined only hoiled wlii-ky. the , way eoneerned, and several of these are .still eiuieiit
more the guod niun tuuk the mure liupelc^sly drunk 1 and reiieated.

[irs4.

jossip
knijwii

tnmljlo

anuly

Ago 25.]

POEMS ^V\D SONGS.

Ye liae sue inoiiie cracks and cants,
And in your wickL-d tlruckcn rants,
Ye niak' a devil o' the s;iiints,

An" till tliem fou;
And tlien their failings, Haws, a..' wants.

Are a' .seen thru'.

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it !
That holy robe, O dinna tear it!
Si>.ire't for their sakes wha aften Avear it,

The lads in hlaek !
But your curst wit, wiun it comes near it,

Jiives't air Iheir liaek.

Tliink, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing,
Il's just the ]!lue-gosvn liadge and elaitiiin"'
O" sannts; tak' that, ye k'a'e tliem naethin<'-

I'o ken them hy,
Frao ony nnregenerate heatlien

Like you oi' !.-'

I've sent you here some ihyming ware,
A' that I hargain'd for an' mair ;
Sae, when ye nae an hour to spare,

I will expect
Yon sang,' ye'll sen't wi' eannie care.

And no neglect.

'I'ho' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing!
ISlv muse dow scarce) v spread iier wiuLc!
I've jilay'd niysel' a bonnie spring,

An' (hinc'd my fill !
I'd liettei' gane an' sair'd tlic king.

At Hunker's Hill.

225

tales and tricks
drutiliuii frolics
saints
tipsy

ilo not

tciux it

liiirniint;
cldtliing

knnw
from

thoughtful

can
tuue

gone and suivud

iiiil;i!|:

''I'll!' liliirKi>wii lii'Ii)n;.'i-(l to a iirivilc;;i'it unli'i'df
Scottish MifiiilicaMi* now oxtiiict. 'I'licy derived tlirir
nanic I'roni the idluin' nf the liiil)it wliieli thi'.v wore,
and with wldili they were wunt to hesiiiiplied at the
e\|]en.se of royalty, in eonfornnly. it is saiil, witli an
ordinance of the Catholic Cliui'cli. (In th(! annual
return of the royal hirtli-day each hedesMjan ri'ccived
in adijilion lo the cloak or ;xown of llyht I ilue coarse
cloth, a liadK' ".Mil a leathern purse, contaiidn«- as
niiUiy ■^liilliiiKs SiMits (|)ennies sterlin;,'! as tlie sovcr-
ei^jn was years old. Tlie bailee i;i>iifcrrei| cm thcni
the (icneral ])rivHe:,'e of wamleiln'.;- over SeolJaih'.. ill
iMirsuit of their eallin;;, in despite of all laws af;ainst
ni"ndi ily. Kvery reailer will at once recal! to ndnd,
as a favduriihle sjie JMicn of the class, the Kdie Ochil-
trc f Sditt. Ill his Inlrodiictioii ti. the A "li'indrji

Sir Walter nives an iMtcri'stiiijr

iiliit of the Slue

P'Wiis as a wh(

le, with aiieciliites of one or two dis

tiii'.'iiisheil nieiiihc. f cd the Irilic. I'liirns

I'lllS to

characterof a iKirs^ar. Thus in his "Epistle to Davie,"
after a ivlleetion on the iiieiiuality with winch the
Hifts of fortune ate shared, and a lioast of their pinver
to earn l>y lahour their daily bread, he remarks: —

The last n't tlic waist i.'t.
Is iiiily ! Ill til I't'^'.

At a later imio'l of his life Ihirns had not pot
altoLcclhi r <|iilt of such daiki iiiii;.; anticipations. In
his " Dedication to fJaviii Ilainillon," after lioa>tiiiK
of till' iiidepenileiice wliich his ability to plmiuh
conferred, and his eon.seiiucnt want of ncce.>:sity for
crin^injj; to the preat for the iiieans of suiisi-stelice. lie
■'iiys,

Anil when I (Inwiiaynke :i iiniit,
'I'lii'ii. I.I I'll In tliiUiKit, I euii Ijeji!

- This siross solecism injiraiiiniai' (Scotch or Kntrlish),
llioueh necessary to the rhyme, jiratcs sadly on the

have looked forward, with a jiloomy and almost mis-

aiiliinii J iceliiiji, to elosiiij.' liis own career in the I " A song I,c hud proir.iovd the author. — K. 15.

226

POEMS AND SONGS.
'Twas ae nij,'lit lately in my fun,

1 gaecl a roving wi the ,i^un,

An' brou^liL a ]>aitiick to the j^run',

A lioiniio iie'i,
And, as the twiliifht wan buLnin,

Tiioii.L^lit naue wad ken.

[l784.

ona

went

partridge Kriiiind

The poor wee thiny was little hurt;

I straikit it a wee for .4]iort,

Ne'er thinkin' they wad fash nic for't;

15ut, deil-nia-iare 1
Somebody tells the poacher-court

'I'hc hale aliair.

Some auld us'd liands had (a'en a note,
That sic a hen had t^'ot a sliot;
I was suspected for tin: plot;

siiirnVl t<^ lit

So gat the whissle o' my groat.

An' pay't the fe

r.ut, l)y my gun, o' guns the wale
An' by my jiouther an' uiy hail.
An' by my hen, an' by her tail,

vow an swear

The game shall i)ay o'er moor an' dale.

lM)r this, nicst year.

As soon's tlie eloi'kin-time is by.
An' the wee pouts lievun to cry,
L--d, I'se hae spoitin' liv an' \t\ .

■'or my gowd guinea

Tho' [ shouhl herd the Huckskin kye'

For't in \'irginia.

Trowth, (hey h.id mueklc for to bl;
'Twas neitiier broken wini; nor lim

nie

But twa-thice i\r:

lioni tlie w;niie
Sr.irce thro' the feathe

8'rokeil
trouolo

wliiih-

•UCll

took tlie c<)ii3tM|ii<'iii'u.s

clioioo

rs;

All' b' ith a yellow Ciemge lo claiii

i\\ IhiiU- tlirir

ililhels !

It pi(8 me ayp as mad's a h;

So r

can riiviiie nor write nae mail

But pennyworths ag.iin is faii

Ab'aiiwliile I am, re^

pecti

MM time's expeiliciil

111!' most oliedirlit.

powder

broodiiig-tinio

pOllltH

gold
kino

in tiittli

bollv

liotli guinea
hiiflVr tlu'ir idle talk

puts

tit lor tut

'In till- Wiir lit- AnuTiiMii inJi |ieiiilcni-o llie I Ills liiiviiiLr to li, takr liimscll lo .\i

native Aiiierji;iii troops were knuwii I'.v tlnMiaiMc of ! dl■l•d^ iit lioin

" liiirUkiii-." !!>■ '• f.ii.khklii kye" lliinis perlintis l of Inniin

nieanh the .-laves- eouteniplatint;' llie pos.-il,i!ity of ' word.-alio\e. 'riie.Vnieriean warwasoverlivtliistina

\iiurira for his inis-
iie: or it tiii;;lit mean tliMt lu' had tl nhts

alriii!.' tlie klni.'," to use hin

Age 25.] POEMS AND SONUS.

SONG— O LEAVE NOVELS.

'i'f.NK— " Maiicldiiic Iklks."

'I'lio liint ami third staii/;as of tliis souk Sfciii to havo lieen imiiiDvisid during one of his liglit-
liuartud iiiood.s, al)ont tliu date of tliu occiiiiatiou of MossKit'l fiiriii, Marcli, 17.--4. Tliu .sfiond ami
foiirtli .stanzas wuru added for the sixtli vuluiiic of Joluison's J/hsliuh.— Maticliline is a small town
about a mile from the farm.

O Iciive iiovul.s, yo MaucliliiU' bclln^,

Ye're s;ifi'r at yonr s|iiiiiiiiig-\vliL'c4 ;
Sueli witcliiiig books are baited liooka,

For rakisli rooks like Hob ^Nlussgiel.

Your fine Tom Jones and ( Irandisons,
They inako your yuiiliifnl fancies reel;

Tliey heat your brains, and lire your veins,
And then you're prey for Jtob Mossgieh

Beware a tongue tliid's sniootid\ hung,

A heart tliat warndy seems to feel;
That feeling heart but ai/ts a part, —

"i'is rakisli art in llol) Mossgiel.

The fr;ink ;iildress, the soft caress,

Ai't! worsi- than poisoned darts of steel,

The frank address, and poliicsst'.
Are all line.sse in Kob ilossiiiel.

227

SON(i-TlIE liKLLKS OF MAUCHLINE.'

'Yvsv.—" Vidiinii' Danilce.""

[ii Manchline there dwells si.x propel- young belles,
The pi ide of the jilace ami its neighbourhood a';

Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess,
In Lon'on or I'aris they'd sjjotien it a':

I The matrimonial fates of tlie "si.x jnoper .Minni;
liclles" of .Mamliline, were as follows ;-. Miss (Helen)
Miller was maiiied to Dr. Maekiiizie of Maneldine.
.1 friend of ISurns's. Miss Markland was nniriied to
a Mr. l''inla.v, an otIUer of e.\eise llrst at 'I'arliollon
(where lie was a)ii)ointed to ti'aeli ISiirns the Miysteri^ s
of ^anj;in,u and e.\eise hookket'iiiii^:) and aflei w.ir.N
at (ii'eenoiU. .Miss Smith was married to Mr. .lium >
I'andlisli, an eaiiy friend of the )ioet's, and to whom {

of Se.iiland. .Miss I'.eMy ^\!iller'>, si-lerof the llrst-
mentioneil belle, was imnried to a Mr. 'I'empleton,
and died larlv in life. .Miss .Morti'li hestowed her
liranly (of whieh -he is said to have had a eoiisiiler-
alile share) aial her fortnne (anioiintinK to live or six
hnndred pounds eniirely under her own control) on
a M''. I'.it' rsun, a farni- r in Oehillici' iiarisli. Jean
Arnii'iir "llie .jewel" heeanie the wife of ilie [lOfit.
Mr. Chiiiiihrrs notes that as lati' as l.^.^O tlllei' of the

he addre.'-ses a li-tter in March 178", hearin;; the style | helhs. Mrs. I'a!
"Student in riiysie, (ilaspiw CoUe}.!''." and openinj;, j siiivivi'd.
" -My ever dear, old a'.'(|n lintaiu'e. .Mr. Cinnlllsh.after
his mdon with the witty Mjss Smith, reeeived an ap-
pointment as a teaehi'r in conneetion wiih Kdiidmr'. h
Iniversily, and died in iMMi, havin';- behind him six of
afamilv, the vnun^est of wlioai was l>v. Candllsh, one

i.n. -Mrs. Kinhiy. ai'l ■''i- . <'a;;dli>h

- 'I'Ik re are two )i..|inliir Seoteh :i''" ■:nown under
this name: tl"' bold stinini.; tin ■ to Si oil's

sonu"Tothe l.nrds i' t'oiiveiilioii Clavi'VlioUho

stMikr," aed the more uentiy llo ehi,ly ^ni'ir to

M'Neils "S.iw ye mvwie thinu'V is to this latter

of the founders and ureal leaders of tic I'n e chiueh ' lir that I'.nne, wrote the above so ,s;.

!!i

228

POEMS AND SONCS.

Misa Miller is tine, Mi.,.s Maikliind's divine.

Miss Suiitli slie has wit, and AJiss iJuUy is braw:

There's beauly ami fortune to get with Miss Morton,
Lint Ari'ioiir's the jewel for uie o' thtni a'.

[1784.

Ago 25.]

SONG -WHEN FIllST I CAME TO STEWART KYLE.

TL'NK — " / had a liarnc, 1 had nae inair." '

This fr.igiii(.'Tit is euteroil in thu Coiiiinoiiiilaii' I'.uok uiuIlt iliito Aug A, llbi. Tliu '• Maucliliiiu
lady" Is iloulitlL'sa .Icaii Aiiiioiir.

When first I came to Stewart Kyle,-

My mind it was na steatly ;
Where'er I gaed, where'er 1 lade, went rodu

A mistress still I had aye :
But when I eame roun' by JNIauchline town.

Not die.idin' any body,
My iieart was ''auj^ht before I thouglil,

And liy a Mauchline lady.

EPITAPH -ON A NOLSY POIvElNirC.

.lames ITiiiiipIiro.v, a jnliliin;,' mason, a vlllauii' (nack' in niattti's (if dcjctrinc, was llic sulijcrt n< tliis
ratliiT weak r.fiisiiiM. lie siirvivtcl till 1^41. li.-ivjij; narlicil tlio age (if Si;. In liis latter days In;
was (liu rc'ciiii(.'nt of many an alnis-.uift, IliiuMv.l' tiding; witli pride; that lio was ilnriis's " hlcthrin:,'
bitch."

Below thir staiies lie .bimic's liaues: ti^-.i!) stones

O ])ealh. lis my o|jiui(di.

Thou ne'er tuok such a blctll'liug b-tch baliUliiii;

Into thy dark (hiiuinion !

rp:'''apii-on a henpkckkd cot^xtrv sgL'ii!!':

At. father Adam tirsi was fool'd,
A I e I that's still tod edinmoii —

i lere lies a nmii a wuihau nil'd,
I lie d N i' rul'd ' i;e V, i lall.

E 'K !y\:»l -ON TilK SAin OCCASION.

') :!-uh, iiait.-t tiiiiii imt s|iared his life
\V iiom lee, this day, laiiieni I

We freely Wad eMliaiiu'd tlie wife,
And a" been wcel eniiteiit.

would (havo)

I This is the title nf an old son-j of wliiih liinns's I - Stewart Kyle is llial part of Kyle lying between
words arc in Bonie nuasnre a parody. , thu rivers Irvine and Ayr.

[l784.

Ago 20.]

pop:ms and songs.

Ev'u ;w he is, o;uild in hia gniii",
Tlio swap \vu yet will do't :

Tiik thou the euiliu's caioase oil',
Thou'se L'et the saul o' boot.

220

gnivo

excliaiiyu

si:cil(liii(j old ttouiiiii

to boot

iiuchlilie

rodo

ft of tliis
■ diiys In;
Ictli riii:;

ANOTHER.

Tills mill tlio twr) iiiinuMliati'ly in-cci'iliii;.; ciiiKrams weru aimed at Caniiibell of Ni'tliLTjilaci', Maiicli-
liiK', and his wife. 'I'liey \ww piililisliLil iji tlic tlrst filitimi of liiiriis's iiofins, Imt wuit; witlidrawii
from .sulistMiiii'iit olios. 'I'lify can |ialii no oiiu now, ami are lioro givun as curiosities, tliongli their
merit is not great.

One Queen ArLeiiiisia, as olil stories tell,
When (le|irive(l of lier husband she loved so well,
In respect for the love aiul allection he'd sliowM her
She reduc'd hini to dust, and she drank oil' the powiler.

l)Ut (^)ueen Netherplace, of a different complexion.
When eallM on to order the fuu'ral ilirection,
Would have eat her dead lor 1, ou a slender pretence,
Not to show her resjiect, but- -to save the exjieiise.

ON TAM THE CHAPMAN.i

As Tain the ( 'li;i|)niaii on a day

Wi' Death forgather'il by the way,

Wecl pleas'd, he greets a wii,'ht sat famous,

And Death was nac less ])leas'd wi' 'J'liomas,

Wha clieerfully lays down the jiack.

And there blaws up a hearty crack:

His social, friendly, houei-t heart

Sae tickled Death, they couldna part :

Sae, after vi(,'vinif knives and crarters,

J->eath takes him haine to gio him (quarters.

met

eunversatiou

(have)

yiiig between

EPIGRAMMATIC LINES TO J. RANKINE.

Ae day, as Death, that gruesome carl.
Was driving to the tither warl'
A ini.xtie-maxtic motley s(piad,
Aiul mony a ouilt-bespotted lad;
Black gowns of each denomination.
And thieves of eveiy rank and station,

one

(itlier world

miseellanuous

1 'I'liese verses, siiv-rnlavly eiioiijjli, were (irst given

to tlie world liy William Coliliett in his }fii;in:iiic.

Cobliett lieiame ae(|nainted « itU tlie subject of tlieni

when the lalter was in his old days and resident in

vol.. I.

London. He was named Thonuis Kennedy, an early
frii'iid of the poet's, and, at the time the eliitaph was
written, a traveller for a nieieanti! .' house, lieiiec tliu
appellation of "ehapmaii. "

230

rOEMS AND SONGS.

[l7sl.

From liim that wears the star and garter,
To liiin tliat wintles in a lialtt-r:
Ashaui'd himself to .see the wietchea,
He nnitters, glow'rin' at the bitches,
" J5y (r-d, I'll not be seen behint them,
Nor 'inang the s))'ritual core ])resent iliem,
Without at least ae honest man,

To grace tiiis d d infernal elan."

Jiy Adamhiil a glance he threw,
•' L— d (i-d!" (inuth he, " 1 have it now,
There's just the man I want, i' faith,'
And quickly stopijit Rankiae^s breath.

Htiiiiii;,'

CDlpS

uuu

LINKS TO JOHN RANKINE.»

WRITTEN WITH lUV. SUl'l'OSEl) VIKW UK liKINU KoKWAltliKH WtV.V. THE I'ciKT'.S DKATH.

lie who of Rankine sang, lies stitt'and dead.
And a green grassy hillock hides his head;
Alas I alas ! an awful change indeed.

MAN WAS :MADE TO ^lOUEN.-

A DllUJE.

Tlioi'o is an old poem, callcil '' Tlic T.ifo and Au'cdf .Man'(if wliiili I'.uiiis, in » U t rrtu .\l
says, "T liad an old Ki-and-inirK' wiili wlioni niv inotlicr lived a wldh^ in In iKiilisli voais: t
man, for .sncli Xw was, was lon^c l]lind liifoic lir dii-d, duiin^ wliicli time his liif;lust < iiji
to sit down and cry, while my niotlar w<]nlil sint; tlii' siiniilc (dd sunt; of the ' I.ifi- and .\)i
Tiiis poem was evidently inninnj; in l!ui iiss vecolleetion when he wrote " Man was made
Jt iii>ens thus:—

t'pun thr sixitcM hnndcryeiir

of (iiiil aiid tifly-tliriM',
Prill' Clii'ist Wiis limn, tliiit lnMit'lit Un ilfur.

As writint's ti.-lilii';
(111 .'aiiiiiir.v till' sixtcLiitli ilny,

As I did lie aloiic,
Witli many a siirti ami scili did say.
Ah ' Mnn in imnU Ui Mnun.

When chill November's surly blast

Made fields and forests bare,
One ev'uing, as I wander'd forth

Along the banks of Ayr,
I lied a man, whose aged step

■^eeni'd weary, worn with care ;
His face was furrow'd o'er with years,

And hoary was his hair.

rs. Knnj.ip.
he';iHMl..ld
ivment Mas
. ..f Man.'-
to .\l"iun. '

' In reference to tho Rulijcct of these and the pve-
('cdinj; lines see " Eiiistle to Jidin Kanliinc," p. 2-21.

-The above dirne is entered into tlie poet's first
('(jmmon-pluee Hook (April l",'-.'i— Oct. ITsri) under

date of Aiifjust, 17M. It is there called a ".Soiif
('/'inif— Tcfrfiy 1?awn). ' It is almost iieeilleHs to «a>
that the jioem is now never (if it ever was) sniiy to
this or to any other tune.

[im.

iiiiiiii'p.

>.' I old

nciit «iis
f Man. ■
Moiiiii.

lied 11 'Soiii:
eetlU'SS til sa>
■ was) sunu to

Age 25.] POEMS AND SONGS.

" Vouiig Htnuigcr, wliitlitT wiviKriest thou I'

Begiiii the reverend sage;
" Does tliii«t of wealtli tliy step constrain,
( )r .yoiitliful iileasiire's rage i
Or liai)ly, press'd witli cares and woes,

Too soon thou lia.st Ijegau
To wander fortli, with nie, to mourn
Tlie miseries of man.

'•'Die sun that overliuiigs yon moors,'

Out-s|ireading far and wide,
Wiiere iiundreds labour to supjwrt

A iiaugiity lordling's pride :-
I've seen yon weary winter sun

Twice forty times leturn;
And ev'ry time lia.>? added j)roofs,

'I'hat man was made to mourn.

"0 man ! wliile in thy early years,

J low ))r(Hligal of time !
Misspending all thy precious hours,

Thy glorious youthful prime !
Alternate follies take the sway ;

liicentiouH passions burn;
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,

That man was made to mourn.

" Look not alone on youthful i)rim(>,

Or manhood's active might;
Man then is uscfid to his kind.

Supported is his right:
liut see him on the edge of life.

With cares and sorrows worn.
Then age and want— Oh ! ill-match'd ])air

Show man was made to mourn.

"A few seem favourites of fate.

In ])leasure's'' lap caress'd ;
Yet, think not all the rich and great

Are likewise truly blest.
But, oil ! what crowds in ev'ry land,

Ail wretched and forlorn;''
Thro' weary life this lesson learn.

That man was made to mourn.

"Many and sharp the num'rous ills^
Inwoven with our frame!

' III the poet's Comnimi-placo lUicik tlic fdUowiiig vaiiiitioiis occur:—

231

1 " Yon sun Unit Itan^'s tt'rr Currifk moovs."
- " Tlip iDrdly C'assilis' rridu."
3 " Foituue'8. '

•• " Tii wants and cnrrows liorn."
5" Sl:iny Uie ills tliut Nature's himd
Has woven, " 4c.

l!i!

iljlii

I'UKMS AND SONGS,

[l7»4.

More ])uiiitu(l still wc iiiaki uur.sclves
Ue<^ii!t, rt'iiiorse, iiiul «hiiiiio !

And iiiiiii, whoso iieiiveii-crected face
Tlu! smiles of love adorn,

Mail's iiiluiinanity to man

Makes c(jiintless thoiisaiids mourn !

"See yonder poor oVrhibomed wiglit,

So abje(;t, me.in, and vile,
AViio belt's a brutlier of tiie eailli

To ji;ive liini leave- to toil ;
And see liis lordly fuUow-wnrm^

'J'he pour petitit)n spurn,
I'nniindfui, tlio' a weejiinL; wife

A\tA lielpless ollsprini,' ukjuiii.

'"If I'm <lesi,!i;n'd yon lordlin.tj's slave, —

i>y nature's law-' desii^ned,
Why w an independent wish

K'(!r pia itt'ii in my nnnd ?
If not, v\l\y am [ siilijeot to

]Iis eruelty and sc(trn /
Or why has man the will and power

To make liis fellow mourn?

"Yet, let not this too much, my son,

l)ist\irl) lliy youllifid breast:
'J'JHs partial view of human-kuul

fs surely not the last !
The poor, oppressed, honest man.

Had never, sure, been boin.
Had there not been some recompense

To comfort those that mourn !

"O death ! the poor man's dearest friend,

The kindest and the best !
Welcome! the liour my aged lind)s

Are laid with thee at rest!
The ,:.n'eat, the wealthy, feai' thy blow,

Krom pomp anil pleasure torn;
ihit, oh ! a blest relief to tlmse

That weary-laden, mourn :"^

1 " Hcvi'iiil of llio p pfiiis were pi'Dilucud fur (lie imr-
pDseijf liiiiiKiii^' fuiwaril .sdinu fiivoiiiitthontiiiii'iil df
tlio iUltliDr. lie used in rciiiiirk to iiii', tliiil lit ( oiiM
not conceive a iiKHe nioitifj liii; pietnri' of liunnin life
than a man i^eekin^' woik. In easting' alioiit in his
niiiiil how the seiitiiiieiit iniKlit lie hroufjlit forwanl,
the elefiy. ' Mnn '\ as made to Monrn,' was eonipose.i."
■-(Jil.lii:i!T llri:Ns.

- " Ifand," for •■law," is the reading given in the
Jioet's Coriiinoii-plaee llook.

•I " In 'Man was made to Monrn,' whatever inl'jlit
lie the casual Mea that set the poet to work, it is Imt
too evident that he wrote from the lialiiliial feeliiii;s
of his own hosom. 'I'lie indijination with wliidi lie
tlironuli life eontem|ilateil the inei|ualit.v of hiiiiiaii
condition, and particularly and who shall say witli
ahsolnto injilstiee?--the contrast lictwcen his nun
world lycirennistanecs anil intcdli'ctiial rank, w as ihvir
more liitterly nor more loftily e\pre-^sed than in .-"iiie
of these stanzas. "-. I. (;. l.ocKMAirr.

AgeSfi.] rOEiMS AND SONUS.

TTTH TWA Tliains, ou THE IFOLY TUILZIE.i

233

"TiK" (IrKt (if my imctic oiis|iiiii- that saw tlir liuht was a liiiiU.s(iii.' laiiicntatldii (in a (luiiml hu-
twi'ini t«(( ivvi'iciid (■alvilli^|s, liotli (if tliiiii (livmiilh ,ivi-s<m,v in my ' Ihilv Kair.' I liad a holioii
myself that tli.; piiiv had sdiic mciit ; lint U< inev.nt the w.ust I nave a (('ipy df It t(i a fn.ii.l who
was very fond df sndi lliin;;-), ami tuM liim I ( onid iwit kiu.-s wImi was the antlmr (if it. Init that I

♦' «''• ■' 1""''"V 'li'ViT. With a (vit(dn dcs.rliitlcn nf tlic ckiKy, »s well as liiity it met with a idar

..f ai.)phiUM.' liiHNSS At:Tonio(iiiAflllCAl, hi;TTi;i; to Uii. Mdnui:. - The title, it may he as wi II lo
reiiiaik means " Tlie two xhepherdH, or tlio liuly liniwl. "

Ill.icklic'iids, with iv:i^nii, wicki'd wits nhlKir.
I'liit fdiil with fuiil i> iKirliiinius livil war,— I'oi'K,

< > !i y(! pidtis ,i,'0(lly flocks,
Wft'l t'ftl (III iiastiii'fs (irllidddx,
Wlia now will ki'c|) yon frac the fnx,

Of won viitLj (ykca,
Of wlia will tent the waifs and crocks,

Aliout the dykes?

The twa best herds in a' (ho Mast,
'J'hat e'ei' jjae gospel liofu a blast
These five and twenty sinuneis past,

O! dool to tell,
Jiao had a bitter black out-caat

Atweeu tlieiiisel'.

() Moodu', man, and wordy Itiisscll,

Jf.)w could yon raise so vile a bustle,

Yt'll see how New-Li;^ht herds will whistle,

And think it fine!
'I'he Tjord's canse ne'er gat sic a twistle,

Sin' I hae niin'.

ft'otn

ddg,

tend idd ewca
Imilt feiMVs

slieiiliords
gave

soniiw
(luairel

Wdithy

g(it sneli a twist
liavo recdllertion

' At tlie time at wliidi the " Twa ITerds" was uom-
pdsed-lirolialily alMinl, the end of 17M-td nsu the
Wdi'ils df linrns, 'iioleniieal divinity was laittin;,' the
cdnntry half mad. " The jiaities in the eontrdversy
then (allied (in refiai'dinii tlie ((imiiaralive ellleaey df
faith and wniks. were desi^mated liy the names df Old
and New l.i};ht. linrns, jiaitly fiom ediuation, and
fi'diii his ediineetion with Cavin llamiltun, who todk
a )ii'diniiient iiait in the cdntrdversy, and who, from
ceitain sintiiilaiities in walk and ediiveisatidii, had
drawn npun himself the anathema (if liis parish
minister .Mr. Anld. one df the leaders of the Old l,ij;lit
party, and imitlj, it may he supposed, from .still
.sinartiii'.' under the " rehnke " of the same reverend
divine, attaelieil liimself ^^itll all the iceklessness (if
a parti.-an to the party of New l.iiiht eontroversialists.
\ personal iinarrid between .\lr. Moodie, minister of
Kieeartoii, and Mr. jtiissell, minister of tlie llij;h
Chnreli, K'ilniarnoek, liotli enjoyint; the henellt df the
Old l.inlit. all'orded too favimralile an opiiortnnit) for
the exercise (if his talent for satire in which he had
already diseoveied the secret of his power- to he
allowed to escape. The liio.uraphcrs of linrns, how-
ever, ditfer in their .statements of the ground of eiin-

Iniversy which resnited in the i|narrel celclnated in
the "Twa Herds." I.ockhart rciirtscnls it as in-oeeed-
in.nfronia misimder:,tan(lini;'e(iiiccriiiii;,'iiai ishlidnnd-
aiies; and as lakin,!,' pi ice in the jircsliytery in ojien
court, to which the annonnccment df the discu.ssiini
had drawn a nmltitnde (if the ennntry podplo, and
linrns aiiKiiiK the rest. Allan ('nnidn<;ham, dn the
other hand, represents the (|narrel as having taken
place, in cdnse(|iicnce (-f a unntrdversy (in "ell'ectlial
eallin;.'." in which the parties ent.'a}.'cd (in their way
home f](iin tlie .Mimday seriiidii of a sacrament; and
miiiiitely details the iiarticiilars of the (inarrel. The
matter is of no great i (iiise(|iieiKe. The ninth stanza
of the pdclii seems to incline the weight df evidence
in favour of the llrst account. Had the jiarties heeii
really t-'iiilty of coniinii- to hldws, as was even hinted,
all mention of such a circnmsfance would scarce have
lieeii dinitted from the poem— preseiitiiij,', as it would
have done, so niiieli broader a mark f r the shafts of
tlie ptiet's satire.

It may he added td all this, that the law df cliiireli
patronaiie also formed a fruitful snlijeet of disciissidii
and di.ssensidii anidii.u the Old ami New Light ediitro-
versialists.

2:34

POEMS AND SONCiS.

L'TM.

wuulil Imvo
would (hiivu) uii
|iiu|iriutiiis

(littli

( ), sirs! wliao'or wiul liiu' oxprrUil

^'our tliity yo wml mho iie^^li'ckit,

Yt! wliii wt'ie nu'i'i" by laiiiln le.Hpeckit,

'J'o wt'iir tlif [ilaitl,
Diit by the brutes tlieiiisclvrH oUn-kil,

To be Uieir j^iiiile,

Wliat flock \vi' Moodiu'a lloek coulil nvnli,
Sao lialc and boarty every sliaiik I
Nile poison'il sour Aniiiiiiaii stank,

He let tlieni taste,
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, tbey drank.

( ) sic a feast !

Tlie timnunart, wil'-eat, brock ami tiid, |i..u-iiit «iM-iat \y.\dgfv f.m
Weel kenn'd bis voice tbio' a' tbe wuod,
He Hinelt their ilka hob; and roatl,

I'laiUi out and in,
And weel be lik'd to shed tlieir bbiiil.

And sell their skin.

What lierd like RuHsell tell'd his tale !
His voice wjus beai'd thro' niiiir and dale.
He keiiii'd tbe Jiord's sbee|i, ilka tail,

tVera' the ii.'iirbt.
And saw gin they were sick or bale.

At the first si'dit.

CM'iy
hutli

fvoiy

ITe fine a manirv shee]) roidd scrub.

Or nobly flini,' (be ".(ospel club.

And New-Light hei'ds coubl nicely <lrul>.

Or ])ay their skin,
(/'ould shake them o'er flu! burninL,' didi;

Or heave them in.

Sic twa-O! do I live to .see't —
Sic famous twa should di.sa<j;reet.
An' names, like "villain, hypociite,"

Ilk ither i^i'en,
While New-Light herds wi' lau<:;hin' sjiile,

Say neither's licin' I

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld.

There's Duncan,' deep, and Peebles,- sliaul,

iJut chiefly thou, apostle AuKl,''

We trust in thee.
That thou wilt work them, bet and cauld,

Till tbey agree.

l«.ol
mii;li two

tciMl Toll
hliall'iw

Unt

•Dr. Rnliiit Ruiuiin, niiiiistcr (if Dmiddn.ilil. I "Holy I'air" iiml tlic "Kirk's Aliii'in," ai ilo nflioi'

2 Rev. WilliiMii rcclili's, uf \i>Ht<)ii-iLi)ij|i-.\yv. lie ri'vcrciid wiitUiiicn lu'vo luinu'd. See notes tlu'ic.
■was fiivcn to vcrsi'iiiakiii).'. :iiicl ll^'urcs liotli in tlif ^i l!cv. Wllliiiiii Auld. ndnister uf M.-incJdini'.

[iTm,

Age 25.]

I'OKMS Ax\J> SONlJS.

CiiiiHidur, sii-H, how wu'ro beHet.
'I'l

sso

lure H

t\<fm itniiiiii;
will ni>t

ftv

fulled
hliiu

' lliiw tlininh iiH

' Kev. 111'. ni\lvvniiilt', ntic of thu ministers iif Ayr,
li.v hIkimi till' piict was liii|ill/i'il.

- l!iv. Williiiiii M'Cill. idlliii'.MU' (if Ur. Dalrviiiiilo.

^ Minister nf St. l^uivnx.

< Dr. Aiiihfw Sliiiw (if ('raiu'it'. and l>r. David Shaw
of »'(i.vlt(in.

•'■' Dr. I'ctcr Wiidrow (if TarlKiltdri. Tin sncccs.sdr
alludt'd t(j in this versi- was .\l Math (if tho last verse.

Muarce ji new herd tliut we jjet,
]5iit coiiifs fiuc 'iiiiiiii,' tliiit cmMiil .sid,

i wiiiiiii iiiiiuu ;
I liopu fine liciivii to Moe them yet

III tiery ll.iiiie.

l»;iliTiiiiiIt!' Iiiis beou liin.i,' our fae,
iM'lJill- lijis \vi-oii({ht us inciklo wae,
And tlitit ciirsVl ni.scal ca'd .M't^iidiae,''

And baith the Shaws,'
That iift hae inadi' us lilacU and lilac,

Wi' veiidot'u' paws.

AuKl Wo(h'ow'' laiig lias hatcli'd inisi'liief,
We thought !iye death wad Idiiig relief,
l!ut lie has gotten, to our grief,

Alio to sunved iiiin,
A chiel wha'U Houndly huff our beef;

I Mieikle dread him.

And niony a ane that I could tell,
Wiia fain wouhl openly rebel,
Forby tuin-coats amaiii; uiir.sel',

There's Smith" for aiie,
I doubt he's but a grey-nick (juill,'

And tliatye'll lln'.

()! a' ye lloek.s, o'er a' the hills,

lly ino.s.ses, meadows, moors, and fells,

Come join your coun.sel and your .skills.

To cowe the lairds,
And get the brutea the power tlitinselves,

To choose their herds.

Then Orthodoxy yet may ju'aiice.
And Learning in a wootly dance,
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense,^

That bites sae sair,
]>e biinish'd o'er the se.i to France :

Let liim bark there.

Then Rh.aw's and Dairymple's elo(]uence,
^I'tiill's clo.se nervous excellence,

<! I'ev. Mr. .'inutli of (lal.ston, one ef tlie teiit-
invacluTS ill tile •• Hilly I'air:" nieiitioiiud also in tliu

liesiilua

terrify

Icilter

so sore

" Kirk's Alarm."

■ .\ bad (luill, the iiiek orsjilit being flrrfi/ and nil-
even.

" A iiaiiijihlet with this signature, written hy one
(if the New Light iiarty, had reeently apiieared, and
attiaeted some notice.

^\2

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1^ 128 1 2.5

|50 "^ li^E

*^ 1^ 1112.2

2.0

1.8

1.25 II u

^ 6" —

».

»>

#/••'

Photographic

Sdences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716)872-4503

•sj

,-\

^^%
. ^^^.

'^^/^

'<i>

<if

<*.

'^.

236

POEMS AND SONGS.

[l7s».

M'Qiihiie's pathetic manly sense,

Aiidguid JM'iMath,

Wi" Smith, wha tliio' the heart can ■;I;iuce,
May a' pack all'.

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER.'

Tlie foUowiiu' nvKHineiit in tlie iinft's own liiuuhvHtinK is prcflxcil in tlic (Jloir. niilrll ^IS., now in
tile Atlienienni Liliiaiy, LivcriHiol : -" Ilnly Willie was ii latlier oldisli liiululiir ililt'r. in llic iiiiiisli
of Maili'lilint', an<l niiicli and justly faiiiod for that iiolcnncal chattfiini.', wliicli I'lids in ti|i|iliii);
orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized liawdry wliiili rcllucs to li<in(prish devotion. In a sosional
]iriiress with a KfUtliMuan in Mauehline- a Mr. (Javin Hamilton— //"/,i/ H'illi • and his jiriist, I'allier
.Vuld, after full hearinn in the I'resliytery of Ayr, raine olf hut seinnil hest ; owin^ )iarlly to the
oratorical jiowers of Mi-. Koliert Aiken, Mr. Ilaniilton'.s counsel; liut ihiclly to Mr. lliiiniltons
heiuK one of the most irreproaehahle and truly resjiertahle eharaeters in the county. On hisinn his
jirocuss, the nuise overheard him at his devotions as follows " :—

'I'lioii, wha in the heaven.s does dwell,
Wha, as it i)h'ase.s best Thysel',

Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell,

A' for Thy glory,
And no for oiiy guid or ill

They've done afore Thee!

1 bless and ])raise Thy matchless niiglit,
Whan thonsands Thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore 'J'hy sight.

For gifts !ind grace,
A burnin' and a shinin' light,

To a' tliis ])lace.

What was I, or my generation,
Tiiat I should got sic exaltation !
I wha deserve sic just damnation.

For broken law.s.

sncli

i"lIo)y Willie's I'rayer," which Sir Walter Scott
•.•hrracterizcs as "a jiieee of satire, more exquisitely
severe than any which Hums afteiwards widte, ' was
composed to aid (iavin l{auult<in, the poet's friend
and landlord, in his controversy with the Old l.i^ht
functionaries of " Daddie .Anld's " scsjiion. The dis-
pute between Mr. Ilannlton and the session Hcems to
have (irixinated in a (|Uestioii ahout the amount of
jiijor rates. Hotli ))arties assumed hijih ):rounds:
.Mr. JIaudlton ahsenteil himself finni chinch, and the
session summoned him before them to account for
Ills aliseiiee. Otiier <har(.'es were soon added. He
was accused of settinc out on a journey on Sunday
— of neKlectiiiK the dnty of fanuly worship -and of
writiiiK an abusive letter to the session. When the
case was brouirht before the synod, Mr. Aiken, a
Kcntleman jiossessed of ilistinKnished elocutionary
poweis, ajipeared for Mr. Hamilton, and that court.
tlndiuK tlie case brounlit forward more for the (iiati-
(Ication of the malicious feelings of imliviilnal mem-
bers of the session than from any motive of duty.

stopped the jiiocecdiiiKs, and ontered the cliai;;( s to
be eXiuniKcd from the session reconls. See furtlicr
on tliis subject note to the )>oetii al I'.pistle to liaviii
Hamilton. May .'i, 17S(i. The hero of this poem, by
name William I'isher, was a leadiiiy: member of the
Maiichliiie session (winch at that time, indeed, eoii-
sisti-dof but three active members- the lit v. William
Aiild, .lohn Sjllars, wlioafteiwardscoinmitled suicide,
and himself), and, in s]iite of his sanctimonious pre-
tciisi<iiis, was rather more in(|Uisitive in the cxaiiiin-
ation of female traiistrressois than seemed altofii Ihcr
decorcjiis to his brethren. Hescriijiled not, moreover,
to "pet foil" when the liiiiiordid not llow at liis own
cost; and to crown all. it was alle^id. that he made
free with the money of the poor. 'Ilis end." says
Allan ('imninnham, to whom we are iiideblcd for
most of these paiticnlars, " was anytliinf; but j;odly ;
lie drank more than was pro|)er; and dnriiif; one of
Ilis visits to Maiichline, was foiinil clead in a ditch on
bis way to his own house. " Kor " iiilfeiiiit; (he alms
of the poor " Iturnscil'la-'tsliimin the "Kiik s.Vlarm."

Ago 25.]

rOEMS AND SONGS.

Five tliousiuul years 'fore my creation,

Thro' Aciam's cause.

When frae my mitlier's womb I foil, finm

Thou mij,'ht ha'e phuigud me in hell.
To gnash my gnnm, to weep and wail,

In burnin' lakes,
"NVhare damned devils roar and yell,

Clmiu'd to their stiikes.

Vet I am here, a chosen sample,

To show Thy grace is great and ample ;

I'm here a pillar in Thy temple,

Strong as a rock,
A guide, a buckler, an' example

To a' Thy flock.

() L— d, thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear.
And singin' there and dancin' here,

Wi' great an' sma' ;
For I am keepit by Thy fear,

I'-ree frae them a'.

]'>ut yet, L — d ! confess I nuist,

At times I'm fash'd wi" fleshly lust, troubled

And sometimes too, wi' warldly trust.

Vile self gets in ;
But Thou remembers we are d"«t,

Defil'd iu sin.

2.37

^laybe Thou lets this fleshy thorn
liuflfet Thy servant e'en and morn,
J.,est he owre high and proud should turn,

Tiuit he's sae gifted ;
I f sae. Thy han' maun e'en be borne,

Until thou lift it,

Ij — d, bless thy chosen in this ])]ace,
For here tliou hast a chosen race;
Hut G-d confound their stubborn face.

And blast their lumie,
Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace,

And jjublic shame.

L— d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts,
TFe drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes,
Vet has sae monie takin' arts,

Wi' grit and sma',
Frae G-d's ain priests the ])eo])le's liearts

ITe steals awa'.

must

cards

great

238

POEMS AND SONGS.

[ivsj.

And whan we chastenM him tliercfor,

Thou kens liow he bred sic a sjtlore, knowost riot

As set the warld iu a roar

O' lanr^hiu at us;
Curse thou his basket and his store,

Kail and potatoes.

L — (1, hear my earnest cry and prayer

Against that Presbyt'ry of Ayr;

Thy strong riglit hand, L — d, mak it bare,

Upo' their he.ads,
L — d, weigh it down, and dinna spare, do not

For their misdeeds.

O L— d my G-d, that glib-tongn'd Aiken,

My very heart and saiil are quakin',

To think how we stood groanin', shakin',

And swat wi' dread,
While he wi' hingin' lip and snakin', iiiinfeMng smeiiiij

Held up his head.

L— d, in the day of vengeance try him,
L- d, visit them wha did employ him.
And pass not in Thy mercy by 'em.

Nor hear their |)i'.ayer;
But for Thy people's sake destroy 'em,

An' dinna spare.

But, L — d, remember me and mine

Wi' mercies temj/ral and divine,

That 1 for gear and giace may sliine, wealtli

Excell'd by nane,
And a' tlie glory shall be Thine.

Amen, Amen !

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.'

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay

Taks up its last abode ;
His saul has ta'en some other Avay,

I fear the left-hand road.

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun.

Poor silly body, see him ;
Nae wonder he's iis black's the griin,-

Observe wha's standing wi' him !

9(iruly

grouiiil

' We nre inclined to tliinli that some veist's of this
very niediocru composition are amissiiiK. Its antlior
did not copy it into tlie Olenriddell M.S. along with

the " I'rayer, "and no copy of it in his handwritin); is
known to exist. Tt ishigldyproliahlethat hisniatuivi'
tuste cundemncd it.

Age 20.]

POEMS AND SONGS.

235)

Your brunstane deviUhip, 1 see,
Haa got him there before ye ;

But liauil your nine-tail cat a wee,
Till ance ye've heard my story.

Your pity I will not implore.

For pity ye hae nano ;
Justice, alas! has gi'en him o'er.

And mercy's day is gane.

Uut hear me, sir, Dei! as ye are,
Look something to your credit;

A cooi like him would stain your name,
If it were keut ye did it.

Iirinistone
liiiia little

gone

kuowii

EPISTLE TO DAVIE,

A liUOTHEU riiKT.I

.lamiury [l7S.'i|,
While winds frac all" Ben Lomond blaw,
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw,

And hi)ig us owre the ingle,
I set me down to pass tlie time,
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme.

In hamely westliu jingle.

from iiflf

hang fire|iliic8

IimiU'Iy «c8t coiiutiy

> Davie was Haviil sillar, whose father at this time
occupied a farm, called Sjiittlesido, >vlthiii a mile of
file villauo of Tarholton. Followiiif,' the recollections
of eiilluTt liunia, the date of the jioeni is f,a'iieially
placed in the year 1784, hut it is prohahle that thou;;h
the p(jeni was forwarded to Sillur in .lanuaiy, 17(55,
the rlosiuK stanzas, at any rate, were not added till
well on in that year, as it is doubtful if liurns had any
ac(iuaintanceshi|) with ".Tean" as early as .lannaiy,
178:). H is tlrst interview with her seems to have taken
place in April of that year. Hillar himself thus re-
cords the niamicr of his introduction to the poet.
" Kohert Hums," he says, "was some time in tlie
parish of Tarholton prior to my aciiuaintance with
him. His .social disposition easily procured him ac-
<iuaintance; hut a certain satirical seasoning' witli
whicli he and all other poetical Ktiiiuses are in some
decree influenced, while it set the rustic circle in a
roar, was not unaccompanied with suspicious fear.
I reeidlect hearing his nciRhhours ohserve he had a
jtreat deal to say for himself, and that they suspccteil
liis principles. IIj wore the only tie<l hair in the
parish ; and in the church, his plaid, which was of a
particular colour (1 think lUlcniot), he wrapped in a
peculiar manner round his shouhlers. These surmises
and his exterior made me nolicilmiH nf hin acijKaliit-
ance. I was introduced hy fiilhert, not only to his
brother, but to the whole of that family, where in a
short time I hecaine a frequent, and I l)elicve not
unwelcome visitant. After the connnencenient nf my

ac(iuaintance with the hard we frefiuently nut ni)on
Sun<Iays at church, when, lietween sermons, instead
of goin;; witli our friends or la.sscs to the inn, we often
took a walk in the fields. In these walks, I have often
been struck with his facility hi addre.«.sinK tlie fair
sc.\; and many times when I have lieen bashfully
anxious liow to express myself, he would liave entered
into conversation with them with the greatest ease
iiiid freedom ; and it was generally a death-blow to
our conversation, however agreeable, to meet a female
ac(iuaintancc."

In order to free himself from country labour, for
which he had no likin<:. Sillar opened a small school
at Conimonside, near Tarholton, but this not succeed-
ing, lie commenced business as a grocer in Irvine, to-
wards the close of 17S3. In 17S9, tempted probably hy
the extraordinary success of Burns, he published a
volume of very mediocre poems at Kilmarnock, which
proved misucccssful, and .Sillar became bankrupt. He
afterwards opened a school in Irvine ; and applied
Iiiniself assiduously to his profession, insomuch that
he eventually became one of the principal teachei's of
the place. His whole character, in short, at this period
underwent a change ; and from being careless and
jovial in his habits, he became diligent and parsimoni-
ous. In the course of his long life, he thus realized
considerable property, and held the ollice of magistrate
in Irvine for two years. In ISll a large legacy fell to
him from a brother, and he abamloned the school. ITe
dieil in May, 18;«t, in the seventieth year of his age.

240

roEMS AND SONGS.

While frosty wimls blaw in tlie drift,

lien to the chiiula hig, inwiiniH

I grudge a wee the great folk's gift,
That live sae bien an' snug:
I tent less, and want less

Their roomy fireside:
But hanker and canker,
To see tlieir cursed pride.

It's hardly in a body's jwwer,
To keep, at times, frae being sour.

To see how things are shar'd ;
How best o' ehiels are whiles in want.
While coofs on countless Ihonsands rant,

And ken na how to wair't :
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head,

Tho' we hae little gear,
We're fit to win our daily breatl,
As lang's we're hale and tier:
" Mair speer na, nor fear na," ^

Auld age ne'er mind a fcg,
The last o't, the warst o't,
Is only but to beg.

To lie in kilns and barns at e'eti.

When banes are craz'd and blnid is thin,

Is, doubtless, great distress !
Yet then content could make us blest;
Ev'ii then, sometimes we'd snatch a tasfe

Of truest happiness.
The honest heart that's free hae a'

Intended fraud or guih'.
However fortune kick the ba',
Has aye some cause to smile :
And n.ind still, you'll find still,

A comfort this nae snia' ;
Nae mair then, we'll care then,
Nae farther can we fa'.

What tho', like commoners of air.
We wander out, we know not where.

But either house oi- hal' ?
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods,
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods,

Are free alike to all.
In days when daisies deck the ground,

And blackbirds whistle clear,
With honest joy our hearts will bound.

To see the coining year:

[l7,S5

t'liiiuiie.v ear (luriicr)

littlu

KM cniiifiiitalilu

heed

fellows
f.nilH

kllllH- IKlt

tiinilple
iiieaiiM

more :isl> not
tin

NOi.H'tniU'M

»lieiiil it

from all

alwavH
lemeinlier
not Kiii.'iU

fitlt

witliotit holding

' Ramsay.— R. 15.

Age 2fi.]

POEMS AND SONCJS.

241

Oil bnu'H wlioii we jjlease, then, t>l>\>u»

We'll sit all' Howlii a tune; wiiistie softly

Syne iliynie till't, we'll time till't, thuu to it
Ami siiiy't when we hae done.'

It'a 110 in titles nor in rank,

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank,

To purchase peace and rest;
It's no in inakin' niuckle inair: inii<')i moru

It's no ill books ; it's no in lear, luaniing

To make us truly blest:
If happiness hae not her seat

And centre in the breast,
We may be wise, or rich, or great,
But never can !)e blest;

Nae treasures, nor pleasures,

Could make us ha|)py laiij;';
Tiie heart aye's the part aye alwajii

That makes us right or wrang.

'i'hink ye, that sic as you and I, such

Wiia drudge and drive thro' wet and dry,,

Wi' never-ceasing toil ;
Til ink ye, are we less blest than they,
Wlia scarcely tent us in their way, notice

As hardly worth their while ?
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood,
(lod's creatvires they oppress I
Or else, neglecting a' that's gtiid,
Tiiey riot in excess!

Baith careless, and fearless botli

Of either heav'n or hell 1
Esteeming, and deeming
Ita'an idle tale!

Then let ns cheerfu' acquiesce;
Nor make our scanty j)leasures less.

By pining at our state ;
And, even should misfortunes come,
I, here wlia sit, hae met wi' some,

An's thankfu' for them yet. mul am

They gie the wit of age to youth ;

They let us ken ourscl': know our-elve.s

They make us see the naked truth,

The real guid and ill.
Tiio' losses, and crosses.
Be lessons rig) it severe,

■ The I'liistlo " hreatlies a nobU' spirit of imloiK'nil- I tlic riches that are out of its reach without a particle
enceanilofpioiulcoiitcntnientihillyiMgwiththehanl- <)f envy, and with a liauglity sconi."— I'KOFESSui;
uliipsof itslot, aiiilinthepowerotinanlioodregarilir.g | Wilson.

242

POE^IS AND SONGS.

[l785.

There's wit there, ye'll get there,
Ye'U fiiul iKve other where.

But tent nie, Diivie, nee o' hearts !

(To say aiight leas wad wrany tlie cartes,

And llatt'ry I detest,)
This life has joys for you and I ;
And joys tliat riclics ne'er could buy;

And joys the veiy Ijjst.
Tliere's a' tlie pleasures o' the lieart,

The lover an' the frion';
Ye liae your Mej,',' your dearest part.
And I my darliny .lean!
It warms me, it charms me.

To mention hut her name :
It heats me, it beets me,
And sets me a' on flame !

hMd

wimld wning cmls

kimlles

O, all ye powers .,',10 ride above !
O Thou, whose very self art love !

Thou know'st my words sincere !
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart,
Or my more dear, immortal part,

Is not more fondly dear !
When heart-corroding care and grief

Deprive my soul of rest.
Her dear idea brings relief
And solace to my bieast.
Thou Being, All-seeing,

hear my fervent pray'r ;
Still take her, and make her.
Thy most jjcculiar care!

All bail, ye tender feelings dear !
The smile of love, the friendly tear,

The sympathetic glow ;
Jjong since, this world's thorny Avays
Had numbered out my weary days.

Had it not been for you !
Fate still has bless'd me with a friend.

In every care and ill ;
And oft a more endearing band,
A tie more teiuler still.
It lightens, it brightens,

The tenebrific scene.
To meet with, and greet with
My Davie or my Jean.

1 Robert Chambers tells us that " Mcp," at this I Orr, who had the charge of the children of Mrs
time Sillar's sweetheart, was " a lass named Margaret \ Stewart of Stair."

Ago 20.]

rOE^IS AND SONGS.

243

(), how that iiaine inspires my style !
Tlio words come slvi'ljjiii, rank and file,

Amaist before I ken 1
The ready measin-e rins as tine,
Ah Pliivbiis and the famous Nino

Were glowrin' owre my \>v\i.
My spaviet lVi,'asiis will limp,

Till ance he's fairlv het;
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, ami jimp,
An' rin an unco tit:

But lest then, the heast then.
Should rue this hasty ride,
I'll light now, and dight now
IJis Hweaty wizen'd hide.

tripping
aliiKwt

riiiiH

ll|UlVillfll
OIICU l|l>t

halt limp Jmii|
run lit a gruat pavu

«ipo

DEATH AND DK. HORNBOOK.

A THl'K .STORY.

" ' Di'utli and Dr. noniliduk,' tlionnh not pnlillHlifd In the Kllninrnock cilitlon, wns produced early
in the year \'K>. |.Iolin Wilson] the seluKdniimter of Tnrboltoii parish, to eke up the scanty sidi-
Kistence allowed to that iLseful cla.ssof men, had set up a shop of ^'rocery )j;oods. Ilavin).; accidentally
fallen in with some medical hooks, and hecomc most hohhydiorsieally attae'i:ed to the study of
ineilicine, he had added the sale of a few medicines to his little trade. lie had got a shop-hill
printed, at the hottoin of which, overlooking his own incapacity, he had advertised, that advice
would lie Kiven in 'eoinmon disorders at the shop jiratis.' Itoliert was at a inason-nieetiiiR in
Tarliollon, when the dondnie unfortunately made too ostentations a display of his medical skill.
As he jiarted in the eveidnjj from this ndxture of jiedantry and physic, at the jdace where he
dcsi'rilies his ineetin); with Death, one of those floating; ideas of ai)parition he mentions in his letter
to Dr. Moore, crossed his nund : lliis set him to work for the rest of his \(iy home. These clrcum-
staiu'es he related, when he rcjieatcd the verses to me next afternoon as I was holdlnn the plough,
and he was Utfinii the water olf the flehl heside me."— Oll.liKUT BlliNS.

Some books are lies frae jnd to end, from

And son.e great lies were never penn'd,

Ev'ii ministers, they hae been kenn'd, have Ken known

In holy rapture,
A rousing wliid at times to vend,' ' lie

And nail't wi' scripture.

But this that I am gaun to tell, going

Which lately on a night befell.
Is just as true's the Deil's in h-Il

Or Dublin city : ^
Thcat e'er he nearer comes oursel'

'S a muckle pity. gvcnt

> -ind edit., "Great lies and nonsense Imith to vend."
2 This reference to the presence of "the Dell" in
nuldin city is generally left without any attempt at
explanation. Hut in Alexander Smith's edition of
ltHriis(tlie "Olohe"), at page f)84 oceiirs the following
note, which may be taken for what it is worth ;— " -Mr.

Robert Wright, in his Life of Major-Gcneral Jamea
Wolfe, states that ' Hell ' was the name given to the
arched passage in Dublin which led into the area on
the south side of Christ Oluu'eh, ami east of the law
courts. A representation of the devil, carved in oak,
stood above the entrance."

244

rOKM« AxND SONOS.

Tlio elacliaii yill liiid iiiiulu mo taut v,

I \VM iia foil, l)iil just had |ilunly;

I Htachei'il \vl;)'lt's, Imt yet took tout aye

To freo tilt' ililclu's;
All' hillocks, staiies, an' biinlii's, ki'iiiiM ayo

I'Vai' yhaislH au' wilciu'H

The risiiij,' moon l)t'j,'aii to j^lowor
The distant C'liiiinock hills oiit-owr(>:
To count hiT lioriis, wi' a' my power,

I Sft inysfl';
Uut wlii'tliur hIiu had three or four,

I eou'd na tell.'

I was come round about the hill,
And toddlin' down on Willji-'s niill,-
Settiiiy my stall' wi' r' my skill.

To keej) me sicker :
Tlio' leeward wliylea, ai,'ainst my will,

I took a bicker.

I there wi" Something' did foif,'athei-,

That put me in an eerie switlier;

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae Hhouther,

Clear-daiiylim,'. baiij^;
A three-tae'd leister on the ither

Lay, large an' laiiLf.

[ITM.

villiiKO alu |i\i'|y

hi)t li|m>
Htitt(i{uri'it miiiiuMiiiuit i,n,[

Age 20.]

fiiiiii

"tiUll
-civur

Kllimtil

.•-toiiilv
nlioit liic'C

llK'l't

cliv.'ici

uviT (Hie hIiimiIcIui

INli-Hjii'iir

ilinicu a 1 icily a( all

Its stature secni'd lang .Scotch ells twa,
The ([ucerest shape that e'er I .saw,
For tient a wamo it had ava 1

And then, its shanks,
They were as tliin, as sharp an' sma'

As checks o' braiiks. w(ii..;'u ilieuk-iiiuccs of a Kii.iiu

•' (jiuid e'en,"' (pio' 1 ; " Friend ! hae ye been niawin'. mowing
When ither folk are busy .sawiii'/''''
It aeem'd to mak a kind o' stan'.

But naethinff spak:

< " Ills brother can set irie right, if I nni niist»l<eii,
wlieii I express a belief, that, at tlie time when he
wrote liis story of 'Death ami Dr. Hornbook,' he hail
very rarely been intoxieated, or, perhaps, even inuoh
oxhilarateil by liiiuor. Vet liow ha]>pily does he hail
his reader into that track of sensatio"s! and with
what lively hunioiir does he deseribe the disorder of
his senses and the coiifnsion of his iinderstandinK put
to test, by adelil)eratu attempt to count the horns of
the moon—

Iliit Hlicllicr sill- hail tlirci- or fmir,
Ilo cou'il na ti-11.

r>ehold, a sudden apiiarition disperses this disorder,
and in a moment ehills him into possession of him-
self! Coining upon no more important mission than

the Kiisly phantom was eharKed with, wliat moilr of
introduction conld havi; been moie edkieiit and ap-
propriate'/"- WoHIiswoiiTH.

'-'Tarholton Mill, on the Kaile, elose to 'rarlinltin
vilhiKe, and on the road to MossKiel ; calliil " W illir s
Mill," liceause then incupied by William Muir, a
friend of the Ihirns family, and a nei^hboui' \\ lillr tin y
resided at Loehlea.

•'This reneounter hapjiened in seed-tiiiu', 17n'i.

it. 1!. "The humour of Burns was original and

suceessfid. He had a strong propensity to vii \v
ninler a ludicrous aspect subjects which he thouj;lit
zeal or superstition hail invested with nnneccssaiy
or questionable sanctity. When beathiL' fnr pinic,
he dulinhted to push to the very eontines of jiiopriety,

Age 20.1

lit. I\

I..,, I

at all

245

wliL'io iiri' jiiii goiiiK

l>ul|„»
wai'txl
atop

IlKUll

Ii|mI||,.|

oiiiiiHi'l lianii
laiKu Kiiitr

knife

HdiiM lit' ilaiigei'una
liilnrliiovdim

POi;MS AND SONGS.

At li-ngtli, Hjiys I, " Kiifiiil, wharf ye fjanii?
Will ye go Itack ("

It Hjiak rij,'lit Iiowc,— "My iiaiiic is Dialli,
lUit bo iia llcyM."- gmitl. I, '•(luid t'aitli,
Yo'ro iiiaybi! coiiiu to wta|) my hiiatli;

l!ut tunt iiif, liillio:
I red ya weul, lak caiv o' ukailli,

Sec, llierc's a gully I"

"fJii.ioiiiaii," (|U(/ Iif, '-put u]> ydur wliitlk-,
I'm 11(1 ilcsiuiiM to try it.s inettlo;
liiil if I (li.l, I wa.l l)c kittle;'

To be mislearM,
I wail iia miml it, no tliat Hpittle

Oiit-owre my beanl.

" Weel, woel ! "' says I, "a bargain be't ;
Comi", gie's yuiir liaiiil, an' sae we're gree't;
We'll ease our sbanks an' tak a seat.

Come, gie's your nev.s!
Tllis while ye li.ie been niony a gate fnr hcimo Uiw l.a.k loa.l

At niony a house." -

'• Ay, ay ! " ([uo' he, an' shook his head,
"It's e'en a lang, laiig time indeed
Sill' I began to nick the thread,

An' choke the breath :
Kolk maun do something for their bread.

An' sae maun Death.

"Sax thousand yi'ars are iiearhaud lied

Sin' I was to the butcliing bred,

An' inoiiy a scheme in vain's been laid,

To stap or scaur nie ;
Till ane Hornbook's'' ta'eii up the trade.

An', faith, he'll waur me.

afc'ived

" Ye ken Jock Uornbook i' the clachan,

Deil mak' his kiiig'.s-hood ■• in a si)leuchan ! htomacii into a tniiacco-iwiucli

cut

IllllHt

iiuarly
Iiiittliuniii,'

st<>|> scare

(lufcat

kiiim village

ami t(i spin-t cm the dfbatalili' line ln'twi'i'ii sacn'il
anil indfane. He was imUicI siaricl.v cxiclli'il liy
Lillian liiinsclf, in that spccios nf liiinKini' wliicli is
)i|cmIuc('i1 liy (luliasiiif; iilijiL-ts of tile most sciimisand
siilfiiin iiiafiiiitiiilt'. til the li'vil nf lasy ami imlillVreiit
familiarity. In the virsi's mi l»r. llniiilMink, whiTc
till' iiiit't relates liis interview ami smial chat with
Kiatli, wl::ise hiiny ll;;iire isilraw ii with eipial ilrollery
ami coneetiiess, Imw is the seytlie uf that ilreailuil
beiiiK stript (if its termr, when it mily serves to
Slimiest this- lioniely anil iieinhlioiiily address 1' —
I'ltOFKSSOK \V,\1.KKH.

' We adopt Dr. Ilately Waddells piinetuation here.
Tlic ori)!iiial eilitimis read "kittle to be luisleai'd, "
VOL. I.

whieli is very diftleult to exiilain, tliiiiiuli it mijilit
perhaps mean " would l)edanner(ms(were Otolieinis-
ehievuus," or "would be iipt to be inisiliievou.'i."

'-.Vn epidcniicaUever was then raKinn i" '•'I' i;ou''t''y-
-It. I!.

"This Kentleiiieii, Dr. llornlinnk, is, prnfessioiially,
a brother of the Sovercijrn Order of the Ferula ; but,
by iiituitioii anil inspiration, is at ouee uu Apothecary,
.Surtreoii, and I'hysician.— 1!. 1!.

< Kinii's-hooil. "The second of the four stoinnelis in
rumiiiatiiii; aniiimls; the Jleliciduiii, hoiiey-coinb or
bonnet, from its supposed rcseiublaiiee to some
puckered head-dress formerly worn by persons of
rank." -Jamiesok.

21«

I'OKMS AND aONCS.

He's grown mc wvA af«iiwiiiit wi' Hiicluiu*
All' itiiir (.Imps,

The wi'Uim hiiuil out llieir till,^'^•^rt liiugliiu'
Ami poiik my liipH,

"Sfc. licrt-'H a Hintlii', ami tlieie'rt a dart,
Tlu-y liiii- piiMcM inoiiy :i f,'alliiiit liearl ;
llut iKictor lli>iiili(">k, Wi' hi^ art,

Ami ciiiHud Hkill,
IIa« nmde tlii'iu l»aith in» wortli a ,

J>amuM liiu't tlicy'll kill.

"Twan lint yt'Htrcfii, nan fartlier gaon,

I tlirt-w a mihlc tlm.w at am",

AVI' loiw, I'm »<iin', I've luimln'dM ulaiii ;

liut (U.il-nia-i«ie !
It just l)lay'il dirl on tlin baiic,

liut did nac niair.

" Ilornliook was l)y, wi' nwly art,
And liad sac fortitiid tlio part,
That when I looked to my dart,

Jt was sao blunt
Fient haet o't wad hae piirtM the heart

Of a kail-rnnt.

'• T drew my scythe in sic a fury,
1 nearhand cowpit wi' my hurry,
r.ut yet the ban Id apothecary

AVithstood the shock;
1 might as weel hat- tried a quari-y

()' hard whin rock.

[l?85.

I'liiMiuii
)iliu'k

thtnl
■ III iiiiiru

(h'lii'u ii liit
C'lluttnlt »tclii

iiuarlv tmiil>l('<l over

" And then a' doctors' saws and whittles,
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles,
A' kinds o' boxes, mu;,'s, an' bottles,

lie's sure to hae;
Their Latin names as fast he rattles

As A 15 C.

" f 'alces o' fossils, earths, and trees ;
True sal-marinum o' the seas;
The farina of beans and pease,

lie has't in plenty;
Aqua-fontis, what you jilease.

He can content ye.

" Forb)'e some new, tuiconnnon weapons,
Urinus sjiiritus of capons ;

1 Buc-lian'g Domestic MeiUcine.—'R. B.

kiiiven

besides

AkuUO.J

PUKMS AND SON'CiS.

Or inite-liorii wliiiviiij,'x, tiliii;,'H. sci-ajiiiigH,
l»if<lill'(| /<«/• go;

Sal alkali o' iiiiilgu-lail-cli|)|)iii^;s,

And iiioii}' iiiai',"

•• Wac's iiic for .Idliiiiiv (IimI's ' Unit- now,

<^U(.' I. "ifthat tl

lat' iii'WH

lie t

nil'

His liiiiw i-alf-wanl- wlian; ;,'ii\vaiis j,'ru\v,

Sau white ami lioimif.

Nile doubt llii-y'll live it \vi' liiu plcw;

They'll ruin .lohnuy 1'

'I'hf creature f^miuM an cldiiti-li laii'^h
And says, " \i\ nerd na yoUc the lileuj;h,
Iviikyanls will aoou he till'd enenv'h,

Tak ye nae fcai':
They'll ii' bo treni;h'd wi' niony a sheuj,'h

111 twa-thiee year.

" Wiiaie I kill'd aiie a fair stiae-death,
l>y los.-i d' hidiid or want o' breath,
This ni;,dit I'm free to tak my aitli,

That IfonibooVfl skill
lias elad a score i' their last elaitli,

]iy drap and ])ill.

" An honest wabster to his trade,

llllkliy llinp)

:ill'|.M.Iil<>('k it

iiiiii'i*

(iat tipiience-worth to mend her heail,

lien It was sair

The wife slado cannie to her bed,

But ne'er spak niair.

" A eountra laird had ta'en the batts,
Or some cninuiriiiij,' in his mits,
His only son for lloriiljook sets,

All' pays him well.
The lad, for twa guid j,'imnier pi'ts,

Was laird himsel'.

''That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way;
Thus goes he on from day to day,
Thus does he jioisoii, kill, an' slay.

All's weel i)aid for't;
Yet stops nie o' my lawfu' jirey,

Wi' his dnmn'd dirl.

I.lullull

);iii;irjt'<l (.Irinli

finiiiw

ili'alli ill liod

iiatli

dnlll

woiivcr

lase wife's twa nieves were scarce weel bred, li^

it«

hHiI niiiotly

laiiiliiNViit'i' liiittH
I'lllllblillK

yiiiiiij,' HHes

uami>la

I Tlie lO'nvo-disKtr.— 1!. U

Iiastiiroil. It iiseil t(i tic liy lie mean! uiu(i..'n'(iii to

- A small iiii

•Idsure forcalvi's; hero iiiiiilieil to tliu I see tlie minister's eiit le feediiifc' in country tliui^-h-

ihnieliyard, in wliieli ealves may liave SDiiielimes been | yards.

!!■

248

POEMS AND SONGS.

[l785

« But, hark ! I'll tell you of a plot,

'i'ho' diniiu ye lie speaking o't ; do not

I'll nail the self-conceited sot,

As deail's a lieirin':
Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, mxt ut

He gets his fairin' I " dowits

But just as he began to tell.

The auld kiik-haninier atiak the bell strmk

Son e wee short hour ayoKt the tvnl, 1h!ji>iii1 twelve

Which rais'd us baith :
T took the way that pleas'd niysel'.

And sae did Death.*

1 This sntire Icil to tlic ivmnviil of .lolui Wilson, the
jirototyiie of Dr. Ilornliouk, to (ilasjiow, where he
coiitimiicl his old iiidfessidii of sihoolmuster. "He
lir.-it tiuifjiht in the Ili^li Street, having sneeeeded
theic toiischiiol kejit, we lielieve, liy Mr. .Meiklehani,
liifiiie that fientleinau olitained the indfe.ssor.ship of
initiiral philosojjhy in the t'niver.sity of (;iasj;ow. He
iiftei wards (somewhere about the year IsiiT) was for-
tunate enough to lie eleeteil se.ssion-ilerk to the (!or-
lials, whieh olliee he held up to the jieriod df his death
in ISiSI. At the time when Dr. Hornhnok olitained the
session -elerkshiit, the (l.irlials formed hut a small
snlmrli of (llasjiow, with a iioiinlation of jierhaps
ei^ht or ten thoii and. It has since then--in a jieriod
of about thirty y ,ns(l!<4()) increased with a raiiiility

scarcely to he '"cil even in the New World, and

now forms a larye ii,.d imjiortant section of the
western metmpiilis, with a population of some seventy
or ei;;hty tlmnsand smils. The emoluments of a (!or-
lals sessi<pn -clerk in Wilson's time were eidirely
dependent on the registration of births ami nuir-
iia:-;es, and ^iri'at, therefore, was his jjnod fortune in
olitrinin^r a situatioii wlu're births and marriages
w 'Ve so marvellously im the inirease. The ottice, in
short, whieh i]i 1.^07 nnly proiluced a moderate in-
eonie, siieedily rose to be a lucrative one, ami was
every year, while Wilson retained if, on the increase.
'■ In eoimeetion with his session-clerkship, Wilson
kept a .seho(d in the (iorlials, where he taught the
connnon brauehes of education. The writer of this
note had the~shall we say honour, nv felicity, or
both?- of bein:,' taught to write and cast aeeonnts by
the far-famed Dr. Iliirnbodk. ile Wiis,as we reniendier
him, a deeeid, dump} elderly Keutleman, dressed in
black, with just (nou;;h nf corpulency to nive him 'a
presence,' and a pair nf stout little Xvks, inclined to
the crookeil, the attractions of wliieh were fully
devehiped tliron^h the medium of black tights and
black silk stockinns. He wore a brown wi^r, took
siintf largely, and had a look of great <'omplaeency.
He was a good teacher, an<l in general of ea.sy temper,
though subject to g\ists of passion. He w as extremely
partial to the girls in the school, and often for days
devoted almost exclusively his attention to them,
much to the satisfaction of the boys. In aiithmetie,
decinnils were his hobby; fractions he despised: every-
thing should bt done by decimals. In deeinutis he

felt that his strength lay. Aftei' succeeding in solving
an intricate accoimt, he would take a large snulf, aini.
withasiift sigh, say, 'There I -I'm thinking that wuuM

fash twa-thn n the ithersideo' the water that keep

nil grand aca.iemicsl' .Self-complaeency, indeed
for it scarcely amounted to si'lf-conceit— was his must
pnunincnt failing. Kverytliiug in his sdiciol was tlie
best, and his way of doing everything was the best.
This failing was aggravated by his parsimony, I if which
hi' got the name. His scholars must all liny their jiapcr
and pens from him :— there were no coiiybooks at all
to be eiim]iarcil to liix coiiybodks— no (juills ever to
be nu'iitioned in the .same breath with hix pinions 1 If
asiholar ventured to bring quills of his own from his
fathers counting-house, with what gnstci did he s|ilit
them uji and hew them down, nnittering Ml the w hilc.
' Trash 1 Trash 1 '

"The self-comiilaceiic\ nf the (Jorbals session-clerk
we can very well lielieve to have been just a nnidillca-
tion, brought about by years, of the self-conceit of the
Tarboltondominiewhich jirovciked tliesatirenf linrns.
\\ ilson hits been heard to say, ' I have often wnndi red
what set I'obert lluins upon me, for we were aye im
the best of terms.' lint with all its severity, the satire
is levelled o/i/i/at the presumption of WiLsnn in alfect-
ing a knowledge of medicine, ami it is i|uite pnssible
that the poet might lau'th at that, and yet hold the
dominie in considerable esteem.

" The boys in t lie school kne w t ha tlieojilc called their
master ' Dr. Ilnrnbook,' although they did not very
well understai .1 the reason. On oiu' occasion only
did we hear the name use<l in his piescnce. He had
come behind a boy who was trilling, anil pulled his
ears. The boy, a resolute and stubborn one. turned
about, and said, ' What's that f<ir, you— you- I)o( Toi;
HoKXliiiiiK 1 1' I'lion which Hornbook striuk him a
blow on the head with a ruler, so violent that the buy
fell insensible on the lloor. lie sjieedily recovered,
but from that day never retnriu'd to the school."
Al.K.XAMiKll WniTKLAW.

"Thetruestoryof 'Ueathand Dr. llornliook'hasnnly
recently lieen nuide known on the reputed authority
of Thomas lioiland, a member of the liaehelor'sCluli,
who was jiresent on the occasion which gave it birth;
it was a Mutual Im])rovemeut Society, founded by
limns its llrst chairman and ruling spirit -meeting
monthl> for reading essays ami debating thereon. The

.Voung
membei
he sold
liablyh.
fi'ssion i
his thoi
grown s
"as i|ui
an es.sa
eussion
the ]io(
monii
so wel
siniplj
ing so
bad fe.
towarc
resulte
poem I
tim. :
boni'
,h...,-'
relished
Kmni I
<if Hun
Mohi
haigh
in tlie
in the
son, he
In 17,"i4
(sister
whom,
giving
wards,
iioiiring
subjeet

Ago 20.]

rOEMS AND SONGS.

249

EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK,'

AN OLD SCOTTISH liAllI).

AlMtll- lat, ITsn.

"Tlie 'Epistlu to LaiHiiik was pioduci-il exactly on the ciecasidii described by the authnr. lie .sivs
in iliat ii(.eiii,'On l''asteii-eeii we had a rockiii.' 1 believe lie has omitted the word mch'iiKj in the
jihissary. It is a term derived from those iirimitive tiinea, wlieii the eoiiiitrywomeii eniiiloyed tli.ir
spare hours in si)inninH on the roek or distalt'. 'this simple implement is a very |iortabk one, and
well fitted to the social inclination of nieetinf,' in a neighbours house; hence the phrase of 'i/iiiii<i
a-rochiitij, or with tin- inch: As the connection the phrase had with the imiilement was for^otteii
wliuii the rock t'ave place to the spinniny-whcel, the phrase came to be used by both sexes on social
occasions, and men talked of noiuK with their rocks as well as women. It was at one of these
rockiUKS at our house, when we had twelve or llfteen youn^ people with their rocks, tlial I.apraik s
sonn be};inninK ' Wlien I upon thy liosoui lean,' was sun^, and we were informed who was the author.
I'pon this Knbert wrote his tlrst ejiistle to Lapraik. and his second in reply to Lajiraik's answer." —
(ill.DKltT ItLKNS.

AVIiile bi'iers iiu' woodbines biuUliiig yreeii,
An' |iiiitiieks scraicliin' loud ;it e'en,
An' nioiiiing poussie whiddin' seen,

Liispiro my muse,
Thin freedom in an unknown frien',

I Jiray excuse.

p.ntrid^'cs .sciecching
liaiv nmning (piiclily

yomig schoolmaster (.lolin Wilson) was one of its
meudiers; it has been erroneously stated of him that
he s(dd 'drujis,' which was not the case; most pro-
bably he contemplated ineparinn for the nu'dieal pro-
fession if circumstances proved favomable, at any rate
his thontrhts were tunud in that direction. 'He's
iirownsae weelac(|uaint wi' I'liuhan, and ither chaps,
wasipiite true, anil when his turn came to annotniee
an essay he proi)ose(l ' Medi<ine,' a sulijeet for dis-
en.ssion which caused much amusement, and sucxiited
the poet's fancy imi his way home, tliat tlie followin;;
morniuK saw tlie pni-m llnislied in tlie form wf know
.so well, ''riie dachaii yill hail made nie canty,' was
simply a poet's license, as it was a tempeiance nieet-
iiiH so far as drinkiuK was concerned. There was no
bad feeliiiK or evil intention on the part of limns
towards Wi'son, the iiopulaiity and annoyance that
resulted were neither foreseen nor desired, but the
poem conferred an unenvialile notoriety upon its vic-
tim, and was carried beyond a joke when s<ime neigh-
bour in a wicked liiiiiKHir wrote, and iiosted on his
dn..r •,\ilvi(e(lratis,'a climax the scluiolmaster little
relished, but was helpless under its iiitliction."
From the preface to '/"Ac Uiirnx Calemlai; a .Manual
of I'liirnsiana. Kilmainock: .lames M'Kie, 1874.

'.Folin I.apraik was born in 1727, at the farm of
l.aiiib Dalfram, about three miles west of Muirkirk.
in tlie east of Ayrshire. This iirojierty had been lont;
ill the iiossessioii of his family; and bcin^' the ehiest
son, he succeeded to it on tlie deatli of his father.
In 17.")4 he married Margaret liankine of l.ochhead
(sister to the "rouuh, rude, ready-witted Itankine ').
whom, however, he bad the misfortune to lose after
KiviuK birth to her tlftli chihl. A few years after-
wards, ill I7(i0, he married the daughter of a iieiKh-
boiirin;-: farmer. .laiiet .Amlerson of I.it:litshaw, the
subject of the soiiK which drew forth the tlrst epistle

of Ihiriis. At the time of his second manias;., iuui
for some years afterwards, he was still in Ihilfiam,
but the bursting of that "villaiious biiblile,' as r.iirns
calls it, the Ayr liaiik, involved him ami many
families of .\,\rsliire in ruin, lie was obli;;ed to kt
his own lamls of Dalfram, and retire tirst to Miiiis-
mill, a small firm in the vicinity, afterwards to Nether-
wood, a farm on the water of (Ireenock (a trilmtaiy
of the .\yi). and auaiii back to .Miiirsinill. r.vcniiially
he Sold o(!' his property, but tlie sale of liis laiul failed
to rid him of his 1lal)ilities; and the iinforliiiiate man
was thrown into prison. It is sai<l that the son;; ad-
dressed to his wife, which excited so stroii;;ly the
admiration of ouriis, was coni]iosed while I.apraik
was ininiured within the walls of ,\yi' jail. It f m -
nislies a beautiful model of eoiiju;;al all'ection.

When I upon thy boiiimi Iimii.

-And I'tiidly clasp thci' a' iii,\ :t;n.
I jrlniy ill the sacred tii'S,

Tliat ni.uli' lis aiu', wliii iiinv were twain.
A iniitii'd llaine insiiircs us tiaitli

Till' tiauK'i' look, till' iiK'ltiiih' ki.-s:
Kvi'ii yciirs sIiiiU ne'er dcstniy uiir love,

Ili.t only uic us chriiiKc o' Miss.
llao I a wish? It's a' fnr thoo :

I koii thy wisli is iiic to plfasi- :
Our inouRMits pass so Miiooth iiway.

That ntinilicrs on us look ainl t^uvA-.
Wcel ploiisM they sw our h:i| py ihiys,

Nor envy's sd' finds aiiKht to lilanie;
•Viid aye when weary cares arise,

Tliy liof m still shall he my hame.

I'll lay me there, and tak my rest;

Ami if that aniiht disturh my dear,
I'll hid lier lauL'h her c;iivs away.

And lieK her not to ibap .'i tear,
llae I a.ioyV It's a' her aiii :

I'nited still herhe.irt :incl mine;
They're like Ihe woodhiiie roiincl the tni'

That'ii twined till death shall them ilihjoin.

260

POEMS AND SONGS.

[iTSj.

Age 2C.

Oil Fasten-e'en we had ii rockin',' siiiovo-Tuosilay social gathuiin;
To Cii' the crack and weave our .stockin';
And tlieie was nuickle fun an' jokin',

Ye need na doubt ;
At leuyth we had a hearty yokin'

At sauii about.

Tliere was ae sang, aniang the rest,
Al'oon tlieni a' it i)leased me best,
That some kind husband had addrest

To some sweet wife :
It thirl'd tlie lieart-strings thro' the breast,

A' to the life.

I've scarce lieard ought describe sae weel.
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel;
Thought I, 'Can this be Pope, or Steele,

Or JJeattie's wark!"
Tliey tauld me 'twas an odd kind ciuel

About Muirkirk.

It ])at me fidgin'-fain to heart.
And sae about him tliere I spier't,
Tlieu a' that kent him round declar'd

lie had ingiiic,
Tliat uane excell'd it, few cam near't.

It wiis sae line.

'J'liat set him to a pint of ale,
An' either douce or meri'V tale,
Or rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel',
Or witty catclies.

cliiit tiigother
liiucli

IjDllt

Biiiiy hy turns

Olio song
iibovo

tlirilleil

80 well

]•• '. lllu tiilyutili;
iiHUiiieil
kiii'H
genius

gi.ivo

rnfoituiiati'ly, nofoviliiif; to Robert fliiinitiors, " I.ii-
piiiili must iiiivu stolon the idei"- and nearly all the
diction of his son}; from a iioeiii in KuddimMn's
Weekly Mtujdzine, Octolier 177.!." About I7'.iS, l,a-
jiraik, then far advanced in years, removed to Muir-
kirk, and opened a small iiublicdiouse, which served
at the same time as the villane post-oltice. Here he
lived much respected till his death, wliicli took place
on the 7th May, 18n7, in tlie einliticth year of his aize.
Hums addi ' -sed in all titree iioetical epistles to l.ii
praik. Two were published in liis tlrst ami second
editions, and tlie third apjieared for tlie tlrst tir.ie in
Cromek's A'c/iV/kcv iif Ihinix. 'I'lic leidies of l^apraik
are all unfortunately lost, and If they were in rliynie,
it is sinjiular that none of them are niveu in his own
volume, although tliat vidume contains an epistle to
the poet of a late date, consistinj; cliielly of an apology
for his attemptinft to court the muse in his idd iific
Oneof Lapraiks sons, alive in 1S4I, recollected havin;,'
been the bearer of several conimnnicatiiuis betwixt
his father and Hums, who was then at MossKiel. On
the llrst occasion, he found the poet in a Hi Id Rowing
com. "I'm no sure if I ken the han',' said Hums,
as he took the letter; but no sooner had he glanced

at its contents, than unconsciously letting' go the sheet
containing the grain, it was not till he had tiiij.^liiil
readini; that he discovered the loss he hail sustaimd.
Hni lis and Lapraik met several times, to their muln:il
satisfaction. On one occasion, in the winter of 17^.'),
according to a promise made in his thiid epistle.
Hums visited I.apraik at .Muirsmill, wliere lie iliiicil.
sjieiit a merry evening, and next morning took his
departure for Mossgicl.

I.apiaik's jMiems were published in 17.'^>^ at Kilmar-
nock, forming a thin Svo volume entitled I'uems mi
Several Oeciininiiii. In an addiess to Hnins, he con-
fesses that he never thought of troubling the worM
with his "dull, insipid, tliowless rhyme,"

Till ynnrkinil miisi', wi' frii'inUj liliist,

Fir.-t tiiotiil up niy funic.
Ami iiciiiiiili'il liiiiil thru' n tlic wiist,

.^ly lun« fni-Kotlcn iiiiiii.'.

Lapraiks own estimate of his rhymes thus given is
a tolerably just one. The address to his wife (luotcd
above is much suiieiior to the rest.

I This term is exjilaiiied in introductory note to
poem.

Age 20.J

POEMS AND SONGS.

861

swore

harness

Imwkur pony

beliiiiil simie fence

both

uliat

almost
rli.ymiug

one"d self

'Tween luveriiesa and Tiviotdale,

He had few matches.

Then up I gat, and swoor an aith,

Tho' I should pawn my plough and graith,

Or die a cadger powuie's deatli,

At some dyke-back,
A pint au' gill I'd gie them baith

To hear your crack.

]3iit, first an' foremost, I should tell,
Aniaist as soon as I could spell,
I to the crambo-jingle fell,

Tlio' rude an' rough.
Yet, crooning to a body's sel',

JJoes weel eneugh.

I am nae poet, in a sense,

But just a rhymer like by chance.

An' hae to learning nae pretence.

Yet, what the matter?
Whene'er my muse does on me glance,

I jingle at her.

Yonr critic-folk may cock their nose,
And say, " llow can you e'er i)ro|)oKe,
You wha ken hardly verse frae jjrose.

To niak a sang?"
But by your leave, my learned foes,

Ye're maybe wrang.

Wiiat's a' your jargon o' your schools.
Your Latin names for horns an' stools;
If honest nature made you fools,

A\'hat sairs your grammars ? avail Cuervos)

from

Ye'd better ta'eu up spades and shools,

Or kiiappin' hammers.

A set o' dull, conceited hashes.
Confuse their brains in college classes !
They gang in stirks, and come out asses,

Plain truth to s\)eak ;
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus

r>y dint o' Greek!

Oie me ae spark o' Nat\ire's fire.

That's a' the learning I desire ;

Tlien tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire

At pleugh or cart,
]\Iy muse, tho' hamely in attire.

May touch the heart.

shovels
stniio-breiiking

boobies

young bullocks
tlieu

puddle

252

POEMS AND SONGS.

O for a spunk o' Allan's^ glee,

Or Fergussoii's, the bauld and slee,

Or bright Lajuaik'.s, my friend to be

If I can liit it !
That would be lear enough for me,

If I could get it.

Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow,
Tlio' real friends, I believe, are few,
Yet, if your catalogue be fa',

I'se no insist,
But gif ye want ae friend that's true,

I'm on your list.

T winna blaw about niysel';

As ill I like my fauts to tell ;

But friends, and folk that wish me well.

They sometimes roose me,
Tho' I maun own, as moiiie still

As far abuse me.

There's ae wee faut they whylcs lay to me,

I like the lasses— Gude forgie me!

For mony a plack- they wheedle frae me.

At dance or fair;
Maybe some ither thing they gie me,

They weel can spare.

But Manchline vace,^ or Mauchline fair,
I should be jn-oud to meet you there ;
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care,

If we forgather,
An' hae a swap o' rhymin'-ware

\Vi' alio anither.

[l785

Hpnrk
sly

leni'iiiiig

UMOllgll

I Hhall iKit

will lint biiiiHt

praisu
must

suiuetiines

fHithiiiK

\\l' .sllllll (,'iVf UMO

meet

Awa, — ye selfish waily race,

Wha think that havii.s, sense, an' grace,

Ev'n love an' friendship, sliould give ])!ace

To catch-the-plack !
I dinna like to see your face.

Nor hear your crack.

eliiirtteli
tlieii n. lie.irt.v diiuU

The foui'-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, iiiiit-nieasme «,• sii.iii make
An' kirsen him wi' reekin' water;
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter.

To cheer our heart;
All' faith we'se be acquainted better

Before we part.

wmldly

),'cMiil maiiiiei'.'*

to t\iiii till! iieiiiiy

talk

1 Allan Ramsay's.

2 An old .St;otch copper coin, in value one-thiril of a
penny English.

■' Mauchline races were celehrateil on the liich road
near Mos.sgieI.

Age 20.]

POEMS AND SONGS.

But ye whom social pleasure clianus,
Whose heart tlie tide of kindness warms,
Who hold your being on the terms,

" Each aid the others,"
Come to my bowl, come to my arms,

My friends, my brothers.

But, to conclude my lang epistle,
As my auld pen's worn to the gristle ;
Twa Unes frae you wad gar me tissle,

Who am, most fervent.
While I can either sing or whistle.

Your friend and servant.

would make me liilget

SECOND EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK.

Al'lUL 21st, 1785.

While new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake,
An' powniea reek in pleugh or braik,
This hour on e'enin's edge t take,

To own I'm debtor
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik,

For his kind letter.

iio"ly-Ciilveil cows Ijellow
lianiivv

Forjesket sair, wi' weary legs,
Kattlin' the corn out-owre tiie rigs,
Or dealing thro' aniang the naigs

Tlieir ten-hours' bite.
My awkwart muse sair jjleails and begs

I would ua write.

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie,
She's saft at best, and something lazy,
(^uo' she, " Ye ken, we've been sae busy,

Tliis mouth an' niair.
That trouth, my head is grown right dizzie

An' something sair."

Tier dowtf excuses pat me mad ;

" Conscience," .says I, " ye thowle.ss jad !

I'll write, an' that a heaity blaud,

Tliis vera night ;
So dinna ye affront your trade,

But rliyme it right.

"Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts,
Tho' mankind were a pack o' cartes.

surely jailcil

over tlie liilges

iiaaH

ten o'clock

Koiely

tliouglitless ovei'sijeut liussy

iiime
in tnitli
sore

sjiiritless

lutlilesi

(l\mntity

put

cards

254

[l785

twinkling

went tliu short quill

iliyino

both togutliur

nonsen.fi)
oll-hiin.l

POEMS AND SOXGS.

Rooae you sae weel for your deserts, prai«e

111 terms sae friendly,

Yet ye'll neglect to sliaw your i)arts,

An' thank liiin kindly!"

Sae I gat paper in a blink,

An' down gaed stuinpie in the ink;

Quoth I, " Before 1 sleep a wink,

I vow I'll close it;
An' if ye winna niak it clink,

By Jove, I'll prose it!"

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether
In rhyme or p^ose, or baith thegither.
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither,

Let time niak ])roof ;
But I shall scribble down some blether

Just clean atY-loof.

My Avorthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp,

Tiio' fortune use you hard an' sharp ;

Come, kittle up your moorland harp ticUlo

Wi' gleesonie touch !
Ne'er mind how fortune w.ift an' warp:

She's but a b-tch.

She's gi'en me monie a jirt an' fieg, jerk imd ki.k

Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; btiiilu omm a ridgo
But, by the L— d, tho' I should beg

Wi' lyart pow, 0iey heiul
ril laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg.

As king's I dow ! can

Now comes the sax and twentieth simmer

I've seen the bud upo' the timmer, timber

Still persecuted by tho liinmer jaiio

Frae year to year ; fmrn

But yet, despite the kittle kimnier, fickle girl

I, Bob, am here.

Ago 20.]

counter act crookedly

Do ye envf the city gent,

Behint a kist to lie and sklent.

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, jier cent.

And muckle wame, big belly

In some bit brugh to represent burgh

A bailie's name?

Or is't the paughty feudal Thane, haughty

Wi' ruffl'd sark an' glancin' cane, shirt

Wha thinks himsel' nae sheep-shank bane,^ bone
But lordly stalks,

1 Etiuivalent to our "uo small beer;" i.e. is full of conceit.

[1785.

Ago 20.]

■t quill

rid go

POEMS AND SONGS.

While cups uml Ijounets jitl' are ta'eii,
As by lie wulks /

O Thou wha gies iia each guid gift!

CJie luti o' wit an' sense a lift,

Then turn niu, if Thou please, adrift,

Thro' Scothmd wide;
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift,

In a' their pride !

Were this the charter of our state,
" On pain o' hell be rich an' great,"
Danniation then wouhl be our fate.

Beyond reniead ;
But, thanks to Ileav'n ! that's no the gate

We learn our creed.

For thus the royal mandate ran,
When first the human race began,
"The social, friendly, honest man,

Whate'er he be,
'Tis he fultils great Nature's plan,

And none but he!"

() mandate glorious and divine!
The ragged followers of the Nine,
I'oor, tlioughtless devils! yet may shine

In glorious light,
While sordid sous of Mammon's line

Are dark as night.

S65

liiuil-o« uers would uot

way

lokedly

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl.
Their worthless uievefu' of a soul
Iklay in some future carcase howl.

The f orests fright ;
Or in some day-detesting owl

May shun the light.

Then may T^apraik and Burns arise.
To reach their native, kindred skies.
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys

lu some mild sphere,
Still closer knit in friendshi])'s ties

Each passing year.

haudfnl

256

rOEMS AND SONGS.

flTSi.

Age 20.]

TO WILLIAM SIMSON,!

SCliUOI.MAijTElI, OCIIILTUKG.

May, 17s5.

T gat yonr letter, wiiisomo Willie;
Wi' ynitfu' heart I thank you brawlie;
Tiio' I maun say't, I wad be silly,

All' unco vain.
Should I believe, my coaxi i' billie,

Your . atterin' strain.

Iivartily
niiiHt Wdiild
very
bnitlior

Jiut T'se believe ye kindly meant it,
I sud be laith to think ye hinted
Ironic satire, sidelin'.s sklented

On my poor musie ;
The' iu sic phrasin' terms ye've penn'd it,

I scarce excuse ye.

My f^nses wad be in a creel,-
Sliould I but dare a hope to speel,
Wi' Allan,3 or wi' Oilhortfield,^

The biaes o' Fame;
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel,

A deathless name.

I sliall

hIiiiuIiI ht! Iii.'itli

obliipiulj- (lirt'itfil

flilttL-l'illg

I liliili

liillniduM
liivvyui-Ulli'W

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious i)arts

111 suited law's diy, musty arts!

My curse uj)on your wlmnstane hearts,

Ye E'nbrugh gentry
The tythe o' what ye waste at cartes,

uliiiistoliu

CiirilK

Wad Stow'd his pantl'y I) w.ml.l hiive store.!

Yet when a tale comes i' my head,

Or Lasses gie my heart a screed.

As wliyles they're like to be my dead,

(O sad disease I)
I kittle u]) my rustic reed ;

It ffies me ease.

rent

somt'tiines lU'.itli

tickle

1 William Sinison was the schoolinnster of the parish
school of (kliiltrue at the time his ciirrespoiiilence
with the poet liejian. In the year I'XH, he lieoauie
teacher of the paiish school of rumiiock, which oHlce
he retained witli K''eat credit till the pericjd of Ids
deatli ill 18ir). Siinsoii had a turn for poetry, and
besides several translations, left a M.S. v(diinu' of
original pieces wliieli are said to have lieen siijierior
to those of Lapraik and .Sillar. The poetical letter
which called forth theepistleof Burns is unfortunately
lost. Tiie ac(|Uaintanee of Burns and William Simson

was not confined to epistolary intercourse. Tliey had
many personal iiicetiiiKS, and were on terms of close
frielidsliii). In another note, we shall have mcasKili
to sjieak of Simsoii, in connection with tlic ".Answer
to the Kpistle from a Tailor."

'- T(i hare, iiiic'n loitu in a civel, is cxiilained liy I.tirns
in his own nlossary— to he crazed, to he fascinated.

3 Allan Kainsay.

< William namilton of Oilhertfleld (l(i(i.'>-17.')l>,
author of "Willie was a Wanton Wat;" and other
Scotch poems.

iC'(
Cuiiii

■i •

Age SO.]

POEMS AND SONGS.

Aiild Coila' now may tiilge fu' fiiiii,
She's gotten poets o' her ain,
C'hiels wlia their chanters winna hai

But tune tlieir liiyn,
Till cchocH a' rt'souml again

Her weel-sung praise.

Nao poet thought hei' worth Jiis while,
To .set her name in nieasur'd style ;
Siie lay like some unkenn'd-of isle

Beside New Holland,
Or whare wild-meeting oceans boil

liesoutli Magellan.

' ' xmsay an' famous Fergusaon
(jiied Forth an' Tay a lift aboon ;
Yarrow an' Tweed to monie a tune,

Owre Scotland ring.i,
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon,

Naebodv sinj^H.

Tir missus, Tiber, Thame.s, an' Seine,
(Hide sweet in monie a tunefu' line !
liut, Willie, set your fit to mine.

An' cock your crest,
We'll gar our streams and burnies shine

Uj) wi' the best.

We'll sing auld Coila's i)liiins an' fells,
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells,
Her banks an' braes, her dens and dells,

Where glorious Wallace
Aft bure the gree, as story tells,

Frae southron billies.

:ir>7

Hilgut mil falu
own
foUoWH \t\{nsn will not npnre

aoiltli uf

l\lX)VO

fuot
innki'

liriinkletK

slope ■<

caniod oil' tlie iiuliii

fl'iloWS

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood
But boils UJ) in a s})riiig-tide flood !
Oft have our fearless fathers strode

By Wallace' side,
Still pressing onward, red-wat-shod, with .shoe.-* wet ami ml with biomi

Or glorious died.-'

O, sweet are Coila's haughs an' woods, liolm.s

When lintwhites chant amang the buds, ihniota

And jinkin' hare.s, in amorous wliids, dodging 11(11111(1.1

Their loves enjoy,

While thro' the braes the cushat croods coos

With wailfu' cry !

•C'ollu, Kyle, the central district of Ayrshire, with I into my veins, which will boil along there till the
Cnniilnffhani (111 the north and Cnrrick on the s(jntli. 1 Hoodgates of life shnt in eternal rest."— BuiiKS's
2 "The story of Wallace iioiired a Scottish prejudice | Lettkii To Dh. Moukk.

POEMS AND SONGS. [irso.

Ev'ii winter bleak lias tliariiis for mo
Wlieii winds rave thro' tiie naked tree;
Or frosts on liills of Ocliiltieo

Are iioary jjray :
Or blinding drifts wild-furions lleo, *

Dark'ning tlie day I

O Nature ! a' tliy sliows an' forms
To feeling, ])en,Hivo hearts liae eliarnis !
Whether the summer kindly wai nis,

Wi' lift' an' light,
Or winter howls, in gusty storms,

Tlie lang, dark night!

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, found

Till by himsel' he learn'il to wander,
Adown some trotting burn's meander,

An' no think lang;
O sweet ! to stray, an' j>ensive ponder

A heart-felt saug !

The warly race may drudge an' drive, worldly

Hog-shouther,' jundio, stretch, an' strive — jnstio, pusli

Let me fair Nature's face descrive, iioscribo

And I, wi' pleasure.
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive

Bum owre their treasure, imm over

Atfo 'i6.

Farewell, " my rhyme-composing brither !
We've been owre lang nnkenn'd to ither:
Now let us lay our heads thegitiier,

In love fraternal :
May Envy wallop in a tetncr,

lUack liend, infernal !

While highlandmcn hate tolls and taxes,
AV'hile moorlan' herds like gnid fat braxies,"^
AVhile terra firma on her axis

Diurnal turns.
Count on a frie.id, in faith an' practice,

In Eobert liurns.

POSTSCRIPT.

[dtlier
too loiij; niikiiowii tDuiitli
toyctlier

ilaiLglu ill a ro|iu

My memory's no worth a preen : pin

I had amaist forgotten clean, aimoat

Ye bade me write you what they mean

By this New-light,*

^ Ilng-shouther, tli.it is "liog-shoiiMer," moiuis to
jostle or push with the shoulders like hops (sheep).

-A name for n sheep that has died naturally or hy
accident regarded and claimed as the Bhepherd's per-
(juisite.

•'A eant term for those religious opinions, which
Dr. Taylor of Norwich has ilefended so strenuously.

-U. !i. In regard to the New Light and Old Light

controversy see note to the "Twa Herds," p. 23.').

' j

Auu ^0.]

rOKMS AND SONGS

25»

'Uout which our hertU h;iu aft hiio been
MiiiHt like lu liglit.

iih»]ili«r(l» Hu iiftuii

iiliiiijnt

III (lays when inaukind witc but caliaiis imy^

At <,'raiiiiiiar, li)j,'ic, an' .sic tak'iiU, k,uIi

They look iiae jiaiiis tlieir siieecli to balance,

Or rules to gie,
But spak their thouglits in plain, braid lallaiix, hniaci i.oniiiihi«i,ut'iii

Like you or lue.

Ill tliae aiiltl times, they thouglit the laoon,
.lust like a nark or pair o' hIiooii,
Wore by degrees, till lier last rooii,

(laud jiast tlieir viewing,
An' shortly after she was ilone,

They gat a new one.

This past for certain, undisputed;

It ne'er cam' i' their heads to doubt it.

Till chiels gat up an' wad (.'oiifute it,

An' ca'd it wrang;
An' muckle din there was bout it,

Baith loud and King.

Some herds, wcol learn'd upo' the beuk,
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk :
For 'twas the auld niooii turn'd a iieuk,

An' out o' sight,
An' backlins-coniiiig, to the leuk.

She grew more bright.

This was denied, it was afllrni'd ;

The herds an' hirsels were .ilarm'd;

The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd and storni'd.

That beardless laddies
Sliould think they better were inforni'd

Than their ixcAd daddies.

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ;
Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ;
An' nionie a fallow gat his licks,

Wi' hearty crunt ;
An' some, to learn them for their tricl\S,

Were hang'd an' brunt.

This game was play'd in monie lands,
An' Auld-light caddies bure sic hands,
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands

Wi' nimble shanks,
Till lairds forbade, by strict commands,

Sic bluidy pranks.

tlllWU

Hllll't Hlioua

hIiiviI

wont

gut

fflloWH got would

both

book
would lUHiiitiiiii
coi'iiur

mistook

backnards look

)iliu|>liurdi< and flookH

went
oaths blows and cuts
got a buuting
bang

burnt

fellows bore such

land-owners
Bucli bloody

2(l(»

rOKMS AND SONOS.

[1784,

Itiit New-li;,'lit lierils ),'tit mjc a cowe, got mich a tUgUt

Folk tlioil^'lit tlieiii niiiiM Htick-aii'-Htowi', itumii nml riim|>

Till now iunairtt on i-v'iy kiiowo, knoll

Ye'll tiiiil alio placM;
All' Home tlii'ir New-lii,'lit fair avow,

.lust qiiitu ImrufacM.

Nae doubt tlio AtiM-lii,'lit llockH aro Itleatiii';

'I'lieir zealouH Iil'1(Ih aro vexM an' HWcatin'; nimiihenln

Mysi'l', I ve even mi'L'm tlioiii j^rurtiii' iTjinu

Wi' j,'iniin' npiti', KfiooioK

'i'o licar tlie moon sau hikIIv Hod on

|{y word ail' write.

Hut sliortly tlu'y will COWO tiu> loillis! until the linoabi

Some Auld-lii^lit liertlH in iici'ltor towns nuigliiMnir

Are mind't, in thinl;^s tin y ca' liailooiiH,

To take a flijjlit,
Am' Htay a month nnian;^ tlie moons

An' Hee them riirht,

(iiiid olwervatioii they will gie Ihoiii ;

An' when the aiild inoon'H j^auii to Ica'c tliem, KniiiK tn ii-iivi-

The hindmost whairil, tliey'll fetch it wi' them, hUmi

Just i' their jmuch,
An' when tlie New-lif^lit hillies see tlicni, '•iiiows

I think they'll crotiL'h !

Sae, ye observe that a' tin's clatter idle tnik

Is naething but a " inoonshiiie matter; "

But tho' dull prose-folk Latin splatter npiuttii

In logic tulzie, cniitoiitioii

I hope, we bardies ken some better know

Than mind wic brulzie. siuh i.mil

END OF VOL. I.

[l785.

nt "lull n fiiKlit
-»iii|i mill riiiiiii
iioll

«i|ilit'nN
til IK
liliiliK

I'll till- rairnlH
ylilmur

IK til ji'iivi-

t.ilk

;tor
'iitiiiii

1)11 lil