THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 WITH 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF BIS LIFE, &e. &c. 
 
 By JAMES CURRIE, M.D. F.R.S. 
 
 THE EIGHTH EDITION, 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 WITH MANY ADDITIONS, 
 
 COMMUNICATED BY HIS BROTHER, 
 
 Mr. gilbert BURNS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 1820.
 
 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS; 
 
 WITH 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE, 
 
 AND 
 
 A CRITICISM ON HIS WRITINGS, 
 
 TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED, 
 SOME OBSERVATIONS ON THE CHARACTER AND CONDITION OP 
 
 THE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY. 
 By JAMES CURRIE, M. D. F. R. S. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I 
 
 THE EIGHTH EDITION. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE NOW ADDED, SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S LIFE, 
 
 NEW NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE OF HIS POEMS 
 AND LETTERS, 
 
 AND MANY OTHER ADDITIONS, 
 
 By GILBERT BURNS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND; AND 
 A. CONSTABLE AND CO., MANNERS AND MILLER, 
 FAIRBAIRN AND ANDERSON, A. BLACK, W. AND C. 
 TAIT, AT EDINBURGH; AND G. CLARK, AT ABER- 
 DEEN. 
 
 1820.
 
 J. M'Cieery, Printer, 
 KUck.IIorse-Couit, Loudon.
 
 Specif 
 
 VOL. L 
 THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A CRITICISM ON HIS WRITINGS, 
 
 TO WHICH ARE PHEFIXED, 
 
 SOME OBSERVATIONS 
 
 ON THE 
 
 Scottish Peasantry.
 
 TO 
 
 CAPTAIN GRAHAM MOORE, 
 
 OF THE ROYAL NAVY 
 
 When you were stationed on our coast 
 about twelve years ago, you first recommended 
 to my particular notice the j3oems of the Ayr- 
 shire ploughniuiJ, whose works, published for 
 the benefit of his widow and children, I now 
 present to you. In a distant region of the 
 world, whither the service of your country has 
 carried you, you will, 1 know, receive with 
 kindness this proof of my regard ; not perhaps 
 without some surprise on finding that I have 
 been engaged in editing these volumes, nor 
 without some curiosity to know how I was 
 qualified for such an undertaking. These points 
 I will briefly explain. 
 
 Having occasion to make an excursion to 
 the county of Dumfries, in the summer of 1792, 
 I had there an opportunity of seeing and con- 
 
 voL. I. b versinc:
 
 VI DEDICATION- 
 
 versing- with Burns. It has been my fortune to 
 know some men of liigli reputation in litera- 
 ture, as well as in public life; but never to 
 meet any one, who in the course of a single 
 interview, communicated to me so strong an 
 impression of the force and versatility of his 
 talents. After this I read the i)oems then pub- 
 lished with greater interest and attention, and 
 with a full conviction that, extraordinary as 
 they are, they afford but an inadequate proof 
 of the powers of their unfortunate author. 
 
 Four years afterwards Burns terminated his 
 career. Among those whom the charms of his 
 genius had attached to him, was one wdtli whom 
 I have been bound in the ties of friendship from 
 early life — Mr. John Syme, of Ryedale. This 
 gentleman, after the death of Burns, promoted 
 with the utmost zeal a subscription for the sup- 
 port of the widow and children, to which their 
 relief from immediate distress is to be ascribed ; 
 and in conjunction with other friends of this 
 virtuous and destitute family, he projected the 
 publication of these volumes for their benefit, 
 by which the return of want might be prevent- 
 ed or prolonged. 
 
 To this last undertaking an editor and bio- 
 grapher was wanting, and Mr. Syme's modesty 
 opposed a barrier to his assuming an office, for 
 
 which
 
 DEDICATION. Vll 
 
 which he was in other respects peculiarly qua- 
 lified. On this subject he consulted me; and 
 with the hope of surmounting his objections, I 
 offered him my assistance, but in vain. En- 
 deavours were used to procure an editor in 
 other quarters without effect. The task was 
 beset with considerable difficulties, and men of 
 established reputation naturally declined an 
 undertaking, to the performance of which, it 
 was scai'cely to be hoped, that general approba- 
 tion could be obtained by any exertion of judg- 
 ment or temper. 
 
 To such an office my place of residence, my 
 accustomed studies, and my occupations, were 
 certainly little suited ; but the partiality of Mr. 
 Syme thought me in other respects not un- 
 qualified ; and his solicitations, joined to those 
 of our excellent friend and relation Mrs. Dun- 
 lop, and of other friends of the family of the 
 poet, I have not been able to resist. To remove 
 difficulties which would otherwise have been 
 insurmountable, Mr. Syme and Mr. Gilbert 
 Burns made a journey to Liverpool, where 
 they explained and arranged the manuscripts, 
 and selected such as seemed worthy of the 
 press. From this visit I derived a degree of 
 pleasure which has compensated much of my 
 labour. 1 had the satisfaction of renewing ray 
 personal intercourse with a much valued friend, 
 
 and
 
 Vlll DEDICATION. 
 
 and of forming an acquaintance with a man, 
 closely allied to Burns in talents as well as in 
 blood, in whose future fortunes the friends of 
 virtue will not, I trust, be uninterested. 
 
 The publication of these volumes has been 
 delayed by obstacles which these gentlemen 
 could neither remove nor foresee, and which it 
 would be tedious to enumerate. At length the 
 task is finished. If the part which I have taken 
 shall serve the interests of the family, and re- 
 ceive the approbation of good men, I shall have 
 my recompense. The errors into which 1 have 
 fallen, are not I hope very important, and they 
 will be easily accounted for by those who know 
 
 the circuiiistancce under which this undertaking 
 
 has been performed. Generous minds will re- 
 ceive the posthumous works of Burns with 
 candour, and even partiality, as the remains of 
 an unfortunate man of genius, published for 
 the benefit of his fiimily — as the stay of the 
 widow and the hope of the fatherless. 
 
 To secure the suffrages of such minds, all 
 topics are omitted in the writings, and avoided 
 in the life of Burns, that have a tendency to 
 awake the animosity of party. In perusing the 
 following volumes no offence will be received, 
 except by those to whom even the natural 
 erect aspect of genius is offensive; characters 
 
 that
 
 Dedication. ix 
 
 that will scarcely be found among those who 
 are educated to the profession of arms. Such 
 men do not court situations of danger, or tread 
 in the paths of glory. They will not be found 
 in your service, which, in our own days, emu- 
 lates on another element the superior fame of 
 the Macedonian phalanx, or of the Roman le- 
 gion, and which has lately made the shores of 
 Europe and of Africa resound with the shouts 
 of victory, from the Texel to the Tagus, and 
 from the Tagus to the Nile ! 
 
 The works of Burns will be received favor- 
 ably by one who stands in the foremost rank 
 of this noble service, and who deserves his sta- 
 tion. On the laud or on the sea, I know no 
 man more capable of judging of the character 
 or of the writings of this original genius. Ho- 
 mer, and Shakspeare, and Ossian, cannot al- 
 ways occupy your leisure. These volumes 
 may sometimes engage your attention, while 
 the steady breezes of the tropics swell your 
 sails, and, in another quarter of the earth, 
 charm you with the strains of nature, or awake 
 in your memory the scenes of your early days. 
 Suffer me to hope that they may sometimes re- 
 cal to your mind the friend who addresses 
 you, and who bids you — most affectionately — 
 adieu ! 
 
 J. CURRIE. 
 
 Liverpool, Jst May, 1800.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 IF the Editor has not mentioned by name the various per- 
 sons icho subscribed to the former Editions, or who j^romoted 
 the sjtbscription for the support of the Widoio and Children 
 of Burns, this has arisen from his not being in possession of 
 the necessary documents. Mr. ALEXANDER CUNNINGHAM 
 ought, however, to have been more particularly distinguished. 
 He teas indefatigably zealous in promoting the interest of the 
 ^yido^c and her Children, at a period when such services icere 
 highly important, and not a little difficult. The Editor is 
 happy in an opportunity of doing this justice, tardy and 
 imperfect though it be, to an old friend, of the generous qua- 
 lities of whose heart he retains a just and lasting impression.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS ON THE CHARACTER AND 
 CONDITION OF THE SCOTTISH PEASANTRY. 
 
 Paice 
 Effects of the legal establishment of parochial 
 
 schools — of the church establishment — of the 
 
 absence of poor laws — of the Scottish music and 
 
 national songs — of the laws respecting marriage 
 
 and incontinence — Observations on the domestic 
 
 and national attachments of the Scots .... 1 
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 Narrative of his infancy and youth, by himself — 
 Narrative on the same subject, by his brother, 
 and by Mr. Murdoch, of London, his teacher — 
 Other particulars of Burns while resident in 
 Ayrshire — History of Burns while resident in 
 Edinburgh, including letters to the Editor from 
 Mr. Stewart and Dr. Adair — History of Burns 
 while on the farm of EUisland, in Dumfries- 
 shire — History of Burns while resident in Dum- 
 fries — his last illness — death — and character — 
 with general reflections 33 
 
 Memoir respecting Burns, by a Lady . . . 251 
 
 Criticism on the Writings of Burns, including 
 observations on poetry in the Scottish dialect, 
 and some remarks on Scottish literature , . . 264
 
 Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 TniBUTARY Verses on the Death of Burns, 
 by Mr. Roscoe 337 
 
 Further Particulars of the Poet's Family, by Mr. 
 Gilbert Burns 343 
 
 Appendix, No. 1 349 
 
 Appendix, No. II. including an extract of a 
 Poem addressed to Burns, by Mr. Telford . 3Q2 
 
 Appendix, No. III. Letter from Mr. Gilbert 
 Burns to the Editor, approving his Life of 
 his Brother ; with observations on the effects of 
 refinement of taste on the labouring classes of 
 men 381 
 
 Appendix, No. IV. additional remarks on the 
 causes which contributed to the formation of the 
 peculiar Character of the Peasantry of Scotland, 
 by GiLBEUT Burns 402 
 
 Appendix, No. V 421 
 
 INDEX TO THE POETRY 
 
 IN THIS VOLUME. 
 
 The Lass o' Ballochmyle 121 
 
 To Mary in Heaven 124 
 
 Poem oil meeting with Lord Daer 133 
 
 On a young Lady residing on the Banks of the Devon . 175 
 
 On Gordon Castle 184 
 
 On the Birth-day of Prince Charles Edward .... 186 
 
 Soliloquy on the Author's Marriage 195 
 
 The Song of Death 217
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 Though the dialect in which many of 
 the happiest effusions of Robert Burns are 
 composed be peculiar to Scotland, yet his re- 
 putation has extended itself beyond the limits 
 of that country, and his poetry has been ad- 
 mired as the offspring of original genius by 
 persons of taste in every part of the sister 
 islands. The interest excited by his early 
 death and the distress of his infant family, has 
 been felt in a remarkable manner wherever his 
 writings have been known; and these posthu- 
 mous volumes, which give to the world his 
 works complete, and which it is hoped may 
 raise his widow and children from penury, are 
 VOL. I. B printed
 
 2 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 printed and published in England. It seems 
 proper therefore to write the memoirs of his 
 life, not with the view of their being read by 
 Scotchmen only, but also by natives of Eng- 
 land, and of other countries where the English 
 language is spoken or understood. 
 
 Robert Burns was in reality what he has 
 been represented to be, a Scottish peasant. 
 To render the incidents of his humble story 
 generally intelligible, it seems therefore advis- 
 able to prefix some observations on the charac- 
 ter and situation of the order to which he be- 
 longed, a class of men distinguished by many 
 peculiarities. By this means we shall form a 
 more correct notion of the advantages with 
 which he started, and of the obstacles which 
 he surmounted. A few observations on the 
 Scottish peasantry, will not perhaps be found 
 unworthy of attention in other respects, and the 
 subject is in a great measure new. Scotland 
 has produced persons of high distinction in 
 every branch of philosophy and literature, and 
 her history, while a separate and independent 
 nation, has been successfully explored. But 
 the present character of the people was not 
 then formed ; the nation then presented features 
 similar to those which the feudal system and 
 the Catholic religion had diffused over Europe, 
 modified indeed by the peculiar nature of her 
 
 territory
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 3 
 
 territory and climate. The reformation, by 
 which such important changes were produced 
 on the national character, was speedily followed 
 by the accession of the Scottish monarchs to 
 the English throne, and the period which 
 elapsed from that accession to the Union has 
 been rendered memorable, chiefly, by those 
 bloody convulsions in which both divisions of 
 the island were involved, and which in a consi- 
 derable degree concealed from the eye of the 
 historian, the domestic history of the people, 
 and the gradual variations in their condition 
 and manners. Since the Union, Scotland, 
 though the seat of two unsuccessful attempts 
 to restore the house of Stewart to the throne, 
 has enjoyed a comparative tranquillity, and it 
 is since this period that the present character of 
 her peasantry has been in a great measure 
 formed, though the political causes affecting it 
 are to be traced to the previous acts of her 
 separate legislature. 
 
 A slight acquaintance with the peasantry of 
 Scotland, will serve to convince an unpreju- 
 diced observer that they possess a degree of 
 intelligence not generally found among the 
 same class of men in the other countries of 
 Europe. In the very humblest condition of 
 the Scottish peasants every one can read, and 
 most persons are more or less skilled in writ- 
 
 B 2 \nui
 
 4 PREFATOUY REMARKS. 
 
 ing and arithmetic ; and under the disguise of 
 their uncouth appearance, and of their peculiar 
 manners and dialect, a stranger will discover 
 that they possess a curiosity, and have obtained 
 a degree of information corresponding to these 
 acquirements. 
 
 These advantages they owe to the legal pro- 
 vision made by the parliament of Scotland in 
 1646, for the establishment of a school in every 
 parish throughout the kingdom, for the express 
 purpose of educating the poor; a law which 
 may challenge comparison with any act of le- 
 gislation to be found in the records of history, 
 whether we consider the wisdom of the ends in 
 view, the simplicity of the means employed, or 
 the provisions made to render these means effec- 
 tual to their purpose. This excellent statute 
 was repealed on the accession of Charles II. in 
 1660, together with all the other laws passed 
 during the commonwealth, as not being sanc- 
 tioned by the royal assent. It slept during the 
 reigns of Charles and James, but was re- 
 enacted precisely in the same terms, by the 
 Scottisli parliament, after the revolution in 
 1696; and this is the last provision on the sub- 
 ject. Its effects on the national character may 
 be considered to have commenced about the 
 period of the Union, and doubtless it co-ope- 
 rated with the peace and security arising from 
 
 that
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. O 
 
 that happy event, in producing the extraordi- 
 nary change in favor of industry and good 
 morals, which the character of tlie common 
 people of Scotland has since undergone. See 
 Appendix, No. 1. Note A. 
 
 The church-establishment of Scotland hap- 
 pily coincides with the institution just men- 
 tioned, which may be called its school-esta- 
 blishment. The clergyman being every where 
 resident in his particular parish, becomes the 
 natural patron and superintendant of the parish 
 school, and is enabled in various ways to pro- 
 mote the comfort of the teacher, and the profi- 
 ciency of the scholars. The teacher himself is 
 often a candidate for holy orders, who during 
 the long course of study and probation required 
 in the Scottish church, renders the time which 
 can be spared from his professional studies, 
 useful to others as well as to himself, by assum- 
 ing the respectable character of a school-master. 
 It is common for the established schools even 
 in the country parishes of Scotland, to enjoy 
 the means of classical instruction, and many of 
 the farmers, and some even of the cottagers, 
 submit to much privation, that they may obtain 
 for one of their sons at least, the precarious ad- 
 vantage of a learned education. The difficulty 
 to be surmounted, arises indeed not from the 
 expense of instructing their children, but from 
 
 the
 
 6 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 the charge of supporting them. In the country 
 parish schools the English language, writing, 
 and accounts, are generally taught at the rate 
 of six shillings, and Latin, at the rate of ten or 
 twelve shillings per annum, in the towns the 
 prices are somewhat higher. 
 
 It would be improper in this place to inquire 
 minutely into the degree of instruction received 
 at these seminaries, or to attempt any precise 
 estimate of its effects either on the individuals 
 who are the subjects of this instruction, or on 
 the community to which they belong. That it 
 is on the whole favorable to industry and mo- 
 rals, though doubtless with some individual 
 exceptions, seems to be proved by the most 
 striking and decisive appearance; and it is 
 equally clear, that it is the cause of that spirit 
 of emigration and of adventure so prevalent 
 among the Scotch. Knowledge has, by Lord 
 Verulam, been denominated power; by others 
 it has, with less propriety, been denominated 
 virtue or happiness : we may with confidence 
 consider it as motion. A human being, in pro- 
 portion as he is informed, has his wishes en- 
 larged, as w ell as the means of gratifying those 
 wishes. He may be considered as taking with- 
 in the sphere of his vision a larger portion of the 
 globe on which we tread, and discovering ad- 
 vantage at a greater distance on its surface. 
 
 His
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 7 
 
 His desires or ambition once excited, are sti- 
 mulated by his imagination, and distant and 
 uncertain objects giving freer scope to the opera- 
 tion of this faculty, often acquire in the mind of 
 the youthful adventurer an attraction from their 
 very distance and uncertainty. If therefore a 
 greater degree of instruction be given to the 
 peasantry of a country comparatively poor, in 
 the neighbourhood of other countries rich in na- 
 tural and acquired advantages, and if the barriers 
 be removed that kept them separate, emigration 
 from the former to the latter will take place to 
 a certain extent, by laws nearly as uniform as 
 those by which heat diffuses itself among sur- 
 rounding bodies, or water finds its level when 
 left to its natural course. By the articles of 
 the Union the barrier was broken down which 
 divided the two British nations, and knowledge 
 and poverty poured the adventurous natives of 
 the north, over the fertile plains of England, 
 and, more especially, over the colonies which 
 she had settled in the east and in the west. 
 The stream of population continues to flow 
 from the north to the south ; for the causes that 
 originally impelled it continue to operate ; and 
 the richer country is constantly invigorated by 
 the accession of an informed and hardy race of 
 men, educated in poverty, and prepared for 
 hardship and danger, patient of labour, and 
 prodigal of life. — See Appendix, No. I. Note B. 
 
 The
 
 8 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 The preachers of the reformation in Scotland 
 were disciples of Calvin, and brought with 
 them the temper as well as the tenets of that 
 celebrated heresiarch. The presbyterian form 
 of worship and of church government, was en- 
 deared to the people, from its being established 
 by themselves. It was endeared to them also, 
 by the struggle it had to maintain with the 
 catholic and the protestant episcopal churches, 
 over both of which, after a hundred years of 
 fierce and sometimes bloody contention, it finally 
 triumphed, receiving the countenance of govern- 
 ment, and the sanction of law. During this 
 long period of contention and of suffering, the 
 temper of the people became more and more 
 obstinate and bigotted, and the nation received 
 that deep tinge of fanaticism which coloured 
 their public transactions as well as their private 
 virtues; and of which evident traces may be 
 found in our own times. When the public 
 schools were established, the instruction com- 
 municated in them, partook of the religious 
 character of the people. The catechism of the 
 Westminster divines was the universal school- 
 book, and was put into the hands of the young 
 peasant as soon as he had acquired a know- 
 ledge of his alphabet ; and his first exercise in 
 the art of reading, introduced him to the most 
 mysterious doctrines of the Christian faith. 
 This practice is continued in our own times. 
 
 After
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 9 
 
 After the Assembly's catechism, the proverbs 
 of Solomon, and the New and Old Testament, 
 follow in regular succession ; and the scholar 
 departs, gifted with the knowledge of the sacred 
 writings, and receiving their doctrines accord- 
 ing to the interpretation of the Westminster 
 confession of faith. Thus with the instruction 
 of infancy in the schools of Scotland, are blend- 
 ed the dogmas of the national church ; and 
 hence the first and most constant exercise of 
 ingenuity among the peasantry of Scotland, is 
 displayed in religious disputation. With a 
 strong attachment to the national creed, is con- 
 joined a bigotted preference of certain forms of 
 worship ; the source of which would be often 
 altogether obscure, if we did not recollect that 
 the ceremonies of the Scottish church, were 
 framed in direct opposition in every point, to 
 those of the church of Rome. 
 
 The eccentricities of conduct, and singulari- 
 ties of opinion and manners, which characterized 
 the English sectaries in the last century, afford- 
 ed a subject for the comic muse of Butler, 
 whose pictures lose their interest, since their 
 archetypes are lost. Some of the peculiarities 
 common among the more rigid disciples of Cal- 
 vinism in Scotland, in the present times, have 
 given scope to the ridicule of Burns, whose 
 humour is equal to Butler's, and whose draw- 
 ings
 
 10 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 ings from living manners are singularly expres- 
 sive and exact. Unfortunately the correctness 
 of his taste did not always correspond with 
 the strength of his genius, and hence some of 
 the most exquisite of his comic productions are 
 rendered unfit for the light.* 
 
 The information and the religious education 
 of the peasantry of Scotland, ])romote sedate- 
 ness of conduct, and habits of thought and re- 
 flection. — These good qualities are not counter- 
 acted by the establishment of poor-laws, which, 
 while they reflect credit on the benevolence, 
 detract from the wisdom of the English legisla- 
 ture. To make a legal provision for the inevit- 
 able distresses of the poor, who by age or dis- 
 ease are rendered incapable of labour, may in- 
 deed seem an indispensable duty of society ; 
 and if, in the execution of a plan for this pur- 
 pose, a distinction could be introduced, so as 
 to exclude from its benefits those whose suffer- 
 ings are produced by idleness or profligacy, 
 such an institution would perhaps be as rational 
 as humane. But to lay a general tax on pro- 
 perty for the support of poverty, from whatever 
 cause proceeding, is a measure full of danger. 
 
 It 
 
 Holy Willies Prayer ; Rob the Rhymers Welcome to 
 fns Bastard Child ; Epistle to J. Gowdie ; The Holy Tulzie, 
 Sfc.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 11 
 
 It must operate in a considerable degree as an 
 incitement to idleness, and a discouragement to 
 industry, ft takes away from vice and indo- 
 lence the prospect of their most dreaded conse- 
 quences, and from virtue and industry their 
 peculiar sanctions. In many cases it must ren- 
 der the rise in the price of labour, not a bless- 
 ing, but a curse to the labourer ; who, if there 
 be an excess in what he earns, beyond his im- 
 mediate necessities, may be expected to devote 
 this excess to his present gratification ; trusting 
 to the provision made by law for his own and 
 his family's support, should disease suspend, 
 or death terminate his labours. Happily, in 
 Scotland, the same legislature which establish- 
 ed a system of instruction for the poor, resisted 
 the introduction of a legal provision for the 
 support of poverty ; what they granted on the 
 one hand, and what they refused on the other, 
 was equally favorable to industry and good 
 morals ; and hence it will not appear surpris- 
 ing, if the Scottish peasantry have a more than 
 usual share of prudence and reflection, if they 
 approach nearer than persons of their order 
 usually do, to the definition of a man, that of, 
 " a being that looks before and after." These 
 observations must indeed be taken with many 
 exceptions — the favorable operation of the 
 causes just mentioned, is counteracted by others 
 of an opposite tendency, and the subject, if fully 
 
 examined.
 
 12 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 examined, woiilcl lead to discussions of great 
 extent. 
 
 When the reformation was established in 
 Scotland, instrumental music was banished 
 from the churches, as savouring too much of 
 " prophane minstrelsy." Instead of being re- 
 gulated by an instrument, the voices of the 
 congregation are led and directed by a person 
 under the name of a precentor, and the people 
 are all expected to join in the tune which he 
 chooses for the psalm which is to be sung. 
 Church-music is therefore a part of the educa- 
 tion of the peasantry of Scotland, in which 
 they are usually instructed in the long winter 
 nights by the parish school-master, who is 
 generally the precentor, or by itinerant teach- 
 ers more celebrated for their powers of voice. 
 This branch of education had, in the last reign, 
 fallen into some neglect, but was revived about 
 thirty or forty years ago, when the music itself 
 was reformed and improved. The Scottish 
 system of psalmody is however radically bad. 
 Destitute of taste or harmony, it forms a strik- 
 ing contrast with the delicacy and pathos of 
 the prophane airs. Our poet, it will be found, 
 was taught church-music, in which however he 
 made little proficiency. 
 
 That dancing should also be very generally 
 
 a part
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 13 
 
 a part of the education of the Scottish pea- 
 santry, will surprize those who have only seen 
 this description of men ; and still more those 
 who reflect on the rigid spirit of Calvinism 
 with which the nation is so deeply affected, and 
 to which this recreation is strongly abhorrent. 
 The winter is also the season when they acquire 
 dancing, and indeed almost all their other in- 
 struction. They are taught to dance by persons 
 generally of their own number, many of whom 
 work at daily labour during the summer months. 
 The school is usually a barn, and the arena for 
 the performers is generally a clay floor. The 
 dome is lighted by candles stuck in one end of 
 a cloven stick, the other end of which is thrust 
 into the wall. Reels, strathspeys, country- 
 dances, and hornpipes, are here practised. The 
 jig, so much in favor among the English pea- 
 santry, has no place among them. The attach- 
 ment of the people of Scotland of every rank, 
 and particularly of the peasantry, to this amuse- 
 ment, is very great. After the labours of the 
 day are over, young men and women walk 
 many miles in the cold and dreary night of 
 winter, to these country dancing-schools ; and 
 the instant that the violin sounds a Scottish air, 
 fatigue seems to vanish, the toil-bent rustic be- 
 comes erect, his features brighten with sym- 
 pathy ; every nerve seems to thrill with sensa- 
 tion, and every artery to vibrate with life. These 
 
 rustic
 
 14 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 rustic performers are indeed less to be admired 
 for grace, than for agility and animation, and 
 their accurate observance of time. Their modes 
 of dancing, as well as their tunes, are common 
 to every rank in Scotland, and are now gene- 
 rally known. In our own day they have pene- 
 trated into England, and have established them- 
 selves even in the circle of royalty. In another 
 generation they will be naturalized in every 
 part of the island. 
 
 The prevalence of this taste, or rather pas- 
 sion for dancing, among a people so deeply 
 tinctured with the spirit and doctrines of Cal- 
 vin, is one of those contradictions which the 
 philosophic observer so often finds in national 
 character and manners. It is probably to be 
 ascribed to the Scottish music, which through- 
 out all its varieties, is so full of sensibility, and 
 which in its livelier strains, awakes those vivid 
 emotions, that find in dancing their natural so- 
 lace and relief. 
 
 This triumph of the music of Scotland over 
 the spirit of the established religion, has not 
 however been obtained without long-continued 
 and obstinate struggles. The numerous sec- 
 taries who dissent from the establishment on 
 account of the relaxation which they perceive, 
 or think they perceive, in the church, from her 
 
 original
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 15 
 
 original doctrines and discipline, universally 
 condemn the practice of dancing, and the schools 
 where it is taught; and the more elderly and 
 serious part of the people of every persuasion, 
 tolerate rather than approye these meetings of 
 the young of both sexes, where dancing is prac- 
 tised to their spirit-stirring music, where care 
 is dispelled, toil is forgotten, and prudence it- 
 self is sometimes lulled to sleep. 
 
 The reformation, which proved fatal to the 
 rise of the other fine arts in Scotland, probably 
 impeded, but could not obstruct the progress 
 of its music ; a circumstance that will convince 
 the impartial inquirer, that this music not only 
 existed previously to that aera, but had taken ^ 
 firm hold of the nation ; thus affording a proof 
 of its antiquity stronger than any produced by 
 the researches of our antiquaries. 
 
 The impression which the Scottish music has 
 made on the people, is deepened by its union 
 with the national songs, of which various col- 
 lections of unequal merit are before the public. 
 These songs, like those of other nations, are 
 many of them humorous, but they chiefly treat 
 of love, war, and drinking. Love is the subject 
 of the greater proportion. Without displaying 
 the higher powers of the imagination, they ex- 
 hibit a perfect knowledge of the human heart, 
 
 and
 
 16 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 and breathe a spirit of affection, and sometimes 
 of delicate and romantic tenderness, not to be 
 surpassed in modern poetry, and which the 
 more polished strains of antiquity have seldom 
 possessed. 
 
 The origin of this amatory character in the 
 rustic muse of Scotland, or of the greater num- 
 ber of these love-songs themselves, it would be 
 difficult to trace; they have accumulated in the 
 silent lapse of time, and it is now perhaps im- 
 possible to give an arrangement of them in the 
 order of their date, valuable as such a record 
 of taste and manners would be. Their present 
 influence on the character of the nation is how- 
 ever great and striking. To them we must 
 attribute in a great measure, the romantic pas- 
 sion which so often characterizes the attach- 
 ments of the humblest of the people of Scot- 
 land, to a degree, that, if we mistake not, is 
 seldom found in the same rank of society in 
 other countries. The pictures of love and hap- 
 piness exhibited in their rural songs, are early 
 impressed on the mind of the peasant, and are 
 rendered more attractive from the music with 
 which they are united. They associate them- 
 selves with his own youthful emotions; they 
 elevate the object as well as the nature of his 
 attachment ; and give to the impressions of 
 sense, the beautiful colours of imagination. 
 
 Hence
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 17 
 
 Hence in the course of his passion, a Scottish 
 peasant often exerts a spirit of adventure, of 
 which a Spanish Cavalier need not be ashamed. 
 After the labours of the day are over, he sets 
 out for the habitation of his mistress, perhaps 
 at many miles distance, regardless of the length 
 or the dreariness of the way. He approaches 
 her in secresy, under the disguise of night. A 
 signal at the door or window, perhaps agreed 
 on, and understood by none but her, gives in- 
 formation of his arrival, and sometimes it is re- 
 peated again and again, before the capricious 
 fair one will obey the summons. But if she 
 favors his addresses, she escapes unobserved, 
 and receives the vows of her lover under the 
 gloom of twilight, or the deeper shade of night. 
 Interviews of this kind are the subjects of many 
 of the Scottish songs, some of the most beau- 
 tiful of which Burns has imitated or improved. 
 In the art wliich they celebrate he was perfectly 
 skilled ; he knew and had practised all its mys- 
 teries. Intercourse of this sort is indeed uni- 
 versal even in the humblest condition of man 
 in every region of the earth. But it is not un- 
 natural to suppose, that it may exist in a greater 
 degree, and in a more romantic form, among 
 the peasantry of a country who are supposed 
 to be more than commonly instructed, who 
 find in their rural songs expression for their 
 youthful emotions, and in whom the embers of 
 VOL. I. c passion
 
 18 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 passion are continually fanned by the breath- 
 ings of a music full of tenderness and sensi- 
 bility. The direct influence of physical causes 
 on the attachment between the sexes is compa- 
 ratively small ; but it is modified by moral 
 causes beyond any other affection of the mind. 
 Of these, music and poetry are the chief. 
 Among the snows of Lapland, and under the 
 burning sun of Angola, the savage is seen hast- 
 ening to his mistress, and every where he be- 
 guiles the weariness of his journey with poetry 
 and song.* 
 
 In appreciating the happiness and virtue of 
 a community, there is, perhaps, no single cri- 
 terion on which so much dependence may be 
 placed, as the state of the intercourse between 
 the sexes. Where this displays ardour of at- 
 tachment, accompanied by purity of conduct, 
 the character and the influence of women rise 
 in society, our imperfect nature mounts in the 
 scale of moral excellence, and from the source 
 of this single affection, a stream of felicity de- 
 scends, which branches into a thousand rivulets 
 that enrich and adorn the field of life. Where 
 
 the 
 
 * The North American Indians, among whom the attach- 
 ment between the sexes is said to be weak, and love in the 
 purer sense of the word unknown, seem nearly unacquainted 
 with the charms of poetry and music. — See Weld's Tour.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 19 
 
 the attachment between the sexes sinks into an 
 appetite, the heritage of our species is compa- 
 ratively poor, and man approaches the condi- 
 tion of the brutes that perish. " If we could 
 with safety indulge the pleasing supposition 
 that Fingal lived, and that Ossian sung,"* Scot- 
 land, judging from this criterion, might be con- 
 sidered as ranking high in happiness and virtue, 
 in very remote ages. To appreciate her situ- 
 ation by the same criterion in our own times, 
 would be a delicate and a difficult undertaking. 
 After considering the probable influence of her 
 popular songs, and her national music, and 
 examining how far the effects to be expected 
 from these are supported by facts, the inquirer 
 would also have to examine the influence of 
 other causes, and particularly of her civil and 
 ecclesiastical institutions, by which the cha- 
 racter, and even the manners of a people, though 
 silently and slowly, are often powerfully con- 
 troled. In the point of view in which we are 
 considering the subject, the ecclesiastical esta- 
 blishments of Scotland may be supposed pecu- 
 liarly favorable to purity of conduct. The dis- 
 soluteness of manners among the catholic clergy, 
 which preceded, and in some measure produced 
 
 c 2 the 
 
 * Gibbon.
 
 20 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 the reformation, led to an extraordinary strict- 
 ness on the j)art of the reformers, and espe- 
 cially in that particular in which the licentious- 
 ness of the clergy had been carried to its greatest 
 height — the intercourse between the sexes. On 
 this point, as on all others connected with aus- 
 terity of manners, the disciples of Calvin as- 
 sumed a greater severity than those of the pro- 
 testant episcopal church. The punishment of 
 illicit connexion between the sexes, was through- 
 out all Europe, a province which the clergy 
 assumed to themselves; and the church of Scot- 
 land, which at the reformation renounced so 
 many powers and privileges, at that period took 
 this crime under her more especial jurisdiction.* 
 Where pregnancy takes place without marriage, 
 the condition of the female causes the discovery, 
 and it is on her, therefore, in the first instance, 
 that the clergy and elders of the church exer- 
 cise their zeal. After examination before the 
 kirk-session touching the circumstances of her 
 guilt, she must endure a public penance, and 
 sustain a public rebuke from the pulpit, for 
 three sabbaths successively, in the face of the 
 congregation to which she belongs, and thus 
 have her weakness exposed, and her shame 
 
 blazoned. 
 
 * iSee Appendix, No. I. Note C.
 
 PREFAIORY REMARKS. 21 
 
 blazoned.* The sentence is the same with re- 
 spect to the male ; but how much lighter the 
 punishment ! It is well known that this dread- 
 ful law, worthy of the iron minds of Calvin and 
 of Knox, has often led to consequences, at the 
 very mention of which human nature recoils ! 
 
 While the punishment of incontinence, pre- 
 scribed by the institutions of Scotland, is se- 
 vere, the culprits have an obvious method of 
 avoiding it, afforded them by the law respecting 
 marriage, the validity of which requires neither 
 the ceremonies of the church, nor any other 
 ceremonies, but simply the deliberate acknow- 
 ledgment of each other as husband and wife, 
 made by the parties before witnesses, or in any 
 other way that gives legal evidence of such an 
 acknowledgment having taken place. And as 
 the parties themselves fix the date of their mar- 
 riage, an opportunity is thus given to avoid the 
 punishment, and repair the consequences, of 
 illicit gratification. Such a degree of laxity 
 respecting so serious a contract, might produce 
 much confusion in the descent of property, 
 without a still farther indulgence ; but the law 
 of Scotland legitimating all children born be- 
 fore 
 
 * In most of the parishes of Scotland, appearance before 
 the congregation is now laid aside, and the rebuke adminis- 
 tered in the presence of the Kirk-Session only. — G. B.
 
 22 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 fore wedlock, on the subsequent marriage of 
 their parents, renders the actual date of the 
 marriage itself of little consequence* Mar- 
 riages contracted in Scotland without the cere- 
 monies of the church, are considered as irre- 
 gular, and the parties usually submit to a rebuke 
 for their conduct in the face of their respective 
 congregations, which is not, however, necessary 
 to render the marriage valid. Burns, whose 
 marriage, it will appear, was irregular, does 
 not seem to have undergone this part of the 
 discipline of the church. 
 
 Thus, though the institutions of Scotland 
 are in many particulars favorable to a conduct 
 among the peasantry founded on foresight and 
 reflection, on the subject of marriage the re- 
 verse of this is true. Irregular marriages, it 
 may be naturally supposed, are often impro- 
 vident ones, in whatever rank of society they 
 occur. The children of such marriages, poorly 
 endowed by their parents, find a certain degree 
 of instruction of easy acquisition; but the com- 
 forts of life, and the gratifications of ambition, 
 they find of more difficult attainment in their 
 native soil ; and thus the marriage laws of Scot- 
 land conspire with other circumstances, to pro- 
 duce 
 
 * See Appendix, No. I. Note D.
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 23 
 
 duce that habit of emigration, and spirit of ad- 
 venture, for which the people are so remark- 
 able. 
 
 The manners and appearance of the Scottish 
 peasantry do not bespeak to a stranger the de- 
 gree of their cultivation. In their own coun- 
 try, their industry is inferior to that of the same 
 description of men in the southern division of 
 the island. Industry and the useful arts reach- 
 ed Scotland later than England ; and though 
 their advance has been rapid there, the effects 
 produced are as yet far inferior both in reality 
 and in appearance. The Scottish farmers have 
 in general neither the opulence nor the com- 
 forts of those of England ; neither vest the 
 same capital in the soil, nor receive from it the 
 same return. Their cloathing, their food, and 
 their habitations, are almost every where infe- 
 rior.* Their appearance in these respects cor- 
 responds with the appearance of their country; 
 and under the operation of patient industry, 
 both are improving. Industry and the useful 
 arts came later into Scotland than into Eng- 
 land, 
 
 * These remarks are contined to the class of farmers ; the 
 same corresponding inferiority will not be found in the con- 
 dition of the cottagers and labourers, at least in the article 
 of food, as those who examine this subject impartially will 
 soon discover.
 
 24 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 land, because the security of property came 
 later. With causes of internal agitation and 
 warfare, similar to those which occurred to the 
 more southern nation, the people of Scotland 
 were exposed to more imminent hazards, and 
 more extensive and destructive spoliation, from 
 external war. Occupied in the maintenance of 
 their independence against their more powerful 
 neighbours, to this were necessarily sacrificed 
 the arts of peace, and at certain periods, the 
 flower of their population. And when the 
 union of the crowns produced a security from 
 national wars with England, for the century 
 succeeding, the civil wars common to both 
 divisions of the island, and the dependence, 
 perhaps the necessary dependence, of the Scot- 
 tish councils on those of the more powerful 
 kingdom, counteracted this advantage. Even 
 the union of the British nations was not, from 
 obvious causes, immediately followed by all 
 the benefits which it was ultimately destined 
 to produce. At length, however, these benefits 
 are distinctly felt, and generally acknowledged. 
 Property is secure; manufactures and com- 
 merce increasing, and agriculture is rapidly 
 improving in Scotland. As yet, indeed, the 
 farmers are not in general enabled to make 
 improvements out of their own capitals, as in 
 England ; but the land-holders, who have seen 
 and felt the advantages resulting from them, 
 
 contribute
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 25 
 
 contribute towards them with a liberal hand. 
 Hence property as well as population is accu- 
 mulating rapidly on the Scottish soil ; and the 
 nation, enjoying a great part of the blessings 
 of Englishmen, and retaining several of their 
 own happy institutions, might be considered, 
 if confidence could be placed in human fore- 
 sight, to be as yet only in an early stage of 
 their progress. Yet there are obstructions in 
 their way. To the cultivation of the soil are 
 opposed the extent and the strictness of the 
 entails ; to the improvement of the people, the 
 rapidly increasing use of spirituous liquors, a 
 detestable practice, which includes in its con- 
 sequences almost every evil, physical and mo- 
 ral.* The peculiarly social disposition of the 
 Scottish peasantiy exposes them to this prac- 
 tice. This disposition, which is fostered by 
 their national songs and music, is perhaps cha- 
 racteristic of the nation at large. Though the 
 source of many pleasures, it counteracts by its 
 consequences the effects of their patience, in- 
 dustry, and frugality, both at home and abroad, 
 
 of 
 
 * The amount of the duty on spirits distilled in Scotland, 
 is now upwards of 250,000^'. annually. In 1777, it did not 
 reach 8000/. The rate of the duty has indeed been raised, 
 but making every allowance, the increase of consumption 
 must be enormous. This is independent of the duty on 
 malt, &c. malt-liquor, imported spirits, and wine.
 
 26 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 of which those especially wlio have witnessed 
 the progress of Scotsmen in other countries, 
 must have known many striking instances. 
 
 Since the Union, the manners and language 
 of the people of Scotland have no longer a 
 standard among themselves, but are tried by 
 the standard of the nation to which they are 
 united. — Though their habits are far from being 
 flexible, yet it is evident that their manners 
 and dialect are undergoing a rapid change. 
 Even the farmers of the present day appear to 
 have less of the peculiarities of their country 
 in their speech than the men of letters of the 
 last generation. Burns, who never left the 
 island, nor penetrated farther into England 
 than Carlisle on the one hand, or Newcastle 
 on the other, had less of the Scottish dialect 
 than Hume, who lived for many years in the 
 best society of England and France ; or per- 
 haps than Robertson, who wrote the English 
 language in a style of such purity; and if he 
 had been in other respects fitted to take a lead 
 in the British House of Commons, his pronun- 
 ciation would neither have fettered his elo- 
 quence, nor deprived it of its due effect. 
 
 A striking particular in the character of the 
 Scottish peasantry, is one which it is hoped 
 will not be lost — the strength of their domestic 
 
 attachments 
 
 1 
 
 i
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 27 
 
 attachments. The privations to which many 
 parents submit for the good of their children, 
 and particularly to obtain for them instruction, 
 which they consider as the chief good, has al- 
 ready been noticed. If their children live and 
 prosper, they have their certain reward, not 
 merely as witnessing, but as sharing of their 
 prosperity. Even in the humblest ranks of the 
 peasantry, the earnings of the children may 
 generally be considered as at the disposal of 
 their parents ; perhaps in no country is so large 
 a portion of the wages of labour applied to the 
 support and comfort of those whose days of 
 labour are past. A similar strength of attach- 
 ment extends through all the domestic rela- 
 tions. 
 
 Our poet partook largely of this amiable 
 characteristic of his humble compeers ; he was 
 also strongly tinctured with another striking 
 feature which belongs to them — a partiality for 
 his native country, of which many proofs may 
 be found in his writings. This, it must be con- 
 fessed, is a very strong and general sentiment 
 among the natives of Scotland, differing, how- 
 ever, in its character, according to the character 
 of the different minds in which it is found ; in 
 some appearing a selfish prejudice, iu others, a 
 generous affection. 
 
 An
 
 28 PREFATOKY REMARKS. 
 
 An attachment to the land of their birth, is 
 indeed common to all men. It is found among 
 the inhabitants of every region of the earth, from 
 the arctic to the antarctic circle, in all the vast 
 variety of climate, of surface, and of civiliza- 
 tion. To analize this general sentiment, to trace 
 it through the mazes of association up to the 
 primary affection in which it has its source, 
 would neither be a difficult nor an unpleasing 
 labour. On a first consideration of the subject, 
 we should perhaps expect to find this attach- 
 ment strong in proportion to the physical ad- 
 vantages of the soil ; but inquiry, far from con- 
 firming this supposition, seems rather to lead 
 to an opposite conclusion. — In those fertile re- 
 gions, where beneficent nature yields almost 
 spontaneously whatever is necessary to human 
 wants, patriotism, as well as every other gene- 
 rous sentiment, seems weak and languid. In 
 countries less richly endowed, where the com- 
 forts, and even necessaries of life, must be pur- 
 chased by ])atient toil, the affections of the 
 mind, as well as the faculties of the understand- 
 ing, improve under exertion, and patriotism 
 flourishes amidst its kindred virtues. Where 
 it is necessary to combine for mutual defence, 
 as well as for the supply of common wants, 
 mutual goodwill springs from mutual difficul- 
 ties and labours, the social affections unfold 
 
 themselves,
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 29 
 
 themselves, and extend from the men with 
 whom we live, to the soil on which we tread. 
 It will perhaps be found indeed, that our affec* 
 tions cannot be originally called forth but by 
 objects capable, or supposed capable, of feel- 
 ing our sentiments, and of returning them : 
 but when once excited, they are strengthened 
 by exercise, they are expanded by the powers 
 of imagination, and seize more especially oil 
 those inanimate parts of creation, which form 
 the theatre on which we have first felt the alter- 
 nations of joy and sorrow, and first tasted the 
 sweets of sympathy and regard. If this reason- 
 ing be just, the love of our country, although 
 modified, and even extinguished in individuals 
 by the chances and changes of life, may be 
 presumed in our general reasonings to be strong 
 among a people, in proportion to their social, 
 and more especially to their domestic affections. 
 In free governments it is found more active 
 than in despotic ones, because, as the indivi- 
 dual becomes of more consequence in the com- 
 munity, the community becomes of more con- 
 sequence to him ; in small states it is generally 
 more active than in large ones, for the same 
 reason, and also because the independence of 
 a small community being maintained with diffi- 
 culty, and frequently endangered, sentiments 
 of patriotism are more frequently excited. In 
 mountainous countries it is generally found 
 
 more
 
 30 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 more active than in plains, because there the 
 necessities of life often require a closer union 
 of the inhabitants ; and more especially because 
 in such countries, though less populous than 
 plains, the inhabitants, instead of being scat- 
 tered equally over the whole, are usually di- 
 vided into small communities on the sides of 
 their separate valleys, and on the banks of their 
 respective streams ; situations well calculated 
 to call forth and to concentrate the social affec- 
 tions, amidst scenery that acts most powerfully 
 on the sight, and makes a lasting impression 
 on the memory. It may also be remarked, that 
 mountainous countries are often peculiarly cal- 
 culated to nourish sentiments of national pride 
 and independence, from the influence of history 
 on the affections of the mind. In such coun- 
 tries, from their natural strength, inferior na- 
 tions have maintained their independence 
 against their more powerful neighbours, and 
 valour, in all ages, has made its most success- 
 ful efforts against oppression. Such countries 
 present the fields of battle, where the tide of 
 invasion was rolled back, and where the ashes 
 of those rest who have died in defence of their 
 nation ! 
 
 The operation of the various causes we have 
 mentioned, is doubtless more general and more 
 permanent, where the scenery of a country, the 
 
 peculiar
 
 PREFATORY REMARKS. 31 
 
 peculiar manners of its inhabitants, and the mar- 
 tial achievements of their ancestors, are em- 
 bodied in national songs, and united to national 
 music. By this combination the ties that attach 
 men to the land of their birth, are multiplied 
 and strengthened ; and the images of infancy, 
 strongly associating with the generous affec- 
 tions, resist the influence of time, and of new 
 impressions; they often survive in countries far 
 distant, and amidst far different scenes, to the 
 latest periods of life, to sooth the heart with 
 the pleasures of memory, when those of hope 
 die away. 
 
 If this reasoning be just, it will explain to us 
 why, among the natives of Scotland, even of 
 cultivated minds, we so generally find a partial 
 attachment to the land of their birth, and why 
 this is so strongly discoverable in the writings 
 of Burns, who joined to the higher powers of 
 the understanding, the most ardent affections. 
 Let not men of reflection think it a superfluous 
 labour to trace the rise and progress of a cha- 
 racter like his. Born in the condition of a 
 peasant, he rose by the force of his mind into 
 distinction and influence, and in his works has 
 exhibited what are so rarely found, the charms 
 of original genius. With a deep insight into 
 the human heart, his poetry exhibits high powers 
 of imagination — it displays, and as it were em- 
 balms.
 
 32 PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 balms, the peculiar manners of his country ; 
 and it may be considered as a monument not to 
 his own name only, but to the expiring genius 
 of an ancient and once independent nation. In 
 relating the incidents of his life, candour will 
 prevent us from dwelling invidiously on those 
 failings which justice forbids us to conceal ; we 
 will tread lightly over his yet warm ashes, and 
 respect the laurels that shelter his untimely 
 grave* 
 vj — . — . — . ' — ■ ' ■ 
 
 * Some additional remarks, by Gilbert Burns, on the 
 causes which contributed to the formation of the peculiar 
 character of the peasantry of Scotland, will be found in Ap- 
 pendix, No. IV, at the end of this volume.
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 Robert Burns was, as is well known, the 
 son of a farmer in Ayrshire, and afterwards him- 
 self a farmer there; but having been unsuc- 
 cessful, he was about to emigrate to Jamaica. 
 He had previously however attracted some 
 notice by his poetical talents in the vicinity 
 where he lived, and havhig published a small 
 volume of his poems at Kilmarnock, this drew 
 upon him more general attention. In conse- 
 quence of the encouragement he received, he 
 repaired to Edinburgh, and there published by 
 subscription an improved and enlarged edition 
 of his poems, which met with extraordinary suc- 
 cess. By the profits arising from the sale of 
 VOL. I. D this
 
 34 THE LIFE OF 
 
 this edition, be was enabled to enter on a farm 
 in Durafries-shire ; and having married a person 
 to whom he had been long attached, he retired, 
 to devote the remainder of his life to agricul- 
 ture. He was again however unsuccessful, and 
 abandoning his farm, he removed into the town 
 of Dumfries, where he filled an inferior office in 
 the excise, and where he terminated his life in 
 July, 1796, in his thirty-eighth year. 
 
 The strength and originality of his genius, 
 procured him the notice of many persons dis- 
 tinguished in the republic of letters, and among 
 others, that of Dr. Moore, well known for his 
 Views of Society and Man7iers oti the Continent 
 of Europe, for his Zeluco, and various other 
 works. To this gentleman our poet addressed 
 a letter, after his first visit to Edinburgh, giving 
 a history of his life, up to the period of his writ- 
 ing. In a composition never intended to see the 
 light, elegance, or perfect correctness of com- 
 position will not be expected. These however 
 will be compensated by the opportunity of see- 
 ing our poet, as he gives the incidents of his 
 life, unfold the peculiarities of his character, 
 with all the careless vigour and open sincerity 
 of his mind. 
 
 " Mauchline,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 35 
 
 " Mauchline, 2nd August, 1787. 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 *' For some months past I have been 
 rambling over the country, but I am now con- 
 fined with some lingering complaints, originat- 
 ing, as 1 take it, in the stomach. To divert my 
 spirits a little in this miserable fog of ennui, I 
 have taken a whim to give you a history of 
 myself. My name has made some little noise 
 in this country ; you have done me the honor 
 to interest yourself very warmly in my behalf; 
 and I think a faithful account of what character 
 of a man I am, and how 1 came by that charac- 
 ter, may perhaps amuse you in an idle moment. 
 I will give you an honest narrative, though I 
 know it will be often at my own expense; for I 
 assure you, Sir, I have, like Solomon, whose 
 character, excepting in the trifling affair of ivis- 
 dom, I sometimes think I resemble, I have, I 
 say, like him turned my eyes to behold madness and 
 folly, and like him too, frequently shaken hands 
 with their intoxicating friendship. * * * After 
 you have perused these pages, should you think 
 them trifling and impertinent, 1 only beg leave 
 to tell you, that the poor author wrote them 
 under some twitching qualms of conscience, 
 
 D 2 arising;
 
 30 THE LIFE OF 
 
 arising from a suspicion that he was doing what 
 he ought not to do ; a predicament he has more 
 than once been in before. 
 
 " 1 have not the most distant pretensions to 
 assume that character which the pye-coated 
 guardians of escutcheons call, a Gentleman. 
 When at Edinburgh last winter, I got acquainted 
 in the herald's office, and looking through that 
 granary of honors, I there found almost every 
 name in the kingdom ; but for me, 
 
 " My ancient but ignoble blood 
 Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood." 
 
 Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c. quite disowned 
 me. 
 
 " My father was of the north of Scotland, 
 the son of a farmer, and was thrown by early 
 misfortunes on the world at large ; where, after 
 many years wanderings and sojournings, he 
 picked up a pretty large quantity of observa- 
 tion and experience, to which I am indebted 
 for most of my little pretensions to wisdom. — 
 I have met with few who understood 7nen, their 
 manners, and their ways, equal to him ; but 
 stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong un- 
 governable irascibility, are disqualifying cir- 
 cumstances; consequently, 1 was bom a very 
 
 poor
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 37 
 
 poor man's son. For the first six or seven 
 years of my life, my father was gardener to a 
 worthy gentleman of small estate in the neigh 
 bourhood of Ayr. Had he continued in that 
 station, I must have marched off to be one of 
 the little underlings about a farm-house; but it 
 was his dearest wish and prayer to have it in 
 his power to keep his children under his own 
 eye, till they could discern between good and 
 evil ; so with the assistance of his generous 
 master, my father ventured on a small farm on 
 his estate. At those years, 1 was by no means 
 a favorite with any body. I was a good deal 
 noted for a retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy 
 something in my disposition, and an enthusi- 
 astic ideot* piety. — T say ideot piety, because I 
 was then but a child. Though it cost the 
 schoolmaster some thrashings, 1 made an ex- 
 cellent English scholar ; and by the time I was 
 ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in sub- 
 stantives, verbs, and particles. In my infant 
 and boyish days too, f owed much to an old 
 woman who resided in the family, remarkable 
 for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. 
 She had, I suppose, the largest collection in 
 the country of tales and songs concerning de- 
 vils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, war- 
 locks, 
 
 * Ideot for ideotic.
 
 38 THE LIFE OF 
 
 locks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, dead-lights, 
 wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, inchanted 
 towers, dragons and other trumpery. This 
 cultivated the latent seeds of poetry ; but had 
 so strong an effect on my imagination, that to 
 this hour, in ray nocturnal rambles, I sometimes 
 keep a sharp look out in suspicious places ; 
 and though nobody can be more sceptical than 
 I am in such matters, yet it often takes an 
 effort of philosophy to shake off these idle 
 terrors. The earliest composition that I recol- 
 lect taking pleasure in, was The Vision of 
 Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, 
 How are thy servants blest, O Lord! I parti- 
 cularly remember one half-stanza which was 
 music to my boyish ear — 
 
 " For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
 " High on the broken wave. — " 
 
 I met with these pieces in Mason's English 
 Collection, one of my school-books. The two 
 first books I ever read in private, and which 
 gave me more pleasure than any two books I 
 ever read since, were. The Life of Hannibal, 
 and The History of Sir William Wallace. 
 Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn, 
 that I used to strut in raptures up and down 
 after the recruiting drum and bag-pipe, and 
 wish myself tall enough to be a soldier ; while 
 the story of Wallace poured a Scottish pre- 
 judice
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 39 
 
 judice into my veins, which will boil along 
 
 ther< 
 
 rest. 
 
 there, till the flood-gates of life shut in eternal 
 
 " Polemical divinity about this time was 
 putting the country half mad, and J, ambitious 
 of shining in conversation parties on Sundays 
 between sermons, at funerals, &c. used a few 
 years afterwards, to puzzle Calvinism with so 
 much heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue 
 and cry of heresy against me, which has not 
 ceased to this hour. 
 
 " My vicinity to Ayr was of some advan- 
 tage to me. My social disposition, when not 
 checked by some modifications of spited pride, 
 was, like our catechism definition of infinitude, 
 without bounds or limits. I formed several con- 
 nexions with other younkers, who possessed 
 superior advantages ; the youngling actors who 
 were busy in the rehearsal of parts in which 
 they were shortly to appear on the stage of 
 life, where, alas ! I was destined to drudge be- 
 hind the scenes. It is not commonly at this 
 green age, that our young gentry have a just 
 sense of the immense distance between them 
 and their ragged play-fellows. It takes a few 
 dashes into the world, to give the young great 
 man that proper, decent, unnoticing disregard 
 for the poor, insignificant, stupid devils, the me- 
 chanics
 
 40 THE LIFE OF 
 
 chanics and peasantry around him, who were, 
 perhaps, born in the same village. My young 
 superiors never insulted the clouterly appear- 
 ance of my plough-boy carcase, the two ex- 
 tremes of which were often exposed to all the 
 inclemencies of all the seasons. They would 
 give me stray volumes of books ; among them, 
 even then, I could pick up some observations, 
 and one, whose heart, I am sure, not even the 
 JSImimj Segum scenes have tainted, helped me 
 to a little French. Parting with these my 
 young friends and benefactors, as they occa- 
 sionally went off for the East or West Indies, 
 was often to me a sore affliction; but I was 
 soon called to more serious evils. My father's 
 generous master died ; the farm proved a ruin- 
 ous bargain ; and to clench the misfortune, we 
 fell into the hands of a factor, who sat for the 
 picture I have drawn of one in my Tale of Tiva 
 Dogs. My father was advanced in life when 
 he married ; I was the eldest of seven children, 
 and he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit 
 for labour. My fathers spirit was soon irri- 
 tated, but not easily broken. There was a 
 freedom in his lease in two years more, and to 
 weather these two years, we retrenched our 
 expenses. We lived very poorly: 1 was a dex- 
 terous ploughman for my age; and the next 
 eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert), who could 
 drive the plough very well, and help me to 
 
 thrash 
 
 I
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 41 
 
 thrash the corn. A novel-writer might, perhaps, 
 have viewed these scenes with some satisfac- 
 tion, but so did not I ; my indignation yet boils 
 
 at the recollection of the s 1 factor's insolent 
 
 threatening letters, which used to set us all in 
 tears. 
 
 " This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a 
 hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galley- 
 slave, brought me to my sixteenth year; a little 
 before which period 1 first committed the sin 
 of Rhyme. You know our country custom of 
 coupling a man and woman together as partners 
 in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth au- 
 tumn, my partner was a bewitching creature, a 
 year younger than myself. My scarcity of 
 English denies me the power of doing her jus- 
 tice in that language, but you know the Scot- 
 tish idiom ; she was a bonnie, siveet, sonsie lass. 
 In short, she altogether unwittingly to herself, 
 initiated me in that delicious passion, which, in 
 spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse pru- 
 dence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to 
 be the first of human joys, our clearest blessing 
 here below! How she caught the contagion 1 
 cannot tell; you njedical people talk much of 
 infection from breathing the same air, the touch, 
 &c. ; but I never expressly said I loved her. — 
 Indeed, I did not know myself why I liked so 
 much to loiter behind with her, when returning 
 
 in
 
 42 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in the evening from onr labours ; why the tones 
 of her voice made my heart-strings thrill like 
 an iEolian harp ; and particularly why my 
 pulse beat such a furious ratan when I looked 
 and fingered over her little hand to pick out 
 the cruel nettle-stings and thistles. Among her 
 other love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly; 
 and it was her favorite reel to which I attempted 
 giving an embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was 
 not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could 
 make verses like printed ones, composed by 
 men who had Greek and Latin; but my girl 
 sung a song which was said to be composed by 
 a small country laird's son, on one of his father's 
 maids, with whom he was in love ; and I saw 
 no reason why I might not rhyme as well as 
 he ; for, excepting that he could smear sheep, 
 and cast peats, his father living in the moor- 
 lands, he had no more scholar-craft than my- 
 self.* 
 
 " Thus with me began love and poetry; which 
 at times have been my only, and till within the 
 last twelve months, have been my highest 
 enjoyment. My father struggled on till he 
 reached the freedom in his lease, when he en- 
 tered on a larger farm, about ten miles farther 
 
 in 
 
 See Appendix, No. IT. Note A.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 43 
 
 in the country. The nature ot the bargain he 
 made, was such as to throw a little ready 
 money into his hands at the commencement of 
 his lease, otherwise the affair would have been 
 impracticable. For four years we lived com- 
 fortably here, but a difference commencing be- 
 tween him and his landlord as to terms, after 
 three years tossing and whirling in the vortex 
 of litigation, my father was just saved from the 
 horrors of a jail, by a consumption, which, after 
 two years promises, kindly stepped in, and car- 
 ried him away, to where the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and ivhere the weary are at rest ! 
 
 " It is during the time that we lived on this 
 farm, that my little story is most eventful. I 
 was, at the beginning of this period, perhaps, 
 the most ungainly awkward boy in the parish 
 — no solitaire was less acquainted with the 
 ways of the world. What I knew of ancient 
 story was gathered from Salmons and Guthrie's 
 geographical grammars; and the ideas I had 
 formed of modern manners, of literature, and 
 criticism, I got from the Spectator. These, 
 with Pope's Works, some plays of Shakespeare, 
 Tull and Dickson on Agriculture, The Pan- 
 theon, JLockes Essay 07i the Human Under- 
 standing, Slackhouses History of the IMhle, 
 Justices British Gardeners Directory, Jiayles 
 Lectures, Allan Ramsay s Works, Taylors 
 
 Scripture
 
 44 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin, A Select 
 Collection of Ejiglish Songs, and Herveys 3Ie- 
 ditatiotis, had formed the whole of my reading. 
 The collection of songs was my vade mecum. 
 I pored over them, driving my cart, or walking 
 to labour, song by song, verse by verse ; care- 
 fully noting the true tender, or sublime, from 
 affectation and fustian. I am convinced I owe 
 to this practice, much of my critic-craft, such 
 as it is. 
 
 " In my seventeenth year, to give my man- 
 ners a brush, I went tc a country dancing- 
 school. My father had an unaccountable anti- 
 pathy against these meetings, and my going was 
 what to this moment I repent, in opposition to 
 his wishes. My father, as 1 said before, was 
 subject to strong passions ; from that instance 
 of disobedience in me, he took a sort of dislike 
 to me, which, I believe, was one cause of the 
 dissipation which marked my succeeding years. 
 I say dissipation, comparatively with the strict- 
 ness, and sobriety, and regularity of presby- 
 terian country life; for though the will-o-wisp 
 meteors of thoughtless whim were almost the 
 sole lights of my path, yet early ingrained piety 
 and virtue, kept me for several years afterwards 
 within the line of innocence. The great misfor- 
 tune of my life was to want an aim. I had felt 
 early some stirrings of ambition, but they were 
 
 the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 45 
 
 the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round 
 the walls of his cave. I saw my father's situ- 
 ation entailed on me perpetual labour. The 
 only two openings by which I could enter the 
 temple of fortune, was the gate of niggardly 
 oeconomy, or the path of little chicaning bar- 
 gain-making. The first is so contracted an 
 aperture I never could squeeze myself into it — 
 the last I always hated — there was contami- 
 nation in the very entrance ! Thus abandoned 
 of aim or view in life, with a strong appetite for 
 sociability, as well from native hilarity, as from 
 a pride of observation and remark ; a constitu- 
 tional melancholy or hypochondriasm that made 
 me fly solitude ; add to these incentives to so- 
 cial life, my reputation for bookish knowledge, 
 a certain wild logical talent, and a strength of 
 thought, something like the rudiments of good 
 sense; and it will not seem surprising that 1 
 was generally a welcome guest where I visited, 
 or any great wonder that always where two or 
 three met together, there was I among them. 
 But far beyond all other impulses of my heart, 
 was un penchant a V adorable moitiee du genre 
 humain. My heart was completely tinder, and 
 was eternally lighted up by some goddess or 
 other; and, as in every other warfare in this 
 world, my fortune was various ; sometimes 1 
 was received with favor, and sometimes I was 
 mortified with a repulse. At the plough, scythe, 
 
 or
 
 46 THE LIFE OP 
 
 or reap-hook, I feared no competitor, and thus 
 I set absolute want at defiance; and as T never 
 cared farther for my labours than while I was 
 in actual exercise, I spent the evenings in the 
 way after my own heart. A country lad seldom 
 carries on a love adventure without an assisting 
 confidant. I possessed a curiosity, zeal, and 
 intrepid dexterity, that recommended me as a 
 proper second on these occasions ; and I dare 
 say, I felt as much pleasure in being in the se- 
 cret of half the loves of the parish of Tarbolton, 
 as ever did statesman in knowing the intrigues 
 of half the courts of Europe. — The very goose- 
 feather in my hand seems to know instinctively 
 the well-worn path of my imagination, the fa- 
 vorite theme of my song ; and is with difficulty 
 restrained from giving you a couple of para- 
 graphs on the love-adventures of my compeers, 
 the humble inmates of the farm-house and cot- 
 tage ; but the grave sons of science, ambition, 
 or avarice, baptize these things by the name of 
 Follies. To the sons and daughters of labour 
 and poverty they are matters of the most se- 
 rious nature; to them the ardent hope, the 
 stolen interview, the tender farewell, are the 
 greatest and most delicious parts of their en- 
 joyments. 
 
 " Another circumstance in my life which 
 made some alteration in my mind and manners, 
 
 was,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 47 
 
 was, that I spent my nineteenth summer on a 
 smuggling coast, a good distance from home, 
 at a noted school, to learn mensuration, survey- 
 ing, dialling, &c. in which I made a pretty good 
 progress. But 1 made a greater progress in the 
 knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade 
 was at that time very successful, and it some- 
 times happened to me to fall in with those who 
 carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and 
 roaring dissipation were till this time new to 
 me; but I was no enemy to social life. Here, 
 though I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix 
 without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I went 
 on with a high hand with my geometry; till 
 the sun entered Virgo, a month which is always 
 a carnival in my bosom, when a charming Jil- 
 lette, who lived next door to the school, over- 
 set my trigonometry, and set me off at a tan- 
 gent from the sphere of my studies. I however 
 struggled on with my sines and co-sines for a 
 few days more; but stepping into the garden 
 one charming noon to take the sun's altitude, 
 there I met my angel 
 
 " Like Proserpine gathering flowers, 
 " Herself a fairer flower — " 
 
 *' It was in vain to think of doing any more 
 good at school. The remaining week I staid I 
 did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul 
 about her, or steal out to meet her; and the 
 
 two
 
 48 THE LIFE OF 
 
 two last nights of my stay in the country, had 
 sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this mo- 
 dest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless. 
 
 " I returned home very considerably im- 
 proved. My reading was enlarged with the very 
 important addition of Thomson's and Shen- 
 stone's Works ; I had seen human nature in a 
 new phasis; and J engaged several of my 
 school-fellows to keep up a literary correspon- 
 dence with me. This improved me in compo- 
 sition. I had met with a collection of letters 
 by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, and 1 pored 
 over them most devoutly. I kept copies of any 
 of my own letters that pleased me, and a com- 
 parison between them and the composition of 
 most of my correspondents, flattered my vanity. 
 I carried this whim so far, that though I had 
 not three farthings worth of business in the 
 world, yet almost every post brought me as 
 many letters as if I had been a broad plodding 
 son of day-book and ledger. 
 
 " My life flowed on much in the same course 
 till my twenty-third year. Vive V amour, et 
 vive la bagatelle, were my sole principles of 
 action. The addition of two more authors to 
 my library gave me great pleasure ; Sterme and 
 M'Kenzie — Tristram Shandy and The Man of 
 Feeling were my bosom favorites. Poesy was 
 
 still
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 49 
 
 still a darling walk for my mind, but it was 
 only indulged in according to the humour of 
 the hour, I had usually half a dozen or more 
 pieces on hand ; I took up one or other, as it 
 suited the momentary tone of the mind, and 
 dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. 
 My passions, when once lighted up, raged like 
 so many devils, till they got vent in rhyme ; 
 and then the conning over my verses, like a 
 spell, soothed all into quiet! None of the 
 rhymes of those days are in print, except Win- 
 ter, a Dirge,*^ the eldest of my printed pieces ; 
 The Death of poor Maillie,'\ John Sarlei/corn,^ 
 and songs first, second, and third. § Song se- 
 cond was the ebullition of that passion which 
 ended the forementioned school-business. 
 
 " My twenty-third year was to me an impor- 
 tant a3ra. Partly through whim, and partly 
 that I wished to set about doing something in 
 life, 1 joined a flax-dresser in a neighbouring 
 town (Irvin), to learn his trade. This was an 
 unlucky affair. My * * * and to finish 
 the whole, as we were giving a welcome ca- 
 rousal to the new year, the shop took fire and 
 
 VOL. I. E burnt 
 
 
 
 
 
 * See vol. iii. 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
 
 X Ibid. 
 
 i Ibid.
 
 50 THE LIFE OF 
 
 burnt to ashes, and I was left, like a true poet, 
 not worth a sixpence. 
 
 " I was obliged to give up this scheme ; the 
 clouds of misfortune were gathering thick round 
 my father's head ; and what was worst of all, 
 he was visibly far gone in a consumption ; and 
 to crown my distresses, a belle Jille, whom I 
 adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet 
 me in the field of matrimony, jilted me, with 
 peculiar circumstances of mortification. The 
 finishing evil that brought up the rear of this 
 infernal file, was my constitutional melancholy 
 being increased to such a degree, that for three 
 months I was in a state of mind scarcely to be 
 envied by the hopeless wretches who have got 
 their mittimus — depart from me ye cursed. 
 
 *' From this adventure I learned something 
 of a tow n life ; but the principal thing which 
 gave my mind a turn, was a friendship I formed 
 with a young fellow, a very noble character, 
 but a hapless son of misfortune. He was the 
 son of a simple mechanic ; but a great man in 
 the neighbourhood taking him under his pa- 
 tronage, gave him a genteel education, with a 
 view of bettering his situation in life. The pa- 
 tron dying just as he was ready to launch out 
 into the world, the poor fellow in despair went 
 to sea; N\here after a variety of good and ill 
 
 fortune
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 51 
 
 fortune, a little before I was acquainted with 
 him, he had been set on shore by an American 
 privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught, 
 stripped of every thing. I cannot quit this 
 poor fellow's story without adding, that he is 
 at this time master of a large West-Jndiaman 
 belonging to the Thames. 
 
 " His mind was fraught with independence, 
 magnanimity, and every manly virtue. I loved 
 and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and 
 of course strove to imitate him. In some mea- 
 sure I succeeded ; I had pride before, but he 
 taught it to flow in proper channels. His know- 
 ledge of the world was vastly superior to mine, 
 and I was all attention to learn. He was the 
 only man I ever saw, who was a greater fool 
 than myself, where woman was the presiding 
 star; but he spoke of illicit love with the levity 
 of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with 
 horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, 
 and the consequence was, that soon after I re- 
 sumed the plough, I wrote the Poet's Welcome.* 
 My reading only increased while in this town 
 by two stray volumes of Pamela, and one of 
 Ferdinand Count Fathom, which gave me some 
 
 E 2 idea 
 
 Rob the Rhymers Welcome to his Bastard Child.
 
 52 THE LIFE OF 
 
 idea of novels. Rhyme, excejit some religious 
 pieces that are in print, I had given up ; but 
 meeting with Fergussons Scottish Poems, I 
 strung a-new my wildly-sounding lyre with 
 emidating vigour. When my father died, his 
 all went among the hell-hounds that growl in the 
 kennel of justice; but we made a shift to col- 
 lect a little money in the family amongst us, 
 with which, to keep us together, my brother 
 and 1 took a neighbouring farm. My brother 
 wanted my hair-brained imagination, as well as 
 my social and amorous madness ; but in good 
 sense, and every sober qualification, he was far 
 my superior. 
 
 " I entered on this farm with a full resolu- 
 tion, come, go to, I ivill be wise! I read farm- 
 ing books, I calculated crops ; I attended mar- 
 kets ; and in short, in spite of the devil, and 
 the world, and the flesh, I believe I should have 
 been a wise man ; but the first year, from un- 
 fortunately buying bad seed, the second from a 
 late harvest, we lost half our crops. This 
 overset all my wisdom, and 1 returned, like the 
 dog to his vomit, and the soiv that was washed, 
 to her ivallowing in the mire.^ 
 
 " 1 now 
 
 * See Appendix, No. II. Note B.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 53 
 
 " I now began to be known in the neigh- 
 bourhood as a maker of rhymes. The first of 
 my poetic offspring that saw the light, was a 
 burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between 
 two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis 
 personcE in my Holy Fair. 1 had a notion my- 
 self, that the piece had some merit; but to 
 prevent the worst, J gave a copy of it to a 
 friend, who was very fond of such things, and 
 told him that I could not guess who was the 
 author of it, but that I thought it pretty clever. 
 With a certain description of the clergy, as well 
 as laity, it met with a roar of applause. Holy 
 Willie's Prayer next made its appearance, and 
 alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they 
 held several meetings, to look over their spi- 
 ritual artillery, if haply any of it might be 
 pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily 
 for me, my wanderings led me on another side, 
 within point blank shot of their heaviest metal. 
 This is the unfortunate story that gave rise to 
 my printed poem. The Lament. This was a 
 most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet 
 bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given 
 me one or two of the principal qualifications 
 for a place among those who have lost the chart, 
 and mistaken the reckoning of Rationality.* 
 
 I gave 
 
 * An explanation of this will be found hereafter.
 
 54 THE LIFE OF 
 
 1 gave up my part of the farm to my brother ; 
 ill truth it was only nominally mine ; and made 
 what little preparation was in my power for 
 Jamaica. But, before leaving my native coun- 
 try for ever, I resolved to publish my poems. 
 I weighed my productions as impartially as was 
 in my power ; I thought they had merit ; and 
 it was a delicious idea that I should be called a 
 clever fellow, even though it should never reach 
 my ears — a poor negro-driver — or perha-ps 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 pub- 
 lic has decided in their favour. It ever was my 
 opinion, that the mistakes and blunders both in 
 a rational and religious point of view, of which 
 we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to 
 their ignorance of themselves. — To know my- 
 self had been all along my constant study. I 
 weighed myself alone ; I balanced myself with 
 others ; I watched every means of information, 
 to see how much ground I occupied as a man 
 and as a poet : I studied assiduously nature s 
 design in my formation ; where the lights and 
 shades in my character were intended. I was 
 pretty confident my poems would meet with 
 some applause ; but at the worst, the roar of 
 the Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, 
 
 and
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 55 
 
 and the novelty of West-Indian scenes make 
 me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred 
 copies, of which 1 had got subscriptions for 
 about three hundred and fifty. — My vanity was 
 highly gratified by the reception 1 met with 
 from the public ; and besides, I pocketed, all 
 expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. 
 This sum came very seasonably, as I was think- 
 ing of indenting myself, for want of money to 
 procure ray passage. As soon as I was master 
 of nine guineas, the price of wafting me to the. 
 torrid zone, 1 took a steerage passage in the 
 first ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for, 
 
 " Hungry ruin had me in the wind." 
 
 " I had been for some days skulking from 
 covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; 
 as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the 
 merciless pack of the law at my heels. I had 
 taken the last farewell of my few friends ; my 
 chest was on the road to Greenock ; I had com- 
 posed the last song I should ever measure in 
 Caledonia, The gloomy night is gathering fast* 
 when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of 
 mine, overthrew all my schemes, by opening 
 new prospects to my poetic ambition.f The 
 doctor belonged to a set of critics, for whose 
 
 applause 
 
 * *Sec vol. jv. t ^^^ *'o^« "•
 
 56 THE LIFE OF 
 
 applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion, 
 that I would meet with encouragement in Edin- 
 burgh for a second edition, fired me so much, 
 that away I posted for that city, without a 
 single acquaintance, or a single letter of intro- 
 duction. The baneful star that had so long 
 shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for once 
 made a revolution to the nadir; and a kind 
 providence placed me under the patronage of 
 one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. 
 Oublie 7}ioi, grand Dieii, si jamais J e F ouhlie! 
 
 " I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh i 
 was in a new world; I mingled among many 
 classes of men, but all of them new to me, and 
 I M as all attention to catch the characters and 
 the manners living as they rise. Whether I have 
 profited, time will shew. 
 
 " My most respectful compliments to Miss 
 W. Her very elegant and friendly letter 1 can- 
 not answer at present, as my presence is requi- 
 site in Edinburgh, and I set out to-morrow."* 
 
 At 
 
 * There are various copies of this letter, in the author's 
 hand-writing; and one of these, evidently corrected, is in 
 the book in which he had copied several of his letters. This 
 has been used for the press, with some omissions, and one 
 slight alteration suggested by Gilbert Burns.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 57 
 
 At the period of our poet's death, his brother, 
 Gilbert Burns, was ignorant that he had him- 
 self written the foregoing narrative of his life 
 while in Ayrshire ; and having been applied to 
 by Mrs. Dunlop for some memoirs of his bro- 
 ther, he complied with her request in a letter, 
 from which the following narrative is chiefly 
 extracted. When Gilbert Burns afterwards 
 saw the letter of our poet to Dr. Moore, he 
 made some annotations upon it, which shall be 
 noticed as we proceed. 
 
 Robert Burns was born on the 25th day of 
 January, 1759, in a small house about two 
 miles from the town of Ayr, and within a few 
 hundred yards of Alloway Church, which his 
 poem of Tarn o'Shanterh^s rendered immortal.* 
 The name which the poet and his brother mo- 
 dernized into Burns, was originally Burnes or 
 Burness. Their father, William Burnes, was 
 the son of a farmer in Kincardineshire, and 
 had received the education common in Scotland 
 
 to 
 
 * This house is on the right hand side of the road from 
 Ayr to May -bole, which forms a part of the road from Glas-' 
 gow to Port-Patrick. When the poet's father afterwards 
 removed to Tarbolton parish, he sold his leasehold right in 
 this house and a few acres of land adjoining, to the corpo- 
 ration of shoe-makers in Ayr. It is now a country ale- 
 house.
 
 58 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to persons in his condition of life ; he could read 
 and write, and had some knowledge of arith- 
 metic. His family having fallen into reduced 
 circumstances, he was compelled to leave his 
 liome in his nineteenth year, and turned his 
 steps towards the south, in quest of a liveli- 
 hood. The same necessity attended his elder 
 brother Robert. " I have often heard my fa- 
 ther," says Gilbert Burns, in his letter to Mrs. 
 Dunlop, " Describe the anguish of mind he 
 felt when they parted on the top of a hill, on 
 the confines of their native place, each going 
 oft' his several way in search of new adven- 
 tures, and scarcely knowing whither he went. 
 My father undertook to act as a gardener, and 
 shaped his course to Edinburgh, where he 
 wrought hard when he could get work, passing 
 through a variety of difficulties. Still, how- 
 ever, he endeavoured to spare something for 
 the support of his aged parent, and 1 recollect 
 hearing him mention his having sent a bank-note 
 for this purpose, when money of that kind was 
 so scarce in Kincardineshire, that they scarcely 
 knew how to employ it when it arrived." 
 From Edinburgh, William Burnes passed west- 
 ward into the county of Ayr, where he engaged 
 himself as a gardener to the laird of Fairly, with 
 whom he lived two years, then changing his 
 service for that of Crawford of Doonside. At 
 length being desirous of settling in life, he took 
 
 a perpetual
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 59 
 
 a perpetual lease of seven acres of land from 
 Dr. Campbell, physician in Ayr, with the view 
 of commencing nursery-man and public gar- 
 dener; and having built a house upon it with 
 his own hands, married in December, 1757, 
 Agnes Brown, the mother of our poet, who 
 still survi^ves. The first fruit of this marriage 
 was Robert, the subject of these memoirs, born 
 on the 25th of January, 1759, as has already 
 been mentioned. Before William Burnes had 
 made much progress in preparing his nursery, 
 he was withdrawn from that undertaking by 
 Mr. Ferguson, who purchased the estate of 
 Doonholm, in the immediate neighbourhood, 
 and engaged him as his gardener and overseer ; 
 and this was his situation when our poet was 
 born. Though in the service of Mr. Ferguson, 
 he lived in his own house, his wife managing 
 her family and her little dairy, which consisted 
 sometimes of two, sometimes of three milch 
 cows ; and this state of unambitious content 
 continued till the year 1766. His son Robert 
 was sent by him in his sixth year to a school at 
 Alloway Miln, about a mile distant, taught by 
 a person of the name of Campbell ; but this 
 teacher being in a few months appointed master 
 of the work-house at Ayr, William Burnes, in 
 conjunction with some other heads of families, 
 engaged John Murdoch in his stead. The edu- 
 cation of our poet, and of his brother Gilbert, 
 
 was
 
 do THK LIFE OK 
 
 was in common, and of their proficiency under 
 Mr. Murdoch, we have the following account : 
 " With him we learnt to read English tolerably 
 well,* and to write a little. He taught us too 
 the English grammar. I was too young to pro- 
 fit much from his lessons in grammar, but 
 Robert made some proficiency in it, a circum- 
 stance of considerable weight in the unfolding 
 of his genius and character ; as he soon became 
 remarkable for the fluency and correctness of 
 his expression, and read the few books that 
 came in his way with much pleasure and im- 
 provement; for even then he was a reader when 
 he could get a book. Murdoch, whose library 
 at that time had no great variety in it, lent him 
 y%6 Life oj Hannibal, which was the first book 
 he read, (the school books excepted) and almost 
 the only one he had an opportunity of reading 
 while he was at school ; for The Life of Wal- 
 lace, which he classes with it in one of his let- 
 lers to you, he did not see for some years after- 
 wards, when he borrowed it from the black- 
 smith who shod our horses." 
 
 It appears that William Burnes approved 
 himself greatly in the service of Mr. Ferguson, 
 by his intelligence, industry, and integrity. In 
 
 consequence 
 
 * Letter from Gilbert Burns to Mrs. Dunlop.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 61 
 
 consequence of this, with a view of promoting 
 his interest, Mr. Ferguson leased him a farm, 
 of which we have the following account. 
 
 " The farm was upwards of seventy acres,* 
 (between eighty and ninety English statute mea- 
 sure) the rent of which was to be forty pounds 
 annually, for the first six years, and afterwards 
 forty-five pounds. My father endeavoured to 
 sell his leasehold property, for the purpose of 
 stocking this farm, but at that time was unable, 
 and Mr. Ferguson lent him a hundred pounds 
 for that purpose. He removed to his new si- 
 tuation at Whitsuntide 1760. It was I think 
 not above two years after this, that Murdoch, 
 our tutor and friend, left this part of the coun- 
 try, and there being no school near us, and our 
 little services being useful on the farm, my father 
 undertook to teach us arithmetic in the winter 
 evenings, by candle-light, and in this way my 
 two elder sisters got all the education they re- 
 ceived. 1 remember a circumstance that hap- 
 pened at this time, which, though trifling in 
 itself, is fresh in my memory, and may serve to 
 illustrate the early character of my brother. 
 Murdoch came to spend a night with us, and 
 
 to 
 
 * Letter of Gilbert Burns to Mrs. Dunlop. The name of 
 this farm is Mouat Oliphant, in Ayr parish.
 
 62 THE LIFE OF 
 
 to take his leave when he was about to go into 
 Carrick. He brought us a present and memo- 
 rial of him, a small compendium of English 
 Grammar, and the tragedy of Titus A?idroiiicus, 
 and by way of passing the evening, he began to 
 read the play aloud. We were all attention for 
 some time, till presently the whole party was 
 dissolved in tears. A female in the play (I 
 have but a confused remembrance of it) had 
 her hands chopt off, and her tongue cut out, 
 and then was insultingly desired to call for 
 water to wash her hands. At this, in an agony 
 of distress, we with one voice desired he would 
 read no more. My father observed, that if we 
 would not hear it out, it would be needless to 
 leave the play with us. Robert replied, that if 
 it was left he would burn it. My father was 
 going to chide him for this ungrateful return to 
 his tutor's kindness; but Murdoch interfered, 
 declaring that he liked to see so much sensi- 
 bility ; and he left The School for Love, a 
 comedy (translated I think from the French) in 
 its place."* 
 
 " Nothing," 
 
 * It is to be remembered that the poet was only nine years 
 of age, and the relator of this incident under eight, at the 
 time it happened. The effect was very natural in children of 
 sensibility at their age. At a more mature period of the judg- 
 mentj such absurd representations are calculated rather to 
 
 produce
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 63 
 
 *' Nothing," continues Gilbert Burns, " could 
 be more retired than our general manner of liv- 
 ing at Mount Oliphant; we rarely saw any 
 body but the members of our own family. 
 There were no boys of our own age, or near 
 it, in the neighbourhood. Endeed the greatest 
 part of the land in the vicinity, was at that time 
 possessed by shopkeepers, and people of that 
 stamp, who had retired from business, or who 
 kept their farm in the country, at the same time 
 that they followed business in town. My father 
 was for some time almost the only companion 
 we had. fie conversed familiarly on all subjects 
 with us as if we had been men, and was at great 
 pains while we accompanied him in the labours 
 of the farm, to lead the conversation to such 
 
 subjects 
 
 produce disgust or laughter, than tears. The scene to which 
 Gilbert Burns alludes, opens thus : 
 
 Titus Andronicus, Act II, Scene 5. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia ravished, her 
 hands cut off, and her tongue cut out. 
 
 Why is this silly play still printed as Shakespeare's, against 
 the opinion of all the best critics ? The bard' of Avon was 
 guilty of many extravagancies, but he always performed what 
 he intended to perform. That he ever excited in a British 
 mind (for the French critics must be set aside) disgust or ridi- 
 cule, where he meant to have awakened pity or horror, is what 
 will be not be imputed to that mastef of the passions. E.
 
 J84 THE LIFE OF 
 
 subjects as might tend to increase our know- 
 ledge, or confirm us in virtuous habits. He 
 boi'rovved Salmon's Geographical Grammar for 
 us, and endeavoured to make us acquainted 
 with the situation and history of the different 
 countries in the world; while from a book- 
 society in Ayr, he procured for us the reading 
 of Der ham's Phijsico and Astro-Theology , and 
 Rays Wisdom of God in the Creation, to give 
 us some idea of astronomy and natural history. 
 Robert read all these books with an avidity 
 and industry scarcely to be equalled. M}'^ 
 father had been a subscriber to Stackhouse's 
 History of the Bible, then lately published by 
 James Meuros in Kilmarnock; from this Robert 
 collected a competent knowledge of ancient 
 history; for no book was so voluminous as to 
 slacken his industry, or so antiquated as to 
 damp his researches. A brother of my mother 
 who had lived with us some time, and had 
 learnt some arithmetic by our winter evening's 
 candle, went into a bookseller's shop in Ayr, 
 to purchase The Ready Reckoner, or Trades- 
 mans sure Guide, and a book to teach him to 
 write letters. Luckily, in place of 7 'he Com- 
 plete Letter-writer, he got by mistake a small 
 collection of letters by the most eminent writers, 
 with a few sensible directions for attaining an 
 easy epistolary style. This book was to Robert 
 of the greatest consequence. It inspired him 
 
 with
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 65 
 
 with a strong desire to excel in letter-writing, 
 while it furnished him with models by some of 
 the first writers in our language. 
 
 *' My brother was about thirteen or fourteen, 
 when my father, regretting that we wrote so ill, 
 sent us week about, during a summer quarter, 
 to the parish school of Dalrymple, which, 
 though between two and three miles distant, 
 was the nearest to us, that we might have an op- 
 portunity of remedying this defect. About this 
 time a bookish acquaintance of my father's pro- 
 cured us a reading of two volumes of Richard- 
 son's Pamela, which was the first novel we 
 read, and the only part of Richardson's works 
 my brother was acquainted with till towards 
 the period of his commencing author. Till that 
 time too he remained unacquainted with Field- 
 ing, with Smollet, (two volumes of Ferdinand 
 Count Fathom, and two volumes of Peregrine 
 Pickle excepted) with Hume, with Robertson, 
 and almost all our authors of eminence of the 
 latter times. I recollect indeed my father 
 borrowed a volume of English history from Mr. 
 Hamilton of Bourtreehill's gardener. It treated 
 of the reign of James the first, and his un- 
 fortunate son Charles, but 1 do not know who 
 was the author, all that I remember of it is 
 something of Charles's conversation with his 
 children. About this time Murdoch, our for- 
 . VOL. I. F mer
 
 66 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 mer teacher, after having been in different 
 places, in the country, and having taught a 
 school some time in Dumfries, came to be the 
 established teacher of the English language in 
 Ayr, a circumstance of considerable conse- 
 quence to us. The remembrance of my father's 
 former friendship, and his attachment to ray 
 brother, made him do every thing in his power 
 for our improvement. He sent us Pope's 
 works, and some other poetry, the first that 
 Ave had an opportunity of reading, excepting 
 what is contained in The English Collection^ 
 and in the volume of The Edinburgh Maga- 
 zine for 1772; excepting also those excellent 
 new songs that are hawked about the country 
 in baskets, or exposed on stalls in the streets. 
 
 " The summer after we had been at Dal- 
 rymple school, my father sent Robert to Ayr 
 to revise his English grammar, with his former 
 teacher. He had been there only one week, 
 when he was obliged to return, to assist at the 
 harvest. When the harvest was over he went 
 back to school, where he remained two weeks ; 
 and this completes the account of his school 
 education, excepting one summer quarter some 
 time afterwards, that he attended the parish 
 school of Kirk-Oswalds (where he lived with a 
 brother of my mothers) to learn surveying. 
 
 *' During
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 67 
 
 " During the two last weeks that he was with 
 Murdoch, he himself was engaged in learning 
 French, and he communicated the instructions 
 he received to my brother, who when he re- 
 turned, brought home with him a French dic- 
 tionary and grammar, and the Adventures of 
 Telemachus in the original. In a little while, 
 by the assistance of these books, he had ac- 
 quired such a knowledge of the language, as 
 to read and understand any French author in 
 prose. This was considered as a sort of pro- 
 digy, and through the medium of Murdoch, 
 procured him the acquaintance of several lads 
 in Ayr, who were at that time gabbling French, 
 and the notice of some families, particularly 
 that of Dr. Malcolm, where a knowledge of 
 French was a recommendation. 
 
 " Observing the facility with which he had 
 acquired the French language, Mr. Robinson, 
 the established writing-master in Ayr, and Mr. 
 Murdoch's particular friend, having himself ac- 
 quired a considerable knowledge of the Latin 
 language by his own industry, without ever 
 having learnt it at school, advised Robert to 
 make the same attempt, promising him every 
 assistance in his power. Agreeably to this 
 advice, he purchased The Rudiments of the 
 Latin Tongue, but finding this study dry and 
 uninteresting, it was quickly laid aside. He 
 
 F 2 frequently
 
 m 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 frequently returned to his Rudiments on any 
 little chagrin or disappointment, particularly in 
 his love affairs ; but the Latin seldom predo- 
 minated more than a day or two at a time, or 
 a week at most. Observing himself the ridi- 
 cule that would attach to this sort of conduct 
 if it were known, he made two or three humo- 
 rous stanzas on the subject, which I cannot 
 now recollect, but they all ended, 
 
 " So Til to my Latin again. 
 
 " Thus you see Mr. Murdoch was a principal 
 means of my brother's improvement. Worthy 
 man ! though foreign to my present purpose, I 
 cannot take leave of him without tracing his 
 future history. He continued for some years 
 a respected and useful teacher at Ayr, till one 
 evening that he had been overtaken in liquor, 
 he happened to speak somewhat disrespectfully 
 of Dr. Dalrymple, the parish minister, who had 
 not paid him that attention to which he thought 
 himself entitled. In Ayr he might as well 
 have spoken blasphemy. He found it proper 
 to give up his appointment. He went to Lon- 
 don, where he still lives, a private teacher of 
 French. He has been a considerable time 
 married, and keeps a shop of stationery wares. 
 
 '* The father of Dr. Paterson, now physician 
 at Ayr, was, 1 believe, a native of Aberdeen- 
 shire,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 69 
 
 shire, and was one of the established teachers 
 in Ayr when my father settled in the neigh- 
 bourhood. He early recognised my father as 
 a fellow native of the north of Scotland, and a 
 certain degree of intimacy subsisted between 
 them during Mr. Patersoa's life. After his 
 death, his widow, who is a very genteel woman, 
 and of great worth, delighted in doing what 
 she thought her husband would have wished to 
 have done, and assiduously kept up her atten- 
 tions to all his acquaintance. She kept alive 
 the intimacy with our fauiily, by frequently in- 
 viting my father and mother to her house on 
 Sundays, when she met them at church. 
 
 " When she came to know my brother's pas- 
 sion for books, she kindly offered us the use of 
 her husband's library, and from her we got the 
 Spectator^ Popes Translation of Homer, and 
 several other books that were of use to us. 
 Mount Oliphant, the farm my father possessed 
 in the parish of Ayr, is almost the very poorest 
 soil I know of in a state of cultivation. A 
 stronger proof of this I cannot give, than that, 
 notwithstanding the extraordinary rise in the 
 value of lands in Scotland, it was, after a con- 
 siderable sum laid out in improving it by the 
 proprietor, let, a few years ago, live pounds per 
 annum lower than the rent paid for it by my 
 father thirty years ago. My father, in conse- 
 quence
 
 70 THE LIFE OF 
 
 qiience of this, soon came into difficulties, 
 which were increased by the loss of several of 
 his cattle by accidents and disease. — To the 
 buffetings of misfortune, we could only oppose 
 hard labour and the most rigid economy. We 
 lived very sparingly. For several years but- 
 cher's meat was a stranger in the house, while 
 all the members of the family exerted them- 
 selves to the utmost of their strength, and rather 
 beyond it, in the labours of the farm. My bro- 
 ther at the age of thirteen assisted in threshing 
 the crop of corn, and at fifteen was the princi- 
 pal labourer on the farm, for we had no hired 
 servant, male or female. The anguish of mind 
 we felt at our tender years, under these straits 
 and difficulties, was very great. To think of 
 our father growing old (for he was now above 
 fifty) broken down with the long continued 
 fatigues of his life, with a wife and five other 
 children, and in a declining state of circum- 
 stances, these reflections produced in my bro- 
 tliers mind and mine sensations of the deepest 
 distress. 1 doubt not but the hard labour and 
 sorrow of this period of his life, was in a great 
 measure the cause of that depression of spirits 
 with which Robert was so often afflicted through 
 his whole life afterwards. At this time he was 
 almost constantly afflicted in the evenings with 
 a dull head-ache, which, at a future period of 
 his life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the 
 
 heart.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 71 
 
 heart, and a threatening of faintuig and suffoca- 
 tion in his bed, in the night time. 
 
 " By a stijjulation in my father's lease, he 
 had a right to throw it up if he thought proper, 
 at the end of every sixth year. He attempted 
 to fix himself in a better farm at the end of the 
 first six years, but failing in that attempt, he 
 continued where he was for six years more. He 
 then took the farm of Lochlea, of 1 30 acres, at 
 the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the pa- 
 rish of Tarbolton, of Mr. then 
 
 a merchant in Ayr, and now (1797) a merchant 
 in Liverpool. He removed to this farm at 
 Whitsunday 1777, and possessed it only seven 
 years. No writing had ever been made out of 
 the conditions of the lease, a misunderstanding 
 took place respecting them ; the subjects in 
 dispute were submitted to arbitration, and the 
 decision involved my father's affairs in ruin. 
 He lived to know of this decision, but not to 
 see any execution in consequence of it. He 
 died on the 13th of February, 1784. 
 
 " The seven years we lived in Tarbolton pa- 
 rish (extending from the seventeenth to the 
 twenty-fourth of my brother's age) were not 
 marked by much literary improvement; but 
 during this time, the foundation was laid of 
 certain habits in my brother's character, which 
 
 afterwards
 
 73 THE LIFE OF 
 
 afterwards became but too prominent, and 
 which malice and envy have taken delight to 
 enlarge on. Though when young he was 
 bashful and aukward in his intercourse with 
 women, yet, when he approached manhood, 
 his attachment to their society became very 
 strong, and he was constantly the victim of 
 some fair enslaver. The symptoms of his pas- 
 sion were often such as nearly to equal those of 
 the celebrated Sappho. I never indeed knew 
 that he, fainted, sunk, and died away, but the 
 agitations of his mind and body, exceeded any 
 thing of the kind I ever knew in real life. He had 
 always a particular jealousy of people who were 
 richerthan himself, or who had more consequence 
 in life. His love therefore rarely settled on per- 
 sons of this description. When he selected any 
 one out of the sovereignty of his good pleasure 
 to whom he should pay his particular attention, 
 she was instantly invested with a sufficient stock 
 of charms, out of the plentiful stores of his own 
 imagination, and there was often a great dis- 
 parity between his fair captivator, and her attri- 
 butes. One generally reigned paramount in 
 his affections, but as Yorick's affections flowed 
 out toward Madame de L — at the remise door, 
 while the eternal vows of Eliza were upon him, 
 so Robert was frequently encountering other 
 attractions, which formed so many underplots 
 in the drama of his love. As these connexions 
 
 were
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 73 
 
 v/ere governed by the strictest rules of virtue 
 and modesty (from which he never deviated till 
 he reached his 23rd year) he became anxious to 
 be in a situation to marry. This was not likely 
 to be soon the case, while he remained a farmer, 
 as the stocking of a farm required a sum of 
 money he had no probability of being master of 
 for a great while. He began therefore to think 
 of trying some other line of life. He and I had 
 for several years taken land of my father, for 
 the purpose of raising flax on our own account. 
 In the course of selling it, Robert began to 
 think of turning flax-dresser, both as being 
 suitable to his grand view of settling in life, and 
 as subservient to the flax raising. He accord- 
 ingly wrought at the business of a flax-dresser 
 in Irvine for six months, but abandoned it at 
 that period, as neither agreeing with his health 
 nor inclination. In Irvine he had contracted 
 some acquaintance, of a freer manner of think- 
 ing and living than he had been used to, whose 
 society prepared him for overleaping the bounds 
 of rigid virtue, which had hitherto restrained 
 him. Towards the end of the period under re- 
 view (in his 24th year) and soon after his fa- 
 ther's death, he was furnished with the subject 
 of his epistle to John Rankin. During this 
 period also he became a free-mason, which was 
 his first introduction to the life of a boon-com- 
 panion. Yet notwithstanding these circum- 
 stances,
 
 74 THE LIFE OF 
 
 stances, and the praise he has bestowed on 
 Scotcli drink (which seems to have misled his 
 historians) I do not recollect, during these 
 seven years, nor till towards the end of his 
 commencing author, (when his growing cele- 
 brity occasioned his being often in company) 
 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 be 
 required than what I am about to give. Dur- 
 ing the whole of the time we lived in the farm 
 of Lochlea with my father, he allowed my bro- 
 ther and me such wages for our labour, as he 
 gave to other labourers, as a part of which, 
 every article of our cloathing manufactured in 
 the family was regularly accounted for. When 
 my father's affairs drew near a crisis, Robert 
 and I took the farm of Mossgiel, consisting of 
 118 acres, at the rent of 90/. per annum (the 
 farm on which I 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 individual savings of the whole family, and 
 was a joint concern among us. Every member 
 of the family was allowed ordinary wages for 
 the labour he performed on the farm. My bro- 
 ther's allowance and mine was seven pounds 
 per annum each. And during the whole time 
 this family concern lasted, which was four 
 years, as well as during the preceding period 
 
 at
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 75 
 
 at Lochlea, his expenses never in any one year 
 exceeded his slender income. As I was in- 
 trusted with the keeping of the family accounts, 
 it is not possible that there can be any fallacy 
 in this statement, in my brother's favor. His 
 temperance and frugality were every thing that 
 could be wished. 
 
 " The farm of Mossgiel lies very high, and 
 mostly on a cold wet bottom. The first four 
 years that we were on the farm were very frosty, 
 and the spring was very late. Our crops in 
 consequence were very unprofitable, and not- 
 withstanding our utmost diligence and economy, 
 we found ourselves obliged to give up our bar- 
 gain, with the loss of a considerable part of our 
 original stock. It was during these four years 
 that Robert formed his connexion with Jean 
 Armour, afterwards Mrs. Burns. This con- 
 nexion could no longer be concealed, about the 
 the time we came to a final determination to 
 quit the farm. Robert durst not engage with 
 a family in his poor unsettled state, but was 
 anxious to shield his partner by every means in 
 his power from the consequences of their im- 
 prudence. It was agreed therefore between 
 them that they should make a legal acknow- 
 ledgment of an irregular and private marriage, 
 that he should go to Jamaica to push his for- 
 tune, and that she should remain with her father 
 
 till
 
 76 THE LIFE OF 
 
 till it might please Providence to put the means 
 of supporting a family in his power. 
 
 ** Mrs. Burns was a great favorite of her fa- 
 ther's. The intimation of a marriage was the 
 first suggestion he received of her real situation. 
 He was in the greatest distress, and fainted 
 away. The marriage did not appear to him to 
 make the matter any better. A husband in 
 Jamaica appeared to him and to his wife little 
 better than none, and an effectual bar to any 
 other prospects of a settlement in life that their 
 daughter might have. They therefore expressed 
 a wish to her, that the written papers which 
 respected the marriage should be cancelled, 
 and thus the marriage rendered void. In her 
 melancholy state, she felt the deepest remorse 
 at having brought such heavy affliction on pa- 
 rents that loved her so tenderly, and submitted 
 to their entreaties. Their wish was mentioned 
 to Robert. He felt the deepest anguish of 
 mind. He offered to stay at home and provide 
 for his wife and family in the best manner that 
 his daily labours could provide for them ; that 
 being the only means in his power. Even this 
 offer they did not approve of; for humble as 
 Miss Armour's station was, and great though 
 her imprudence had been, she still, in the eyes 
 of her partial parents, might look to a better 
 connexion than that with my friendless and un- 
 happy
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 77 
 
 happy brother, at that time without house or 
 biding-place. Robert at length consented to 
 their wishes, but his feelings on this occasion 
 were of the most distracting nature, and the 
 impression of sorrow was not effaced, till by a 
 regular marriage they were indissolubly united. 
 In the state of nind which this separation pro- 
 duced, he wished to leave the country as soon 
 as possible, and agreed with Dr. Douglas to 
 go out to Jamaica, as an assistant overseer, or 
 as I believe it is called, a book-keeper, on his 
 estate. As he had not sufficient money to pay 
 his passage, and the vessel in which Dr. 
 Douglas was to procure a passage for him was 
 not expected to sail for some time, Mr. Ha- 
 milton advised him to publish his poems in the 
 mean time by subscription, as a likely way of 
 getting a little money to provide him more libe- 
 rally in necessaries for Jamaica. Agreeably to 
 this advice, subscription bills were printed im- 
 mediately, and the printing was commenced at 
 Kilmarnock, his preparations going on at the 
 same time for his voyage. The reception how- 
 ever which his poems met with in the world, 
 and the friends they procured him, made him 
 change his resolution of going to Jamaica, and 
 he was advised to go to Edinburgh to publish 
 a second edition. On his return, in happier 
 circumstances, he renewed his connexion with 
 Mrs. Burns, and rendered it permanent by an 
 union for life. 
 
 " Thus
 
 78 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " Thus Madam have I endeavoured to give 
 you a simple narrative of the leading circum- 
 stances in my brother's early life. The re- 
 maining part he spent in Edinburgh, or in 
 Dumfries-shire, and its incidents are as well 
 known to you as to me. His genius having 
 procured him your patronage and friendship, 
 this gave rise to the correspondence between 
 you, in which I believe his sentiments were 
 delivered with the most respectful, but most 
 unreserved confidence, and which only termi- 
 nated with the last days of his life." 
 
 This narrative of Gilbert Burns may serve as 
 a commentary on the preceding sketch of our 
 poet's life by himself. It will be seen that the 
 distraction of mind which he mentions (p. 53) 
 arose from the distress and sorrow in which he 
 had involved his future wife. — The whole cir» 
 cum stances attending this connexion are cer- 
 tainly of a very singular nature.* 
 
 The reader will perceive, from the foregoing- 
 narrative, how much the children of William 
 
 Burnes 
 
 * In page 55, tlie poet mentions his — " skulking from 
 covert to covert, under the terror of a jail."— rThe .'•' pack of 
 the law" were " uncoupled at his heels," to oblige him to 
 find security for the maintenance of his twin-children, whom 
 he was not pennitted to legitimate by a marriage with tlieir 
 mother !
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 79 
 
 Burnes were indebted to their father, who was 
 certainly a man of uncommon talents ; though 
 it does not appear that he possessed any por- 
 tion of that vivid imagination for which the sub- 
 ject of these memoirs was distinguished. In 
 page 44, it is observed by our poet, that his fa- 
 ther had an unaccountable antipathy to danc- 
 ing-schools, and that his attending one of these, 
 brought on him his displeasure, and even dis- 
 like. On this observation Gilbert has made the 
 following remark, which seems entitled to im- 
 plicit credit. — " I wonder how Robert could at- 
 tribute to our father that lasting resentment of 
 his going to a dancing-school against his will, 
 of which he was incapable. I believe the truth 
 was, that he about this time began to see the 
 dangerous impetuosity of ray brother's passions, 
 as well as his not being amenable to counsel, 
 which often irritated my father ; and which he 
 would naturally think a dancing-school was 
 not likely to correct. But he was proud of 
 Robert's genius, which he bestowed more ex- 
 pense in cultivating, than on the rest of the 
 family, in the instances of sending him to Ayr, 
 and Kirk-Oswald's schools ; and he was greatly 
 delighted with his warmth of heart, and his 
 conversational powers. He had indeed that 
 dislike of dancing-schools which Robert men- 
 tions ; but so far overcame it during Robert's 
 first month of attendance, that he allowed all 
 
 the
 
 80 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the rest of the family that were fit for it, to ac- 
 company him during the second month. Ro- 
 bert excelled in dancing, and was for some 
 time distractedly fond of it." 
 
 In the original letter to Dr. Moore, our poet 
 described his ancestors as " renting lands of 
 the noble Keiths of Marischal, and as having 
 had the honor of sharing their fate. 1 do not," 
 continues he, " use the word honor with any 
 reference to political principles ; loyal and dis- 
 loyal, 1 take to be merely relative terms, in 
 that ancient and formidable court, known in 
 this country by the name of Club-law, where 
 the right is always with the strongest. But 
 those who dare welcome ruin, and shake hands 
 with infamy, for what they sincerely believe to 
 be the cause of their God, or their king, are, 
 as Mark Antony says in Shakespeare, of Bru- 
 tus and Cassius, honorable men. I mention 
 this circumstance because it threw my father 
 on the world at large." 
 
 This paragraph has been omitted in printing 
 the letter, at the desire of Gilbert Burns, and 
 it would have been unnecessary to have noticed 
 it on the present occasion, had not several ma- 
 nuscript copies of that letter been in circulation. 
 ** I do not know," observes Gilbert Burns, 
 " how my brother could be misled in the ac- 
 count 
 
 i
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 81 
 
 count he has given of the Jacobitism of his an- 
 cestors. — 1 believe the Earl Marischal forfeited 
 his title and estate in 1715, before my father 
 was born ; and among a collection of parish 
 certificates in his possession, I have read one, 
 stating that the bearer had no concern in the 
 late wicked rebellion!' On the information of 
 one who knew William Burnes soon after he 
 arrived in the county of Ayr, it may be men- 
 tioned, that a report did prevail, that he had 
 taken the field with the young Chevalier, a 
 report which the certificate mentioned by his 
 son, was perhaps intended to counteract. 
 Strangers from the North, settling in the low 
 country of Scotland, were in those days liable 
 to suspicions, of having been, in the familiar 
 phrase of the country, " Out in the forty-five," 
 (1745) especially when they had any stateliness 
 or reserve about them, as was the case with 
 William Burnes. It may easily be conceived, 
 that our poet would cherish the belief of his 
 father's having been engaged in the daring en- 
 terprise of Prince Charles-Edward. The gen- 
 erous attachment, the heroic valour, and the final 
 misfortunes of the adherents of the House of 
 Stewart, touched with sympathy his youthful 
 and ardent mind, and influenced his original 
 political opinions. 
 
 The father of our poet is described by one who 
 VOL. I, o knew
 
 82 THE LIFE 01 
 
 knew him towards the latter end of his* life, as 
 above the common stature, thin, and bent with 
 labour. His countenance was serious and ex- 
 pressive, and the scanty locks on his head were 
 grey. He was of a religious turn of mind, and 
 as is usual among the Scottish peasantry, a good 
 deal conversant in speculative theology. There 
 is in Gilbert's hands, a little manual of religious 
 belief, in the form of a dialogue between a father 
 and his son, composed by him for the use of his 
 children, in which the benevolence of his heart 
 seems to have led him to soften the rigid Calvi- 
 nism of the Scottish church, into something ap^ 
 proaching to Arminianism. He was a devout 
 man, and in the practice of calling his family 
 together to join in prayer. It is known that the 
 following exquisite picture, in the Cotters Satw- 
 day Night, represents William Burnes and his 
 family at their evening devotions. 
 
 The cheerful supper done, with serious face, 
 
 They, round the ingle,* form a circle wide ; 
 The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, 
 
 The big hall-Bible^ once his father's pride : 
 HisJ bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
 
 His lyart haffetsf wearing thin and bare; 
 Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
 
 He wales^ a portion with judicious care ; 
 And " let us worship GodV^ he says, with solemn air. 
 
 They 
 
 Firo. t Gray temples. | Chooses.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 83 
 
 They chaunt their artless notes in simple guise; 
 
 Thr'v tu?ie their hearts, bj far the noblest aim : 
 Perhaps Dundee's* wild warbling measures rise, 
 
 Or plaintive Marti/rs^"^ worthy of the name ; 
 Gr noble Elgin beetst the heavenly Hame, 
 
 The sweetest far of Scotia's hoiy lays ; 
 Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
 
 The tickl'd ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; 
 No unison have they with our Creator's praise. 
 
 The priest-like father reads the sacred page,| 
 
 How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
 Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
 
 With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
 Or how the roi/al bard did groaning lye, 
 
 Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
 Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
 
 Or rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire ; 
 Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 
 
 Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 
 How guiltless blood, for guilty man was shed ; 
 
 How he^ who bore in heaven the second name, 
 Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 
 
 G 2 How 
 
 * Names of tunes in Scottish psalmody. The tunes men- 
 tioned in this poem, are the three which were used by Wil- 
 liam Burnes, who had no greater variety. 
 
 t Adds fuel to. 
 
 X The course of family devotion among the Scotch, is 
 first to sing a psalm, then to read a portion of scripture, and 
 lastly to kneel down iu prayer.
 
 84 ' THE LIFE or 
 
 How his first followers and servants sped ; 
 
 The precepts sage, thej wrote to many a land ; ' 
 How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
 Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; 
 And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced, by Hea- 
 ven's command ! 
 
 Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 
 
 The saint, the father, and the husband, prays ; 
 Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing, 
 
 That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
 There ever bask in uncreated rays. 
 
 No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. 
 Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
 
 In such society, yet still more dear ; 
 While circling time moves round, in an eternal sphere. 
 
 Then homeward all take oflf their several way ; 
 
 The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
 The parent pair their secret homage pay, 
 
 And offer up to Heaven the warm request. 
 That he, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 
 
 And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
 Would in the way his wisdom sees the best. 
 
 For them and for their little ones provide, 
 But chiefly, in their hearts, with grace divine preside ! 
 
 Of a family so interesting as that which inha- 
 bited the cottage of William Burnes, and parti- 
 cularly of the father of the family, the reader 
 will perhaps be willing to listen to some farther 
 
 accoimt
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 85 
 
 account. What follows is given by one already 
 mentioned with so much honor, in the narrative 
 of Gilbert Burns, Mr Murdoch, the preceptor 
 of our poet, who, in a letter to Joseph Cooper 
 Walker, Esq. of Dublin, author of The Histo- 
 rical Memoirs of the Irish Sards, and of The 
 Historical Memoir of the Italian Tragedy, thus 
 expresses himself: 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I was lately favored with a letter 
 from our worthy friend, the Rev. Wm. Adair, 
 in which he requested me to communicate to 
 you whatever particulars I could recollect con- 
 cerning Robert Burns, the Ayrshire poet. My 
 business being at present multifarious and haras- 
 sing, my attention is consequently so much divid- 
 ed, and I am so little in the habit of expressing 
 my thoughts on paper, that at this distance of 
 time I can give but a very imperfect sketch of 
 the early part of the life of that extraordinary 
 genius, with which alone I am acquainted. 
 
 " William Burnes, thefather of the poet, was 
 born in the shire of Kincardine, and bred a gar- 
 dener. He had been settled in Ayrshire, ten or 
 twelve years before I knew him, and had been in 
 the service of Mr. Crawford of Doonside. He was 
 afterwards employed as a gardener and overseer, 
 by Provost Ferguson, of Doonholm, in the parish 
 
 of
 
 85 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of Alloway, which is now united with that of 
 Ayr. In this parish, on the road side, a Scotch 
 mile and a half from the town of Ayr, and half 
 a mile from the bridge of Doon, William Burnes 
 took a piece of land, consisting of about seven 
 acres, part of which he laid out in garden ground, 
 and part of which he kept to graze a cow, &c. 
 still continuing in the employ of Provost Fergu- 
 son. Upon this little farm was erected a humble 
 dwelling, of which William Burnes was the 
 architect. It was, with the exception of a little 
 straw, literally a tabernacle of clay. In this 
 mean cottage, of which I myself was at times 
 an inhabitant, 1 really believe there dwelt a larger 
 portion of content, than in any palace in Europe. 
 The Cotter's Saturday Night will give some idea 
 of the temper and manners that prevailed there. 
 
 " In 1765, about the middle of March, Mr. W. 
 Burnes came to Ayr, andsenttotheschool, where 
 I was improving in writing, under my good friend 
 Mr. Robinson, desiring that I would come and 
 speak to him at a certain Inn, and bring my writ- 
 ing-book with me. This was immediately com- 
 plied with. Having examined my writing, he was 
 pleased with it ; — (you will readily allow he was 
 not difficult) and told me that he had received 
 very satisfactory information of Mr. Tennant, the 
 master of the English school, concerning my 
 improvement in English, and in his method of 
 
 teaching.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 87 
 
 teaching. In the month of May following, I was 
 engaged by Mr. Barnes, and four of his neigh- 
 bours, to teach, and accordingly began to teach 
 the little school at Alloway, which was situated 
 a few yards from the argillaceous fabric above- 
 mentioned. My five employers undertook to 
 board me by turns, and to make up a certain 
 salary, at the end of the year, provided my 
 quarterly payments from the different pupils 
 did not amount to that sum. 
 
 " My pupil, Robert Burns, was then between 
 six and seven years of age ; his preceptor, about 
 eighteen. Robert and his younger brother, Gil- 
 bert, had been grounded a little in English, before 
 they were put under my care. They both made a 
 rapid progress in reading ; and a tolerable progress 
 in writing. In reading, dividing words into syl- 
 lables by rule, spelling without book, parsingsen- 
 tences, &c. Robert and Gilbert were generally at 
 the upper end of the class, even when ranged with 
 boys by far their seniors. The books most com- 
 monly used in the school were, the Spelling Book, 
 the New Testament, the Bihle, Masmis Collection 
 oj" Prose and Verse, and Fishers English Giam- 
 mar. They committed to memory the hymns, 
 and other poems of that collection, with uncom- 
 mon facility. This facility was partly owing to the 
 method pursued by their father and me in instruct- 
 ing them, which was, to make them thoroughly 
 
 acquainted
 
 SS THE LIFK OF 
 
 acquainted with the meaning: ofevery word in each 
 sentence, that was to be committed to memory. 
 By the bye, this may be easier done, and at an 
 earlier period, than is generally thought. As soon 
 as they were capable of it, I taught them to turn 
 verse into its natural prose order ; sometimes to 
 substitute synonymous expressions for poetical 
 words, and to supply all the ellipses. These 
 you know, are the means of knowing that the 
 pupil understands his author. These are ex- 
 cellent helps to the arrangement of words in 
 sentences, as well as to a variety of expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " Gilbert always appeared to me to possess a 
 more lively imagination, and to be more of the 
 wit, than Robert. I attempted to teach them a 
 little church-music. Here they were left far be- 
 hind by all the rest of the school. Robert's ear, 
 in particular, was remarkably dull, and his voice 
 untunable. It was long before 1 could get them 
 to distinguish one tune from another. Robert s 
 countenance was generally grave, and expres- 
 sive of a serious, contemplative, and thoughtful 
 mind. Gilbert's face said. Mirth with thee I 
 mean to live; and certainly, if any person who 
 knew the two boys, had been asked, which of 
 them was the most likely to court the muses, 
 he would surely never have guessed that Robert 
 had a propensity of that kind. 
 
 " In
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 89 
 
 •* In the year 1767, Mr. Burnes quitted his 
 mud edifice, and took possession of a farm, (Mount 
 Oliphant) of his own improving, while in the ser- 
 vice of Provost Ferguson. This farm being at a 
 considerable distance from the school, the boys 
 could not attend regularly ; and some changes 
 taking place among the other supporters of the 
 school, I left it, having continued to conduct it 
 for nearly two years and a half. 
 
 " In the year 1772, I was appointed (being 
 one of five candidates who were examined) to 
 teach the English school at Ayr; and in 1773, 
 Robert Burns came to board and lodge with 
 me, for the purpose of revising English grammar, 
 &c. that he might be better qualified to instruct 
 his brothers and sisters at home. He was now 
 with me day and night, in school, at all meals, 
 and in all my walks. At the end of one week, 
 I told him, that, as he was now pretty much 
 master of the parts of speech, &c. I should like 
 to teach him something of French pronuncia- 
 tion, that when he should meet with the name 
 of a French town, ship, officer, or the like, in the 
 newspapers, he might be able to pronounce it 
 something like a French word. Robert was 
 glad to hear this proposal, and immediately we 
 attacked the French with great courage. 
 
 *' Now there was little else to be heard but 
 
 the
 
 9Q THE LIFE OF 
 
 the declension of nouns, the conjugation of verbs, 
 &c. When walking together, and even at meals, 
 I was constantly telling him the names of differ- 
 ent objects, as they presented themselves, in 
 French ; so that he was hourly laying in a stock 
 of words, and sometimes little phrases. In short, 
 he took such pleasure in learning, and I in teach- 
 ing, that it was difficult to say which of the two 
 was most zealous in the business ; and about the 
 end of the second week of our study of the French, 
 we began to read a little of the Adventures of 
 Telemaclms, in Fenelon's own words. 
 
 / " But now the plains of Mount Oliphant be- 
 gan to whiten, and Robert was summoned to re- 
 linquish the pleasing scenes that surrounded the 
 grotto of Calypso, and, armed with a sickle, to 
 seek glory by signalizing himself in the fields 
 of Ceres — and so he did ; for although but about 
 fifteen, 1 was told that he performed the work 
 of a man. 
 
 " Thus was 1 deprived of my very apt pupif, 
 and consequently agreeable companion, at the 
 end of three weeks, one of which was spent en- 
 tirely in the study of English, and the other two 
 chiefly in that of French. I did not, however, 
 lose sight of him ; but was a frequent visitant at 
 his father's house, when I had my half holiday, 
 and very often went accompanied with one or two 
 
 persons
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 91 
 
 persons more intelligent than myself, that good 
 William Burnes might enjoy a mental feast. 
 Then the labouring oar was shifted to some 
 other hand. The father and the son sat down 
 with us, when we enjoyed a conversation, where- 
 in solid reasoning, sensible remark, and a mode- 
 rate seasoning of jocularity, were so nicely 
 blended, as to render it palatable to all parties. 
 Robert had a hundred questions to ask me about 
 the French, &c. and the father, who had always 
 rational information in view, had still some 
 question to propose to my more learned friends, 
 upon moral or natural philosophy, or some such 
 interesting subject. Mrs. Burnes too was of 
 the party as much as possible. 
 
 " But still the house affairs would draw her thence, 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up their discourse ;" 
 
 And particularly that of her husband. At all 
 times, and in all companies, she listened to him 
 with a more marked attention than to any body 
 else. When under the necessity of being absent 
 while he was speaking, she seemed to regret as a 
 real loss, that she had missed what the good man 
 had said. This worthy woman, Agnes Brown, 
 had the most thorough esteem for her husband, 
 of any woman I ever knew. 1 can by no means 
 wonder that she highly esteemed him ; for I my- 
 self
 
 92 THE LIFE OF 
 
 self have always considered William Bumes as 
 by far the best of the human race that ever £ 
 had the pleasure of being acquainted with — and 
 many a worthy character I have known. I can 
 cheerfully join with Robert in the last line of 
 his epitaph, (borrowed from Goldsmith) 
 
 ^^ And ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side." 
 
 " He was an excellent husband, if I may judge 
 from his assiduous attention to the ease and 
 comfort of his worthy partner ; and from her 
 affectionate behaviour to him, as well as her 
 unwearied attention to the duties of a mother. 
 
 " He was a tender and affectionate father ; he 
 took pleasure in leading his children in the path 
 of virtue ; not in driving them, as some parents 
 do, to the performance of duties to which they 
 themselves are averse. He took care to find 
 fault but very seldom ; and therefore when he 
 did rebuke, he was listened to with a kind of 
 reverential awe. A look of disapprobation was 
 felt; a reproof w^as severely so; and a stripe 
 with the tatvz, even on the skirt of the coat, 
 gave heart-felt pain, produced a loud lamen- 
 tation, and brought forth a flood of tears. 
 
 " He had the art of gaining the esteem and 
 good-will of those that were labourers under 
 
 him.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 93 
 
 him. I think I never saw him angry but twice ; 
 the one time it was with the foreman of the band, 
 for not reaping the field as he was desired ; and 
 the other time it was with an old man for using 
 smutty inuendos and double entendres. Were 
 every foul-mouth'd old man to receive a season- 
 able check in this way, it would be to the ad- 
 vantage of the rising generation. As he was at 
 no time overbearing to inferiors, he was equally 
 incapable of that passive, pitiful, paltry spirit, 
 that induces some people to keep booing and 
 booing in the presence of a great man. He 
 always treated superiors with a becoming re- 
 spect ; but he never gave the smallest encourage- 
 ment to aristocratical arrogance. But I must 
 not pretend to give you a description of all the 
 manly qualities, the rational and Christian vir- 
 tues, of the venerable William Burnes. Time 
 would fail me. I shall only add, tliat he care- 
 fully practised every known duty, and avoided 
 every thing that was criminal ; or, in the apostle's 
 words. Herein did he exercise himself, in living 
 a life void of offence towards God, and toivards 
 men. O for a world of men of such dispositions ! 
 We should then have no wars. I have often 
 wished, for the good of mankind, that it were 
 as customary to honor and perpetuate the me- 
 mory of those who excel in moral rectitude, as 
 it is to extol what are called heroic actions : — 
 then would the mausoleum of the friend of my 
 
 vouth
 
 94 THE LIFE OF 
 
 youth, overtop and surpass most of the monu- 
 ments I see in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 " Although I cannot do justice to the charac- 
 ter of this worthy man, yet you will perceive, 
 from these few particulars, what kind of person 
 had the principal hand in the education of our 
 poet. He spoke the English language with more 
 propriety (both with respect to diction and pro- 
 nunciation) than any man I ever knew, with no 
 greater advantages. This had a very good effect 
 on the boys, who began to talk, and reason like 
 men, much sooner than their neighbours. [ do 
 not recollect any of their cotemporaries at my 
 little seminary, who afterwards made any great 
 figure as literary characters, except Dr. Ten- 
 nant, who was chaplain to Colonel Fullarton's 
 regiment, and who is now in the East Indies.* 
 He is a man of genius and learning ; yet affable, 
 and free from pedantry. 
 
 " Mr. Burnes, in a short time, found that he 
 had over rated Mount Oliphant, and that he 
 could not rear his numerous family upon it. — 
 After being there some years, he removed to 
 Lochlea, in the parish of Tarbolton, where, 1 
 believe, Robert wrote most of his poems. 
 
 " But 
 
 * Since known to the world, as the author of, " Hindoo 
 Recreations," and other works, but dead some time ago. 
 
 G. B.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. D5 
 
 " But here, Sir, you will permit me to pause. 
 I can tell you but little more relative to our poet. 
 I shall, however, in my next, send you a copy of 
 one of his letters to me, about the year 1783.* 
 I received one since, but it is mislaid. Please re- 
 member me, in the best manner, to ray worthy 
 friend Mr. Adair, when you see him, or write to 
 him." 
 
 Hart-street, Bloomsbury-square, 
 London, Feb. 22, 1799. 
 
 As the narrative of Gilbert Burns was written 
 at a time when he was ignorant of the existence 
 of the preceding narrative of his brother, so this 
 letter of Mr. Murdoch was written without his 
 having any knowledge that either of his pupils 
 had been employed on the same subject. The 
 three relations serve, therefore, not merely to il- 
 lustrate but to authenticate each other. Though 
 the information they convey might have been 
 presented within a shorter compass, by reducing 
 the whole into one unbroken narrative, it is 
 scarcely to be doubted, that the intelligent 
 reader will be far more gratified by a sight of 
 these original documents themselves. 
 
 Under the humble roof of his parents, it ap- 
 pears indeed that our poet had great advantages ; 
 
 but 
 
 * See Vol. ij.
 
 96 THE LIFE OF 
 
 but his opportunities of information at school, 
 were more limited as to time, than they usually 
 are among his countrymen, in his condition of 
 life ; and the acquisitions which he made, and 
 the poetical talent which he exerted, under the 
 pressure of early and incessant toil, and of infe- 
 rior, and perhaps scanty nutriment, testify at 
 once the extraordinary force and activity of his 
 mind. In his frame of body he rose nearly to 
 five feet ten inches, and assumed the proportions 
 that indicate agility as well as strength. In the 
 various labours of the farm he excelled all his 
 competitors. Gilbert Burns declares, that in 
 mowing, the exercise that tries all the muscles 
 most severely, Robert was the only man that, 
 at the end of a summer's day, he was ever ob- 
 liged to acknowledge as his master. But 
 though our poet gave the powers of his body 
 to the labours of the farm, he refused to be- 
 stow on them his thoughts or his cares. While 
 the ploughshare under his guidance passed 
 through the sward, or the grass fell under the 
 sweep of his scythe, he was humming the songs 
 of his country, musing on the deeds of ancient 
 valour, or rapt in the illusions of fancy, as her 
 enchantments rose on his view. Happily, the 
 Sunday is yet a sabbath, on which man and 
 beast rest from their labours. On this day 
 therefore, Burns could indulge in a freer in- 
 tercourse with the charms of nature. It was 
 
 his
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 97 
 
 his delight to wander alone on the banks of the 
 Ayr, whose stream is now immortal, and to lis- 
 ten to the song of the blackbird, at the close 
 of the summer's day. But still greater was 
 his pleasure, as he himself informs us, in walk- 
 ing on the sheltered side of a wood, in a cloudy 
 winter day, and hearing the storm rave among 
 the trees ; and more elevated still his delight, 
 to ascend some eminence during the agitations 
 of nature, to stride along its summit, while the 
 lightning flashed around him, and amidst the 
 bowlings of the tempest to apostrophize the 
 spirit of the storm. Such situations he declares 
 most favourable to devotion — " Rapt in enthu- 
 siasm, 1 seem to ascend towards Him, who 
 walks on the ivings of the windT If other 
 proofs were wanting of the character of his 
 genius, this might determine it. The heart of 
 the poet is peculiarly awake to every impres- 
 sion of beauty and sublimity ; but with the 
 higher order of poets, the beautiful is less at- 
 tractive than the sublime. 
 
 The gaiety of many of Burns's writings, and 
 the lively and even cheerful colouring with 
 which he has pourtrayed his own character, 
 may lead some persons to suppose, that the 
 melancholy which hung over him towards the 
 end of his days, was not an original part of 
 his constitution. It is not to be doubted ni- 
 
 voL. I. H deed,
 
 98 THE LIFE OF 
 
 deed, that this melancholy acquired a darker 
 hue in the progress of his life ; but independent 
 of his own, and of his brother's testimony, evi- 
 dence is to be found among his papers, that he 
 was subject very early to those depressions of 
 mind, which are perhaps not wholly separable 
 from the sensibility of genius, but which in him 
 arose to an uncommon degree. The following 
 letter, addressed to his father, will serve as a 
 proof of this observation. It was written at the 
 time when he was learning the business of a 
 flax-dresser, and is dated 
 
 *' Irvine, Dec. Ilth, 1781. 
 " Honored Sir, 
 
 " I HAVE purposely delayed writing, 
 in the hope that I should have the pleasure of 
 seeing you on NeM'-year's day ; but work comes 
 so hard upon us, that I do not choose to be 
 absent on that account, as well as for some 
 other little reasons, which I shall tell you at 
 meeting. My health is nearly the same as 
 when you were here, only my sleep is a little 
 sounder, and on the whole I am rather better 
 than otherwise, though I mend by very slow 
 degrees. The weakness of my nerves has so 
 debilitated my mind, that I dare neither re- 
 view past wants, nor look forward into futu- 
 rity; for the least anxiety or perturbation in 
 
 my
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 99 
 
 my breast, produces most unhappy effects on 
 my whole frame. Sometimes, indeed, when 
 for an hour or two my spirits are a little light- 
 ened, I glimmer a little into futurity ; but my 
 principal, and indeed my only pleasurable em- 
 ployment, is looking backwards and forwards 
 in a moral and religious way. I am quite 
 transported at the thought, that ere long, per- 
 haps \ery soon, I shall bid an eternal adieu to 
 all the pains, and uneasiness, and disquietudes 
 of this weary life ; for I assure you, I am heartily 
 tired of it, and if I do not very much deceive 
 myself, I could contentedly and gladly resign it. 
 
 " The soul uneasy and confined at home, 
 " Rests and expatiates in a life to come." 
 
 •* It is for this reason I am more pleased with 
 the 15th, 16th, and 17th verses of the 7th chap- 
 ter of Revelations, than with any ten times as 
 many verses in the whole Bible, and would not 
 exchange the noble enthusiasm with which they 
 inspire me, for all that this world has to oft'er.* 
 
 H 2 As 
 
 * The verses of Scripture here alluded to, are as 
 follows : 
 
 15. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and 
 serve him day and night in his temple; and he that sitteth 
 on the throne shall dwell among them. 
 
 16. They
 
 100 THE LIFE OP 
 
 As for this world, I despair of ever making a 
 figure ill it. I am not formed for the bustle 
 of the busy, nor the flutter of the gay. I shall 
 never again be capable of entering into such 
 scenes. Indeed I am altogether unconcerned 
 at the thoughts of this life. I foresee that pov- 
 erty and obscurity probably await me, and 1 
 am in some measure prepared, and daily pre- 
 paring to meet them. 1 have but just time 
 and paper to return you my grateful thanks, 
 for the lessons of virtue and piety you have 
 given me, which were too much neglected at 
 the time of giving them, but which, I hope, 
 have been remembered ere it is yet too late. 
 Present my dutiful respects to my mother, 
 and my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Muir; 
 and, with wishing you a merry New-years 
 day, I shall conclude. 
 
 *• I am, honored Sir, 
 
 " Your dutiful son, 
 
 '* Robert Burns. 
 
 " P. S. My meal is nearly out, but I am go- 
 ing to borrow till I get more." 
 
 This 
 
 16. TJiey shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; 
 neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. 
 
 17. For the lamb that is in the midst of the throne shall 
 feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of wa- 
 ters ; and God shall wipe axcay all tears from their eyes.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. lOl 
 
 This letter, written several years before the 
 publication of his poems, Avhen his name was 
 as obscure as his condition was humble, dis- 
 plays the philosophic melancholy, which so 
 generally forms the poetical temperament, and 
 that buoyant and ambitious spirit, which in- 
 dicates a mind conscious of its strength. At 
 Irvine, Burns at this time possessed a single 
 room for his lodging, rented perhaps at the 
 rate of a shilling a week. He passed his days 
 in constant labour as a flax-dresser, and his 
 food consisted chiefly of oatmeal, sent to him 
 from his father's family. The store of this 
 humble, though wholesome nutriment, it ap- 
 pears was nearly exhausted, and he was about 
 to l)orrow 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, shews how ardently he wished for 
 honorable fame ; and his contempt of life, found- 
 ed on this despair, is the genuine expression of 
 a youthful and generous mind. In such a 
 state of reflection, and of suftering, the ima- 
 gination of Burns 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 sor- 
 row, and where happiness shall be in proportion 
 to the capacity of happiness. 
 
 Such
 
 102 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Such a disposition is far from being at va- 
 riance with social enjoyments. Those who have 
 studied the affinities of mind, know that a me- 
 lancholy of this description, after a while seeks 
 relief in the endearments of society, and that it 
 has no distant connexion with the flow of cheer- 
 fulness, or even the extravagance of mirth. It 
 was a few days after the writing of this letter, 
 that our poet, " in giving a welcoming carousal 
 to the new-year, with his gay companions," suf- 
 fered his flax to catch fire, and his shop to be 
 consumed to ashes. 
 
 The energy of Burns's mind was not exhaust- 
 ed by his daily labours, the effusions of his 
 muse, his social pleasures, or his solitary me- 
 ditations. Some time previous to his engage- 
 ment as a flax-dresser, having heard that a de- 
 bating club had been established in Ayr, he 
 resolved to try how such a meeting would suc- 
 ceed in the village of Tarbolton. About the 
 end of the year 1780, our poet, his brother, and 
 five other young peasants of the neighbourhood, 
 formed themselves into a society of this sort, 
 the declared objects of which were to relax 
 themselves after toil, to promote sociality and 
 friendship, and to improve the mind. The laws 
 and regulations were furnished by Burns. The 
 members were to meet after the labours of the 
 day were over, once a week, in a small public- 
 house
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 103 
 
 house in the village; where each should offer 
 his opinion on a given question or subject, sup- 
 porting it by such arguments as he thought 
 proper. The debate was to be conducted with 
 order and decorum, and after it was finished, 
 the members were to choose a subject for dis- 
 cussion at the ensuing meeting. The sum ex- 
 pended by each was not to exceed three-pence ; 
 and with the humble potation that this could pro- 
 cure, they were to toast their mistresses, and to 
 cultivate friendship with each other. This so- 
 ciety continued its meetings regularly for some 
 time, and in the autumn of 1782, wishing to 
 preserve some account of their proceedings, 
 they purchased a book, into which their laws 
 and regulations were copied, with a preamble, 
 containing a short history of their transactions 
 down to that period. This curious document, 
 which is evidently the work of our poet, has 
 been discovered, and it deserves a place in his 
 memoirs. 
 
 ** History of the rise, proceedings, and regula- 
 tions of the Bachelor's Club. 
 
 " Of birth or blood we do not boast, 
 Nor gentry does our club afford ; 
 
 But ploughmen and mechanics we 
 In Nature's simple dress record. 
 
 ** As the great end of human society is to be- 
 come wiser and better, this ought therefore to be 
 the principal view of every man in every station 
 
 of
 
 104 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of life. But as experience has taught us, that 
 such studies as inform the head and mend the 
 heart, when long continued, are apt to exhaust 
 the faculties of the mind ; it has been found 
 proper to relieve and unbend the mind, by some 
 employment or another, that may be agreeable 
 enough to keep its powers in exercise, but at 
 the same time not so serious as to exhaust them. 
 But superadded to this, by far the greater part 
 of mankind are under the necessity of earning 
 the sustenmice of human life hy the labour of their 
 bodies, whereby, not only the faculties of the 
 mind, but the nerves and sinews of the body, 
 are so fatigued, that it is absolutely necessary 
 to have recourse to some amusement or diver- 
 sion, to relieve the wearied man, worn down 
 with the necessary labours of life. 
 
 " As the best of things, however, have been 
 perverted to the worst of purposes, so, under 
 the pretence of amusement and diversion, men 
 have plunged into all the madness of riot and 
 dissipation ; and, instead of attending to the 
 grand design of human life, they have begun 
 with extravagance and folly, and ended with 
 guilt and wretchedness. Impressed with these 
 considerations, we the following lads in the 
 parish of Tarbolton, viz. Hugh Reid, Robert 
 Burns, Gilbert Burns, Alexander Brown, Wal- 
 ter Mitchel, Thomas Wright, and William 
 
 M'Gavin,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 105 
 
 M'Gavin, resolved for our mutual entertain- 
 inent, to unite ourselves into a club or society, 
 under such rules and regulations, that while we 
 should forget our cares and labours in mirth 
 and diversion, we might not transgress the 
 bounds of innocence and decorum; and after 
 agreeing on these, and some other regulations, 
 we held our first meeting at Tarbolton, in the 
 house of John Richard, upon the evening of the 
 11th of November, 1780, commonly called Hal- 
 lowe'en, and after choosing Robert Burns presi- 
 dent for the night, we proceeded to debate on this 
 question — Suppose a young man, bred a farmer j 
 but ivithout any fortune, has it in his power to 
 marry either of tivo women, the one a girl of 
 large fortune, but neither handsome in person, 
 nor agreeable in conversation, but luho can ma- 
 nage the household affairs of a farm well enough; 
 the other of them a girl every way agreeable, in 
 person, conversation, and behaviour, but without 
 any fortune: which of them shall he choose? — 
 Finding ourselves very happy in our society, 
 we resolved to continue to meet once a month 
 in the same house, in the way and manner pro- 
 posed, and shortly thereafter we chose Robert 
 Ritchie for another member. In May, 1781, 
 we brought in David Sillar,* and in June, Adam 
 
 Jamaison 
 
 * The person to whom Burns addressed his Epistle to 
 Davie, a brother poet.
 
 106 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Jamaison, as members. About the beginning 
 of the year 1782, we admitted Matthew Patter- 
 son, and John Orr, and in June following we 
 chose James Patterson as a proper brother for 
 such a society. The club being thus increased, 
 we resolved to meet at Tarbolton on the race- 
 night, the July following, and have a dance in 
 honor of our society. Accordingly we did 
 meet, each one w ith a partner, and spent the 
 evening in such innocence and merriment, such 
 cheerfulness and good-humour, that every bro- 
 ther will long remember it with pleasure and 
 delight." To this preamble are subjoined the 
 rules and regulations.* 
 
 The philosophical mind will dwell with inte- 
 rest and pleasure, on an institution that com- 
 bined so skilfully the means of instruction and 
 of happiness ; and if grandeur look down with 
 a smile on these simple annals, let us trust that 
 it will be a smile of benevolence and approba- 
 tion. It is with regret that the sequel of the 
 history of the Bachelor's Club of Tarbolton 
 must be told. It survived several years after 
 our poet removed from Ayrshire, but no longer 
 sustained by his talents, or cemented by his 
 social affections, its meetings lost much of their 
 
 attraction, 
 
 * For which see Appendix, No. II. Note G,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 107 
 
 ■attraction ; and at length, in an evil hour, dis- 
 sension arising amongst its members, the insti- 
 tution was given up, and the records commit- 
 ted to the flames. Happily the preamble and 
 the regulations were spared ; and as matter of 
 instruction and of example, they are transmitted 
 to posterity. 
 
 After the family of our bard removed from 
 Tarbolton, to the neighbourhood of Mauchline, 
 he and his brother were requested to assist in 
 forming a similar institution there. The regu- 
 lations of the club at Mauchline were nearly 
 the same as those of the club at Tarbolton, but 
 one laudable alteration was made. The fines 
 for non-attendance had at Tarbolton been ^pent 
 in enlarging their scanty potations. At Mauch- 
 line, it was fixed that the money so arising, 
 should be set apart for the purchase of books ; 
 and the first work procured in this manner was 
 the Mirror, the separate numbers of which 
 were at that time recently collected and pub- 
 lished in volumes. After it, followed a num- 
 ber of other works, chiefly of the same nature, 
 and among these the Lounger. The society of 
 Mauchline still subsists, and appeared in the 
 list of subscribers to the first edition of its cele- 
 brated associate. 
 
 The
 
 lOiB THE LIFE OF 
 
 The members of these two societies were ori- 
 ginally all young men from the country, and 
 chiefly sons of farmers ; a description of per- 
 sons in the opinion of our poet, more agreeable 
 in their manners, more virtuous in their con- 
 duct, and more susceptible of improvement, 
 than the self-sufficient mechanics of country 
 towns. With deference to the Conversation- 
 society of Mauchline, it may be doubted whe- 
 ther the books which they purchased were of a 
 kind best adapted to promote the interest and 
 happiness of persons in this situation of life. 
 The Mirror and the Lotmger, though works of 
 great njerit, may be said, on a general view of 
 their contents, to be less calculated to increase 
 the knowledge, than to refine the taste of those 
 who read them ; and to this last object their 
 morality itself, which is however always per- 
 fectly pure, may be considered as subordinate. 
 As works of taste, they deserve great praise. 
 They are indeed refined to a high degree of de- 
 licacy ; and to this circumstance it is perhaps 
 owing, that they exhibit little or nothing of the 
 peculiar manners of the age or country in 
 which they were produced. But delicacy of 
 taste, though the source of many pleasures, is 
 not without some disadvantages, and to render 
 it desirable, the possessor should perhaps in 
 all cases be raised above the necessity of bodily 
 
 labour,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 109 
 
 labour, unless indeed we should include under 
 this term the exercise of the imitative arts, 
 over which taste immediately presides. Deli- 
 cacy of taste may be a blessing to him who has 
 the disposal of his own time, and who can 
 choose what book he shall read, of what diver- 
 sion he shall partake, and what company he 
 shall keep. To men so situated, the cultiva- 
 tion of taste affords a grateful occupation in 
 itself, and opens a path to many other gratifi- 
 cations. To men of genius in the possession 
 of opulence and leisure, the cultivation of the 
 taste may be said to be essential ; since it 
 affords employment to those faculties, which 
 without employment, would destroy the hap- 
 piness of the possessor, and corrects that mor- 
 bid sensibility, or, to use the expression of Mr, 
 Hume, that delicacy of passion, which is the 
 bane of the temperament of genius. Happy 
 had it been for our bard, after he emerged from 
 the condition of a peasant, had the delicacy of 
 his taste equalled the sensibility of his passions, 
 regulating all the effusions of his muse, and 
 presiding over all his social enjoyments. But 
 to the thousands who share the original condi- 
 tion of Burns, and who are doomed to pass 
 their lives in the station in which they were 
 born, delicacy of taste, were it even of easy 
 attainment, would, if not a positive evil, be at 
 least a doubtful blessing. Delicacy of taste 
 
 may
 
 J 10 THE LIFE OP 
 
 may make many necessary labours irksome or 
 disgusting, and should it render the cultivator 
 of the soil unhappy in his situation, it presents 
 no means by which that situation may be im- 
 proved. Taste and literature, which diffuse so 
 many charms throughout society, which some- 
 times secure to their votaries distinction while 
 living, and which still more frequently obtain 
 for them posthumous fame, seldom procure 
 opulence, or even independence, when culti- 
 vated with the utmost attention, and can 
 scarcely be pursued with advantage by the 
 peasant in the short intervals of leisure which 
 his occupations allow. Those who raise them- 
 selves from the condition of daily labour, are 
 usually men who excel in the practice of some 
 useful art, or who join habits of industry and 
 sobriety to an acquaintance with some of the 
 more common branches of knowledge. The 
 penmanship of Butterworth, and the arithmetic 
 of Cocker, may be studied by men in the 
 humblest walks of life, and they will assist the 
 peasant more in the pursuit of independence, 
 than the study of Homer or of Shakespeare, 
 though he could comprehend, and even imitate 
 the beauties of those immortal bards. 
 
 These observations are not offered without 
 some portion of doubt and hesitation. The 
 subject has many relations, and would justify 
 
 an
 
 ROBERT BURNS. Ill 
 
 an ample discussion. It may be observed on 
 the other hand, that the first step to improve- 
 ment is to awaken the desire of improvement, 
 and that this will be most effectually done by 
 such reading as interests the heart and excites 
 the imagination. The greater part of the sacred 
 writings themselves, vv^hich in Scotland are 
 more especially the manual of the poor, come 
 under this description. It may be farther ob- 
 served, that every human being is the proper 
 judge of his own happiness, and within the 
 path of innocence ought to be permitted to 
 pursue it. Since it is the taste of the Scottish 
 peasantry to give a preference to works of taste 
 and of fancy,* it may be presumed they find a 
 superior gratification in the perusal of such 
 works; and it may be added, that it is of more 
 consequence they should be made happy in 
 their original condition, than furnished with the 
 means, or with the desire of rising above it. 
 Such considerations are doubtless of much 
 weight; nevertheless, the previous reflections 
 may deserve to be examined, and here we shall 
 leave the subject. 
 
 Though 
 
 * In several lists of book-societies among the poorer 
 classes in Scotland which the editor has seen, works of this 
 description form a great part. These societies are by no 
 means general, and it is not supposed that they are increas- 
 ing at present. '
 
 112 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Though the records of the society at Tar- 
 bolton are lost, and those of the society at 
 Mauchline have not been transmitted, yet we 
 may safely affirm, that our poet was a distin- 
 guished member of both these associations, 
 which were well calculated to excite and to 
 develop the powers of his mind. From seven 
 to twelve persons constituted the society at 
 Tarbolton, and such a number is best suited to 
 the purposes of information. Where this is the 
 object of these societies, the number should be 
 such, that each person may have an opportunity 
 of imparting his sentiments, as well as of re- 
 ceiving those of others ; and the powers of pri- 
 vate conversation are to be employed, not those 
 of public debate. A limited society of this 
 kind, where the subject of conversation is fixed 
 before hand, so that each member may revolve 
 it previously in his mind, is, perhaps, one of the 
 happiest contrivances hitherto discovered for 
 shortening the acquisition of knowledge, andl 
 hastening the evolution of talents. Such an 
 association requires, indeed, somewhat more of 
 regulation than the rules of politeness establish 
 in common conversation; or rather, perhaps, it 
 requires that the rules of politeness, which 
 in animated conversation, are liable to perpetual 
 violation, should be vigorously enforced. The 
 order of speech established in the club, at Tar- 
 bolton, appears to have been more regular than 
 
 was
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 113 
 
 ^as required in so small a society;* where all 
 that is necessary seems to be, the fixing on a 
 member to whom every speaker shall address 
 himself, and who shall in return secure the 
 speaker from interruption. Conversation, which 
 among men whom intimacy and friendship have 
 relieved from reserve and restraint, is liable, 
 when left to itself, to so many inequalities, and 
 which as it becomes rapid, so often diverges 
 into separate and collateral branches, in which 
 it is dissipated and lost, being kept within its 
 channel by a simple limitation of this kind, 
 which practice renders easy and familiar, flows 
 along in one full stream, and becomes smoother, 
 and clearer, and deeper, as it flows. It may 
 also be observed, that in this way the acqui- 
 sition of knowledge becomes more pleasant and 
 more easy, from the gradual improvement of 
 the faculty employed to convey it. Though 
 some attention has been paid to the eloquence 
 of the senate and the bar, which in this, as in 
 all other free governments, is productive of so 
 much influence to the few who excel in it, yet 
 little regard has been paid to the humbler exer- 
 cise of speech in private conversation, an art 
 that is of consequence to every description of 
 VOL. I. I persons 
 
 * (See Appendix, No. TI. Note i\
 
 114 THE LIFE OF 
 
 persons under every form of government, and 
 on which eloquence of every kind ought, per- 
 haps, to be founded. 
 
 The first requisite of every kind of elocution, 
 a distinct utterance, is the offspring of much 
 time, and of long practice. Children are always 
 defective in clear articulation, and so are yoang 
 people, though in a less degree. What is called 
 slurring in speech, prevails with some persons 
 through life, especially in those who are taci- 
 turn. Articulation does not seem to reach its 
 utmost degree of distinctness in men before the 
 age of twenty, or upwards; in women it reaches 
 this point somewhat earlier. Female occupa- 
 tions require much use of speech, because they 
 are duties in detail. Besides, their occupations 
 being generally sedentary, the respiration is 
 left at liberty. Their nerves being more deli- 
 cate, their sensibility as well as fancy is more 
 lively; the natural consequence of which is, a 
 more frequent utterance of thought, a greater 
 fluency of speech, and a distinct articulation at 
 an earlier age. But in men who have not min- 
 gled early and familiarly with the world, though 
 rich, perhaps, in knowledge, and clear in appre- 
 hension, it is often painful to observe the diffi- 
 culty with which their ideas are communicated 
 by speech, through the want of tliose hal)its 
 
 that
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 115 
 
 that connect thoughts, words, and sounds to- 
 gether; which, when established, seem as if 
 they had arisen spontaneously, but which, in 
 truth, are the result of long and painful practice, 
 and when analyzed, exhibit the phenomena of 
 most curious and complicated association. 
 
 Societies then, such as we have been describ- 
 ing, while they may be said to put each mem- 
 ber in possession of the knowledge of all the 
 rest, improve the powers of utterance, and by 
 the collision of opinion, excite the faculties of 
 reason and reflection. To those who wish to 
 improve their minds in such intervals of labour 
 as the condition of a peasant allows, this me- 
 thod of abbreviating instruction, may, under 
 proper regulations, be highly useful. To the 
 student, whose opinions, springing out of soli- 
 tary observation and meditation, are seldom in 
 the first instance correct, and which have, not- 
 withstanding, while confined to himself, an in- 
 creasing tendency to assume in his own eye the 
 character of demonstrations, an association of 
 this kind, where they may be examined as they 
 arise, is of the utmost importance ; since it may 
 prevent those illusions of imagination, by which 
 genius being bewildered, science is often de- 
 based, and error propagated through successive 
 generations. And to men who having culti- 
 vated letters, or general science, in the course 
 
 I 2 of
 
 116 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of their education, are engaged in the active oc- 
 cupations of life, and no longer able to devote 
 to study or to books, the time requisite for im- 
 proving or preserving their acquisitions, asso- 
 ciations of this kind, where the mind may un- 
 bend from its usual cares in discussions of li- 
 terature or science, afford the most pleasing, the 
 most useful, and the most rational of gratifica- 
 tions.* 
 
 Whether in the humble societies of which he 
 was a member. Burns acquired much direct in- 
 formution, may, perhaps, be questioned. It 
 cannot, however, be doubted, that by collision, 
 the faculties of his raind would be excited ; that 
 
 by 
 
 * When letters and philosophy were cultivated iu ancient 
 Greece, the press had not multiplied the tablets of learning 
 -and science, and necessity produced the habit of studying as 
 it were in common. Poets were found reciting their own 
 verses in public assemblies ; in public schools only, philoso- 
 phers delivered their speculations. The taste of the hearers, 
 the ingenuity of the scholars, were employed in appreciating 
 and examining the works of fancy and of speculation sub- 
 mitted to their consideration, and the irrevocable words were 
 not given to the world before the composition, as well as the 
 sentiments, were again and again retouched and improved. 
 Death alone put the last seal on the labours of genius. 
 Hence, perhaps, may be in part explained, the extraordinary 
 art and skill with which the monuments of Grecian literature 
 that remain to us, appear to have been constructed.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 1 17 
 
 by practice, his habits of enunciation would be 
 established, and thus we have some explanation 
 of that early command of words and of ex- 
 pression which enabled him to pour forth his 
 thoughts in language not unworthy of his ge- 
 nius, and which of all his endowments, seemed, 
 on his appearance in Edinburgh, the most ex- 
 traordinary.* For associations of a literary 
 nature, our poet acquired a considerable re- 
 lish ; and happy had it been for him, after he 
 emerged from the condition of a peasant, if for- 
 tune had permitted him to enjoy them in the 
 degree of which he was capable, so as to have 
 fortified his principles of virtue by the purifica- 
 tion 
 
 * It appears that our poet made more preparation than 
 might be supposed, for the discussions of the society at Tar- 
 bolton. — There were found some detached memoranda, evi- 
 dently prepared for these meetings ; and among others, the 
 heads of a speech on the question mentioned, p. 105, in 
 which, as might be expected, he takes the imprndent side of 
 the question. The following may serve as a farther specimen 
 of the questions debated in the society at Tarbolton. — Whe- 
 ther do we derive more happiness from love or friendship ^ — 
 Whether between friends wlio have no reason to dotibt eaeh 
 other's friendship, there should be any reserve? — Whether is the 
 savage man, or the peasant of a civilized country in the most 
 happy situation ? — Whether is a young man of the lower ranks 
 of life likeliest to be happy, who has got a good education, and 
 his mind well informed, or he who has just the education and 
 information of those around him ?
 
 118 THE LIFE OF 
 
 tion of his taste, and given to the energies of his 
 mind, habits of exertion, that might have ex- 
 cluded other associations, in which it must be 
 acknowledged they were too often wasted, as 
 well as debased. 
 
 The whole course of the Ayr is fine, but the 
 banks of that river, as it bends to the eastward 
 above Manchline, are singularly beautiful, and 
 they were frequented, as may be imagined, by 
 our poet in his solitary walks. Here the muse 
 often visited him. In one of these wanderings, 
 he met among the woods, a celebrated Beauty 
 of the west of Scotland ; a lady of whom it is 
 said, that the charms of her person correspond 
 with the character of her mind. This incident 
 gave rise, as might be expected, to a poem, of 
 which an account will be found in the following 
 letter, in which he inclosed it to the object of 
 his inspiration : 
 
 " To Miss 
 
 " Mossgiel, IQth Nov. 1786. 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 *' Poets are such outre beings, so much the 
 children of wayward fancy and capricious whim, 
 that 1 believe the world generally allows them 
 a larger latitude in the laws of propriety, than 
 
 the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 119 
 
 the sober sons of judgment and prudence. 1 
 mention this as an apology for the liberties that 
 a nameless stranger has taken with you in the 
 inclosed poem, which he begs leave to present 
 you with. Whether it has poetical merit any 
 way worthy of the theme, 1 am not the proper 
 judge; but it is the best my abilities can pro- 
 duce; and what to a good heart will, perhaps, 
 be a superior grace, it is equally sincere as 
 fervent. 
 
 *' The scenery was nearly taken from real 
 life, though I dare say. Madam, you do not re- 
 collect it, as I believe you scarcely noticed the 
 poetic reveur as he wandered by you. 1 had 
 roved out as chance directed, in the favorite 
 haunts of my muse, on the banks of the Ayr, to 
 view nature in all the gaiety of the vernal year. 
 The evening sun was flaming over the distant 
 western hills ; not a breath stirred the crimson 
 opening blossom, or the verdant spreading leaf. 
 It was a golden moment for a poetic heart. I 
 listened to the feathered warblers, pouring their 
 harmony on every hand, with a congenial kin- 
 dred regard, and frequently turned out of my 
 path, lest I should disturb their little songs, or 
 frighten them to another station. Surely, said 
 I to myself, he must be a wretch indeed, who 
 regardless of your harmonious endeavour to 
 please him, can eye your elusive flights to dis- 
 cover your secret recesses, and to rob you of all 
 
 the
 
 120 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the property nature gives you ; your clearest 
 comforts, your helpless nestlings. Even the 
 hoary hawthorn twig that shot across the way, 
 what heart at such a time but must have been 
 interested in its welfare, and washed it preserved 
 from the rudely-browsing cattle, or the wither- 
 ing eastern blast? Such was the scene, — and 
 such the hour, when, in a corner of my pro- 
 spect, I spied one of the fairest pieces of nature's 
 workmanship that ever crow^ned a poetic land- 
 scape, or met a poet's eye, those visionary bards 
 excepted, who hold commerce with aerial be- 
 ings ! Had Calumny and Villainy taken my 
 walk, they had at that moment sworn eternal 
 peace with such an object. 
 
 " What an hour of inspiration for a poet ! It 
 would have raised plain dull historic prose into 
 metaphor and measure. 
 
 " The inclosed song was the work of my re- 
 turn home; and perhaps it but poorly answers 
 what might have been expected from such a 
 scene. 
 
 tF ^ ^ TV- ' ^ ^ 4F 
 
 " 1 have the honor to be, 
 
 " Madam, 
 *' Your most obedient and very 
 " Humble servant, 
 
 " Robert Burns." 
 
 'TWAS
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 121 
 
 'TwAS even — the dewy fields were green, 
 
 On every blade the pearls hang ;* 
 The Zephyr wantoned round the bean, 
 
 And bore its fragrant sweets alang : 
 In every glen the mavis sang, 
 
 All nature listening seemed the while, 
 Except where green-wood echoes rang 
 
 Araang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 With careless step I onward strayed, 
 
 My heart rejoiced in nature's joy, 
 When musing in a lonely glade, 
 
 A maiden fair I chanced to spy; 
 Her look was like the morning's eye, 
 
 Her hair like nature's vernal smile, 
 Perfection whispered passing by. 
 
 Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! t 
 
 Fair is the morn in flowery May, 
 
 And sweet is night in Autumn mild ; 
 When roving thro' the garden gay. 
 
 Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
 But woman, nature's darling child ! 
 
 There all her charms she does compile ; 
 Even there her other works are foil'd 
 
 By the bonny lass o' Ballochn)yle. 
 
 O had she been a country maid, 
 
 And I the happy country swain, 
 'Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed 
 
 That ever rose on Scotland's plain ! 
 
 Thro' 
 
 * Hang — Scotticism for hxing. 
 
 t Variation. The lily's hue and rose's dye 
 
 Bespoke the lass o' Ballochmyle.
 
 122 THE LIFE or 
 
 Thro' weary winter's wind and rain 
 With joy, with rapture, I would toil ; 
 
 And nightly to iny bosom strain 
 The bonny lass o* Ballochmyle. 
 
 Then pride might climb the slippery steep; 
 
 Where fame and honors lofty shine; 
 And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 
 
 Or downward seek the Indian mine ; 
 Give me the cot below the pine, 
 
 To tend the flocks or till the soil, 
 And every day have joys divine, 
 
 With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 In the manuscript book in which our poet 
 has recounted this incident, and into which the 
 letter and poem are copied, he complains that 
 the lady made no reply to his effusions, and 
 this appears to have wounded his self-love. It 
 is not however difficult to find an excuse for her 
 silence. Burns was at that time little known, 
 and where known at all, noted rather for the 
 wild strength of his humour, than for those 
 strains of tenderness, in which he afterwards 
 so much excelled. To the lady herself his 
 name had perhaps never been mentioned, and 
 of such a poem she might not consider herself 
 as the proper judge. Her modesty might pre- 
 vent her from perceiving that the nmse of Tibul- 
 lus breathed in this nameless poet, and that 
 her beauty was awakening strains destined to 
 immortality on the banks of the Ayr. It may 
 
 be
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 123 
 
 be conceived also, that supposing the verses 
 duly appreciated, delicacy might tind it difficult 
 to express its acknowledgments. The fervent 
 imagination of the rustic bard possessed more 
 of tenderness than of respect. Instead of rais- 
 ing himself to the condition of the object of his 
 admiration, he presumed to reduce her to his 
 own, and to strain this highborn beauty to his 
 daring bosom. It is true Burns might have 
 found precedents for such freedoms among the 
 poets of Greece and Rome, and indeed of every 
 country. And it is not to be denied that lovely 
 women have generally submitted to this sort of 
 profanation with patience, and even with good- 
 humour. To what purpose is it to repine at a 
 misfortune which is the necessary consequence 
 of their own charms, or to remonstrate with a 
 description of men who are incapable of con- 
 trol. 
 
 " The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Are of imagination all compact." 
 
 It may be easily presumed, that the beautiful 
 nymph of Ballochmyle, whoever she may have 
 been, did not reject with scorn the adorations 
 of our poet, though she received them with 
 silent modesty and dignified reserve. 
 
 The sensibility of our Bard's temper, and the 
 force of his imagination, exposed him in a par- 
 ticular
 
 124 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ticular manner to the impressions of beauty ; 
 and these qualities, united to his impassioned 
 eloquence, gave him in turn a powerful in- 
 fluence over the female heart. The banks of 
 the Ayr formed the scene of youthful passions 
 of a still tenderer nature, the history of which 
 it would be improper to reveal, were it even in 
 our power, and the traces of which will soon 
 be discoverable only in those strains of nature 
 and sensibility, to which they gave birth. The 
 song in Vol. IV. entitled Highland Mary, is 
 known to relate to one of these attachments. 
 " It was written," says our bard " on one of the 
 most interesting passages of my youthful days." 
 The object of this passion died early in life, 
 and the impression left on the mind of Burns, 
 seems to have been deep and lasting. Several 
 years afterwards, when he was removed to 
 Nithsdale, he gave vent to the sensibility of his 
 recollections in the following impassioned lines. 
 In the manuscript book from which we extract 
 them, they are addressed To Mary in Heaven ! 
 
 Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray, 
 
 That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
 Again thou usher'st in the day 
 
 My Mary from my soul was torn. 
 O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 That
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 125 
 
 That sacred hour can I forget, 
 
 Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
 Where by the winding Ayr we met, 
 
 To live one day of parting love! 
 Eternity will not efface 
 
 Those records dear of transports past ; 
 Thy image at our last embrace ! 
 
 Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 
 Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, 
 
 O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green ; 
 The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
 
 Twin'd amorous round the raptured scene. 
 The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 
 
 The birds sang love on every spray, 
 'Till too, too soon, the glowing west, 
 
 Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 
 Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 
 
 And fondly broods with miser care ; 
 Time but the impression stronger makes, 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear. 
 My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
 Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 
 
 To the delineations of the poet by himself, by 
 his brother, and by his tutor, these additions 
 are necessary, in order that the reader may see 
 his character in its various aspects, and may 
 have an opportunity of forming a just notion of 
 the variety, as well as of the power of his ori- 
 ginal genius.* 
 
 We 
 
 * The history of the poems formerly printed, will be found 
 
 in
 
 126 THE LIFE OF 
 
 We have dwelt the longer on the early part 
 of his life, because it is the least known, and be- 
 cause, 
 
 in the Appendix to the third volume, in which these poems 
 are contained. — It is there inserted in the words of Gilbert 
 Burns, who, in a letter addressed to the Editor, has given 
 the following account of the friends which Robert's talents 
 procured him before he left Ayrshire, or attracted the notice 
 of the world. 
 
 " The farm of Mossgiel, at the time of our coming to it, 
 (Martinmas, 1783) was the property of the Earl of Loudon, 
 but was held in tack by Mr. Gavin Hamilton, writer in 
 Mauchline, from whom we had our bargain ; who had thus 
 an opportunity of knowing, and shewing a sincere regard for, 
 my brother, before he knew that he was a poet. The poet's 
 estimation of him and the strong outlines of his character, 
 may be collected from the dedication to this gentleman. 
 When the publication was begun, Mr. H. entered very 
 warmly into its interests, and promoted the subscription very 
 extensively. Mr. Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, is a man of 
 worth and taste, of warm affections, and connected with a 
 most respectable circle of friends and relations. It is to this 
 gentleman, The Cotter s Saturday Night is inscribed. The 
 poems of my brother which I have formerly mentioned, no 
 sooner came into his hands, than they were quickly known 
 and well received in the extensive circle of Mr. Aiken's 
 friends, which gave them a sort of currency, necessary in 
 this wise world, even for the good reception of things valua- 
 ble in themselves. But Mr. Aiken not only admired the 
 poet ; as soon as he became acquainted with him, he shewed 
 the warmest regard for the man, and did every thing in his 
 power to forward his interest and respectability. The Epistle 
 to a young Friend, was addressed to this gentleman's son, 
 Mr. A. H, Aiken, now of Liverpool. He was the oldest of 
 
 a young
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 127 
 
 cause, as has already been mentioned, this part 
 of his history is connected with some views of 
 
 the 
 
 a young family, who were taught to receive my brother with 
 respect, as a man of genius, and their father's friend. 
 
 " The Brigs of Ayr, is inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq. 
 Banker, in Ayr ; one of those gentlemen to whom my brother 
 was introduced by Mr. Aiken. He interested himself very 
 warmly in my brother's concerns, and constantly shewed the 
 greatest friendship and attachment to him. When the Kil- 
 marnock edition was all sold off, and a considerable demand 
 pointed out the propriety of publishing a second edition, Mr. 
 Wilson, who had printed the first, was asked if he would 
 print a second, and take his chance of being paid from the 
 first sale. This he declined, and when this came to Mr. 
 Ballantine's knowledge, he generously offered to accommo- 
 date Robert with what money he might need for that pur- 
 pose; but advised him to go to Edinburgh, as the fittest 
 place for publishing. When he did go to Edinburgh, his 
 friends advised him to publish again by subscription, so that 
 he did not need to accept this offer. Mr. William Parker, 
 Merchant, in Kilmarnock, was a subscriber for thirty-five 
 copies of the Kilmarnock edition. This may perhaps appear 
 not deserving of notice here ; but if the comparative obscu- 
 rity of the poet at this period be taken into consideration, it 
 appears to me a greater effort of generosity, than many 
 things which appear more brilliant in my brother's future 
 history. 
 
 •' Mr. Robert Muir, merchant in Kilmarnock, was one of 
 those friends Robert's poetry had procured him, and one who 
 was dear to his heart. This gentleman had no very great 
 fortune, or long line of dignified ancestry ; but what Robert 
 says of Capt. Matthew Henderson, might be said of him 
 
 with
 
 128 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the condition and manners of the humblest 
 ranks of society, hitherto little observed, and 
 
 which 
 
 with great propriety, that lie held the patent of his honors im- 
 mediately from Almighty God. Nature had indeed marked 
 him a gentleman in the most legible characters. He died 
 while yet a young man, soon after the publication of my 
 brother's first Edinburgh edition. Sir William Cunningham 
 of Robertland, paid a very flattering attention, and shewed 
 a good deal of friendship for the poet. Before his going to 
 Edinburgh, as well as after, Robert seemed peculiarly 
 pleased with Professor Stewart's friendship and conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " But of all the friendships which Robert acquired in 
 Ayrshire or elsewhere, none seemed more agreeable to him 
 than that of Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop, nor any which has 
 been more uniformly and constantly exerted in behalf of him 
 and his family ; of which, were it proper, I could give many 
 instances. Robert was on the point of setting out for Edin- 
 burgh, before Mrs. Dunlop had heard of him. About the 
 time of my brother's publishing in Kilmarnock, she had been 
 afflicted with a long and severe illness, which had reduced 
 her mind to the most distressing state of depression. In this 
 situation, a copy of the printed poems was laid on her table 
 by a friend, and happening to open on The Cotte/s Saturday 
 Night, she read it over with the greatest pleasure and sur- 
 prise : the poet's description of the simple cottagers, ope- 
 rating on her mind like the charm of a powerful exorcist, 
 expelling the dzemon ennui, and restoring her to her wonted 
 inward harmony and satisfaction. — Mrs. Dunlop sent off" a 
 person express to Mossgiel, 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 had them 
 
 to
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 129 
 
 which will perhaps be found neither useless 
 nor uninteresting-. 
 
 VOL. I. K About 
 
 to spare, and begging he would do her the pleasure of call- 
 ing at Dunlop House as soon as convenient. This was the 
 beginning of a correspondence, which ended, only with the 
 poet's life. The last use he made of his pen was writing a 
 short letter to this lady a few days before his death. 
 
 " Col. Fullarton, who afterwards paid a very particular 
 attention to the poet, was not in the country at the time of 
 his first commencing author. At this distance of time, and 
 in the hurry of a wet day, snatched from laborious occupa- 
 tions, I may have forgot some persons who ought to have 
 been mentioned on this occasion, for which, if it come to my 
 knowledge, I shall be heartily sorry." 
 
 The friendship of Mrs. Dunlop was of particular value 
 to Burns. This lady, daughter and sole heiress to Sir Thomas 
 Wallace, of Craigie, and lineal descendant of the illustrious 
 Wallace, the first of Scottish warriors, possesses the quali- 
 ties of mind suited to her high lineage. Preserving in the 
 decline of life the generous affections of youth ; her admira- 
 tion of the poet was soon accompanied by a sincere friend- 
 ship for the man ; which pursued him in after life through 
 good and evil report; in poverty, in sickness, and in sorrow; 
 and which is continued to his infant family, now deprived of 
 their parent. 
 
 This excellent person died, 24th May, 1815, full of days 
 and honour, in the 85th year of her age, leaving a numerous 
 oftspring, many of whom are distinguishing themselves in 
 various parts of the British dominions. The Wallaces of 
 Craigie are now represented by Mrs. Dunlop's eldest son, Sir 
 
 Thomas
 
 130 THE LIFE OF 
 
 About the time of his leaving his native coun- 
 ty, his correspondence commences, and in the 
 series of letters now given to the world, the 
 chief incidents of the remaining part of his life 
 will be found. This authentic, though melan- 
 choly record, will supersede in future the ne- 
 cessity of any extended narrative. 
 
 BURNS set out for Edinburgh in the month 
 of November, 1786. He was furnished with a 
 letter of introduction to Dr. Blacklock, from 
 the gentleman to whom the Doctor had ad- 
 dressed the letter which is represented by our 
 bard as the immediate cause of his visiting the 
 Scottish metropolis. He was acquainted with 
 Mr. Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy 
 in the university, and had been entertained by 
 
 that 
 
 Thomas Wallace, who retired from the army with the rank 
 of Colonel many years ago, and is now far advanced in life, 
 but whose only child, Colonel Wallace, commanded the 
 8Bth regiinent during the whole of the late war in the Penin- 
 sula, and conducted himself worthy of his name and lineage, 
 as the Gazettes of those times testify. The Dunlop family 
 is now represented by her next surviving son, General James 
 Dunlop, M.P., in this and last parliament, for Kirkcudbright- 
 shire, who was severely wounded commanding the left wing 
 of the army at the siege of Seringapatam ; the climate of the 
 West Indies having proved fatal to his elder brother, General 
 Andrew Dunlop, while obeying the call of his professional 
 duty. G. B. 1819.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 131 
 
 that gentleman at Catrine, his estate in Ayr- 
 shire. He had been introduced by Mr. Alex- 
 ander Dalzel, to the Earl of Glencairn, who 
 had expressed his high approbation of his 
 poetical talents. He had friends therefore who 
 could introduce hini into the circles of litera- 
 ture as well as of fashion, and his own manners 
 and appearance exceeding every expectation 
 that could have been fornied of them, he soon 
 became an object of general curiosity and ad- 
 miration. The following circumstance contri- 
 buted to this in a considerable degree. — At the 
 time when Burns arrived in Edinburgh, the pe- 
 riodical paper, entitled, The Lounger, was 
 publishing, every Saturday producing a suc- 
 cessive number. His poems had attracted the 
 notice of the gentlemen engaged in that under- 
 taking, and the ninety-seventh number of those 
 unequal, though frequently beautiful essays, is 
 devoted to Ayi Account of Rohert IBurns, the 
 Ayrshire ploughman, with extracts from his 
 poems, written by the elegant pen of Mr. Mac- 
 kenzie.* The Lounger had an extensive circu- 
 lation among persons of taste and literature, 
 not in Scotland only, but in various parts of 
 
 K 2 England, 
 
 * This paper has been attributed, but improperly, to Lord 
 Craig, one of the Scottish judges, author of the very inte- 
 resting account of Michael Bruce, in the 3Gth number of The 
 Mirror.
 
 132 THE LIFE OF 
 
 England, to whose acquaintance therefore our 
 bard was immediately introduced. The paper 
 of Mr. Mackenzie was calculated to introduce 
 him advantageously. The extracts are well 
 selected ; the criticisms and reflections are ju- 
 dicious as well as generous ; and in the style 
 and sentiments there is that happy delicacy, by 
 which the writings of the author are so emi- 
 nently distinguished. The extracts from Burns's 
 poems, in the ninety-seventh number of The 
 Lounger, were copied into the London as well 
 as into many of the provincial papers, and the 
 fame of our bard spread throughout the island. 
 Of the manners, character, and conduct of 
 Burns at this period, the following account has 
 been given by Mr. Stewart, Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, in 
 a letter to the editor, which he is particularly 
 happy to have obtained permission to insert in 
 these memoirs. 
 
 ** The first time I saw Robert Burns, was 
 on the 2.3d of October, 1786, when he dined at 
 my house in Ayrshire, together with our com- 
 mon friend, Mr. John Mackenzie, surgeon in 
 Mauchline, to whom I am indebted for the 
 pleasure of his acquaintance. I am enabled to 
 mention the date particularly, by some verses 
 which Burns wrote after he returned home, 
 and in which the day of our meeting is record- 
 ed.—
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 133 
 
 ed. — My excellent and much lamented friend, 
 the late Basil, Lord Daer, happened to arrive 
 at Catrine the same day, and by the kindness 
 and frankness of his manners, left an impression 
 on the mind of the Poet, which never was 
 effaced. The verses I allude to are among the 
 most imperfect of his pieces, but a few stanzas 
 may perhaps be an object of curiosity to you, 
 both on account of the character to which they 
 relate, and of the light which they throw on 
 the situation and feelings of the writer, before 
 his name was known to the public* 
 
 " I cannot 
 
 This poem is as follows : 
 
 This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
 I Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 
 
 October twenty-third, 
 A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, 
 Sae far I sprackled* up the brae, 
 
 I dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
 
 I've been at druken writers^ f feasts. 
 Nay been bitch-fou 'mang godly priests, 
 
 Wi' reverence be it spoken ; 
 I've even join'd the honor'd jorum, 
 When mighty Squireships of the quorum, 
 
 Their hydra drouth did sloken. 
 
 But wi' a Lord — stand put my shin, 
 A Lord — a Peer — an Earl's son. 
 Up higher yet my bonnet ; 
 
 * Clambered. f Attorneys. 
 
 An
 
 134 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " 1 cannot positively say, at this distance of 
 time, whether, at the period of our first ac- 
 quaintance, 
 
 Aa sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa. 
 Our Peerage he o'erlooks them a', 
 As I look o'er my sonnet. 
 
 But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r 
 To show Sir Bardy's willyart glowr,* 
 
 An how he star'd and stammer'd, 
 When goavan,t as if led wi' branks,J 
 An stumpan on his ploughman shanks, 
 
 He in the parlour hammer'd. 
 
 I sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
 An' at his lordship steal't a look 
 
 Like some portentous omen ; 
 Except good-sense and social glee, 
 An' (what surprised me) modesty, 
 
 I marked nought uncommon. 
 
 I watch 'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
 The gentle pride, the lordly state, 
 
 The arrogant assuming ; 
 The feint a pride, uae pride had he. 
 Nor sauce, nor state that I could see, 
 
 Mair than an honest ploughman. 
 
 Then from his Lordship I shall learn. 
 Henceforth to meet with unconcern, 
 
 One rank as well's another ; 
 Nae honest icorthy man need care, 
 To meet with noble youthful Daer, 
 For he but meets a brother. 
 
 These 
 
 Frightened stare. f Walking stupidly. 
 
 X A kind of bridle. 
 
 4
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 135 
 
 quaintance, the Kilmarnock edition of his 
 poems had been just published, or was yet in 
 the press. I suspect that the latter was the 
 case, as I have still in my possession copies, in 
 his own hand-writing, of some of bis favorite 
 performances; particularly of his verses "on 
 turning up a Mouse with his plough ;" " on the 
 Mountain Daisy ;" and " the Lament." On 
 my return to Edinburgh, I shewed the volume, 
 and mentioned what I knew of the authors 
 history to several of my friends, and among 
 others, to Mr, Henry Mackenzie, who first re- 
 commended him to public notice, in the 97th 
 number of The Lounger. 
 
 *' At this time Burns's prospects in life were 
 so extremely gloomy, that he had seriously 
 formed a plan of going out to .lamaica in a very 
 humble situation, not however without lament- 
 ing, 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 
 gauger in his own country. 
 
 " His manners were then, as they continued 
 
 ever 
 
 These lines will be read with no common interest by all 
 who remember the unaffected simplicity of appearance, the 
 sweetness of countenance and manners, and the unsuspect- 
 ing benevolence of heart, of Basil, Lord Daer.
 
 136 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ever afterwards, simple, manly, and indepen- 
 dent; strongly expressive of conscious genius 
 and worth ; but without any thing that indi- 
 cated forwardness, arrogance, or vanity. He 
 took his share in conversation, but not more 
 than belonged to him ; and listened with appa- 
 rent attention and deference, on subjects Avhere 
 his want of education deprived him of the 
 means of information. If there had been a little 
 more of gentleness and accommodation in his 
 temper, he would, J think, have been still more 
 interesting; but he had been accustomed to 
 give law in the circle of his ordinary acquaint- 
 ance, and his dread of any thing approaching 
 to meanness or servility, rendered his manner 
 somewhat decided and hard. — Nothing, per- 
 haps, was more remarkable among his various 
 attainments, than the fluency, and precision, 
 and originality of his language, when he spoke 
 in company; more particularly as he aimed at 
 purity in his turn of expression, and avoided 
 more successfully than most Scotchmen, the 
 peculiarities of Scottish phraseology. 
 
 "He came to Edinburgh early in the winter 
 following, and remained there for several months. 
 By whose advice he took this step, I am unable 
 to say. Perhaps it was suggested only by his 
 own curiosity to see a little more of the world; 
 but, I confess, I dreaded the consequences from 
 
 the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 137 
 
 the first, and always wished that his pursuits 
 and habits should continue the same as in the 
 former part of life ; with the addition of, what 
 I considered as then completely 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 per- 
 sons, were such as would have turned any 
 head but his own. I cannot say that I could 
 perceive any unfavorable effect which they left 
 on his mind. He retained the same simplicity 
 of manners and appearance which had struck 
 me so forcibly when I first saw him in the 
 country; nor did he seem to feel any additional 
 self-importance from the number and rank of 
 his new acquaintance. His dress was per- 
 fectly suited to his station, plain and unpre- 
 tending, with a sufficient attention to neatness. 
 If I recollect right, he always wore boots ; and, 
 when on more than usual ceremony, buck-skin 
 breeches. 
 
 " The variety of his engagements, while in 
 Edinburgh, prevented me from seeing him so 
 often as I could have wished. In the course of 
 the spring, he called on me once or twice, at 
 my request, early in the morning, and walked 
 with me to Braid-Hills, in the neighbourhood 
 
 of
 
 138 THE LIFE OF 
 
 of the town, when he charmed me still more by 
 his private conversation, than he had ever done 
 in company. He was passionately fond of the 
 beauties of nature; and I recollect once he told 
 me, when I was admiring a distant prospect in 
 one of our morning walks, that the sight of so 
 many smoking cottages gave a pleasure to his 
 mind, which none could understand who had 
 not witnessed, like himself, the happiness and 
 the worth which they contained. 
 
 " In his political principles he was then a Ja- 
 cobite; which was perhaps owing partly to 
 this, that his father was originally from the es- 
 tate of Lord Mareschall. Indeed he did not 
 appear to have thought much on such subjects, 
 nor very consistently. He had a very strong 
 sense of religion, and expressed deep regret at 
 the levity with which he had heard it treated oc- 
 casionally in some convivial meetings which he 
 frequented. I speak of him as he was in the 
 winter of 1786-7 ; for afterwards we met but 
 seldom, and our conversations turned chiefly 
 on his literary projects, or his private affairs. 
 
 " T do not recollect whether it appears or not 
 from afty of your letters to me that you had 
 ever seen Burns.* If you have, it is superfluous 
 
 for 
 
 * The Editor has seen and conversed with Burns.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 139 
 
 for me to add, thai the idea which his conver- 
 sation conveyed of the powers of his mind, ex- 
 ceeded, if possible, that which is suggested by 
 his writings. Among the poets whom I have 
 happened to know, I have been struck, in more 
 than one instance, with the unaccountable dis- 
 parity between their general talents, and the 
 occasional inspirations of their more favored 
 moments. But all the faculties of Burns's mind 
 were, as far as J could judge, equally vigorous ; 
 and his predilection for poetry was rather the 
 result of his own enthusiastic and imj)assioned 
 temper, than of a genius exclusively adapted 
 to that species of composition. From his con- 
 versation I should have pronounced him to be 
 fitted to excel in whatever walk of ambition he 
 had chosen to exert his abilities. 
 
 " Among the subjects on which he was ac- 
 customed to dwell, the characters of the indi- 
 viduals with whom he happened to meet, was 
 plainly a favorite one. The remarks he made 
 on them were always shrewd and pointed, 
 though frequently inclining too much to sar- 
 casm. His praise of those he loved was some- 
 times indiscriminate and extravagant; but this, 
 1 suspect, proceeded rather from the caprice 
 and humour of the moment, than from the 
 effects of attachment in blinding his judg- 
 ment. His wit was ready, and always im- 
 pressed
 
 140 THE LIFE OF 
 
 pressed with the marks of a vigorous nnder- 
 standing ; but, to my taste, not often pleasing 
 or happy. His attempts at epigram in his 
 printed works, are the only performances per- 
 haps, that he has produced, totally unworthy 
 of his genius. 
 
 *' In summer, 1787, 1 passed some weeks in 
 Ayrshire, and saw Burns occasionally. I think 
 that he made a pretty long excursion that sea- 
 son to the Highlands, and that he also visited 
 what Beattie calls the Arcadian ground of 
 Scotland, upon the banks of the Tiviot and the 
 Tweed. 
 
 " I should have mentioned before, that not- 
 withstanding various reports I heard during the 
 preceding winter, of Burns's predilection for 
 convivial, and not very select society, I should 
 have concluded in favor of his habits of so- 
 briety, from all of him that ever fell under my 
 own observation. He told me indeed himself, 
 that the weakness of his stomach was such as 
 to deprive him entirely of any merit in his tem- 
 perance. I was however somewhat alarmed 
 about the effect of his now comparatively se- 
 dentary and luxurious life, when he confessed 
 to me, the first night he spent in my house 
 after his winter's campaign in town, that he 
 had been much disturbed when in bed, by a 
 
 palpitation
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 141 
 
 palpitation at his heart, which, he said, was a 
 complaint to which he had of late become sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " In the course of the same season I was led 
 by curiosity to attend for an hour or two a 
 Mason-Lodge in Mauchline, where Burns pre- 
 sided. He had occasion to make some short 
 unpremeditated compliments to different indi- 
 viduals from whom he had no reason to expect 
 a visit, and every thing he said was happily 
 conceived, and forcibly, as well as fluently ex- 
 pressed. If I am not mistaken, he told me, 
 that in that village, before going to Edinburgh, 
 he had belonged to a small club of such of the 
 inhabitants as had a taste for books, when they 
 used to converse and debate on any interesting 
 questions that occurred to them in the course 
 of their reading. His manner of speaking in 
 public had evidently the marks of some prac- 
 tice in extempore elocution. 
 
 " I must not omit to mention,, what I have 
 always considered as characteristical in a high 
 degree of true genius, the extreme facility and 
 good nature of his taste, in judging of the com- 
 positions of others, where there was any real 
 ground for praise. I repeated to him many 
 passages of English poetry, with which he was 
 unacquainted, and have more than once wit- 
 nessed
 
 142 THE LIFE OF 
 
 nessed the tears of admiration and rapture, 
 with which he heard them. The collection of 
 songs by Dr. Aikin, which I first put into his 
 hands, he read with unmixed dehght, notwith- 
 standing his former eflbrts in tliat very difficult 
 species of writing ; and I have little doubt that 
 it had some effect in polishing his subsequent 
 compositions. 
 
 " In judging of prose, I do not think his 
 taste was equally sound. I once read to him 
 a passage or two in Franklin's Works, which I 
 thought very happily executed, upon the model 
 of Addison ; but he did not appear to relish, 
 or to perceive the beauty which they derived 
 from their exquisite simplicity ; and spoke of 
 them with indifference, when compared with 
 the point, and antithesis, and quaintness of 
 Junius. The influence of this taste is very per- 
 ceptible in his own prose compositions, although 
 their great and various excellences render some 
 of them scarcely less objects of wonder than 
 his poetical performances. The late Dr. Ro- 
 bertson used to say, that, considering his edu- 
 cation, the former seemed to him the more 
 extraordinary of the two. 
 
 " His memory was uncommonly retentive, at 
 least for poetry, of which he recited to me fre- 
 quently long compositions with the most mi- 
 nute
 
 ROBERT BURNS. J43 
 
 nute accuracy. They were chiefly ballads, and 
 other pieces in our Scottish dialect; great part 
 of them (he told me) he had learned in his 
 childhood, from his mother, who delighted in 
 such recitations, and whose poetical taste, rude 
 as it probably was, gave, it is presumable, the 
 first direction to her son's genius. 
 
 " Of the more polished verses which acci- 
 dentally fell into his hands in his early years, 
 he mentioned particularly the recommendatory 
 poems by different authors, prefixed to Her- 
 veys Meditations; a book which has always 
 had a very wide circulation among such of the 
 country people of Scotland, as affect to unite 
 some degree of taste with their religious studies. 
 And these poems (although they are certainly 
 below mediocrity) he continued to read with a 
 degree of rapture beyond expression. He took 
 notice of this fact hmiself, as a proof how much 
 the taste is liable to be influenced by accidental 
 circumstances. 
 
 " His father appeared to me, from the ac- 
 count he gave of him, to have been a respect- 
 able and worthy character, possessed of a mind 
 superior to what might have been expected 
 from his station in life. He ascribed much of 
 his own principles and feelings, to the early 
 impressions he had received from his instruc- 
 tions
 
 144 THE LIFE OF 
 
 tioris and example. I recollect that he once 
 applied to him (and he added, that the passage 
 was a literal statement of fact) the two last 
 lines of the following passage in the 31instrel; 
 the whole of which he repeated with great en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, 
 
 When fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ; 
 
 Shall nature's voice, to man alone unjust. 
 
 Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live ? 
 
 Is it for this fair virtue oft must strive 
 With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
 
 No : heaven's immortal spring shall jet arrive; 
 And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 
 
 Bright through th' eternal year of love's triumphant 
 reign. 
 
 This truth sitbltme, his simple sire had taught ; 
 In sooth, ^twas almost all the shepherd knew. 
 
 " With respect to Burns's early education, I 
 cannot say any thing with certainty. He al- 
 ways spoke with respect and gratitude of the 
 schoolmaster who had taught him to read Eng- 
 lish, and who, finding in his scholar a more 
 than ordinary ardour for knowledge, had been 
 at pains to instruct him in the grammatical 
 principles of the language. He began the study 
 of Latin, but dropped it before he had finished 
 
 the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 145 
 
 the verbs. I have sometimes heard him quote 
 a few Latin words, such as omnia vincit amor, 
 Sfc. ; but they seemed to be such as he had 
 caught from conversation, and which he re- 
 peated by rote. I tliink he had a project, after 
 he came to Edinburgh, of prosecuting the study 
 under his intimate friend, the late Mr. Nicol, 
 one of the masters of the grammar-school here; 
 but I do not know that he ever proceeded so 
 far as to make the attempt. 
 
 " He Certainly possessed a smattering of 
 French ; and, if he had an affectation in any 
 thing, it was in introducing occasionally a word 
 or phrase from that language. It is possible 
 that his knowledge in this respect might be 
 more extensive than I suppose it to be ; but 
 this you can learn from his more intimate ac- 
 quaintance. It would be worth while to inquire, 
 whether he was able to read the French authors 
 with such facility, as to receive from them any 
 improvement to his taste. For my own part, I 
 doubt it much — nor Mould I believe it, but on 
 very strong and pointed evidence. 
 
 *' If my memory does not fail me, he was 
 well instructed in Arithmetic, and knew some- 
 thing of practical Geometry, particularly of 
 Surveying. — All his other attainments were en- 
 tirely his own. 
 
 VOL. I. L " The
 
 146 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " The last time I saw him was during the 
 winter 1788-89;* when he passed an evening 
 with me at Drumseugh, in the neighbourhood 
 of Edinburgh, where 1 was then living. My 
 friend, Mr. Alison, was the only other person 
 in company. I never saw him more agreeable 
 or interesting. A present which Mr. Alison 
 sent him afterwards of his Essays on Taste, 
 drew from Burns a letter of acknowledgment, 
 which I remember to have read with some de* 
 gree of surprize, at the distinct conception he 
 appeared from it to have formed of the general 
 principles of the doctrine of association. When 
 1 saw Mr. Alison in Shropshire, last autumn, 
 I forgot to inquire if the letter be still in exist- 
 ence. If it is, you may easily procure it, by 
 means of our friend, Mr. Houlbrooke."f 
 
 ^ « « # # # # 
 
 The scene that opened on our Bard in Edin- 
 burgh was altogether new, and in a variety of 
 
 other 
 
 * Or rather 1789-90. I cannot speak with confidence 
 with respect to the particular year. Some of my other dates 
 may possibly require correction, as I keep no journal of such 
 occurrences. 
 
 + This letter will be found in vol. ii.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 147 
 
 other respects highly interesting ; especially to 
 one of his disposition of mind. To use an ex- 
 pression of his own, he found himself " suddenly 
 " translated from the veriest shades of life," into 
 the presence, and indeed, into the society, of a 
 number of persons, previously known to him 
 by report as of the highest distinction in his 
 country, and whose characters it was natural 
 for him to examine with no common curiosity. 
 
 From the men of letters, in general, his re- 
 ception was particularly flattering. The late 
 Dr. Robertson, Dr. Blair, Dr. Gregory, Mr. 
 Stewart, Mr. Mackenzie, and Mr. Frazer Tyt- 
 ler, may be mentioned in the list of those who 
 perceived his uncommon talents, who acknow- 
 ledged more especially his powers in conver- 
 sation, and who interested themselves in the 
 cultivation of his genius. In Edinburgh, lite- 
 rary and fashionable society are a good deal 
 mixed. Our bard was an acceptable guest in 
 the gayest and most elevated circles, and fre- 
 quently received from female beauty and ele- 
 gance, those attentions, above all others most 
 grateful to him. At tlie table of Lord Mon- 
 boddo he was a frequent guest ; and while he 
 enjoyed the society, and partook of the hospi- 
 talities of the venerable judge, he experienced 
 the kindness and condescension of his lovely 
 and accomplished daughter. The singular 
 
 L 2 beauty
 
 148 THE LIFE OF 
 
 beauty of this young lady was illuminated by 
 that happy expression of countenance which 
 results from the union of cultivated taste and 
 superior understanding, with the finest affec- 
 tions of the mind. The influence of such attrac- 
 tions was not unfelt by our poet. " There has 
 *' not been any thing like Miss Burnet," said 
 he in a letter to a friend, " in all the combina- 
 " tion of beauty, grace, and goodness, the Cre- 
 " ator has formed, since Milton's Eve, on the 
 " first day of her existence."* In his Address 
 to Edinburgh, she is celebrated in a strain of 
 still greater elevation : 
 
 " Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 
 " Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
 
 " I see the Sire of Love on high, 
 
 " And own his work indeed divine !" f 
 
 This lovely woman died a few years after- 
 wards in the flower of youth. Our bard ex- 
 pressed his sensibility on that occasion, in verses 
 addressed to her memory. J 
 
 Among the men of rank and fashion, Burns 
 was particularly distinguished by James, Earl 
 of Glencairn. On the motion of this nobleman, 
 
 the 
 
 * See vol. ii. f See voL iii. X See vol. ii.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 149 
 
 the Caledonian Hunt, an association of the 
 principal of the nobility and ^ntry of Scot- 
 land, extended their patronage to our Bard, and 
 admitted him to their gay orgies. He repaid 
 their notice by a dedication of the enlarged and 
 improved edition of his poems, in which he has 
 celebrated their patriotism and independence in 
 very animated terms. 
 
 *' 1 congratulate my country that the blood 
 of her ancient heroes runs uncontaminated ; 
 and that, from your courage, knowledge, and 
 public spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, 
 and liberty. ********** May 
 corruption shrink at your kindling indignant 
 glance ; and may tyranny in the ruler, and li- 
 centiousness in the people, equally find in you 
 an inexorable foe!"* 
 
 It is to be presumed that these generous senti- 
 ments, uttered at an aera singularly propitious 
 to independence of character and conduct, were 
 favorably received by the persons to whom they 
 were addressed, and that they were echoed from 
 every bosom, as well as from that of the Earl 
 of Glencairn. This accomplished nobleman, a 
 scholar, a man of taste and sensibility, died 
 
 soon 
 
 * See vol, iii. Dedication,
 
 150 THE LIFE OF 
 
 soon afterwards. Had he lived, and had his 
 power equalled his wishes, Scotland might still 
 have exulted in the genius, instead of lament- 
 ing the early fate of her favorite bard. 
 
 A taste for letters is not always conjoined 
 with habits of temperance and regularity ; and 
 Edinburgh, at the period of which we speak, 
 contained, perhaps, an uncommon proportion 
 of men of considerable talents, devoted to social 
 excesses, in which their talents were wasted and 
 debased. 
 
 Burns entered into several parties of this de- 
 scription, with the usual vehemence of his cha- 
 racter. His generous affections, his ardent elo- 
 quence, his brilliant and daring imagination, 
 fitted him to be the idol of such associations ; 
 and accustoming himself to conversation of un- 
 limited range, and to festive indulgences that 
 scorned restraint, he gradually lost some por- 
 tion of his relish for the more pure, but less 
 poignant pleasures, to be found in the circles of 
 taste, elegance, and literature. The sudden al- 
 teration in his habits of life, operated on him 
 physically as well as morally. The humble 
 fare of an Ayrshire peasant he had exchanged 
 for the luxuries of the Scottish metropolis, and 
 the effects of this change on his ardent constitu- 
 tion could not be inconsiderable. But what- 
 ever
 
 ROBKRT BURNS. 151 
 
 ever influence might be produced on his con- 
 duct, his excellent understanding suffered no 
 corresponding debasement. He estimated his 
 friends and associates of every description at 
 their proper value, and appreciated his own 
 conduct with a precision that might give scope 
 to mucb curious and melancholy reflection. 
 He saw his danger, and at times formed reso- 
 lutions to guard against it; but he had em- 
 barked on the tide of dissipation, and was borne 
 along its stream. 
 
 Of the state of his mind at this time, an au- 
 thentic, though imperfect document remains, in 
 a book which he procured in the spring of 1787, 
 for the purpose, as he himself informs us, of re- 
 cording in it whatever seemed worthy of obser- 
 vation. The following extracts may serve as a 
 specimen, 
 
 Edinburgh, April 9tk, 1787. 
 
 ** As 1 have seen a good deal of human life 
 in Edinburgh, a great many characters which 
 are new, to one bred up in the shades of life as 
 I have been, I am determined to take down my 
 remarks on the spot. Gray observes in a letter 
 to Mr. Palgrave, that " half a word fixed 
 upon, or near the spot, is worth a cart load of 
 recollection." 1 don't know how it is with the 
 
 world,
 
 J52 THE LIFE OF 
 
 world in general, but with me, raaking my re- 
 marks, is by no means a solitary pleasure. 1 
 want some one to laugh with me, some one to 
 be grave with me, some one to please me and 
 help my discrimination, with his or her own re- 
 mark ; and at times, no doubt, to admire my 
 acuteness and penetration. The world are so 
 busied with selfish pursuits, ambition, vanity, 
 interest, or pleasure, that very few think it worth 
 their while to make any observation on what 
 passes around them, except where that obser- 
 vation is a sucker, or branch of the darling 
 plant they are rearing in their fancy. Nor 
 am I sure, notwithstanding all the sentimental 
 flights of novel-writers, and the sage philoso- 
 phy of moralists, whether we are capable of so 
 intimate and cordial a coalition of friendship, as 
 that one man may pour out his bosom, his 
 every thought and floating fancy, his very in- 
 most soul, with unreserved confidence to ano- 
 ther, without hazard of losing part of that re- 
 spect which man deserves from man ; or, from 
 the unavoidable imperfections attending human 
 nature, of one day repenting his confidence. 
 
 " For these reasons, I am determined to make 
 these pages my confidant. T will sketch every 
 character that any way strikes me, to the best 
 of my power, with unshrinking justice. 1 will 
 insert anecdotes, and take down remarks, in 
 
 the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 153 
 
 the old law phrase, ivithout feud or favor. — 
 Where 1 hit on any thing clever, my own ap- 
 plause will in some measure feast my vanity ; 
 and, begging Patroclus' and Achates' pardon, 1 
 think a lock and key a security, at least equal 
 to the bosom of any friend whatever. 
 
 "My own private story likewise, my love- 
 adventures, my rambles ; the frowns and smiles 
 of fortune on my hardship ; my poems and frag- 
 ments that must, never see the light, shall be 
 occasionally inserted. — In short, never did four 
 shillings purchase so much friendship, since 
 confidence went first to market, or honesty was 
 set up to sale. 
 
 " To these seemingly invidious, but too just 
 ideas of human friendship, I would cheerfully 
 make one exception — the connection between 
 two persons of different sexes, when their in- 
 terests are united and absorbed by the tie of 
 love — 
 
 When thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part. 
 And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. 
 
 There, confidence, confidence that exalts them 
 the more in one another's opinion, that endears 
 them the more to each other's hearts, unreserv- 
 edly *' reigns and revels." But this is not my 
 lot, and in my situation, if I am wise, (which by 
 
 the
 
 154 THE LIFE or 
 
 the bye 1 have no great chance of being,) my 
 fate should be cast with the Psahnist's sjiarrow, 
 " to watch alone on the house-tops" — Oh, the 
 pity ! 
 
 " There are few of the sore evils under the 
 sun, give me more uneasiness and chagrin, than 
 the comparison how a man of genius, nay, of 
 avowed worth, is received every where, with 
 the reception which a mere ordinary character, 
 decorated with the trappings and futile distinc- 
 tions of fortune meets. I imagine a man of 
 abilities, his breast glowing with honest pride, 
 conscious that men are born equal, still giving 
 honor to ivhom Jionor is due; he meets at a 
 great man's table a Squire something, or a Sir 
 somebody ; he knows the noble landlord, at 
 heart, gives the bard, or whatever he is, a share 
 of his good wishes beyond perhaps any one at 
 table ; yet how will it mortify him to see a fel- 
 low, whose abilities would scarcely have made 
 an eiglitpenny tailor^ and whose heart is not 
 worth three farthings, meet with attention and 
 notice, that are withheld from the son of genius 
 and poverty ? 
 
 *' The noble Glencairn has wounded me to 
 the soul here, because I dearly esteem, respect, 
 and love him. He showed so much attention, 
 
 engrossing
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 155 
 
 engrossing attention, one day, to the only block- 
 head at table, (the whole company consisted of 
 his lordship, dunderpate, and myself) that I 
 was within half a point of throwing down my 
 gage of contemptuous defiance ; but he shook 
 my hand, and looked so benevolently good at 
 parting. God bless him ! though I should 
 never see him more, I shall love him until my 
 dying day ! I am pleased to think I am so capa- 
 ble of the throes of gratitude, as I am miserably 
 deficient in some other virtues. 
 
 " With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I never 
 respect him with humble veneration ; but when 
 he kindly interests himself in my welfare, or 
 still more, when he descends from his pinnacle, 
 and meets me on equal ground in conversation, 
 my heart overflows with what is called liking. 
 When he neglects me for the mere carcase of 
 greatness, or when his eye measures the differ- 
 ence of our points of elevation, I say to myself 
 with scarcely any emotion, what do I care for 
 him, or his pomp either?" 
 
 W * TV ''v* 7F * * 
 
 The intentions of the poet in procuring this 
 book, so fully described by himself, were very 
 imperfectly executed. He has inserted in it 
 few or no incidents, but several observations 
 
 and
 
 156 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and reflections, of which the greater part that 
 are proper for the public eye, will be found in- 
 terwoven in the volume of his letters. The 
 most curious particulars in the book are the 
 delineations of the characters he met with. 
 These are not numerous ; but they are chiefly 
 of persons of distinction in the republic of let- 
 ters, and nothing but the delicacy and respect 
 due to living characters prevents us from com- 
 mitting them to the press. Though it appears 
 that in his conversation he was sometimes dis- 
 posed to sarcastic remarks on the men with 
 whom he lived, nothing of this kind is dis- 
 coverable in these more deliberate efforts of his 
 understanding, which, while they exhibit great 
 clearness of discrimination, manifest also the 
 wish, as well as the power, to bestow high and 
 generous praise. 
 
 As a specimen of these delineations, we give 
 in this (fourth) edition, the character of Dr. 
 Blair, who has now paid the debt of nature, in 
 the full confidence that this freedom will not be 
 found inconsistent with the respect and venera- 
 tion due to that excellent man, the last star iij 
 the literary constellation, by which the metro- 
 polis of Scotland was, in the earlier part of the 
 present reign, so beautifully illuminated. 
 
 " It is not easy forming an exact judgment 
 
 of
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 157 
 
 of any one ; but, in my opinion, Dr. Blair is 
 merely an astonishing proof what industry and 
 application can do. Natural parts, like his, 
 are frequently to be met with ; his vanity is 
 proverbially known among his acquaintance; 
 but he is justly at the head of what may be 
 called fine writing; and a critic of the first, 
 the very first, rank in prose ; even in poetry, a 
 bard of Nature s making, can only take the pas 
 of him. He has a heart, not of the very finest 
 water, but far from being an ordinary one. In 
 short, he is truly a worthy, and most respect- 
 able character." 
 
 By the new edition of his poems, Burns ac- 
 quired a sum of money, that enabled him not 
 only to partake of the pleasures of Edinburgh, 
 but to gratify a desire he had long entertained, 
 of visiting those parts of his native country, 
 most attractive by their beauty or their grand- 
 eur ; a desire which the return of summer natu- 
 rally revived. The scenery on the banks of the 
 Tweed, and of its tributary streams, strongly 
 interested his fancy ; and accordingly he left 
 Edinburgh on the 6th of May, 1787, on a tour 
 through a country so much celebrated in the 
 rural songs of Scotland. He travelled on horse- 
 back, and was accompanied during some part 
 of his journey by Mr Ainslie, now writer to the 
 
 signet,
 
 153 THE LIFE OF 
 
 signet, a g-entleman who enjoj^ed much of his 
 friendship and of his confidence. Of this tour 
 a journal remains, which however contains only 
 occasional remarks on the scenery, and which 
 is chiefly occupied with an account of the au- 
 thor's diflerent stages, and with his observations 
 on the various characters to whom he was in- 
 troduced. In the course of this tour he visited 
 Mr. Ainslie, of Berry well, the father of his com- 
 panion ; Mr. Brydone, the celebrated traveller, 
 to whom he carried a letter of introduction from 
 Mr. Mackenzie ; the Reverend Dr. Somerville, 
 of Jedburgh, the historian ; Mr. and Mrs. Scott, 
 of Wauchope ; Dr. Elliot, a physician, retired 
 to a romantic spot on the banks of the Roole ; 
 Sir Alexander Don; Sir James Hall, of Dun- 
 glass ; and a great variety of other respectable 
 characters. Every where the fame of the poet 
 had spread before him, and every where he 
 received the most hospitable and flattering at- 
 tentions. At Jedburgh he continued several 
 days and was honored by the magistrates with 
 the freedom of their Borough. The following 
 may serve as a specimen of this tour, which the 
 perpetual reference to living characters, prevents 
 our giving at large. 
 
 " Saturday, May Qth. Left Edinburgh — 
 Lammer-muir-hills, miserably dreary in general, 
 but at times very picturesque. 
 
 " Lanson-edge,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 150 
 
 " Lanson-edge, a glorious view of the Merse. 
 Reach Berry well. * * * fhe family meet- 
 ing with my compagnon de voyage, very charm- 
 ing ; particularly the sister. * * * 
 
 " Sunday. Went to church at Dunse. Heard 
 Dr. Bowmaker. * * * 
 
 " Monday. Coldstream — glorious river Tweed 
 — clear and majestic — fine bridge — dine at Cold- 
 stream, with Mr. Ainslie, and Mr. Foreman. 
 Beat Mr. Foreman in a dispute about Voltaire. 
 Drink tea at Lenel-House, with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Brydone. * * * Reception extremely flat- 
 tering. Sleep at Coldstream. 
 
 " Tuesday. Breakfast at Kelso — charming 
 situation of the town — fine bridge over the 
 Tweed. Enchanting views and prospects on 
 both sides of the river, especially on the Scotch 
 side. * * * Visit Roxburgh Palace — fine 
 situation of it. Ruins of Roxburgh castle — a 
 Holly-bush growing where James the Second 
 was accidentally killed by the bursting of a 
 cannon. A small old religious ruin, and a fine 
 old garden planted by the religious, rooted out 
 and destroyed by a Hottentot, a maitrc d hotel 
 of the Duke's !— Climate and soil of Berwick- 
 shire, and even Roxburghshire, superior to 
 
 Ayrshire
 
 160 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Ayrshire — bad roads — turnip and sheep hus- 
 bandry, their great improvements. *= * * 
 Low markets, consequently low lands — mag- 
 nificence of farmers and farm-houses. Come 
 up the Tiviot, and up the Jed to Jedburgh to 
 lie, and so wish myself good night. 
 
 *' Wednesday. Breakfast with Mr. Fair. 
 * * "^ Charming romantic situation of Jedburgh, 
 with gardens and orchards, intermingled among 
 the houses and the ruins of a once magnificent 
 cathedral. All the towns here have the appear- 
 ance of old rude grandeur, but extremely idle. 
 ' — Jed a fine romantic little river. Dined with 
 Capt. Rutherford, * * * return to Jedburgh. 
 Walk up the Jed with some ladies to be shewn 
 Love-lane, and Blackburn, two fairy scenes. 
 Introduced to Mr. Potts, writer, and to Mr. 
 Sommerville, the clergyman of the parish, a 
 man, and a gentleman, but Sfidly addicted to 
 punning. 
 
 tF ^7? w rlr ^ -5? ^ 
 
 " Jedbui\gh, Saturday. Was presented by 
 the magistrates with the freedom of the town. 
 
 ** Took farewell of Jedburgh with some me- 
 lancholy sensations. 
 
 " Monday, May Uth, Kelso. Dine with the 
 
 farmers'
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 161 
 
 farmers' club — all gentlemen talking of high 
 matters — each of them keeps a hunter from 30/. 
 to 50/. value, and attends the fox-hnnting club 
 in the country. Go out with Mr. Ker, one of 
 the club, and a friend of Mr. Ainslie's, to 
 sleep. In his mind and manners, Mr. Ker 
 is astonishingly like my dear old friend Ro- 
 bert Muir — Every thing in his house elegant. 
 He offers to accompany me in my English 
 tour. 
 
 " Tuesday. Dine with Sir Alexander Don ; 
 a very wet day. * * * Sleep at Mr. Ker s again, 
 and set out next day for Melross — visit Dry- 
 burgh, a fine old ruined abbey, by the way. 
 Cross the Leader and come up the Tweed to 
 Melross. Dine there, and visit that far-famed 
 glorious ruin — Come to Selkirk up the banks 
 of Ettrick. The whole country hereabouts, both 
 on Tweed and Ettrick, remarkably stony." 
 
 * # # # ,J{: ^ ^ 
 
 Having spent three weeks in exploring this 
 interesting scenery, Burns crossed over into 
 Northumberland. Mr. Ker, and Mr. Hood, 
 two gentlemen with whom he had become ac- 
 quainted in the course of his tour, accompanied 
 him. He visited Alnwick-Castle, the princely 
 seat of the Duke of Northumberland ; the her- 
 mitage and old castle of Worksworth; Morpeth, 
 
 VOL. I. M and
 
 162 THE LIFE OF 
 
 and Newcastle — In this last town he spent two 
 days, and then proceeded to the south-west by 
 Hexham and Wardnie, to Carlisle. — After 
 spending a day at Carlisle with his friend Mr. 
 Mitchell, he returned into Scotland, and at 
 Annan his journal terminates abruptly. 
 
 Of the various persons with whom he became 
 acquainted in the course of this journey, he 
 has, in general, given some account; and al- 
 most always a favorable one. That on the 
 banks of the Tweed, and of the Tiviot, our 
 bard should find nymphs that were beautiful, 
 is what might be confidently presumed. Two 
 of these are particularly described in his jour- 
 nal. But it does not appear that the scenery, 
 or its inhabitants, produced any effort of his 
 muse, as was to have been wished and expected. 
 From Annan, Burns proceeded to Dumfries, 
 and thence through Sanquhar, to Mossgiel, 
 near Mauchline, in Ayrshire, where he arrived 
 about the 8th of June, 1787, after a long ab- 
 sence of six busy and eventful months. It will 
 easily be conceived with what pleasure and 
 pride he was received by his mother, his bro- 
 thers, and sisters. He had left them poor, and 
 comparatively friendless ; he returned to them 
 high in public estimation, and easy in his cir- 
 cumstances. He returned to them unchanged 
 in his ardent affections, and ready to share 
 
 with
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 163 
 
 with them to the uttermost farthing, the pit- 
 tance that fortune had bestowed. 
 
 Having remained with them a few days, he 
 proceeded again to Edinburgh, and immedi- 
 ately set out on a journey to the Highlands. 
 Of this tour no particulars have been found 
 among his manuscripts. A letter to his friend 
 Mr. Ainslie, dated Arrachas, near Crochairbas, 
 hy Lioclileary^ June 28, 1787; commences as 
 follows : 
 
 *' I write you this on my tour through a 
 country where savage streams tumble over sa- 
 vage mountains, thinly overspread with savage 
 flocks, which starvingly support as savage in- 
 habitants. My last stage was Inverary — to- 
 morrow night's stage, Dumbarton. I ought 
 sooner to have answered your kind letter, but 
 you know 1 am a man of many sins." 
 
 Part of a letter from our Bard to a friend, 
 giving some account of his journey, has been 
 communicated to the Editor since the publica- 
 tion of the third edition. The reader will be 
 amused with the following extract : 
 
 "On our return, at a Highland gentle- 
 man's hospitable mansion, we fell in with a 
 
 M 2 merry
 
 164 tHE LIFE Ot 
 
 merry party, and danced till the ladies left us, 
 at three in the morning. Our dancing was 
 none of the French or English insipid formal 
 movements ; the ladies sung Scotch songs like 
 angels, at intervals ; then we flew at Sab at 
 the boivster, Tullochgorum, Loch Erroch side^ 
 &c. like midges sporting in the mottie sun, or 
 craws prognosticating a storm in a hairst day. 
 — When the dear lasses left us, we ranged 
 round the bowl till the good-fellow hour of six; 
 except a few minutes that we went out to pay 
 our devotions to the glorious lamp of day peer- 
 ing over the towering top of Benlomond. We 
 all kneeled ; our worthy landlord s son held 
 the bowl ; each man a full glass in his hand ; 
 and I, as priest, repeated some rhyming non- 
 sense, like Thomas-a-Rhymer's prophecies 1 
 suppose. — After a small refreshment of the gifts 
 of Somnus, we proceeded to spend the day on 
 Lochlomond, and reach Dumbarton in the 
 evening. We dined at another good fellow's 
 house, and consequently push'd the bottle; 
 when we went out to mount our horses, we 
 found ourselves " No vera fou but gaylie yet." 
 My two friends and 1 rode soberly down the 
 Loch side, till by came a Highlandman at the 
 gallop, on a tolerably good horse, but which 
 
 had 
 
 * Scotch tuneSk
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 165 
 
 had never known the ornaments of iron or lea- 
 ther. We scorned to be out-gallopped by a 
 Highlandman, so off we started, whip and 
 spur. My companions, though seemingly gayly 
 mounted, fell sadly astern ; but my old mare, 
 Jenny Geddes, one of the Rosinante family, she 
 strained past the Highlandman in spite of all 
 his efforts, with the hair halter : just as I was 
 passing him, Donald wheeled his horse, as if 
 to cross before me to mar my progress, when 
 down came his horse, and threw his rider's 
 breekless a — e in a dipt hedge; and down 
 came Jenny Geddes over all, and my hardship 
 between her and the Highlandman 's horse. 
 Jenny Geddes trode over me with such cau- 
 tious reverence, that matters were not so bad 
 as might well have been expected ; so I came 
 off with a few cuts and bruises, and a thorough 
 resolution to be a pattern of sobriety for the 
 future. 
 
 " I have yet fixed on nothing with respect 
 to the serious business of life. I am, just as 
 usual, a rhyming, mason-making, raking, aim- 
 less, idle fellow. However, I shall somewhere 
 have a farm soon. I was going to say, a wife 
 too ; but that must never be my blessed lot. 1 
 am but a younger son of the house of Par- 
 nassus, and like other younger sons of great 
 
 families,
 
 106 THE LIFE OF 
 
 families, I may intrigue, if I choose to run all 
 risks, but must not marry. 
 
 " 1 am afraid 1 have almost ruined one 
 source, the principal one indeed, of my former 
 happiness ; that eternal propensity I always 
 had to fall in love. My heart no more glows 
 with feverish rapture. I have no paradisical 
 evening interviews stolen from the restless cares 
 and prying inhabitants of this weary world. I 
 have only * * * *. This last is one of your dis- 
 tant acquaintances, has a fine figure, and ele- 
 gant manners ; and in the train of some great 
 folks whom you know, has seen the politest 
 quarters in Europe. I do like her a good deal; 
 but what piques me is her conduct at the com- 
 mencement of our acquaintance. I frequently 
 visited her when I was in , and after pas- 
 sing regularly the intermediate degrees between 
 the distant formal bow and the familiar grasp 
 round the waist, I ventured in my careless way 
 to talk of friendship in rather ambiguous terms; 
 
 and after her return to , I wrote to her 
 
 in the same style. Miss, construing my words 
 farther I suppose than even I intended, flew off 
 in a tangent of female dignity and reserve, like 
 a mountain lark in an April morning; and 
 wrote me an answer which measured me out 
 very completely what an immense way I had to 
 
 travel
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 167 
 
 travel before I could reach the climate of her 
 favour. But I am an old hawk at the sport; and 
 wrote her such a cool, deliberate, prudent reply, 
 as brought my bird from her aerial towerings, 
 pop, down at my foot like corporal Trim's hat. 
 
 *' As for the rest of my acts, and my wars, 
 and all my wise sayings, and why my mare was 
 called Jenny Geddes ; they shall be recorded 
 in a few weeks hence at Linlithgow, in the 
 chronicles of your memory, by 
 
 " Robert Burns." 
 
 From this journey Burns returned to his 
 friends in Ayrshire, with whom he spent the 
 month of July, renewing his friendships, and ex- 
 tending his acquaintance throughout the county, 
 where he was now very generally known and 
 admired. In August he again visited Edin- 
 burgh, whence he undertook another journey 
 towards the middle of this month, in company 
 with Mr. M. Adair, now Dr. Adair, of Harrow- 
 gate, of which this gentleman has favored us 
 with the following account. 
 
 " Burns and I left Edinburgh together in 
 August, 1787. We rode by Linlithgow and 
 Carron, to Stirling. We visited the iron-works 
 at Carron, with which the poet was forcibly 
 
 struck.
 
 168 THE LIFE OF 
 
 struck. The resemblance between that place, 
 and its inhabitants, to the cave of the Cyclops, 
 which must have occurred to every classical 
 reader, presented itself to Burns. At Stirling* 
 the prospects from the castle strongly inte- 
 rested him ; in a former visit to which, his na- 
 tional feelings had been powerfully excited by 
 the ruinous and roofless state of the hall in 
 which the Scottish parliaments had frequently 
 been held. His indignation had vented itself 
 in some imprudent, but not unpoetical lines, 
 which had given much ofl'ence, and which he 
 took this opportunity of erasing, by breaking 
 the pane of the window at the inn on which 
 they were written. 
 
 " At Stirling we met with a company of tra- 
 vellers from Edinburgh, among whom was a 
 character in many respects congenial with that 
 of Burns. This was Nicol, one of the teachers 
 of the High-Grammar-School at p]dinburgh — 
 the same wit and power of conversation ; the 
 same fondness for convivial society, and thought- 
 lessness of to-morrow, characterized both. Ja- 
 cobitical principles in politics were common to 
 both of them ; and these have been suspected, 
 since the revolution of France, to have given 
 place in each, to opinions apparently opposite. 
 I regret that I have preserved no memorabilia 
 of their conversation, either on this or on other 
 
 occasions.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 169 
 
 occasions, when I happened to meet them to- \ 
 gether. Many songs were sung ; which 1 men- 
 tion 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 harmonious, were y/ 
 impressive and pathetic. This he did on the 
 present occasion. 
 
 *' From Stirling we went next morning through 
 the romantic and fertile vale of Devon to Har- 
 vieston, in Clackmannanshire, then inhabited 
 by Mrs. Hamilton, with the younger part of 
 whose family Burns had been previously ac- 
 quainted. He introduced me to the family, 
 and there was formed my first acquaintance 
 with Mrs. Hamilton's eldest daughter, to whom 
 I have been married for nine years. Thus was 
 I indebted to Burns for a connexion from which 
 1 have derived, and expect further to derive, 
 much happiness. 
 
 " During a residence of about ten days at 
 Harvieston, we made excursions to visit various 
 parts of the surrounding scenery, inferior to 
 none in Scotland, in beauty, sublimity, and ro- 
 mantic interest; particularly Castle Campbell, 
 the ancient seat of the family of Argyle; and 
 the famous cataract of the Devon, called the 
 
 Caldron
 
 170 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Caldron JLinnt^ and the Rumbling Sridge, a 
 single broad arch, thrown by the Devil, if tra- 
 dition is to be believed, across the river, at 
 about the height of a hundred feet above its 
 bed. I am surprised that none of these scenes 
 should have called forth an exertion of Burns's 
 muse. But I doubt if he had much taste for 
 the picturesque. I well remember, that the 
 ladies at Harvieston, who accompanied us on 
 this jaunt, expressed their disappointment at 
 his not expressing in more glowing and fervid 
 language, his impressions of the Caldron Linn 
 scene, certainly highly sublime, and somewhat 
 horrible. J 
 
 *' A visit to Mrs. Bruce, of Clackmannan, a 
 lady above ninety, the lineal descendant of that 
 race which gave the Scottish throne its brightest 
 ornament, interested his feelings more power- 
 fully. This venerable dame, with characteris- 
 tical dignity, informed me, on my observing 
 that I believed she was descended from the fa- 
 mily of Robert Bruce, that Robert Bruce was 
 sprung from her family. Though almost de- 
 prived of speech by a paralytic affection, she 
 preserved her hospitality and urbanity. She 
 was in possession of the hero's helmet and two- 
 handed sword, with which she conferred on 
 Burns and myself the honor of knighthood, re- 
 marking, that she had a better right to confer 
 
 that
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 171 
 
 that title than some people. * * You will of 
 course conclude that the old lady's political 
 tenets were as Jacobitical as the poet's, a con- 
 formity which contributed not a little to the 
 cordiality of our reception and entertainment. — 
 She gave as her first toast after dinner, Awa 
 Uncos, or Away with the Strangers — Who these 
 strangers were, you will readily understand. 
 Mrs. A. corrects me by saying it should be \ 
 Hooi, or Hoohi uncos, a sound used by shep- 
 herds to direct their dogs to drive away the , 
 sheep ! 
 
 " We returned to Edinburgh by Kinross (on 
 the shore of Lochleven) and Queen's-ferry. I 
 am inclined to think Burns knew nothing of 
 poor Michael Bruce, who was then alive at 
 Kinross, or had died there a short while before. 
 A meeting between the bards, or a visit to the 
 deserted cottage and early grave of poor Bruce, 
 would have been highly interesting.* 
 
 " At Dumfermline we visited the ruined abbey, 
 and the abbey-church, now consecrated to Pres- 
 byterian worship. Here I mounted the cutty 
 stool, or stool of repentance, assuming the cha- 
 racter of a penitent for fornication ; while Burns 
 
 from 
 
 * Bruce died some years before.
 
 172 THE LIFE OF 
 
 from the pulpit addressed to me a ludicrous re- 
 proof and exhortation, parodied from that which 
 had been delivered to himself in Ayrshire, 
 where he had, as he assured me, once been one 
 of seven who mounted the seat of shame to- 
 gether. 
 
 " In the church-yard, two broad flag-stones 
 marked the grave of Robert Bruce, for whose 
 memory Burns had more than conniion venera- 
 tion. He knelt and kissed the stone with 
 sacred fervour, and heartily (suus ut mos erat) 
 execrated the worse than Gothic neglect of the 
 first of Scottish heroes."* 
 
 The surprise expressed by Dr. Adair, in his 
 excellent letter, that the romantic scenery of the 
 Devon should have failed to call forth any exer- 
 tion of the poet's muse, is not in its nature sin- 
 gular ; and the disappointment felt at his not 
 expressing in more glowing language, his emo- 
 tions on the sight of the famous cataract of that 
 river, is similar to what was felt by the friends 
 of Burns on other occasions of the same nature. 
 Yet the inference that Dr. Adair seems inclined 
 to draw from it, that he had little taste for the 
 picturesque, might be questioned, even if it 
 
 stood 
 
 * Extracted from a letter of Dr. Adair to the Editor.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 173. 
 
 stood uncontroverted by other evidence. The 
 muse of Burns was m a high degree capricious; 
 she came uncalled, and often refused to attend 
 at his bidding. Of all the numerous subjects 
 suggested to him by his friends and correspon- 
 dents, there is scarcely one that he adopted. 
 The very expectation that a particular occasion 
 would excite the energies of fancy, if communi- 
 cated to Burns, seemed in hira, as in other 
 poets, destructive of the effect expected. Hence, 
 perhaps, may be explained, why the banks of 
 the Devon and of the Tweed form no part of 
 the subjects of his song. 
 
 A similar train of reasoning may, perhaps, 
 explain the want of emotion with which he 
 viewed the Caldron Linn. Certainly there are 
 no affections of the mind more deadened by the 
 influence of previous expectation, than those 
 arising from the sight of natural objects, and 
 more especially of objects of grandeur. Mi- 
 nute descriptions of scenes of a sublime nature, 
 should never be given to those who are about 
 to view them, particularly if they are persons of 
 great strength and sensibility of imagination. 
 Language seldom or never conveys an adequate 
 idea of such objects, but in the mind of a great 
 poet, it may excite a picture that far transcends 
 them. The imagination of Burns might form 
 a cataract, in comparison with which the Cal- 
 dron
 
 174 THE LIFE OF 
 
 dron Liinn should seem the purling of a rill, 
 and even the mighty falls of Niagara, a humble 
 cascade* 
 
 Whether these suggestions may assist in ex- 
 plaining our Bard's deficiency of impression on 
 the- occasion referred to, or whether it ought 
 rather to be imputed to some pre-occupation, 
 or indisposition of mind, we presume not to de- 
 cide ; but that he was in general feelingly alive 
 to the beautiful or sublime in scenery, may be 
 supported by irresistible evidence. It is true 
 this pleasure was greatly heightened in his 
 mind, as might be expected, when combined 
 with moral emotions of a kind with which it 
 
 happily 
 
 * This reasoning might be extended, with some modifica- 
 tions, to objects of sight of every kind. To have formed be- 
 fore-hand a distinct picture in the mind of any interesting per- 
 son or thing, generally lessens the pleasure of the first meet- 
 ing with them. Though this picture be not superior, or even 
 equal to the reality, still it can never be expected to be an 
 exact resemblance ; and the disappointment felt at finding 
 the objftct; something different from what was expected, in- 
 terrupts and diminishes the emotions that would otherwise be 
 produced. In such cases the second or tliird interview gives 
 more pleasure than the first. — See Tlie Elements of the Philo- 
 sophy of the Human Mind, by Mr. Stewart, p. 484. Such 
 publications as The Guide to the Lakes, where eveiy scene 
 is described in the most minute manner, and sometimes with 
 considerable exaggeration of language, are in this point of 
 view objectionable.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 175 
 
 happily unites. That under this association 
 Burns contemplated the scenery of the Devon 
 with the eye of a genuine poet, the following 
 lines, written at this very period, may bear wit- 
 ness. 
 
 On a Young Jaudy^ residing on the banks of the small 
 river Devony in Clackmannanshire^ but whose infant 
 years were spent in Ayrshire. 
 
 How pleasant the banks of the clear- winding Devon, 
 With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming 
 fair; 
 
 But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
 Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
 
 Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 
 In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew ! 
 
 And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 
 That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 
 
 O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes. 
 With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn ! 
 
 And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizest 
 The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn ! 
 
 Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 
 And England triumphant display her proud rose ; 
 
 A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 
 Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 
 
 The different journeys already mentioned did 
 not satisfy the cuiiosity of Burns. About the 
 
 beginning
 
 176 THE LIFE OP 
 
 beginning of Septembei*, he again set out from 
 Edinburgh, on a more extended tour to the 
 Highlands, in company with Mr. Nicol, with 
 whom he had now contracted a particular inti- 
 macy, which histed during the remainder of his 
 life. Mr. Nicol was of Dumfries-shire, of a 
 descent equally humble with our poet. Like 
 him, he rose by the strength of his talents, and 
 fell by the strength of his passions. He died 
 in the summer of 1797. Having received the 
 elements of a classical instruction at his parish 
 school, Mr. Nicol made a very rapid and sin- 
 gular proficiency; and by early undertaking 
 the oflfice of an instructor himself, he acquired 
 the means of entering himself at the University 
 of Edinburgh. There he was first a student of 
 theology, then a student of medicine, and was 
 afterwards employed in the assistance and in- 
 struction of graduates in medicine, in those 
 parts of their exercises, in which the Latin lan- 
 guage is employed. In this situation he was 
 the contemporary and rival of the celebrated 
 Dr. Brown, whom he resembled in the parti- 
 culars of his history, as well as in the leading 
 features of his character. The office of assistant- 
 teacher in the High-school being vacant, it was, 
 as usual, filled up by competition ; and, in the face 
 of some prejudices, and, perhaps, of some well- 
 founded objections, Mr. Nicol, by superior 
 
 learning
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 177 
 
 learning, carried it from all the other candi- 
 dates. This office he filled at the period of 
 which we speak. 
 
 It is to be lamented that an acquaintance 
 with the writers of Greece and Rome, does not 
 always supply an original want of taste and 
 correctness, in manners and conduct; and 
 where it fails of this effect, it sometimes in- 
 flames the native pride of temper, which treats 
 with disdain those delicacies in which it has 
 not learnt to excel. It was thus with the fel- 
 low-traveller of Burns. Formed by Nature in 
 a model of great strength, neither his person 
 nor his manners had any tincture of taste or 
 elegance ; and his coarseness was not compen- 
 sated by that romantic sensibility, and those 
 towering flights of imagination, which distin- 
 guished the conversation of Burns, in the blaze 
 of whose genius all the deficiencies of his man- 
 ners were absorbed and disappeared. 
 
 Mr. Nicol and our poet travelled in a post- 
 chaise, which they engaged for the journey, and 
 passing through the heart of the Highlands, 
 stretched northwards about ten miles beyond 
 Inverness. There they bent their course east- 
 ward across the Island, and returned by the 
 shore of the German sea to Edinburg!i. In the 
 course of this tour, some particulars of which 
 
 VOL. I. N v/ill
 
 178 THE LIFE OF 
 
 will be found in a letter of our bard, vol. ii. 
 they visited a number of remarkable scenes, 
 and the imagination of Burns was constant- 
 ly excited by the wild and sublime scenery 
 through which he passed. Of this several 
 proofs may be found in the poems formerly 
 printed * Of the history of one of these poems, 
 The Himible Petition of JBruar Water, vol. iii. 
 and of the bard's visit to Athole-house, some 
 particulars will be found in vol. ii. No. 29; 
 and by the favor of Mr. Walker, of Perth, then 
 residing in the family of the Duke of Athole, 
 we are enabled to give the following additional 
 account. 
 
 " On reaching Blair, he sent me notice of his 
 arrival, (as I had been previously acquainted 
 witli him), and I hastened to meet him at the 
 inn. The Duke, to whom he brought a letter 
 of introduction, was from home ; but the Du- 
 chess, being, informed of his arrival, gave him 
 an invitation to sup and sleep at Athole-house. 
 He accepted the invitation, but, as the hour of 
 supper was at some distance, begged I would 
 
 in 
 
 * See vol. iii. Lines on seeing some Water-fowl in Loch- 
 Turit, a wild scene among the hills of Ochtertyre. Lines 
 written with a pencil over the chimney-piece, in the inn at 
 Kenmore, Taymouth. Lines written with a pencil standing 
 by the fall of Fyers, near Lochness.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 179 
 
 in the interval be his guide through the grounds. 
 It was already growing dark ; yet the softened, 
 though faint and uncertain view of their beau- 
 ties, which the moon-light afforded us, seemed 
 exactly suited to the state of his feelings at the 
 time. I had often, like others, experienced the 
 pleasures which arise from the sublime or ele- 
 gant landscape, but 1 never saw those feelings 
 so intense as in Burns. When we reached a 
 rustic hut on the river Tilt, where it is over- 
 hung by a woody precipice, from which there 
 is a noble waterfall, he threw himself on the 
 heathy seat, and gave himself up to a tender, 
 abstracted, and voluptuous enthusiasm of ima- 
 gination. I cannot help thinking it might have 
 been here that he conceived the idea of the fol- 
 lowing lines, which he afterwards introduced 
 into his poem on Bruar Water, when only 
 fancying such a combination of objects as were 
 now present to his eye. 
 
 Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 
 Mild, chequering thro' the trees, 
 
 Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 
 Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 
 
 " It was with much difficulty I prevailed on 
 him to quit this spot, and to be introduced in 
 proper time to supper. 
 
 " My curiosity was great to see how he would 
 N 2 conduct
 
 180 THE LIFE OF 
 
 conduct himself in company so different from 
 what he had been accustomed to.* His manner 
 was unembarrassed, plain, and firm. He ap- 
 peared to have complete reliance on his own 
 native good sense for directing his behaviour. 
 He seemed at once to perceive and to appre- 
 ciate what was due to the company and to him- 
 self, and never to forget a proper respect for the 
 separate species of dignity belonging to each. 
 He did not arrogate conversation, but, when 
 led into it, he spoke with ease, propriety, and 
 manliness. He tried to exert his abilities, be- 
 cause he knew it was ability alone gave him a 
 title to be there. The Duke's fine young fa- 
 mily attracted much of his admiration; he 
 drank their healths as honest men and bonnie 
 lasses, an idea which was much applauded by 
 the company, and with which lie has very feli- 
 citously closed his poem.f 
 
 " Next day I took a ride with him through 
 some of the most romantic parts of that neigh- 
 bourhood, and \,as highly gratified by his con- 
 versation. 
 
 * In the preceding winter Burns had been in company of 
 the highest rank in Edinburgh, but this description of his 
 manners is perfectly apphcable to his first appearance i» 
 such society. E. 
 
 t See vol. iii.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 181 
 
 versatiou. As a specimen of his happiness of 
 conception and strength of expression, I will 
 mention a remark which he made on his fellow- 
 traveller, who was walking, at the time, a few 
 paces before us. He was a man of a robust 
 but clumsy person : and while Burns was ex- 
 pressing to me the value he entertained for him, 
 on account of his vigorous talents, although 
 they were clouded at times by coarseness of 
 manners ; " in short," he added, " his mind is 
 like his body, he has a confounded strong in- 
 kneed sort of a souK" 
 
 " Much attention was paid to Burns both 
 before and after the Duke's return, of which he 
 was perfectly sensible, without being vain ; and 
 at his departure I recommended to him, as the 
 most appropriate return he could make, to 
 write some descriptive 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 Falls of Bruar, and in a few 
 days I received a letter from Inverness with 
 the verses inclosed."* 
 
 It 
 
 * Extract of a letter from Mr. Walker to Mr. Cunning- 
 ham, dated Perth, 24th Oct. 1797. 
 
 The letter mentioned as written to Mr. Walker by Mr. 
 Bums will be found in vol. ii.
 
 182 THE LIFE OF 
 
 It appears that the impression made by our 
 poet on the noble family of Athole, was in a 
 high degree favorable; it is certain he was 
 charmed with the reception he received from 
 them, and he often mentioned the two days he 
 spent at Athole-hoiise, as among the happiest 
 of his life. He was warmly invited to. prolong 
 his stay, but sacrificed his inclinations to his 
 engagement with Mr. Nicol, which is the 
 more to be regretted, as he would otherwise 
 have been introduced to Mr. Dundas, (then 
 daily expected on a visit to the Duke) a cir- 
 cumstance that might have had a favorable in- 
 fluence on Burns's future fortunes. At Athole- 
 house he met, for the first time, Mr. Graham, 
 of Fintry, to whom he was afterwards indebted 
 for his office in the excise. 
 
 The letters and poems which he addressed 
 to Mr. Graham, bear testimony of his sensibi- 
 lity, and justify the supposition, that he would 
 not have been deficient in gratitude had he 
 been elevated to a situation better suited to his 
 disposition and to his talents. 
 
 A few days after leaving Blair of Athole, our 
 poet and his fellow-traveller arrived at Foch- 
 abers. In the course of the preceding winter 
 Burns had been introduced to the Duchess of 
 Gordon, at Edinburgh, and, presuming on this 
 
 acquaintance, 
 
 I
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 183 
 
 acquaintance, he proceeded to Gordon Castle, 
 leaving Mr. Nicol at the inn in the village. 
 At the Castle our poet was received with the 
 utmost hospitality and kindness, and the family 
 being about to sit down to dinner, he was in- 
 vited to take his place at table as a matter of 
 course. This invitation he accepted, and after 
 drinking a few glasses of wine, he rose up, and 
 proposed to withdraw. On being pressed to 
 stay, he mentioned, for the first time, his en- 
 gagement with his fellow-traveller; and his 
 noble host offering to send a servant to conduct 
 Mr. Nicol to the castle, Burns insisted on un- 
 dertaking that office himself. He was however 
 accompanied by a gentleman, a particular ac- 
 quaintance of the Duke, by whom the invita- 
 tion was delivered in all the forms of politeness. 
 The invitation came too late ; the pride of Nicol 
 was inflamed into a high degree of passion, by 
 the neglect which he had already suffered. He 
 had ordered the horses to be put to the carriage, 
 being determined to proceed on his journey 
 alone ; and they found him parading the streets 
 of Fochabers, before the door of the inn, vent- 
 ing his anger on the postillion, for the slowness 
 with which he obeyed his commands. As no 
 explanation nor entreaty could change the pur- 
 pose of his fellow-traveller, our poet was re- 
 duced to the necessity of separating from him 
 entirely, or of instantly proceeding with him on 
 
 their
 
 184 THE LIFE OF 
 
 their journey. He chose the last of these alter- 
 natives, and seating himself beside Nicol in the 
 post-chaise, with mortification and regret, he 
 turned his back on Gordon Castle, where he 
 had promised liimsclf some happy days. Sen- 
 sible however of the great kindness of the noble 
 family, he made the best return in his power, 
 by the following poem.* 
 
 I. 
 
 Streams that glide in orient plains, 
 Never bound by winter's chains; 
 Glowing here on golden sands, 
 There commix'd with foulest stains 
 From tyranny's empurpled bands ; 
 These, their richly gleaming waves, 
 I Jeave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
 Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
 The banks by Castle Gordon. 
 
 II. 
 
 Spicy forests, ever gay. 
 Shading from the burning ray 
 Hapless wretches sold to toil. 
 Or the ruthless native's way. 
 Bent on slaugliter, blood, and spoil : 
 Woods that ever verdant wave, 
 I leave the tyrant and the slave. 
 Give me the groves that lofty brave 
 The storms, by Castle Gordon. 
 
 Wildly 
 
 * This information is extracted from a letter of Dr. Couper 
 of Fochabers to the Editor.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 185 
 
 III. 
 
 Wildly here without control, 
 Nature reij^ns and rules the whole; 
 In that sober pensive mood, 
 Dearest to the feeling soul, 
 She plants the forest, pours the flood : 
 Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
 And find at night a sheltering cave, 
 AVhere waters flow and wild woods wave, 
 By bonnie Castle Gordon.* 
 
 Burns remained at Edinburgh during the 
 greater part of the winter 1787-8, and again 
 entered into the society and dissipation of that 
 metropolis. It appears that on the 31st day of 
 December he attended a meeting to celebrate 
 the birth-day of the lineal descendant of the 
 Scottish race of Kings, the late unfortunate 
 Prince Charles-Edward. Whatever might have 
 been the wish or purpose of the original insti- 
 tutors of this annual meeting, there is no reason 
 to suppose that the gentlemen of whom it was 
 at this time composed, were not perfectly loyal 
 to the King on the throne. It is not to be con- 
 ceived that they entertained any hope of, any 
 wish for, the restoration of the house of Stew- 
 art; but over their sparkling wine, they in- 
 dulged 
 
 * These verses our poet composed to be sung to Morag, a 
 Highland air, of which he was extremely fond.
 
 186 THE LIFE OF 
 
 dulged the generous feelings which the recollec- 
 tion of fallen greatness is calculated to inspire; 
 and commemorated the heroic valour, which 
 strove to sustain it in vain — valour worthy of a 
 nobler cause and of a happier fortune. On this 
 occasiou our bard took upon himself the office 
 of poet-laureate, and produced an ode, which, 
 though deficient in the complicated rhythm and 
 polished versification that such compositions 
 require, might on a fair competition, where 
 energy of feelings and of expression were alone 
 in question, have won the butt of Malmsey from 
 the real laureate of that day. 
 
 The following extracts may serve as a spe- 
 cimen. 
 
 # 
 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 # 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 False flatterer, Hope, away ! 
 Nor think to lure us as in days of yore : 
 
 We solemnize this sorrowing natal day, 
 To prove our loyal truth— we can no more ; 
 
 And owning Heaven's mysterious sway. 
 Submissive, low, adore. 
 
 n. 
 
 Ye honoured mighty dead ! 
 Who nobly perish'd in the glorious cause, 
 Your king, your country, and her laws ! 
 
 From great Dundee, who smiling victory led. 
 
 And 
 
 I 
 
 I
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 187 
 
 And fell a martyr in her arms, 
 (What breast of northern ice but warms ?) 
 To bold Balmerino's undying name, 
 Whose soul of fire, lighted at heaven's high flame, 
 Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim.* 
 
 III. 
 
 Not unrevenged your fate shall be, 
 
 It only lags the fatal hour ; 
 Your blood shall with incessant cry 
 
 Awake at last th' unsparing power. 
 As from the cliff, with thundering course, 
 
 The snowy ruin smokes along, 
 With doubling speed and gathering force, 
 
 'Till deep it crashing whelms the cottage in the 
 vale ; 
 
 So vengeance * * * 
 
 Jn relating the incidents of our poet's life in 
 Edinburgh, we ought to have mentioned the 
 sentiments of respect and sympathy with which 
 he traced out the grave of his predecessor Fer- 
 
 gusson, 
 
 * In the first part of this ode there is some beautiful ima- 
 gery which the poet afterwards interwove in a happier 
 manner, in the Chevaliers Lament, (see vol. ii.) But if 
 there were no other reasons for omitting to print the entire 
 poem, the want of originality would be sufficient. A consi- 
 derable part of it is a kind of rant, for which indeed prece- 
 dent may be cited in various other birth-day odes, but with 
 which it is impossible to go along.
 
 188 THE LIFE OF 
 
 gusson, over whose ashes in the Canongate 
 church-yard, he obtained leave to erect an hum- 
 ble monument, which will be viewed by reflect- 
 ing minds with no common interest, and which 
 will awake in the bosom of kindred genius, 
 many a high emotion."* Neither should we pass 
 over the continued friendship he experienced 
 from a poet then living, the amiable and accom- 
 plished Blacklock. — To his encouraging ad- 
 vice, it was owing, (as has already appeared) 
 that Burns, instead of emigrating to the West 
 [ndies, repaired to Edinburgh. He received 
 him there with all the ardour of affectionate ad- 
 miration ; he eagerly introduced him to the re- 
 spectable circle of his friends ; he consulted his 
 interest; he blazoned his fame; he lavished 
 upon him all the kindness of a generous and 
 feeling heart, into which nothing selfish or en- 
 vious ever found admittance. Among the friends 
 to whom he introduced Burns, was Mr. Ram- 
 say of Ochtertyre, to whom our poet paid a vi- 
 sit in the autumn of 1787, at his delightful re- 
 tirement in the neighbourhood of Stirling, and 
 on the banks of the Teith. Of this visit we 
 have the following particulars. 
 
 *' I have 
 
 * tS'ee vol. ii. where the epitaph will be found.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 189 
 
 *' I have been in the company of many men 
 of genius," says Mr. Ramsay, " some of them 
 poets, but never witnessed such flashes of intel- 
 lectual brightness as from him, the impulse of 
 the moment, sparks of celestial fire ! I never was 
 more delighted therefore than with his company 
 for two days, tete-a-tete. In a mixed company 
 1 should have made little of him, for in the 
 gamester's phrase, he did not always know 
 when to play off and when to play on. * * * I 
 not only proposed to him the writing of a play 
 similar to the Getitle Shepherd, qualem decet 
 esse sororem, but Scottish Georgics, a subject 
 which Thomson has by no means exhausted in 
 his Seasons. What beautiful landscapes of 
 rural life and manners, might not have been 
 expected from a pencil so faithful and forcible 
 as his, which could have exhibited scenes as 
 familiar and interesting as those in the Gentle 
 Shepherd, which every one who knows our 
 swains in their unadulterated state, instantly 
 recognizes as true to nature. But to have exe- 
 cuted either of these plans, steadiness and ab- 
 straction from company, were wanting, not ta- 
 lents. When I asked him whether the Edin- 
 burgh Literati had mended his poems by their 
 criticisms, " Sir," said he, " these gentlemen 
 remind me of some spinsters in my country, 
 who spin their thread so fine, that it is neither 
 fit for weft nor woof." He said he had not 
 
 changed
 
 190 THE LIFE OP 
 
 changed a word except one, to please Dr. 
 Blair."* 
 
 Having settled with his publisher, Mr. Creech, 
 in February, 1788, Burns found himself master 
 of nearly five hundred pounds, after discharging 
 all his expenses. Two hundred pounds he im- 
 mediately advanced to his brother Gilbert, who 
 had taken upon himself the support of their 
 aged mother, and was struggling with many 
 difficulties in the farm of Mossgiel. With the 
 remainder of this sum, and some farther eventual 
 profits from his poems, he determined on settling 
 himself for life in the occupation of agriculture, 
 and took from Mr. Miller, of Dalswinton, the 
 farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the river 
 Nith, six miles above Dumfries, on which he 
 entered on Whitsunday, 1788. Having been 
 previously recommended to the Board of Ex- 
 cise, his name had been put on the list of can- 
 didates for the humble office of a gauger or ex- 
 ciseman ; and he immediately applied to ac- 
 quiring the information necessary for filling that 
 
 office, 
 
 * Extract of a letter from Mr. Ramsay to the Editor. 
 " This incorrigibility of Burns extended, however, only to 
 his poems printed before he arrived in Edinburgh ; for in re- 
 gard to his unpublished poems, he was amenable to criticism., 
 of which many proofs might be given," See some remarks 
 on this subject, vol. iii, Appendix. E,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 191 
 
 office, when the honorable board might judge 
 it proper to employ him. He expected to be 
 called into service in the district in which his 
 farm was situated, and vainly hoped to unite 
 with success, the labours of the farmer, with 
 the duties of the exciseman. 
 
 When Burns had in this manner arranged his 
 plans for futurity, his generous heart turned to 
 the object of his most ardent attachment, and 
 listening to no considerations but those of ho- 
 nor and affection, he joined with her in a public 
 declaration of marriage, thus legalizing their 
 union and rendering it permanent for life.* 
 
 Before Burns was known in Edinburgh, a 
 specimen of his poetry had recommended him 
 to Mr. Miller of Dalswinton. Understanding 
 that he intended to resume the life of a farmer, 
 Mr. Miller had invited him in the spring of 
 1787, to view his estate in INithsdale, offering 
 him at the same time the choice of any of his 
 farms out of lease, at such a rent as Burns and 
 his friends might judge proper. It was not in 
 the nature of Burns to take an undue advant- 
 age of the liberality of Mr. Miller. He pro- 
 ceeded in this business, however, with more 
 
 than 
 
 * See pp. 76, 77, of this volume.
 
 192 THE LIFE OF 
 
 than usual deliberation. Having- made choice 
 of the farm of El! island, he employed two of 
 his friends, skilled in the value of land, to exa- 
 mine it ; and with tlu ir approbation offered a 
 rent to Mr. IMiller, which was immediately ac- 
 cepted. It was not convenient for Mrs. Burns 
 to remove immediately from Ayrshire, and our 
 poet therefore took up his residence alone at 
 Ellisland, to prepare for the reception of his 
 wife and children, who joined him towards the 
 end of the year. 
 
 The situation in which Burns now found him- 
 self was calculated to aw^aken reflection. The 
 different steps he had of late taken, were in their 
 nature highly important, and might be said to 
 have, in some measure, fixed his destiny. He 
 had become a husband and a father ; he had 
 engaged in the management of a considerable 
 farm, a difficult and laborious undertaking ; in 
 his success the happiness of his family was in- 
 volved ; it was time therefore to abandon the 
 gaiety and dissipation of which he had been too 
 much enamoured ; to ponder seriously on the 
 past, and to form virtuous resolutions respect- 
 ing the future. That such was actually the 
 state of his mind, the following extract from 
 his common-place book may bear witness. 
 
 Ellisland,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 193 
 
 Ellisland, Sunday, \Ath June, 1788. 
 
 " This is now the third day that I have been 
 in this country. * Lord, what is man !' What 
 a bustling little bundle of passions, appetites, 
 ideas, and fancies ! And what a capricious 
 kind of existence he has here ! * * * There is 
 indeed an elsewhere, where, as Thomson says, 
 virtue sole survives. 
 
 " Tell us, ye dead ; 
 Will none of you in pity disclose the secret, 
 What 'tis you are and we must shortly be? 
 
 A little time 
 
 Will make us wise as you are, and as close.'* 
 
 " I am such a coward in life, so tired of the 
 service, that I would almost at any time with 
 Milton's Adam, ' gladly lay me in my mother's 
 lap, and be at peace.' 
 
 " But a wife and children bind me to struggle 
 with the stream, till some sudden squall shall 
 overset the silly vessel, or in the listless return 
 of years, its own craziness reduce it to a wreck. 
 Farewell now to those giddy follies, those var- 
 nished vices, which, though half-sanctified by 
 the bewitching levity of wit and humour, are 
 at best but thriftless idling with the precious 
 current of existence ; nay, often poisoning the 
 whole, that, like the plains of Jericho, the water 
 is naught and the ground barren^ and nothing 
 
 VOL. I. o short
 
 194 THE LIFE OF 
 
 short of a supernatiirally-gifted Elisha can ever 
 after heal the evils. 
 
 " Wedlock, the circumstance that buckles 
 me hardest to care, if virtue and religion were 
 to be any thing with me but names, was what 
 in a few seasons I must have resolved on ; in 
 my present situation it was absolutely necessary. 
 Humanity, generosity, honest pride of character, 
 justice to my own happiness for after life, so far 
 as it could depend (which it surely will a great 
 deal) on internal peace; all these joined their 
 warmest suffrages, their most powerful solici- 
 tations, with a rooted attachment, to urge the 
 step I have taken. Nor have I any reason on 
 her part to repent it. — 1 can fancy how, but 
 have never seen where, 'I could have made 
 a better choice. Come then, let me act up 
 to my favourite motto, that glorious passage 
 in Young — 
 
 " On reason build resolve, 
 •• That column of true majesty in man !'* 
 
 Under the impulse of these reflections. Burns 
 immediately engaged in rebuilding the dwelling- 
 house on his farm, which, in the state he found 
 it, was inadequate to the accommodation of his 
 family. On this occasion, he himself resumed 
 at times the occupation of a labourer, and found 
 neither his strength nor his skill impaired. — 
 
 Pleased
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 195 
 
 Pleased with surveying the grounds he was 
 about to cultivate, and with the rearing of a 
 building that should give shelter to his wife 
 and children, and, as he fondly hoped, to his 
 own grey hairs, sentiments of independence 
 buoyed up his mind, pictures of domestic con- 
 tent and peace rose on his imagination ; and a 
 few days passed away, as he himself informs us, 
 the most tranquil, if not the happiest, which he 
 had ever experienced.* 
 
 It 
 
 * Animated sentiments of any kind, almost always gave 
 rise in our poet to some production of his muse. His sen- 
 timents on this occasion were in part expressed by the fol- 
 lowing vigorous and characteristic, though not very delicate, 
 verses; they are an imitation of an old ballad. 
 
 I hae a wife o' my ain, 
 
 I'll partake wi' nae-body; 
 I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 
 
 I'll gie cuckold to nae-body. 
 
 I hae a penny to spend. 
 
 There — thanks to nae-body ; 
 I hae naething to lend, 
 
 I'll borrow frae nae-body. 
 
 I am nae-body's lord, 
 
 I'll be slave to nae-body ; 
 1 hae a gude braid sword, 
 
 I'll tak dunts frae nae-body. 
 
 I'll 
 
 o 2
 
 196 THE LIFE OP 
 
 It is to be lamented that at this critical period 
 of his life, our poet was without the society of 
 his wife and children. A great change had 
 taken place in his situation ; his old habits were 
 broken; and the new circumstances in which 
 he was placed, were calculated to give a new 
 direction to his thoughts and conduct * But 
 his application to the cares and labours of his 
 farm was interrupted by several visits to his 
 family in Ayrshire ; and as the distance was too 
 great for a single day's journey, he generally 
 spent a night at an inn on the road. On such 
 occasions he sometimes fell into company, 
 and forgot the resolutions he had formed. In 
 a little while temptation assailed him nearer 
 home. 
 
 His fame naturally drew upon him the atten- 
 tion of his neighbours, and he soon formed a 
 general acquaintance in the district in which he 
 lived. The public voice had now pronounced 
 on the subject of his talents ; the reception he 
 had met with in Edinburgh had given him the 
 
 currency 
 
 I'll be merry and free, 
 
 I'll be sad for nae-body ; 
 If nae-body care for me, 
 
 I'll care for nae-body. 
 
 * Mrs. Burns was about to be confined in child-bed, and 
 the house at Ellislatid was rebuilding.
 
 ROBERT BURNS- 197 
 
 currency which fashion bestows " he had sur- 
 mounted the prejudices arising from his humble 
 birth : and he was received at the table of the 
 gentlemen of Nithsdale, with welcome, with 
 kindness, and even with respect. Their social 
 parties too often seduced him from his rustic 
 labours, and his rustic fare, overthrew the un- 
 steady fabric of his resolutions, and inflamed 
 those propensities which temperance might 
 have weakened, and prudence ultimately sup- 
 pressed.* It was not long, therefore, before 
 Burns began to view his farm with dislike and 
 despondence, if not with disgust. 
 
 Unfortunately he had for several years looked 
 to an office in the excise as a certain means of 
 
 livelihood. 
 
 * The poem of The WJdstle (vol. iii.) celebrates a Bac- 
 chanalian contest among three gentlemen of Nithsdale, 
 where Burns appears as umpire. Mr. Riddell died before 
 our bard, and some elegiac verses to his memory will be 
 found in ro/. iv. From him, and from all the members 
 of his family, Burns received not kindness only, but 
 friendship; and the society he met in general at Friar's 
 Carse, was calculated to improve his habits as well as his 
 manners. Mr. Ferguson, of Craigdarroch, so well known 
 for his eloquence and social talents, died soon after our 
 poet. Sir Robert Laurie, the third person in the drama, 
 survives, and has since been engaged in contests of a 
 bloodier nature. Long may he live to fight the battles of 
 his country! (1799.)
 
 198 THE LIFE OF 
 
 livelihood, s'.^ould his other expectations fail. 
 As has already been mentioned, he had been 
 recommended to the board of excise, and had 
 received the instruction necessary for such a 
 situation. He now applied to be employed ; 
 and, by the interest of Mr. Graham of Fintry, 
 was appointed exciseman, or as it is vulgarly 
 called, ganger, of the district in which he lived. 
 His farm was after this, in a great measure aban- 
 doned to servants, while he betook himself to 
 the duties of his new appointment. 
 
 He might indeed still be seen in the spring, 
 directing his plough, a labour in which he excel- 
 led ; or with a white sheet containing his seed- 
 corn slung across his shoulders, striding with 
 measured steps, along his turned-up furrows, 
 and scattering the grain in the earth. But his 
 farm no longer occupied the principal part 
 of his care or his thoughts. It was not at 
 JEllisland that he was now in general to be 
 found. Mounted on horseback, this high mind- 
 ed poet was pursuing the defaulters of the 
 revenue, among the hills and vales of Niths- 
 dale, his roving eye wandering over the charms 
 of nature, and mutlering his tvayward fancies 
 as he moved along. 
 
 " 1 had an adventure with him in the year 
 1790," says Mr. Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, in a 
 
 letter
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 199 
 
 letter to the editor, " when passing through 
 Dumfries-shire, on a tour to the South, with Dr. 
 Steuart of Luss. Seeing him pass quickly, 
 near Closeburn, 1 said to my companion, that 
 is Burns. On coming to the inn, the ostler told 
 us he would be back in a few hours to grant 
 permits ; that where he met with any thing seiz- 
 able, he was no better than any other ganger ; 
 in every thing else, that he was perfectly a gen- 
 tleman. After leaving a note to be delivered to 
 him on his return, J proceeded to his house, 
 being curious to see his Jean, &c. I was much 
 pleased with his uxor Sahhia quails, and the 
 poet's modest mansion, so unlike the habitation 
 of ordinary rustics. In the evening he sud- 
 denly bounced in upon us, and said as he 
 entered, I come, to use the words of Shake- 
 speare, Stewed iri haste. In fact he had ridden 
 incredibly fast after receiving my note. We 
 fell into conversation directly, and soon got 
 into the ynare magnum of poetry. He told me 
 that he had now gotten a story for a Drama, 
 which he was to call Roh Macquecharis Elshoriy 
 from a poptdar story of Robert Bruce being 
 defeated on the water of Caern, when the heel 
 of his boot having loosened in his flight, he ap- 
 plied to Robert Macquechan to fix it; who, to 
 make sure, ran his awl nine inches up the King's 
 heel. We were now going on at a great rate, 
 
 when Mr. S popped in his head, which 
 
 put
 
 '200 TflE LIFE OF 
 
 put a stop to our discourse, which had become 
 very interesting. Yet in a little while it was 
 resumed, and such was the force and versatility 
 of the bard's genius, that he made the tears run 
 
 down Mr. S 's cheeks albeit unus'd to the 
 
 poetic strain. * * * From that time we 
 met no more, and I was grieved at the reports of 
 him afterwards. Poor Burns ! we shall hardly 
 ever see his like again. He was, in truth, a sort 
 of comet in literature, irregtdar in its motions, 
 which did not do good proportioned to the blaze 
 of light it displayed." 
 
 In the summer of 1791, two English gentle- 
 men, who had before met with him in Edin- 
 burgh, paid a visit to him at Ellisland. On 
 calling at the house, they were informed that 
 he had walked out on the banks of the river ; 
 and dismounting from their horses, they pro- 
 ceeded in search of him. — On a rock that 
 projected into the stream, they saw a man 
 employed in angling, of a singular appearance. 
 He had a cap made of a fox's skin on his head, 
 a loose great-coat fixed round him by a belt, 
 from which depended an enormous Highland 
 broad-sword. It was Burns. He received them 
 with great cordiality, and asked them to share 
 his humble dinner — an invitation which they 
 accepted. On the table they found boiled beef, 
 with vegetables, and barley-broth, after the 
 
 manner
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 201 
 
 manner of Scotland ; of which they partook 
 heartily. After dinner the bard told them 
 ingenuously that he had no wine to ojflfer them, 
 nothing better than Highland whiskey, a bottle 
 of which Mrs. Burns set on the board. He 
 produced at the same time his punch-bowl, 
 made of Inverary-marble, and, mixing the 
 spirit with water and sugar, filled their glasses, 
 and invited them to drink.* The travellers 
 were in haste, and besides, the flavour of the 
 whiskey to their suthron palates, was scarcely 
 tolerable ; but the generous poet offered them 
 his best, and his ardent hospitality they found 
 it impossible to resist. Burns was in his hap- 
 piest mood, and the charms of his conversation 
 were altogether fascinating. He ranged over 
 a great variety of topics, illuminating whatever 
 he touched. He related the tales of his infancy 
 and of his youth ;. he recited some of the gayest 
 and some of the tenderest of his poems; in the 
 wildest of his strains of mirth, he threw in 
 some touches of melancholy, and spread around 
 him the electric emotions of his powerful mind. 
 The Highland whiskey improved in its fla- 
 vour; the marble bowl was again and again 
 
 emptied 
 
 * This bowl was made of the stone of which Inverary- 
 house is built ; the mansion of the family of Argyle. This 
 stone is the lapis ollaris.
 
 20'2 THE LITE OF 
 
 emptied and replenished ; the guests of our 
 poet forgot the flight of time, and the dictates 
 of prudence : at the hour of midnight they lost 
 their way in returning to Dumfries, and could 
 scarcely distinguish it when assisted by the 
 morning's dawn.* 
 
 Besides his duties in the excise and his so- 
 cial pleasures, other circumstances interfered 
 with the attention of Burns to his farm. He 
 engaged in the formation of a society for pur- 
 chasing and circulating books among the farmers 
 of his neighbourhood, of which he undertook 
 the management;'!' and he occupied himself 
 occasionally in composing songs for the musi- 
 cal work of Mr. Johnson, then in the course 
 of publication. — These engagements, useful and 
 honorable in themselves, contributed no doubt 
 to the abstraction of his thoughts from the 
 bushiess of aariculture. 
 
 *&■ 
 
 The consequences may be easily imagined. 
 Notwithstanding the uniform prudence and 
 good management of Mrs. Burns, and though 
 his rent was moderate and reasonable, our poet 
 found it convenient, if not necessary, to resign 
 
 his 
 
 Given from the information of one of the party, 
 t See vol. ii. 
 
 i
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 203 
 
 his farm to Mr. Miller, after having occupied it 
 three years and a half. His office in the excise 
 had originally produced about fifty pounds per 
 annum. Having acquitted himself to the satis- 
 faction of the Board, he had been appointed to 
 a new district, the emoluments of which rose to 
 about seventy pounds per annum. Hoping to 
 support himself and his family on this humble 
 income till promotion should reach him, he dis- 
 posed of his stock and of his crop on Ellisland 
 by public auction, and removed to a small 
 house which he had taken in Dumfries, about 
 the end of the year 1791. 
 
 Hitherto Burns, though addicted to excess in 
 social parties, had abstained from the habitual 
 use of strong liquors, and his constitution had 
 not suffered any permanent injury from the ir- 
 regularities of his conduct. In Dumfries, temp- 
 tations to the sin that so easily beset him, conti- 
 nually presented themselves ; and his irregula- 
 rities grew by degrees into habits. These temp- 
 tations unhappily occurred during his engage- 
 ments in the business of his office, as well as 
 during his hours of relaxation ; and though he 
 clearly foresaw the consequence of yielding to 
 them, his appetites and sensations, which could 
 not pervert the dictates of his judgment, finally 
 triumphed over the powers of his will. Yet 
 this victory was not obtained without many 
 
 obstinate
 
 204 THE LIFE OF 
 
 obstinate struggles, and at times temperance 
 and virtue seemed to have obtained the mas- 
 tery. Besides his engagements in the excise, 
 and the society into which they led, many cir- 
 cumstances contributed to the melancholy fate 
 of Burns. His great celebrity made him an 
 object of interest and curiosity to strangers, 
 and few persons of cultivated minds passed 
 through Dumfries without attempting to see 
 our poet, and to enjoy the pleasure of his con- 
 versation. As he could not receive them under 
 his own humble roof, these interviews passed 
 at the inns of the town, and often terminated in 
 those excesses which Burns sometimes pro- 
 voked, and was seldom able to resist. And 
 among the inhabitants of Dumfries and its vici- 
 nity, there were never wanting persons to share 
 his social pleasures ; to lead or accompany him 
 to the tavern ; to partake in the wildest sallies 
 of his wit ; to witness the strength and the de-i 
 gradation of his genius. 
 
 Still, however, he cultivated the society of 
 persons of taste and of respectability, and in 
 their company could impose on himself the re- 
 straints of temperance and decorum. Nor was 
 his muse dormant. In the four years which he 
 lived in Dumfries, he produced many of his 
 beautiful lyrics, though it does not appear that 
 he attempted any poem of considerable length. 
 
 During
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 205 
 
 During this time he made several excursions 
 into the neighbouring country, of one of which, 
 through Galloway, an account is preserved in 
 a letter of Mr. Syme, written soon after, which, 
 as it gives an animated picture of him by a cor- 
 rect and masterly hand, we shall present to the 
 reader. 
 
 " I got Burns a grey Highland shelty to ride 
 on. We dined the first day, 27th July, 1793, at 
 Glendenwynes of Parton ; a beautiful situation 
 on the banks of the Dee. In the evening we 
 walked out and ascended a gentle eminence, 
 from which we had as fine a view of Alpine 
 scenery as can well be imagined. A delightful 
 soft evening showed all its wilder, as well as its 
 grander graces. Immediately opposite, and 
 within a mile of us, we saw Airds, a charming 
 romantic place, where dwelt Low, the author 
 of Wary iveep no more for me* This was clas- 
 sical ground for Burns. He viewed " the 
 highest hill, which rises o'er the source of Dee ;" 
 and would have staid till the " passing spirit" 
 
 had 
 
 • A beautiful and well-known ballad, which begins thus : 
 
 The moon had climb'd the highest hill, 
 Which rises o'er the source of Dee ; 
 
 And, from the eastern summit, shed 
 Its silver light on tower and tree.
 
 206 THE LIFE OF 
 
 had appeared, had we not resolved to reach 
 Kenmore that night. We arrived as Mr. and 
 Mrs. Gordon were sitting down to supper. 
 
 " Here is a genuine haron's seat. The castle, 
 an old building, stands on a large natural moat. 
 In front the river Ken winds for several miles 
 through the most fertile and beautiful holm;* 
 till it expands into a lake twelve miles long, the 
 banks of which on the south present a fine and 
 soft landscape of green knolls, natural wood, 
 and here and there a grey rock. On the north 
 the aspect is great, wild, and, 1 may say, tre- 
 mendous. In short, I can scarcely conceive a 
 scene more terribly romantic than the castle of 
 Kenmore. Burns thinks so highly of it, that 
 he meditates a description of it in poetry. In- 
 deed I believe he has begun the work. We 
 spent three days with Mr. Gordon, whose po- 
 lished hospitality is of an original and endear- 
 ing kind. Mrs. Gordon's lap-dog JEcho was 
 dead. She would have an epitaph for him. Se- 
 veral had been made. Burns was asked for 
 one. This was setting Hercules to his distaff. 
 He disliked the subject, but, to please the lady, 
 he would try. Here is what he produced. 
 
 In 
 
 * The level low-ground on the banks of a river or stream. 
 This word should be adopted from the Scottish, as indeed 
 
 ought
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 207 
 
 In wood and wild ye warbling throng'. 
 
 Your heavy loss deplore ; 
 Now half extinct your powers of song, 
 
 Sweet Echo is no more. 
 
 Ye jarring screeching things around, 
 
 Scream jour discordant joys; 
 Now half your din of tuneless sound, 
 
 With Echo silent lies. 
 
 " We left Kenmore, and went to Gatehouse. 
 I took him the moor-road, where savage and de- 
 solate regions extended wide aronnd. The sky 
 was sympathetic with the wretchedness of the 
 soil ; it became lowering and dark. The hollow 
 winds sighed, the lightnings gleamed, the thun- 
 der rolled. The poet enjoyed the awful scene 
 — he spoke not a word, but seemed rapt in me- 
 ditation. In a little while the rain began to 
 fall ; it poured in floods upon us. For three 
 hours did the wild elements rumble their belly- 
 full upon our defenceless heads. Oh, oh ! 'twas 
 foul. We got utterly wet ; and, to revenge our- 
 selves. Burns insisted at Gatehouse, on our get- 
 ting utterly drunk. 
 
 *' From Gatehouse we went next day to Kirk- 
 cudbright, 
 
 ought several others of the same nature. That dialect is 
 singularly copious and exact in the denominations of natural 
 objects. E. .
 
 208 THE LIFE OF 
 
 cudbright, through a fine country. But here I 
 must tell you that Burns had got a pair oi jem- 
 my boots for the journey, which had been tho- 
 roughly wet, and which had been dried in such 
 a manner, that it was not possible to get them 
 on again. The 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. We were going to St. Mary's 
 Isle, the seat of the Earl of Selkirk, and the 
 forlorn Burns was discomfited at the thought 
 of his ruined boots. A sick stomach, and a 
 head-ache, lent their aid, and the man of verse 
 was quite accahU. I attempted to reason with 
 him. Mercy on us, how he did fume and rage ! 
 Nothing could re-instate him in temper. 1 tried 
 various expedients, and at last hit on one that 
 succeeded. I shewed him the house of * * * *, 
 across the bay of Wigton. Against * * * *^ 
 with whom he was offended, he expectorated 
 his spleen, and regained a most agreeable tem- 
 per. He was in a most epigrammatic humour 
 indeed ! He afterwards fell on humbler game. 
 There is one ****** whom he does not love. 
 He had a passing blow at him. 
 
 When ***** *j deceased, to the devil went down, 
 'Twas nothing would serve him but Satan's own crown : 
 Thy fool's head, quoth Satan, that crown shall wear 
 
 never, 
 I grant thou'rt as wicked, but not quite so clever. 
 
 " Well
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 209 
 
 •* Well, I am to bring you to Kirkcudbright 
 along with our poet without boots. I carried 
 the torn ruins across my saddle in spite of his 
 fulminations, and in contempt of appearances ; 
 and what is more, Lord Selkirk carried them 
 in his coach to Dumfries. He insisted they 
 were worth mending. 
 
 *' We reached Kirkcudbright about one 
 o'clock. 1 had promised that we should dine 
 with one of the first men in our country, J. Dal- 
 zell. But Burns was in a wild and obstrepe- 
 rous humour, and swore he would not dine 
 where he should be under the smallest restraint. 
 We prevailed therefore on Mr. Dalzell to dine 
 with us in the inn, and had a very agreeable 
 party. In the evening we set out for St. Mary's 
 Isle. Robert had not absolutely regained the 
 milkiness of good temper, and it occurred once 
 or twice to him, as he rode along, 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. W^e arrived about eight o'clock, 
 as the family were at tea and coffee. St. Mary's 
 Isle is one of the most delightful places that 
 can in my opinion be formed by the assemblage 
 of every soft, but not tame object, which con- 
 stitutes natural and cultivated beauty. But 
 not to dwell on its external graces, let me tell 
 you that we found all the ladies of the family 
 
 VOL. I, p (all
 
 210 THE LIFE OF 
 
 (all beautiful) at home, and some strangers ; 
 and among- others who but Urbani. The Italian 
 sung- us many Scottish songs, accompanied 
 with instrumental music. The two young ladies 
 of Selkirk, sung also. We had the song of 
 Lord Gregory, which 1 asked for, to have an 
 opportunity of calling on Burns to recite his 
 ballad to that tune. He did recite it; and such 
 was the effect, that a dead silence ensued. It 
 was such a silence as a mind of feeling naturally 
 preserves when it is touched with that enthu- 
 siasm which banishes every other thought but 
 the contemplation and indulgence of the sym- 
 pathy produced. Burns's Lord Gregory is, in 
 my opinion, a most beautiful and aftbcting bal- 
 lad.* The fastidious critic may, perhaps, say 
 some of the sentiments and imagery are of too 
 elevated a kind for such a style of composition; 
 for instance, " Thou bolt of heaven that pas- 
 sest by ;" and " Ye mustering thunder," &c. 
 but this is a cold-blooded objection, which will 
 be said rather XhdiXi felt. 
 
 •* We enjoyed a most happy evening at Lord 
 Selkirk's. We had in every sense of the word 
 a feast, in which our minds and our senses were 
 equally gratified. The poet was delighted with 
 
 his 
 
 * <See vol. iv.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 211 
 
 his company, and acquitted himself to admira- 
 tion. The lion that had raged so violently in 
 the morning', was now as mild and gentle as a 
 lamb. Next day we returned to Dumfries, and 
 so ends our peregrination, I told you that in 
 the midst of the storm on the wilds of Ken- 
 more, Burns was rapt in meditation. What do 
 you think he was about? He was charging the 
 English army along with Bruce, at Bannock- 
 burn. He was engaged in the same manner on 
 our ride home from St. Mary's Isle, and I did 
 not disturb him. Next day he produced me 
 the following address of Bruce to his troops, 
 and gave me a copy for Dalzell." 
 
 ** Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," &c.* 
 
 Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in 
 the excise; but circumstances occurred which 
 retarded their fulfilment, and which in his own 
 mind destroyed all expectation of their being 
 ever fulfilled. The extraordinary events which 
 ushered in the revolution of France, interested 
 the feelings, and excited the hopes of men in 
 every corner of Euro{)e. Prejudice and ty- 
 ranny seemed about to disappear from among 
 men, and the day-star of reason to rise upon a 
 
 p 2 benighted 
 
 * See vol. iv. •
 
 212 THE LIFE OF 
 
 benighted world. In the dawn of this beautiful 
 morning", the genius of French freedom appeared 
 on our southern horizon with the countenance 
 of an angel, but speedily assumed the features 
 of a demon, and vanished in a shower of blood. 
 
 Though previously a Jacobite and a cavalier. 
 Burns had shared in the original hopes enter- 
 tained of this astonishing revolution by ardent 
 and benevolent minds. The novelty and the 
 hazard of the attempt meditated by the First or 
 Constituent Assembly, served rather, it is pro- 
 bable, to recommend it to his daring temper; 
 and the unfettered scope proposed to be given 
 to every kind of talents, was doubtless gratify- 
 ing to the feelings of conscious but indignant 
 genius. Burns foresaw not the mighty ruin 
 that was to be the immediate consequence of an 
 enterprize, which, on its commencement, pro- 
 mised so much happiness to the human race. 
 And even after the career of guilt and of blood 
 commenced, he could not immediately, it may 
 be presumed, withdraw his partial gaze from a 
 people who had so lately breathed the senti- 
 ments of universal peace and benignity, or obli- 
 terate in his bosom the pictures of hope and of 
 happiness to which those sentiments had given 
 birth. Under these impressions, he did not al- 
 ways conduct himself with the circumspection 
 and prudence which his dependent situation 
 
 seemed
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 213 
 
 seemed to demand. He engaged, indeed, in no 
 popular associations, so common at the time of 
 which we speak ; but in company he did not 
 conceal his opinions of public measures, or of 
 the reforms required in the practice of our go- 
 vernment: and sometimes in his social and un- 
 guarded moments, he uttered them with a wild 
 and unjustifiable vehemence. Information of 
 this was given to the board of excise, with the 
 exaggerations so general in such cases. A su- 
 perior officer in that department was authorized 
 to inquire into his conduct. Burns defended 
 himself in a letter addressed to one of the 
 Board, written with great independence of spirit, 
 and with more than his accustomed eloquence. 
 The officer appointed to inquire into his con- 
 duct gave a favorable report. His steady 
 friend, Mr. Graham of Fintry, interposed his 
 good offices in his behalf; and the imprudent 
 ganger was suffered to retain his situation, but 
 given to understand that his promotion was de- 
 ferred, and must depend on his future beha- 
 viour. 
 
 This circumstance made a deep impression 
 on the mind of Burns. Fame exaggerated his 
 misconduct, and represented him as actually 
 dismissed from his office. And this report in- 
 duced a gentleman of much respectability to 
 propose a subscription in his favor. The offer 
 
 was
 
 214 THE LIFE OF 
 
 was refused by our poet in a letter of great 
 elevation of sentiment, in Avhich he gives an 
 account of the whole of this transaction, and 
 defends himself from the imputation of dis- 
 loyal sentiments on the one hand, and on the 
 other from the charge of having made submis- 
 sions, for the sake of his oflfice, unworthy of 
 his character. 
 
 " The partiality of my countrymen," he ob- 
 serves, " has brought me forward as a man of 
 genius, and has given me a character to support. 
 In the poet I have avowed manly and indepen- 
 dent sentiments, which I hope have been found 
 in the man. Reasons of no less weight than 
 the support of a wife and children have pointed 
 out my present occupation as the only eligible 
 line of life within my reach. Still my honest 
 fame is my dearest concern, and a thousand 
 times have 1 trembled at the idea of the degrad- 
 ing epithets tliat malice or misrepresentation 
 may affix to my name. Often in blasting anti- 
 cipation have I listened to some future hackney 
 scribbler, with tlie heavy malice of savage 
 stupidity, exultingly asserting that Burns, not- 
 withstanding the fanfaronade of independence 
 to be found in his works, and after having been 
 held up to public view, and to public estima- 
 tion, as a man of some genius, yet, quite desti- 
 tute of resources within himself to support 
 
 his
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 215 
 
 his borrowed dignity, dwindled into a paltry 
 exciseman, and slunk out the rest of his in- 
 significant existence in the meanest of pursuits, 
 and among the lowest of mankind. 
 
 " In your illustrious hands, Sir, permit me 
 to lodge my strong disavowal and defiance of 
 such slanderous falsehoods. Burns was a poor 
 man from his birth, and an exciseman by ne- 
 cessity : but — I luill say it ! the sterling of his 
 honest worth poverty could not debase, and 
 his independent British vspirit, oppression might 
 bend, but could not subdue." 
 
 It was one of the last acts of his life to copy 
 this letter into his book of manuscripts, accom- 
 panied by some additional remarks on the 
 same subject. It is not surprising, that at a 
 season of universal alarm for the safety of the 
 constitution, the indiscreet expressions of a man 
 so powerful as Burns, should have attracted 
 notice. The times certainly required extra- 
 ordinary vigilance in those entrusted with the 
 administration of the government, and to ensure 
 the safety of the constitution was doubtless their 
 first duty. Yet generous minds will lament that 
 their measures of precaution should have rob- 
 bed the imagination of our poet of the last prop 
 on which his hopes of independence rested, and 
 by embittering his peace, have aggravated those 
 
 excesses
 
 216 THE LIFE OF 
 
 excesses which were soon to conduct him to 
 an untimely grave. 
 
 Though the vehemence of Burns's temper, 
 increased as it often was by stimulating liquors, 
 might lead him into many improper and un- 
 guarded expressions, there seems no reason to 
 doubt of his attachment to our mixed form of 
 government. In his common-place book, where 
 he could have no temptation to disguise, are 
 the following sentiments. — " Whatever might 
 be my sentiments of republics, ancient or mo- 
 dern, as to Britain, I ever abjured the idea. A 
 constitution, which in its original principles, 
 experience has proved to be every way fitted 
 for our happiness, it would be insanity to aban- 
 don for an untried visionary theory." In con- 
 formity to these sentiments, when the pressing 
 nature of public affairs called in 1795, for a 
 general arming of the people, Burns appeared 
 in the ranks of the Dumfries volunteers, and 
 employed his poetical talents in stimulating 
 their patriotism '* and at this season of alarm, 
 he brought forward the following hymn, worthy 
 of the Grecian Muse, when Greece was most 
 conspicuous for genius and valour. 
 
 Scene — 
 
 * See vol. iv.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 2J7 
 
 Scene — afield of battle — time of the day, evening 
 — the woimded and dying of the victorious 
 army are supposed to join in the following 
 song. 
 
 Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, 
 
 Now gay Avith the bright setting sun ; 
 Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, 
 
 Our race of existence is run ! 
 
 Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 
 
 Go, frighten the coward and slave ; 
 Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 
 
 No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 
 
 Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark, 
 
 Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name; 
 Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 
 
 He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 
 
 In the field of proud honor — our swords in our hands, 
 
 Our king and our country to save — 
 While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, 
 
 Oh ! who would not rest with the brave!* 
 
 Though 
 
 * This poem was written in 1791. See vol. ii. It was 
 printed in Johnson's Musical Museum. The poet had an 
 intention in the latter part of his life, of printing it sepa- 
 rately, set to music, but was advised against it; or at 
 least discouraged from it. The martial ardour which rose 
 so high afterwards, on the threatened invasion, had not then 
 acquired the tone necessary to give popularity to this noble 
 poem ; which, to the editor, seems more calculated to invigo- 
 rate
 
 218 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Though by nature of an athletic form, Burns 
 had in his constitution the peculiarities and the 
 delicacies that belong to the temperament of 
 genius. He was liable, from a very early period 
 of life, to that interruption in the process of 
 digestion, which arises from deep and anxious 
 thought, and which is sometimes the effect, 
 and sometimes the cause of depression of spirits. 
 Connected with this disorder of the stomach, 
 there was a disposition to head-ache, affecting 
 more especially the temples and eye-balls, and 
 frequently accompanied by violent and irre- 
 gular movements of the heart. Endowed by 
 nature with great sensibility of nerves. Burns 
 was, in his corporeal, as well as in his mental 
 system, liable to inordinate impressions; to 
 fever of body, as well as of mind. This predis- 
 position to disease, which strict temperance in 
 diet, regular exercise, and sound sleep, might 
 have subdued, habits of a very different nature 
 strengthened and inflamed. Perpetually sti- 
 mulated by alkohol in one or other of its various 
 forms, the inordinate actions of the circulating 
 system became at length habitual ; the process 
 of nutrition was unable to supply the waste, 
 
 and 
 
 rate the spirit of defence, in a season of real and pressing 
 danger, than any production of modern times. It is here 
 printed with his last corrections, varied a little from the copy 
 followed in vol. ii.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 219 
 
 and the powers of life began to fail. Upwards 
 of a year before his death, there was an evident 
 decline in our poet's personal appearance, and 
 though his appetite continued unimpaired, he 
 was himself sensible that his constitution was 
 sinking. In his moments of thought he reflect- 
 ed with the deepest regret on his fatal progress, 
 clearly foreseeing the goal towards which he 
 was hastening, without the strength of mind 
 necessary to stop, or even to slacken his course. 
 His temper now became more irritable and 
 gloomy ; he fled from himself into society, often 
 of the lowest kind. And in such company that 
 part of the convivial scene, in which wine in- 
 creases sensibility and excites benevolence, was 
 hurried over, to reach the succeeding part, over 
 which uncontrouled passion generally presided. 
 He who suffers the pollution of inebriation, how 
 shall he escape other pollution? But let us 
 refrain from the mention of errors over which 
 delicacy and humanity draw the veil.* 
 
 In the midst of all his wanderings. Burns 
 met nothinji' in his domestic circle but o-entle- 
 ness and forgiveness, except in the gnawings of 
 
 his 
 
 * The reader is requested to turn to Appendix, No. V, 
 at the end of this volume, for some farther information re- 
 specting the habits of the poet's Ufe.
 
 220 THE LIFE OF 
 
 his own remorse. He acknowledged his trans- 
 gressions to the wife of his bosom, promised 
 amendment, and again and again received par- 
 don for his offences. But as the strength of 
 his body decayed, his resolution became feebler, 
 and habit acquired predominating strength. 
 
 From October, 1795, to the January follow- 
 ing, an accidental complaint confined him to 
 the house. A few days after he began to go 
 abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned 
 home about three o'clock in a very cold morn- 
 ing, benumbed and intoxicated. This was fol- 
 lowed by an attack of rheumatism, which con- 
 fined him about a week. His appetite now 
 began to fail ; his hands shook, and his voice 
 faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse 
 became weaker and more rapid, and pain in 
 the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, de- 
 prived him of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep. 
 Too much dejected in his spirits, and too well 
 aware of his real situation to entertain hopes of 
 recovery, he was ever musing on the approach- 
 ing desolation of his family, and his spirits sunk 
 into an uniform gloom. 
 
 It was hoped by some of his friends, that if 
 he could live through the months of spring, the 
 succeeding season might restore him. But they 
 were disappointed. The genial beams of the 
 
 sun
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 221 
 
 sun infused no vigour into his languid frame; 
 the summer wind blew upon him, but produced 
 no refreshment. About the latter end of June 
 he was advised to go into the country, and, im- 
 patient of medical advice, as well as of every 
 species of controul, he determined for himself 
 to try the effects of bathing in the sea. For 
 this purpose he took up his residence at Brow, 
 in Annandale, about ten miles east of Dumfries, 
 on the shore of the Sol way-Firth. 
 
 It happened that at that time a lady with 
 whom he had been connected in friendship by 
 the sympathies of kindred genius, was residing 
 in the immediate neighbourhood.* Being in- 
 formed of his arrival, she invited him to dinner, 
 and sent her carriage for him to the cottage 
 where he lodged, as he was unable to walk. — 
 " I was struck," says this lady, (in a confiden- 
 tial letter to a friend written soon after) " with 
 his appearance on entering the room. The 
 stamp of death was impressed on his features. 
 He seemed already touching the brink of eter- 
 nity. His first salutation was, " Well, Madam, 
 have you any commands for the other world ?" 
 I replied that it seemed a doubtful case which 
 of us should be there soonest, and that I hoped 
 
 he 
 
 For a character of this lady, see vol, ii.
 
 222 THE LIFE OF 
 
 he would yet live to write my e|)itaph. (I was 
 then ill a bad state of health.) He looked in 
 my face with an air of great kindness, and ex- 
 pressed his concern at seeing me look so ill, 
 with his accustomed sensibility. At table he 
 ate little or nothing, and he complained of 
 having entirely lost the tone of his stomach. 
 We had a long and serious conversation about 
 his present situation, and the approaching ter- 
 mination of all his earthly prospects. He spoke 
 of his death without any of the ostentation of 
 philosophy, but with firmness as well as feel- 
 ing—as an event likely to happen very soon, 
 and which gave him concern chiefly from leav- 
 ing his four children so young and unprotected, 
 and his wife in so interesting a situation — in 
 hourly expectation of lying in of a fifth. He 
 mentioned, with seeming pride and satisfaction, 
 the promising genius of his eldest son, and the 
 flattering marks of approbation he had received 
 from his teachers, and dwelt particularly on 
 his hopes of that boy's future conduct and 
 merit. His anxiety for his family seemed to 
 hang heavy upon him, and the more perhaps 
 from the reflection that he had not done them 
 all the justice he was so well qualified to do. 
 Passing from this subject, he shewed great 
 concern about the care of his literary fame, and 
 particularly the publication of his posthumous 
 works. He said he was well aware that his 
 
 death
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 223 
 
 death would occasion some noise, and that 
 every scrap of his writing- would be revived 
 against him to the injury of his future reputa- 
 tion : that letters and verses written with un- 
 guarded and improper freedom, and which he 
 earnestly wished to have buried in oblivion, 
 would be handed about by idle vanity or male- 
 volence, when no dread of his resentment would 
 restrain them, or prevent the censures of shrill- 
 tongued malice, or the insidious sarcasms of 
 envy, from pouring forth all their venom to 
 blast his fame. 
 
 *' He lamented that he had written many 
 epigrams on persons against whom he enter- 
 tained no enmity, and whose characters he 
 should be sorry to wound ; and many indif- 
 ferent poetical pieces, which he feared would 
 now, with all their imperfections on their head, 
 be thrust upon the world. On this account he 
 deeply regretted having deferred to put his pa- 
 pers into a state of arrangement, as he was now 
 quite incapable of the exertion." — The lady 
 goes on to mention many other topics of a pri- 
 vate nature on which he spoke. — " The con- 
 versation," she adds, " was kept up with great 
 evenness and animation on his side. I had 
 seldom seen his mind greater or more collected. 
 There was frequently a considerable degree of 
 vivacity in his sallies, and they would probably 
 
 have
 
 224 THE LIFE OF 
 
 have had a greater share, had not the concern 
 and dejection I could not disguise, damped the 
 spirit of pleasantry he seemed not unwilling to 
 indulge. 
 
 *' We parted about sun-set on the evening of 
 that day, (the 5th of July, 1796); the next 
 day 1 saw him again, and we parted to meet no 
 more !" 
 
 At first Burns imagined bathing in the sea had 
 been of benefit to him : the pains in his limbs 
 were relieved ; but this was immediately fol- 
 lowed by a new attack of fever. When brought 
 back to his own house in Dumfries, on the 
 18th of July, he was no longer able to stand 
 upright. At this time a tremor pervaded his 
 frame ; his tongue was parched, and his mind 
 sunk into delirium, when not roused by con- 
 versation. On the second and third day the 
 fever increased, and his strength diminished. 
 On the fourth, the sufferings of this great but 
 ill-fated genius were terminated, and a life was 
 closed in which virtue and passion had been at 
 perpetual variance.* 
 
 The 
 
 * The particulars respecting the illness and death of Barns, 
 were obligingly furnished by Dr. Maxwell, the physician who 
 attended him.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 225 
 
 The death of Burns made a strong and gene- 
 ral impression on all who had interested them- 
 selves in his character, and especially on the 
 inhabitants of the town and county in which 
 he had spent the latter years of his life. Fla- 
 grant as his follies and errors had been, they 
 had not deprived him of the respect and regard 
 entertained for the extraordinary powers of his 
 genius, and the generous qualities of his heart. 
 The Gentlemen- Volunteers of Dumfries deter- 
 mined to bury their illustrious associate with 
 military honors, and every preparation was 
 made to render this last service solemn and im- 
 pressive. The Fencible Infantry of Angus- 
 shire, and the regiment of cavalry of the Cinque 
 Por,ts, at that time quartered in Dumfries, of- 
 fered their assistance on this occasion ; the 
 principal inhabitants of the town and neigh- 
 bourhood determined to walk in the funeral 
 procession ; and a vast concourse of persons 
 assembled, some of them from a considerable 
 distance, to witness the obsequies of the Scot- 
 tish Bard, On the evening of the 25th of July, 
 the remains of Burns were removed from his 
 house to the Town-Hall, and the funeral took 
 place on the succeeding day. A party of the 
 volunteers, selected to perform the military 
 duty in the church-yard, stationed themselves 
 in the front of the procession, with their arms 
 reversed ; the main body of the corps sur- 
 
 voL. I. Q rounded
 
 •226 TkE LIFE OF 
 
 rounded and supported the coffin, on which 
 were placed the hat and sword of their friend 
 and fellow-soldier; the numerous body of at- 
 tendants ranged themselves in the rear ; while 
 the Fencible regiments of infantry and cavalry 
 lined the streets from the Town-Hall to the 
 burial ground in the Southern church-yard, a 
 distance of more than half a mile. The whole 
 procession moved forward to that sublime and 
 affecting strain of music, the Dead March in 
 Saul ; and three volleys fired over his grave, 
 marked the return of Burns to his parent earth ! 
 The spectacle was in a high degree grand and 
 solemn, and accorded with the general senti- 
 ments of sympathy and sorrow which the occa- 
 sion had called forth. 
 
 It was an affecting circumstance, that on the 
 morning of the day of her husband's funeral, 
 Mrs. Burns was undergoing the pains of labour, 
 and that during the solemn service we have 
 just been describing, the posthumous son of 
 our poet was born. This infant boy, who re- 
 ceived the name of Maxwell, was not destined 
 to a long life. He has already become an in- 
 habitant of the same grave with his celebrated 
 father. The four other children of our poet, 
 all sons, (the eldest at that time about ten 
 years of age,) yet survive, and give every pro- 
 mise of prudence and virtue that can be ex- 
 pected
 
 ROBIiRT BURNS. 227 
 
 pected from their tender years. They remain 
 under the care of their affectionate mother in 
 Dumfries, and are enjoying- the means of edu- 
 cation which the excellent schools of that town 
 afford ; the teachers of which, in their conduct 
 to the children of Burns, do themselves great 
 honor. On this occasion, the name of Mr, 
 Whyte deserves to be particularly mentioned, 
 himself a poet as well as a man of science.* 
 
 Burns died in great poverty, but the inde- 
 pendence of his spirit, and the exemplary pru- 
 dence of his wife, had preserved him from debt. 
 He had received from his poems a clear profit 
 of about nine hundred pounds. Of this sum, 
 the part expended on his library (which was 
 far from extensive) and in the humble furniture 
 of his house, remained ; and obligations were 
 found for two hundred pounds advanced by 
 him to the assistance of those to whom he was 
 united by the ties of blood, and still more by 
 those of esteem and affection. When it is con- 
 sidered that his expenses in Edinburgh, and on 
 his various journeys, could not be inconsider- 
 able ; that his agricultural undertaking was un- 
 ci 2 successful ; 
 
 * Author of St. Guerdon's Well, a poem, and of A Tribute 
 to the Memory of Burns.
 
 228 THE LIFE OF 
 
 successful ; that his income from the excise 
 was for some time as low as fifty, and never 
 rose to above seventy pounds a year ; that his 
 family was large, and his spirit liberal — no on6 
 will be surprized that his circumstances were 
 so poor, or that as his health decayed, his proud 
 and feeling heart sunk under the secret con- 
 sciousness of indigence, and the apprehensions 
 of absolute want. Yet poverty never bent the 
 spirit of Burns to any pecuniary meanness. 
 Neither chicanery nor sordidness ever appeared 
 in his conduct. He carried his disregard of 
 money to a blameable excess. Even in the 
 midst of distress he bore himself loftily to the 
 world, and received with a jealous reluctance 
 every offer of friendly assistance. His printed 
 poems had procured him great celebrity, and a 
 just and fair recompense for the latter offsprings 
 of his pen, might have produced him consider- 
 able emolument. In the year 1795, the Editor 
 of a London newspaper, high in its character 
 for literature and independence of sentiment, 
 made a proposal to him, that he should furnish 
 them once a week with an article for their 
 poetical department, and receive from them a 
 recompense of fifty-two guineas per annum ; an 
 offer which the pride of genius disdained to ac- 
 cept. Yet he had for several years furnished, 
 and was at that time furnishing, the Museum of 
 
 Johnson
 
 ItOBERT BURNS. 229 
 
 Johnson with his beautiful lyrics, without fee 
 or reward, and was obstinately refusing all re- 
 compense for his assistance to the greater work 
 of Mr. Thomson, which the justice and genero- 
 sity of that gentleman was pressing upon him. 
 
 The sense of his poverty, and of the approach- 
 ing distress of his infant family, pressed heavily 
 on Burns as he lay on the bed of death. Yet 
 he alluded to his indigence, at times, with some- 
 thing approaching to his wonted gaiety. — " What 
 business," said he to Dr. Maxwell, who attend- 
 ed him with the utmost zeal, " has a physician 
 to waste his time on me ? — I am a poor pigeon 
 not worth plucking. Alas ! I have not feathers 
 enough upon me to carry me to my grave." And 
 when his reason was lost in delirium, his ideas 
 ran in the same melancholy train ; the horrors of 
 a jail were continually present to his troubled im- 
 agination, and produced the most affecting ex- 
 clamations. 
 
 As for some months previous to his death he 
 had been incapable of the duties of his office. 
 Burns dreaded that his salary should be reduc- 
 ed one half, as is usual in such cases. His full 
 emoluments were however continued to him by 
 the kindness of Mr. Stobbie, a young expectant 
 in the Excise, who performed the duties of his 
 
 office
 
 230 THE LIFE OF 
 
 office without fee or reward ;* and Mr. Graham 
 of Fin try, hearing of his iUness, though un- 
 acquainted with its dangerous nature, made an 
 offer of his assistance towards procuring him 
 the means of preserving his health. — Whatever 
 might be the faults of Burns, ingratitude was 
 not of the number. Amongst his manuscripts, 
 various proofs are found of the sense he enter- 
 tained of Mr. Graham's friendship, which deli- 
 cacy towards that gentleman has induced us to 
 suppress ; and on this last occasion there is no 
 doubt that his heart overflowed towards him, 
 though he had no longer the power of express- 
 ing his feelings. t 
 
 On the death of Burns, the inhabitants of 
 Dumfries and its neighbourhood, opened a sub- 
 scription for the support of his wife and family, 
 and Mr. Miller, Mr. M'Murdo, Dr. Maxwell, 
 Mr. Syme, and Mr. Cunningham, gentlemen of 
 
 the 
 
 * In the first edition it is supposed, that the Board of 
 Excise deviated from their usual rule (a shocking rule it is !) 
 in our poet's favor. It appears on better information that 
 the members of that Board were not guilty of any such 
 weakness. 
 
 t The letter of Mr, Graham alluded to above, is dated 
 on the i3th of July, and probably arrived on the 15th. 
 Burns became delirious on the 17th or 18th, and died on the 
 21st.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 231 
 
 the first respectability, became trustees for the 
 application of the money to its proper objects. 
 The subscription was extended to other parts 
 of Scotland, and of England also, particularly 
 London and Liverpool. By this means a sum 
 was raised amounting to seven hundred pounds, 
 and thus the widow and children were rescued 
 from immediate distress, and the most melan- 
 choly of the forebodings of Burns happily dis- 
 appointed. It is true, this sum, though equal 
 to their present support, is insufficient to secure 
 them from future penury. Their hope in regard 
 to futurity depends on the favorable reception 
 of these volumes from the public at large, in 
 the promoting of which the candour and hu- 
 manity of the Reader may induce him to lend 
 his assistance. 
 
 Burns, as has already been mentioned, was 
 nearly five feet ten inches in height, and of a 
 form that indicated agility as well as strength. 
 His well-raised forehead shaded with black 
 curling hair, indicated extensive capacity. His 
 eyes were large, dark, full of ardour and intelli- 
 gence. 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, disguised in some degree the natural 
 
 symmetry
 
 232 THE LIFE OF 
 
 symmetry and elegance of his form. The ex- 
 ternal appearance of Burns was most strikingly 
 indicative of the character of his mind. On a 
 first view, his physiognomy had a certain air of 
 coarseness, mingled however with an expression 
 of deep penetration, and of calm thoughtful- 
 ness approaching to melancholy. There ap- 
 peared in his first manner and address perfect 
 ease and self-possession, but a stern and almost 
 supercilious elevation, not indeed incompatible 
 with openness and affability, which however be- 
 spoke a mind conscious of superior talents. 
 Strangers that supposed themselves approach- 
 ing an Ayrshire peasant, who could make 
 rhymes, and to whom their notice was an honor, 
 found themselves speedily overawed by the pre- 
 sence of a man who bore himself with dignity, 
 and who possessed a singular power of correct- 
 ing forwardness and of repelling intrusion. But 
 though jealous of the respect due to himself, 
 Burns never enforced it where he saw it was 
 willingly paid ; and though inaccessible to the 
 approaches of pride, he was open to every ad- 
 vance of kindness and of benevolence. His 
 dark and haughty countenance easily relaxed 
 into a look of good- will, of pity, or of tender- 
 ness; and as the various emotions succeeded 
 each other in his mind, assumed with equal 
 ease the expression of the broadest humour, of 
 the most extravagant mirth, of the deepest me- 
 lancholy.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 233 
 
 lanchol)'^, or of the most sublime emotion. The 
 tones of his voice happily corresponded with 
 the expression of his features, and with the feel- 
 ings of his mind. When to these endowments 
 are added, a rapid and distinct apprehension, a 
 most powerful understanding, and a happy 
 command of language — of strength as well as 
 brilliancy of expression — we shall be able to 
 account for the extraordinary attractions of his 
 conversation — for the sorcery which in h+H so- 
 cial parties he seemed to exert on all around 
 him. In the company of women this sorcery 
 was more especially apparent. Their presence 
 charmed the fiend of melancholy in his bosom, 
 and awoke his happiest feelings ; it excited the 
 powers of his fancy as well as the tenderness of 
 his heart; and by restraining the vehemence 
 and the exuberance of his language, at times 
 gave to his manners the impression of taste, 
 and even of elegance, which in the company of 
 men they seldom possessed. This influence 
 was doubtless reciprocal. A Scottish Lady, p^ 
 accustomed to the best societyj{- declared with i^ iamI.o*^ 
 
 characteristic naivete, that no man's conversa- 
 tion ever carried her so cotnjjleteli/ off her feet _ 
 as that of Burns ; and an English Lady, fami- \ 
 liarly acquainted with several of the most dis- " 
 tinguished characters of the present times, as- 
 sured the editor, that in the happiest of his 
 social hours, there was a charm about Burns 
 
 which 
 
 j\ 
 
 h^il 
 
 ,Vl IK.
 
 234 THE LIFE OF 
 
 which she had never seen equalled. This charm 
 arose not more from the power than the versa- 
 tility of his genius. No languor could be felt 
 in the society of a man who passed at pleasure 
 from grave to gay, from the ludicrous to the 
 pathetic, from the simple to the sublime ; who 
 wielded all his faculties with equal strength 
 and ease, and never failed to impress the off- 
 spring of his fancy with the stamp of his under- 
 standing. 
 
 This, indeed, is to represent Burns in his 
 happiest phasis. In large and mixed parties 
 he was often silent and dark, sometimes fierce 
 and overbearing ; he was jealous of the proud 
 man's scorn, jealous to an extreme of the inso- 
 lence of wealth, and prone to avenge, even on 
 its innocent possessor, the partiality of fortune. 
 By nature kind, brave, sincere, and in a singular 
 degree compassionate, he was, on the other 
 hand, proud, irascible, and vindictive. His 
 virtues and his failings had their origin in the 
 extraordinary sensibility of his mind, and 
 equally partook of the chills and glows of sen- 
 timent. His friendships were liable to inter- 
 ruption from jealousy or disgust, and his enmi- 
 ties died away under the influence of pity or 
 self-accusation. His understanding was equal 
 to the other powers of his mind, and his deli- 
 berate opinions were singularly candid and 
 
 just;
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 235 
 
 just; but like other men of great and irregular 
 genius, the opinions which he delivered in con- 
 versation were often the offspring of temporary 
 feelings, and widely different from the calm de- 
 cisions of his judgment. This was not merely 
 true respecting the characters of others, but in 
 regard to some of the most important points of 
 human speculation. 
 
 On no subject did he give a more striking 
 proof of the strength of his understanding, than 
 in the correct estimate he formed of himself. 
 He knew his own failings ; he predicted their 
 consequence; the melancholy foreboding was 
 never long absent from his mind ; yet his pas- 
 sions carried him down the stream of error, and 
 swept him over the precipice he saw directly 
 in his course. The fatal defect in his character 
 lay in the comparative weakness of his volition, 
 that superior faculty of the mind, which go- 
 verning the conduct according to the dictates of 
 the understanding, alone entitles it to be deno- 
 minated rational ; which is the parent of forti- 
 tude, patience, and self-denial ; which, by regu- 
 lating and combining human exertions, may be 
 said to have effected all that is great in the 
 works of man, in literature, in science, or on 
 the face of nature. The occupations of a poet 
 are not calculated to strengthen the governing 
 powers of the mind, or to weaken that sensi- 
 bility
 
 23& . THE LIFE OF 
 
 bility which requires perpetual control, since 
 it gives birth to the vehemence of passion as 
 well as to the higher powers of imagination. 
 Unfortunately, the favorite occupations of ge- 
 nius are calculated to increase all its peculi- 
 arities ; to nourish that lofty pride which dis- 
 dains the littleness of prudence, and the restric- 
 tions of order ; and by indulgence, to increase 
 that sensibility, which, in the present form of 
 our existence, is scarcely compatible with peace 
 or happiness, even when accompanied with the 
 choicest gifts of fortune ! 
 
 It is observed by one who was a friend and 
 associate of Burns,* and who has contemplated 
 and explained the system of animated nature, 
 that no sentient being with mental powers 
 greatly superior to those of men, could possibly 
 live and be happy in this world. — " If such a 
 being really existed," continues he, " his misery 
 would be extreme. With senses more delicate 
 and refined ; with perceptions more acute and 
 penetrating ; with a taste so exquisite, that the 
 objects around him would by no means gratify 
 it ; obliged to feed on nourishment too gross 
 for his frame ; he must be born only to be mi- 
 serable 
 
 * Smellie — See his Philosophy of Natm-al History, voL i. 
 p. 526.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 237 
 
 serable, and the continuation of his existence 
 would be utterly impossible. Even in our pre- 
 sent condition, the sameness and the insipidity 
 of objects and pursuits, the futility of pleasure, 
 and the infinite sources of excruciating pain^ 
 are supported with great difficulty by cultivated 
 and refined minds. Increase our sensibilities, 
 continue the same objects and situation, and 
 jio man could bear to live." 
 
 Thus it appears, that our powers of sensa- 
 tion, as well as all our other powers, are adapt- 
 ed to the scene of our existence ; that they are 
 limited in mercy as well as in wisdom. 
 
 The speculations of Mr. Smellie are not to 
 be considered as the dreams of a theorist ; they 
 were probably founded on sad experience. The 
 being he supposes, " with senses more delicate 
 and refined, with perceptions more acute and 
 penetrating," is to be found in real life. He-is 
 of the temperament of genius, and perhaps a 
 poet. Is there then no remedy for this inor- 
 dinate sensibility? Are there no means by 
 which the happiness of one so constituted by 
 nature may be consulted ? Perhaps it will be 
 found that regular and constant occupation, 
 irksome though it may at first be, is the true 
 remedy. Occupation in which the powers of 
 the understanding are exercised, will diminish 
 
 the
 
 238 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the force of external impressions, and keep the 
 imagination under restraint. 
 
 That the bent of every man's mind should 
 be followed in his education and in his destina- 
 tion in life, is a maxim which has been often 
 repeated, but which cannot be admitted without 
 many restrictions. It may be generally true 
 when applied to weak minds, which being ca- 
 pable of little, must be encouraged and strength- 
 ened in the feeble impulses by which that little 
 is produced. But where indulgent nature has 
 bestowed her gifts with a liberal hand, the very 
 reverse of this maxim ought frequently to be 
 the rule of conduct. In minds of a higher 
 order, the object of instruction and of discipline 
 is very often to restrain rather than to impel ; 
 to curb the impulses of imagination, so that 
 the passions also may be kept under control.* 
 
 Hence 
 
 * Quinctilian discusses the important question, whether 
 the bent of the individual's genius should be followed in his 
 €ducation (an secundum sui quisqiie ingenii docendus sit na- 
 turam), chiefly, indeed, with a reference to the orator, but in 
 a way that admits of very general application, His conclu- 
 sions coincide very much with those of the text. An vero 
 Isocrates cum de JEphoro atque Theopompo sic judicaret, ut 
 
 ALTERI FRENIS, ALTERI CALCARIBUS OPUS ESSE diceret ; 
 
 aut in illo lentiore tarditatem, aut in illo pane prcecipiti con- 
 eitationem adjuvandum docendo existitnavit? cum alterum al- 
 
 terius
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 239 
 
 Hence the advantages, even in a moral point of 
 view, of studies of a severer nature, which, 
 while they inform the understanding, employ 
 the volition, that regulating power of the mind, 
 which, like all our other faculties, is strength- 
 ened by exercise, and on the superiority of 
 which, virtue, happiness, and honorable fame, 
 are wholly dependent. Hence, also, the ad- 
 vantage of regular and constant application, 
 which aids the voluntary power by the produc- 
 tion of habits, so necessary to the support of 
 order and virtue, and so difficult to be formed 
 in the temperament of genius. 
 
 The man who is so endowed, and so regu- 
 lated, may pursue his course with confidence in 
 almost any of the various walks of life, which 
 choice or accident shall open to him; and pro- 
 vided he employs the talents he has cultivated, 
 may hope for such imperfect happiness, and 
 such limited success, as are reasonably to be 
 expected from human e;vertions. 
 
 The pre-eminence among men, which pro- 
 cures personal respect, and which terminates 
 
 i n 
 
 terius natura miscendum arbitraretur. Imbecillis tamen ingc' 
 niis sane sic obsequendum sit, ut tantum in id quo vocat natura^ 
 ducantur. Ita enim, quod solum possunt, melius efficiait, 
 
 Instit. Orator, lib. ii. 9.
 
 240 THE LIFE OF 
 
 in lasting- reputation, is seldom or never ob- 
 tained by the excellence of a single faculty of 
 mind. Experience teaches us, that it has been 
 acquired by those only, who have possessed 
 the comprehension and the energy of general 
 talents, and who have regulated their applica- 
 tion, in the line which choice, or perhaps acci- 
 dent may have determined, by the dictates of 
 their judgment. Imagination is supposed, and 
 with justice, to be the leading faculty of the 
 poet. But what poet has stood the test of time 
 by the force of this single faculty? Who does 
 not see that Homer and Shakspeare excelled 
 the rest of their species in understanding as 
 well as in imagination ; that they were pre-emi- 
 nent in the highest species of knowledge — the 
 knowledge of the nature and character of man. 
 On the other hand, the talent of ratiocination 
 is more especially requisite to the orator ; but 
 no man ever obtained the palm of oratory, even 
 by the highest excellence in this single talent. 
 Who does not perceive that Demosthenes and 
 Cicero were not more happy in their addresses 
 to the reason, than in their appeals to the pas- 
 sions? They knew that to excite, to agitate, 
 and to delight, are among the most potent arts 
 of persuasion ; and they enforced their impres- 
 sion on the understanding by their command 
 of all the sympathies of the heart. These ob- 
 servations might be extended to other walks of 
 
 life.
 
 ROHERT BURNS, 241 
 
 life. He who has the faculties fitted to excel 
 in poetry, has the faculties which, duly go- 
 verned and differently directed, might lead to 
 pre-eminence in other, and as far as respects 
 himself, perhaps, in happier destinations. The 
 talents necessary to the construction of an 
 Iliad, under different discipline and applica- 
 tion, might have led armies to victory, or king- 
 doms to prosperity ; might have wielded the 
 thunder of eloquence, or discovered and en- 
 larged the sciences that constitute the power, 
 and improve the condition of our species.* 
 VOL. I. R Such 
 
 * The reader must not suppose it is contended that the 
 same individual could have excelled in all these directions. 
 A certain degree of instruction and practice is necessary to 
 excellence in every one, and life is too short to admit of one 
 man, however great his talents, acquiring this in all of them. 
 It is only asserted, that the same talents, differently applied, 
 might have succeeded in any one, though, perhaps, not 
 equally vrell in each. And, after all, this position requires 
 certain limitations, v\rhich the reader's candour and judgment 
 will supply. In supposing that a great poet might have 
 made a great orator, the physical qualities necessary to ora- 
 tory are pre- supposed. In supposing that a great orator 
 might have made a great poet, it is a necessary condition 
 that he should have devoted himself to poetry, and that he 
 should have acquired a proficiency in metrical numbers, 
 which by patience and attention may be acquired, though 
 the want of it has embarrassed and chilled many of the first 
 efforts of true poetical genius. In supposing that Homer 
 might have led armies to victory, more, indeed, is assumed 
 
 than
 
 242 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Such talents are indeed rare among the produc- 
 tions of nature, and occasions of bringing them 
 
 into 
 
 than the physical qualities of a general. To these must be 
 added, that hardihood of mind, that coolness in the midst of 
 difficulty and danger, which great poets and orators are 
 found sometimes, but not always, to possess. The nature 
 of the institutions of Greece and Rome produced more in- 
 stances of single individuals, who excelled in various depart- 
 ments of active and speculative life than occur in modern 
 Europe, where the employments of men are more subdivided. 
 Many of the greatest warriors of antiquity excelled in lite- 
 rature and in oratory. That they had the minds of great 
 poets also, will be admitted, when the qualities are justly 
 appreciated which are necessary to excite, combine, and 
 command the active energies of a great body of men, to 
 rouse that enthusiasm which sustains fatigue, hunger, and 
 the inclemencies of the elements, and which triumphs over 
 the fear of death, the most powerful instinct of our nature. 
 
 The authority of Cicero may be appealed to in favor of 
 the close connexion between the poet and the orator. Est 
 enim Jinitinuis oratori poefa, mnneris adstrictior patilo verbo- 
 riiiii autem licentia libeHor, dc. — De Orator. Lib. i. c. 16. 
 See also Lib. iii. c. 7. — It is true, the example of Cicero 
 may be quoted against his opinion. His attempts in verse, 
 which are praised by Plutarch, do not seem to have met the 
 approbation of Juvenal, or of some others. Cicero probably 
 did not take sufficient time to learn the art of the poet ; but 
 that he had the afflatus necessary to poetical excellence may 
 be abundantly proved from his compositions in prose. On 
 the other hand, nothing is more clear, than that in the cha- 
 racter of a great poet, all the mental qualities of an orator are 
 included. It is said by Quinctilian of Homer, Omnibus elo- 
 
 quentus
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 243 
 
 into full exertion are rarer still. But safe and 
 salutary occupations may be found for men of 
 
 R 2 genius 
 
 quenticB partibits exemphim et ortum dedit, Lib. i, 47. The 
 study of Homer is therefore recommended to the orator as 
 of the first importance. Of the two sublime poets in our 
 own language, who are hardly inferior to Homer, Shake- 
 speare and Milton, a similar recommendation may be given. 
 It is scarcely necessary to mention how much an acquaint- 
 ance with them has availed the great orator who is now the 
 pride and ornament of the English bar, a character that may 
 be appealed to with singular propriety, when we are contend- 
 ing for the universality of genius. 
 
 The identity, or at least the great similarity, of the talents 
 necessary to excellence in poetry, oratory, painting and war, 
 will be admitted by some, who will be inclined to dispute the 
 extension of the position to science or natural knowledge. 
 On this occasion I may quote the following observations of 
 Sir William Jones, whose own example will however far 
 exceed in weight the authority of his precepts. " Abul Ola 
 had so flourishing a reputation, that several persons of un- 
 common genius were ambitious of learning the art of poetry 
 from so able an instructor. His most illustrious scholars 
 were Feleki and Kliakani, who were no less eminent for their 
 Persian compositions, than for their skill in every branch of 
 pure and mixed mathematics, and particularly in astronomy; 
 a striking proof, that a sublime poet may become master of 
 any kind of learning which he chuses to profess ; since a fine 
 imagination, a lively wit, an easy and copious style, cannot 
 possibly obstruct the acquisition of any science whatever ; 
 but must necessarily assist him in his studies, and shorten 
 his labour." 
 
 Sir William Jones* Works, vol. ii. jt. 317.
 
 244 i'HE LIFK OF 
 
 genius in every direction, while the useful and 
 ornamental arts remain to be cultivated, while 
 the sciences remain to be studied and to be ex- 
 tended, and the principles of science to be ap- 
 plied to the correction and improvement of art. 
 In the temperament of sensibility, which is in 
 truth the temperament of general talents, the 
 principal object of discipline and instruction, is, 
 as has already been mentioned, to strengthen 
 the self-command ; and this may be promoted 
 by the direction of the studies, more effectually 
 perhaps than has been generally understood. 
 
 If these observations be founded in truth, 
 they may lead to practical consequences of 
 some importance. It has been too much the 
 custom to consider the possession of poetical 
 talents as excluding the possibility of applica- 
 tion to the severer branches of study, and as 
 in some degree incapacitating the possessor 
 from attaining those habits, and from bestowing 
 that attention, which are necessary to success 
 in the details of business, and in the engage- 
 ments of active life. It has been common for 
 persons conscious of such talents, to look with 
 a sort of disdain on other kinds of intellectual 
 excellence, and to consider themselves as in 
 some degree absolved from those rules of pru- 
 dence by which humbler minds are restricted. 
 They ai'e too much disposed to abandon them- 
 selves
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 245 
 
 ^selves to their own sensations, and to suffer 
 life to pass away without regular exertion or 
 settled purpose. 
 
 But though men of genius are generally prone 
 to indolence, with them indolence and unhap- 
 piness are in a more especial manner allied. 
 The unbidden splendors of imagination may 
 indeed at times irradiate the gloom which 
 inactivity produces; but such visions, though 
 bright, are transient, and serve to cast the 
 realities of life into deeper shade. In bestow- 
 ing great talents, nature seems very generally 
 to have imposed on the possessor the necessity 
 of exertion, if he would escape wretchedness. 
 Better for him than sloth, toils the most pain- 
 ful, or adventures the most hazardous. Hap- 
 pier to him than idleness, were the condition 
 of the peasant, earning with incessant labour 
 his scanty food ; or that of the sailor, though 
 hanging on the yard-arm, and wrestling with 
 the hurricane. 
 
 These observations might be amply illustrat- 
 ed by the biography of men of genius of every 
 denomination, and more especially by the bio- 
 graphy of the poets. Of this last description 
 of men, few seem to have enjoyed the usual 
 portion of happiness that falls to the lot of hu- 
 manity, those excepted who have cultivated 
 
 poetry
 
 246 THE LIFE OF 
 
 poetry as an elegant amusement in the hours of 
 relaxation from other occupations, or the small 
 number who have engaged with success in the 
 greater or more arduous attempts of the muse> 
 in which all the faculties of the mind have been 
 fully and permanently employed. Even taste, 
 virtue, and comparative independence do not 
 seem capable of bestowing on men of genius, 
 peace and tranquillity, without such occupa- 
 tion as may give regular and healthful exercise 
 to the faculties of body and mind. The amiable 
 Shenstone has left us the records of his impru- 
 dence, of his indolence, and of his unhappi- 
 ness, amidst the shades of the Leasowes ;* and 
 the virtues, the learning, and the genius of Gray, 
 equal to the loftiest attempts of the epic muse, 
 failed to procure him in the academic bowers 
 of Cambridge, that tranquillity and that re- 
 spect, which less fastidiousness of taste, and 
 greater constancy and vigour of exertion, would 
 have doubtless obtained. 
 
 It is more necessary that men of genius should 
 be aware of the importance of self-command, 
 and of exertion, because their indolence is pe- 
 culiarly exposed, not merely to unhappiness, 
 but to diseases of mind, and to errors of con- 
 duct, 
 
 * See his letters, which, as a display of the effects of 
 poetical idleness, are highly instructive.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 247 
 
 duct, which are generally fatal. This interest- 
 ing subject deserves a particular investigation ; 
 but we must content ourselves with one or two 
 cursory remarks. Relief is sometimes sought 
 from the melancholy of indolence in practices, 
 which for a time sooth and gratify the sensa- 
 tions, but which in the end involve the sufferer 
 in darker gloom. To command the external 
 circumstances by which happiness is affected, 
 is not in human power ; but there are various 
 substances in nature which operate on the sys- 
 tem of the nerves, so as to give a fictitious 
 gaiety to the ideas of imagination and to alter 
 the effect of the external impressions which we 
 receive. Opium is chiefly employed for this 
 purpose by the disciples of Mahomet and the 
 inhabitants of Asia; but alkohol, the principle 
 of intoxication in vinous and spirituous liquors, 
 is preferred in Europe, and is universally used 
 in the Christian world.* Under the various 
 
 wounds 
 
 * There are a great number of other substances, which 
 may be considered under this point of view — Tobacco, tea, 
 and coffee, are of the number. These substances essentially 
 differ from each other in their qualities, and an inquiry into 
 the particular effects of each on the health, morals, and happi- 
 ness of those who use them, would be curious and useful. 
 The effects of wine and of opium on the temperament of sensi- 
 bility, the Editor intended to have discussed in this place at 
 some length ; but he found the subject too extensive and too 
 professional to be introduced with propriety. The difficulty 
 
 of
 
 248 THE LIFE OF 
 
 wounds to which indolent sensibility is exposed, 
 and under the gloomy apprehensions respecting 
 futurity to which it is so often a prey, how 
 strong is the temptation to have recourse to an 
 antidote by which the pain of these wounds is 
 suspended, by which the heart is exhilarated, 
 visions of happiness are excited in the mind, 
 and the forms of external nature clothed with 
 new beauty! 
 
 Elysium opens round, 
 A pleasing phrenzy buoys the lighten'd soul. 
 And sanguine hopes dispel your fleeting care ; 
 And what was difficult, and what was dire, 
 
 Yields 
 
 of abandoning any of these narcotics (if we may so term 
 them) when inclination is strengthened by habit, is well 
 known. Johnson, in his distresses, had experienced the 
 cheering but treacherous influence of wine, and by a powerful 
 efibrt abandoned it. He was obliged, however, to use tea 
 as a substitute, and this was the solace to which he constantly 
 had recourse under his habitual melancholy. The praises of 
 wine form many of the most beautiful lyrics of the poets of 
 Greece and Rome, and of modern Europe. Whether opium, 
 which produces visions still more ecstatic, has been the theme 
 of the eastern poets, I do not know. Wine is drunk in 
 small quantities at a time, in company, vrhevefor atime, it 
 promotes harmony and social affection. Opium is swallow- 
 ed by the Asiatics in full doses at once, and the inebriate 
 retires to the solitary indulgence of his delirious imaginations. 
 Hence the wine-drinker appears in a superior light to the 
 imbiber of opium, a distinction which he owes more to the 
 form than to the quality of his liquor.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 249 
 
 Yields to your prowess and superior stars : 
 The happiest you of all that e'er were mad, 
 Or are, or shall be, could this folly last. 
 But soon your heaven is gone; a heavier gloom 
 Shuts o'er your head 
 
 -Morning comes ; your cares return 
 
 With tenfold rage. An anxious stomach well 
 May be endured ; so may the throbbing head : 
 But such a dim delirium, such a dream 
 Involves you ; such a dastardly despair 
 Unmans your soul, as madd'ning Pentheus felt, 
 When, baited round Cithoeron's cruel sides, ' 
 
 He saw two suns and double Thebes ascend. 
 
 Armstrong's Art of Preserving Health, b. iv. 1. 163. 
 
 Such are the pleasures and the pains of in- 
 toxication as they occur in the temperament of 
 sensibility, described by a genuine poet, with 
 a degree of truth and energy, which nothing 
 but experience could have dictated. There are 
 indeed some individuals of this temperament 
 on whom wine produces no cheering influence. 
 On some, even in very moderate quantities, its 
 effects are painfully irritating; in large draughts 
 it excites dark and melancholy ideas ; and in 
 draughts still larger, the fierceness of insanity 
 itself. Such men are happily exempted from a 
 temptation, to which experience teaches us the 
 finest dispositions often yield, and the influence 
 of which, when strengthened by habit, it is a 
 
 humiliating
 
 250 THE LIFE OF 
 
 humiliating truth that the most powerful minds 
 have not been able to resist. 
 
 It is the more necessary for men of genius 
 to be on their guard against the habitual use of 
 wine, because it is apt to steal on them insen- 
 sibly ; and because the temptation to excess 
 usually presents itself to them in their social 
 hours, when they are alive only to warm and 
 generous emotions, and when prudence and 
 moderation are often contemned as selfishness 
 and timidity. 
 
 It is the more necessary for them to guard 
 against excess in the use of wine, because on 
 them, its effects are, physically and morally, in 
 an especial manner injurious. In proportion 
 to its stimulating influence on the system (on 
 which the pleasurable sensations depend) is the 
 debility that ensues ; a debility that destroys 
 digestion, and terminates in habitual fever, 
 dropsy, jaundice, paralysis, or insanity. As 
 the strength of the body decays, the volition 
 fails ; in proportion as the sensations are sooth- 
 ed and gratified, the sensibility increases ; and 
 morbid sensibility is the parent of indolence, 
 because, while it impairs the regulating power 
 of the mind, it exaggerates all the obstacles to 
 exertion. Activity, perseverance, and self-com- 
 mand, become more and more difficult, and the 
 
 great
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 251 
 
 great purposes of utility, patriotism, or of honor- 
 able ambition, which had occupied the imagi- 
 nation, die away in fruitless resolutions, or in 
 feeble efforts. 
 
 To apply these observations to the subject 
 of our memoirs, would be an useless as well as 
 a painful task. It is indeed a duty we owe to 
 the living, not to allow our admiration of great 
 genius, or even our pity for its unhappy des- 
 tiny, to conceal or disguise its errors. But 
 there are sentiments of respect, and even of ten- 
 derness, with which this duty should be per- 
 formed; there is an awful sanctity which in- 
 vests the mansions of the dead ; and let those 
 who moralize over the graves of their contem- 
 poraries, reflect with humility on their own 
 errors, nor forget how soon they may them- 
 selves require the candour and the sympathy 
 they are called upon to bestow. 
 
 Soon after the death of Burns, the following 
 article appeared in the Dumfries Journal, from 
 which it was copied into the Edinburgh news- 
 papers, and into various other periodical pub- 
 lications. It is from the elegant pen of a lady 
 already alluded to in the course of these me- 
 moirs,* whose exertions for the family of our 
 
 bard, 
 
 * See p. 221.
 
 252 THE LIFE OF 
 
 bard, in the circles of literature and fashion 
 in which she moves, have done her so much 
 honor. 
 
 " THE attention of the public seems to be 
 much occupied at present with the loss it has 
 recently sustained in the death of the Caledonian 
 poet Robert Burns ; a loss calculated to be 
 severely felt throughout the literary world, as 
 well as lamented in the narrower sphere of 
 private friendship. It was not therefore pro- 
 bable that such an event should be long un- 
 attended with the accustomed profusion of 
 posthumous anecdotes and memoirs which are 
 usually circulated immediately after the death 
 of every rare and celebrated personage : I had 
 however conceived no intention of appropriat- 
 ing to myself the privilege of criticising Burns's 
 WTitings and character, or of anticipating on 
 the province of a biographer. 
 
 " Conscious indeed of my own inability to 
 do justice to such a subject, I should have 
 continued wholly silent, had misrepresentation 
 and calumny been less industrious; but a re- 
 gard to truth, no less than affection for the 
 memory of a friend, must now justify my 
 offering to the public a few at least of those 
 observations which an intimate acquaintance 
 with Burns, and the frequent opportunities 
 
 I have
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 253 
 
 I have had of observing equally his happy 
 qualities and his failings for several years past, 
 have enabled me to communicate. 
 
 '* It will actually be an injustice done to 
 Burns's character, not only by future generations 
 and foreign countries, but even by his native 
 Scotland and perhaps a number of his contem- 
 poraries, that he is generally talked of, and 
 considered, with reference to his poetical talents 
 07ily : for the fact is, even allowing his great and 
 original genius its due tribute of admiration, 
 that poetry (I appeal to all who have had the 
 advantage of being personally acquainted with 
 him) was actually not his forte. Many others 
 perhaps may have ascended to prouder heights 
 in the region of Parnassus, but none certainly 
 ever outshone Burns in the charms — the sor- 
 cery, 1 would almost call it, of fascinating con- 
 versation, the spontaneous eloquence of social 
 argument, or the unstudied poignancy of brilliant 
 repartee ; nor was any man, I believe, ever gifted 
 with a larger portion of the " vivida vis animi." 
 His personal endowments were perfectly corre- 
 spondent to the qualifications of his mind : his 
 form was manly ; his action, energy itself ; de- 
 void in great measure perhaps of those graces, 
 of that polish, acquired only in the refinement 
 of societies where in early life he could have 
 no opportunities of mixing ; but where, such 
 
 was
 
 254 THE LIFE OF 
 
 was the irresistible power of attraction that 
 encircled him, though his appearance and man- 
 ners were always peculiar, he never failed to 
 delight, and to excel. His figure seemed to 
 bear testimony to his earlier destination and 
 employments. It seemed rather moulded by 
 nature for the rough exercises of agriculture, 
 than the gentler cultivation of the Belles Let- 
 tres. His features were stamped with the 
 hardy character of independence, and the 
 firmness of conscious, though not arrogant, 
 pre-eminence ; the animated expressions of 
 countenance were almost peculiar to himself; 
 the rapid lightnings of his eye were always the 
 harbingers of some flash of genius, whether they 
 darted the fiery glances of insulted and indig- 
 nant superiority, or beamed with the impassion- 
 ed sentiment of fervent and impetuous affections. 
 His voice alone could improve upon the magic 
 of his eye ; sonorous, replete with the finest mo- 
 dulations, it alternately captivated the ear with 
 the melody of poetic numbers, the perspicuity 
 of nervous reasoning, or the ardent sallies of 
 enthusiastic patriotism. The keenness of satire 
 was, I am almost at a loss whether to say his 
 forte or his foible ; for though nature had en- 
 dowed him with a portion of the most pointed 
 excellence in that dangerous talent, he suffered 
 it too often to be the vehicle of personal, and 
 sometimes unfounded animosities. It was not 
 
 always
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 255 
 
 always that sportiveness of humour, that *' un- 
 wary pleasantry," which Sterne has depicted 
 with touches so conciliatory, but the darts of 
 ridicule were frequently directed as the caprice 
 of the instant suggested, or as the altercations 
 of parties and of persons happened to kindle 
 the restlessness of his spirit into interest or 
 aversion. This however, was not invariably 
 the case ; his wit (which is no unusual matter 
 indeed,) had always the start of his judgment, 
 and would lead him to the indulgence of rail- 
 lery uniformly acute, but often unaccompanied 
 with the least desire to wound. The suppres- 
 sion of an arch and full pointed bon-mot from 
 a dread of offending its object, the sage of 
 Zurich very properly classes as a virtue only to 
 be sought for in the Calendar of Saints ; if so, 
 Burns must not be too severely dealt with 
 for being rather deficient in it. He paid for 
 this mischievous wit as dearly as any one could 
 do. " 'Twas no extravagant arithmetic" to 
 say of him, as was said of Yorick, " that for 
 every ten jokes he got an hundred enemies ;' 
 but much allowance will be made by a candid 
 mind for the splenetic warmth of a spirit whom 
 " distress had spited with the world," and 
 which, unbounded in its intellectual sallies and 
 pursuits, continually experienced the curbs 
 imposed by the waywardness of his fortune. 
 The vivacity of his wishes and temper was 
 
 indeed
 
 256 THE LIFE OP 
 
 indeed checked by almost habitual disappoint- 
 ments, which sat heavy on a heart, that ac- 
 knowledged the ruling passion of independence, 
 without having ever been placed beyond the 
 grasp of penury. His soul was never languid 
 or inactive, and his genius was extinguished 
 only with the last sparks of retreating life. 
 His passions rendered him, according as they 
 disclosed themselves in affection or antipathy, 
 an object of enthusiastic attachment, or of de- 
 cided enmity ; for he possessed none of that 
 negative insipidity of character, whose love 
 might be regarded with indifference, or whose 
 resentment could be considered with contempt. 
 In this it should seem, the temper of his asso- 
 ciates took the tincture from his own; for he 
 acknowledged in the universe but two classes 
 of objects, those of adoration the most fervent, 
 or of aversion the most uncontroulable ; and it 
 has been frequently a reproach to him, that, 
 unsusceptible of indifference, often hating where 
 he ought only to have despised, he alternately 
 opened his heart and poured forth the treasures 
 of his understanding to such as were incapable 
 of appreciating the homage; and elevated to 
 the privileges of an adversary, some who were 
 unqualified in all respects for the honor of a 
 contest so distinguished. 
 
 " It is said, that the celebrated Dr. Johnson 
 
 professed
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 257 
 
 professed to iove a good hater," a temperament 
 that would have singularly adapted him to 
 cherish a prepossession in favor of our bard, 
 who perhaps fell but little short even of the 
 surly Doctor in this qualification, as long as 
 the disposition to ill-will continued ; but the 
 warmth of his passions was fortunately correct- 
 ed by their versatility. He was seldom, indeed 
 never, implacable in his resentments, and some- 
 times it has been alleged, not inviolably faith- 
 ful in his engagements of friendship. Much 
 indeed has been said about his inconstancy and 
 caprice, but I am inclined to believe, that they 
 originated less in a levity of sentiment, than 
 from an extreme impetuosity of feeling, which 
 rendered him prompt to take umbrage; and 
 his sensations of pique, where he fancied he 
 had discovered the traces of neglect, scorn, or 
 unkindness, took their measure of asperity 
 from the overflowings of the opposite senti- 
 ment which preceded them, and which seldom 
 failed to regain its ascendancy in his bosom on 
 the return of calmer reflexion. He was candid 
 and manly in the avowal of his errors, and Jds 
 avowal was a reparation. His nati ve^zer/e ne- 
 ver forsaking him for a moment, the value of 
 a frank acknowledgment was enhanced tenfold 
 towards a generous mind, from its never being 
 attended with servility. His mind, organized 
 only for the stronger and more acute opcra- 
 VOL. I. s tions
 
 258 THE LIFE OF 
 
 tions of the passions, was impracticable to the 
 efforts of superciliousness that would have 
 depressed it into humility, and equally supe- 
 rior to the encroachments of venal suggestions 
 that might have led him into the mazes of 
 hypocrisy. 
 
 " It has been observed, that he was far from 
 averse to the incense of flattery, and could re- 
 ceive it tempered with less delicacy than might 
 have been expected, as he seldom transgressed 
 extravagantly in that way himself: where he 
 paid a compliment it might indeed claim the 
 power of intoxication, as approbation from 
 him was always an honest tribute from the 
 warmth and sincerity of his heart. It has been 
 sometimes represented, by those who it should 
 seem had a view to depreciate, though they 
 could not hope wholly to obscure that native 
 brilliancy, which the powers of this extraordi- 
 nary man had invariably bestowed on every 
 thing that came from his lips or pen, that the 
 history of the Ayrshire ploughboy was an in- 
 genious fiction, fabricated for the purposes of 
 obtaining the interests of the great, and en- 
 hancing the merits of what in reality required 
 no foil. The Cotter's Saturday Night, Tarn 
 O'Shanter, and the Mountain Daisy, besides a 
 number of later productions where the maturity 
 of his genius will be readily traced, and which 
 
 will
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 259 
 
 will be given to the public as soon as his friends 
 have collected and arranged them, speak suf- 
 ficiently for themselves; and had they fallen 
 from a hand more dignified in the ranks of 
 society than that of a peasant, they had perhaps 
 bestowed as unusual a grace there, as even on 
 the humbler shade of rustic inspiration from 
 whence they really sprung. 
 
 " To the obscure scene of Burns's education, 
 and to the laborious though honorable station of 
 rural industry, in which his parentage enrolled 
 him, almost every inhabitant of the South of 
 Scotland can give testimony. His only sur- 
 viving brother, Gilbert Burns, now guides the 
 ploughshare of his forefathers in Ayrshire, at 
 a farm near Mauchline ; and our poet's eldest 
 son (a lad of nine years of age, whose early 
 dispositions already prove him to be in some 
 measure the inheritor of his fathers talents 
 as well as indigence) has been destined by 
 his family to the humble employments of the 
 loom * 
 
 " That Burns had received no classical edu- 
 cation, and was acquainted with the Greek and 
 Roman authors only through the medium of 
 translations, is a fact of which all who were in 
 
 s 2 the 
 
 * This destination is now altered. (1800.) JE.
 
 "260 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the habits of conversing with him might readily 
 be convinced. I have indeed seldom observed 
 him to be at a loss in conversation, unless 
 where the dead languages and their writers 
 have been the subjects of discussion. When I 
 have pressed him to tell me, why he never ap- 
 plied himself to acquire the Latin, in particu- 
 lar, a language which his happy memory would 
 have so soon enabled him to be master of, he used 
 only to reply, with a smile, that he had already 
 learnt all the Latin he desired to know, and 
 that was " Omnia vincit amor" a sentence that 
 from his writings and most favorite pursuits, it 
 should undoubtedly seem that he was most 
 thoroughly versed in; but I really believe his 
 classic erudition extended little, if any, farther. 
 
 *' The penchant Burns had uniformly ac- 
 knowledged for the festive pleasures of the 
 table, and towards the fairer and softer objects 
 of nature's creation, has been the rallying point 
 from whence the attacks of his censors have 
 been uniformly directed, and to these it must 
 be confessed he shewed himself no stoic. His 
 poetical pieces blend with alternate happiness of 
 description, the frolic spirit of the flowing bowl, 
 or melt the heart to the tender and impassioned 
 sentiments in which beauty always taught him 
 to pour forth his own. But who would wish 
 to reprove the feelings he has consecrated with 
 
 such
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 261 
 
 such lively touches of nature ? and where is the 
 rugged moralist who will persuade us so far to 
 *' chill the genial current of the soul," as to 
 regret that Ovid ever celebrated his Corinna, or 
 that Anacreon sung beneath his vine ? 
 
 " I Avill not however undertake to be the 
 apologist of the irregularities even of a man of 
 genius, though I believe it is as certain that 
 genius never w^as free from irregularities, as 
 that their absolution may in great measure be 
 justly claimed, since it is perfectly evident that 
 the world had continued very stationary in its 
 intellectual acquirements, had it never given 
 birth to any but men of plain sense. Evenness 
 of conduct, and a due regard to the decorums 
 of the w^orld, have been so rarely seen to move 
 hand in hand with genius, that some have gone 
 as far as to say, though there I cannot wholly 
 acquiesce, that they are even incompatible ; be- 
 sides, the frailties that cast their shade over the 
 splendor of superior merit, are more conspicu- 
 ously glaring than where they are the attendants 
 of mere mediocrity. It is only on the gem we 
 are disturbed to see the dust, the pebble may 
 be soiled and we never regard it. The eccen- 
 tric intuitions of genius too often yield the soul 
 to the wild effervescence of desires, always un- 
 bounded, and sometimes equally dangerous to 
 the repose of others as fatal to its own. No 
 
 wonder
 
 262 THE LIFE OF 
 
 wonder then if virtue herself be sometimes lost 
 in the blaze of kindling animation, or that the 
 calm monitions of reason are not invariably 
 found sufficient to fetter an imagination, which 
 scorns the narrow limits and restrictions that 
 would chain it to the level of ordinary minds. 
 The child of nature, the child of sensibility, 
 unschooled in the rigid precepts of philosophy, 
 too often unable to control the passions which 
 proved a source of frequent errors and mis- 
 fortunes to him, Burns made his own artless 
 apology in language more impressive than all the 
 argumentatory vindications in the world could 
 do, in one of his own poems, where he deli- 
 neates the gradual expansion of his mind to 
 the lessons of the " tutelary muse," who con- 
 cludes an address to her pupil, almost unique 
 for simplicity and beautiful poetry, with these 
 lines : — 
 
 " I saw thy pulse's madd'ning play 
 Wild send thee pleasure's devious way ; 
 Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 
 
 By passion driven ; 
 But yet the light that led astray, 
 
 Was light from heaven /" * 
 
 " J have already transgressed beyond the 
 
 bounds 
 
 * Vide the Vision — Duan 2nd.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 265 
 
 bounds I had proposed to myself, on first com- 
 mitting this sketch to paper, which comprehends 
 what at least I have been led to deem the lead- 
 ing features of Burns's mind and character; a 
 literary critique I do not aim at ; mine is wholly 
 fulfilled if in these pages I have been able to 
 delineate any of those strong traits that dis- 
 tinguished him, of those talents which raised 
 him from the plough, where he passed the bleak 
 morning of his life, weaving his rude wreaths of 
 poesy with the wild field flowers that sprang 
 around his cottage, to that enviable eminence 
 of literary fame, where Scotland will long 
 cherish his memory with delight and gratitude ; 
 and proudly remember, that beneath her cold 
 sky a genius was ripened, without care or cul- 
 ture, that would have done honor to climes 
 more favorable to those luxuriances — that 
 warmth of coloring; and fancv in which he so 
 eminently excelled. 
 
 " From several paragraphs I have noticed in 
 the public prints, ever since the idea of sending 
 this sketch to some one of them was formed, I 
 find private animosities have not yet subsided, 
 and that Envy has not yet exhausted all her 
 shafts. J still trust, however, that honest fame 
 will be permanently affixed to Burns's character, 
 which [ think it will be found he has merited 
 by the candid and impartial among his coun- 
 trymen.
 
 264 THE LIFE OF 
 
 trymen. And where a recollection of the im- 
 prudeiicies that sullied his brighter qualifica- 
 tions interpose, let the imperfection of all 
 human excellence be remembered at the same 
 time ; leaving those inconsistencies, which al- 
 ternately exalted his nature into the seraph, 
 and sunk it again into the man, to the tribunal 
 which alone can investigate the labyrinths of 
 the human heart — 
 
 " Where they alike in trembling hope repose, 
 
 " — The bosom of his father and his God" 
 
 Grave's Elegy. 
 Annandale, August 7, 1796. 
 
 After this account of the life and personal 
 character of Burns, it may be expected that 
 some inquiry should be made into his literary 
 merits. It will not however be necessary to 
 enter very minutely into this investigation. If 
 fiction be, as some suppose, the soul of poetry, 
 no one had ever less pretensions to the name of 
 poet than Burns. Though he has displayed 
 great powers of imagination, yet the subjects 
 on which he has written, are seldom, if ever, 
 imaginary ; his poems, as well as his letters, 
 may be considered as the effusions of his sensir 
 bility, and the transcript of his own musings on 
 the real incidents of his humble life. If we add, 
 that they also contain most happy delineations 
 
 of
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 265 
 
 of the characters, manners, and scenery that 
 presented themselves to his observation, we 
 shall include almost all the subjects of his 
 muse. His writings may therefore be regarded 
 as affording a great part of the data on which 
 our account of his personal character has been 
 founded ; and most of the observations we have 
 applied to the man, are applicable, with little 
 variation, to the poet. 
 
 The impression of his birth, and of his ori- 
 ginal station in life, was not more evident on 
 his form and manners, than on his poetical 
 productions. The incidents which form the 
 subjects of his poems, though some of them 
 highly interesting and susceptible of poetical 
 imagery, are incidents in the life of a peasant 
 who takes no pains to disguise the lowliness of 
 his condition, or to throw into shade the cir- 
 cumstances attending it, which more feeble or 
 more artificial minds would have endeavoured 
 to conceal. The same rudeness and inattention 
 appears in the formation of his rhymes, which 
 are frequently incorrect, while the measure in 
 which many of the poems are written has little 
 of the pomp or harmony of modern versifica- 
 tion, and is, indeed, to an English ear, strange 
 and uncouth. The greater part of his earlier 
 poems are written in the dialect of his country, 
 which is obscure, if not unintelligible to Eng- 
 lishmen,
 
 266 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lishmen, and which, though it still adheres more 
 or less to the speech of almost every Scotch- 
 man, all the polite and the ambitious are now 
 endeavouring* to banish from their tongues as 
 well as their writings. The use of it in com- 
 position naturally therefore calls up ideas of 
 vulgarity in the mind. These singularities are 
 encreased by the character of the poet, who 
 delights to express himself with a simplicity 
 that approaches to nakedness, and with an un- 
 measured energy that often alarms delicacy, 
 and sometimes offends taste^ Hence in ap- 
 proaching him, the first impression is perhaps 
 repulsive: there is an air of coarseness about 
 him, which is difficultly reconciled with our 
 established notions of poetical excellence. 
 
 As the reader however becomes better ac- 
 quainted with the poet, the effects of his peculi- 
 arities lessen. He perceives in his poems, even 
 on the lowest subjects, expressions of senti- 
 ment, and delineations of manners, which are 
 highly interesting. The scenery he describes is 
 evidently taken from real life ; the characters he 
 introduces, and the incidents he relates, have the 
 impression of nature and truth. His humour, 
 though wild and unbridled, is irresistibly amus- 
 ing, and is sometimes heightened in its effects by 
 the introduction of emotions of tenderness, with 
 which genuine humour so happily unites. Nor 
 
 is
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 267 
 
 is this the extent of his power. The reader, as 
 he examines farther, discovers that the poet is 
 not confined to the descriptive, the humorous, 
 or the pathetic ; he is found, as occasion offers, 
 to rise with ease into the terrible and the sub- 
 lime. Every where he appears devoid of arti- 
 fice, performing' what he attempts with little 
 apparent effort, and impressing on the offspring 
 of his fancy the stamp of his understanding. 
 The reader capable of forming a just estimate 
 of poetical talents, discovers in these circum- 
 stances marks of uncommon genius, and is will- 
 ing to investigate more minutely its nature and 
 its claims to originality. This last point we 
 shall examine first. 
 
 That Burns had not the advantages of a clas- 
 sical education, or of any degree of acquaint- 
 ance with the Greek or Roman writers in their 
 original dress, has appeared in the history of 
 his life. He acquired indeed some knowledge 
 of the French language, but it does not appear 
 that he was ever much conversant in French 
 literature, nor is there any evidence of his having 
 derived any of his poetical stores from that 
 source. With the English classics he became 
 well acquainted in the course of his life, and 
 the effects of this acquaintance are observable 
 in his latter productions ; but the character and 
 style of his poetry were formed very early, and 
 
 the
 
 268 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the model which he followed, in as far as he 
 can be said to have had one, is to be sought for 
 in the works of the poets who have written in 
 the Scottish dialect — in the works of such of 
 them more especially, as are familiar to the 
 peasantry of Scotland. Some observations on 
 these may form a proper introduction to a 
 more particular examination of the poetry of 
 Burns. The studies of the Editor in this di- 
 rection are, indeed, very recent and very im- 
 perfect. It would have been imprudent for him 
 to have entered on this subject at all, but for 
 the kindness of Mr. Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, 
 whose assistance he is proud to acknowledge, 
 and to whom the reader must ascribe whatever 
 is of any value in the following imperfect sketch 
 of literary compositions in the Scottish idiom. 
 
 It is a circumstance not a little curious, and 
 which does not seem to be satisfactorily ex- 
 plained, that in the thirteenth century, the lan- 
 guage of the two British nations, if at all dif- 
 ferent, differed only in dialect, the Gaelic in the 
 one, like the Welch and Armoric in the other, 
 being confined to the mountainous districts.* 
 The English under the Edwards, and the Scots 
 under Wallace and Bruce, spoke the same lan- 
 guage. 
 
 * Historical Essay on Scottish Song, p. xx. by Mr. Ritson.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 269 
 
 guage. We may observe also, that in Scotland 
 the history of poetry ascends to a period nearly 
 as remote as in England. Barbour, and Blind 
 Harry, James the First, Dunbar, Douglas, and 
 Lindsay, who lived in the fourteenth, fifteenth, 
 and sixteenth centuries, were coeval with the 
 fathers of poetry in England ; and in the opi- 
 nion of Mr. Wharton, not inferior to them in ge- 
 nius or in composition. Though the language 
 of the two countries gradually deviated from 
 each other during this period, yet the difference 
 on the whole was not considerable ; not per- 
 haps greater than between the different dialects 
 of the different parts of England in our own 
 time. 
 
 At the death of James the Fifth, in 1542, the 
 language of Scotland was in a flourishing con- 
 dition, wanting only writers in prose equal to 
 those in verse. Two circumstances, propitious 
 on the whole, operated to prevent this. The 
 first was the passion of the Scots for composi- 
 tion in Latin ; and the second, the accession of 
 James the Sixth to the English throne. It may 
 easily be imagined, that if Buchanan had de- 
 voted his admirable talents, even in part, to the 
 cultivation of his native tongue, as was done by 
 the revivers of letters in Italy, he would have 
 left compositions in that language, which might 
 have incited other men of genius to have fol- 
 lowed
 
 270 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lowed his example,* and given duration to the 
 language itself. The union of the- two crowns 
 in the person of James, overthrew all reasonable 
 expectation of this kind. That monarch, seated 
 on the English throne, would no longer suffer 
 himself to be addressed m the rude dialect in 
 which the Scottish clergy had so often insulted 
 his dignity. He encouraged Latin or English 
 only, both of which he prided himself on writ- 
 ing with purity, though he himself never could 
 acquire the English pronunciation, but spoke 
 with a Scottish idiom and intonation to the 
 last. — Scotsmen of talents declined writing in 
 their native language, which they knew was not 
 acceptable to their learned and pedantic mon- 
 arch, and at a time when national prejudice 
 and enmity prevailed to a great degree, they 
 disdained to study the niceties of the English 
 tongue, though of so much easier acquisition 
 than a dead language. Lord Sterling, and 
 Drummond of Hawthornden, the only Scots- 
 men who wrote poetry in those times, were ex- 
 ceptions. They studied the language of Eng- 
 land, and composed in it with precision and 
 elegance. They were, however, the last of their 
 countrymen who deserved to be considered as 
 
 poets 
 
 * €. g. The Authors of the Delicia; Poetarum Scotorum,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 271 
 
 poets in that century. The inuses of Scotland 
 sunk into silence, and did not again raise their 
 voices for a period of eighty years. 
 
 To what causes are we to attribute this ex- 
 treme depression among a people comparatively 
 learned, enterprising, and ingenious ? Shall we 
 impute it to the fanaticism of the covenanters, 
 or to the tyranny of the house of Stewart after 
 tlieir restoration to the throne? Doubtless these 
 causes operated, but they seem unequal to ac- 
 count for the effect. In England similar dis- 
 tractions and oppression took place, yet poetry 
 flourished there in a remarkable degree. Dur- 
 ing this period, Cowley, and Waller, and Dry- 
 den sung, and Milton raised his strain of un- 
 paralleled grandeur. To the causes already 
 mentioned, another must be added, in account- 
 ing for the torpor of Scottish literature — the 
 want of a proper vehicle for men of genius to 
 employ. The civil wars had frightened away 
 the Latin muses, and no standard had been 
 established of the Scottish tongue, which was 
 deviating still farther from the pure English 
 idiom. 
 
 The revival of literature in Scotland may be 
 dated from the establishment of the union, or 
 rather from the extinction of the rebellion in 
 1715. The nations being finally incorporated, 
 
 it
 
 272 THE LIFE OF 
 
 it was clearly seen that their tongues must in 
 the end incorporate also ; or rather indeed that 
 the Scottish language must degenerate into a 
 provincial idiom, to be avoided by those who 
 would aim at distinction in letters, or rise to 
 eminence in the united legislature. 
 
 Soon after this a band of men of genius ap- 
 peared, who studied the English classics, and 
 imitated their beauties in the same manner as 
 they studied the classics of Greece and Rome. 
 They had admirable models of composition 
 lately presented to them by the writers of the 
 reign of Queen Anne; particularly in the pe- 
 riodical papers published by Steele, Addison, 
 and their associated friends, which circulated 
 widely through Scotland, and diffused every 
 where a taste for purity of style and sentiment, 
 and for critical disquisition. At length the 
 Scottish writers succeeded in English compo- 
 sition, and an union was formed of the literary 
 talents as well as of the legislatures of the two 
 nations. On this occasion the poets took the 
 lead. While Henry Home,* Dr. Wallace, and 
 their learned associates, were only laying in 
 their intellectual stores, and studying to clear 
 themselves of their Scottish idioms, Thomson, 
 
 Mallet, 
 
 * Lord Kairas.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 273 
 
 Mallet, and Hamilton of Bangour, had made 
 their appearance before the public, and been en- 
 rolled on the list of English poets. The writers 
 in prose followed — a numerous and powerful 
 band, and poured their ample stores into the 
 general stream of British literature. Scotland 
 possessed her four universities before the acces- 
 sion of James to the English throne. Imme- 
 diately before the union, she acquired her pa- 
 rochial schools. These establishments combin- 
 ing happily together, made the elements of 
 knowledge of easy acquisition, and presented a 
 direct path by which the ardent student might 
 be carried along into the recesses of science or 
 learning. As civil broils ceased, and faction 
 and prejudice gradually died away, a wider field 
 was opened to literary ambition, and the in- 
 fluence of the Scottish institutions for instruc- 
 tion, on the productions of the press, became 
 more and more apparent. 
 
 It seems indeed probable that the establish- 
 ment of the parochial schools, produced eftects 
 on the rural muse of Scotland also, which have 
 not hitherto been suspected, and which, though 
 less splendid in their nature, are not, however, 
 to be regarded as trivial, whether we consider 
 the happiness or the morals of the people. 
 
 There is some reason to believe that the ori- 
 VOL I. T ginal
 
 274 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ginal inhabitants of the British isles possessed 
 a peculiar and an interesting species of music, 
 which being" banished from the plains by the 
 successive invasions of the Saxons, Danes, and 
 Normans, was preserved with the native race, 
 in the wilds of Ireland, and in the mountains 
 of Scotland and Wales. The Irish, the Scot- 
 tish, and the Welch music differ indeed from 
 each other, but the difference may be consider- 
 ed as in dialect only, and probably produced 
 by the influence of time, like the difTerent dia- 
 lects of their common language. If this con- 
 jecture be true, the Scottish music must be 
 more immediately of a Highland origin, and 
 the Lowland tunes, though now of a character 
 somewhat distinct, must have descended from 
 the mountains in remote ages. Whatever cre- 
 dit may be given to conjectures evidently in- 
 volved in great uncertainty, there can be no 
 doubt that the Scottish peasantry have been 
 long in possession of a number of songs and 
 ballads composed in their native dialect, and 
 sung to their native music. The subjects of 
 these compositions were such as most interest- 
 ed the simple inhabitants, and in the succession 
 of time varied probably as the condition of so- 
 ciety varied. During the separation and the 
 hostility of the two nations, these songs and 
 ballads, as far as our imperfect documents en- 
 able us to judge, were chiefly warlike ; such as 
 
 the
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 275 
 
 the Huntis of Cheviot, and the Battle of Har- 
 law. After the union of the two crowns, when 
 a certain degree of peace and of tranquillity 
 took place, the rural muse of Scotland bl-eathed 
 in softer accents. " In the want of real evidence 
 respecting the history of our songs," says Mr. 
 Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, " Recourse may be had 
 to conjecture. One would be disposed to think 
 that the most beautiful of the Scottish tunes 
 were clothed with new words after the union 
 of the crow^ns. The inhabitants of the borders, 
 who had formerly been warriors from choice, 
 and husbandmen from necessity, either cjuitted 
 the country, or were transformed into real 
 shepherds, easy in their circumstances, and 
 satisfied with their lot. Some sparks of that 
 spirit of chivalry for which they are celebrated 
 by Froissart, remained, sufficient to inspire ele- 
 vation of sentiment and gallantry towards the 
 fair sex. The familiarity and kindness which 
 had long subsisted between the gentry and the 
 peasantry, could not all at once be obliterated, 
 and this connexion tended to sweeten rural life. 
 In this state of innocence, ease, and tranquillity 
 of mind, the love of poetry and music would 
 still maintain its ground, though it would na- 
 turally assume a form congenial to the more 
 peaceful state of society. The minstrels whose 
 metrical tales used once to rouse the borderers 
 like the trumpet's sound, had been, by an 
 
 T 2 order
 
 276 THE LIFE OF 
 
 order of the legislature (in 1579) classed with 
 rogues and vagabonds, and attempted to be 
 suppressed. Knox and his disciples influenced 
 the Scottish parliament, but contended in vain 
 with her rural muse. Amidst our Arcadian 
 vales, probably on the banks of the Tweed, or 
 some of its tiibutary streams, one or more ori- 
 ginal geniuses may have arisen, who were des- 
 tined to give a new turn to the taste of their 
 countrymen. They would see that the events 
 and pursuits which chequer private life were 
 the proper subjects for popular poetry. Love, 
 which had formerly held a divided sway with 
 glory and ambition, became now the master 
 passion of the soul. To pourtray in lively and 
 delicate colours, though with a hasty hand, the 
 hopes and fears that agitate the breast of the 
 love-sick swain, or forlorn maiden, affords 
 ample scope to the rural poet. Love-songs, of 
 which Tibullus himself would not have been- 
 ashamed, might be composed by an uneducated 
 rustic with a slight tincture of letters ; or if in 
 these songs the character of the rustic be some- 
 times assumed, the truth of character, and the 
 language of nature, are preserved. With un- 
 affected simplicity and tenderness, topics are 
 urged, most likely to softon the l.eart of a 
 cruel and coy mistress, or to regain a fickle 
 lover. Even in such as are of a melancholy 
 cast, a ray of hope breaks tlirough, and dis- 
 pels
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 277 
 
 pels the deep and settled gloom which charac- 
 terizes the sweetest of the Highland luenigs, or 
 vocal airs. Nor are these songs all plaintive ; 
 many of them are lively and hu morons, and 
 some appear to us coarse and indelicate. They 
 seem, however, genuine descriptions of the 
 manners of an energetic and sequestered peo- 
 ple in their hours of mirth and festivity, though 
 in their portraits some objects are brought into 
 open view, which more fastidious painters would 
 have thrown into shade. 
 
 " As those rural poets sung for amusement, 
 not for gain, their effusions seldom exceeded a 
 love-song, or a ballad of satire or humour, 
 which, like the works of the elder minstrels, 
 were seldom committed to writing, but trea- 
 sured up in the memory of their friends and 
 neighbours. Neither known to the learned nor 
 patronized by the great, these rustic bards lived 
 and died in obscurity ; and by a strange fata- 
 lity, their story, and even tiieir very names, 
 have been forgotten.* When proper models for 
 pastoral songs were produced, there would be 
 no want of imitators. To succeed in this spe- 
 cies of composition, soundness of understand- 
 i"g 
 
 * In the Pepys collection, there are a few Scottish songs 
 of the last century, but the names of the authors are not 
 preserved.
 
 278 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ing- and sensibility of heart were more requisite 
 than flights of imagination or pomp of num- 
 beis. Great changes have certainly taken place 
 '-in Scottish song-writing, though we cannot trace 
 tlie steps of this change, and few of the pieces 
 admired in Queen Mary's time are now to be 
 discovered in modern collections. It is pos- 
 sible, though not probable, that the music may 
 have remained nearly the same, though the 
 words to the tunes were entirely new-mo- 
 delled.'"* 
 
 These conjectures are highly ingenious. It 
 cannot however be presumed that the state of 
 ease and tranquillity described by Mr. Ramsay, 
 took place among the Scottish peasantry imme- 
 diately on the union of the crowns, or indeed 
 during the greater part of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury. The Scottish nation, through all its 
 ranks, was deeply agitated by the civil wars, 
 and the religious persecutions which succeeded 
 each other in that disastrous period ; it was not 
 till after the revolution in 1688, and the subse- 
 quent 
 
 * Extract of a letter from Mr. Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, to 
 the Editor, Sept. 11, 1799. In the Bee, vol. ii. p. 201, is a 
 communication of Mr. Ramsay, under the signature of J. 
 Runcole, which enters into this subject somewhat more at 
 large. In that paper, he gives his reasons for questioning 
 the antiquity of many of the most celebrated Scottish songs.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 279 
 
 queiit establishment of their beloved form of 
 church government, that the peasantry of the 
 Lowlands enjoyed comparative repose ; and it 
 is since that period that a great number of the 
 most admired Scottish songs have been pro- 
 duced, though the tunes to which they are 
 sung are in general of much greater antiquity. 
 It is not unreasonable to suppose, that the peace 
 and security derived from the revolution and 
 the union, produced a favorable change on the 
 rustic poetry of Scotland, and it can scarcely 
 be doubted, that the institution of parish schools 
 in 1696, by which a certain degree of instruc- 
 tion was diffused universally among the pea- 
 santry, contributed to this happy effect. 
 
 Soon after this, appeared Allan Ramsay, the 
 Scottish Theocritus. He was born on the high 
 mountains that divide Clydesdale and Annan- 
 dale, in a small hamlet by the banks of Glen- 
 gonar, a stream which descends into the Clyde. 
 The ruins of this hamlet are still shewn to the 
 inquiring traveller.* He was the son of a pea- 
 sant, and probably received such instruction as 
 his parish school bestowed, and the poverty of 
 his parents admitted .f Ramsay made his ap- 
 pearance 
 
 * 3ee CamphelVs History of Poetry in Scotland, ^>. 185. 
 
 t The father of Ramsay was, it is said, a workman in the 
 
 lead-mines
 
 280 THE LIFE OF 
 
 pearance in Edinburgh in the beginning of the 
 present century, in the humble character of an 
 apprentice to a barber, or peruke-maker; he 
 was then fourteen or fifteen years of age. By 
 degrees he acquired notice for his social dispo- 
 sition, and his talent for the composition of 
 verses in the Scottish idiom ; and changing his 
 profession for that of a bookseller, he became 
 intimate with many of the literary, as well as 
 of the gay and fashionable characters of his 
 time.* Having published a volume of poems 
 of his own in 1721, which was favorably re- 
 ceived, he undertook to make a collection of 
 ancient Scottish poems, under the title of the 
 Ever-green, and was afterwards encouraged to 
 present to the world a collection of Scottish 
 
 songs. 
 
 lead-mines of the Earl of Hopetpn, at Lead-hills. The work- 
 men in those mines at present, are of a very superior charac- 
 ter to miners in general. They have only six hours of labour 
 in the day, and have time for reading. They have a common 
 library, supported by contribution, containing several thou- 
 sand volumes. \^Tien this was instituted I have not learnt. 
 These miners are said to be of a very sober and moral cha- 
 racter. Allan Ramsay, when very young, is supposed to 
 have been a washer of ore in these mines. 
 
 * " He was coeval with Joseph Mitchell, and his club of 
 small wits, who about 1719, published a very poor mis- 
 cellany, to which Dr. Young, the author of the Night 
 Thoiights, prefixed a copy of verses." — Extract of a letter 
 from Mr. Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, to the Editor,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 281 
 
 songs. '* From what sources he procured them," 
 says Mr. Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, " whether 
 from tradition or manuscript, is uncertain. As 
 in the Ever-green, he made some rash attempts 
 to improve on the originals of his ancient poems, 
 he probably used still greater freedom with the 
 songs and ballads. The truth cannot liowever 
 be known on this point, till manuscripts of the 
 songs printed by him, more ancient than the 
 present century, shall be produced, or access 
 be obtained to his own papers, if they are still 
 in existence. To several tunes which either 
 wanted words, or had words that were impro- 
 per or imperfect, he or his friends adapted verses 
 worthy of the melodies they accompanied, 
 worthy indeed of the golden age. These verses 
 were perfectly intelligible to every rustic, yet 
 justly admired by persons of taste, who re- 
 garded them as the genuine offspring of the 
 pastoral muse. In some respects, Ramsay had 
 advantages not possessed by poets writing in 
 the Scottish dialect in our days. Songs in the 
 dialect of Cumberland or Lancashire could 
 never be popular, because these dialects have 
 never been spoken by persons of fashion. But 
 till the middle of the present century, every 
 Scotsman, from the peer to the peasant, spoke 
 a truly Doric language. It is true, the English 
 moralists and poets were by this time read by 
 every person of condition, and considered as 
 
 the
 
 282 THE LIFE OF 
 
 the standards for polite composition. But as 
 national prejudices were still strong, the busy, 
 the learned, the gay, and the fair, continued 
 to speak their native dialect, and that with an 
 elegance and poignancy, of which Scotsmen of 
 the present day can have no just notion. I am 
 old enough to have conversed with Mr. Spittal, 
 of Leuchat, a scholar and a man of fashion, 
 who survived all the members of the union par- 
 liament, in which he had a seat. His pronun- 
 ciation and phraseology differed as much from 
 the common dialect as the language of St. 
 James's from that of Thames-street. Had we 
 retained a court and parliament of our own, 
 the tongues of the two sister kingdoms would 
 indeed have differed like the Castilian and Por- 
 tuguese; but each' would have had its own 
 classics, not in a single branch, but in the 
 whole circle of literature. 
 
 " Ramsay associated with the men of wit and 
 fashion of his day, and several of them attempt- 
 ed to write poetry in his manner. Persons too 
 idle or too dissipated to think of compositions 
 that required much exertion, succeeded very 
 happily in making tender sonnets to favorite 
 tunes, in compliment to their mistresses; and, 
 transforming themselves into impassioned shep- 
 herds, caught the language of the characters 
 they assumed. Thus, about the year 1731, 
 
 Robert
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 283 
 
 Robert Crawfurd, of Auchinames, wrote the 
 modern song of Tiveed Side* which has been 
 so much admired. In 1743, Sir Gilbert Elliot, 
 the first of our lawyers who both spoke and 
 wrote English elegantly, composed in the cha- 
 racter of a love-sick swain, a beautiful song, 
 beginning, Mi/ sheep I neglected, I lost my 
 sheep-hook, on the marriage of his mistress, 
 Miss Forbes, with Ronald Crawfurd. And 
 about twelve years afterwards, the sister of Sir 
 Gilbert wrote the ancient words to the tune of 
 the Flowers of the Forest,'\ and supposed to 
 allude to the battle of Flowden. In spite of 
 the double rhyme, it is a sweet, and though in 
 some parts allegorical, a natural expression of 
 national sorrow. The more modern words to 
 the same tune, beginning, I have seen the smil- 
 ing of fortune beguiling, were written long be- 
 fore by Mrs. Cockburn, a woman of great wit, 
 who outlived all the first group of literati of the 
 present century, all of whom were very fond 
 of her. I was delighted with her company, 
 though when I saw her she was very old. Much 
 did she know that is now lost." 
 
 In addition to these instances of Scottish 
 
 sonffs 
 
 * Beginning, What beauties does Flora disclose ! 
 
 t Beginning, / have heard a lilting at our ewes-milking.
 
 284 THE LIFE OF 
 
 songs produced in the earlier part of the present 
 century, may be mentioned the ballad oi Hardi- 
 knute, by Lady Wardlaw, the ballad oi William 
 and Margaret^ and the song entitled the Sirks 
 of Endermay, by Mallet; the love song begin- 
 ning, For ever. Fortune, ivilt thou prove, pro- 
 duced by the youthful muse of Thomson ; and 
 the exquisite pathetic ballad, the Uraes of Yar- 
 roiv, by Hamilton, of Bangour. On the revival 
 of letters in Scotland, subsequent to the Union, 
 a very general taste seems to have prevailed for 
 the national songs and music. " For many 
 years," says Mr. Ramsay, " the singing of songs 
 was the great delight of the higher and middle 
 order of the people, as well as of the peasantry ; 
 and though a taste for Italian music has inter- 
 fered with this amusement, it is still very pre- 
 valent. Between forty and fifty years ago the 
 common people were not only exceedingly 
 fond of songs and ballads, but of metrical his- 
 tory. Often have I, in my cheerful morn of 
 youth, listened to them with delight, when 
 reading or reciting the exploits of Wallace and 
 Bruce against the Southrons. Lord Hailes was 
 wont to call Blind Harry their bible, he being 
 their great favorite next the scriptures. When 
 therefore one in the vale of life felt the first 
 emotions of genius, he wanted not models sui 
 generis. But though the seeds of poetry were 
 scattered with a plentiful hand among the Scot- 
 tish
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 285 
 
 tish peasantry, the product was probably like 
 that of pears and apples — of a thousand that 
 spring up, nine hundred and fifty are so bad 
 as to set the teeth on edge; forty-five or more 
 are passable and useful , and the rest of an ex- 
 quisite flavour. Allan Ramsay and Burns are 
 ivildlings of this last description. They had 
 the example of the elder Scottish poets ; they 
 were not without the aid of the best English 
 writers ; and what was of still more import- 
 ance, they were no strangers to the book of 
 nature, and to the book of God." 
 
 From this general view, it is apparent, that 
 Allan Ramsay may be considered as in a great 
 measure the reviver of the rural poetry of his 
 country. His collection of ancient Scottish 
 poems, under the name of the Ever-green, his 
 collection of Scottish songs, and his own poems, 
 the principal of which is the Gentle Shepherd, 
 have been universally read among the peasantry 
 of his country, and have in some degree super- 
 seded the adventures of Bruce and Wallace, as 
 recorded by Barbour and Blind Harry. Burns 
 was well acquainted with all these. He had 
 also before him the poems of Fergusson in the 
 Scottish dialect, which have been produced in 
 our own times, and of which it will be neces- 
 sary to give a short account. 
 
 Fergusson
 
 2B6 THE LIFE Oi< 
 
 Fergnsson was born of parents who had it itl 
 their power to procure him a liberal education, 
 a circumstance however which in Scotland im- 
 plies no very high rank in society. From a 
 well-written and apparently authentic account 
 of his life,* we learn that he spent six years at 
 the schools of Edinburgh and Dundee, and 
 several years at the universities of Edinburgh 
 and St. Andrew's. It appears that he was at 
 one time destined for the Scottish church ; but 
 as he advanced towards manhood he renounced 
 that intention, and at Edinburgh entered the 
 office of a writer to the signet, a title which 
 designates a separate and higher order of Scot- 
 tish attorneys, Fergusson had sensibility of 
 mind, a warm and generous heart, and talents 
 for society of the most attractive kind. To 
 such a man no situation could be more dange- 
 rous than that in which he was placed. The 
 excesses into which he was led impaired his 
 feeble constitution, and he sunk under them in 
 the month of October, 1774, in his -iSrd or 24th 
 year. Burns yvam not acquainted with the 
 poems of this youthful genius when he himself 
 began to write poetry ; and when he first saw 
 
 them 
 
 * In the supplement to the Encyclopcedla Britannicu. 
 See also, CamphelVi Jntrodnction to the History of Poetry in 
 Scotland, p. 288.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 287 
 
 them, he had renounced the muses. But while 
 he resided in the town of Irvine, meeting with 
 Fergussoiis Scottish Poems, he informs us that 
 he " strung- his lyre anew with emulating vi- 
 gour."* Touched by the sympathy originating 
 in kindred genius, and in the forebodings of 
 similar fortune, Burns regarded Fergusson with 
 a partial and an affectionate admiration. Over 
 his grave he erected a monument, as has al- 
 ready been mentioned, and his poems he has 
 in several instances made the subjects of his 
 imitation. 
 
 From this account of the Scottish poems 
 known to Burns, those who are acquainted 
 with them will see that they are chiefly humO' 
 rous or pathetic, and under one or other of 
 these descriptions most of his own poems will 
 class. Let us compare him with his predeces- 
 sors under each of these points of view, and 
 close our examination with a few general ob- 
 servations. 
 
 It has frequently been observed, that Scot- 
 land has produced, com-paratively speaking, 
 few writers who have excelled in humour. But 
 this observation is true only when applied to 
 
 those 
 
 * See 'p. hi of ihis volume.
 
 288 THE LIFE OF 
 
 those who have contiaued to reside in their 
 own country, and have confined themselves to 
 composition in pure English ; and in these cir- 
 cumstances it admits of an easy explanation. 
 The Scottish poets who have written in the 
 dialect of Scotland, have been at all times re- 
 markable for dwelling on subjects of humour, 
 in which indeed many of them have excelled. 
 It would be easy to shew, that the dialect of 
 Scotland having become provincial, is now 
 scarcely suited to the more elevated kinds of 
 poetry. If we may believe that the poem of 
 Christis Kirk of the Grene, was written by 
 James the First of Scotland,* this accomplished 
 monarch, who had received an English educa- 
 tion under the direction of Henry the Fourth, 
 and who bore arms under his gallant successor, 
 gave the model on which the greater part of 
 the humorous productions of the rustic muse 
 of Scotland has been formed. Christis Kirk 
 of the Grene was reprinted by Ramsay some- 
 what modernized in the orthography, and two 
 
 cantos 
 
 * Notwithstanding the evidence produced on this subject 
 by Mr. Tytler, the Editor acknowledges his being somewhat 
 of a sceptic on this point. Sir David Dahymple inclines to 
 the opinion that it was written by his successor James the 
 Fifth. There are difficulties attending this supposition also. 
 But on the subject of Scottish antiquities the Editor is an 
 incompetent j udge.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 289 
 
 cantos were added by him, in which he at- 
 "tempts to carry on the design. Hence the 
 poem of King James is usually printed in Ram- 
 say's works. The royal bard describes, in the 
 first canto, a rustic dance, and afterwards a 
 contention in archery, ending in an affray. 
 Ramsay relates the restoration of concord, and 
 the renewal of the rural sports, with the hu- 
 mours of a country wedding. Though each of 
 the poets describes the manners of his res- 
 pective age, yet in the whole piece there is a 
 very sufficient uniformity ; a striking proof of 
 the identity of character in the Scottish pea- 
 santry at the two periods, distant from each 
 other three hundred years. It is an honorable 
 distinction to this body of men, that their cha- 
 racter and manners, very little embellished, 
 have been found to be susceptible of an amus- 
 ing and interesting species of poetry ; and it 
 must appear not a little curious, that the single 
 nation of modern Europe which possesses an 
 original rural poetry, should have received the 
 model followed by their rustic bards from the 
 monarch on the throne. 
 
 The two additional cantos to iJhristis Kirk 
 of the Grene, written by Ramsay, though ob- 
 jectionable in point of delicacy, are among the 
 happiest of his productions. His chief excel- 
 
 voL. I. u lence
 
 *290 THE LIFE OF 
 
 lence indeed lay in the description of rural 
 characters, incidents and scenery, for he did 
 not possess any very high powers either of ima- 
 gination or of understanding. He was well ac- 
 quainted with the peasantry of Scotland, their 
 lives and opinions. The subject was in a great 
 measure new ; his talents were equal to the sub- 
 ject ; and he has shewn that it may be happily 
 adapted to pastoral poetry. In his Gentle 
 Shepherd, the characters are delineations from 
 nature, the descriptive parts are in the genuine 
 style of beautiful simplicity, the passions and 
 affections of rural life are finely pourtrayed, and 
 the heart is pleasingly interested in the happi- 
 ness that is bestowed on innocence and virtue. 
 Throughout the whole there is an air of reality 
 which the most careless reader cannot but per- 
 ceive ; and in fact no poem ever perhaps ac- 
 quired so high a reputation, in which truth re- 
 ceived so little embellishment from the imagi- 
 nation. In his pastoral songs, and in his rural 
 tales, Ramsay appears to less advantage in- 
 deed, but still with considerable attraction. 
 The story of the Monk and the Miller's Wife, 
 though somewhat licentious, may rank with 
 the ha])piest productions of Prior or La Fon- 
 taine. But when he attempts subjects from 
 higher life, and aims at pure English composi- 
 tion, he is feeble and uninteresting, and seldom 
 
 even
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 291 
 
 even reaches mediocrity.* Neither are his 
 familiar epistles and elegies in the Scottish 
 dialect entitled to much approbation. Though 
 Fergusson had higher powers of imagination 
 than Ramsay, his genius was not of the highest 
 order; nor did his learning, which was consi- 
 derable, improve his genius. His poems, writ- 
 ten in pure English, in which he often follows 
 classical models, though superior to the English 
 poems of Ramsay, seldom rise above medi- 
 ocrity : but in those composed in the Scottish 
 dialect he is often very successful. He was in 
 general however leste happy than Ramsay in 
 the subjects of his muse. As he spent the 
 greater part of his life in Edinburgh, and wrote 
 for his amusement in the intervals of business 
 or dissipation, his Scottish poems are chiefly 
 founded on the incidents of a town life, which 
 though they are susceptible of humour, do not 
 admit of those delineations of scenery and man- 
 ners, which vivify the rural poetry of Ramsay, 
 and which so agreeably amuse the fancy and 
 interest the heart. The town-eclogues of Fer- 
 gusson, if we may so denominate them, are 
 however faithful to nature, and often distin- 
 guished by a very happy vein of humour. His 
 poems entitled. The Daft Days, The King's 
 
 u 2 Birth-day 
 
 See The Morning Interview, &c.
 
 292 THE LIFE OP 
 
 JBirth-day in Edinburgh, Leith Races, and The 
 Halloiv Fair, will justify this character. In 
 these, particularly in the last, he imitated 
 Christis Kirk of the Grene, as Ramsay had 
 done before him. His Address to the Tron- 
 kirk Bell is an exquisite piece of humour, 
 which Burns has scarcely excelled. In appre- 
 ciating the genius of F^rgusson, it oQght to be 
 recollected, that his poems are the careless 
 effusions of an irregular though amiable young 
 man, who wrote for the periodical papers of 
 the day, and who died in early youth. Had 
 his life been prolonged under happier circum- 
 stances of fortune, he would probably have 
 risen to much higher reputation. He might 
 have excelled in rural poetry, for though his 
 professed pastorals on the established Sicilian 
 model, are stale and uninteresting, The Far- 
 mers Inorle,^ which raav be considered as a 
 Scottish pastoral, is the happiest of all his pro- 
 ductions, and certainly was the arche-type of 
 the Cotters Saturday Night. Fergusson, and 
 more especially Burns, have shewn, that the 
 character and manners of the peasantry of 
 Scotland, of the present times, are as well 
 adapted to poetry, as in the days of Ramsay, 
 or of the author of Christis Kirk of the Grene. 
 
 The 
 
 * The farmer's fire-side.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 293 
 
 The humour of Burns is of a richer vein than 
 that of Ramsay or Fergusson, both of whom, as 
 he himself informs us, he had " frequently in 
 his eye, but rather with a view to kindle at 
 their flame, than to servile imitation/'* His 
 descriptive powers, whether the objects on 
 which they are employed be comic or serious, 
 animate or inanimate, are of the highest order. 
 A superiority of this kind is essential to every 
 species of poetical excellence. In one of his 
 earlier poems his plan seems to be to inculcate 
 a lesson of contentment on the lower classes of 
 society, by shewing that their superiors are 
 neither much better nor happier than them- 
 selves; and this he chuses to execute in the 
 form of a dialogue between two dogs. He in- 
 troduces this dialogue by an account of the 
 persons and characters of the speakers. The 
 first, whom he has named CcEsar, is a dog of 
 condition : 
 
 " His locked, letter'd, braw brass-collar, 
 Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar." 
 
 High-bred though he is, he is however full of 
 condescension : 
 
 '• At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
 Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie, 
 But he wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
 And stroanH on stanes mi' hillocks wi' himy 
 
 The 
 
 * Vol. iii. Appendix.
 
 294 THE LIFE OF 
 
 The other, Luath, is a " ploughman's collie/' 
 but a cur of a good heart and a sound under- 
 standing. 
 
 " His honest, sonsie, bawsn't face, 
 Ay gat him friends in ilka place ; 
 His breast was white, his towsie back 
 Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
 His gawcie tail, wV upward curl, 
 Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl.^^ 
 
 Never were ttva clogs so exquisitely deline- 
 ated. Their gambols before they sit down to 
 moralize, are described with an equal degree of 
 hajDpiness ; and through the whole dialogue, 
 the character, as well as the different condition 
 of the two speakers, is kept in view. The 
 speech of Luath, in which he enumerates the 
 comforts of the poor, gives the following ac- 
 count of their merriment on the first day of the 
 year : 
 
 " That merry day the year begins. 
 They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
 The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream. 
 And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
 The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin' mill. 
 Are handed round wi' right guid-will ; 
 The canty auld folks crackin crouse. 
 The young anes rantin thro' the house — 
 My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
 That I for joy hae harkit wi' them.'''' 
 
 Of all the animals who have moralized on 
 
 human
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 295 
 
 human affairs since the days of ^sop, the dog 
 seems best entitled to this privilege, as well 
 from his superior sagacity, as from his being 
 more than any other the friend and associate of 
 man. The dogs of Burns, excepting in their 
 talent for moralizing, are downright dogs ; and 
 not like the Horses of Swift, or the Hi7id and 
 Panther of Dryden, men in the shape of brutes. 
 It is this circumstance that heightens the hu- 
 mour of the dialogue. The " twa dogs" are 
 constantly kept before our eyes, and the con- 
 trast between their form and character as dogs, 
 and the sagacity of their conversation, heightens 
 the humour, and deepens the impression of the 
 poet's satire. Though in this poem the chief 
 excellence may be considered as humour, yet 
 great talents are displayed in its composition ; 
 the happiest powers of description, and the 
 deepest insight into the human heart.* It is 
 
 seldom 
 
 * When this poem first appeared, it was thought by some 
 very surprising, that a peasant who had not had an op- 
 portunity of associating even with a simple gentleman, should 
 have been able to pourtray the character of high life with 
 such accuracy. And when it was recollected that he had 
 probably been at the races of Ayr, where nobility as well as 
 gentry are to be seen, it was concluded that the race-ground 
 had been the field of his observation. This was sagacious 
 enough — but it did not require such instruction to inform 
 Burns, that human nature is essentially the same in the high 
 
 and
 
 '296 THE LIFE OF 
 
 seldom however that the humour of Bums ap- 
 pears in so simple a form. The liveliness of 
 his sensibility frequently impels him to intro- 
 duce into subjects of humour, emotions of 
 tenderness or of pity, and where occasion ad- 
 mits, he is sometimes carried on to exert the 
 higher powers of imagination. In such in- 
 stances he leaves the society of Ramsay and of 
 Fergusson, and associates himself with the 
 masters of English poetry, whose language he 
 frequently assumes. 
 
 Of the union of tenderness and humour, ex- 
 amples may be found in the Death and Dying 
 Words of poor 3Iailie, in the avid Farmers 
 Neiv-Years Blorfiing Sahitatioti to his Mare 
 3Iaggie, and in many of his other poems. The 
 praise of whiskey is a favorite subject with 
 Burns. To this he dedicates his poem of 
 Scotch Drifik.^ After mentioning its cheering 
 influence in a variety of situations, he describes, 
 with singular liveliness and power of fancy, its 
 stimulating effects on the blacksmith working 
 
 at his forge : 
 
 " Nae 
 
 and the low ; and a genius which comprehends the human 
 mind, easily comprehends the accidental varieties introduced 
 by situation. 
 
 * Vol. iii.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 297 
 
 *' Nae mercy, then, for airn and steel; 
 The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
 Brings hard owre-hip, wV sturdy wheel, 
 
 The strong fore-hammer, 
 Till block an' studdie ring and reel 
 
 Wi' dinsome clamour." 
 
 On another occasion,* chusing to exalt whiskey 
 above wine, he introduces a comparison be- 
 tween the natives of more genial climes, to 
 whom the vine furnishes their beverage, and 
 his own countrymen who drink the spirit of 
 malt. The description of the Scotsman is hu- 
 morous : 
 
 " But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
 Clap in his cheek a Highland gill,+ 
 Say, such is royal George's will, 
 
 An' there's the foe. 
 He has nae thought but how to kill 
 
 Twa at a blow." 
 
 Here the notion of danger rouses the imagi- 
 nation of the poet. He goes on thus : 
 
 " Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings teaze him ; 
 Death comes — wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
 Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him ; 
 
 An' when he fa's. 
 
 His latest draught o' breathing lea'es him 
 
 In faint huzzas." 
 
 Again 
 
 * The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch Re- 
 presentatives in Parliament, vol. iii. 
 
 t Of Whiskey.
 
 •298 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Again however, he sinks into humour, and con- 
 cludes the poem with the following most laugh- 
 able, but most irreverent apostrophe : 
 
 " Scotland, my auld, respected mither! 
 Tho' whyles ye moistify your leather, 
 'Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 
 
 Ye tine your dam ; 
 Freedom and whiskei/ gang thegither, 
 Tak aff your dram !" 
 
 Of this union of humour with the higher 
 powers of imagination, instances may be found 
 in the poem entitled Death mid Di\ Hornbook, 
 and in almost every stanza of the Address to 
 the Deil, one of the happiest of his productions. 
 After reproaching this terrible being with all 
 his " doings" and misdeeds, in the course of 
 which he passes through a series of Scottish 
 superstitions, and rises at times into a high 
 strain of poetry, he concludes this address, de- 
 livered in a tone of great familiarity, not alto- 
 gether unmixed with apprehension, in the fol- 
 lowing words: 
 
 " But, fare ye weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
 O wad you tak a thought an' men' ! 
 Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 
 
 Still hae a stake — 
 I'm wae to think upo' yon den 
 
 Ev'n for your sake !" 
 
 Humour and tenderness are here so happily 
 
 intermixed, 
 
 I
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 299 
 
 intermixed, that it is impossible to say which 
 preponderates. 
 
 Fergusson wrote a dialogue between the 
 Causetvay and the Plainstones* of Edinburgh. 
 This probably suggested to Burns his dialogue 
 between the Old and the New Bridge over the 
 river Ayr.f The nature of such subjects re- 
 quires that they shall be treated humorously, 
 and Fergusson has attempted nothing beyond 
 this. Though the Causeway and the Plainstones 
 talk together, no attempt is made to personify 
 the speakers. A *' cadie"J heard the conver- 
 sation, and reported it to the poet. 
 
 In the dialogue betweien the " Brigs of Ayr ^^ 
 Burns himself is the auditor, and the time and 
 occasion on which it occurred is related with 
 great circumstantiality. The poet, " pressed 
 by care," or " inspired by whim," had left his 
 bed in the town of Ayr, and wandered out 
 alone in the darkness and solitude of a winter 
 night, to the mouth of the river, where the still- 
 ness was interrupted only by the rushing sound 
 of the influx of the tide. It was after midnight. 
 
 The 
 
 * The middle of the street and the side-way. 
 t The Brigs of Ayr, vol. iii. % A messenger.
 
 ,'iOO THE LIFE OF 
 
 The Dungeon-clock* had struck two, and tiw 
 sound had been repeated by Wallace-Tower.* 
 All else was hushed. The moon shone brightly, 
 and 
 
 " The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
 
 Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream." 
 
 In this situation, the listening bard hears the 
 " clanging sugh" of wings moving through the 
 air, and speedily he perceives two beings, 
 reared, the one on the Old, the other on the 
 New Bridge, whose form and attire he de- 
 scribes, and whose conversation with each other 
 he rehearses. These genii enter into a compa- 
 rison of the respective edifices over which they 
 preside, and afterwards, as is usual between 
 the old and young, compare modern characters 
 and manners with those of past times. They 
 differ, as may be expected, and taunt and scold 
 each other in broad Scotch. This conversation, 
 which is certainly humorous, may be considered 
 as the proper business of the poem. As the 
 debate runs high, and threatens serious conse- 
 quences, all at once it is interrupted by a new 
 scene of wonders : 
 
 " all before their sight 
 
 A fairy train appeared in order bright : 
 
 Adown 
 
 * The two steeples of Ayr.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 301 
 
 Adown the glittering stream they featly danced; 
 Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced : 
 They footed o'er the wat'rj glass so neat, 
 The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
 While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
 And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
 
 The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
 A venerable Chief, advanced in years; 
 His hoary head with water-lilies crowned. 
 His manly leg with garter tangle bound." 
 
 Next follow a number of other allegorical be- 
 ings, among whom are the four Seasons, Rural 
 Joy, Plenty, Hospitality, and Courage: 
 
 " Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
 A female form, came from the tow'rs of Stair : 
 Learning and Worth in equal measures trode. 
 From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode : 
 Last, white-robed Peace, crowned with a hazle 
 
 wreath. 
 To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
 The broken iron instrument of Death ; 
 At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling 
 wrath." 
 
 This poem, irregular and imperfect as it is, 
 displays various and powerful talents, and may 
 serve to illustrate the genius of Burns. In par- 
 ticular it affords a striking instance of his being 
 carried beyond liis original purpose by the 
 powers of imagination. 
 
 In
 
 302 THE LIFE OF 
 
 In Fergussoii's poem, the Plainstones and 
 Causeway contrast the characters of the different 
 persons who walked upon them. Burns, pro- 
 bably, conceived that by a dialogue between 
 the Old and New Bridge, he might form a hu- 
 morous contrast between ancient and modern 
 manners in the town of Ayr, Such a dialogue 
 could only be supposed to pass in the stillness 
 of night, and this led our poet into a description 
 of a midnight scene, which excited in a high 
 degree the powers of his imagination. During 
 the whole dialogue the scenery is present to his 
 fancy, and at length it suggests to him a fair^ 
 dance of aerial beings, under the beams of the 
 moon, by which the wrath of the Genii of the 
 JBrigs of Ayr is appeased. 
 
 Incongruous as the different parts of i\\\> 
 poem are, it is not an incongruity that dis- 
 pleases, and we have only to regret that the 
 poet did not bestow a little pains in making 
 the figures more correct, and in smoothing the 
 versification. 
 
 The epistles of Burns, in which may be in- 
 cluded his Dedication to G. H. Esq. discover, 
 like his other writings, the powers of a supe- 
 rior understanding. They display deep insight 
 into human nature, a gay and happy strain of 
 reflection, great independence of sentiment, and 
 
 generosity.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 303 
 
 generosity of heart. It is to be regretted, that 
 in his Holy Fair, and in some of his other 
 poems, his humour degenerates into personal 
 satire, and that it is not sufficiently guarded in 
 other respects. The Halloween of Burns is 
 free from every objection of this sort. It is in- 
 teresting, not merely from its humorous descrip- 
 tion of manners, but as it records the spells 
 and charms used on the celebration of a fes* 
 tival, now, even in Scotland, falling into neglect, 
 but which was once observed over the greater 
 part of Britain and Ireland.* These charms 
 are supposed to afford an insight into futurity, 
 especially on the subject of marriage, the most 
 interesting event of rural life. In the Halloween, 
 a female in performing one of the spells, has 
 occasion to go out by moonlight, to dip her 
 shift-sleeve into a stream running towards the 
 South.'f It was not necessary for Burns to 
 give a description of this stream. But it was 
 the character of his ardent mind to pour forth 
 not merely what the occasion required, but 
 what it admitted ; and the temptation to de- 
 scribe so beautiful a natural object by moon- 
 light, was not to be resisted : 
 
 " Whyles 
 
 * Tn Ireland it is still celebrated. It is not quite in dis- 
 use in Wales. 
 
 t See vol. iii.
 
 304 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " WhjJes owre a linn the burnie plays 
 As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; 
 Whjles round a rocky scar it strays ; 
 
 Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; 
 Whjles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 
 
 Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
 Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 
 Beneath the spreading hazle, 
 Unseen that night." 
 
 Those who understand the Scottish dialect 
 will allow this to be one of the finest instances 
 of description, which the records of poetry 
 afford. Though of a very different nature, it 
 may be compared in point of excellence with 
 Thomson's description of a river swollen by 
 the rains of winter, bursting through the 
 streights that confine its torrent, " boiling, 
 wheeling, foaming, and thundering along."* 
 
 In pastoral, or to speak more correctly, in 
 rural poetry, of a serious nature, Burns excell- 
 ed equally as in that of a humorous kind, and 
 using less of the Scottish dialect in his serious 
 poems, he becomes more generally intelligible. 
 It is difficult to decide whether the Address to 
 a Mouse whose iiest was turned up ivith the 
 plough,'\ should be considered as serious or 
 
 comic. 
 
 * See Thomson's Winter. f Vol. iii.
 
 ROBERT BURN8. 305 
 
 comic. Be this as it may, the poem is one of 
 the happiest, and most finished of his produc- 
 tions. If we smile at the " bickering brattle'' 
 of this little flying animal, it is a smile of ten- 
 derness and pity. The descriptive part is 
 admirable ; the moral reflections beautiful, and 
 arising directly out of the occasion; and in tlie 
 conclusion there is a deep melancholy, a senti- 
 ment of doubt and dread, that rises to the sub- 
 lime. The Address to a Mountain Daisy, 
 turned down ivith the plough* is a poem of the 
 same nature, though somewhat inferior in point 
 of originality, as well as in the interest produc- 
 ed. To extract out of incidents so common, 
 and seemingly so trivial as these, so fine a train 
 of sentiment and imagery, is the surest proof, as 
 well as the most brilliant triumph, of original 
 genius. The Vision, in two cantos, from which 
 a beautiful extract is taken by Mr. Mackenzie, 
 in the 97th number of the Lounger, is a poem 
 of great and various excellence. The opening, 
 in which the poet describes his own state of 
 mind, retiring in the evening, wearied from the 
 labours of the day, to moralize on his conduct 
 and prospects, is truly interesting. The cham- 
 ber, if we may so term it, in which he sits down 
 to muse, is an exquisite painting: 
 
 VOL. I. X " There 
 
 * Vol. iii.
 
 306 THE LIFE OF 
 
 " There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, 
 I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 
 That fill'd wi' hoast-provoking smeek 
 The auld clay biggin ; 
 An' heard the restless rations squeak 
 About the riggin." 
 
 To reconcile to our imagination, the entrance 
 of an aerial being into a mansion of this kind, 
 required the powers of Burns — he however 
 succeeds. Coila enters, and her countenance, 
 attitude, and dress, unlike those of other spirit- 
 ual beings, are distinctly pourtrayed. To the 
 painting on her mantle, on which is depicted 
 the most striking scenery, as well as the most 
 distinguished characters, of his native country, 
 some exceptions may be made. The mantle 
 of Coila, like the cup of Thyrsis,* and the 
 shield of Achilles, is too much crowded with 
 figures, and some of the objects represented 
 upon it, are scarcely admissible, according to 
 the principles of design. The generous tem- 
 perament of Burns led him into these exuber- 
 ances. In his second edition he enlarged the 
 number of figures originally introduced, that 
 he might include objects to which he was at- 
 tached by sentiments of affection, gratitude, or 
 patriotism. The second Duan or canto of this 
 
 poem, 
 
 ''' See the first Idyllium of Theocritus.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 307 
 
 poem, ill which Coila describes her own nature 
 and occupations, particularly her superinten- 
 dence of his infant g;enius, and in which she 
 reconciles him to the character of a bard, is an 
 elevated and solemn strain of poetry, ranking 
 in all respects, excepting the harmony of num- 
 bers, with the higher productions of the English 
 muse. The concluding stanza, compared with 
 that already quoted, will show to what a height 
 Burns rises in this poem, from the point at which 
 he set out : 
 
 " And wear thou this — she solemn said, 
 And bound the hollj/ round my head ; 
 The polish'd leaves, and berries red. 
 
 Did rustling play ; 
 And, like a passing thought, she fled 
 In light away." 
 
 In various poems Burns has exhibited the 
 picture of a mind under the deep impressions 
 of real sorrow. The Lament, the Ode to Ruin, 
 Despondency, and Winter, a Dirge, are of this 
 character. In the first of these poems the 8th 
 stanza, which describes a sleepless night from 
 anguish of mind, is particularly striking. Burns 
 often indulged in those melancholy views of the 
 nature and condition of man, which are so con- 
 genial to the temperament of sensibility. The 
 poem entitled, Man was made to Mourn, affords 
 
 X 2 an
 
 308 THE LIFE OF 
 
 an instance of this kind, and the Winter Night,^ 
 is of the same description. This last is highly 
 characteristic, both of the temper of mind, and 
 of the condition of Bnrns. It begins with a 
 description of a dreadful storm on a night in 
 winter. The poet represents himself as lying 
 in bed, and listening to its howling. In this 
 situation he naturally turns his thoughts to 
 the ourie* Cattle, and the silli/^ Sheep, exposed 
 to all the violence of the tempest. Having 
 lamented their fate he proceeds in the following 
 manner : 
 
 " Ilk happing- bird — wee, helpless thing ! 
 That, in the merry months o' spring, 
 Delighted me to hear thee sing, 
 
 What comes o' thee ? 
 Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing, 
 
 An' close thy e'e ?" 
 
 Other reflections of the same nature occur to 
 his mind ; and as the midnight moon " muffled 
 with clouds" casts her dreary light on his win- 
 dow, 
 
 * See vol. iii. 
 
 * Ourie, out-lying. Ourie Cattle, Cattle that are un- 
 housed all winter. Ourie — drooping, shivering. 
 
 t Silly is in this, as in other places, a term of compas- 
 sion and endearment.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 309 
 
 dow, thoughts of a darker and mOre melancholy 
 nature crowd upon him. In this state of mind, 
 he hears a voice pouring through the gloom a 
 solemn and plaintive strain of reflection. The 
 mourner compares the fury of the elements with 
 that of man to his brother man, and finds the 
 former light in the balance: 
 
 " See stern Oppression's iron grip, 
 Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
 Sending like blood-hounds from the slip, 
 Woe, want, and murder, o'er the land." — 
 
 He pursues this train of reflection through a 
 variety of particulars, in the course of which he 
 introduces the following animated apostrophe : 
 
 '* O ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
 Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
 Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 
 
 Whom friends and fortune quite disown ! 
 Ill-satisfied keen Nature's clam'rous call, 
 
 Stretch'd on his straw he lays him down to sleep, 
 While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall, 
 
 Chill o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap !" 
 
 The strain of sentiment which runs through 
 this poem is noble, though the execution is un- 
 equal, and the versification is defective. 
 
 Among the serious poems of Burns, The Cot' 
 
 ter's
 
 310 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ters Saturday Night is perhaps entitled to the 
 first rank. The Farmers Ingle of Fergusson 
 evidently suggested the plan of this poem, as 
 has already been mentioned ; but after the plan 
 was formed, Burns trusted entirely to his own 
 powers for the execution. Fergussou's poem is 
 certainly very beautiful. It has all the charms 
 which depend on rural characters and manners 
 happily pourtrayed, and exhibited under cir- 
 cumstances highly grateful to the imagination. 
 The Farmer s Ingle begins with describing the 
 return of evening. The toils of the day are 
 over, and the farmer retires to his comfortable 
 fire-side. The reception which he and his men- 
 servants receive from the careful housewife, is 
 pleasingly described. After their supper is 
 over, they begin to talk on the rural events of 
 the day : 
 
 *' 'Bout kirk and market eke their tales gae on, 
 How Jock woo'd Jenny here to be his bride ; 
 And there how Marion for a bastart son, 
 Upo' the cutty-stool was forced to ride, 
 The waefu' scauld o' our Mess John to bide." 
 
 The " Guidame" is next introduced as form- 
 ing a circle round the fire, in the midst of her 
 grandchildren ; and while she spins from the 
 rock, and the spindle plays on her *' russet 
 lap," she is relating to the young ones, tales of 
 witches and ghosts. The poet exclaims, 
 
 " O mock 
 
 I
 
 ROBERT liURNS, 3U 
 
 " O mock na this my friends ! but rather mourn, 
 Ye in life's brawest spring; wi' reason clear, 
 Wi' ei]d our idle fancies a' return, 
 
 And dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly fear; 
 The mind's aye cradled when the grave is near." 
 
 In the mean time the farmer, wearied with 
 the fatigues of the day, stretches himself at 
 length on the settle, a sort of rustic couch which 
 extends on one side of the fire, and the cat and 
 house-dog leap upon it to receive his caresses. 
 Here, resting at his ease, he gives his directions 
 to his men-servants for the succeeding day. 
 The house-wife follows his example, and gives 
 her orders to the maidens. By degrees the oil 
 in the cruise begins to fail ; the fire runs low ; 
 sleep steals on this rustic group ; and they move 
 off to enjoy their peaceful slumbers. The poet 
 concludes by bestowing his blessing on the 
 " husbandman and all his tribe." 
 
 This is an original and truly interesting pas- 
 toral. It possesses every thing required in this 
 species of composition. We might have per- 
 haps said, every thing that it admits, had not 
 Burns written his Cotters Saturday Night. 
 
 The cottager returning from his labours, has 
 no servants to accompany him, to partake of 
 his fare, or to receive his instructions. The 
 
 circle
 
 312 THE LIFE OE 
 
 circle which he joins, is composed of his wife 
 and children only ; and if it admits of less va- 
 riety, it affords an opportunity for representing 
 scenes that more strongly interest the affections. 
 The younger children running to meet him, and 
 clambering round his knee ; the elder, return- 
 ing fiom their weekly labours with the neigh- 
 bouring farmers, dutifully depositing their little 
 gains with their parents, and receiving their fa- 
 ther's blessing and instructions ; the incidents 
 of the courtship of Jenny, their eldest daughter, 
 " woman grown ;" are circumstances of the 
 most interesting kind, which are most happily 
 delineated: and after their frugal supper, the 
 representation of these humble cottagers form- 
 ing a wider circle round their hearth, and unit- 
 ing in the worship of God, is a picture the most 
 deeply affecting of any which the rural muse 
 has ever presented to the view. Burns was ad- 
 mirably adapted to this delineation. Like all 
 men of genius he w as of the temperament of 
 devotion, and the powers of memory co-operated 
 in this instance with the sensibility of his heart, 
 and the fervour of his imagination.* The Cot- 
 ters Saturday Night is tender and moral, it is 
 solemn and devotional, and rises at length into 
 
 a 
 
 * The reader will recollect that the Cotter was Burns's 
 father, see p. 82. 
 
 J
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 313 
 
 a strain of grandeur and sublimity, which mo- 
 dern poetry has not surpassed. The noble sen- 
 timents of patriotism with which it concludes, 
 correspond with the rest of the poem. In no 
 age or country have the pastoral muses breathed 
 such elevated accents, if the 3Iessiali of Pope 
 be excepted, which is indeed a pastoral in form 
 only. It is to be regretted that Burns did not 
 employ his genius on other subjects of the same 
 nature, which the manners and customs of the 
 Scottish peasantry would have amply supplied. 
 Such poetry is not to be estimated by the de- 
 gree of pleasure which it bestows ; it sinks 
 deeply into the heart, and is calculated, far be- 
 yond any other human means, for giving per- 
 manence to the scenes and the characters it so 
 exquisitely describes.* 
 
 Before we conclude, it will be proper to offer 
 a few observations on the lyric productions of 
 Burns. His compositions of this kind are 
 chiefly songs, generally in the Scottish dialect, 
 and always after the model of the Scottish 
 songs, on the general character and moral in- 
 fluence of which, some observations have al- 
 ready been offered, f We may hazard a few 
 more particular remarks. 
 
 Of 
 
 * See Appendix, No. II. Note D. 
 t See p. IG, 17, 18.
 
 314 THE LIFE OF 
 
 Of the historic or heroic ballads of Scotland, 
 it is unnecessary to speak. Burns has no where 
 imitated them, a circumstance to be regretted, 
 since in this species of composition, from its ad- 
 mitting the more terrible as well as the softer 
 graces of poetry, he was eminently qualified to 
 have excelled. The Scottish songs which 
 served as a model to Burns, are almost with- 
 out exception pastoral, or rather rural. Such 
 of them as are comic, frequently treat of a rustic 
 courtship, or a country wedding ; or they de- 
 scribe the differences of opinion which arise in 
 married life. Burns has imitated this species, 
 and surpassed his models. The song begin- 
 ning, *' Husband, husband, cease your strife"* 
 may be cited in support of this observation. f 
 His other comic songs are of equal merit. In 
 the rural songs of Scotland, whether humorous 
 or tender, the sentiments are given to particular 
 characters, and, very generally, the incidents are 
 referred to particular scenery. This last cir- 
 cumstance 
 
 * See vol. iv. 
 
 t The dialogues between husbands and their wives, which 
 form the subjects of the Scottish songs, are ahnost all ludi- 
 crous and satirical, and in these contests the lady is gene- 
 rally victorious. From the collections of Mr. Pinkerton, we 
 find that the comic muse of Scotland delighted in such re- 
 presentations from very early times, in her rude dramatic 
 cfibrts, as well as in her rustic songs.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 315 
 
 cumstance may be considered as the distin- 
 guishing feature of the Scottish songs, and on 
 it a considerable part of their attraction de- 
 pends. On all occasions the sentiments, of 
 whatever nature, are delivered in the character 
 of the person principally interested. If love be 
 described, it is not as it is observed, but as it is 
 felt ; and the passion is delineated under a par- 
 ticular aspect. Neither is it the fiercer impulses 
 of desire that are expressed, as in the celebrated 
 ode of Sappho, the model of so many modern 
 songs ; but those gentler emotions of tender- 
 ness and affection, which do not entirely ab- 
 sorb the lover, but permit him to associate his 
 emotions with the charms of external nature, 
 and breathe the accents of purity and inno- 
 cence, as well as of love. In these respects the 
 love-songs of Scotland are honorably distin- 
 guished from the most admired classical com- 
 positions of the same kind ; and by such asso- 
 ciations a variety, as well as liveliness, is given 
 to the representation of this passion, which are 
 not to be found in the poetry of Greece or 
 Rome, or perhaps of any other nation. Many 
 of the love-songs of Scotland describe scenes of 
 rural courtship ; many may be considered as 
 invocations from lovers to their mistresses. On 
 such occasions a degree of interest and reality 
 is given to the sentiments, by the spot destined 
 to these happy interviews being particularized. 
 
 The
 
 310* THE LIFE OF 
 
 The lovers, perhaps, meet at the Sush aboon 
 Traquair, or on the Sanks of Ettrick; the 
 nymphs are invoked to Avander among the 
 wilds of Hoslm, or the tvoods of Invermay. Nor 
 is the spot merely pointed out ; the scenery is 
 often described as well as the characters, so as 
 to present a complete picture to the fancy."** 
 
 Thus 
 
 * One or two examples may illustrate this observation. A 
 Scottish song, written about a hundred years ago, begins 
 thus : 
 
 " On Ettrick banks, on a summer's night 
 
 At gloaming, when the sheep drove hame, 
 I met my lassie, braw and tight, 
 Come wading bai'efoot a' her lane : 
 
 My heart grew light, I ran, I flang 
 
 My arms about her lily-neck. 
 And kiss'd and clasped there fu' lang, 
 
 My words they were na mony feck."+ 
 
 The lover, who is a Highlander, goes on to relate the lan- 
 guage he employed with this Lowland maid to win her heart, 
 and to persuade her to fly with him to the Highland hills, 
 there to share his fortune. The sentiments are in themselves 
 beautiful. But we feel them with double force, while we 
 conceive that they were addressed by a lover to his mis- 
 tress, whom he met all alone, on a summer's evening, by the 
 banks of a beautiful stream, which some of us have actually 
 seen, and which all of us can paint to our imagination. Let 
 us take another example. It is now a nymph that speaks. 
 Hear how she expresses herself. 
 
 " How 
 t Aa momj fevk — not very many.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 317 
 
 Thus the maxim of Horace, ut pictura poesis, 
 is faithfully observed by these rustic bards, who 
 are guided by the same impulse of nature and 
 sensibility which influenced the father of epic 
 poetry, on whose example the precept of the 
 Roman poet was, perhaps, founded. By this 
 means the imagination is employed to interest 
 the feelings. When we do not conceive di.s- 
 tinctly, we do not sympathize deeply in any hu- 
 man affection ; and we conceive nothing in the 
 abstract. Abstraction, so useful in morals, and 
 
 so 
 
 " How blytheeach morn was I to see 
 My swain come o'er the hill ! 
 He skipt the burn, and flew to me, 
 I met him with guid will." 
 
 Here is another picture drawn by the pencil of nature. 
 We see a shepherdess standing by the side of a brook, 
 watching her lover as he descends the opposite hill. He 
 bounds lightly along ; he approaches nearer and nearer ; he 
 leaps the brook, and flies into her arms. In the recollection 
 of these circumstances, the surrounding scenery becomes en- 
 deared to the fair mourner, and she bursts into the following 
 exclamation : 
 
 " O the broom, the bonnie bonnie broom, 
 The broom of the Cowden-Knowes I 
 I wish I were with my dear swain, 
 With his pipe and my ewes." 
 
 Thus the individual spot of this happy interview is pointed 
 out, and the picture is completed.
 
 318 THE LIFE OF 
 
 SO essential in science, must be abandoned 
 when the heart is to be subdued by the powers 
 of poetry or of eloquence. The bards of a 
 ruder condition of society, paint individual ob- 
 jects ; and hence among other causes, the easy 
 access they obtain to the heart. Generalization 
 is the vice of poets whose learning overpowers 
 their genius ; of poets of a refined and scientific 
 age. 
 
 The dramatic style which prevails so much 
 in the Scottish songs, while it contributes greatly 
 to the interest they excite, also shows that they 
 have originated among a people in the earlier 
 stages of society. Where this form of composi- 
 tion appears in songs of a modern date, it indi- 
 cates that they have been written after the an- 
 cient model.* 
 
 Tlic- 
 
 * That the dramatic form of writing characterizes the pro- 
 ductions of an early, or what amounts to the same thing, of a 
 rude stage of society, may be illustrated by a reference to the 
 most ancient compositions that we know of, the Hebrew 
 scriptures and the writings of Homer. The form of dialogue 
 is adopted in the old Scottish ballads eveni narration, when- 
 ever the situations described become interesting. This some- 
 times produces a very striking effect, of which an instance 
 may be given from the ballad of Edom o' Gordon, a composi- 
 tion apparently of the sixteenth century. The story of the 
 ballad is shortly this — The castle of Rhodes, in the absence 
 of its lord, is attacked by the robber Edom o' Gordon. The 
 
 lady
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 519 
 
 The Scottish songs are of very unequal poe- 
 tical merit, and this inequality often extends to 
 the different parts of the same song. Those that 
 are humorous, or characteristic of manners, 
 have in general the merit of copying nature; 
 those that are serious, are tender and often 
 sweetly interesting, but seldom exhibit high 
 powers of imagination, which, indeed, do not 
 easily find a place in this species of composi- 
 tion, 
 
 lady stands on her defence, beats off the assailants, and 
 wounds Gordon, who in his rage orders the castle to be set 
 on fire. That his orders are carried into effect, we learn 
 from the expostulation of the lady, who is represented as 
 standing on the battlements, and remonstrating on this bar- 
 barity. She is interrupted — 
 
 " O then bespak hir little son, 
 
 Sate on his nourice' knee ; 
 Says, ' mither dear, gi' owre this house, 
 
 * For the reek it smithers me.' 
 ' T wad gie a' my gowd, my childe, 
 
 Sae wad I a' my fee, 
 For ae blast o' the westlin wind, 
 
 To blaw the reek frae thee.' 
 
 The circumstantiality of the Scottish love-songs, and the 
 dramatic form which prevails so generally in them, probably 
 arises from their being the descendants and successors of the 
 ancient ballads. In the beautiful modern song of Martj of 
 Castle-Cary, the dramatic form has a very happy effect. 
 The same may be said of Donald and Flora, and Come under 
 my plaidie, by the same author, Mr. Macpiel.
 
 320 THE LIFE OF 
 
 tioii. The alliance of the words of the Scottish 
 songs with the music, has in some instances 
 given to the former a popularity, which other- 
 wise they would not have obtained. 
 
 The association of the words and the music of 
 these songs, with the more beautiful parts of the 
 scenery of Scotland, contributes to the same 
 effect. It has given them not merely popularity, 
 but permanence; it has imparted to the works 
 of man some portion of the durability of tiio 
 works of nature. If from our imperfect expe- 
 rience of the past, we may judge with any con- 
 fidence respecting the future, songs of this 
 description are of all others least likely to die. 
 In the clianges of language they may no doubt 
 suffer change ; but the associated strain of sen- 
 timent and of music, will perhaps survive, 
 while the clear stream sweeps down the vale of 
 Yarrow, or the yellow broom waves on the Cow- 
 den-Knowes. 
 
 The first attempts of Burns in song-writing 
 were not very successful. His habitual inat- 
 tention to the exactness of rhymes, and to the 
 harmony of numbers, arising probably from the 
 models on which his versification was formed, 
 were faults likely to appear to more disadvan- 
 tage in this species of composition, than in any 
 other ; and we may also remark, that the 
 
 strength
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 321 
 
 strength of his imagination, and the exuberance 
 of his sensibility, were with difficulty restrained 
 within the limits of gentleness, delicacy, and 
 tenderness, which seem to be assigned to the 
 love-songs of his nation. Burns was better 
 adapted by nature for following in such com- 
 positions, the model of the Grecian, than of the 
 Scottish muse. By study and practice he how- 
 ever surmounted all these obstacles. In his 
 earlier songs, there is some ruggedness : but 
 this gradually disappears in his successive 
 efforts ; and some of his latter compositions of 
 this kind may be compared in polished delicacy, 
 with the finest songs in our language, while 
 in the eloquence of sensibility they surpass them 
 all. 
 
 The songs of Burns, like the models he fol- 
 lowed and excelled, are often dramatic, and 
 for the greater part amatory ; and the beauties 
 of rural nature are every where associated with 
 the passions and emotions of the mind. Dis- 
 daining to copy the works of others, he has not, 
 like some poets of great name, admitted into 
 his descriptions exotic imagery. The land- 
 scapes he has painted, and the objects with 
 which they are embellished, are in every single 
 instance, such as are to be found in his own 
 country. In a mountainous region, especially 
 when it is comparatively rude and naked, the 
 
 VOL. I. Y * most
 
 S22 THE LIFE OP 
 
 most beautiful scenery will always be found 
 in the valleys, and on the banks of the wooded 
 streams. Such scenery is peculiarly interesting 
 at the close of a summer day. As we advance 
 northwards, the number of the days of summer 
 indeed diminishes ; but from this cause, as well 
 as from the mildness of the temperature, the 
 attraction of the season increases, and the sum- 
 mer-night becomes still more beautiful. The 
 greater obliquity of the sun's path on the 
 ecliptic, prolongs the grateful season of twi- 
 light, to the midnight hours, and the shades of 
 the evening seem to mingle with the morning's 
 dawn. The rural poets of Scotland, as may 
 be expected, associate in their songs the ex- 
 pressions of passion, with the most beautiful 
 of their scenery, in the fairest season of the year, 
 and generally in those hours of the evening 
 when the beauties of nature are most interesting.* 
 
 To 
 
 * A lady, of whose genius the editor entertains high ad- 
 miration, (Mrs. Barbauld) has fallen into an error in this 
 respect. In her prefatory address to the works of Collins, 
 speaking of the natural objects that may be employed to 
 give interest to the descriptions of passion, she observes, 
 " they present an inexhaustible variety, from the Song of 
 Solomon, breathing of cassia, myrrh, and cinnamon, to the 
 Gentle Shepherd of Ramsay, whose damsels carry their 
 milking pails through the frosts and snows of their less genial, 
 but not less pastoral country." The damsels of Ramsay do 
 
 not
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 323 
 
 To all these adventitious circumstances, on 
 which so much of the effect of poetry depends, 
 great attention is paid by Burns. There is 
 scarcely a single song of his, in which particu- 
 lar scenery is not described, or allusions made 
 to natural objects, remarkable for beauty or 
 interest; and though his descriptions are not 
 so full as are sometimes met with in the older 
 Scottish songs, they are in the highest degree 
 appropriate and interesting. Instances in proof 
 of this might be quoted from the Lea-Rig,^ 
 Highland Marij,-\ the Soldiers Return,^ Lo- 
 
 Y 2 gau 
 
 not walk in the midst of frost and snow. — Almost all the 
 scenes of the Gentle Shepherd are laid in the open air, amidst 
 beautiful natural objects, and at the most genial season of 
 the year. Ramsay introduces all his acts with a prefatory 
 description to assure us of this. The fault of the climate of 
 Britain is not, that it does not afford us the beauties of sum- 
 mer, but that the season of such beauties is comparatively 
 short, and even uncertain. There are days and nights, even 
 in the northern division of the Island, whicli equal, or per- 
 haps surpass what are to be found in the latitude of Sicily 
 or of Greece. Buchanan, when he wrote his exquisite ode 
 to May, felt the charm as well as the transiciltness of those 
 happy days : 
 
 Salve fugacis gloria seculi. 
 
 Salve secunda digna dies nota, 
 Salve vetustit vita^ iniago» 
 Et specimen venientis ^vi ! 
 
 * Vol iy, t Ibid. I Ibid.
 
 324 THE LIFE OF 
 
 gan Water;* from that beautiful pastoral 
 Soiinie Jeati,^ and a great number of others. 
 Occasionally the force of his genius carries him 
 beyond the usual boundaries of Scottish song, 
 and the natural objects introduced, have more 
 of the character of sublimity. An instance of 
 this kind is noticed by Mr. Syme,J and many 
 others might be adduced. 
 
 " Had I a cave on some wild distant shore, 
 Where the winds howl to the wave's dashing roar : 
 There would I weep my woes, 
 There seek ray lost repose, 
 Till grief my eyes should close, 
 Ne'er to wake more."§ 
 
 In one song, the scene of which is laid in a 
 winter-night, the " wan moon" is described as 
 " setting behind the white waves ;"|| in another 
 the " storms" are apostrophized, and command- 
 ed to " rest in the cave of their slumbers."^ 
 On several occasions, the genius of Burns loses 
 sight entirely of his archetypes, and rises into 
 a strain of uniform sublimity. Instances of 
 this kind appear in Lihertie, a Vision** and in 
 his two war songs, JBruce to his Troops,'\'\ and 
 
 the 
 
 * Vol. iv. t Ibid. 
 X See p. 210 of this Volume. 
 § Vol iv. 11 Ibid. H Ibid. 
 
 ** Ibid. tt Ibid,
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 325 
 
 the Song of Death* These last are of a 
 description of which we have no other in our 
 language. The martial songs of our nation are 
 not military, but naval. If we were to seek 
 a comparison of these songs of Burns, with 
 others of a similar nature, we must have re- 
 course to the poetry of ancient Greece, or of 
 modern Gaul. 
 
 Burns has made an important addition to 
 the songs of Scotland. In his compositions, 
 the poetry equals and sometimes surpasses the 
 music. He has enlarged the poetical scenery 
 of his country. Many of her rivers and moun- 
 tains, formerly unknown to the muse, are now 
 consecrated by his immortal verse. The Doon, 
 the Lugar, the Ayr, the Nith, and the Cliiden 
 — will in future, like the Yarrow, the Tweed, 
 and the Tay, be considered as classic streams, 
 and their borders will be trod with new and 
 superior emotions. 
 
 The greater part of the songs of Burns were 
 written after he removed into the county of 
 Dumfries. Influenced perhaps by habits form- 
 ed in early life, he usually composed while 
 walking in the open air. When engaged in 
 
 writing 
 
 * See p. 217 of this Volume.
 
 326 THE LIFE OF 
 
 writing these songs, his favorite walks were 
 on the banks of the Nith, or of the Cluden, par- 
 ticularly near the ruins of Lincluden Abbey ; 
 and this beautiful scenery he has very happily 
 described under various aspects, as it appears 
 during the softness and serenity of evening, and 
 during the stillness and solemnity of the moon- 
 light night.* 
 
 There is no species of poetry, the produc- 
 tions of the drama not excepted, so much cal- 
 culated to influence the morals, as well as the 
 happiness of a people, as those popular verses 
 which are associated with national airs, and 
 which being learnt in the years of infancy, make 
 a deep impression on the heart, before the evo- 
 lution of the powers of the understanding. The 
 compositions of Burns of this kind now pre- 
 sented in a collected form to the world, make a 
 most important addition to the popular songs 
 of his nation. Like all his other writings, they 
 exhibit independence of sentiment; they are 
 peculiarly calculated to increase those ties 
 which bind generous hearts to their native soil, 
 and to the domestic circle of their infancy ; and 
 to cherish those sensibilities, which under due 
 restriction, form the purest happiness of our 
 
 nature. 
 
 * See vol. iv.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 327 
 
 nature. If iu his unguarded moments he com- 
 posed some songs on which this praise cannot 
 be bestowed, let us hope that they will speedily 
 be forgotten. Jn several instances, where Scot- 
 tish airs were allied to words objectionable in 
 point of delicacy, Burns has substituted others 
 of a purer character. On such occasions, with- 
 out changing the subject, he has changed the 
 sentiments. A proof of this may be seen in 
 the air, John Andersori my Joe, which is now 
 united to words that breathe a strain of con- 
 jugal tenderness, that is as highly moral as it is 
 exquisitely affecting. 
 
 Few circumstances could afford a more strik- 
 ing proof of the strength of Burns's genius, than 
 the general circulation of his poems in England, 
 notwithstanding the dialect in which the greater 
 part are written, and which might be supposed 
 to render them here uncouth or obscure. In 
 some instances he has used this dialect on sub- 
 jects of a sublime nature ; but in general he 
 confines it to sentiments or description of a 
 tender or humorous kind ; and where he rises 
 into elevation of thought, he assumes a purer 
 English style. The singular faculty he pos- 
 sessed of mingling in the same poem, humorous 
 sentiments and descriptions, with imagery of a 
 sublime and terrific nature, enabled him to use 
 this variety of dialect on some occasions with 
 
 striking
 
 328 THE LIFE OF 
 
 striking effect. His poem of Tarn o Shanter, 
 affords an instance of this. There he passes 
 from a scene of the lowest humour, to situa- 
 tions of the most awful and terrible kind. He 
 is a musician that runs from the lowest to the 
 highest of his keys, and the use of the Scottish 
 dialect enables him to add two additional notes 
 to the bottom of his scale. 
 
 Great efforts have been made by the inha- 
 bitants of Scotland of the superior ranks, to 
 approximate in their speech to the pure English 
 standard ; and this has made it difficult to write 
 in the Scottish dialect, without exciting in them 
 some feelings of disgust, which in England, are 
 scarcely felt. An Englishman, who understands 
 the meaning of the Scottish words, is not of- 
 fended, nay, on certain subjects he is perhaps 
 pleased with the rustic dialect, as he may be 
 with the Doric Greek of Theocritus. 
 
 But a Scotchman inhabiting his own country, 
 if a man of education, and more especially if a 
 literary character, has banished such words 
 from his writings, and has attempted to banish 
 them from his speech ; and being accustomed 
 to hear them from the vulgar daily, does not 
 easily admit of their use in poetry, which re- 
 quires a style elevated and ornamental. A dis- 
 like of this kind is, however, accidental, not 
 
 natural.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 329 
 
 natural. It is of the species of disgust which 
 we feel at seeing a female of high birtli in the 
 dress of a rustic ; which, if she be really young 
 and beautiful, a little habit will enable us to 
 overcome, A lady who assumes such a dress 
 puts her beauty indeed to a severer trial. She 
 rejects — she indeed opposes the influence of 
 fashion ; she possibly abandons the grace of 
 elegant and flowing drapery ; but her native 
 charms remain, the more striking perhaps be- 
 cause the less adorned ; and to these she trusts 
 for fixing her empire on those affections over 
 which fashion has no sway. If she succeeds, 
 a new association arises. The dress of the 
 beautiful rustic becomes itself beautiful, and 
 establishes a new fashion for the young and 
 the gay. And when in after ages, the contem- 
 plative observer shall view her picture in the 
 gallery that contains the portraits of the beau- 
 ties of successive centuries, each in the dress of 
 her respective day, her drapery will not deviate 
 more than that of her rivals, from the standard 
 of his taste, and he will give the palm to her 
 who excels in the lineaments of nature. 
 
 Burns wrote professedly for the peasantry of 
 his country, and by them their native dialect is 
 universally relished. To a numerous class of 
 the natives of Scotland of another description, 
 it may also be considered as attractive in a dif- 
 ferent
 
 330 THE LIFE OF 
 
 ferent point of view. Estranged from their 
 native soil, and spread over foreign lands, the 
 idiom of their countrj^ unites M'ith the senti- 
 ments and the descriptions on which it is em- 
 ployed, to recal to their minds the interesting 
 scenes of infancy and youth — to awaken many 
 pleasing, many tender recollections. Literary 
 men, residing at Edinburgh or Aberdeen, can- 
 not judge on this point for one hundred and 
 fifty thousand of their expatriated country- 
 men.* 
 
 To the use of the Scottish dialect in one 
 species of poetry, the composition of songs, the 
 taste of the public has been for some time re- 
 conciled. The dialect in question excels, as 
 has already been observed, in the copiousness 
 
 and 
 
 * These observations are excited by some remarks of re- 
 spectable correspondents of the description alluded to. This 
 calculation of the number of Scotchmen living out of Scot- 
 land is not altogether arbitrary, and it is probably below the 
 truth. It is in some degree founded on the proportion be- 
 tween the number of the sexes in Scotland, as it appears 
 from the invaluable Statistics of Sir John Sinclair. — For 
 Scotchmen of this description more particularly. Burns seems 
 to have written his song beginning, Their groves o sweet 
 myrtle, (vol. iv.) a ^beautiful strain, which it may be confi- 
 dently predicted, will be sung with equal or superior inte- 
 rest, on the banks of the Ganges or of the Mississippi, as 
 on those of the Tay or the Tweed.
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 331 
 
 and exactness of its terms for natural objects ; 
 and in pastoral or rural songs, it gives a Doric 
 simplicity, which is very generally approved. 
 Neither does the regret seem well founded 
 which some persons of taste have expressed, 
 that Burns used this dialect in so many other 
 of his compositions. His declared purpose was 
 to paint the manners of rustic life among his 
 " humble compeers," and it is not easy to con- 
 ceive, that this could have been done with 
 equal humour and effect, if he had not adopted 
 their idiom. There are some indeed who will 
 think the subject too low for poetry. Persons 
 of this sickly taste will find their delicacies 
 consulted in many a polite and learned author ; 
 let them not seek for gratification in the rough 
 and vigorous lines, in the unbridled humour, or 
 in the overpowering sensibility of this bard of 
 nature. 
 
 To determine the comparative merit of Burns 
 would be no easy task. Many persons after- 
 wards distinguished in literature, have been born 
 in as humble a situation of life, but it would be 
 difficult to find any other, who, while earning 
 his subsistence by daily labour, has written 
 verses which have attracted and retained uni- 
 versal attention, and which are likely to give 
 the author a permanent and distinguished place 
 among the followers of the muses. If he is 
 
 deficient
 
 ,332 THE LIFE Ol- 
 
 deficient in grace, he is distinguished for ease, 
 as well as energy ; and these are indications of 
 the higher order of genius. The father of Epic 
 poetry exhibits one of his heroes as excelling 
 in strength, another in swiftness — to form his 
 perfect warrior these attributes are combined. 
 Every species of intellectual superiority admits 
 perhaps of a similar arrangement. One writer 
 excels in force; another in ease — he is superior 
 to them both, in whom both these qualities are 
 united. Of Homer himself it may be said, that 
 like his own Achilles, he surpasses his com- 
 petitors in mobility as w^ell as strength. 
 
 The force of Burns lay in the powers of his 
 understanding and in the sensibility of his heart; 
 and these will be found to infuse the living- 
 principle into all the works of genius which 
 seem destined to immortality. His sensibility 
 had an uncommon range. He was alive to 
 every species of emotion. He is one of the 
 few poets that can be mentioned, who have at 
 once excelled in humour, in tenderness, and in 
 sublimity ; a praise unknown to the ancients, 
 and which in modern times is only due to 
 Ariosto, to Shakspeare, and perhaps to Vol- 
 taire. To compare the writings of this Scottish 
 peasant, with the works of these Giants in 
 literature, might appear presumptuous ; yet it 
 may be asserted, that he has displayed the foot 
 
 of
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 333 
 
 of Hercules. How near he might have ap- 
 proached them by proper culture, with length- 
 ened years, and under happier auspices, it is 
 not for us to calculate. But while we run over 
 the melancholy story of his life, it is impossible 
 not to heave a sigh at the asperity of his for- 
 tune ; and as we survey the records of his mind, 
 it is easy to see, that out of such materials 
 have been reared the fairest and the most 
 durable of the monuments of genius.
 
 335 
 
 A GREAT number of poems have been 
 written on the Death of Burns, some of them 
 of considerable poetical merit. To have sub- 
 joined all of them to the present edition, 
 would have been to have enlarged it to ano- 
 ther volume at least; and to have made a 
 selection, would have been a task of consi- 
 derable delicacy. 
 
 The editor therefore presents one poem only 
 on this melancholy subject; a poem which has 
 not before appeared in print, it is from the 
 pen of one who has sympathized deeply in 
 the fate of Burns, and will not be found un- 
 worthy of its author — the Biographer of Lo- 
 renzo de' Medici. Of a person so well known, 
 it is wholly unnecessary for the editor to speak ; 
 and, if it were necessary, it would not be easy 
 for him to find language that would adequately 
 express his respect and his affection.
 
 337 
 
 Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
 
 Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread, 
 And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills, 
 
 And wave thy heaths with blossoms red 
 But ah ! what poet now shall tread 
 
 Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
 Since he, the sweetest bard is dead 
 
 That ever breath'd the soothing strain ? 
 
 As green thy towering pines may grow, 
 
 As clear thy stream may speed along, 
 As bright thy summer suns may glow. 
 
 As gaily charm thy feathery throng ; 
 But now, unheeded is the song. 
 
 And dull and lifeless all around, 
 For his wild-harp lies all unstrung, 
 
 And cold the hand that wak'd its sound. 
 
 VOL. I. z What
 
 338 
 
 What tho' thy vigorous offspring rise, 
 
 In arts, in arms, thy sons excel ; 
 Tho' beauty in thy daughters' eyes, 
 
 And health in every feature dwell ; 
 Yet who shall now their praises tell, 
 
 In strains impassion'd, fond and free. 
 Since he no more the song shall swell 
 
 To love, and liberty, and thee ? 
 
 With step-dame eye and frown severe 
 
 His hapless youth why didst thou view 
 For all thy joys to him were dear, 
 
 And all his vows to thee were due : 
 Nor greater bliss his bosom knew, 
 
 In opening youth's delightful prime, 
 Than when thy favoring ear he drew 
 
 To listen to his chaunted rhyme. 
 
 Thy lonely wastes and frowning skies 
 
 To him were all with rapture fraught; 
 He heard with joy the tempest rise 
 
 That wak'd him to sublimer thought; 
 And oft thy winding dells he sought, 
 
 Where wild flowers pour'd their rathe perfume, 
 And with sincere devotion brought 
 
 To thee the summer's earliest bloom. 
 
 But
 
 339 
 
 But ah ! no fond maternal smile 
 
 His unprotected jouth enjoy'd ; 
 His limbs inur'd to early toil, 
 
 His days with early hardships tried; 
 And more to mark the gloomy void, 
 
 And bid him feel his misery. 
 Before his infant eyes would glide 
 
 Day-dreams of immortality. 
 
 Yet, not by cold neglect depress'd, 
 
 With sinewy arm he turn'd the soil, 
 Sunk with the evening sun to rest, 
 
 And met at morn his earliest smile. 
 Wak'd by his rustic pipe, meanwhile 
 
 The powers of fancy came along. 
 And sooth'd his lengthen'd hours of toil 
 
 With native wit and sprightly song. 
 
 ■ — Ah ! days of bliss, too swiftly fled, 
 
 When vigorous health from labour springs, 
 And bland contentment smooths the bed, 
 
 And sleep his ready opiate brings ; 
 And hovering round on airy wings 
 
 Float the light forms of young desire, 
 That of unutterable things 
 
 The soft and shadowy hope inspire. 
 
 z2 Now
 
 340 
 
 Now spells of mightier power prepare, 
 
 Bid brighter phantoms round him dance ; 
 Let flattery spread her viewless snare, 
 
 And fame attract his vagrant glance : 
 Let sprightly pleasure too advance, 
 
 Unveil'd her eyes, unclasp'd her zone, 
 Till lost in love's delirious trance 
 
 He scorn the joys his youth has known. 
 
 Let friendship pour her brightest blaze, 
 
 Expanding all the bloom of soul ; 
 And mirth concenter all her rays. 
 
 And point them from the sparkling bowl ; 
 And let the careless moments roll 
 
 In social pleasures unconfin'd. 
 And confidence that spurns control 
 
 Unlock the inmost springs of mind r 
 
 And lead his steps those bowers among, 
 
 Where elegance with splendor vies, 
 Or science bids her favor'd throng 
 
 To more refin'd sensations rise : 
 Beyond the peasant's humbler joys. 
 
 And freed from each laborious strife. 
 There let him learn the bliss to prize 
 
 That waits the sons of polish'd life. 
 
 Then
 
 341 
 
 Then whilst his throbbing veins beat high 
 
 With every impulse of delight, 
 Dash from his lips the cup of joy, 
 
 And shroud the scene in shades of night; 
 And let despair, with wizard light, 
 
 Disclose the yawning gulf below. 
 And pour incessant on his sight 
 
 Her specter'd ills and shapes of woe : 
 
 And shew beneath a cheerless shed. 
 
 With sorrowing heart and streaming eyes, 
 In silent grief where droops her head. 
 
 The partner of his early joys ; 
 And let his infants' tender cries 
 
 His fond parental succour claim, 
 And bid him hear in agonies 
 
 A husband's and a father's name. 
 
 'Tis done, the powerful charm succeeds ; 
 
 His high reluctant spirit bends ; 
 In bitterness of soul he bleeds. 
 
 Nor longer with his fate contends. 
 An idiot laugh the welkin rends 
 
 As genius thus degraded lies ; 
 'Till pitying Heaven the veil extends 
 
 That shrouds the Poet's ardent eyes. 
 
 — Rear
 
 342 
 
 — Rear high thy bleak majestic hills, 
 
 Thy shelter'd valleys proudly spread, 
 And, Scotia, pour thy thousand rills 
 
 And wave thy heaths with blossoms red ; 
 But never more shall poet tread 
 
 Thy airy heights, thy woodland reign, 
 Since he the sweetest bard is dead 
 
 That ever breath'd the soothing strain.
 
 Thus concludes Dr. Currie's narrative and 
 critical disquisition, the merits of which have 
 been long submitted to the Public, and uni- 
 versally acknowledged. His biographical la- 
 bours are certainly not more distinguished by 
 the singular felicity with which he has brought 
 his materials to bear on the feelings of his 
 readers, and the elegance and force of his dic- 
 tion, than by the display of candour, bene- 
 volence, and every amiable quality in the mind 
 which dictated. But there is another species 
 of merit, which every reader may not be aware 
 of, or may not sufficiently advert to; I mean 
 the active and unexampled benevolence which 
 prompted him, while much occupied with other 
 matters, and an extensive professional practice, 
 to undertake a labour beset with so much diffi- 
 culty, for the benefit of the widow and family 
 of the Poet, without the smallest prospect of 
 advantage to himself; which can never be too 
 highly appreciated by the friends and descen- 
 dants of Burns, and for which they can never 
 be sufficiently grateful. 
 
 Dr. Currie's
 
 344 
 
 Dr. Currie's residence in England, though 
 at first presenting considerable obstacles, yet 
 these obstacles being so happily got over, was 
 of much use to the interests of the family, as 
 thereby the posthumous publication was better 
 prepared for being introduced with advantage 
 into the southern part of the Island, and other 
 parts of the world where the English language 
 is spoken ; and every monument which has 
 been erected, or proposed to be erected to the 
 memory of Burns, ought to, and will, (to every 
 person acquainted with the Life of Burns), 
 commemorate the talents, the accomplishments, 
 and benevolence of Dr. Currie. 
 
 The profits of these volumes, so judiciously 
 selected, and advantageously introduced to the 
 world by Dr. Currie, together with an addi- 
 tional subscription by some Gentlemen in India, 
 transmitted to Sir James Shaw, of London, 
 (the indefatigable friend of Burns's family), in- 
 creased by a very handsome addition from him- 
 self and some friends in London, and vested 
 in the funds in the name of the Magistrates of 
 Ayr, as trustees for the family, afforded the 
 means of maintaining and educating the boys, 
 and fitting them out for their several destina- 
 tions, and leaving as much as produced a mo- 
 derate annuity for the support of Mrs. Burns, 
 
 Of
 
 345 
 
 Of the sons of the Poet, mentioned by Dr. 
 Ciirrie, Francis Wallace, the second son, a very 
 handsome and promising boy, died in 1803. 
 Robert, the oldest, was, in 1804, placed as a 
 clerk in the Stamp Office, London, where he 
 still continues. 
 
 William Nicol, the third son, and James 
 Glencairn, the youngest, went out in 1811 and 
 1812 as Cadets in the India Company's service, 
 where they still remain, William on the Madras, 
 and the other on the Bengal establishments. 
 The conduct of all these young men has hither- 
 to been creditable to themselves, and pleasing 
 to those who took an interest in them. By the 
 kindness of the Marquis of Hastings, James, 
 three years ago, got a good appointment in the 
 Commissariat department; and the first use he 
 made of his good fortune was to settle on his 
 mother an annuity, perhaps more commensurate 
 to his feelings of maternal regard, than to the 
 selfish maxims of worldly prudence. 
 
 Mrs. Burns (whose conduct has been every 
 thing her friends could wish) has continued to 
 live in the same house in which her husband 
 died, situated, (in what, by authority of the 
 Magistrates of Dumfries, is now denominated 
 Burns's Street) daily increasing in the good- 
 will and esteem of all who know her. It is 
 
 with
 
 346 
 
 with much regret I have to state, that two 
 years ago she was attacked with a dangerous 
 complaint in the heart, the effects of which 
 are not yet, (July, 1819) entirely removed. 
 
 G. B. 
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 349 
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 No. I. — Note A. See p. 5. 
 
 The importance of the national establishment 
 of parish schools in Scotland will justify a short 
 account of the legislative provisions respecting 
 it, especially as the subject has escaped the no- 
 tice of all the historians. 
 
 By an act of the king (James Vlth.) and 
 privy council of the 10th of December, 1616, it 
 was recommended to the bishops to deale and 
 travel with the heritors (landed proprietors) and 
 inhabitants of the several parishes in their re* 
 spective dioceses, towards the fixing upon 
 *' some certain, solid, and sure course," for set- 
 tling and entertaining a school in each parish. 
 This was ratified by a statute of Charles I. 
 (the act 1633, chap. 5.) which empowered the 
 bishop, with the consent of the heritors of a 
 parish, or of a majority of the inhabitants, if the 
 
 heritors
 
 350 APPENDIX. No. I. Note A. 
 
 heritors refused to attend the meeting, to assess 
 every plough of land (that is, every farm in pro- 
 portion to the number of ploughs upon it) with 
 a certain sum for establishing a school. This 
 was an ineffectual provision, as depending on 
 the consent and pleasure of the heritors and in- 
 habitants. Therefore a new order of things 
 was introduced by Stat. 1646, chap. 17, which 
 obliges the heritors and minister of each parish 
 to meet and assess the several heritors with the 
 requisite sum for building a school-house, and 
 to elect a school-master, and modify a salary 
 for him in all time to come. The salary is or- 
 dered not to be under one hundred, nor above 
 two hundred merks, that is, in our present 
 sterling money, not under 5/. 11*. lid. nor 
 above \\l. 2*. Zd. ; and the assessment is to be 
 laid on the land in the same proportion as it is 
 rated for the support of the clergy, and as it 
 regulates the payment of the land-tax.* But in 
 case the heritors of any parish, or the majority 
 of them, should fail to discharge this duty, then 
 the persons forming what is called the Com- 
 mittee of Supply of the county, (consisting of 
 
 the 
 
 * Dr. Currie must have misunderstood his authorities on 
 this point. The school-salaries are, indeed, assessed in the 
 same way as the land-tax ; but the stipends of the clergy are 
 paid from the tiends, as directed to be valued and commuted 
 by a decreet arbitral of King Charles I. G. B.
 
 Note A. APPENDIX. No. f. 351 
 
 the principal landholders) or any Jive of theniy 
 are authorized by the statute to impose the as- 
 sessment instead of them, on the representation 
 of the presbytery in which the parish is situ- 
 ated. To secure the choice of a proper teacher, 
 the right of election by the heritors, by a statute 
 passed in 1693, chap. 22, is made subject to the 
 review and control of the presbytery of the 
 district, who have the examination of the per- 
 son proposed committed to them, both as to his 
 qualifications as a teacher, and as to his proper 
 deportment in the office when settled in it. The 
 election of the heritors is therefore only a pre- 
 sentment of a person for the approbation of the 
 presbytery, who, if they find him unfit, may de- 
 clare his incapacity, and thus oblige them to 
 elect anew. So far is stated on unquestionable 
 authority.* 
 
 The legal salary of the school-master was not 
 inconsiderable at the time it was fixed, but by 
 the decrease in the value of money, it is now 
 certainly inadequate to its object; and it is 
 painful to observe, that the landholders of Scot- 
 land resisted the humble application of the 
 school-masters to the legislature for its increase, 
 
 a 
 
 * The authority of A. Frazer Tytler, and David Hume, 
 Esqrs.
 
 352 APPENDIX. No. I. JNote A. 
 
 a few years ago.* The number of parishes in 
 Scotland is 877 ; and if we allow the salary of 
 a school-master in each to be, on an average, 
 seven pounds sterling, the amount of the legal 
 provision will be 6,139/. sterling. If we suppose 
 the wages paid by the scholars to amount to 
 twice this sum, which is probably beyond the 
 truth, the total of the expenses among 1,526,492 
 persons, (the whole population of Scotland) of 
 this most important establishment, will be 
 18,417/. But on this, as well as on other sub- 
 jects respecting Scotland, accurate information 
 may soon be expected from Sir John Sinclair's 
 Analysis of his Statistics, which will complete 
 the immortal monument he has reared to his 
 
 patriotism. 
 
 The 
 
 * In the year 1803, an Act of Parliament was passed 
 " for making better provision for the Parochial School-masters 
 of Scotland," by which their salaries are fixed, for the twenty- 
 five years after the passing of the Act, at not less than 300 
 merks, nor more than 400 merks, with a garden of one-fourth 
 of a Scots acre ; or where that cannot be given " without 
 great loss and inconvenience," the school-master is to be al- 
 lowed the value of two bolls of oat-meal in lieu thereof, 
 which, for the first twenty-five years, is fixed at twenty-five 
 merks. The Act provides that at the end of every succeed- 
 ing twenty-five years, the school-salaries shall be fixed at the 
 value of not less than twenty-four, nor more than thirty-two 
 bolls of oat-meal, (140lbs. per boll), ascertained by the average 
 of the preceding twenty-five years, beside the garden, or al- 
 lowance for it, at the then price of meal. G. B.
 
 Note A. APPENDIX. No. I. 353 
 
 The benefit arising in Scotland from the in- 
 struction of the poor was soon felt, and by an 
 act of the British Parliament 4 Geo. I. chap. 6, 
 it is enacted, *' that of the moneys arising from 
 the sale of the Scottish estates forfeited in the 
 rebellion of 1715, 2000/. sterling shall be con- 
 verted into a capital stock, the interest of which 
 shall be laid out in erecting and maintaining 
 schools in the Highlands. The Society for 
 propagating Christian Knowledge, incorporated 
 in 1709, have applied a large part of their fund 
 for the same purpose. By their report, 1st May, 
 1795, the annual sum employed by them in 
 supporting their schools in the Highlands and 
 Islands, was 3,9 13Z. 19^. 10c?. in which are taught 
 the English language, reading and writing, and 
 the principles of religion. The schools of the 
 society are additional to the legal schools, which 
 from the great extent of many of the Highland 
 parishes, were found insufficient. Besides these 
 established schools, the lower classes of people 
 in Scotland, where the parishes are large, often 
 combine together and establish private schools 
 of their own, at one of which it was that Burns 
 received the principal part of his education. 
 So convinced, indeed, are the poor people of 
 Scotland, by experience, of the benefit of in- 
 struction to their children, that though they 
 may often find it difficult to feed and clothe 
 
 them, 
 
 VOL. I. 2 a
 
 354 APPENDIX. No. I. Note A. 
 
 then), some kind of school instruction they al- 
 most always procure them. 
 
 The influence of the school-establishment of 
 Scotland on the peasantry of that country, 
 seems to have decided by experience a question 
 of legislation of the utmost importance — whe- 
 ther a system of national instruction for the 
 poor be favorable to morals and good govern- 
 ment. In the year 1698, Fletcher of Saltoun 
 declared as follows : *' There are at this day in 
 Scotland, two hundred thousand people beg- 
 ging from door to door. And though the num- 
 ber of them be perhaps double to what it was 
 formerly, by reason of this present great dis- 
 tress, (a famine then prevailed), yet in all times 
 there have been about one hundred thousand 
 of those vagabonds, who have lived without 
 any regard or subjection either to the laws of 
 the land, or even those of God and nature; 
 fathers incestuously accompanying with their 
 own daughters, the son with the mother, and 
 the brother with the sister." He goes on to 
 say, that no magistrate ever could discover that 
 they had ever been baptized, or in what way 
 one in a hundred went out of the world. He 
 accuses them as frequently guilty of robbery, 
 and sometimes of murder. *' In years of plenty," 
 says he, " many thousands of them meet toge- 
 ther in the mountains, where they feast and 
 
 riot
 
 Note A. APPENDIX. No. I. 355 
 
 riot for many days, and at country weddings 
 markets, burials, and other public occasions, 
 they are to be seen, both men and women, per- 
 petually drunk, cursing, blaspheming, and 
 fighting together."* This high-minded states- 
 man, of whom it is said by a contemporary, 
 " that he would lose his life readily to save his 
 country, and would not do a base thing to serve 
 it," thought the evil so great, that he proposed 
 as a remedy, the revival of domestic slavery, 
 according to the practice of his adored republics 
 in the classic ages ! A better remedy has been 
 found, which in the silent lapse of a century 
 has proved effectual. The statute of 1696, the 
 noble legacy of the Scottish Parliament to 
 their country, began soon after this to operate; 
 and happily, as the minds of the poor received 
 instruction, the union opened new channels of 
 industry, and new fields of action to their 
 view. 
 
 At the present day, there is perhaps no coun- 
 try in Europe, in which, in proportion to its 
 population, so small a number of crimes fall 
 under the chastisement of the criminal law, as 
 Scotland. We have the best authority for as- 
 
 2 A 2 serting, 
 
 * Political Works of Andrew Fletcher, octavo, London, 
 1737, />. 144.
 
 356 APPENDIX. No. I. Note A. 
 
 serting, that on an average of thirty years pre- 
 ceding- the year 1797, the executions in that 
 division of the island did not amount to six 
 annually ; and one quarter sessions for the town 
 of Manchester only, has sent, according to Mr. 
 Hume, more felons to the plantations, than all 
 the judges of Scotland usually do in the space 
 of a year.* It might appear invidious to at- 
 tempt a calculation of the many thousand indi- 
 viduals in Manchester and its vicinity, who 
 can neither read nor write. A majority of 
 those who suffer the punishment of death for 
 their crimes, in every part of England, are, it is 
 believed, in this miserable state of ignorance ! 
 
 There is now a legal provision for parochial 
 schools, or rather for a school in each of the 
 different townships into which the country is 
 divided, in several of the northern states of 
 North America. They are, however, of recent 
 origin there, excepting in New England, where 
 they were established in the last century, pro- 
 bably about the same time as in Scotland, and 
 by the same religious sect. In the protestant 
 cantons of Switzerland, the peasantry have the 
 advantage of similar schools, though establish- 
 ed 
 
 * Hume's Commentaries on the Laws of Scotland, Introd, 
 p. 50.
 
 Note A. APPENDIX. No. 1. 357 
 
 ed and endowed in a different manner. This is 
 also the case in certain districts in England, 
 particularly in the northern parts of Yorkshire 
 and of Lancashire, and in the counties of West- 
 moreland and Cumberland. 
 
 A law providing for the instruction of the 
 poor was passed by the Parliament of Ireland ; 
 but the fund was diverted from its purpose, 
 and the measure was entirely frustrated. Pioh 
 pudor ! 
 
 The similarity of character between the Swiss 
 and the Scotch, and between the Scotch and 
 the people of New-England, can scarcely be 
 overlooked. That it arises in a great measure 
 from the similarity of their institutions for in- 
 struction, cannot be questioned. It is no doubt 
 increased by physical causes. With a superior 
 degree of instruction, each of these nations 
 possesses a country that may be said to be 
 sterile, in the neighbourhood of countries com- 
 paratively rich. Hence emigrations and the 
 other effects on conduct and character which 
 such circumstances naturally produce. This 
 subject is in a high degree curious. The points 
 of dissimilarity between these nations might be 
 traced to their causes also, and the whole inves- 
 tigation would perhaps admit of an approach 
 to certainty in our conclusions, to which such 
 
 inquiries
 
 358 APPENDIX. No. I. Note B. 
 
 inquiries seldom lead. How much superior in 
 morals, in intellect, and in happiness, the pea- 
 santry of those parts of England are, who have 
 opportunities of instruction, to the same class 
 in other situations, those who inquire into the 
 subject will speedily discover. The peasantry 
 of Westmoreland, and of the other districts 
 mentioned above, if their physical and moral 
 qualities be taken together, are, in the opinion 
 of the Editor, superior to the peasantry of any 
 part of the island. 
 
 Note B. See p. 7. 
 
 Ft has been supposed that Scotland is less 
 populous and less improved on account of this 
 emigration ; but such conclusions are doubtful, 
 if not wholly fallacious. The principle of po- 
 pulation acts in no country to the full extent 
 of its power: marriage is every where retarded 
 beyond the period pointed out by nature, by 
 the difficulty of supporting a family ; and this 
 obstacle is greatest in long-settled communities. 
 The emigration of a part of a people facilitates 
 the marriage of the rest, by producing a relative 
 increase in the means of subsistence. The ar- 
 guments of Adam Smith for a free export of 
 corn, are perhaps applicable with less exception 
 to the free export of people. The more certain 
 Ihe vent the greater the cultivation of the soil. 
 
 This
 
 Note B. APPENDIX. No. I. 359 
 
 This subject has been well investigated by Sir 
 James Stewart, whose principles have been 
 expanded and further illustrated in a late truly 
 philosophical Essay on Population. In fact 
 Scotland has increased in the number of its in- 
 habitants in the last forty years, as the Statistics 
 of Sir John Sinclair clearly prove, but not in 
 the ratio that some had supposed. The extent 
 of the emigration of the Scotch may be calcu- 
 lated with some degree of confidence from the 
 proportionate number of the two sexes in Scot- 
 land ; a point that may be established pretty 
 exactly by an examination of the invaluable 
 Statistics already mentioned. If we suppose 
 that there is an equal number of male as female 
 natives of Scotland alive, some where or ot/ier, 
 the excess by which the females exceed the 
 males in their own country may be considered 
 to be equal to the number of Scotsmen living 
 out of Scotland. But though the males born 
 in Scotland be admitted to be as 13 to 12, and 
 though some of the females emigrate as well 
 as the males, this mode of calculating would 
 probably make the number of expatriated Scots- 
 men, at any one time alive, greater than the truth. 
 The unhealthy climates into which they emigrate, 
 the hazardous services in which so many of them 
 engage, render the mean life of those who leave 
 Scotland (to speak in the language of calcula- 
 tors) not perhaps of half the value of the mean 
 life of those who remain. 
 
 Note
 
 360 APPENDIX. No. I. Note C. 
 
 Note C. See p, 20. 
 
 In the punishment of this offence the church 
 employed formerly the arm of the civil power. 
 During the reign of James the VI th, (James the 
 1st of England) criminal connexion between 
 unmarried persons was made the subject of a 
 particular statute, (see Hume's Commentaries 
 on the Laws of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 332) which 
 from its rigour, was never much enforced, and 
 which has long fallen into disuse. When in the 
 middle of the last century, the Puritans suc- 
 ceeded in the overthrow of the monarchy in both 
 divisions of the island, fornication was a crime 
 against which they directed their utmost zeal. 
 It was made punishable with death in the second 
 instance. (See JBlackstone, h. iv. chap. 4, No. \\.) 
 Happily this sanguinary statute was swept away 
 along with the other acts of the Commonwealth, 
 on the restoration of Charles II. to whose tem- 
 per and manners it must have been peculiarly 
 abhorrent. And after the Revolution, when 
 several salutary acts, passed during the sus- 
 ?pension of the monarchy, were re-enacted by the 
 Scottish parliament, particularly that for the 
 establishment of parish schools, the statute 
 punishing fornication with death, was suffered 
 to sleep in the grave of the stern fanatics who 
 had given it birth. 
 
 Note
 
 Note D. APPENDIX. No. I. 361 
 
 Note D. See p. 22. 
 
 The legitimation of children by subsequent 
 marriage, became the Roman law under the 
 Christian emperors. It was the canon law of 
 modern Europe, and has been established in 
 Scotland from a very remote period. Thus a 
 child born a bastard, if his parents afterwards 
 marry, enjoys all the privileges of seniority 
 over his brothers afterwards born in wedlock. 
 In the parliament of Merton, in the reign of 
 Henry III. the English clergy made a vigorous 
 attempt to introduce this article into the law 
 of England, and it was on this occasion that 
 the Barons made the noted answer, since so 
 often appealed to : Quod nolunt leges Anglice 
 mutare ; quce hue usque usitatce sunt et approhatce. 
 With regard to what constitutes a marriage, 
 the law of Scotland, as explained jo. 21, differs 
 from the Roman law, which required the cere- 
 mony to be performed in facie ecclesiee. 
 
 No. II,
 
 362 
 
 No. II 
 
 Note A. See p. 42. 
 
 It may interest some persons to peruse the 
 first poetical production of our bard, and it is 
 therefore extracted from a kind of common-place 
 book which he seems to have begun in his twen- 
 tieth year; and which he entitled, " Observa- 
 tions, Hints, Songs, Scraps of Poetry, Sfc. by 
 Robert Burness, a man who had little art in 
 making money, and still less in keeping it; but 
 was however a man of some sense, a great deal 
 of honesty, and unbounded good-will to every 
 creature, rational or irrational. As he was but 
 little indebted to a scholastic education, and 
 bred at a plough-tail, his performances must be 
 strongly tinctured with his unpolished rustic 
 way of life ; but as, I believe, they are really 
 his own, it may be some entertainment to a 
 curious observer of human nature, to see how 
 
 a ploughman
 
 Note A. APPENDIX. No. 11. 363 
 
 a ploughman thinks and feels, under the pressure 
 of love, ambition, anxiety, grief, with the like 
 cares and passions, which, however diversified 
 by the modes and manners of life, operate pretty 
 much alike, I believe, in all the species." 
 
 " Pleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace 
 The forms our pencil, or our pen design'd. 
 Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face. 
 Such the soft image of the youthful mind." 
 
 Shenstone. 
 
 This MS. book, to which our poet prefixed 
 this account of himself, and of his intention in 
 preparing it, contains several of his earlier 
 poems, some as they were printed, and others 
 in their embryo state. The song alluded to is 
 as follows: 
 
 Tune—^ I AM A MAN UNMARRIED.' 
 
 O once I lov'd a bonnie lass. 
 
 Ay, and I love her still, 
 And whilst that virtue warms a)y breast, 
 
 I'll love my handsome Nell. 
 
 Tal lal de raly Sfc. 
 
 As bonnie lasses I hae seen. 
 
 And mony full as braw, 
 But for a modest gracefu' mien 
 
 The like I never saw. 
 
 A boiujie
 
 364 APPENDIX. No. IL Note A. 
 
 A bonnie lass, 1 will confess, 
 
 Is pleasant to the e'e, 
 But without some better qualities 
 
 She's no a lass for me. 
 
 But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet, 
 
 And what is best of a', 
 Her reputation is complete, 
 
 And fair without a flaw. 
 
 She dresses ay sae clean and neat, 
 
 Both decent and genteel ; 
 And then there's something in her gait 
 
 Gars ony dress look weel. 
 
 A gaudy dress and gentle air 
 
 May slightly touch the heart, 
 But it's innocence and modesty 
 
 That polishes the dart. 
 
 'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
 
 'Tis this enchants my soul ; 
 For absolutely in my breast 
 
 She reigns without control. 
 
 Till lal de ral, S^x. 
 
 It must be confessed that these lines give no 
 indication of the future s^enius of Burns ; but he 
 himself seems to have been fond of them, pro- 
 bably from the recollections they excited. 
 
 Note
 
 Note B. APPENDIX. No. II. 365 
 
 Note B. Seep.5± 
 
 At the time that our poet took the resolution 
 of becoming wise, he procured a little book of 
 blank paper, with the purpose (expressed on 
 the first page) of making farming memorandums 
 upon it. These farming memorandums are 
 curious enough ; many of them have been writ- 
 ten with a pencil and are now obliterated, or at 
 least illegible. A considerable number are 
 however legible, and a specimen may gratify the 
 reader. It must be premised that the poet 
 kept the book by him several years — that he 
 wrote upon it, here and there, with the utmost 
 irregularity, and that on the same page are 
 notations very distant from each other as to 
 time and place. 
 
 *>u- -^ -V- •V- ^ 
 
 w w w w w 
 
 Aprils 1782. 
 EXTEMPORE. 
 
 why the deuce should I repine, 
 And be an ill foreboder; 
 
 I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine, 
 I'll p^o and be a sodger. 
 
 1 gat some gear wi' meikle care, 
 
 I held it weel thegither ; 
 But now it's gane, and something mair, 
 I'll go and be a sodger. 
 
 FRAGMENT.
 
 366 APPENDIX. No. II. Note li. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 Tune — ' Donald Blue.' 
 
 O leave novels, je Mauchliiie belles, 
 Ye're safer at your spinning wheel ; 
 
 Such witching books are baited hooks 
 For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 Sing tal lal lay,, Sfc. 
 
 Your fine Tom Jones, and Grandisons, 
 They make your youthful fancies reel ; 
 
 They heat your brains, and fire jour veins, 
 And then you're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung ; 
 
 A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
 That feeling heart but acts a part, 
 
 'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 
 
 The frank address, the soft caress, 
 Are worse than poison'd darts of steel, 
 
 The frank address, and politesse, 
 Are all finesse in Rob Mossariel. 
 
 For he's far aboon Dunkel the night 
 Maun white the stick and a' that. 
 
 Mem. To get for Mr. Johnston these two 
 songs : 
 
 ' Molly,
 
 Note B. APPENDIX. No. IJ. 367 
 
 * Molly y Molly y my dear honey.' — ' The cock 
 and the hen, the deer in her den.' &c. 
 
 ^ -tP * w * w 
 
 Ah Chloris ! Sir Peter Halket, of Pitferran, 
 the author. Note he married her — the heiress 
 of Pitferran. 
 
 Colonel George Crawford, the author of 
 Down the Surn Davy. 
 
 Pifikey-house, by J. Mitchell. 
 
 My apron Dearie! and Amynta, by Sir 
 G. Elliot. 
 
 Willie was a wanton JVag, was made on 
 Walkinshaw of Walkinshaw, near Paisley. 
 
 / loe na a laddie hut ane, Mr. Clunzee. 
 
 The bonnie wee thing — beautiful. — Lundie's 
 Dream — very beautiful. 
 
 He tiirt arid she tilVt — assez bien. 
 
 Armstrong's Fareivell — fine. 
 
 The author of the Highland Queen^ was a 
 Mr. M'lver, purser of the Solboy. 
 
 Fife
 
 368 APPENDIX. No. [I. Note. C. 
 
 Fife and a the land about it, R. Fergusson. 
 
 The author of The Bush aboon Traquair, 
 was a Dr. Stewart. 
 
 Pohvart on the Green, composed by Captain 
 John Drummond M'Gregor of Boehaldie. 
 
 Mem. To inquire if Mr. Cockburn was the 
 author of, I hae seen the smiling, &c. 
 
 The above may serve as a specimen. All the 
 notes on farming are obliterated. 
 
 Note C. Seep. 106. 
 
 Rules and Regulations to be observed in the 
 Bachelor's Club. 
 
 1st. The club shall meet at Tarbolton every 
 fourth Monday night, when a question on any 
 subject shall be proposed, disputed points of re- 
 ligion only excepted, in the manner hereafter 
 directed ; which question is to be debated in 
 the club, each member taking whatever side he 
 thinks proper. 
 
 2nd. When the club is met, the president, 
 
 or he failing, some one of the members till he 
 
 come, shall take his seat ; then the other mem- 
 bers
 
 JNoTE C. APPENDIX. No. II. 369 
 
 bers shall seat themselves, those who are for one 
 side of the question on the president's right 
 hand, and those who are for the other side on 
 his left: which of them shall have the right 
 hand is to be determined by the president. 
 The president and four of the members being 
 present, shall have power to transact any or- 
 dinary part of the society's business. 
 
 Sd. The club met and seated, the president 
 shall read the question out of the club's book 
 of records, (which book is always to be kept 
 by the president ;) then the two members near- 
 est the president shall cast lots who of them 
 shall speak first, and according as the lot 
 shall deternune, the member nearest the presi- 
 dent on that side shall deliver his opinion, and 
 the member nearest on the other side shall 
 reply to him ; then the second member of the 
 side that spoke first, then the second member 
 of the side that spoke second, and so on to the 
 end of the company ; but if there be fewer 
 members on one side than on the other, when 
 all the members of the least side have spoken 
 according to their places, any of them, as they 
 please among themselves, may reply to the 
 remaining members of the opposite side : when 
 both sides have spoken, the president shall give 
 his opinion, after which they may go over it a 
 
 second 
 VOL. I. 2 b
 
 370 APPENDIX. No. II. Note C. 
 
 second or more times, and so continue the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 4th. The club shall then proceed to the 
 choice of a question for the subject of next 
 night's meeting*. The president shall first pro- 
 pose one, and any other member who chuses 
 may propose more questions ; and whatever 
 one of them is most agreeable to the majority 
 of the members, shall be the subject of debate 
 next club-night. 
 
 5th. The club shall lastly elect a new presi- 
 dent for the next meeting : the president shall 
 first name one, then any of the club may name 
 another, and whoever of them has the majority 
 of votes, shall be duly elected ; allowing the 
 president the first vote and the casting vote, 
 upon a par, but none other. Then after a 
 general toast to the mistresses of the club, they 
 shall dismiss. 
 
 6th. There shall be no private conversation 
 carried on during the time of debate, nor shall 
 any member interrupt another while he is speak- 
 ing, under the penalty of a reprimand from the 
 president for the first fault, doubling his share 
 of the reckoning for the second, trebling it for 
 the third, and so on in proportion for every 
 other fault ; provided always however that any 
 
 member
 
 JVoTE C. APPENDIX. No. II. 371 
 
 member may speak at any time after leave asked 
 and given by the president. All swearing and 
 profane language, and particularly all obscene 
 and indecent conversation is strictly prohibited, 
 under the same penalty as aforesaid in the first 
 clause of this article. 
 
 7th. No member, on any pretence whatever, 
 shall mention any of the club's affairs to any 
 other person but a brother member, under the 
 pain of being excluded ; and particularly if any 
 member shall reveal any of the speeches or 
 affairs of the club with a view to ridicule or 
 laugh at any of the rest of the members, he 
 shall be for ever excommunicated from the 
 society : and the rest of the members are desir- 
 ed, as much as possible, to avoid, and have no 
 communication with him as a friend or com- 
 rade. 
 
 8th. Every member shall attend at the meet- 
 ings without he can give a proper excuse for 
 not attending; and it is desired that every one 
 who cannot attend, will send his excuse with 
 some other member ; and he who shall be ab- 
 sent three meetings without sending such 
 excuse, shall be summoned to the next club 
 night, when if he fail to appear, or send an ex- 
 cuse, he shall be excluded. 
 
 2 B 2 9th.
 
 372 APPENDIX. No. 11. Note D. 
 
 9tli. The club shall not consist of more than 
 sixteen members, all bachelors, belonging to the 
 parish of Tarbolton ; except a brother member 
 marry, and in that case he may be continued, if 
 the majority of the club think proper. No per- 
 son shall be admitted a member of this society 
 without the unanimous consent of the club ; and 
 any member may withdraw from the club alto- 
 gether, by giving a notice to the president in 
 writing of his departure. 
 
 10th. Every man proper for a member of this 
 Society, must have a frank, honest, open heart, 
 above any thing dirty or mean ; and must be a 
 professed lover of one or more of the female 
 sex. No haughty, self-conceited person, who 
 looks upon himself as superior to the rest of 
 the club, and especially no mean-spirited, 
 worldly mortal, whose only will is to heap up 
 money, shall upon any pretence whatever be 
 admitted. In short, the proper person for this 
 society is, a cheerful, honest-hearted lad; who, 
 if he has a friend that is true, and a mistress 
 that is kind, and as much wealth as genteelly 
 to make both ends meet — is just as happy as 
 this world can make him. 
 
 Note D. See p. 313. 
 
 A great number of manuscript poems were 
 
 found
 
 Note D. APPENDIX. No. I J. 373 
 
 found among the papers of Burns, addressed to 
 him by admirers of his genius, from different 
 parts of Britain, as well as from Ireland and 
 America. Among these was a poetical epistle 
 from Mr. Telford, of Shrewsbury, of superior 
 merit. It is written in the dialect of Scotland, 
 (of which country Mr. Telford is a native) and 
 in the versification generally employed by our 
 poet himself. Its object is to recommend to 
 him other subjects of a serious nature, similar 
 to that of the Cotters Saturday Night; and 
 the reader will find that the advice is happily 
 enforced by example. It would have given the 
 editor pleasure to have inserted the whole of 
 this poem, which he hopes will one day see the 
 light: he is happy to have obtained, in the 
 mean time, his friend Mr. Telford's permission 
 to insert the following extracts. 
 
 Pursue, O Burns ! thy happy style, 
 
 *' Those manner-painting strains," that while 
 
 They bear me northward mony a mile. 
 
 Recall the days. 
 When tender joys, with pleasing smile. 
 
 Blest my young ways. 
 
 I see
 
 374 APPENDIX. No. II. Note D. 
 
 I see my fond companions rise, 
 
 1 join the happy village joys, 
 
 I see our green hills touch the skies, 
 
 And thro' the woods, . 
 I hear the river's rushing noise, 
 
 Its roaring floods.* 
 
 No distant Swiss with warmer glow. 
 E'er heard his native music flow. 
 Nor could his wishes stronger grow. 
 
 Than still have mine. 
 When up this ancient mounts I go, 
 
 With songs of thine. 
 
 O happy Bard ! thy gen'rous flame. 
 Was given to raise thy country's fame. 
 For this thy charming numbers came. 
 
 Thy matchless lays ; 
 Then sing, and save her virtuous name. 
 
 To latest davs. 
 
 But 
 
 * The banks of the Esk in Dumfries-shire, are here al- 
 luded to. E. 
 
 t A beautiful little mount, which stands immediately be- 
 fore, or rather forms a part of Shrewsbury castle, a seat of 
 Sir William Pulteney, bart.
 
 Note D. APPENDIX. No. II. 375 
 
 But mony a theme awaits thy muse, 
 Fine as thy Cotters sacred views, 
 Then in such verse thy soul infuse, 
 
 With holy air, 
 And sing the course the pious chuse, 
 
 With all thy care. 
 
 How with religious awe imprest. 
 They open lay the guileless breast, 
 And youth and age with fears distrest. 
 
 All due prepare. 
 The symbols of eternal rest 
 
 Devout to share.* 
 
 How down ilk lang withdrawing hill, 
 Successive crowds the valleys fill, 
 While pure religious converse still 
 
 Beguiles the way, 
 And gives a cast to youthful will. 
 
 To suit the day. 
 
 How plac'd along the sacred board, 
 
 Their hoary pastor's looks ador'd. 
 
 His voice with peace and blessings stor'd, 
 
 Sent from above. 
 And faith, and hope, and joy afford. 
 
 And boundless love. 
 
 O'er 
 
 * The Sacrament, generally administered in the country 
 parishes of Scotland in the open air. E.
 
 376 APPENDIX. No. II. Note D. 
 
 O'er this, with warm seraphic glow, 
 Celestial beings pleased bow, 
 And, whisper'd, hear the holy vow, 
 
 'Mid gratefid tears ; 
 And mark amid such scenes below, 
 
 Their future peers. 
 ***** 
 O mark the awful, solemn scene !* 
 When hoary winter clothes the plain, 
 Along the snowy hills is seen 
 
 Approaching slow, 
 In mourning weeds, the village train, 
 
 In silent woe. 
 
 Some much-respected brother's bier, 
 (By turns in pious task they share,) 
 With heavy hearts they forward bear 
 
 Along the path ; 
 Where nei'bours saw, in dusky air,f 
 
 The light of death. 
 
 And when they pass the rocky how. 
 Where bin wood bushes o'er them flow, 
 And move around the rising knowe, 
 
 Where far away 
 The kirk yard trees are seen to grow, 
 
 By th' water brae. 
 
 Assembled 
 
 * A Scottish funeral. E. 
 
 t This alludes to a superstition prevalent in Eskdale and 
 Annandale, that a light precedes in the night every funeral, 
 marking the precise path it is to pass. E.
 
 Note D. APPENDIX. No. 11. 377 
 
 Assembled round the narrow grave, 
 While o'er them wintry tempests rave, 
 In the cold wind their grey locks wave, 
 
 As low they lay 
 Their brother's body 'mongst the lave 
 
 Of parent clay. 
 
 Expressive looks from each declare 
 The griefs within, their bosoms bear, 
 One holy bow devout they share, 
 
 Then home return, 
 And think o'er all the virtues fair 
 
 Of him they mourn. 
 
 Say how by early lessons taught, 
 (Truth's pleasing air is willing caught,) 
 Congenial to th' untainted thought, 
 
 The shepherd boy. 
 Who tends his flocks on lonely height, 
 
 Feels holy joy. 
 
 Is aught on earth so lovely known, 
 On sabbath morn and far alone. 
 His guileless soul all naked shown 
 
 Before his God — 
 Such pray'rs must welcome reach the throne. 
 
 And blest abode. 
 
 O tell !
 
 378 APPENDIX. No. II. Note D. 
 
 O tell ! with what a heartfelt joy, 
 The parent eyes the virtuous boy ; 
 And all his constant kind employ, 
 
 Is how to give 
 The best of lear he can enjoy, 
 
 As means to live. 
 
 The parish school, its curious site, 
 The master who can clear indite. 
 And lead him on to count and write, 
 
 Demand thy care ; 
 Nor pass the ploughman's school at night 
 
 Without a share. 
 
 Nor yet the tenty curious lad 
 Who o'er the ingle hings his head. 
 And begs of nei'bours books to read ; 
 
 For hence arise 
 Thy country's sons, who far are spread, 
 
 Baith bauld and wise. 
 
 The bonny lasses, as they spin, 
 
 Perhaps with Allan's sangs begin, 
 
 How Tay and Tweed smooth flowing rin 
 
 Thro' flowery hows ; 
 Where shepherd lads their sweethearts win 
 
 With earnest vows. 
 
 Or
 
 Noted. APPENDIX. No. II. 379 
 
 Or may be, Burns, thy thrilling page 
 May a' their virtuous thoughts engage, 
 While playful youth and placid age 
 
 In concert join, 
 To bless the bard, who, gay or sage. 
 
 Improves the mind. 
 
 Long may their harmless, simple ways. 
 Nature's own pure emotions raise ; 
 May still the dear romantic blaze 
 
 Of purest love, 
 Their bosoms warm to latest days. 
 
 And aye improve. 
 
 May still each fond attachment glow. 
 
 O'er woods, o'er streams, o'er hills of snow; 
 
 May rugged rocks still dearer grow, 
 
 And may their souls 
 Even love the warlock glens which through 
 
 The tempest howls. 
 
 To eternize such themes as these, 
 And all their happy manners seize. 
 Will every virtuous bosom please, 
 
 And high in fame 
 To future times will justly raise 
 
 Thy patriot name. 
 
 While
 
 380 APPENDIX. No. 11. Note D. 
 
 While all the venal tribes decay, 
 That bask in flatt ry's flaunting ray, 
 The noisome vermin of a day, 
 
 Thy works shall gain 
 O'er every mind a boundless sway, 
 
 And lasting reign. 
 
 When winter binds the harden'd plains, 
 Around each hearth, the hoary swains 
 Shall teach the rising youth thy strains, 
 
 And anxious say 
 Our blessing with our sons remains, 
 
 And BuRNs's Lay ! 
 
 No. 111.
 
 381 
 
 No. Ill 
 
 (First inserted in the Second Edition.) 
 
 The Editor has particular pleasure in present- 
 ing to the public the following letter, to the due 
 understanding of which, a few previous obser- 
 vations are necessary. 
 
 The Biographer of Burns was naturally de- 
 sirous of hearing the opinion of the friend and 
 brother of the poet, on the manner in which he 
 had executed his task, before a second edition 
 should be committed to the press. He had the 
 satisfaction of receiving this opinion, in a letter 
 dated the 24th of August, approving of the Life 
 in very obliging terms, and offering one or two 
 trivial corrections as to names and dates chiefly, 
 which are made in this edition. One or two 
 observations were offered of a different kind. 
 In the 319th page of the first volume, first edi- 
 tion, a quotation is made from the pastoral song, 
 Ettrick Banks, and an explanation given of the 
 phrase '* mony feck," which occurs in this quo- 
 tation. Supposing the sense to be complete 
 after " mony," the editor had considered " feck" 
 as a rustic oath which confirmed the assertion. 
 
 The
 
 382 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 The words were therefore separated by a comma. 
 Mr. Burns considered this as an error. " Feck," 
 he presumes is the Scottish word for quantity, 
 and " mony feck" to mean simply, very many. 
 The editor, in yielding to this authority, ex- 
 pressed some hesitation, and hinted that the 
 phrase "mony feck" was in Mr. Burns's sense 
 a pleonasm of barbarism which deformed this 
 beautiful song.* His reply to this observation 
 makes the first clause of the following letter. 
 
 In the same communication, he informed me 
 that the Mirror and the Lounger were pro- 
 posed by him to the Conversation Club of 
 Mauchline, and that he had thoughts of giving 
 me his sentiments on the remarks I had made 
 respecting the fitness of such works for such 
 societies. The observations of such a man on 
 such a subject, the editor conceived would be 
 received with particular interest by the public, 
 and having pressed earnestly for them, they 
 will be found in the following letter. Of the 
 value of this communication, delicacy towards 
 his very respectable correspondent prevents 
 
 him 
 
 * The correction made by Gilbert Burns has also been 
 suggested by a writer in the Monthly Magazine, under the 
 signature of Alboin, who for taking this trouble, and for 
 mentioning the author of the poem of Donocht-head, de- 
 sei-ves the editor's thanks.
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 383 
 
 him from expressing his opinion. The original 
 letter is in the hands of Messrs, Cadell and 
 Da vies. 
 
 Dinning, Dumfries-shire, ^Ath Oct. 1800. 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 Yours of the 17th inst. came to my 
 hand yesterday, and I sit down this afternoon 
 to write you in return ; but when I shall be 
 able to finish all I wish to say to you, I cannot 
 tell. I am sorry your conviction is not com- 
 plete respecting" feck. There is no doubt that 
 if you take two English words whicli appear 
 synonymous to 7nony feck, and judge by the 
 rules of English construction, it will appear a 
 barbarism. I believe if you take this mode of 
 translating from any language, the effect will 
 frequently be the same. But if you take the 
 expression monyfeck to have, as I have stated it, 
 the same meaning with the English expression 
 very many, (and such licence every translator 
 must be allowed, especially when he translates 
 from a simple dialect which has never been 
 subjected to rule, and where the precise mean- 
 ing of words is of consequence not minutely 
 attended to,) it will be well enough. One thing 
 I am certain of, that ours is the sense univer- 
 sally understood in this country ; and I believe 
 
 no
 
 384 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 no Scotsman who has lived contented at home, 
 pleased with the simple manners, the simple 
 melodies, and the simple dialect of his native 
 country, unvitiated by foreign intercourse, 
 " whose soul proud science never taught to 
 " stray," ever discovered barbarism in the song 
 of Ettrick Banks. 
 
 The story you have heard of the gable of my 
 father's house falling down, is simply as fol- 
 lows :* When my father built his " clay biggin," 
 be put in two stone jambs, as they are called, 
 and a lintel, carrying up a chimney in his clay 
 gable. The consequence was, that as the gable 
 subsided, the jambs remaining firm, threw it off 
 its centre, and, one very stormy morning, when 
 my brother was nine or ten days old, a little 
 before day-light, a part of the gable fell out, and 
 the rest appeared so shattered, that my mother, 
 with the young poet, had to be carried through 
 the storm to a neighbour's house, where they 
 remained a week till their own dwelling was 
 adjusted. That you may not think too meanly 
 of this house, or of my father's taste in build- 
 ing, by supposing the poet's description in the 
 Vision, (which is entirely a fancy picture,) ap- 
 plicable 
 
 * The editor had heard a report that the poet was born in 
 the midst of a storm which blew down a part of the house. 
 
 I
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 385 
 
 plicable to it, allow me to take notice to you, 
 that the house consisted of a kitchen in one 
 end, and a room in the other, with a fire-place 
 and chimney ; that my father had constructed 
 a concealed bed in the kitchen, with a small 
 closet at the end, of the same materials with the 
 house, and when altogether cast over, outside 
 and in, with lime, it had a neat, comfortable 
 appearance, such as no family of the same rank, 
 in the present improved style of living, would 
 think themselves ill lodged in. I wish likewise 
 to take notice in passing, that although the 
 " Cotter," in the Saturday Night, is an exact 
 copy of my father in his manners, his family de- 
 votion, and exhortations, yet the other parts of 
 the description do not apply to our family. 
 None of us were ever, " At service out amang 
 the neebors roun'." Instead of our depositing 
 our " sair-won penny fee," with our parents, my 
 father laboured hard, and lived with the most 
 rigid economy, that he might be able to keep 
 his children at home, thereby having an opjior- 
 tunity of watching the progress of our young 
 minds, and forming in them early habits of piety 
 and virtue ; and from this motive alone did he 
 engage in farming, the source of all his diflicul- 
 ties and distresses. 
 
 When I threatened you in my last with along 
 
 letter on the subject of the books I recom- 
 
 VOL. I. 2 mended
 
 386 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 mended to the Mauchline club, and the effects 
 of refinement of taste on the labouring classes 
 of men, I meant merely that I wished to write 
 you on that subject, with the view that in some 
 future communication to the public you might 
 take up the subject more at large, that by means 
 of your happy manner of writing, the attention 
 of people of power and influence might be fixed 
 on it. I had little expectation however that I 
 should overcome my indolence and the diffi- 
 culty of arranging my thoughts so far as to 
 put my threat in execution, till some time ago 
 before I had finished my harvest, having a call 
 from Mr. Ewart* with a message from you pres- 
 sing me to the performance of this task, I 
 thought myself no longer at liberty to decline it, 
 and resolved to set about it with my first leisure. 
 I will now therefore endeavour to lay before 
 you what has occurred to my mind on a sub- 
 ject where people capable of observation, and of 
 placing their remarks in a proper point of view, 
 have seldom an opportunity of making their re- 
 marks on real life. In doing this I may perhaps 
 be led sometimes to write more in the manner 
 of a person communicating information to you 
 which you did not know before, and at other 
 
 times 
 
 * The editor's fiiend, Mr. Peter Ewart of Manchester,
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 387 
 
 times more in the style of egotism, than I 
 would choose to do to any person in whose 
 candour, and even personal good will, 1 had 
 less confidence. 
 
 There are two several lines of study that 
 open to every man as he enters life : the one, 
 the general science of life, of duty, and of hap- 
 piness ; the other, the particular arts of his em- 
 ployment or situation in society, and the seve- 
 ral branches of knowledge therewith connected. 
 This last is certainly indispensable, as nothing 
 can be more disgraceful than ignorance in the 
 way of one's own profession ; and whatever a 
 man's speculative knowledge may be, if he is 
 ill informed there, he can neither be a useful, 
 nor a respectable, member of society. It is 
 nevertheless true, that " The proper study of 
 mankind is man ;" to consider what duties are 
 incumbent on him as a rational creature, and a 
 member of society ; how he may increase, or 
 secure his happiness ; and how he may prevent 
 or soften the many miseries incident to human 
 life. I think the pursuit of happiness is too 
 frequently confined to the endeavour after the 
 acquisition of wealth. I do not wish to be con- 
 sidered as an idle declaimer against riches, 
 which, after all that can be said against them, 
 will still be considered by men of common 
 sense as objects of importance; and poverty will 
 2 c 2 be
 
 388 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 be felt as a sore evil after all the fine things 
 that can be said of its advantages; on the con- 
 trary, I am of opinion, that a great proportion 
 of the miseries of life arise from the want of 
 economy, and a prudent attention to money, or 
 the ill-directed or intemperate pursuit of it. 
 But however valuable riches may be, as the 
 means of comfort, independence, and the plea- 
 sure of doing good to others, yet I am of opi- 
 nion that they may be, and frequently are, pur- 
 chased at too great a cost, and that sacrifices 
 are made in the pursuit which the acquisition 
 cannot compensate. I remember hearing my 
 worthy teacher, Mr. Murdoch, relate an anec- 
 dote to my father, which I think sets this mat- 
 ter in a strong light, and perhaps was the ori- 
 gin, or at least tended to promote, this way of 
 thinking in me. When Mr. Murdoch left AUo- 
 way, he w ent to teach and reside in the family 
 of an opulent farmer, who had a number of 
 sons. A neighbour coming on a visit, in the 
 course of conversation asked the father how he 
 meant to dispose of his sons. The father re- 
 plied that he had not determined. The visitor 
 said, that were he in his place he would give 
 them all good education and send them abroad, 
 (without, perhaps, having a precise idea where). 
 The father objected, that many young men lost 
 their health in foreign countries, and many their 
 lives. True, replied the visitor, but as you 
 
 have
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 389 
 
 have a number of sons, it will be strange if 
 some one of them does not live and make a 
 fortune. 
 
 Let any person who has the feelings of a 
 father comment on this story : but though few 
 will avow, even to themselves, that such views 
 govern their conduct, yet do we not daily see 
 people shipping off their sons, (and who would 
 do so by their daughters also, if there were 
 any demand for them,) that they may be rich 
 or perish ? 
 
 The education of the lower classes is seldom 
 considered in any other point of view than as 
 the means of raising them from that station to 
 which they were born, and of making a fortune. 
 I am ignorant of the mysteries of the art of ac- 
 quiring fortune without any thing to begin with, 
 and cannot calculate, with any degree of exact- 
 ness^ the difficulties to be surmounted, the mor- 
 tifications to be suffered, and the degradation 
 of character to he submitted to, in lending one's 
 self to be the minister of other people's vices, 
 or in the practice of rapine, fraud, oppression, 
 or dissimulation, in the progress; but even when 
 the wished-for end is attained, it may be ques- 
 tioned whether happiness be much increased 
 by the change. When I have seen a fortunate 
 adventurtT of the lower ranks of life, returned 
 
 from
 
 390 APPENDIX. No. HI. 
 
 from the East or West Indies, with all the hau- 
 teur of a vulgar mind accustomed to be served 
 by slaves, assuming a character, which from 
 the early habits of his life he is ill fitted to sup- 
 port; displaying magnificence, which raises the 
 envy of some, and the contempt of others ; 
 claiming an equality with the great, which they 
 are unwilling to allow ; inly pining at the pre- 
 cedence of the hereditary gentry ; maddened 
 by the polished insolence of some of the un- 
 worthy part of them ; seeking pleasure in the 
 society of men who can condescend to flatter 
 him, and listen to his absurdity for the sake of 
 a good dinner and good wine ; I cannot avoid 
 concluding, that his brother, or companion, 
 who, by a diligent application to the labours of 
 agriculture, or some useful mechanic employ- 
 ment, and the careful husbanding of his gains, 
 has acquired a competence in his station, is a 
 much happier, and, in the eye of a person who 
 can take an enlarged view of mankind, a much 
 more respectable man. 
 
 But the votaries of wealth may be considered 
 as a great number of candidates striving for a 
 few prizes, and whatever addition the successful 
 may make to their pleasure or happiness, the 
 disappointed will always have more to suffer, 
 I am afraid, than those who abide contented in 
 the station to which they were born. I wish, 
 
 therefore,
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 391 
 
 therefore, the education of the lower classes to 
 be promoted and directed to their improvement 
 as men, as the means of increasing their virtue, 
 and opening to them new and dignified sources 
 of pleasure and happiness. 1 have heard some 
 people object to the education of the lower 
 classes of men, as rendering them less useful, 
 by abstracting them from their proper business; 
 others, as tending to make them saucy to their 
 superiors, impatient of their condition, and tur- 
 bulent subjects ; while you, with more huma- 
 nity, have your fears alarmed, lest the delicacy 
 of mind, induced by that sort of education and 
 reading I recommend, should render the evils 
 of their situation insupportable to them. I wish 
 to examine the validity of each of these objec- 
 tions, beginning with the one you have men- 
 tioned. 
 
 1 do not mean to controvert your criticism of 
 my favorite books, the Mirror and Lounger, 
 although 1 understand there are people who 
 think themselves judges, who do not agree with 
 you. The acquisition of knowledge, except 
 what is connected with human life and con- 
 duct, or the particular business of his employ- 
 ment, does not appear to me to be the fittest 
 pursuit for a peasant. I would say with the 
 poet, 
 
 " How
 
 392 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 " How empty learning, and how vain is art, 
 
 Save where it guides the life, or mends the heart !" 
 
 There seems to be a considerable latitude in 
 the use of the word taste. I understand it to 
 be the perception and relish of beauty, order, 
 or any other thing, the contemplation of which 
 gives pleasure and delight to the mind. I sup- 
 pose it is in this sense you wish it to be under- 
 stood. If I am right, the taste which these 
 books are calculated to cultivate, (beside the 
 taste for fine writing, which many of the papers 
 tend to improve and to gratify) is, what is pro- 
 per, consistent, and becoming in human cha- 
 racter and conduct, as almost every paper re- 
 lates to these subjects. 
 
 I am sorry I have not these books by me, 
 that T might point out some instances. I re- 
 member two ; one, the beautiful story of La 
 Roche, where beside the pleasure one derives 
 from a beautiful simple story told in M'Kenzie's 
 happiest manner, the mind is led to taste, with 
 heart-felt rapture, the consolation to be derived, 
 in deep affliction, from habitual devotion and 
 trust in Almighty God. The other, the story 
 
 of General W , where the reader is led to 
 
 have a high relish for that firmness of mind 
 which disregards appearances, the common 
 
 forms
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 393 
 
 forms and vanities of life, for the sake of doing 
 justice in a case which was out of the reach of 
 human laws. 
 
 Allow me then to remark, that if the mora- 
 lity of these books is subordinate to the culti- 
 vation of taste; that taste, that refinement of 
 mind, and delicacy of sentiment, which they 
 are intended to give, are the strongest guard 
 and surest foundation of morality and virtue. 
 Other moralists guard, as it were, the overt 
 act; these papers, by exalting duty into senti- 
 ment, are calculated to make every deviation 
 from rectitude and propriety of conduct, pain- 
 ful to the mind, 
 
 " Whose temper'd powers 
 Refine at length, and every passion wears 
 A chaster, milder, more attractive mien." 
 
 I readily grant you that the refinement of 
 mind which I contend for, increases our sensi- 
 bility to the evils of life ; but what station of 
 life is without its evils ? There seems to be no 
 such thing as perfect happiness in this world ; 
 and we must balance the pleasure and the pain 
 which we derive from taste, before we can pro- 
 perly appreciate it in the case before us. 1 ap- 
 prehend that on a minute examination it will 
 appear, that the evils peculiar to the lower 
 ranks of life, derive their power to wound us 
 
 more
 
 394 APPENDIX. No IIJ. 
 
 more from the suggestions of false pride, and 
 the " contagion of luxury weak and vile," than 
 the refinement of our taste. It was a favorite 
 remark of my brother's, that there was no part 
 of the constitution of our nature, to which we 
 were more indebted, than that by which " cuS' 
 torn makes things familiar and easy J' (a copy 
 Mr. Murdoch used to set us to write) and there 
 is little labour which custom will not make easy 
 to a man in health, if he is not ashamed of his 
 employment, or does not begin to compare his 
 situation with those he may see going about at 
 their ease. 
 
 But the man of enlarged mind feels the re- 
 spect due to him as a man ; he has learned that 
 no employment is dishonorable in itself; that 
 while he performs aright the duties of that sta- 
 tion, in which God has placed him, he is as 
 great as a king in the eyes of Him whom he is 
 principally desirous to please ; for the man of 
 taste, who is constantly obliged to labour, must 
 of necessity be religious. If you teach him 
 only to reason, you may make him an atheist, a 
 demagogue, or any vile thing ; but, if you teach 
 him to feel, his feelings can only find their pro- 
 per and natural relief in devotion and religious 
 resignation. He knows that those people who 
 are to appearance at ease, are not without their 
 share of evils, and that even toil itself is not des- 
 titute
 
 APPENDIX. No. HI. 395 
 
 titnte of advantages. He listens to the words 
 of his favorite poet : 
 
 " O mortal man, that livest here by toil, 
 
 Cease to repine and o^rudge thy hard estate; 
 That like an emmet thou must ever moil, 
 
 Is a sad sentetice of an ancient date ; 
 And certes there is for it reason great, 
 
 Although sometimes it makes thee weep and wail, 
 And curse thy star, and early drudge and late ; 
 
 Withouten that would come an heavier bale, 
 Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale !" 
 
 And, while he repeats the words, the grateful 
 recollection comes across his mind, how often 
 he has derived ineffable pleasure from the sweet 
 song of " Nature's darling child.'' 1 can say, 
 frotn my own experience, that there is no sort 
 of farm labour inconsistent with the most re- 
 fined and pleasurable state of the mind that I 
 am acquainted with, thrashing alone excepted. 
 That, indeed, I have always considered as insup- 
 portable drudgery ; and think the ingenious 
 mechanic who invented the thrashing machine, 
 ought to have a statue among the benefactors 
 of his country, and should be placed in the 
 niche next to the person who introduced the 
 culture of potatoes into this island. 
 
 Perhaps the thing of most importance in the 
 education of the common people, is, to prevent 
 
 the
 
 396 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 the intrusion of artificial wants. I bless the 
 memory of my worthy father for almost every 
 thing in the dispositions of my mind, and my 
 habits of life, which I can approve of; and for 
 none more than the pains he took to impress 
 ray mind with the sentiment, that nothing was 
 more unworthy the character of a man, than 
 that his happiness should in the least depend on 
 what he should eat or drink. So early did he 
 impress my mind with this, that although I was 
 as fond of sweetmeats as children generally are, 
 yet [ seldom laid out any of the halfpence which 
 relations or neighbours gave me, at fairs, in the 
 purchase of them; and if I did, every mouthful 
 I swallowed was accompanied with shame and 
 remorse; and to this hour I never indulge in 
 the use of any delicacy, but I feel a considerable 
 degree of self-reproach and alarm for the degra- 
 dation of the human character. Such a habit 
 of thinking I consider as of great consequence, 
 both to the virtue and happiness of men in the 
 lower ranks of life. And thus, Sir, I am of 
 opinion, that if their minds are early and deeply 
 imprest with a sense of the dignity of man, as 
 such ; with the love of independence and of in- 
 dustry, economy and temperance, as the most 
 obvious means of making themselves indepen- 
 dent, and the virtues most becoming their 
 situation, and necessary to their happiness ; men 
 in the lower ranks of life may partake of the 
 
 pleasures
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 3f>7 
 
 pleasures to be derived from the perusal of 
 books calculated to improve the mind and 
 refine the taste, without any danger of becom- 
 ing more unhappy in their situation, or discon- 
 tented with it. Nor do I think there is any danger 
 of their becoming less useful. There are some 
 hours every day that the most constant labourer 
 is neither at work nor asleep. These hours are 
 either appropriated to amusement or to sloth. 
 If a taste for employing these hours in reading- 
 were cultivated, I do not suppose that the return 
 to labour would be more difficult. Every one 
 will allow that the attachment to idle amuse- 
 ments, or even to sloth, has as powerful a ten- 
 dency to abstract men from their proper business,^ 
 as the attachment to books ; while the one 
 dissipates the mind, and the other tends to in- 
 crease its powers of self-government. To those 
 who are afraid that the improvement of the 
 minds of the common people might be dangerous* 
 to the state, or the established order of society, 
 I would remark, that turbulence and couimo- 
 tion are certainly very inimical to the feelings 
 of a refined mind. Let the matter be brought 
 to the test of experience and observation. Of 
 what description of people are mobs and in- 
 surrections composed? Are they not universally 
 owing to the want of enlargement and improve- 
 ment of mind among the common people? Nay, 
 let any one recollect the characters of those who 
 
 formed
 
 398 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 formed the calmer and more deliberate associ- 
 ations, which lately gave so much alarm to the 
 government of this country. I suppose few of 
 the common people who were to be found in 
 such societies, had the education and turn of 
 mind I have been endeavouring to recommend. 
 Allow me to suggest one reason for endeavour- 
 ing to enlighten the minds of the common 
 people. Their moral s have hitherto been guarded 
 by a sort of dim religious awe, which from a 
 variety of causes seems wearing off. I think 
 the alteration in this respect considerable, in 
 the short })eriod of my observation. [ have 
 already given my opinion of the effects of re- 
 finement of mind on morals and virtue. When- 
 ever vulgar minds begin to shake off the dogmas 
 of the religion in which they have been educated, 
 the progress is quick and immediate, to down- 
 right infidelity ; and nothing but refinement of 
 mind can enable them to distinguish between 
 the pure essence of religion, and the gross sys- 
 tems which men have been perpetually connect- 
 ing it with. In addition to what has already 
 been done for the education of the common 
 people of this country, in the establishment of 
 parish schools, I wish to see the salaries aug- 
 mented in some proportion to the present expense 
 of living, and the earnings of people of similar 
 rank, endowments, and usefulness in society; 
 and 1 hope that the liberality of the present age 
 
 will 
 
 I
 
 APPENDIX. No. III. 399 
 
 will be no longer disgraced by refusing, to so 
 useful a class of men, such encouragement as 
 may make parish schools worth the attention of 
 men fitted for the important duties of that of- 
 fice. Jn filling np the vacancies, I would have 
 more attention paid to the candidate's capacity 
 of reading the English language with grace and 
 propriety ; to his understanding thoroughly, 
 and having a high relish for the beauties of En- 
 glish authors, both in poetry and prose ; to that 
 good sense and knowledge of human nature 
 which would enable him to acquire some in- 
 fluence on the minds and affections of his scho- 
 lars ; to the general worth of his character, and 
 the love of his king and his country, than to his 
 proficiency in the knowledge of Latin and Greek. 
 1 would then have a sort of high English class 
 established, not only for the purpose of teaching 
 the pupils to read in that graceful and agreeable 
 manner that might make them fond of reading, 
 but to make them understand what they read, 
 and discover the beauties of the author in com- 
 position and sentiment. I would have estabh'shed 
 in every parish a small circulating library, con- 
 sisting of the books which the young people 
 had read extracts from in the collections they 
 had read at school, and any other books well 
 calculated to refine the mind, improve the moral 
 feelings, recommend the practice of virtue, and 
 communicate such knowledge as might be use- 
 ful
 
 400 APPENDIX. No. III. 
 
 fill and suitable to the labouring classes of men. 
 I would have the schoolmaster act as librarian, 
 and in recommending books to his young- friends, 
 formerly his pupils, and letting in the light of 
 them upon their young minds, he should have 
 the assistance of the minister. If once such 
 education were become general, the low delights 
 of the public house, and other scenes of riot 
 and depravity would be contemned and ne- 
 glected, while industry, order, cleanliness, and 
 every virtue which taste and independence of 
 inind could recommend, would prevail and 
 flourish. Thus possessed of a virtuous and 
 enlightened populace, with high delight 1 
 should consider my native country as at the 
 head of all the nations of the earth, ancient or 
 modern. 
 
 Thus, Sir, have I executed my threat to the 
 fullest extent, in regard to the length of my 
 letter. If I had not presumed on doing it more 
 to my liking, I should not have undertaken it ; 
 but I have not time to attempt it anew ; or, if I 
 would, am I certain that I should succeed any 
 better? I have learned to have less confidence 
 in my capacity of writing on such subjects. 
 
 I beg you will present my most respectful 
 compliments to Mrs. Currie, and remember me 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe, and Mr. Roscoe, jun. 
 
 whose
 
 APPENDIX. No. m. 401 
 
 whose kind attentions to me, when in Liver- 
 pool, I shall never forget. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient, 
 and much obliged, 
 humble servant, 
 
 Gilbert Burns. 
 
 To James Currie, M. D. F. R. S. 
 Liverpool. 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 2 D No. IV.
 
 402 
 
 No. IV. 
 
 Additional Remarks on the Causes which con- 
 tributed to the Formation of the peculiar 
 Character of the Peasantry of Scotland, hy 
 Gilbert Sums. 
 
 It is to the credit of the present age, that much 
 attention has been lately paid to the education 
 of the lower classes of the community; and 
 frequently, when that subject has been written 
 or spoken of, the regular and steady character 
 of the Scottish peasantry has been mentioned 
 as an instance of the good effects of education. 
 It is not my intention in these remarks to at- 
 tempt to blazon the character of my country- 
 men, or to make an unprofitable display of 
 national partiality ; but as the lower classes of 
 Scotland seem to be generally allowed to pos- 
 sess, in a superior degree to the same classes in 
 most other countries, the character of an intel- 
 ligent, thinking, steady people, it is my wish 
 to point out what appears to me, from an inti- 
 mate
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 403 
 
 mate observation of more than forty years, the 
 source whence these qualities have been de- 
 rived, and the particuhir kind of education 
 which has tended to produce that superiority 
 of character. This superiority, when noticed, 
 has uniformly been attributed to the effect of 
 the establishment of Parish Schools, which 
 has given such easy access to a certain degree 
 of education among the lower classes in Scot- 
 land ; but, from experience and observation, I 
 am convinced that school education is but one, 
 and that not the principal source of the amelio- 
 ration of the Scottish national character. 
 
 It is to the operation of the religious princi- 
 ple — the standard of manners that was erected 
 — and the strictness, and even austerity of 
 moral conduct, introduced at the Reformation, 
 to which any superiority that may be found in 
 the national character of Scotland is princi- 
 pally to be attributed. I am far from wishing 
 to depreciate the effects of education among 
 the lower classes, to whom I most ardently 
 wish it extended over the whole earth, particu- 
 larly in every corner of the Britisli dominions 
 and connexions ; but I think it extremely ques- 
 tionable, whether it is not calculated to do as 
 much harm as good, if not accompanied with 
 that strict religious education and discipline 
 which happily attended the establishment of 
 2 D 2 parochial
 
 404 APPENDIX. No. IV. 
 
 parochial schools in Scotland. It is a curious 
 circumstance, that in an Act of the Scots Par- 
 liament, in the year 1579, respecting vagabonds, 
 scholars of the universities of St. Andrew's, 
 Aberdeen, and Glasgow, are mentioned in the 
 enumeration of vagrant classes. As it is not 
 very long, [ shall quote an abstract of that 
 Act, both as an instance of the inefficacy of 
 mere school education for producing good 
 morals, and as it tends to corroborate that view 
 of the state of society in Scotland given by 
 Fletcher, of Saltoun, as quoted by Dr. Currie 
 in the Appendix. — " That all vagabonds and 
 strong and idle beggars, betwixt the age of 
 fourteen and seventy, be apprehended and 
 brought before the magistrates within Burgh 
 and in Landward parishes, before him who 
 shall be constituted Justice by the King's com- 
 mission, or by the Lords of Regality within 
 their jurisdiction, and be committed to prison, 
 in stocks or irons, until they be put to the 
 knowledge of an assize, which shall be done 
 within six days of their imprisonment; and, 
 upon conviction, to be scourged and burnt 
 through the ear with a hot iron, unless some 
 creditable and responsal man be contented to 
 enact himself before the Judge, under the pe- 
 nalty of 20/., to take and keep the offender in 
 his service, he bringing the uflender to the head 
 court of the jurisdiction at the year's end; and 
 
 if
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 405 
 
 if the offender desert his service within the 
 year, he shall be scourged and burnt through 
 the ear as aforesaid ; and if after sixty days the 
 offender be again found following his idle and 
 vagabond course of life, he shall suffer the 
 pain of death as a thief And it is declared, 
 that under vagabonds and strong and idle beg- 
 gars are comprehended all vagrants using 
 subtle, crafty, and unlawful plays, as jugglery, 
 fast and loose, and such like, Egyptians, and 
 those that feign themselves to have knowledge 
 of charms, prophecy, &c., all persons able to 
 work, alleging themselves to have been berried 
 or burnt out of their houses in some distant 
 part of the realm, or alleging themselves to be 
 banished for slaughter and other wicked deeds, 
 minstrels, songsters, and tale-tellers not in the 
 service of any of the Lords of Parliament or 
 great Burghs, counterfeiters of licences to beg, 
 or using the same, knowing them to be coun- 
 terfeited, vagabond scholars of the universities 
 of St. Andrew's, Aberdeen, and Glasgoiv, not 
 licensed to ask alms, mariners alleging them- 
 selves to be shipwrecked, without having suffi- 
 cient testimonials, and in general all idle per- 
 sons able to work, who can give no account 
 how they get a lawful living. That there be 
 certain persons appointed in every burgh and 
 parish, by the magistrates of the burgh, and 
 Judge appointed by the King in landward pa- 
 rishes,
 
 406 APPENDIX. No. TV. 
 
 risbes, for searching and carrying vagabonds to 
 prison at the expense of the parish. That bar- 
 bourers of vagabonds be fined not exceeding 
 5/. ; and those who impede the execution of 
 this Act are to incur the same penalty which a 
 vagabond would have incurred upon convic- 
 tion. And, lastly, that vagabonds imprisoned 
 as aforesaid, be supported out of the contribu- 
 tions raised in every parish for maintenance of 
 the poor." The provisions and enactments of 
 this law are certainly not calculated to give us 
 high notions of the moral state of society at the 
 time it was passed ; and the place which scho- 
 lars of the universities occupy in it, rather sur- 
 prises us, who are accustomed to expect al- 
 most uniformly some propriety of conduct in 
 the educated classes of society. 
 
 Legislative provision, for extending the bene- 
 fits of education to all classes, was early and 
 earnestly souglit after by the early reformers in 
 Scotland. Ten years before the passing of the 
 above quoted Act of Parliament, Knox and 
 his associates, in their first Book of Discipline, 
 (prepared by them with the view of its being 
 sanctioned by the legislature), had an arrange- 
 ment for the establishment of parish schools, 
 similar to what was afterwards adopted, and 
 an extensive plan for academical education, the 
 expense of which, as well as a provision for the 
 
 support
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 407 
 
 support of the necessitous poor, was to be 
 provided for out of the property then belonging 
 to the ecclesiastic establishments, while the 
 emoluments which they proposed for them- 
 selves, as public teachers of religion, was very 
 moderate and reasonable. 
 
 Yet these are the men, whose characters have 
 been loaded with reproach, and their memories 
 treated with scorn, by too many of the very 
 people, who owe to their patriotic exertions 
 and perseverance every distinction they enjoy 
 as a moral and respectable people ; every pri- 
 vilege they enjoy as a free people ; every na- 
 tional blessing, sacred and civil, which they 
 possess. Were the deprivation of the just por- 
 tion of fame and the esteem of their country, 
 which these men are entitled to, the only thing 
 to be regretted in this case, I should probably 
 not have obtruded any remarks of mine respect- 
 ing it on the public notice. These men have 
 been long removed out of the reach of Imman 
 injury, and while living, most of them were 
 animated by far higher motives than regard to 
 the opinions of men, present or future. But 
 while such false taste, such an unjust estimate 
 of things prevails, much of the benefit which 
 the country has derived, or might derive from 
 their exertions, is counteracted, and that sober 
 sedateness of conduct and character which 
 
 they
 
 408 APPENDIX. No. IV. 
 
 they introduced into the country, discounte- 
 nanced and discouraged. 
 
 A writer in a respectable London periodical 
 publication, reviewing " Crabbe's Village," sug- 
 gests, that Goldsmith and Burns may be consi- 
 dered as fancy painters in their representations 
 of village and cottage scenes, and that Crabbe's 
 pictures are more faithful to nature. This sug- 
 gestion could not have occurred to a native of 
 Scotland, whose sons in every region of the 
 world acknowledge the fidelity of the Poet's 
 representation of the " Cotter's Saturday Night," 
 from which in distant lands they derive peculiar 
 interest, by its bringing to their minds the lively 
 recollection of the scenes of their infancy. 
 
 By repeated acts of the General Assembly 
 of the church of Scotland, from 1647 and 
 downward, family worship, as described in the 
 " Cotter's Saturday Night,"' was enjoined on all 
 heads of families ; and those who neglected this 
 injunction, were directed to be suspended from 
 communion with the church. This had the ef- 
 fect of bringing it into general use ; and, down 
 to the period of my recollection, it was, and in 
 some parts of the country, even to the present 
 time, is deemed disreputable to any head of a 
 family, in the rank of farmers or cottagers, not 
 to keep up family worship in their families at 
 
 least
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 409 
 
 Jeast once a day, and in many families it was 
 regularly kept up morning and evening, while 
 the Sabbath was observed with serious devout- 
 ness and religious awe: and in the evening of 
 that day, heads of families were generally em- 
 ployed in catechising their children and ser- 
 vants, if they had any, from the shorter cate- 
 chism, which they endeavoured to make them 
 understand as well as they could. To be able 
 to perform these exercises with any credit to 
 themselves, required a considerable acquisition 
 of religious knowledge, and exercise of both 
 the understanding and memory. It is to this 
 source that any intellectual superiority which 
 may have been discovered among the peasantry 
 of Scotland is to be traced. 
 
 In a country professing Christianity, and in 
 whose courts of justice the ultimate appeal in 
 testimony of truth is to a supposed general con- 
 viction of a day of judgment and final retribu- 
 tion in a future and spiritual state of existence, 
 it might appear unnecessary to point out the 
 tendency of such exercises and habits as I have 
 been describing, to improve the moral feeling 
 and conduct of society, were it not that ever 
 since the Restoration it has been too much the 
 fashion among the thoughtless part of the higher 
 ranks of society, and pretenders to learning and 
 philosophy, to discountenance and discourage 
 
 the
 
 410 APPENDIX. No. IV. 
 
 the serious and sober habits of former times, 
 by treating them with ridicule and scorn, as 
 low and vulgar habits, produced by fanaticism 
 and hypocrisy rather than real religion, or ra- 
 ther confounding all religion with fanaticism 
 and hypocrisy. 
 
 The progress of the French Revolution, in- 
 deed, (that instructive counterpart of the Re- 
 formation in Scotland), awakened men's minds 
 to observe the natural effects of infidelity and 
 irreligion, but still the natural inclination to be 
 freed from the restraints that religion imposes, 
 leads too many to shut their eyes upon the ad- 
 vantages of its tendency on morals, and lend a 
 deaf ear to its precepts. 
 
 To people whose minds are seriously occu- 
 pied with the great truths which religion con- 
 templates, "who have felt the power of the 
 world to come," there is no need to point out 
 the beneficial effects of the pious habits intro- 
 duced into Scotland at the Reformation ; but 
 even by such as view religion only in regard to 
 its political effects, as it tends to meliorate the 
 manners and condition of the people at large, 
 and promote the security of society ; it only 
 requires a little candid consideration to be con- 
 vinced, that the serious and pious habits I have 
 alluded to are calculated to have, and have had, 
 
 a powerful
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 411 
 
 a powerful effect in producing that sober, regu- 
 lar, and useful conduct, which has been found 
 in the people of Scotland. To be bred up 
 from infancy with the fullest conviction of the 
 existence of a God, who is the witness not only 
 of all their actions, but their inmost thoughts, 
 on whom they depend for all they enjoy or hope 
 for; who so minutely superintends the events 
 of this world, that a " sparrow falls not to the 
 ground without his notice," and who will finally 
 judge the world in righteousness. To be taught 
 from their earliest years to consider themselves 
 as in a fallen and degraded state, corrupted and 
 depraved in their natures, which an impartial 
 observation of what passes in their own minds 
 and 111 the world around them will not fail to 
 confirm ; that nevertheless there is a way by 
 which they may be reconciled to God and re- 
 stored to his favour through a Mediator whom 
 He has appointed, who has procured eternal 
 life for them, and the aid of Divine Grace, to 
 renovate the hearts and dispositions of all who 
 in humble penitence earnestly desire and seek 
 after it. To be bred up with a heartfelt un- 
 doubting conviction of all this, to have the 
 sense of these things constantly kept up on 
 the mind, by daily prayer and confession to 
 God, at stated times, both in private and in 
 family, and to pass every seventh day, from a 
 sense of its being a solemn command of God, 
 
 in
 
 412 APPENDIX. No. IV. 
 
 in diligently searching after more intimate ac- 
 quaintance with these things, and acquiring 
 the corresponding dispositions of mind, cannot 
 fail strongly to assist the natural conscience 
 powerfully to restrain from evil, and to have a 
 mighty effect in producing sober and regular 
 habits of life. To the strong hold these things 
 take upon the mind, ample testimony might be 
 borne by many an unhappy native of this coun- 
 try, who being introduced into the company of 
 the gay and thoughtless, and aspiring to be 
 reckoned genteel and foshionable, has become 
 ashamed of what he now considers the low 
 prejudices of his education; who, being seduced 
 by temptation, as well as to shew his emanci- 
 pation from his early prejudices, has embarked 
 deeply in the pursuit of unlawful pleasures, 
 still finds he cannot sin with so much ease as 
 those who have not had a religious education ; 
 that he is doomed to pursue his licentious 
 course through fearful alarms and awful fore- 
 bodings; and, when any prospect of his being 
 removed from this world occurs, he feels a hor- 
 ror of mind, which makes him consider all the 
 enjoyment of unlawful pleasure already too 
 dearly bought. 
 
 But, beside the restraining power of religious 
 principle, of that reverential awe, — that fear of 
 God which has been emphatically styled, the 
 
 " beginning
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 413 
 
 *' beginning of wisdom ;" the very discipline of 
 mind introduced by the general prevalence of 
 such serious exercises and habits, has a direct 
 and powerful tendency to produce self-com- 
 mand, sober attention, and complete prepara- 
 tion for properly discharging all the duties of 
 life. The greatest part of human duty requires 
 some sacrifice of present ease or enjoyment to 
 the prospect of procuring some future good for 
 ourselves, or satisfying the claims which others 
 have upon us, from the various relations subsist- 
 ing in society. Now, the person who has been 
 bred up with a sense of the depravity of his na- 
 ture, his perpetual danger of going wrong, and 
 of course the necessity for vigilant attention and 
 restraint on his appetites and affections ; who 
 has had his views habitually pointed to a future 
 and spiritual state of existence, which can be a 
 happy state to those only who have acquired a 
 fitness of character, " a meetness for the inhe- 
 ritance of the saints in light ;" who has an abid- 
 ing sense on his mind that *' to be carnally 
 minded is death, but to be spiritually minded 
 is life and peace ;" and who by daily stated acts 
 of devotion, and the sacred solemn and reve- 
 rential weekly observance of the Sabbath, has 
 endeavoured to keep these things in active ope- 
 ration on his mind, — must be more fitted for the 
 warfare of life, and better prepared for making 
 
 those
 
 414 APPENDIX. No. IV. 
 
 those sacrifices which duty requires, than he 
 whose mind and affections have been allowed to 
 proceed at random ; whose attention has been 
 principally occupied in supplying his personal 
 wants, and in gratifying his own selfish desires. 
 
 In the former case the mind is constantly in 
 a posture of defence, as it were, and prepared 
 for action. It is probably owing to this, as 
 much as to any thing else, that such a propor- 
 tion of the natives of Scotland are to be found 
 in confidential situations in every corner of the 
 civilized world, and that Scottish regiments 
 have acquired such honorable distinction. For 
 even when by mixing with the world, the reli- 
 gious principle may be in a great measure laid 
 aside; when by being keenly engaged in the 
 pursuit of some worldly object or advantage, 
 the eternal world may be nearly lost sight of, 
 still the discipline of mind introduced by early 
 education remains, and fits the man for adhering 
 closely to his purpose, and giving that steady 
 attention to the duties of his situation, for which 
 the natives of Scotland have been remarkable. 
 
 From a candid consideration of these state- 
 ments, I think we shall be led to assent to the 
 Poet's conclusion in the " Cotter's Saturday 
 Night," 
 
 " From
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 415 
 
 " From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur 
 springs," &c. 
 
 It is highly gratifying to observe, that so re- 
 spectable a character as the bishop of Norwich 
 takes the same view of this subject. At the 
 twelfth anniversary meeting of the British and 
 Foreign Bible Society, that reverend Prelate 
 bore the following honorable testimony to the 
 Scottish character : " That there was no people 
 on earth who have supported with more assi- 
 duity and unbounded liberality this Society, 
 than the kingdom of Scotland ; a people not so 
 remarkable for their wealth as their industry, 
 their genuine evangelical piety, their high inde- 
 pendent spirit, and their love of civil and reli- 
 gious liberty; a kingdom, the moral condition 
 of which proves beyond all controversy, that a 
 general education of the children of the poor, 
 and the distribution of the sacred Scriptures, 
 are the surest means, under Providence, of pro- 
 moting not only the happiness of the poor them- 
 selves, but the welfare of the government to 
 which they belong, by encouraging those habits 
 of industry, morality, and religion, which the 
 Bible inculcates, in a way which most effec- 
 tually informs the understanding, and influences 
 the heart." (See Christian Observer, for June, 
 1810.) 
 
 Another
 
 416 APPENDIX. No. TV. 
 
 Another cause to which the steady, provident 
 character of the Scottish peasantry has been at- 
 tributed, is the generally supposed want of poor 
 rates in Scotland. (See Mr. Curwen's speech 
 in the House of Commons, on a late discussion 
 respecting the maintenance of the poor.) Here 
 the effect has been put for the cause. If there 
 are no poor rates in Scotland, (and they are 
 certainly trifling- compared with those in the 
 southern part of the island), it is owing to the 
 sober, religious character of the people, and not 
 to any want of legislative provision for the main- 
 tenance of the poor. Doctor Currie says, " Hap- 
 pily, in Scotland, the same legislature which 
 established a system of instruction for the poor, 
 resisted the introduction of a legal provision for 
 the support of poverty." In this the worthy 
 Doctor has been misinformed, and it is no won- 
 der he should, considering how many people 
 residing in Scotland, even of those who are in- 
 terested in the administration of its laws, seem 
 not aware of the existence of a code of poor 
 laws in Scotland very similar to, and differing 
 only in some particulars of inferior moment from 
 those in England. 
 
 In fact, the same causes in both countries 
 operated the introduction of similar laws. The 
 suppression, at the Reformation, of those mo- 
 nastic, and other religious establishments where 
 
 the
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 417 
 
 the poor had their wants supplied, and which 
 had tended rather to encourage idleness and 
 mendicity, made some legislative provision ne- 
 cessary; not only from regard to the Christian 
 duty, as it is called in those laws, of providing 
 for the poor, but out of regard to the police of 
 the country, for suppressing idle, vagrant, dis- 
 orderly habits ; and which could not be done 
 except the wants of the really necessitous should 
 be supplied, otherwise than by having recourse 
 to begging. Accordingly in the Act of the 
 Scots Parliament, 1579, which I have already 
 quoted, carefnl provision is made for the main- 
 tenance of the poor ; and after various enact- 
 ments, in regard to making up a list and de- 
 scription of the poor belonging to each parish, it 
 is ordained, that " the whole inhabitants of the 
 parish, without exception, be taxed and stented 
 according to their substance, for such weekly 
 charge and contribution as shall be thought suf- 
 ficient to sustain the said poor people." This 
 Act, amended and enforced by a great number 
 of Acts of Parliament and proclamations of the 
 Privy Council of Scotland, down to WOii, forms 
 a system of poor laws sufficiently obligatory ; 
 and the principal difference between them and 
 the poor laws of England seems to be, that in 
 Scotland the aliments allowed to the poor are 
 fixed, in the first instance, by those who pay, 
 but as they are not left at liberty to withliold 
 VOL. I. 2 E aliment,
 
 418 APPENDIX. No. IV. 
 
 aliment, or to " aliment" inadequately, this will 
 not sufficiently account for the immense differ- 
 ence of effect such similar laws have had in the 
 two countries. 
 
 I apprehend it is to the difference of the cir- 
 cumstances attending the Reformation in the 
 two countries, that this difference of effect from 
 the poor laws is to be traced. In Scotland the 
 reformed religion was introduced arid finally 
 settled, contrary to the will of the government, 
 by the zeal and exertions of the protestant 
 preachers, by means of their influence with the 
 great body of the people, and their indefatigable 
 labours in informing the minds of the common 
 people, and promoting education among them, 
 to enable them to read and understand the Holy 
 Scriptures. 
 
 This had the effect of introducing not only 
 those sentiments of piety, sobriety, and watch- 
 fulness of conduct, so favourable to the provi- 
 dent provision and care of the means of living, 
 but considerable enlargement of mind, and a 
 certain elevation of character favourable to that 
 independence of spirit which makes a man feel 
 degraded in not being able to provide for his 
 own and his family's wants; a feeling which 
 makes such an one submit to many a privation, 
 and exert every effort of industry and economy 
 
 to
 
 APPENDIX. No. IV. 419 
 
 to avoid dependence on charity. In England, 
 on the contrary, the reformed religion was in- 
 troduced by the Royal authority of the profli- 
 gate Henry, from far other motives than reli- 
 gious ones, and re-established by his politic 
 daughter, Elizabeth. It was not necessary to 
 their schemes, nor did it enter at all into their 
 views to promote the education, or the cultiva- 
 tion of the minds of the common people; and 
 hence, in that country, they were left in a situa- 
 tion more liable to have their characters de- 
 based, and their morals corrupted by a system 
 of law, compulsatory for the support of the 
 poor. 
 
 Even in Scotland, in proportion as the man- 
 ners of the people have receded from the so- 
 briety, and strict religious observances of for- 
 mer times, the poor rates have increased, and 
 the poor have become more familiar with re- 
 ceiving aid from the poor's funds. 
 
 I know a parish in Scotland containing about 
 four thousand inhabitants, where the assess- 
 ments for the support of the poor, have for se- 
 veral years amounted to nearly seven hundred 
 pounds per annum ; but it is in a part of the 
 country where the immediate superiors of the 
 poor seem long to have carefully avoided the 
 character of being religious over much ; who 
 2 E 2 think
 
 420 APPENDIX. No. IV. 
 
 think nothing so vulgar as any thing like cant- 
 ing about religion, and who frequently sanctify 
 the Sabbath by visiting and receiving visits. 
 
 If, then, the sober and steady character of 
 the people of Scotland has originated in the re- 
 ligious instruction of the poor, and the influence 
 of religious principle among them, as there can 
 be no doubt that it has, what remains but that 
 the same means be resorted to, for maintaining 
 that character, which first established it? That 
 the parish ministers imitate the ardent diligence, 
 earnestness, and fervour of their predecessors, 
 the first reformers, in performing all the func- 
 tions of their sacred office ? That every person 
 who has any influence in appointments to that 
 important office, be conscientiously careful to 
 select persons who appear to be in earnest about 
 religion themselves, and who seem aware of the 
 great responsibility of the office they aim at; 
 and that those who have power and influence 
 in society, should withdraw their countenance 
 from such clergymen as seem to wish to assi- 
 milate themselves to the manners of the men 
 of the world, and forget the weighty importance 
 of the matters committed to their charge ? 
 
 No. V
 
 421 
 
 No. V. 
 
 I HAVE now arrived at a very painful and deli- 
 cate part of my Editorial duty, but in the dis- 
 charge of which, 1 hope to have the sympathetic 
 consideration of all the feeling and humane who 
 may peruse these pages. 
 
 On the subject of my brother's habits, suc- 
 ceeding biographers and reviewers, presuming 
 they might go beyond Dr. Currie's statements, 
 have brought forward the most revolting calum- 
 nies and misrepresentations. 
 
 To several of these I have been urged to pub- 
 lish answers in order to vindicate my brother's 
 character ; but this 1 could never muster suf- 
 ficient courage to do. Now, however, that I 
 come before the public in selecting and arrang- 
 ing this edition of my brother's Works, I beg 
 leave to submit to the world, what 1 consider 
 the true state of the matter. In doing this, I 
 shall not attempt to take notice of all, or even 
 
 any
 
 422 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 any of the calumnious or injurious representa- 
 tions of my brother's character, which have been 
 given to the world ; but shall simply, since the 
 matter has been (so unnecessarily in my opi- 
 nion) obtruded on the public notice, state, to 
 what extent the errors of conduct alleged against 
 the Poet, may be justly imputed to him, and 
 point out some of the sources whence such in- 
 jurious misrepresentations have proceeded. 
 
 Persons who have been at any pains to trace 
 the progress of manners in this part of the king- 
 dom, may have discovered, that after the resto- 
 ration of Charles the Second, the religious pro- 
 fession, and strict manners of the presbyterians 
 became unfashionable, and a torrent of licen- 
 tiousness and loose manners overspread this 
 country, which were long productive of the 
 most lamentable effects, and the baneful conse- 
 quences of which may be observed even at the 
 present time. Habits of hard drinking, profane 
 swearing, and indecent conversation, were then 
 introduced, which have been banished by the 
 progress of taste and refinement, even from the 
 well educated ranks of society, only within the 
 recollection of many people now living; while 
 the influence of such an example may still be 
 traced distinctly in the dissipation and worth- 
 lessness of some of the lower ranks. 
 
 Considerable
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 423 
 
 Considerable remains of that style of man- 
 ners prevailed in the middle ranks of society, 
 when our Poet first attracted the notice of that 
 class. He, of course, not only aimed at repre- 
 senting the manners of the age as they were, but 
 observing that humorous or ludicrous represen- 
 tations of that kind were calculated to be well 
 received, he assumed a poetic character very 
 different from the real character of the man at 
 that time. Thus when the old hostess, Nanse 
 Tinnock, on the first publication of his Poems 
 from the Kilmarnock press, was congratulated 
 on the conspicuous figure which she made in 
 the Poet's " Earnest Cry and Prayer," she 
 shook her head, and said, he scarcely ever had 
 spent a shilling in her house. 
 
 At the time when many of those rhapsodies 
 respecting drinking and drunkenness were com- 
 posed, and first published, few people were less 
 addicted to drinking than our Poet. From his 
 apparently con amove descriptions of that kind, 
 however, a general impression was made on the 
 minds of his readers, that he was addicted to 
 habits of drinking. Hence, in some Memoirs 
 of Burns, which were published soon after his 
 death, he was represented as early frequenting 
 social parties in public houses ; so readily do 
 writers of a certain class, substitute hypotheti- 
 cal conjecture for matter of fact. 
 
 The
 
 424 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 The general impression of the Poet's charac- 
 ter, made by the perusal of his Poems of the 
 kind alluded to, was not however without its 
 effect. On his first introduction to the world, 
 the jovial lovers of fun and pleasure marked 
 him as a desirable associate. At that time there 
 were to be found among that description of 
 people, men of great mental ability, of highly 
 honorable feelings, of kind, generous, and warm 
 affections, and with very pleasant and obliging 
 manners. Men of such characters were the 
 first to forgive Burns for having been born and 
 educated a peasant — to acknowledge his claim 
 to respectable notice in society, and to admit 
 him to share their hospitality, and the enjoy^ 
 ment of their festive hours. 
 
 The vices mixed in such characters are ren- 
 dered extremely dangerous to the youth, who 
 may approach tliem, by the engaging qualities 
 and agreeable manners with which they are aC' 
 companied. Eager for fame, and fond of dis- 
 tinction, the Poet in such society, endeavoured 
 to overcome his aversion to drinking, and suc- 
 ceeded in being able to drink like other people. 
 Eminently qualified to make himself agreeable 
 in such company, he did not avoid parties 
 where the bottle was freely circulated. During 
 his residence in Edinburgh, however, though 
 he was frequently in parties of pleasure, it 
 
 never
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 425 
 
 never was suggested that he was addicted to 
 drinking ; nor was he ever seen during that 
 time, so far as I know, in a state of intoxica- 
 tion, but was generally considered to have 
 escaped the dissipations of the town with more 
 of the original simplicity of his manners than 
 could well have been expected. Never did the 
 Poet's character appear to greater advantage 
 than when he came to reside at EUisland. He 
 had become a husband, the father of a family, 
 a farmer, and a revenue-officer ; and it seemed 
 to be his anxious wish to discharge the duties 
 arising out of these characters and relations, 
 esteemed by his neighbours, and beloved by 
 his family ; but, one of the branches of the 
 great road from Glasgow to Dumfries, and so 
 on to England, passed through the farm ; he 
 had become an object of interest or curiosity to 
 many passing that way ; his avocations were 
 frequently interrupted by the calls of former 
 acquaintances or passers by, who had procured 
 some introduction to him, or who had contrived 
 to introduce themselves. 
 
 The notions of hospitality generally entertain- 
 ed at that time, required that his guests should 
 not want drink for the promotion of hilarity ; 
 and when not so occupied at home, he had 
 frequent invitations to dine abroad, and often in 
 parties selected for the purpose of meeting him. 
 
 Thus
 
 426 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 Thus was Burns gradually led to have too 
 much relish for convivial pleasure. When he 
 removed to the town of Dumfries, temptations 
 to this indulgence became more frequent, and 
 he came, when set down with jovial company, 
 too frequently to protract the hours so em- 
 ployed beyond the bounds marked by prudence. 
 He never was, however, that slave to drinking 
 which has been represented, and never drank 
 but when in company. 
 
 Lest however the testimony of a brother, at 
 that time residing at upwards of fifty miles dis- 
 tance, should not be considered conclusive on 
 such a subject, I have thought it proper to 
 bring forward other evidence not liable to sus- 
 picion. A gentleman, some time ago, having 
 undertaken to review the misrepresentations of 
 my brother's character for a new edition of his 
 works, applied to Mr. Findlater, Collector of 
 Excise in Glasgow, who had been my brother's 
 Supervisor all the time he was in the Excise 
 business, for a statement of the fact respecting 
 the Poet's habits of life. Mr. Findlater wrote 
 as follows :—" Glasgow, 10th October, 1818.— 
 " Sir, I entirely agree with you in opinion on 
 the various accounts which have been given to ■ 
 the world of the life of Robert Burns, and can 
 have no hesitation in expressing publicly my 
 sentiments on his official conduct at least, and 
 
 perhaps
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 427 
 
 perhaps in other respects, as far as may ap- 
 pear necessary for the development of truth. 
 Amongst his Biographers, Dr. Currie of course 
 takes the lead, and the severity of his strictures, 
 or, to borrow the words of the Poet, his ' iron- 
 justice,' is much to be regretted, as ' his life' has 
 become a kind of text-book for succeeding com- 
 mentators, who have, by the aid 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 
 description. 
 
 " It is painful to trace all that has been written 
 by Dr. Currie's successors, who seem to have 
 considered the history of the Poet as a thing 
 like Ulysses's bow, on which each was at liberty 
 to try his strength, and some, in order to outdo 
 their competitors, have strained every nerve to 
 throw all kinds of obloquy on his memory. His 
 convivial habits, his wit and humour, his social 
 talents, and independent spirit, have been per- 
 verted into constant and habitual drunkenness, 
 impiety, neglect of his professional duty, and 
 of his family, and in short every human vice. 
 He has been branded with cowardice, accused 
 of attempting murder, and even suicide, and all 
 this without a shadow of proof, jwoh pudoi! 
 
 " Is there nothing of tenderness due to the 
 
 memory
 
 ^ 
 
 428 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 , memory of so transcendant a genius, who has 
 so often delighted even his libellers with the 
 felicities of his songs, and the charms of his wit \ 2- 
 and humour? — And is no regard to be had to 
 the feelings of those near and dear relatives 
 he has left behind ; or, are his ashes never to 
 * hope repose?' — My indignation has unwarily 
 led me astray from the point to which J meant 
 to have confined myself, and to which I will 
 now recur, and briefly state what I have to say 
 on the subject. 
 
 " My connexion with Robert Burns com- 
 menced immediately after his admission into 
 the Excise, and continued to the hour of his 
 death. In all that time, the superintendance of 
 his behaviour as an officer of the revenue was a 
 branch of my especial province, and it may be 
 supposed, I would not be an inattentive ob- 
 server of the general conduct of a man and a 
 Poet so celebrated by his countrymen. In the 
 former capacity, so far from its being ' impossi- 
 ble for him to discharge the duties of his office 
 with that regularity which is almost indispens- 
 able' as is palpably assumed by one of his bio- 
 graphers, and insinuated not very obscurely 
 even by Dr. Currie, he was exemplary in his 
 attention as an excise-officer, and was even 
 jealous of the least imputation on his vigilance; 
 as a proof of which, it may not be foreign to the 
 
 subject
 
 APPENDIX. JNo. V. 429 
 
 subject to quote part of a letter from him to 
 myself, in a case of only seeming inattention. — 
 ' I know, Sir, and regret deeply, that this busi- 
 ness glances with a malign aspect on my cha- 
 racter as an officer; but, as I am really in- 
 nocent in the affair; and, as the gentleman is 
 known to be an illicit dealer, and particularly 
 as this is the single instance of the least shadow 
 of carelessness or impropriety in my conduct as 
 an officer, I shall be peculiarly unfortunate if 
 my character shall fall a sacrifice to the dark 
 mancEUvres of a smuggler.' This of itself af- 
 fords more than a presumption of his attention 
 to business, as it cannot be supposed that he 
 would have written in such a style to me, but 
 from the impulse 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 off in this respect, and this was 
 amply accounted for in the pressure of disease, 
 and accumulating infirmities. About this period 
 I advised him to relinquish business altogether, 
 which he complied with, but it distressed him a 
 good deal, as he was thereby liable to suffer a 
 diminution of salary; and he wrote to Commis- 
 sioner Graham, in the hope that that gentle- 
 man's influence would get his full pay con- 
 tinued during his illness, which I have no doubt 
 it would have done if he had recovered, in 
 the meantime, Mr. Graham wrote him a letter, 
 
 exhibiting
 
 430 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 exhibiting a solid proof of his generosity and 
 friendship, but, alas ! the Poet was by this 
 time too far gone towards that ' undiscovered 
 country, from whose bourne no traveller re- 
 turns,' and he could not acknowledge it. 
 
 " Having stated Burns's unremitting attention 
 to business, which certainly was not compati- 
 ble with perpetual 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 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 office ; 
 nor was he ever known to drink by himself, or 
 seen to indulge in the use of liquor in a fore- 
 noon, as the statement, that he was perpetually 
 under its stimulus unequivocally implies. 
 
 " To attempt the refutation of the various 
 other calumnies with which his memory has 
 been assailed, some of which are so absurd as 
 hardly to merit any attention, does not fall in 
 my way, though I hope they will be suitably 
 taken notice of; but permit me to add, that I 
 have seen Burns in all his various phases — in his 
 convivial moments, in his sober moods, and in 
 the bosom of his family; indeed 1 believe I saw 
 
 more
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 431 
 
 more of him than any other individual had 
 occasion to see, after he became an Excise- 
 Officer ; and I never beheld any thing like the 
 gross enormities with which he is now charged. 
 That when set down in an evening with a few 
 friends whom he liked, he was apt to prolong 
 the social hour beyond the bounds which pru- 
 dence would dictate, is unquestionable ; but in 
 his family, I will venture to say, he was never 
 seen otherwise than attentive and affectionate to 
 a high degree. Upon the whole it is much to 
 be lamented that there has been so much broad 
 unqualified assertion as has been displayed in 
 Burns's history ; the virulence indeed with 
 which his memory has been treated, is hardly 
 to be paralleled in the annals of literature- 
 Wishing every success to the laudable attempt 
 of rescuing it from the indiscriminate abuse 
 which has been heaped upon it, I remain, &c. 
 (signed) " A. Findlater :" (addressed) *' To Mr. 
 Alexander Peterkin, Edinburgh." 
 
 Mr. Peterkin, on the same occasion, pub- 
 lished a letter from Mr. Gray, of the High 
 School, Edinburgh, wlio was teacher of the 
 Grammar School in Dumfries during my bro- 
 thers residence in that town, with whom his 
 children were educated ; who, enjoying much of 
 the Poet's intimacy and esteem, and being fre- 
 quently with him, had the best opportunities of 
 
 knowing
 
 432 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 knowing" his habits and character. On my ap- 
 plying to that gentleman for leave to bring for- 
 ward his letter to Mr. Peterkin here, he rather 
 chose to write his statement anew in a letter 
 addressed to myself After some general ob- 
 servations, highly creditable to the writer, but 
 which considerations of peculiar delicacy pre- 
 vent me from publishing, Mr. Gray proceeds 
 as follows : — " In the observations I am now 
 to make, I claim no merit but purity and since- 
 rity of purpose in narrating events that I my- 
 self saw ; and I am happy to add, that from 
 many symptoms, there seems to be a great 
 change of opinion on the subject, and a dispo- 
 sition to listen to the voice of truth, however 
 humble the individual by whom it is raised. I 
 shall consider the Poet's character as a compa- 
 nion, a friend, a father, a husband, a citizen, 
 and a man of genius ; that it may be seen, if 
 from his conduct in any one of these capacities, 
 he could possibly be the degraded being he has 
 been represented, — constantly under the domi- 
 nion of the lowest and the basest appetites and 
 passions of our nature, an habitual drunkard, 
 and a thorough vicious man, for ' therewith has 
 he been charged withal ;' and, as my remarks 
 apply to the three last years of his life, I shall 
 not be accused of having selected in exculpation 
 the purest portion of it. 
 
 It
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 433 
 
 ** It was my good fortune to be introduced 
 to him soon after I went to Dumfries. This 
 was early in 1794, and I saw him often and in- 
 timately during the remainder of liis life. (JL 
 sometimes met him in the scene of conviviality, 
 and there, if any where, 1 must have received 
 conviction of that intellectual and moral degra- 
 dation of which we have heard so much ; but 
 no such impression was made on my mind.^ 
 [He seemed to me to frequent convivial parties 
 from the same feelings with which he wrote 
 poetry, because nature had eminently qualified 
 him to shine there, and he never on any occa- 
 sion indulged in solitary drinking. He was 
 always the living spirit of the company, and by 
 the communications of his genius, seemed to 
 animate every one present with a portion of his 
 own fire. He indulged in the sally of wit or 
 humour, of striking originality, and sometimes 
 of bitter sarcasm, but always free from the least 
 taint of grossness. I was, from the commence- 
 ment of my acquaintanrp vrith him, struck with 
 his aversion to all kinds of indelicacy, and have 
 seen him dazzle and delight a party for hours 
 together by the brilliancy and rapidity of his 
 flashes, without even an allusion that could 
 give offence to vestal purity. I I never saw him 
 intoxicated ; and, indeed, I am convinced, that 
 though his company was courted by men of all 
 
 VOL. I. 2 F ranks
 
 434 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 ranks, and he was much in society of a con- 
 vivial nature, that he was very seldom in a 
 
 state of inebriation. 
 
 ■% 
 
 " I often met him at breakfast parties, which 
 were then customary in Dumfries, and some- 
 times enjoyed a morning walk with him ; and 
 on these occasions, if he had been suffering from 
 midnight excesses, it must have been apparent. 
 On the contrary, his whole air was that of one 
 who had enjoyed refreshing slumbers, and who 
 arose happy in himself, and to diffuse happiness 
 on all around him; his complexion was fresh 
 and clear, his eye brilliant, his whole frame vi- 
 gorous and elastic, and his imagination ever on 
 the wing. Flis morning conversations were 
 marked by an impassioned eloquence, that 
 seemed to flow from immediate inspiration, and 
 shed an atmosphere of light and beauty around 
 every thing it touched, alternately melting and 
 elevating the soul of all who heard him. He 
 had read much, and possessed a most powerful 
 memory, which never exhibited any symptoms 
 of that decay, which must have been the conse- 
 quence of habitual intoxication ; so far from it, 
 he gleaned all that was valuable from every 
 book he perused, which he could either quote 
 in the words of the original, or make the ideas 
 his own, and embody them in a more beautiful 
 
 form
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 435 
 
 form. In our solitary walks on a summer 
 morning, the simplest floweret by the wayside, 
 every sight of rural simplicity and happiness, 
 every creature that seemed to drink the joy 
 of the season, awakened the sympathies of his 
 heart, which flowed in spontaneous music from 
 his lips ; and every new opening of the beauty 
 or the magnificence of the scene before him, 
 called forth the poetry of his soul. 
 
 " As a friend, no views of selfishness ever 
 made him faithless to those whom he had once 
 honoured with that name — ever ready to aid 
 them by the wisdom of his counsels, when his 
 means were inadequate to their relief; and by a 
 delicate sympathy, to sooth the sufl^erings and 
 the sorrows he could not heal. As a citizen, he 
 never neglected a single professional duty ; and 
 even on the slender income of an excise officer, 
 not exceeding sixty pounds a year, he never 
 contracted a single debt he could not pay. He 
 could submit to privations, but could not brook 
 the dependence of owing any thing to any man 
 on earth. To the poor he was liberal beyond 
 his limited means, and the cry of the unfortunate 
 was never addressed to him in vain ; and when 
 he could not himself relieve their necessities, he 
 was often known, by a pathetic recital of their 
 misfortunes, to draw the tear and open the purse 
 •2 F 2 of
 
 436 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 of those, who were not famed either for tender^ 
 ness of heart or charity : on such occasions it 
 was impossible to resist his solicitations. 
 
 " He was a kind and an attentive father, and 
 took great delight in spending his evenings in 
 the cultivation of the minds of his children. 
 Their education was the grand object of his 
 life, and he did not, like most parents, think it 
 sufficient to send them to public schools, he 
 was their private instructor ; and, even at that 
 early age, bestowed great pains in training their 
 minds to habits of thought and reflection, and 
 in keeping them pure from every form of vice. 
 This he considered a sacred duty, and never, to 
 the period of his last illness, relaxed in his dili- 
 gence. With his eldest son, a boy of not more 
 than nine years of age, he had read many of the 
 favourite poets, and some of the best historians 
 of our language; and, what is more remarkable, 
 gave him considerable aid in the study of Latin. 
 This boy attended the grammar school of Dum- 
 fries, and soon attracted my notice by the 
 strength of his talent and the ardour of his am- 
 bition. Before he had been a year at school, I 
 thought it right to advance him a form, and he 
 began to read Caesar, and gave me translations 
 of that author of such beauty, as I confess, 
 surprised me. On enquiry, I found that his 
 
 father
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 437 
 
 father made him turn over liis dictionary till 
 he was able to translate to him the }3assage in 
 such a way that he could gather the author's 
 meaning, and that it was to him he owed that 
 polished and forcible English, with which I was 
 so greatly struck. I have mentioned this inci- 
 dent, merely to shew what minute attention 
 he paid to this important branch of parental 
 duty. 
 
 " Many insinuations have been made against 
 his character as a husband, but without the 
 slightest proof, and 1 might pass from this 
 charge with that neglect which it merits ; but I 
 am happy to say, that I have in exculpation the 
 direct evidence of Mrs. Burns herself, who, 
 among many amiable and respectable qualities, 
 ranks a veneration for the memory of her de- 
 parted husband, whom she never names, but in 
 terms of the profoundest respect and the deepest 
 regret, to lament his misfortunes, or to extol 
 his kindnesses to herself, not as the momentary 
 overflowings of the heart in a season of peni- 
 tence for offences generously forgiven, but an 
 habitual tenderness that ended only with his 
 life. I place this evidence, which I am proud 
 to bring forward on her own authority, against 
 a thousand anonymous calumnies. 
 
 To
 
 438 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 " To the very end of his existence, all the 
 powers of his mind were as vigorous as in the 
 blossom of their spring-; and it may be asked, if 
 the numerous songs written for Mr. Thomson's 
 collection, which were his last compositions, 
 and by many considered the glory of his genius, 
 indicate any intellectual decay; yet it is strange 
 how long prejudices will keep their ground, in 
 the face of evidence the clearest, and within the 
 reacii of every one. 1 saw him four days before 
 he died, and though the hand of death was obvi- 
 ously upon him, he repeated to me a little poem 
 he had composed the day before, full of energy 
 and tenderness.)^ Now, my dear Sir, as, when 
 1 consider the occupations and the studies of 
 his early years, arguing from the general prin- 
 ciples of our nature, I am impelled to conclude 
 that he was an amiable and a virtuous young 
 man, though 1 had not direct evidence in sup- 
 port of the proposition ; so on a review of the 
 facts just stated, I cannot for a moment believe 
 in the alleged degradation of his character. 
 The truth iSjH'our brother partook in an emi- 
 nent degree of the virtues and the vices of the 
 poetical temperament. He was often hurried 
 into error by the impetuosity of his passions, 
 but he was never their slave : he was often led 
 astray by the meteor lights of pleasure, but he 
 never lost sight of the right way, to which he 
 
 was
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 430 
 
 was ever eager to return ; and, amid all his wan- 
 derings and his self-conflicts, his heart was 
 pure, and his principles untainted. Though 
 he was often well nigh broken-hearted by the 
 severity of his fate, yet he was never heard to 
 complain ; and, had he been an unconnected in- 
 dividual, he would have bid defiance to for- 
 tune; but his sorrows for his wife and his 
 <'hildren, for whom he suffered much, and 
 feared more, were keen and acute, yet un- 
 mingled with selfishness. All his life he had 
 to maintain a hard struggle with cares ; and 
 often laboured under those depressions to which 
 genius is subject ; yet his spirit never stooped 
 from its lofty career, and to the very end of his 
 warfare with himself and ^vith fortune, conti- 
 nued strong in its independence. The love of 
 posthumous fame was the master passion of 
 his soul, which kept all others in subordina^ 
 tion, and prevented them from running into 
 that disorder, which his great susceptibility to 
 all those objects which pleased his fancy or in- 
 terested his heart, and the vivacity of all his 
 emotions, might without this regulating prin- 
 ciple have produced. Amidst the darkest 
 overshadowings of his fate, or the most alluring 
 temptations of pleasure, it was his consoling 
 and leading star; and, as it directed his eye to 
 distant ages, it was often his only support in 
 
 the
 
 440 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 the one, and the most pow.erful check against 
 the dangerous indulgence of the other. Pos- 
 sessing an eloquence that might have guided 
 the councils of nations, and which would have 
 been eagerly courted by any party, he would 
 have perished by famine rather than submit to 
 the degradation of becoming the tool of faction. 
 It is a known fact, that he rejected a sum 
 equal to his whole annual income, for the sup- 
 port of those measures which he thought most 
 for the interests of the country. He had a 
 loftiness of sentiment, that raised him above 
 making his genius a hireling even in a good 
 cause, and his laurels were never stained by a 
 single act of venality. LYet with all the nobi- 
 lity of his mind, and the kindness and genero- 
 sity of his nature, and the supremacy of his 
 genius, his fate has been unusually hard. 
 Though his chosen companions were not more 
 remarkable for talent, than for the respecta- 
 bility of their character, and the purity of their 
 lives, and many ladies of the most delicate and 
 cultivated minds and elegant manners, were 
 numbered among his friends, who clung to him 
 through good and through bad report, and still 
 cherish an affectionate and enthusiastic regard 
 for his memory, yet has he been accused of 
 being addicted to low company. Qualified for 
 the noblest employments, he was condemned to 
 
 drudge
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 441 
 
 drudge in the lowest occupations — often in 
 scenes, where to avoid contamination, was an 
 effort of virtue. [^Though he possessed 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, they have been extenuated. [^Ac- 
 cumulated misfortunes, and the cruelty of man- 
 kind, actually broke his heart, and hurried him 
 to a premature grave, which to him has been 
 no sanctuary, for the voice of calumny has 
 been heard even there; but prejudices will pass 
 away, and posterity will do him justice. |_They 
 will balance the various and often contradictory 
 elements of his character, and decide with 
 candour. They will be influenced by no per- 
 sonal or political enmities, l)ut will drop a ge- 
 nerous tear over his failings, which will appear 
 but as a natural blemish in the light of those 
 virtues which they will read in his works, and 
 read aright. Now, my dear Sir, that I have 
 finished the object of my letter, which was to 
 give you such observations, as 1 myself had 
 an opportunity of making relative to the habits 
 of the three last years of your brother's life, 
 you will permit me to say, that what I have 
 written has not been with a view of wounding 
 
 the
 
 [ 
 
 442 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 the feelings of any one ; my sole purpose has 
 been defence, not attack : yet 1 will confess 
 that indignation has sometimes swelled in ray 
 bosom, to hear the memory of the friend whom 
 I loved, and the man of genius whom I ad- 
 mired, traduced and calumniated by men who 
 knew him not, and who had not the means of 
 ascgrtaining the truth of their allegations ; and 
 I shall deem it the proudest work 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 
 alive, though, to the shame of our country, 
 they^ave been too long and too widely circu- 
 lated. 
 
 " I am, &c. 
 
 " James Gray." 
 
 Having thus produced the testimony of men 
 of the highest respectability, who had the best 
 opportunities of knowing the truth, and who 
 could have no other motive in being thus 
 brought before the public, but the love of truth 
 and justice, I trust those exaggerated state- 
 ments and misrepresentations, made from hy- 
 pothetical conjecture, or malicious unauthen- 
 ticated reports will no longer be listened to. 
 Some of the sources whence such reports ori- 
 ginated, and how they came to obtain the cur- 
 rency
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 443 
 
 rency they have received, I shall now take 
 notice of. 
 
 Every one must have observed the effect of 
 party spirit in obscuring the truth, and ma- 
 ligning the characters of the opposite party, 
 and how what has begun in opposition of opi- 
 nion, ends too frequently in personal enmity 
 and ill-will. During times of public alarm, and 
 apprehension of intestine commotion, such as 
 took place in this country in 1794, and for 
 some time after, 1 am awart; tlint a great pro- 
 portion of the respectable part of the commu- 
 nity, a great part of the wise and prudent, will 
 be found ranged on the side of the existing 
 government, unless its corruptions have become 
 great indeed ; bnt on that side also will be 
 found, a great host of a very different descrip- 
 tion, all the satellites of power, and the parasites 
 of greatness, with all the worthless and detestable 
 crew of time-serving and officious informers. At 
 such times, loyalty comes to be esteemed the car- 
 dinal virtue, capable of " hiding a multitude of 
 sins ;" and many who are conscious how worth- 
 less and hollow-hearted they are, seek to piece 
 up their reputation, and ingratiate themselves 
 with their superiors by an extraordinary dis- 
 play of loyalty and attachment to the existing 
 order of things, and a virtuous zeal in hunting 
 
 down
 
 444 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 down whoever has the audacity to question the 
 conduct of men in power. 
 
 To persons of that desci*iption the imprudent 
 Poet had made himself peculiarly obnoxious 
 by the unguarded freedom with which he ex- 
 pressed his opinion of the wonderful events 
 then attracting the notice of every one; and 
 their enmity was heightened by his unqualified 
 expression, general and particular, of his con- 
 tempt for such sycophantic characters. By 
 such " Loyal Natives" was the conduct of our 
 Poet strictly watched, with the view of detect- 
 ing every political transgression or private fault ; 
 every imprudence or failing was magnified and 
 exaggerated to a frightful degree ; and the pub- 
 lic alarm, which brought such characters into 
 contact with the respectable orders of society, 
 procured the admission and circulation of those 
 injurious reports in such circles of society, as 
 made them be received without suspicion. 
 
 Another source of injury to the Poet's cha- 
 racter seems to have arisen from friends, or 
 people pretending friendship and intimacy with 
 him, who wished to have something wonderful 
 to tell of a person who had attracted so much 
 of the notice of the world. It is well known 
 that many persons are to be found, whose code 
 
 of
 
 APPENDIX. No. V. 445 
 
 of moral obligation does not prevent them from 
 violating' truth in embellishing a story, and yet 
 are esteemed by the world " very honourable 
 men." In the pictures which such men give of 
 life or character, likeness is deliberately sacri- 
 ficed to effect. Thus in the foolish story of a 
 sword-cane brought forward in the Quarterly 
 Review, the vanity of some pretended friend 
 of the Poet is displayed by the relation of a 
 powerful admonition addressed by the narrator 
 to the Poet, producing such theatric starts and 
 agitation, as no one who knew the Poet, or 
 who has even attentively perused his letters 
 and poetry, can give credit to for a moment. 
 
 Thus have I endeavoured to trace the inju- 
 rious misrepresentations of my brother's cha- 
 racter, to some of the sources from which they 
 originated ; but of the motives which could in- 
 duce Reviewers to introduce so much personal 
 defamation into Literary Journals I cannot 
 offer a conjecture.* 
 
 * Since the above was written, the Editor of the Edin- 
 burgh Review, with a candour which does hira much honour, 
 has, in a late number, when reviewing Campbell's selections 
 from the British Poets," acknowledged the rashness and injus- 
 tice of some of his former criticisms on Burns's works. To Mr. 
 Campbell himself, the friends of Burns, as well as of every 
 
 Poet
 
 446 APPENDIX. No. V. 
 
 Poet he has selected from, owe much gratitude for his can- 
 dour, and the modest and delicate manner in which he has 
 brought forth the biographical notices of his authors, and his 
 criticisms upon their works. In these criticisms (generally 
 just and discriminating), he has shewn, that the nicest critical 
 acumen is not necessarily connected with that asperity and 
 sarcastic sneer, which too frequently disgrace the periodical 
 criticisms of modern times. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 J. M'Greery, Printer, 
 Black-Horse-Court, Loadon.
 
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